Slay me, Save me Chapter 14: Gloriana Excelcis Deo
Title: Slay me, Save me
Chapter 14: Gloriana Excelcis Deo
Pairing: Spike, Adam, Angel, Giles & the Sunnydale gang
Rating: NC17 for Spike swearing, torture, blood, character death
Summary: Spike's at the mercy of an egotistical and out of control god, desperately wittering on about Fenella Fielding and Charlie Hawtry to antagonise her most glorious on high, whilst Adam and the Sunnydale crew launch a daring rescue of their favourite vampire with tragic results.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters etc...
Feedback: Always welcome
Type your cut contents here.
Chapter 14: Gloriana: Excelcis Deo
Spike felt for the tooth with his tongue; the slight pressure he exerted causing it to move then fall out. He manoeuvred it to the front of his mouth where he spat it to the floor. It was his best molar, the one he used for crunching candy and hoped the bastard would grow back. He groaned. He knew he was in deep shit, suspended from the ceiling by his arms, toes just touching the ground, and beaten to buggery by a mad bitch who reckoned she was a god. Everything hurt, especially his head where the cunt had dug a finger into his brain, asking over and over if he was the key. It was like Dustan Hoffman in ‘Marathon Man;’ and he expected to see Zell holding a drill and enquiring if it was ‘safe.’
He hoped Adam had legged it back to Giles and the others and wasn’t planning a solo SAS rescue, abseiling down the walls and all that ‘Who Dares Wins’ shite. Wouldn’t put it past the pup. He’d seen his idiot cop play dead and rise as soon as the scabies ridden freaks had bagged up his sorry arse again. Better stall for time until Adam returned with the cavalry. Opening a swollen eye, he saw the god berating her minions.
“Are you angry, most exulted high one?” a particularly revolting gargoyle asked, cowering against the wall.
“Nah,” Spike croaked, “she’s pissed off because she thinks she’s got hens in the skirting board after she found droppings behind the radiator. I’ve told her they’re ‘liquorish all sorts’ ‘cause no one eats the black ones, but…”
“Shut up!” Glory screamed, lunging at the vampire and slapping his face.
Undeterred, Spike continued baiting the exiled god, “You’ve gauged out half my grey stuff, cracked me cheekbone, broken most of my ribs and given me a pair of swollen knackers that mean I’ll never father children; and then bitch slap me like a hormonal cheerleader with the painters in. Now, that’s just rude and vaguely insulting, well, not vaguely insulting; very insulting.”
“Insignificant little swine!” the god spat, punching the vampire in the stomach.
Spike heard the ceiling creak and flakes of plaster fluttered over his face as the force of the blow loosened the overhead hooks supporting his chains. If he could get the bitch seriously worked up, maybe she’d take the roof down and he could scarper in the confusion; before she removed his head, that is.
Turning to her cringing lackeys, Glory slapped three in turn, screaming, “This is what you brought me? This is what you believe could be the key, this pathetic vampire? Why? Why would the monks place the key into something so vile?” She slapped a further two.
Spike would have laughed if he could curl his lips, but they were caked with blood and felt twice their normal size. The bitch was like Moe castigating Curly and Larry and he wouldn’t have been surprised if she poked one in the eyes.
“We are sorry, splendiferous, glowing almighty,” ugly whimpered, “but this creature elicits great affection and protection from The Slayer and her companions. It is allowed excessive liberties, oh fairest of all gods, not bestowed upon others within The Chosen One’s coterie, and has only recently arrived in Sunnydale.”
Eyes ablaze, Glory approached Spike, tossing her mane of strawberry blonde curls and smoothing down her Valentino dress. “Are you the key, vampire? Answer me, you piece of shit!”
“Whoa!” Spike said, “You kiss your pretty boys over there with that mouth, lady, and I use the word ‘lady’ with reservations; I mean, even trailer trash turn their nose up at you, babe.”
Elbowing Spike in the face, the god railed, “Shut up! You dare?”
“Oh, I dare, sweetie,” Spike bragged, “when a cheap strumpet, who looks like she got dressed in the dark, won’t shut the fuck up. And that outfit is so two and a half minutes ago; I swear Melanie Griffiths appeared in the same frock in ‘National Enquirer’s’ ‘freak of the week’ pic. A ginger minge really needs to choose her colours more carefully. And do you still think ‘pink-a-dink’ blusher is in? That went out with Alexis Colby’s shoulder pads.”
“Where’s the key?” Glory demanded, shaking the chains holding the vampire and bringing a knee up to slam into his rib cage. Spike gasped. “If not your miserable self, then tell me where those filthy monks placed it and I might spare your pathetic life.”
“It’s no good,” Spike panted, “no good offering me used twenty dollar notes and trips to Bermuda, ‘cause as you so rightly pointed out, I’m a vampire; can’t go out in the sun without a ‘Hello’ magazine on me head. I’ve got a very sensitive skin condition.”
Shaking her head in amazed frustration, Glory asked again, “Where is the key, vampire?”
Spike winked. “You know, Binkie Beaumont said to me, the other day when we were having cocktails in the crush bar, ‘I’d like to meet that vampire,’ and I said, ‘Darling, you already have!’ Because, you see, he’d only ever seen me dressed as a human, and was totally unaware of the part I was playing. Well, I mean, Judi, Judi Dench, just fell about, and boy, does she know some filthy jokes, and then Margaret Tyzack launched into an impromptu session of ribald sea-shanty ditties and we all joined in, but it was all done in the best possible taste.” He tried to kick a leg in the style of Kenny Everett’s Cupid Stunt, but his limb refused to obey.
Glory spread her arms in exasperation and Spike thought maybe the bitch had dislodged that part of his brain containing any sane thought, but still he babbled.
“And suddenly, Joanie, Joanie Sims, said, ‘Charlie, Charlie…yer Mum’s…yer Mum’s bag!’ See, the old dear had been smoking a fag and dropped it into the handbag that was in her lap; she wasn’t the full quid, right, and the whole reticule was ablaze. And Joanie’s still going, ‘Charlie, yer Mum’s bag…’ and Charlie Hawtrey, who was telling us about this play he’d done and drinking a cup of tea says, ‘Oh, yes,’ and flung the contents of the teacup into the bag and the old dear snapped it shut, and the whole sodden mess was confined. And he continued with the story as if nothing had happened; he was as eccentric on stage as he was off, I always said. And Fenella Fielding, she was another one, equally eccentric; I remember we were in a gig, rehearsing a tight, two-shot and we were told by the director to get in close, do the dialogue really close and so I pushed up against her. She says in that inimitable voice, ‘Oh, why is your bum so hard? Do you leave it out at night?’ It was surreal; can’t top it, can you?”
Addressing her sycophants, Glory shrieked, “He’s insane; completely mad, listen to him, you fools, he knows nothing.”
“I know plenty, your great protuberance,” Spike said. “I know those shoes don’t go with that dress, and it’s a nice dress, by the way, are you hoping to slim into it? Nice legs, an’ all; two more and Liz Taylor will be begging you to come home. And your hair’s in need of a deep steam treatment and a ton of ‘frizz-ease.’ Is it on purpose?”
“Do you know who I am, vampire?” Glory asked.
Blowing a kiss, Spike said, “I never forget a face, honey, but in your case, I’m willing to make an exception.”
“I am Glorificus: god of the earth and air, god of retribution and destruction; my reputation precedes me…”
Sighing, the Spike dismissed the ranting deity. “You’ll never get in ‘Who’s Who’ with that resume, sweetheart, but you might make ‘who the fuck’s that?’ if I give ‘em a glowing paragraph.”
Grabbing Spike’s throat, Glory squeezed.
“Don’t try to kiss me, your mouldy, manky magnificence, I’ll only laugh,” Spike spluttered as Glory’s head smashed into his skull.
***
Adam was impressed by the maturity of the Sunnydale crew; how they turned from college kids and teenagers into battle-sharp warriors. They discussed strategy and tactics, each selecting the weapon of their choice and not hesitating in volunteering to rescue Spike. Everyone, with the exception of Dawn and Anya were armed and ready within half an hour, the two staying behind, one because she was the key and the other in case Spike had managed to escape and returned. Adam selected a huge broadsword from the amazing arsenal and re-loaded his gun in preparation for whatever lay ahead. Buffy iterated that no one was to engage Glory except her and if she failed, they were to get out as fast as possible, hopefully with Spike.
“Don’t worry, Adam,” Giles said, taking the boy’s arm, “we’ll get him back. It’s what we do.”
***
Snapping back to consciousness, Spike saw the angry god pushing her terrified myrmidons around and realised he was still dangling from his chains. He had a bastard of a headache and could see the bitch was close to losing it. “Hey, Anna Nicole Smith, I’m sorry, I do poor Anna Nicole a great injustice; she calls you a pikie, you gonna let me go?”
“Let you go, vampire, you think I will let you go? I’m going to tear you apart,” the god promised.
“Sorry, your arseholiness, which ugly sister are you again? I tire of your…”
“Insect!” Glory shrieked, landing a flying kick dead centre into Spike’s chest, the force cracking the ceiling, freeing his chains, propelling the vampire across the room and smashing through the door.
Dazed and badly injured, but thinking quickly, Spike saw Glory laying into her henchmen and staggered to his feet, managing to get to the elevator and push the button, thanking whoever needed thanking in times like this, that it arrived at his floor and opened almost immediately. He pushed for ground and slumped against the back wall, determined to get out with his sorry hide intact. Stumbling through the doors, he emerged into the lobby and into an almighty battle. Glory’s mobsters were steaming all over the joint and he saw Buffy engaging three of them in hand-to-hand combat; Xander swinging a great big, fuck off axe and Adam slicing through an ugly sod with a sword. In the far corner, Giles was cutting a swathe through a gang with the Trömlite hand weapons he had admired in The Magic Shop, the enhanced speed endowed by the instruments giving the ex. Watcher a distinct advantage. Perched on a balcony, Willow fired bolts from a crossbow into the throng, picking off antagonists at leisure, Tara loading a second bow and passing it to her lover.
“Spike!” someone yelled. It could have been his idiot cop, but his eyes were blurred with blood. Someone held his falling body and, for an instant, he thought it was Angel, but realised it was Adam, supporting his weak form and fending off the fury of numerous assailants. He felt lips brush his shattered cheek and would have returned the kiss if he was able.
“Get Spike out of here,” Giles commanded, and it was Giles who downed the thing about to launch a hatchet at the vampire.
Picking up a discarded broken spear, Glory entered the affray, Adam hurling his sword at the enraged god who parried it with ease, making her way towards the boy and the vampire. Suddenly, there was a flash of purple smoke and a roar like thunder as Willow yelled, “I’ve got her.” All turned to see Glory contained within a translucent bubble, hovering some three feet in the air; the red-haired witch grimacing with the strain of keeping the struggling god captive. “You and me, bitch,” she whispered, “I owe you a rematch.” Bleeding from the nose, Willow gasped, “She’s too powerful; Tara, help me, she’s fighting back, join with me.”
Clasping hands, the witches magic spun the confused deity around and around with increasing speed, the spear in Glory’s hand flying wild as she cursed, powerless to resist the arcane sorcery. The room erupted as her minions sprang into action to free their beloved mistress, Willow and Tara catapulting the screaming god through the ceiling and a mile straight upward, the roof crashing in behind her. Giles ordered everyone out, to lie low if they had to, and to meet up later at The Magic Shop.
Spike was in Adam’s arms when the building collapsed and he urged the boy to get them out of there, just before he blacked out.
***
“They should be here by now,” Buffy said, cleaning a wound to Giles’s forehead. “It’s been over an hour.”
“They’re probably hiding,” Giles said. “If they’re injured, it would make sense not to try and get here until it’s safe.”
They were at The Magic Shop, a battered and bleeding group, but all in one piece.
“It’s what I’d do if I got separated,” Xander said, luxuriating in Anya’s shoulder massage.
“But, I need to know if Spike told Glory about Dawn; if he told her Dawn is the key,” Buffy said.
“He wouldn’t,” Dawn insisted, returning from the basement with a bowl of warm water and more bandages. “I know he wouldn’t, he…”
“You don’t know, Dawn, people can fail you when…”
“Spike would never fail me; you just want him to because you don’t like him,” Dawn said angrily. “You’ve never liked him, especially now, because of Angel.”
Wondering how much her sister knew of Angel and Spike’s relationship, Buffy said gently,” I know he would never want to or mean to; but Glory’s strong, ruthless, she could have found a way to break through Spike’s defenses.”
“No,” Dawn protested, “you want to think the worst because it makes you feel good; justify your dislike of him. And you don’t like him because I do, and because Angel wants him and not you.”
Buffy almost slapped her sister, taking her hand instead. “I’m not angry, Dawn, I’m concerned and scared for you. I don’t believe Spike would betray you unless he had to; because Glory got it out of him somehow.”
“He didn’t leave Tara behind when she needed him, Buffy,” Willow said, taking her lover’s hand. “He risked his life to get her out of ‘Wolfram and Hart,’ when he could have skadoodled the heck out.”
“William the Bloody would not betray those he considers his,” Anya said, surprised at the quizzical looks. “What? It’s a fact, vampires protect their own from others and if there’s killing to be done; Spike will do it himself. He won’t hesitate to rip all our throats out on a whim, but he won’t allow anything else the privilege.”
Xander patted his girlfriend’s hand. “And you were doing so well, sweetheart, best stop there. Buffy, much as it pains me, I’ve seen Spike fight for Cordy and Wesley, even defend me on occasion, so I’m with them on this one.”
“Spike would never leave any of us; would never betray those he cares for,” Dawn said, tears in her eyes.
“Buffy,” Giles said, “think about it rationally, if Spike had indeed ‘betrayed’ Dawn as you said, then don’t you think Glory and her minions would be here now?”
Addressing her friends and sister, Buffy said, “I’m hearing all you say, I am, but I have to be sure. Stay here, all of you, be safe, I’m going to look for them.”
“Where will you go?” Giles asked
“I have an idea where they might be.”
***
Entering Angel’s basement apartment, Buffy saw the silhouette of Spike in the dark. He was sitting forward in a chair, elbows on his knees, head bowed. He didn’t look up, although she knew he must be aware of her presence.
“Come for damage control?” Spike rasped, straining his throat to speak.
“I wanted to make sure you and Adam got out safely,” Buffy said, looking around. “Where’s Adam?”
Indicating with a slight movement of his head, Spike drew Buffy’s attention to the bed in the corner where Adam lay. “He’s cream crackered; can’t hack it like us lot, poor baby’s all in.”
“Do you want to stay here for awhile or do you want to wake Adam and come to the Magic Shop? We’re all a bit worse for wear, but in one piece, and everyone’s asking for you.” She approached the vampire, who looked up, the single candle flickering slashes of light across his badly injured face. His hair was caked with blood; cuts and bruises covered almost every inch of skin, and his mouth was swollen twice normal size. A deep gash in his head still oozed blood and the torn T-shirt showed vivid lacerations across his chest. “Or I could get Giles to come here; you need patching up.”
Spike shrugged. “Just need to rest, Slayer, demon healing an’ all that; but the pup deserves a decent kip for what he’s gone through tonight.”
“Spike,” Buffy started, “I need to know and I hate to have to ask…I mean…”
“Save it, love,” Spike interrupted, “you want to know if I squealed; blabbed about Dawn being the key an’ all that; gave up her life for my pitiful one.” Spike stood up, his body wracked with pain and looked directly at Buffy. “I didn’t say anything; would never do anything to harm the little bit; you on the other hand, I would give up for a quarter of sherbet lemons and a bottle of Ginger.”
Buffy came closer and took Spike’s elbow to steady the swaying vampire. “You didn’t say anything, Spike, you didn’t let slip any hint that Dawn could be the key?”
Shaking off her hand, Spike hissed, “I didn’t say a fucking thing, Slayer. Look at me; I’ve had ten bells of shite kicked outta me for keeping my trap shut.”
“I know Dawn was created by the monks, but all I know is that she’s my sister who I love and would protect for as long as I’ve got breath in my body.”
“And you think I’m any different?” Spike hissed. “She’ll always be that gangly kid who wanted to hang out with me and pissed you off by sneaking out to be with a blood thirsty monster. I know the memories are false, planted in all our heads, but she’s as real to me as she is to you, and because of that, I could never let any harm come to her. You should go.”
“Spike…”
“Just go, Slayer.”
Touching the battered face, Buffy placed a soft kiss over the cracked lips of the surprised vampire. “Thank you, Spike. I haven’t said it, but you’re one of us now and I’ll be forever grateful for what you’ve done. I won’t forget what you did tonight.” She took his hand and squeezed gently. “It’s an insane world and I’m not really sure of my place, but wherever that is, I’ll feel safer with you in it. We might never be friends, but I’d like to try and make a start.” Departing, she turned and said, “I’ll send Giles in the morning to take care of you; both of you.”
***
Spike sat on the bed where his idiot cop lay and stretched his legs out, lifting Adam’s head and cradling him on his thighs. He ran a hand over the stubble of the lad’s crew cut and traced a finger over his brow, over each eye, along the bridge of his nose and circled his mouth.
“Lachrymae hinc, hinc dolor,” he said softly.
He kissed cold lips; a mouth that would never be warm, and looked at the handsome face where vampire tears streaked dirty cheeks. He spat on his hands and wiped the face clean. Lifting the boy’s T-shirt, he touched the wound in Adam’s chest where Glory’s wayward spear had pierced his delicate, human body and thought how brave his boy had been. Impaled by the spear, he had dragged his half-conscious vampire out of the collapsing building and nearly a mile to safety where he had finally given in to his injury and fallen. Even then, he’d managed to get both out of sight and into a deserted underground car park, where he covered his blond Avenger with his own denim jacket and held him in his arms.
When Spike had recovered, the boy was dying and, maddened with fear, the vampire had thought to turn him; drain his blood and force his demon inside, to keep him in this world, keep him from leaving, but was unable to halt the inexorable clutch of death.
His idiot cop had whispered, “Spike…don’t forget me. Dw i’n dy garu di.”
And a piece of the sun that had lightened a demon’s darkness was extinguished forever.
The howl that had followed was that of a wild animal: one who had lost its mate; one whose heart had been shattered and might never be whole again.
Rocking Adam’s lifeless body, it was William the poet who had found the words,
“Heard a carol, mournful, holy, chanted loudly, chanted lowly;
‘Till his blood was frozen slowly, and his eyes were darkened wholly...
He has a lovely face;
God in his mercy, lend him grace.”
***
Next chapter: Memento Mori
Chapter 14: Gloriana Excelcis Deo
Pairing: Spike, Adam, Angel, Giles & the Sunnydale gang
Rating: NC17 for Spike swearing, torture, blood, character death
Summary: Spike's at the mercy of an egotistical and out of control god, desperately wittering on about Fenella Fielding and Charlie Hawtry to antagonise her most glorious on high, whilst Adam and the Sunnydale crew launch a daring rescue of their favourite vampire with tragic results.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters etc...
Feedback: Always welcome
Type your cut contents here.
Chapter 14: Gloriana: Excelcis Deo
Spike felt for the tooth with his tongue; the slight pressure he exerted causing it to move then fall out. He manoeuvred it to the front of his mouth where he spat it to the floor. It was his best molar, the one he used for crunching candy and hoped the bastard would grow back. He groaned. He knew he was in deep shit, suspended from the ceiling by his arms, toes just touching the ground, and beaten to buggery by a mad bitch who reckoned she was a god. Everything hurt, especially his head where the cunt had dug a finger into his brain, asking over and over if he was the key. It was like Dustan Hoffman in ‘Marathon Man;’ and he expected to see Zell holding a drill and enquiring if it was ‘safe.’
He hoped Adam had legged it back to Giles and the others and wasn’t planning a solo SAS rescue, abseiling down the walls and all that ‘Who Dares Wins’ shite. Wouldn’t put it past the pup. He’d seen his idiot cop play dead and rise as soon as the scabies ridden freaks had bagged up his sorry arse again. Better stall for time until Adam returned with the cavalry. Opening a swollen eye, he saw the god berating her minions.
“Are you angry, most exulted high one?” a particularly revolting gargoyle asked, cowering against the wall.
“Nah,” Spike croaked, “she’s pissed off because she thinks she’s got hens in the skirting board after she found droppings behind the radiator. I’ve told her they’re ‘liquorish all sorts’ ‘cause no one eats the black ones, but…”
“Shut up!” Glory screamed, lunging at the vampire and slapping his face.
Undeterred, Spike continued baiting the exiled god, “You’ve gauged out half my grey stuff, cracked me cheekbone, broken most of my ribs and given me a pair of swollen knackers that mean I’ll never father children; and then bitch slap me like a hormonal cheerleader with the painters in. Now, that’s just rude and vaguely insulting, well, not vaguely insulting; very insulting.”
“Insignificant little swine!” the god spat, punching the vampire in the stomach.
Spike heard the ceiling creak and flakes of plaster fluttered over his face as the force of the blow loosened the overhead hooks supporting his chains. If he could get the bitch seriously worked up, maybe she’d take the roof down and he could scarper in the confusion; before she removed his head, that is.
Turning to her cringing lackeys, Glory slapped three in turn, screaming, “This is what you brought me? This is what you believe could be the key, this pathetic vampire? Why? Why would the monks place the key into something so vile?” She slapped a further two.
Spike would have laughed if he could curl his lips, but they were caked with blood and felt twice their normal size. The bitch was like Moe castigating Curly and Larry and he wouldn’t have been surprised if she poked one in the eyes.
“We are sorry, splendiferous, glowing almighty,” ugly whimpered, “but this creature elicits great affection and protection from The Slayer and her companions. It is allowed excessive liberties, oh fairest of all gods, not bestowed upon others within The Chosen One’s coterie, and has only recently arrived in Sunnydale.”
Eyes ablaze, Glory approached Spike, tossing her mane of strawberry blonde curls and smoothing down her Valentino dress. “Are you the key, vampire? Answer me, you piece of shit!”
“Whoa!” Spike said, “You kiss your pretty boys over there with that mouth, lady, and I use the word ‘lady’ with reservations; I mean, even trailer trash turn their nose up at you, babe.”
Elbowing Spike in the face, the god railed, “Shut up! You dare?”
“Oh, I dare, sweetie,” Spike bragged, “when a cheap strumpet, who looks like she got dressed in the dark, won’t shut the fuck up. And that outfit is so two and a half minutes ago; I swear Melanie Griffiths appeared in the same frock in ‘National Enquirer’s’ ‘freak of the week’ pic. A ginger minge really needs to choose her colours more carefully. And do you still think ‘pink-a-dink’ blusher is in? That went out with Alexis Colby’s shoulder pads.”
“Where’s the key?” Glory demanded, shaking the chains holding the vampire and bringing a knee up to slam into his rib cage. Spike gasped. “If not your miserable self, then tell me where those filthy monks placed it and I might spare your pathetic life.”
“It’s no good,” Spike panted, “no good offering me used twenty dollar notes and trips to Bermuda, ‘cause as you so rightly pointed out, I’m a vampire; can’t go out in the sun without a ‘Hello’ magazine on me head. I’ve got a very sensitive skin condition.”
Shaking her head in amazed frustration, Glory asked again, “Where is the key, vampire?”
Spike winked. “You know, Binkie Beaumont said to me, the other day when we were having cocktails in the crush bar, ‘I’d like to meet that vampire,’ and I said, ‘Darling, you already have!’ Because, you see, he’d only ever seen me dressed as a human, and was totally unaware of the part I was playing. Well, I mean, Judi, Judi Dench, just fell about, and boy, does she know some filthy jokes, and then Margaret Tyzack launched into an impromptu session of ribald sea-shanty ditties and we all joined in, but it was all done in the best possible taste.” He tried to kick a leg in the style of Kenny Everett’s Cupid Stunt, but his limb refused to obey.
Glory spread her arms in exasperation and Spike thought maybe the bitch had dislodged that part of his brain containing any sane thought, but still he babbled.
“And suddenly, Joanie, Joanie Sims, said, ‘Charlie, Charlie…yer Mum’s…yer Mum’s bag!’ See, the old dear had been smoking a fag and dropped it into the handbag that was in her lap; she wasn’t the full quid, right, and the whole reticule was ablaze. And Joanie’s still going, ‘Charlie, yer Mum’s bag…’ and Charlie Hawtrey, who was telling us about this play he’d done and drinking a cup of tea says, ‘Oh, yes,’ and flung the contents of the teacup into the bag and the old dear snapped it shut, and the whole sodden mess was confined. And he continued with the story as if nothing had happened; he was as eccentric on stage as he was off, I always said. And Fenella Fielding, she was another one, equally eccentric; I remember we were in a gig, rehearsing a tight, two-shot and we were told by the director to get in close, do the dialogue really close and so I pushed up against her. She says in that inimitable voice, ‘Oh, why is your bum so hard? Do you leave it out at night?’ It was surreal; can’t top it, can you?”
Addressing her sycophants, Glory shrieked, “He’s insane; completely mad, listen to him, you fools, he knows nothing.”
“I know plenty, your great protuberance,” Spike said. “I know those shoes don’t go with that dress, and it’s a nice dress, by the way, are you hoping to slim into it? Nice legs, an’ all; two more and Liz Taylor will be begging you to come home. And your hair’s in need of a deep steam treatment and a ton of ‘frizz-ease.’ Is it on purpose?”
“Do you know who I am, vampire?” Glory asked.
Blowing a kiss, Spike said, “I never forget a face, honey, but in your case, I’m willing to make an exception.”
“I am Glorificus: god of the earth and air, god of retribution and destruction; my reputation precedes me…”
Sighing, the Spike dismissed the ranting deity. “You’ll never get in ‘Who’s Who’ with that resume, sweetheart, but you might make ‘who the fuck’s that?’ if I give ‘em a glowing paragraph.”
Grabbing Spike’s throat, Glory squeezed.
“Don’t try to kiss me, your mouldy, manky magnificence, I’ll only laugh,” Spike spluttered as Glory’s head smashed into his skull.
***
Adam was impressed by the maturity of the Sunnydale crew; how they turned from college kids and teenagers into battle-sharp warriors. They discussed strategy and tactics, each selecting the weapon of their choice and not hesitating in volunteering to rescue Spike. Everyone, with the exception of Dawn and Anya were armed and ready within half an hour, the two staying behind, one because she was the key and the other in case Spike had managed to escape and returned. Adam selected a huge broadsword from the amazing arsenal and re-loaded his gun in preparation for whatever lay ahead. Buffy iterated that no one was to engage Glory except her and if she failed, they were to get out as fast as possible, hopefully with Spike.
“Don’t worry, Adam,” Giles said, taking the boy’s arm, “we’ll get him back. It’s what we do.”
***
Snapping back to consciousness, Spike saw the angry god pushing her terrified myrmidons around and realised he was still dangling from his chains. He had a bastard of a headache and could see the bitch was close to losing it. “Hey, Anna Nicole Smith, I’m sorry, I do poor Anna Nicole a great injustice; she calls you a pikie, you gonna let me go?”
“Let you go, vampire, you think I will let you go? I’m going to tear you apart,” the god promised.
“Sorry, your arseholiness, which ugly sister are you again? I tire of your…”
“Insect!” Glory shrieked, landing a flying kick dead centre into Spike’s chest, the force cracking the ceiling, freeing his chains, propelling the vampire across the room and smashing through the door.
Dazed and badly injured, but thinking quickly, Spike saw Glory laying into her henchmen and staggered to his feet, managing to get to the elevator and push the button, thanking whoever needed thanking in times like this, that it arrived at his floor and opened almost immediately. He pushed for ground and slumped against the back wall, determined to get out with his sorry hide intact. Stumbling through the doors, he emerged into the lobby and into an almighty battle. Glory’s mobsters were steaming all over the joint and he saw Buffy engaging three of them in hand-to-hand combat; Xander swinging a great big, fuck off axe and Adam slicing through an ugly sod with a sword. In the far corner, Giles was cutting a swathe through a gang with the Trömlite hand weapons he had admired in The Magic Shop, the enhanced speed endowed by the instruments giving the ex. Watcher a distinct advantage. Perched on a balcony, Willow fired bolts from a crossbow into the throng, picking off antagonists at leisure, Tara loading a second bow and passing it to her lover.
“Spike!” someone yelled. It could have been his idiot cop, but his eyes were blurred with blood. Someone held his falling body and, for an instant, he thought it was Angel, but realised it was Adam, supporting his weak form and fending off the fury of numerous assailants. He felt lips brush his shattered cheek and would have returned the kiss if he was able.
“Get Spike out of here,” Giles commanded, and it was Giles who downed the thing about to launch a hatchet at the vampire.
Picking up a discarded broken spear, Glory entered the affray, Adam hurling his sword at the enraged god who parried it with ease, making her way towards the boy and the vampire. Suddenly, there was a flash of purple smoke and a roar like thunder as Willow yelled, “I’ve got her.” All turned to see Glory contained within a translucent bubble, hovering some three feet in the air; the red-haired witch grimacing with the strain of keeping the struggling god captive. “You and me, bitch,” she whispered, “I owe you a rematch.” Bleeding from the nose, Willow gasped, “She’s too powerful; Tara, help me, she’s fighting back, join with me.”
Clasping hands, the witches magic spun the confused deity around and around with increasing speed, the spear in Glory’s hand flying wild as she cursed, powerless to resist the arcane sorcery. The room erupted as her minions sprang into action to free their beloved mistress, Willow and Tara catapulting the screaming god through the ceiling and a mile straight upward, the roof crashing in behind her. Giles ordered everyone out, to lie low if they had to, and to meet up later at The Magic Shop.
Spike was in Adam’s arms when the building collapsed and he urged the boy to get them out of there, just before he blacked out.
***
“They should be here by now,” Buffy said, cleaning a wound to Giles’s forehead. “It’s been over an hour.”
“They’re probably hiding,” Giles said. “If they’re injured, it would make sense not to try and get here until it’s safe.”
They were at The Magic Shop, a battered and bleeding group, but all in one piece.
“It’s what I’d do if I got separated,” Xander said, luxuriating in Anya’s shoulder massage.
“But, I need to know if Spike told Glory about Dawn; if he told her Dawn is the key,” Buffy said.
“He wouldn’t,” Dawn insisted, returning from the basement with a bowl of warm water and more bandages. “I know he wouldn’t, he…”
“You don’t know, Dawn, people can fail you when…”
“Spike would never fail me; you just want him to because you don’t like him,” Dawn said angrily. “You’ve never liked him, especially now, because of Angel.”
Wondering how much her sister knew of Angel and Spike’s relationship, Buffy said gently,” I know he would never want to or mean to; but Glory’s strong, ruthless, she could have found a way to break through Spike’s defenses.”
“No,” Dawn protested, “you want to think the worst because it makes you feel good; justify your dislike of him. And you don’t like him because I do, and because Angel wants him and not you.”
Buffy almost slapped her sister, taking her hand instead. “I’m not angry, Dawn, I’m concerned and scared for you. I don’t believe Spike would betray you unless he had to; because Glory got it out of him somehow.”
“He didn’t leave Tara behind when she needed him, Buffy,” Willow said, taking her lover’s hand. “He risked his life to get her out of ‘Wolfram and Hart,’ when he could have skadoodled the heck out.”
“William the Bloody would not betray those he considers his,” Anya said, surprised at the quizzical looks. “What? It’s a fact, vampires protect their own from others and if there’s killing to be done; Spike will do it himself. He won’t hesitate to rip all our throats out on a whim, but he won’t allow anything else the privilege.”
Xander patted his girlfriend’s hand. “And you were doing so well, sweetheart, best stop there. Buffy, much as it pains me, I’ve seen Spike fight for Cordy and Wesley, even defend me on occasion, so I’m with them on this one.”
“Spike would never leave any of us; would never betray those he cares for,” Dawn said, tears in her eyes.
“Buffy,” Giles said, “think about it rationally, if Spike had indeed ‘betrayed’ Dawn as you said, then don’t you think Glory and her minions would be here now?”
Addressing her friends and sister, Buffy said, “I’m hearing all you say, I am, but I have to be sure. Stay here, all of you, be safe, I’m going to look for them.”
“Where will you go?” Giles asked
“I have an idea where they might be.”
***
Entering Angel’s basement apartment, Buffy saw the silhouette of Spike in the dark. He was sitting forward in a chair, elbows on his knees, head bowed. He didn’t look up, although she knew he must be aware of her presence.
“Come for damage control?” Spike rasped, straining his throat to speak.
“I wanted to make sure you and Adam got out safely,” Buffy said, looking around. “Where’s Adam?”
Indicating with a slight movement of his head, Spike drew Buffy’s attention to the bed in the corner where Adam lay. “He’s cream crackered; can’t hack it like us lot, poor baby’s all in.”
“Do you want to stay here for awhile or do you want to wake Adam and come to the Magic Shop? We’re all a bit worse for wear, but in one piece, and everyone’s asking for you.” She approached the vampire, who looked up, the single candle flickering slashes of light across his badly injured face. His hair was caked with blood; cuts and bruises covered almost every inch of skin, and his mouth was swollen twice normal size. A deep gash in his head still oozed blood and the torn T-shirt showed vivid lacerations across his chest. “Or I could get Giles to come here; you need patching up.”
Spike shrugged. “Just need to rest, Slayer, demon healing an’ all that; but the pup deserves a decent kip for what he’s gone through tonight.”
“Spike,” Buffy started, “I need to know and I hate to have to ask…I mean…”
“Save it, love,” Spike interrupted, “you want to know if I squealed; blabbed about Dawn being the key an’ all that; gave up her life for my pitiful one.” Spike stood up, his body wracked with pain and looked directly at Buffy. “I didn’t say anything; would never do anything to harm the little bit; you on the other hand, I would give up for a quarter of sherbet lemons and a bottle of Ginger.”
Buffy came closer and took Spike’s elbow to steady the swaying vampire. “You didn’t say anything, Spike, you didn’t let slip any hint that Dawn could be the key?”
Shaking off her hand, Spike hissed, “I didn’t say a fucking thing, Slayer. Look at me; I’ve had ten bells of shite kicked outta me for keeping my trap shut.”
“I know Dawn was created by the monks, but all I know is that she’s my sister who I love and would protect for as long as I’ve got breath in my body.”
“And you think I’m any different?” Spike hissed. “She’ll always be that gangly kid who wanted to hang out with me and pissed you off by sneaking out to be with a blood thirsty monster. I know the memories are false, planted in all our heads, but she’s as real to me as she is to you, and because of that, I could never let any harm come to her. You should go.”
“Spike…”
“Just go, Slayer.”
Touching the battered face, Buffy placed a soft kiss over the cracked lips of the surprised vampire. “Thank you, Spike. I haven’t said it, but you’re one of us now and I’ll be forever grateful for what you’ve done. I won’t forget what you did tonight.” She took his hand and squeezed gently. “It’s an insane world and I’m not really sure of my place, but wherever that is, I’ll feel safer with you in it. We might never be friends, but I’d like to try and make a start.” Departing, she turned and said, “I’ll send Giles in the morning to take care of you; both of you.”
***
Spike sat on the bed where his idiot cop lay and stretched his legs out, lifting Adam’s head and cradling him on his thighs. He ran a hand over the stubble of the lad’s crew cut and traced a finger over his brow, over each eye, along the bridge of his nose and circled his mouth.
“Lachrymae hinc, hinc dolor,” he said softly.
He kissed cold lips; a mouth that would never be warm, and looked at the handsome face where vampire tears streaked dirty cheeks. He spat on his hands and wiped the face clean. Lifting the boy’s T-shirt, he touched the wound in Adam’s chest where Glory’s wayward spear had pierced his delicate, human body and thought how brave his boy had been. Impaled by the spear, he had dragged his half-conscious vampire out of the collapsing building and nearly a mile to safety where he had finally given in to his injury and fallen. Even then, he’d managed to get both out of sight and into a deserted underground car park, where he covered his blond Avenger with his own denim jacket and held him in his arms.
When Spike had recovered, the boy was dying and, maddened with fear, the vampire had thought to turn him; drain his blood and force his demon inside, to keep him in this world, keep him from leaving, but was unable to halt the inexorable clutch of death.
His idiot cop had whispered, “Spike…don’t forget me. Dw i’n dy garu di.”
And a piece of the sun that had lightened a demon’s darkness was extinguished forever.
The howl that had followed was that of a wild animal: one who had lost its mate; one whose heart had been shattered and might never be whole again.
Rocking Adam’s lifeless body, it was William the poet who had found the words,
“Heard a carol, mournful, holy, chanted loudly, chanted lowly;
‘Till his blood was frozen slowly, and his eyes were darkened wholly...
He has a lovely face;
God in his mercy, lend him grace.”
***
Next chapter: Memento Mori