Disclaimer: If I owned the characters, I'd be able to afford to write all the time. But I don't, Joss Whedon does, so I can't quit my day job.

Thanks again, reviewers. Truly you are the wind beneath my wings (giggle) 


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Chapter 17
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Buffy and Spike walked with superhuman swiftness as they headed for Sycamore Terrace. They prowled around to the alley and found the black van was still there. Scanning the alley, Spike found what he was looking for – a tree in a neighboring yard whose branches hung over the parked van. “There,” he said, pointing. “Up you get.”
 
Buffy eyed the branches above and jumped, amazed at how easy it was. Spike had a little more of a challenge, being shorter, but eventually they both were perched on a large branch overhanging the alley. Unfortunately, the alley also contained a rather rank dumpster, the stench of which assailed Buffy’s vampire nose. “Yuck,” Buffy whispered. “That dumpster reeks.”
 
“Yeah. Probably even worse with my senses,” Spike sympathized. “Lucky you.”
 
“Thanks for nothing,” she muttered. They lapsed back into silence and waited. They had decided that ambushing them inside the apartment was probably a bad plan. Between the fact that Buffy couldn’t go in uninvited, and the fact that they had no idea what other weapons or tricks they had in there, it was probably best to catch them on the way to their next target. After an interminable wait, at the end of which they were both ready to scream with impatience, they finally saw the back door of the building open. Grousing the whole time, Jonathan, Warren, and Andrew loaded a strange looking gun and a whole bunch of empty boxes into the back of the van before climbing in. They slammed the door and started the engine.
 
“Let’s go!” whispered Spike. They hung from the branch and landed as lightly as they could on the top of the van. Swiftly and silently, they lay flat and held on to the roof rack for dear life. The van moved off, giving them the confidence that they had not been heard. Given the constant petty arguing that Buffy could hear, even over the road noise, she wasn’t surprised. The ride was short, but harrowing as they clung to the top of the van, but their unnatural strength served them well. As the van slowed about a block away from the large pawn shop, they jumped off and dashed for cover in some nearby bushes. They worked their way through the brush to a point near enough to hear the Trio as they opened the back of the van and started getting their gear together.
 
“Ok, the cameras are on the inside. They might cover the door, but if we go to the east window we should be able to get a clear shot without being seen.” Warren said in a low voice.
 
“Can I carry the ray this time?” Andrew whined.
 
“No, I’ve got it,” Warren insisted. “Jonathan, time to get your disguise on.”
 
“Next time Andrew gets to be the girl,” Jonathan muttered. He closed his eyes and started murmuring in a low tone. Buffy and Spike’s eyes widened as Jonathan seemed to shimmer, then transformed in an instant into a dark haired woman. “This sucks. I can’t walk in these stupid heels,” he grumbled.
 
“Just shut up and get ready to go,” Warren said as Andrew snickered. The three of them moved off toward the store.
 
“What now?” Spike hissed.
 
“We go around the other side,” Buffy said. “See if we can tell how many people are inside.”
 
“Vamp out,” Spike suggested. “Enhances the senses. And it will scare the piss out of those little bastards when we grab them.”
 
Buffy concentrated for a moment and the demon sprang forth. Spike was right – everything was suddenly sharper, louder, and more crisp somehow. They ran, keeping to the shadows until they had come around the opposite side of the building. They flattened themselves against the wall, listening intently. “There seems to be only one person inside,” she reported.
 
They crept closer until they could see in a side window. They could see the clerk, flipping through a magazine behind a counter. They heard the bell over the door jingle and although they couldn’t see who it was immediately, they knew it had to be Jonathan. “You come up on this side,” Spike whispered. “If they try to get away, do whatever you can without triggering the chip. I’ll go around the other side and try to take out these two guys.”
 
“Got it. Be careful,” she warned.
 
Spike kissed her quickly. “You too.” He took off around the building in a flash of Slayer speed, and was soon just around the corner from Andrew and Warren, who were still arguing.
 
“Why do you always get to shoot the gun? I helped design it too!” Andrew said, trying to wrestle the gun out of Warren’s hands.
 
“Cut it out, already!” Warren snarled. “We’re going to miss our chance you moron!”
 
Spike took a deep breath and stepped around the corner. “Good evening,” he said. Andrew turned, his hands still on the gun, and Spike hit him with an uppercut that sent him flying into the wall of the store. Andrew went down like a load of bricks, leaving Warren scrambling to try to get the gun into position. Spike tackled him, punching him again and again, then wrestling the gun out of his hands. “Here, catch!” he called. Buffy was already running to join him and caught the gun as he tossed it to her. The momentary distraction was enough for Warren to reach into his shirt pocket.
 
“Astrangulo!” Warren cried and flung a handful of what felt like thread into Spike’s face.
 
“What the…” Spike began, but suddenly the threads grew in size, turning into ropes that twined themselves around Spike’s neck, slowly and inexorably tightening. He gasped and scrabbled at the magical noose, and Warren shoved him off with contempt.
 
“Not such hot shit now, are you Slayer?” he spat. Turning to Buffy he said, “And what are you going to do? Can’t do shit to me with that chip in your head can you?”
 
Buffy grasped the ray gun but had no idea what to do. If I erase his memory and we can’t figure this gun out, what then? she thought despairingly. Spike fell to his knees, desperately clawing at his neck, his eyes bulging in utter panic. Making her decision in that split second, Buffy grabbed the gun in both hands, set her teeth against the pain, and swung it like a baseball bat directly at Warren’s temple. Her head exploded in agony. She was blinded, completely blinded by the pain, and she felt a warmth running down her face that she realized was blood pouring from her nose. She stumbled toward Spike, feeling for him, trying to do whatever she could to help him.
 
Dying. I’m dying again. Spike’s mind flashed toward a scene from his youth. He had fallen from a boat while rowing with his friends, and he had come up underneath it and panicked. In the long minutes it took him to untangle himself from his clothes and find the surface he had felt this same terror. Can’t breathe can’t breathe God help me. He pulled and tugged at the rope but it continued that slow, torturous tightening and his vision started to go dark.
 
The door of the shop opened then and Jonathan came out to see what was going on. He had started on his ‘Could I use your phone?’ technique when he had heard the scuffle outside. He stood there dumbstruck, taking in Andrew and Warren lying on the ground unconscious, what looked like Buffy gasping as she strangled, and what seemed to be an extremely pissed off, bleeding vampire in full game face lunging toward him.
 
Buffy saw the hazy female form in front of her and grabbed him by the throat, setting off new bolts of agony. “Save hi..her. Now. Or I will erase your brain right now and drain your neck right here, you son of bitch.” Jonathan’s eyes grew wide and his legs trembled. He looked at Buffy, at his unconscious friends, at Spike, unsure of what move to make. Buffy growled and held the amnesia ray to his head, fighting desperately to remain conscious.
 
That did it. Jonathan wanted no part of the amnesia ray – that thing was way too unpredictable. “Prohibere!” he shouted, the disguise falling away as he did so.
 
Instantly the ropes around Spike’s neck vanished. Spike fell forward on his hands and knees, breath whistling painfully through his bruised windpipe. Fuck that hurts, he thought. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so utterly helpless. Dying once was quite enough for him, and he didn’t relish nearly experiencing it a second time. He slowly got his breathing under control and staggered to his feet. He lifted his eyes to behold Buffy, barely keeping her feet, covering Jonathan with the ray gun as he cowered before her.
 
“You… okay?” she said, trying to come up with words through the red haze covering her vision.
 
“I’ll live,” Spike said. He turned to Jonathan, “Not so sure about you,” he snarled. Then he hauled off and caught Jonathan with a hook to the jaw, followed by a series of jabs, sending Jonathan crashing to the floor next to the others.
 
“Thanks,” Buffy muttered. Then she too collapsed in a heap.
 
“Buffy!” Spike cried, wide eyed at the blood still gushing from her nose. He bent down and fished a bandana out of the duster’s pockets, trying to staunch the flow.
 
“What’s going on?” The proprietor of the shop had gone for his shotgun, and had come out to see what the noise was about. “What the hell? Are you okay miss?” He had no idea what to make of the three unconscious men, and he all but screamed when he saw the unconscious vampire. “What the fuck?”
 
Spike had to get Buffy out of there. Silently asking her forgiveness, he put his hand to his throat and said, “One of them tried… tried to…”
 
“Come inside, miss, we’ll call the police,” the man said. He turned to hold the door open for what he presumed was a damsel in distress.
 
“Sorry mate. I really am,” Spike said as he reached around and grabbed the shotgun with lighting speed, then gave the man a solid whack across the back of the head. The pawn shop employee joined the rapidly growing pile of unconscious bodies. Starting to become a problem around here. He dragged the man and his shotgun behind the counter and left, turning off the lights and closing the door, hoping that would keep the man safe until he woke up. He went to get the van, relieved to find the keys in the ignition, and pulled it up to the door. He found a bag of cable ties in the back, and used it to bind the Trio hand and foot before dumping them unceremoniously into the van and slamming the door.
 
He knelt at Buffy’s side once more. His own face looked terrible, a pale and blood-soaked monster mask. “Buffy?” he said, shaking her gently. He got no response, and he grew more and more concerned. “Buffy? Come on love. Time to wake up now.” She lay there completely unmoving, looking every inch the corpse she currently was. He put his arms under her and lifted, struggling to manage the much larger form, dead weight and unresisting. He bit his lip and strained under the effort, finding breathing still rather painful as he struggled to get her to the van. Finally he managed to get her into the passenger’s seat and buckled her in, where she slumped bonelessly in the seat belt.
 
He ran around and started the car, making his way back toward the Trio’s lair. Andrew started to wake up and moaned, “What’s going on? Where are we?”
 
“You’d better keep your goddamn mouth shut,” he snarled. “Or you’re going to think I was gentle earlier.” Andrew’s eyes grew wide and frightened, and he wisely said nothing more.
 
When they reached the apartment Spike parked in the alley. He came around back and grabbed Andrew by the throat. “Keys,” he growled.
 
“They’re in my front pocket,” Andrew squeaked. Spike fished them out, then yanked Andrew upright.
 
“I am going to ask you this only once,” Spike asked. “How does that ray work? Can you undo what it does?”
 
Andrew made a show of not talking, but Spike twisted his arms up behind his back until Andrew cried, “Yes! You just have to reverse the crystals!”
 
“You’re coming upstairs with me, and you are giving me every scrap of information you have about this thing,” Spike ordered, putting the gun to Andrew’s temple. “And if you don’t I will use this on you. Now I’m going to cut your feet loose. Don’t do anything stupid.”
 
Andrew had all but wet himself at this point, and so Spike had no trouble whatsoever getting him up to the apartment. “The plans are on the desk,” Andrew said in a shaky voice. Spike rifled through the desk and found what he wanted.
 
“Now sit down,” Spike snarled. Andrew complied, and grabbing a roll of duct tape, Spike all but mummified the terrified boy. Spike took the papers and the gun and left him, coming back a few minutes later with a conscious and equally terrified Jonathan, who was similarly immobilized. Another trip took longer, but eventually Spike returned, dragging an unconscious Warren who was bleeding from a fresh wound to his other temple. “This asshole tried to sell you two out. Offered me all sorts of money and whatnot if I let you take the blame and let him go. Just thought you might want to know.” Warren was also bound, slumped in a chair. Spike stepped back to survey his handiwork, then picked up the phone and dialed 911. He gave the address of the apartment, and told the police that they would find the robbers who had hit the electronic depot there. Then he hung up the phone and said, “Have fun, gentlemen,” before walking out the door.
 
He climbed back in the van to find Buffy still unmoving. “Come on, love. You’ve got to wake up. Buffy, please…” he stroked her face, trying to get some sort of response, but his efforts went nowhere. He started the van and drove it as fast as he dared back to Revello Drive. He pulled up in front of the house and hefted Buffy out of the car once more, lugging her up the walk.
 
The door flew open and Tara and Dawn came rushing out, having been keeping vigil by the window. “What happened?” Dawn cried.
 
“Tara, help me!” Spike said. “Grab her feet, help me get her onto the couch.” Together the three of them managed to settle the pale form of Spike’s body onto the sofa.”
 
“Oh my God, is she alright? What happened?” Dawn repeated, frantic with worry.
 
“She had to attack one of them to save me,” Spike explained. Tara brought him a wet washcloth and some towels and he started mopping up the blood and cleaning her face. “I think… she must have burst a blood vessel when the chip fired. I’ve had a couple of nosebleeds, but never anything like this.” He winced as he thought of the agony she must have experienced.
 
“Did you get the gun? Did you stop them?” Tara asked.
 
“Their ray gun is in the front seat of the car,” Spike said. “Go get it but don’t mess with it, for the love of God.” Tara ran and got the strange weapon, storing it temporarily in the weapons chest.
 
“Spike, why won’t she wake up?” Dawn whimpered, stroking the curly blond hair of the unconscious vampire form.
 
“Dunno, Bit,” he said softly. “Just going to take a little time to heal I think. Need to get some blood in her.”
 
“I’ll get some,” Tara offered. She bustled into the kitchen to get it while Spike continued his ministrations.
 
Dawn looked up at Spike and noticed the bruising peeking out from beneath the turtleneck he wore. She reached up and pulled it down slightly, gasping at the obvious rope marks. “Jesus, Spike, what happened to you?”
 
“That Warren asshole did some mojo, damn near strangled me,” he growled. “That’s why Buffy had to deck him.” He shivered a bit at the memory, in spite of himself. He had done without the need for oxygen for a lifetime or two or three, thank you very much. To be dependent on it all of a sudden and then to have said oxygen supply cut off had been terrifying. Gonna be seeing that in my nightmares for a while.
 
Tara came back in with the steaming mug, and passed it to Spike. He slipped an arm under Buffy and pulled her up to a more upright position. “Drink up, pet. Need you well,” he said. But even though her nostrils flared a little at the smell of the blood, there was otherwise no response. After a few minutes he asked Tara for a spoon, and poured small spoonfuls directly down her throat. She swallowed reflexively, and he managed to get about half the mug into her before it was clear that no more could be accomplished at the moment.
 
“Is it enough? Will it help?” Dawn asked.
 
“Need to just wait and see, Nibblet,” Spike said. “Some injuries take time to heal.” He thought back to his broken back. He had spent months in a wheelchair waiting for that to heal. What if it really is brain damage? he wondered. That could take years to heal. He had seen vamps get major head injuries, but usually some other vamp finished them off, or left them behind, since lugging a corpse around tended to cramp one’s style. He truly had no idea how long it could possibly take, and the thought frightened him more than he would admit. Swallowing his fears he said, “Let’s get her upstairs to her room, make her more comfortable. Then we can figure out what to do next.” The three of them managed to wrestle the pale body upstairs and into Buffy’s bed. Spike got the duster off her, and took the t-shirt off as well, seeing that it was utterly soaked with blood. They covered her with the quilt and left her there, going back downstairs.
 
“What’s the plan now?” Tara asked. She could see the apprehension in Spike’s whole demeanor, and it worried her.
 
“Let’s take a look at that ray gun,” Spike decided. They put the gun on the dining table and took a look at it. Three screws seemed to hold the housing on, and Dawn fetched a screwdriver so they could see the inside. When Spike removed the cover, they found two crystals inside, surrounded by an intimidating tangle of wires. One was a large diamond, the other a peculiar red and orange gem that seemed to flicker as they looked at it. “The little twerp told me that to reverse the effect you needed to switch the crystals around.”
 
“How?” Tara asked. “There’s so many connections in there.”
 
“Nibblet, there’s a pile of papers next to the driver’s seat of that van. Can you grab it for me?” Dawn ran out, found the pile of plans and drawings from the Trio’s apartment, and spread it out on the table next to the disassembled gun. The three of them scrutinized the drawings and jottings for the better part of an hour, growing more frustrated by the moment. “Can’t make sense of this at all!” he yelled at last, completely angry with himself.
 
“You’re a guy!” Dawn said. “Aren’t guys supposed to be good with mechanical things? You didn’t have shop in high school or something?”
 
“Didn’t have shop in my time,” Spike replied. “Studied Latin and Greek and Rhetoric and all that rot. Mechanical stuff was never my forte, and it’s not like electronics existed.”
 
“Willow could fix it,” Tara said quietly. The others looked at her. “I know you’re a bit mad at her right now, but she could fix it. She’s g… good at these things.”
 
“Can we trust her?” Dawn asked. “She hasn’t been the most helpful person on the planet lately.”
 
Spike sighed and looked at the incomprehensible pile of drawings. “I hate to admit it, but Glinda’s right. Red could probably figure this out in thirty minutes.”
 
“But what about your body, Spike?” Dawn persisted. “How are you going to switch back if your body’s all messed up?”
 
“We’ll worry about that later. First, we need to get this gun switched around.” He turned to Tara. “Where would Willow go to spend the night?”
 
Tara thought. “Probably her parents’ house. But I don’t know if you should call her at this hour. If you wake up her folks it’s going to be more questions that we don’t want to deal with.”
 
Spike ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “Fine. We wait until morning. Let’s get some sleep. I’ll stay with Buffy, see if I can’t get some more blood into her.”
 
“Can I… can I be with her too?” Dawn pleaded.
 
Spike sadly shook his head. “Bit, if she comes too and isn’t... herself, I don’t know what would happen. Still a demon in there, even with your sis, and if there’s any… any damage, to the brain, she might not be able to control it.” Spike’s voice faltered as the realization sunk in about how screwed they both were. Either I leave the woman I love trapped in a body that may be damaged beyond repair, or I doom myself to that body and end up leaving her anyhow. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
 
Tears welled in Dawn’s eyes. “We’ve got to fix this!” she cried.
 
“Shh, Dawnie,” Tara said. She wrapped Dawn up in a comforting hug. “It’ll be okay. But get some rest now, alright?”
 
“Okay,” Dawn sniffled. “Will you let me know if she wakes up?”
 
“Of course I will,” Spike said. “Mind Tara now, and get some rest. That’s an order.” Dawn nodded and closed her bedroom door behind her. “You might as well get some sleep too, Glinda. Not much you can do here right now.”
 
“Do you think you should restrain her in some way?” Tara asked. “In case she wakes up all…”
 
Spike ran his hands through his hair. “Suppose I should,” he said reluctantly. “I’ll take care of it.”
 
“I’m right across the hall if you need me,” Tara said. Spike nodded and went back into Buffy’s room, shutting the door behind him.
 
Spike found it very strange to be looking at himself, lying inert and unmoving. His face was so pale from the blood loss that it seemed almost translucent, and his ridges and fangs looked completely at odds with the blond curls peppering his forehead. As a child his mother and his aunts used to constantly fawn over his curls, to the point where he did everything he could to tame them, to avoid the teasing from the other boys. But here it was so incongruous – the boyish curls and pale Greek statue skin with the gargoyle’s face. He pulled a chair up next to the bed and sat down, stroking the ridged face, speaking low and soft. “Buffy, love. You still in there? Need you to hang on, yeah? Bit needs you . I need you. We’re going to get you out of there, I promise you. Won’t leave you trapped in darkness. I promise.” He fought back tears as his words went unheeded.
 
With a heavy heart he got up and rummaged in Buffy’s closet until he found some belts. He firmly tied her to the bed frame, hating to heap more abuse on her, but fearing for the safety of the others if he couldn’t contain her. He padded down to the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with more blood that he tried to coax into her. This time he managed to get about three quarters of the blood down her throat, and he thought she may have actually twitched a bit toward the end, but he wasn’t sure. He put the blood down and lay down beside her, resting his head on the cold, unmoving chest. “I love you, Slayer. Don’t know if you can hear me, but it’s true all the same.” He found himself wishing he had a soul to sell in exchange for an answer. 

TBC