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The familiar sound of the door bursting open so hard it almost flew off its hinges startled me, and I jumped up from my armchair and slammed a hand on the off button on my telly. Then I spun around, really hoping that the angry slayer had not seen the soap playing just a second ago. God my priorities were so skewed. The fact that an angry slayer had just burst in should probably have been more worrying than whether or not she’d seen me indulge in silly overcomplicated tv romance.
Charity should dump that sucker anyway. She could do so much better.
Buffy slammed me up against the column in the middle of the crypt, and my head thumped against the stone. A familiar position, that left a dull throb in the back of my skull, and made my ears ring with the impact. I laughed. A pitched cackle that usually brought with it that angry and disgusted glare that Buffy only ever directed at me. The one that called me pathetic without saying the words. The one she’d given me when she’d shoved me to the ground and told me I was beneath her. The one that unequivocally said I’d be dead in a second if she so pleased.
To be that close to her and not be able to bite her, to be completely at her mercy, a tamed killer who wasn’t good for anything but to be punched around and tied up, it was humiliating.
And pretty hot.
God, how I needed to get laid, this was starting to get embarrassing.
“What do you want, pet,” I asked, jutting out my chin and grinning. I knew she hated when I did that. I knew how obnoxious I was, and kept being. Not only was it fun, but it also was our game. Getting her annoyed enough that she’d punch me. It was so beautiful, playing that game. Reclaiming the power that was taken from me by the sodding chip. Making her do what I wanted. Even if it was hurting me.
And the pain honestly wasn’t that bad. Sometimes I’d even like it. I’d relish in it. And in the knowledge that I could get her that worked up. That she cared enough to hurt me, instead of kill me. It meant that I meant something to her. Not like a friend did, obviously, but in a twisted, loving way, she did care about me. She didn’t want me to die, not in the long haul. She wanted me to live, but she couldn’t let me if I was bad.
If you punish bad, it goes away.
I knew that was bollocks, she didn’t. So, her hurting me was proof of her love. She just had to figure that out as well.
A punch to the nose knocked my head back and I groaned.
“Going for the nose is playing unfair! It hurts!”
She shook me, still holding my lapels. “It’s supposed to. Where is she, Spike?”
“Where is who?” I genuinely didn’t know what Buffy was doing here, but I supposed that didn’t matter.
I was right. She punched me again, harder this time.
“Where is Dawn?”
“What?”
My stomach dropped. What had been a conversation in good fun just a second ago, had suddenly turned serious, cruel reality.
I caught myself. Couldn’t let my guard down, now. Buffy was clearly looking for someone to blame other than herself.
“How the hell should I know,” I bit back, harshly. It was hollow. I didn’t feel like being harsh. The niblet was missing? That wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all. I hated how worried I was about the little bit. But I guess if I could acknowledge I felt something for Buffy, it wasn’t that far off that other humans would be important to me, too. That chip had seriously bollocksed me up.
Buffy shook me again, and I could smell the salty tears collecting in her eyes. This was genuinely worse than I thought.
“It’s your fault, Spike!”
I opened my mouth to protest, but she kept talking. “Everything is messed up because of you! She knows she’s the key, and now she’s gone!”
She ran away? Damn it little bit! “That’s not my fault,” I finally got my protest in, and another fist to the face made my head snap back.
“So, you’re telling me, if Glory had her, if you’d never see her again, you wouldn’t feel the least bit guilty? You’re completely guilt free?”
I supposed I wasn’t. Not entirely. But I also didn’t think that was really what this was about. Buffy was the one feeling guilty, that was as clear as daylight or whatever. “I’ve got nothing to do with you treating her badly.”
Big mistake! I saw a dark glimmer in Buffy’s eyes, and expected another punch. Maybe even a serious thrashing. I did not expect the sharp wooden tip of a stake pressed to my chest. Buffy looked properly angry now. I’d just given her a reason to direct all that self-loathing she had going on at me.
Bloody brilliant! Through all my years living with Angelus, had I seriously never learned? Who was I kidding, of course I hadn’t. This was me, after all.
“Now, Buffy, hold on a second. You’re making a mistake here.”
Her eyes narrowed, and her brows pulled into an angry frown, her teeth bared as she snarled at me and damn it, she was beautiful. Maybe I should get her angry more often. If I made it through today, that was.
“In what way is dusting an evil vampire a mistake, Spike?”
She hadn’t done it yet. She was hesitant. She didn’t really want to kill me. Or maybe she just wanted to draw out the moment... but no, Buffy didn’t seem the type to do something like that, did she?
“Look, Buffy, I had nothing to do with Dawn running off. Teenagers do that.”
“You didn’t stop her!”
I supposed she meant that I didn’t stop her from finding out about being the key, but Buffy’s Freudian slip didn’t stay unnoticed. I had never been around to stop Dawn when she ran away tonight. Buffy had been, though.
I looked at her, softly, carefully, knowing that that wouldn’t really make a difference. I tried to make my voice sound as soothing as possible, even though she’d stake me anyway.
“You didn’t.”
And stake me she did, alright. She yelled, as I felt my ribs give and treacherously let the stake enter my chest. I heard myself gasp, like in slow motion, then I felt my scream rattle my chest and elicit more pain. I felt the pressure on the stake let up as Buffy stepped back and I looked up at her as she watched me sink to my knees in agony and horror.
She’d seen me on my knees so many times, it’s only fitting that this is how she’ll see me die, I thought. And I screamed again. And again, there was pain shooting through my chest. And the scream wouldn’t stop. And the pain wouldn’t let up.
And I didn’t watch myself turn to dust from the inside out.
I wasn’t dead.
I wasn’t dead.
Buffy stood over me, her arms crossed and a scowl on her face as I groaned and carefully, gingerly tugged at the stake in my chest. Inch by inch it loosened and came out in the end, stained with blood, my ribs aching, but I wasn’t dead . I felt like sobbing, with shock or relief or both.
I looked at the stake, wondering whether she’d pulled the same stunt as All American had a while back, but no. This was solid wood alright.
She had missed my heart.
She killed so many vamps so fast in a fight, there was no way she’d miss the heart.
She had missed my heart.
She had missed my heart on purpose!
I stared up at her, probably more awed than a person looking at their very-nearly-killer should have had any business being. Then again, wasn’t really a person, was I? I clutched my broken chest with one hand, feeling the blood seep through my t-shirt, and steadied myself on the ground with the other hand.
“ Knew you wouldn’t do it, love,” I wheezed out with a grin and she scowled.
“Keep this up, I might change my mind.”
I let out a chuckle, that turned into a light cough, and Buffy grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet. She’d helped me up! She felt bad about what she did!
“ We’ll find her,” I said, and she nodded.
“Go, change your shirt. We’re meeting at the magic shop.”
“We’ll find her,” I repeated and I thought I saw the slightest hint of a grateful smile before she spun around and left the crypt.
I sagged against the column and sighed as deeply as my smarting chest would let me. Well, smarting might have been a slight understatement, more like torn up and lit on fire, but I knew she hadn’t meant it. She hadn’t killed me after all. She hadn’t killed me. I felt a smile creeping on my face.
Okay, this had gotten bad. This had gotten very bad. The bitch had just staked me, and I was smiling.
I was truly and properly sick.