Chapter 9: Para in My Normal

Packing the scanned newspapers back into the box labeled “November 1904,” Buffy dragged the box from her work area back to the shelves. “Good thing I’m a Slayer,” she muttered. “These suckers are heavy.”

Bored with her work, she wandered out into the newspaper office, headed toward the water cooler. As she sipped her water, her eyes wandered over to the copies of that day’s paper sitting on the table.

“TWO IN ICU COMMIT SUICIDE,” read the front-page headline. Just as Buffy noted the byline, Susan Rodriguez appeared at the water cooler.

“Congratulations,” Buffy told her. “Your article made the front page.” She gestured to the paper.

Susan shrugged. “Sometimes it seems like death is the only thing going on in Sunnydale.” She picked up the paper and glanced at her article. “You read about it? Terrible story.”

When Buffy shook her head, Susan explained, “Two people brought into the hospital two nights ago, both with similar puncture wounds. Completely unrelated, never met each other before. The police couldn’t find any connection between them, other than the same mysterious injury.”

“What kind of injury?” Buffy asked cautiously. “Puncture wounds?”

“Yeah, like a huge skewer or something – maybe wood, or some other organic substance. They never really figured it out. Anyway, both of ’em started exhibiting signs of schizophrenia, almost as soon as they were brought in. The families swear they had no history of mental illness, but not twenty-four hours later, they’d both committed suicide.” Her voice lowered, a sense of horror evident in her tone. “One of them – the girl – hanged herself with her bed sheets. The man got hold of something sharp and slit his wrists.”

“Oh, God,” Buffy breathed. “That’s awful.” The wheels were turning in her mind, processing the clues, trying to fit the pieces together. It had to be some kind of demon – because, hey, this was Sunnydale. The puncture wounds could’ve been stakes – maybe some people with just enough knowledge to get them killed, out trying to defend themselves.

But the demon – or demons – hadn’t killed them. They’d killed themselves. What kind of demon causes schizophrenia and suicide? she wondered.

“Can I – can I take one of these?” she asked, holding up the paper.

Susan nodded. “Sure.”

“Thanks.” Buffy headed back to the archive room, chewing on her lower lip, staring at the paper as though it would give her the answers. It didn’t, just reiterated what Susan had told her, except with fancier language and a snappy newspaper typeface. Shoving the paper in her bag, she resolved to bring it up with the gang later that evening.

*****

On her way home from work, Buffy caught up with Spike cutting through an alley off Main Street. “Hey,” she said, ducking into the shadows between the buildings.

“Slayer,” he greeted her. “Where you off to?”

“Magic Box. You?”

“Same. Thought I’d take another look at some of those books Rupert brought back, make myself useful.”

Buffy linked her arm through his, taking the back way to the shop. “Look at you, all researchy and everything.”

He smirked. “Watcher’s got me calling up languages I didn’t even know I remembered.”

“Do you actually like doing this stuff?”

“It’s all right. Passes the time.” Time spent with you. Spike disengaged his arm from hers in order to brush her hair back off her neck, revealing the tiny, already fading scars he’d left just above Angel’s monstrosity of a bite mark. She shivered as his fingertips grazed her throat. “My way of paying you back. You and Red both.”

“Hey, anytime you wanna… suck my blood, well, you can’t, but…” She trailed off into awkward silence.

Spike smiled. “I get it. If I need anything…”

“Yeah.” They hesitated in front of the magic shop, and he could hear Buffy’s heart pounding in the silence. All of his nerve endings stood at attention at her nearness, begging him to touch her, to pull her into his arms and devour her. But he resisted, and after a few moments of avoiding each other’s glance, he opened the door for her and they went in. Xander was manning the cash register while Willow paged through a spell book at the research table.

“Hey, guys,” said Buffy. “Is Anya around?”

“She’s in the basement,” Xander told her. “What’s up?”

Buffy settled at the table, while Spike grabbed a notebook and perched on the stairs leading to the restricted area. “I wanted her to go over some financial stuff.”

“I thought you got that all that sorted out,” said Willow.

“Not so much.” Buffy glanced around. “Dawn’s not here, is she?”

“She’s in the training room,” said Willow. “I think she’s trying to pester Giles into letting her play with the weapons.”

Buffy nodded, and then lowered her voice. “The thing is, my savings account is close to running out, and I haven’t gotten a child support payment from Dad since I’ve been back. Mom’s insurance money is long gone, and I hate to take anything out of Dawn’s college fund. She’s only got enough for maybe a year at a state school as it is. But things are starting to get pretty tight.” She sighed. “I need a budget, pronto.”

“See, you come from the Peter Parker school of superheroes,” Xander told her.

Spike tilted his head to one side in thought. “I dunno, Slayer. If I were you, I’da taken Bruce Wayne for your model. Fightin’ evil’s more fun when you’re a bazillionaire.”

“Plus he’s got all those cool gadgets,” Xander added. He and Spike looked at each other in surprise, as if contemplating a male bonding moment, but quickly rejected the idea and resumed their usual aloofness.

“Well, for the next three weeks at least, I’m gonna be all Clark Kent-y,” said Buffy, grabbing her bag from the floor and dropping it on the table in front of her.

“Anything exciting going on at the newspaper?” Willow asked.

“Looks like. Found a little ‘para’ in my normal this morning.” Buffy pulled out the newspaper and showed them Susan’s article.

“Whoa, nelly,” said Xander, reading it over. “Better get the G-man.”

“Please tell me you’re not referring to me with that ridiculous name.” Giles stepped out of the training room with Dawn on his heels.

“Uh…” Xander stammered, then handed over the paper without further comment.

“I’m thinking it’s a demon,” Buffy explained. “Know of any demons that make people crazy?”

Giles adjusted his glasses. “Not off the top of my head, no.”

“The insanity thing kinda sounds like Glory, doesn’t it?” Willow suggested. “I mean, obviously… not Glory, with the whole being dead and all… but maybe another kind of brain-sucker?”

“Well, we’ll certainly look into it.” Giles nodded to the witch, who started pulling books off the shelves.

“Actually, Giles, could I talk to you for a minute?” Buffy asked. He nodded, and they retreated into the training room.

Willow handed a book each to Spike and Xander. “Hey, Dawnie? Could you grab the Bristow’s Index? It’s over in the corner.”

Dawn obliged. The shelf was right next to the training room door, and as she reached for the book, she couldn’t help but overhear her sister talking. She paused, one hand on the shelf, listening.

“Giles, I’m afraid we might lose the house.”

“Buffy, if there’s anything I can – if you need money, I could –”

“No, Giles. I’d feel terrible taking your money. I just… I don’t know what to do.” Buffy’s voice wavered a little.

Grabbing the book off the shelf, Dawn hurried back to the research table. Spike glanced up from his book.

“You all right, Bit?”

“Fine.”

She buried her nose in the book. Spike continued to watch her, but with his head cocked to the side, focusing on the conversation in the training room.

*****

“So… patrol tonight?” Buffy asked Spike later, as the gang was packing up after a full night of research. It felt like forever since she’d patrolled with him. Not since the night of the inadvertent kissing and the stupid slayer dream that was hanging over her head. Which she was starting to be in favor of ignoring anyway. The more time she spent with Spike, she was finding it harder and harder to come up with reasons why she shouldn’t. Besides, if she could trust him enough to bite her – and her best friend – without incident, how could she really believe that the dream would ever come true, that he would turn her or she would stake him?

To her disappointment, Spike shook his head. “Can’t, pet. Got a prior engagement.” Buffy’s face started to fall, and he smiled. “I’ll tell Niblet to bring her phone along. Give a call if you need me.”

Buffy looked decidedly relieved that his plans were just with Dawn, and he couldn’t help the joyful feelings that bubbled up inside him at the idea that he’d momentarily made her jealous. She’d been different – really, really different – ever since she’d rescued him, and he almost wondered if he should thank Dru for what she did. Buffy’s care and concern for him following that incident seemed to have blossomed into the feelings she’d been holding back before it had happened.

Without thinking about it, he put one hand at the back of her neck and pulled her toward him, placing a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Don’t worry, pet. Got plans for you, too. Just gotta be patient.”

*****

“This is so cool!” Dawn said, in a not-so-subtle whisper.

“Shh!” Spike shushed her as they crept into the alley behind the Magic Box. He’d watched the Scoobies all go home an hour ago, but he used his vampire hearing and sense of smell to make sure no one was in the shop before breaking in the back door.

He dropped his duffle bag on the training room floor and shrugged out of his coat, revealing a white t-shirt and jeans.

“So, what are you gonna teach me?” Dawn asked, following him inside and flipping on the lights.

“How about knives?” he asked, and her eyes lit up. Spike reached into his duffle bag and pulled out two magic markers, handing one to her.

“Okay, color me confused.” Dawn looked down at the marker in her hand. “Or, I could just color myself.”

“It’s a technique, Niblet,” Spike explained. “Teach you to defend yourself without hurtin’ you. I come at you with the marker, and it’ll leave a mark anyplace I hit you.”

“Oh.” Starting to understand, Dawn added, “That’s kinda cool.” Then, she glanced at her marker, confused again. “Why can’t I have a real knife?”

Spike gave her a look. “’Cause I don’t fancy you accidentally slicing off any important bits. Plenty of time for that, once you’ve had more practice.” He pulled a white t-shirt out of his bag, just like the one he was wearing. “Put this on. It’ll make it easier to see the marks.”

Once she’d pulled the shirt on over her clothes, Dawn took up what she thought was a fighting stance facing Spike, holding the marker out in front of her, ready to attack.

Spike held back his laughter, because he knew she was trying. “Stand like that and you’ll topple as soon as someone comes at you,” he told her. He bent down and corrected her stance, pulling her limbs into a better form like she was a posable doll.

“All right, now,” he said, taking up an opposing stance.

“This feels ridiculous,” Dawn said, her eyes focused on the magic marker Spike was wielding as a weapon.

“You wanted me to teach you, Bit. Now, pretend the marker is a bloody knife, and block it.”

They sparred for a few minutes, until Dawn’s arms and chest were spotted with marker. Spike backed away and held up his hands in truce to end the fight. “All right, Bit. Let’s see how many different ways I just killed you.”

She looked down despondently, holding her arms out to the side.

“See this here?” Spike pointed to a tiny mark on her stomach. “Dot here, or between your ribs, enough to kill you. Plenty of squishy organs to skewer, and bleedin’ from a gut wound is bloody painful. Gotta protect your midsection.” He tilted her chin up and looked at her throat. “Nothing there, good. A slash or stab to your neck, and you’d probably die instantly.”

“Oh, yay,” Dawn said sarcastically. “I suck at this.”

“No, you don’t, pet. Look here.” He pointed to a thin line across his own arm. “Cut like that’s enough to make the limb unusable. Get their weapon arm, and you’re halfway to winning.” He gave her an encouraging slap on the shoulder. “Come on, Niblet. Let’s try again.”

As she charged for him again, Spike felt relieved that his idea seemed to have worked. Not only was he able to help Dawn defend herself a little better, he hoped it was also taking her mind off the money problems that were so obviously plaguing her sister.

If only it were that easy to help Buffy.

*****

Buffy was standing on tiptoe atop a rickety chair, trying to reach a box on the top shelf of the archive room, when her pants started to vibrate.

The sensation startled her, and she toppled off balance, crashing to the floor in a heap, her legs tangled in the tipped-over chair. Grumbling, she fished her cell phone out of her pocket.

“Hello?” she said sourly.

“Ms. Summers?” a cool, professional voice responded. “This is Clyde Baxter, from Bank of America.”

“Oh, uh, hi,” Buffy replied, scrambling to her feet and trying for a friendlier tone this time. “What, uh, what can I do for you?”

“I’m calling regarding your overdue mortgage payment, Ms. Summers. Our records show that this is the second payment in a row you’ve missed.”

“I know, I – I’m working on it,” she stammered, pacing back and forth between the stacks. “It’s just, there was a…” – demon – “…an unexpected emergency and we had to do some home repairs, but I promise I'll get the payment in.”

“Ms. Summers, I’m sure I don’t need to impress upon you the seriousness of the situation.”

“No – no, you don’t. I – I know I need to…”

“Ms. Summers, if this keeps up, I’m afraid we’ll have to foreclose on your loan.”

“Foreclose on my… what – what does that mean?”

“It means you’ll lose your house,” Clyde Baxter replied coldly. Buffy froze. “Ms. Summers, I suggest you come in to discuss your situation before we get to that point. Now, if you’d like to set up an appointment, I can –”

“Yeah, I’ll – I’ll do that,” she whispered, terror in her voice. “I’m sorry, I h-have to go.” She hung up the phone with shaking hands, barely managing to end the call before a panicky sob escaped from her. Sliding back down to the floor, she buried her face in her hands and cried, hidden in the stacks where no one would look for her.