XIII

Los Angeles, 3:15 pm
 
“Ow!”
 
“Sorry!”  Pipa peeled away the bandage from Gina’s back more gently.
 
“It’s alright, Pip. Just get it over with.” Gina was in bed, lying topless on her stomach with her arms under her chin, while Pipa sat beside her, tending to the smaller of her wounds.
 
“How’s it lookin’back there?”
 
“Um…well it’s not as bad as your shoulder. How badly does it hurt?”
 
“Didn’t you just hear me say ‘Ow’?”
 
“Yeah, but ‘Ow’is for stubbed toes, too. Does it hurt more than a stubbed toe?”
 
Gina looked over her shoulder and scowled. Pipa smiled sheepishly.
 
“Okay. I’ll finish redressing this one, and then I’ll get you some more stuff for the pain. What we really need, though, are antibiotics.”
 
Pipa looked to the other wounded Slayer currently sleeping in her bed.  “We should have taken you both to the hospital, you know.”
 
Gina cast her eyes at Sonny, sleeping peacefully on her back –her torso wrapped snuggly in white crepe. The afternoon rays were sneaking past the curtain into the darkened room and throwing beams of gold on to her form. She had the look of an ancient Christian martyr at that moment - bound up as she was in white linen.
 
“You know Sonny.”
 
“And I know you. Since when do you follow Sonny?”
 
“I’m not following her lead here, Pip. I just agree with her on this one. We need to stay together, and we don’t need doctors asking questions about how we got slashed and why we heal so damn fast.”
 
“Yeah well, you’re not healing that fast.”
 
Gina pressed her face into the blankets. Her voice was muffled when she spoke. “So how bad is Sonny?”
 
“Worse. He’s ripped her chest to shreds. She would have died if you hadn’t stopped him.”
 
Gina turned her head towards Pipa again. “Stop him? Pip, I didn’t do shit but cower like a bitch when he a got a swipe in! If it weren’t for Sonny getting to the bike, we’d both be dead.”
 
Pipa gave her an admonishing look. “Then who got Sonny home?”
 
“Whatever.” Gina turned her face away.
 
“Hands off the bastinada!”
 
Both girls turned their heads toward the door at the sound of Stevie’s angry voice in the hallway.
 
“Who’s all here?” Gina asked.
 
“Pretty much everybody. After we got you two put to bed last night, we rallied the rest of the L.A. Slayers. It’s a full house.”
 
“You know, some of those independents don’t get on well with others.”
 
“I know. But they’re loyal when it counts. Anyway, most of us were up by noon, but a few of them had a late night. They must be getting up-” 
 
A knock at the door interrupted her.
 
Not wanting to wake Sonny, Pipa crept to the door and opened it a crack.
 
“What’s up?” she whispered into the opening.
 
“Pipa, open the door. We need to talk.” Carla didn’t wait for an answer or permission, and caused Pipa to stumble back as she pushed herself into the room – Sally, Rachel, Maria, and Stevie behind her.
 
“Who threw the slumber party?”
 
All the residents of Slayer Central turned their gazes towards the weak and hoarse voice of the just wakening Slayer.
 
“Sonny!”
 
“Yeah, Gina. We’ve met before.”
 
“How are y-?”
 
“What hap-“
 
“How big was the Drag-“
 
“Are you badly hu-?”
 
“Where’s Buff-?”
 
“Enough!” Pipa quieted the room with uncharacteristic forcefulness.  “Guys, they’re both badly injured. How about we not attack them with questions.”
 
After a moments pause, Carla spoke again. “How badly are they hurt?”
 
Pipa looked to Gina, then to Sonny. “Pretty badly. And they’re not healing fast enough.”
 
“Put it this way,” Sonny croaked. “I couldn’t fight right now if I wanted to.” She winced as she shifted slightly. “And I don’t want to.”
 
“This is bad,” Rachel whined.
 
“You really have a talent for speaking the fuckin’obvious, Rachel.”
 
“Shut up, Stevie,” Gina chided.
 
Stevie turned around in a huff and took a position against the wall. She always reminded Gina of a two-year-old when she did that, with her frizzy brown curls and her petulant pout.
 
“Well it is bad,” Maria muttered. She plopped down next to Pipa on the edge of the bed. “If that Dragvlok was the first of many, then we’ll need every Slayer here fit and ready for war.”
 
“Yeah, and Sonny and Gina are the best fighters,” Rachel injected.
 
“Says who? Who’s out patrolling Venice Beach every night? Me and Sal. No offense ladies. You’ve got grit, I’ll give you that, but-“
 
“Classy, Carla. Real classy.” Gina frowned at Carla before she burrowed her face in her blankets again. She wasn’t really offended, because Carla wasn’t wrong. The Dragvlok had owned her last night, and she’d almost gotten Sonny killed. 
 
“I’m just say-“
 
“Focus, people.” Pipa commanded. “Look…Maria is right. We need every Slayer fit and ready for battle. So…we need help.”
 
“Angel?” Sally offered.
 
That got Gina’s head up again. “What the fuck for?”
 
“Well, we need all the good guys we can get, right?”
 
“I meant medical help,” Pipa explained.
 
“Clem,” Sonny let out on a breath. “Call Clem.”
 
All the Slayers looked at Pipa, who nodded. “Good idea.”
 
“I don’t know,” Rachel argued. “It’s been a while since we’ve used his guy. Think he’ll still help?”
 
“You really know how to bring the pessimis-“
 
“For fuck’s sake, Stevie!”
 
“I don’t see why not,” Pipa assured. “We’ve always paid him well. And we haven’t killed any of his kind since the last time he helped.”Eyes widening suddenly, Pipa scanned the faces in the darkened room. “Have we?”
 
No one spoke up.
 
“So that’s a ‘no’. Okay, we’ve got a plan. I’ll call Clem and see if he can contact the Caretaker. And then I’ll call Buffy.”
 
“What the fuck for?” Sonny mimicked. “She’s not a doctor.”
 
Pipa frowned. “Sonny, Buffy should know what’s happened. They’ll be more coming, and we’ll need her. She’s the reinforcements, remember?”
 
“Well, they’re not here yet,” Sonny countered. “Plus, they still need to find out where we are.”
 
“It’s hardly a secret,” Stevie retorted.
 
Sonny ignored her. “And the last time I checked, The Immortal One wasn’t a doctor – just a Slayer who never has to worry about getting her ass shredded into hamburger.”
 
“She’s been hurt too, Sonny,” Gina insisted. “She’s been dead for fuck’s sake.”
 
“Uh huh.”
 
“She should know, Sonny,” Pipa gently insisted. “But I’ll call Clem first.”
 
Grabbing her phone from the desk, Pipa slipped out of the room to make the call.
 
“I’m calling Angel,” Carla declared, as she left the room too – Sally following not far behind.
 
“Whatever.” Gina didn’t feel like fighting her.
 
“So who’s downstairs?” Sonny asked.
 
“The Indies,” Gina replied.
 
“All of them?”
 
“Apparently.”
 
“Great. That’s just what we need.”
 
“It kinda is, Sonny.” Gina twisted her head back to Rachel. “What are they doin’down there anyway, makin’all that noise?”
 
Stevie answered instead. “Pissing me off.”
 
Rachel cast sympathetic eyes at Stevie before turning to Gina. “They’re online in the computer room… raiding the fridge… trying out weapons…”
 
“Like I said.”
 
The next moment, Pipa rushed back into the room, slightly breathless.  “He’ll come.”
 
“The Caretaker?” 
 
“Yup.” Pipa smiled at Gina. “Clem said the Caretaker could use the cash, because he lost a ton at poker the other night, and now owes Clem two litters. Clem is getting him to come over now.”
 
Sonny sighed. “Thank god. I feel like shit.”
 
“You and me both, sister.”
 
“Why do we always have to go through Clem anyway?”
 
“Because we’re Slayers, Stevie. If you were a demon, would you want a bunch of demon killers with your number on speed dial? I mean, really. Would you ever feel safe refusing them when they called?”
 
Stevie shrugged.
 
Carla returned the next moment.
 
“Angel’s coming.”
 
“For what?” Gina really didn’t get why they wanted to involve the tortured prick.
 
“To help. Assess. See what he can do.”
 
“What did he say?” Sonny asked.
 
“Not much. Just asked about last night. How many there were. What the Dragvlok said about the others. He’ll be over in half an hour, cause he’s got to go underground.”
 
Gina rolled her eyes. “Pip, give me the damn phone. I’m calling Buffy.”
 
 
*   *   *
 
 
Santa Lucia, 3:45 pm
 
Buffy’s phone lay buzzing on her bedroom dresser, before finally going to voice mail for the third time. 
 
“Unh!”
 
Spike stuck his tongue behind his teeth. “Hurt. Didn’t it love?”
 
“You wish.” Buffy was smiling as she panted through the pain in her side. The two had been sparring full-on for half an hour and were starting to slow down. Languidly, they started circling each other again.
 
Spike threw a left hook, and she ducked it to deliver a body shot.
 
“Fuck!”
 
“Stop relying on your left, Spike.”
 
“I’m n-.”
 
“You are. I can see that punch coming the moment you step with your left.”
 
“That’s cause you know I’m left-handed, you bossy bint,” he let out through gritted teeth.
 
“No. It’s because you’re broadcasting that you are.”
 
Buffy jabbed with her right, but Spike bent back to evade it, then quickly pushed out his right heel to kick her dead in the chest.
 
“Mmph!”
 
Buffy flew backwards into the side wall, sliding down on her butt with a thump.
 
That was her move he’d used. She looked up at him with a sour expression. “That was better.”
 
“You think you’re teaching me here, pet?”
 
She shrugged, still seated on the ground. “Someone’s got to.”
 
Spike dropped his mouth open, half smiling. “Yeah? How many Dragvloks have you bagged, Slayer?”
 
“Twelve,” she deadpanned. “And if you count the ones I killed when we torched their homestead or whatever… I don’t know… maybe twenty.”
 
Spike shut his mouth.
 
“And how many have you killed, Spike?”
 
“That’s not the point.”
 
Buffy laughed.
 
“It’s not! I didn’t just kill the assholes, Slayer.” He was standing over her now, hands on his hips. “I hunted ‘em. Saved more than half a dozen of your chosen chits in the process, too.”
 
“Who asked you to do that?”
 
“Huh?”
 
“Why were you hunting them?”
 
“What do you m-”
 
Buffy blinked at him.
 
He blinked back. “Because… Because they were killing Slayers, pet.” The corners of his mouth started curving into a smile. “I’m the Saviour of Slayers, love. Haven’t you heard?”
 
Buffy’s eyes widened slightly and her lips pursed as if to keep her from laughing. “The who?”
 
He ducked his head.
 
“Wow. That’s… spectacularly lame.”
 
Spike tensed his jaw as he turned his back on her, taking two steps away.
 
“But also sweet,” she added.
 
He stopped. But didn’t turn back.
 
“And… noble,” she finished in earnest.
 
He turned to face her again, but slowly. She was smiling at him shyly, and he couldn’t help but respond in kind. That seemed to conclude their sparring session, so Spike met her in three strides and extended his hand to help her up.
 
The honking of a car horn outside stopped her from taking it.
 
“That for you?”
 
“I don’t know.” Standing up on her own, Buffy patted the dust from her pants and walked towards the stairs. “I’ll be back in a second.”
 
Taking the stairs by twos, she yelled down to him over the banister: “When I come back, I have to show you a few weapons. You won’t believe what I picked up in Kabul!”
 
Spike bit his bottom lip to keep from grinning as he watched her disappear. Sparring with her had been just what he’d needed. A few of her moves were new, sure, but he knew how to dance with her. Knew the rhythm. Knew when to take the lead. And he never had to hold back. She was the Buffy he remembered when they sparred.  Focused. Fast. Brutal. But playful too. But when they weren’t dancing…
 
Spike sighed. This older Buffy… He thought about it for a moment before settling on an answer. There was a hunger about her that he didn’t recognize. For… life, maybe? Experience? Or maybe just a hunger for, more. And it was like a force drawing him in.
 
But there was a calm about her too. A paradoxical inner quiet. She seemed more comfortable now in her own skin, and with her choices. She seemed… well… like a grown-up, he supposed. Add to that, this new generosity she displayed where he was concerned, and she was almost too fuckin’close to his idea of perfection. In the old days, he could always rely on her emotional distance and close-mindedness to keep his adoration in check. To a point, anyway. But forty years seemed to have humbled her and left her more… open.
 
He was doomed.
 
But he was also nosy.
 
She’d said she had no friends in town, so he wondered who could be keeping her.  No point wondering when he could find out, so he went upstairs.
 
The sun was still high in the sky, so he’d have to carefully peek from behind the curtain. Kneeling on the window seat in the living room, he tipped his head to the side to peer with one eye outside towards the driveway.
 
Queenie was back. Behind her was a white van with the words ‘Pimped and Hosed’ painted on the side. Stupid name for a car wash, he thought. He bent his head a bit further to find Buffy. There she was. Talking to the-
 
“Huh.”
 
Shaggy.
 
“Small world,” he muttered to himself. Well, small town, anyway. No doubt he was trying to seduce her back to his place before he’d relinquish the keys.
 
“Good luck, meth mouth,” he grumbled. Spike had seen enough, so he pulled his head back and sat down in the bay window to wait.
 
He was suddenly feeling nervous about the day. He figured they’d patrol for the demon woman, but that wouldn’t be until after sundown. They still had hours to… What? Talk? He wasn’t sure if they’d ever really talked. There’d been brief interludes of confessions shared, he supposed, but not many. There’d always been some dire threat looming around the corner. Or the Whelp. Or she’d realize that they were about to have a real conversation and flee.
 
The prospect of time alone with her to do nothing but talk… well, it filled him with equal parts ecstasy and dread. He’d always wanted her to look beyond the monster, to try to see the real him, but-
 
A memory suddenly assaulted him.
 
“All I ask is that... is that you try to see me.“

 
“I do see you. That's the problem. You're nothing to me, William.”
 
And another.
 
“Say it’s true. Say I do want to. It would never be you. You’re be-“
 
Spike squeezed his eyes shut to will the memories away. Those were different times, he assured himself. Two lifetimes ago. He wasn’t that human prat anymore. He wasn’t even the soulless dick he used to be. He was… Well, he didn’t know what he was.
 
He just didn’t want to be a fool.
 
Spike slumped in his seat and let his head fall back against the curtain.
 
“Fuck!”
 
He heard the sound of broken glass at the same moment he was hit in the chest by a beam of sunlight.
 
“What the hell?!”
 
Scurrying away from the window on the floor, he scanned the darkened living room. The curtain over the backyard window was slightly parted down the middle, but the light no longer pierced the room. Beneath it, broken glass littered the floor. Someone had thrown something inside, and by the smell of things, it was starting to burn…
 
Standing to his full height he spotted the growing flames by the front door.
 
Buffy.
 
“Spike!”
 
Racing back to the front window, he peeked through and found Shaggy gone, and Buffy looking for a way to get inside past the growing blaze at the front door. Giving up, she sprinted around the side of the house.
 
Fuck.
 
Whoever threw the burning – whatever it was – was probably still in the backyard.
 
Racing to the backyard window, he quickly secured the curtain down the middle before peeking through the side…
 
Bugger.
 
Four Dragvloks were approaching the back door, as a fifth was jumping out of the back of a-
 
Bloody hell.
 
The ‘Pimped and Hosed’ van. Fuckin’ Shaggy. He should have known.
 
The fire was starting to spread and Spike now had too many things to consider.
 
“Prioritize, mate,”he muttered to himself. “Weapons.” Racing down the basement stairs, he grabbed the scythe, an axe, and the most beautiful piece of craftsmanship he’d ever seen in a Samurai sword.
 
Sprinting back upstairs, he was surprised to find the living room already filling quickly with smoke and the fire spreading along the full side of the front of the house. The fire would have to wait. Buffy first.
 
“Bloody sunlight,” he grumbled.
 
Peeking through the curtain again, he saw the Dragvloks blocking the back door. So that was the plan. They must have wanted to bring the fight to the back of the house, away from prying eyes.
 
He couldn’t see Buffy from his angle. She must have noticed them too, and was planning her attack from the side of the-
 
“Spike!”
 
“Guh!”
 
Startled, Spike twisted away from the window to find Buffy running towards him, a towel over her mouth.
 
“How-“
 
“Kitchen window. I need weap-”
 
“Here.” Spike handed her the scythe, having dropped the sword and the axe on the ground. “Buffy, I’m sorry pet. I can’t-“
 
“I know. Don’t worry about that.” She had to stop talking to cough. She couldn’t stay in the smoke much longer. “We’ve still got the advantage though.”
 
“How?“
 
“They don’t know you’re in here. I’ll draw a few into the house for you to handle, then head back out through the kitchen window. I’ll take the ones left in the yard.”
 
Spike nodded. “Divide and conquer.”
 
She tried to reply through a fit of coughing. “Exactly.”
 
“Hurry, Slayer. Before you pass out.”
 
Buffy stepped away to call the Dragvloks inside and was stopped by a hand on her arm.
 
“Be careful, pet. Please.”
 
“Spike, I’m immortal. What’s the worse that could happen?” She’d covered her mouth with the towel again, but he knew she was smiling.
 
He furrowed his brow. “Get it done, then.”
 
“Just stay away from the door. The sunlight will come in.”
 
Spike took a few steps back and grabbed the sword from the floor.
 
”Wait.” Buffy turned back to him again. “Do you know their weaknesses?”
 
Spike cocked his head to the side and glared.
 
“Right, of course you do.” With that, Buffy swung the back door wide open. Scythe in hand, she was eerily calm when she spoke. “So which one of you jerks set my house on fire?”
 
“Slayer!”
 
The first Dragvlok raced in, and was immediately felled by Spike crouching low beneath the ray of sunlight to cut off his feet at the ankles. After he’d chopped off the demon’s head with similar ease, Spike let out a cackle.
 
“Think I’ve just found my new favourite weapon, pet!”
 
But when he looked up, Buffy was gone.
 
A second Dragvlok stepped into the narrow entryway and snarled. Spike went to drop him like his brother, but the demon knew the plan and jumped above the swinging sword. Shouting a few words in his language, he was joined by a third, leaving Spike with two Dragvloks to handle. Any other day he wouldn’t be concerned about the numbers, but visibility was getting poorer as the room filled with smoke, Buffy was alone with two Dragvloks of her own, and there was that pesky problem of his being flammable as the fire spread closer to the back of the house.  At least he didn’t need to breathe.
 
Spike shook his head into game face with a roar and dodged several swipes from the pair. He wouldn’t be able to go for the ankles again. Too obvious. This was one of those rare times that he wished he was taller.
 
The Dragvloks advanced at once and tried to force him into the flames, but he quickly cleared the space between them with his sword, and spun several steps beyond them.
 
“Fuck!”
 
He’d spun right into the sunlight.
 
Stepping back, he was only a few feet away from the kitchen. As the fire had yet to reach it, he took the fight there. 
 
Since the Dragvloks couldn’t advance together through the hallway, Spike had only one pair of talons to dodge. The first Dragvlok took a swipe at his face – but Spike swiftly bent back while swinging his sword – sending one claw flying in the air.
 
“Ha!”
 
The demon roared in anger or pain – he didn’t give a fuck which – and swiped mindlessly with his remaining talons. Dodging and blocking the Dragvlok’s strikes, Spike failed to escape one swipe across his neck.
 
He had to end this quickly. There was still the other Dragvlok to kill before he could help Buffy. With the demon’s next strike, Spike dropped low and swept the Dragvlok’s legs out from under him, then made quick work of slicing through both his knees. The demon screeched as it sat up to attack – giving Spike the perfect angle to slice through his neck.
 
Of course, that only made the other Dragvlok angrier. Anxious to get to his girl, Spike raced to the kitchen counter and started hurling things at the Dragvloks head, forcing the overgrown oaf to block his face with his arms. The blender… the toaster… the cutting board… the sugar jar… the food processor… Jesus Christ, she had a lot of appliances, he thought. After throwing the oversized bread-maker at his head, Spike leaped on to the kitchen island and with two centuries of speed and precision, sent the demon’s head flying into the fruit bowl.
 
“Fuck. There go the peaches, you ninny.”
 
Hopping off the island, Spike perked up his ears to ascertain where Buffy had taken the fight. He couldn’t hear any Dragvloks growling or any of her sexy grunts, so he ran back towards the living room where a wall of fire stood blocking his way.
 
Bollocks.
 
“Think, mate, think.” There was no way out of the kitchen but through the window. Into the sun. “Dust by fire or dust by sunlight. Take your bloody pick.”
 
Eyeing the decapitated corpses of the Dragvloks, Spike opted for fire. “Okay, which one of you is lighter…” Spike looked back and forth between the two before rolling his eyes at himself. “Idiot.” With his new favourite toy, Spike gleefully hacked off the arms and legs of the demon nearest the exit and hauled up his torso as a shield. If he could just make it to the bedroom, he could get a blanket and –
 
BEEP BEEP BEEP
 
The next moment Spike saw Queenie crashing through the back porch door, leaving a gaping hole in the side of the house.
 
“Get in!” Buffy had throw open the passenger door, so he’d only have to pass through the sunlight for a second. Shielding his right side from the sun with the corpse, he extended the Samurai sword to her first.
 
“Spike!”
 
“It’s a bloody thing of beauty, Slayer!”
 
Rolling her eyes, Buffy grabbed the sword’s handle and slid it on to the back seat, while Spike dropped the corpse and dived in to the front.  The next thing he knew he was shrouded in darkness.
 
She’d gotten a blanket for him.
 
“Where’d you get-?”
 
“The bedroom. After I killed my two, I crawled through my bedroom window, hoping you were fighting there, away from the fire.”
 
Spike felt Queenie reverse and speed off.
 
“When I didn’t find you in the bedrooms… well… I was hoping you were holding your own in the kitchen.”
 
He couldn’t see her from under the blanket, so he had no idea how she was doing.
 
“Are you hurt, love?”
 
“Not really.”
 
“Does that mean ‘yes’?”
 
She didn’t answer. “What about you?”
 
“Just some scratches, pet. I’ll be alright.” He paused. “Though... I don’t suppose you’ve got any blood in-”
 
“Ow!” Spike rubbed his temple from under the blanket. “What the hell did you do that for?!”
 
“You were in the kitchen, you idiot! I was too busy rushing to the get-away car so I could save you from dusting!”
 
“Okay, okay. Fair enough.” Spike grinned widely under his blanket.  “Thanks, love.”
 
“Yeah.”
 
“That was fun, wasn’t it?”
 
“Yeah. Kinda. Except the part where my house was on fire.”
 
Bugger. “Right. Sorry about that, love. Really, I am.”
 
She didn’t answer.
 
“We headed to L.A. then?”
 
“As fast as Queenie can take us. I just hope the Dragvloks were planning to kill me off first.”
 
 
*   *   *
 
As Buffy’s single-storey cottage slowly went up in flames, her cell phone lay buzzing on her dresser, before going to voice mail for the fourth time.