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Chapter 46: What Do I Have To Do?
Author’s Note: Remember when I said some Spike chapters cover multiple Buffy ones? This chapter covers the same time period as Chapters 18, 19, 20, 21, & 22.
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the various writers. Show writers and any other quoted authors have been credited in individual chapters. I'm making no money from this—it is purely in the name of fun.
Betaed by Phuriedae* and Science
*because Spike is English, I’ve made a rather anal retentive attempt to spell things “properly.” My beta (who IS British), has asked that I include the following disclaimer: “Any Britpicking mistakes are my beta's, because she reads too much fic written by you bloody Americans and is used to your bizarre ways by now."
Chapter 46
What Do I Have To Do
16 January 2001
Of course, there's a prophecy.
When isn't there a bloody prophecy? Somewhere in some goddamn Watcher's book is probably an accounting of every single time the pope will ever fart.
Buffy came bouncing into dreamland tonight, all abuzz with news about some Watcher bird who flew all the way in from Merry Ol' to tell them what I've been trying to tell them for the last eight bloody months. 'Least someone out there is on to Louhi. When she told me they were looking for an ice demon it was all I could do not to shout. Finally I get a bleeding break.
Maybe now the bloody Scoobies will hunt the bitch down and take care of her proper and get me out of this sodding contract.
Not sure what this Slayer's Night thing is she's on about, though. Only thing I can think of is maybe it's the night my year and a day are up, which would be… night of May 24th, best I can figure.
Almost five months.
Plenty of time.
And in the meantime, I get to spar with her, and listen to her, and be with her just a little bit longer.
***
18 January 2001 (after midnight)
Ran into the Slayer on patrol tonight, almost jumped in to help, but she had it under control. Had a spot of fun teasing her, but then she had to go and start asking me if I knew anything about the White Witch.
Almost choked myself trying to tell her. God, if I could tear the words out of my throat and hand them to her, I would. Could tell by the look on her face she knew I wasn't telling the whole truth. Couldn't even tell her that I wanted to tell her. I fucking hate spells.
Figured maybe I could listen for her, see what I can dig up that I can tell her. Maybe if it's not connected to the challenge I can open my bloody gob. So, soon as she scampered off to finish her patrol, I went down to Willy's for a drink and some poker. Never know what you'll overhear there.
Was halfway through the second hand when she came in. Vamp ears can hear through brick walls so I got to hear every word she and the weaselly bartender exchanged.
She thinks I'm double crossing her. Must've misunderstood earlier, when I couldn't tell her anything, cause now she's digging for info on me. Trying to find out if I’m working for Louhi, I think. Not bad enough that she can't stand me, if she thinks I'm putting her on…
I'm buggered.
***
18 January 2001
I used to love finding gifts for Dru. Her dark eyes would glitter, and she'd smile, pleased as a kitten. Didn't take much: pretty dresses, fancy jewels, flowers, dolls. Dolls were always Dru's favourite. Little porcelain or china things, with long ringlets and lacy little pinafores. She'd spot one in a shop window and I'd go in and kill the shopkeep so she could have it, but her favourites were always the ones that came wrapped in the arms of a little girl.
Never had a taste for children myself, but Dru had a thing for them. I don't know if it was her demon or some leftover bit of twisted humanity—can see how longing for a child might go that way, after—or if it was something Angelus did to her when he made her loony. There were a lot of things about Dru like that.
Miss Edith, for example. Bloody doll was older than I was. Darla said Dru'd had it since she was turned.
She'd sit in her room and play tea party, or whisper to Miss Edith and all the other little dolls for hours. When the visions got bad, she'd blindfold them. When the voices were too much, she'd gag them. Seemed to help some, though I never sussed out how.
I remember once, god, about twenty years or so ago, I woke up one evening to Dru in a panic. She said Miss Edith told her that the sun could go about in the night, now, and that it was waiting for us. Wouldn't let me leave our lair for days, not until she was so hungry she was about to gnaw my bloody arm off. Entire time I was gone she cried, and it took me hours to calm her down when I got back. She said Miss Edith told her I wanted to meet the sun.
Fucking doll almost bit it then. Still, looking back now, I’ve got to wonder…
Miss Edith was the only thing I snagged of ours on the way out of Sunnyhell, that first time. Knew she'd be furious with me over betraying Angelus to the Slayer, and I wasn't about to compound that by leaving the stupid thing behind. The rest of her dolls were replaceable. Could always get her new ones.
Of course, by the time we got to Brazil, a hundred dolls wouldn't have gotten me in her good graces.
And getting her a gift would still be easier than finding a sodding birthday present for Buffy.
Clothes and jewels she'd just toss back in my face. Even if I had a bleeding receipt she'd think I'd nicked them. Thought about flowers, but… too romantic, maybe. Chocolates, lame, and she'd assume poisoned.
And even I'm not such an idiot as to give the girl a weapon. Not unless I want to be the one she practises on with it.
Angel would probably give her something stupid, like one of those bloody claddagh rings that don't mean shite except 'I'm a ponce who gives cheap jewelry'. Finn would have done something normal and boring… Something any normal girl would have been wetting her panties over.
Buffy's not normal. Never going to be.
The bleeding shame is that she doesn't get that, doesn't understand how special she is. A normal life would be bloody boring.
Get up, take a piss, go to work, take your sodding half hour lunch, finish up your day, go home, eat, go to bed, do it all over again the next day.
Still remember what it was like, being human. Times haven't changed much. The details, yeah—gone are valets and servants, cravats and top hats—but the tedium remains the same. If I hadn't been changed, I'd have probably died a bitter and jaded old fellow, rotting of consumption like me mum or, if I were lucky, from liver failure. God knows if I'd had to put up with those pillocks in my class for the rest of my life I'd have drunk myself into a coma.
Glad I'm not normal. Got to see the world, didn't I? Lived through too many wars to keep track of, seen things most humans only dream of, and got to stay strong and young (manner of speaking) through all of it.
She hasn't lived long enough yet to appreciate it, maybe.
I've got to do my best to see she does.
Could maybe patrol for her, though. Give her a night off? Let her have a spot of normality if it's what she wants. Bet she'd like that, not having to do the work for once. She's freezing her arse off out there every night, anyway. Probably jump at the chance to stay home with her mum and her mates, all warm and cosy.
It's not much of a gift, but it's something she might accept.
And if she tosses it in my face, at least it won't break my nose.
***
19 January 2001 (after midnight)
Should have seen that coming. God, I’m a berk. Never even occurred to me she’d see my offer to patrol as more evidence that I’m playing Judas again.
Things had been going so swimmingly, too.
She likes poetry.
The Slayer likes poetry.
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear the Powers That Be were doing this on purpose. What better way to torture a vamp than to make the most perfect woman in the world his bleeding mortal enemy? It's enough to drive me round the bend.
She looked so damned adorable, standing there in the moonlight, all bundled up with fur round her throat and her nose turning red from the cold. I couldn’t resist flirting a little. Love watching her eyes get all big and dark and confused, her pulse rabbiting away. Had ourselves a sweet little moment there—till she remembered what I was and who she was and my bloody fag singed my fingers.
So goddamn close. Wouldn’t have taken much. Just reach out and wrap an arm around her, pull her against me, kiss her till she’s as breathless as I am. I want to fist my hands in all that golden hair, wrap it around my fingers until they burn. Taste the heat of her mouth, feel her all warm and wriggling beneath me, smelling like sunshine and strawberries and everything a vampire isn’t ever supposed to want.
Buffy’s the first thing in more than a century that all of me is dead set on. William wants her with every drop of blood in his dead heart, my demon wants to curl up at her feet and purr like a sodding house cat, and I… I just want. Need. Need to be near her, hear her voice, argue with her, make her smile, watch her fight, watch her try, help her somehow.
If she’ll let me.
She did let me fight, tonight, when the chips were down. Heard her question that one little demon. I think the White Witch is getting nervous. Afraid we might actually beat this challenge after all. Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t off the Slayer back before I knew I loved her, since Louhi’s little assassins pretty much answer the question of who wins if the Slayer dies before the year is up. Kind of lost it, there for a moment, after I heard that, didn't even realise till she stopped me that I'd demolished that last one's face.
That icy cunt better keep her mitts off my girl.
Of course, then I had to go and tell her I’d patrol for her, for her birthday. That shot everything to hell. If she could only see that I’m on her side. That when I’m with her I don’t want to be a monster anymore. I lost my temper, there at the end, tried to tell her the only way I know how. Figured maybe using someone else’s words would get it through her head.
If I’ve got to dust, let it be from her passion, not her hatred. Give me her fire, let me burn.
Don't know which of us is the bigger idiot: her for refusing to see what I'm practically shoving in her face, or me for hoping for even a second she'd believe a word out of my bloody mouth. What's it gonna take for her to realise I'm not playing her false?
This isn't easy. I'm a vampire, for chrissakes. There's not a moment when I'm not utterly aware of the demon in me, clamouring to get out. Yeah, she calms it somewhat, but it's still there. It still wants blood, still wants death and destruction and chaos. Nature of the beast. Just because I'm old enough and strong enough to be able to leash it… doesn't mean it's easy.
And I get no sodding credit for it. Try to do what's right and I get suspicion; act like I'm supposed to and I get hostility.
Bloody vicious cycle with no end in sight.
If I were smart I'd get the fuck out of town. Go somewhere with no Slayers or demons or witches. Some pissant little town somewhere with a good butcher and …
Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? I can't leave. Not anymore. Probably never could.
Why do I get the feeling that I've been on this bloody road since the day I was born?
Dammit… gotta go dig up that book, what was that poem?
… And then I came to Three ways,
And each was mine to choose;
For all of them were free ways,
To take or to refuse.
“Now which shall be the best way,
East, West or South?” said I . . .
So then I went the West way—
I often wonder why.
… And then I came to Two ways,
And each was luring me:
For both of them were new ways,
And I was fancy free.
“Now which shall be the least way,”
Said I: “to gain my goal?”
And so I took the East way,
With freedom in my soul.
… And then I came to One way,
And to the South it ran;
Then lo! I saw this sun way
Was mine since time began;
My pitiless, my doom way;
No other could there be,
For at its end my tomb lay,
And it was waiting me. . . .
Poor fools! Who think you’re free.
—Robert Service
***
19 January 2001 (noon)
I don't know what's worse: knowing she doesn't trust me, that she thinks I'm a monster when I’ve done nothing lately but try for her… or that she'll let Mr. Gordo at her throat and tremble with desire under his touch when she doesn’t even know who he is, and he’s clearly not chipped. Feel like a bloody Chinese finger trap.
But god, the taste I had of her last night… wrapping her in my arms, feeling her hot little body shivering against me, breathing in the scent of her hair, her desire, not even a whiff of real fear on her. Could have spun her round and taken that sweet little mouth of hers, just like I wanted to… but when I kiss her I want her to know it's me. I want her to kiss Spike… not Mr. G. It was enough though, just to hold her for a moment, just to know that she wanted me right then, as badly as I wanted her.
It's enough. A crumb. Hell, half the sodding cookie.
If she can trust Mr. G, then… there's hope, yeah?
I just… need to change my tactics.
Slayer's never going to trust me, awake. Not yet. Not till she's sure I'm on her side, and that's not gonna happen if I keep trying to win her over. Gotta let her come to me, maybe? Let her think she's in control and knows which end is up. Maybe start charging again, since the Watcher seemed more comfortable with it and she expects it of me anyway. If she thinks I can be bought… fine. Let her buy me.
No skin off my nose if I make a bit of extra dosh.
Then I gotta find a way to let her know about Louhi. If I can fork that information over, maybe that'll show her.
Has to be a way.
Can't tell her about the Ice Bitch. Can write about it here, but the spell keeps her from reading the journal. Could try leaving notes, maybe? Little ones. All over. Word here, and there. Let her and the Watcher try piecing them together? Maybe if it's not a direct message I can get around it.
If that doesn't work… could try looking for a counter spell, maybe? Something to break it? I know Red said that it's a bloody willpower thing, but there's got to be something. Reversal spell, maybe.
Has to be a way.
***
20 January 2001 (after midnight)
Well, that went over about as well as a lead zeppelin. Figured I’d patrol for her anyway, just start earlier while she was still partying with her mates. Good way to work off some steam, right? Dusted four or five fledges and a catoryk demon that was stalking some kids over by the park by the time I’d made it over to her house.
Figured it’d be a lark, following her about, watching her get frustrated when she couldn’t catch me doing something evil.
Only she’d already left by the time I got there.
And the demons were arriving.
Nasty, pointy-toothed buggers from last night, only more of the little bastards. They were getting up the nerve to charge the door when I found them. Started out back in ones and twos, and finished up in the front with a solid half dozen. Don’t know if Louhi told them hands off her bloody merchandise, but none of them wanted to fight me. Just made it all the easier to take them out. Scrappy little things, though. One managed to stab me in the thigh with a knife and I busted my knuckles up on another one’s teeth, but it wasn’t much of a fight, in the end, despite the numbers. I stuck round a bit longer, just to be sure there wasn’t a second wave, then headed home.
Of course I’d run into the Slayer when I got here. Thought about telling her what I’d been up to, but it was far funnier to watch her dig herself a hole, blaming and accusing me of doing evil when I knew she’d get home and find all those dead demons on her lawn. Heart about started again when she picked up this sodding journal, though. I thought for a second she’d broken the spell on her own, but the minute she got distracted there it went again.
She’ll be back, probably tomorrow. Expect I’ll get whatever passes in her world for an apology.
Maybe I’ll try a new plan. Picked up some paper and pasteboard and markers tonight. Figure I can post clues round the crypt, maybe. If it’s big and out of place, maybe she’ll see. If that doesn’t work I’ll head over to the Magic Box tomorrow and put sticky notes with messages all through the Watcher's books.
Something’s got to give here.
***
20 January 2001
One of these days I’m gonna have a plan that goes right, and the whole sodding world is gonna flip on its axis.
Plan poster-board failed spectacularly. You’d think bright green neon signs bigger than her bloody head would get her attention, but no such luck.
Top it off, she came storming in ready to blame me for everything from Krampy Claus to the evil elves from hell that attacked the last two nights. I’m bloody sick and tired of being the scapegoat. You’d think with all I do round here, it’d earn me just a smidgen of respect. But no, something goes wrong it’s got to be Spike’s fault.
Sure as hell is never the Slayer’s or her bloody mates’.
God, only in this twisted town does a bloke have to act evil just to get a shred of respect and trust.
Trusts Mr. Gordo, but she won’t trust me. Bloody hell.
On the other hand, this new Watcher she brought by looks like she might have more than a couple of braincells to rub together. Clearly she’s got taste, if she’s interested enough in me to write a sodding thesis. She’s a bit dry round the edges, but all it’d take is a little flattery and I’d have her wrapped round my finger. Fuck, she was nearly panting for it when she came in. Clearly nobody bothered to teach her that walking into a vampire’s lair smelling of fear and arousal is like skipping to the gallows. Couple of years ago she’d have practically fallen on my fangs. Nothing quite like a willing meal.
She might be off the menu, but there’s no harm in flirting. Wouldn’t have taken much for me to convince her to bend herself over a sarcophagus and beg—not that I would.
Want Buffy too much to bollix up my chances by getting my rocks off on her new Watcher bird.
Felt a bit better, though, watching the Slayer get all flustered and jealous. It gave me a bit of hope. She may not want to want me, but deep down… there’s something. Might just be lust, but…
I read about Slayer Dreams a long time ago, back when I was still hunting my first one. Far as I know, they’re not like Dru’s visions—though they’ve got a bit in common. Know sometime it lets them see into the past, see previous Slayers, events, anything that might help them in their fight. But sometimes they get bits of the future, only all jumbled up or symbolic. Sounds like that’s what Buffy had.
Three Spikes.
Never really thought of it that way. Not, literally. Yeah, I know I natter about William and the demon and all, but they’re just me. But I can see how she might see it that way in a dream.
Thanks to Louhi’s spell I can’t tell her what’s coming, can’t warn her, no matter how hard I try. Can’t convince her I’m on her side.
But looks like someone up there is trying to clue her in. Guess I owe the PTB a favour for that one. Still, not about to give up. If she’s dreaming about it now, means things are getting worse. Means there’s a reason the Powers are stepping in.
I’m not about to let Louhi win.
***
28 January 2001
Poster-board signs—didn’t work. Slayer ignored them.
Sticky notes in watcher’s books—haven’t worked yet.
Leaving messages on answering machines—can’t talk.
Spray paint on windows of magic box? – too much work.
Found book on counterspells, but none of them have any bleeding effect.
I did some research on curses, though. Think maybe that’s what Louhi did. Bloody things can only be removed by the one who did the cursing, or broken by a specific person. I’d lay odds that the only one who can bust the bloody thing is the Slayer.
Buggering fuck.
Puts me right back at square one.
Unless there’s a way to hedge round it. Drop vagueish clues? Not that Buffy does well with vague.
***
[NOTE: The following entry is written in an unsteady hand, some of the letters crudely formed and some words nearly illegible. At one point it looks like the author may have switched hands, though the legibility doesn’t improve much, the penmanship is slightly more old-fashioned]
3 February 2001
Ever tried to write when you can barely see out of both eyes, and half the fingers on your left hand are broken? No? Then sod off if you can’t read my writing.
Fucking Louhi.
Was waiting when I got back from the Magic Box tonight.
“I love your decorations,” she said when I came in. She was fingering some of the posterboards I'd put up round the crypt with her name on them. "You even spelled it correctly. Someone's been doing his research. A literate vampire. Who would have thought such a creature existed?"
Fuck conversation. I was done with the bitch. Grabbed the nearest weapon to hand and went for her head.
Should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.
Plucked the knife out of my hand and tossed it clear across the room. Then she did that invisible bonds thing and pinned me to the wall like a bloody butterfly.
“Naughty thing,” she said. “Killing my minions. Protecting that silly Slayer. I’m really quite cross with you. I think I shall have to punish you. Jack, darling? Would you like to teach my vampire a lesson?”
I don’t know if he’d been there the whole time, or if he melted out of the shadows. Could have been either. Tall, wiry bloke. Blue and white streaked hair sticking up all over, blue eyes, white skin, nasty right hook.
When they were done working me over, she left me where I fell. Both my eyes were so swollen she looked like a white blur.
“Come with me willingly,” she offered. “End this silly game. We both know you can’t possibly beat me.”
“How many times do I have to say ‘sod off, bitch’ before you get the hint? I’ll never be yours, you fucking stupid cunt."
That’s how I got the slashes across my chest. One more shirt for the rag bin, I suppose.
Bloody hell. Gonna take a couple of days for all this to heal. Not sure how I’m gonna get out of sparring with the Slayer till it does. Maybe if I stay up later, she’ll be asleep by the time I show up. If not…
I’ll figure something.
Fuck. Could use some O-neg right about now. Bloody chip.
***
9 February 2001
When I was a lad, ‘bout twelve or so, some of the other boys at school dared me to climb a tree. I was a scrawny thing, small, not very athletic. Wasn’t much of a surprise when I fell out. Had half expected it. Wasn’t expecting the broken arm.
I’ve been hurt a hell of lot worse since then, but I still remember that pain. Don’t remember much after that, not till I came to in the school infirmary. Lucky for me it was a clean break, and splinting it and wrapping it took care of it. Fortunately, it was my right arm, so they let me write left-handed till it healed up, and by then they were so thrilled with how much better my penmanship was they didn’t bother correcting me. Well, not as much.
I spent months with my arm in that bloody sling.
Now if I break something, it’s usually healed in a matter of days. But the pain is still there, just all sped up instead of stretched out over months. I get the joy of all that knitting and healing happening in a matter of hours. Best I can do is park my arse in my chair or in bed and drink myself insensible till the worst of it’s passed.
Least a break is better than a spinal injury. Course, that didn’t take nearly as long to heal as everyone thought it did, but it’s not an experience I’d care to repeat.
Think Louhi must've done something when she went after me this time. It's taking longer than it should for me to heal. Or maybe it's just this swill diet I've been on. Mostly healed up, now. Bones in my legs knit up just fine, ribs are back in place. Whatever was grinding in my hip finally stopped. Just some fading bruises on my fingers and chest and back. Feels like a few on my face, too, but I can’t exactly check, now can I? Starting to get cabin fever, though. I need to get out, tonight.
Thought maybe Buffy’d be by, but no such luck. Not that I could explain why I look like a walking bruise, in any case. Three and a half months left. I can make it awhile longer.
***
10 February 2001
If I’d known all it would take to get Buffy’s interest was to refuse to talk, I’d have done it sooner. God, she dances like a dream… If I dust tonight it’ll be as one happy vamp. Got to dance with the sun for a few moments, didn’t I? And I barely got singed.
Having her there, in my arms, makes it all worth it; the chip, the humiliations, the pain, sodding Louhi and her ridiculous challenges.
Even if I never get another taste of it again, I’ll take that memory with me to hell.
Better yet, I even managed to slip her a clue. Sort of. In the most bloody roundabout way I could. Whether she picks up on it or not… at least I did something, right?
Fuck. Just want to sit here for a bit and burn tonight into my brain, keep it forever.
Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the various writers. Show writers and any other quoted authors have been credited in individual chapters. I'm making no money from this—it is purely in the name of fun.
Betaed by Phuriedae* and Science
*because Spike is English, I’ve made a rather anal retentive attempt to spell things “properly.” My beta (who IS British), has asked that I include the following disclaimer: “Any Britpicking mistakes are my beta's, because she reads too much fic written by you bloody Americans and is used to your bizarre ways by now."
What Do I Have To Do
16 January 2001
Of course, there's a prophecy.
When isn't there a bloody prophecy? Somewhere in some goddamn Watcher's book is probably an accounting of every single time the pope will ever fart.
Buffy came bouncing into dreamland tonight, all abuzz with news about some Watcher bird who flew all the way in from Merry Ol' to tell them what I've been trying to tell them for the last eight bloody months. 'Least someone out there is on to Louhi. When she told me they were looking for an ice demon it was all I could do not to shout. Finally I get a bleeding break.
Maybe now the bloody Scoobies will hunt the bitch down and take care of her proper and get me out of this sodding contract.
Not sure what this Slayer's Night thing is she's on about, though. Only thing I can think of is maybe it's the night my year and a day are up, which would be… night of May 24th, best I can figure.
Almost five months.
Plenty of time.
And in the meantime, I get to spar with her, and listen to her, and be with her just a little bit longer.
18 January 2001 (after midnight)
Ran into the Slayer on patrol tonight, almost jumped in to help, but she had it under control. Had a spot of fun teasing her, but then she had to go and start asking me if I knew anything about the White Witch.
Almost choked myself trying to tell her. God, if I could tear the words out of my throat and hand them to her, I would. Could tell by the look on her face she knew I wasn't telling the whole truth. Couldn't even tell her that I wanted to tell her. I fucking hate spells.
Figured maybe I could listen for her, see what I can dig up that I can tell her. Maybe if it's not connected to the challenge I can open my bloody gob. So, soon as she scampered off to finish her patrol, I went down to Willy's for a drink and some poker. Never know what you'll overhear there.
Was halfway through the second hand when she came in. Vamp ears can hear through brick walls so I got to hear every word she and the weaselly bartender exchanged.
She thinks I'm double crossing her. Must've misunderstood earlier, when I couldn't tell her anything, cause now she's digging for info on me. Trying to find out if I’m working for Louhi, I think. Not bad enough that she can't stand me, if she thinks I'm putting her on…
I'm buggered.
18 January 2001
I used to love finding gifts for Dru. Her dark eyes would glitter, and she'd smile, pleased as a kitten. Didn't take much: pretty dresses, fancy jewels, flowers, dolls. Dolls were always Dru's favourite. Little porcelain or china things, with long ringlets and lacy little pinafores. She'd spot one in a shop window and I'd go in and kill the shopkeep so she could have it, but her favourites were always the ones that came wrapped in the arms of a little girl.
Never had a taste for children myself, but Dru had a thing for them. I don't know if it was her demon or some leftover bit of twisted humanity—can see how longing for a child might go that way, after—or if it was something Angelus did to her when he made her loony. There were a lot of things about Dru like that.
Miss Edith, for example. Bloody doll was older than I was. Darla said Dru'd had it since she was turned.
She'd sit in her room and play tea party, or whisper to Miss Edith and all the other little dolls for hours. When the visions got bad, she'd blindfold them. When the voices were too much, she'd gag them. Seemed to help some, though I never sussed out how.
I remember once, god, about twenty years or so ago, I woke up one evening to Dru in a panic. She said Miss Edith told her that the sun could go about in the night, now, and that it was waiting for us. Wouldn't let me leave our lair for days, not until she was so hungry she was about to gnaw my bloody arm off. Entire time I was gone she cried, and it took me hours to calm her down when I got back. She said Miss Edith told her I wanted to meet the sun.
Fucking doll almost bit it then. Still, looking back now, I’ve got to wonder…
Miss Edith was the only thing I snagged of ours on the way out of Sunnyhell, that first time. Knew she'd be furious with me over betraying Angelus to the Slayer, and I wasn't about to compound that by leaving the stupid thing behind. The rest of her dolls were replaceable. Could always get her new ones.
Of course, by the time we got to Brazil, a hundred dolls wouldn't have gotten me in her good graces.
And getting her a gift would still be easier than finding a sodding birthday present for Buffy.
Clothes and jewels she'd just toss back in my face. Even if I had a bleeding receipt she'd think I'd nicked them. Thought about flowers, but… too romantic, maybe. Chocolates, lame, and she'd assume poisoned.
And even I'm not such an idiot as to give the girl a weapon. Not unless I want to be the one she practises on with it.
Angel would probably give her something stupid, like one of those bloody claddagh rings that don't mean shite except 'I'm a ponce who gives cheap jewelry'. Finn would have done something normal and boring… Something any normal girl would have been wetting her panties over.
Buffy's not normal. Never going to be.
The bleeding shame is that she doesn't get that, doesn't understand how special she is. A normal life would be bloody boring.
Get up, take a piss, go to work, take your sodding half hour lunch, finish up your day, go home, eat, go to bed, do it all over again the next day.
Still remember what it was like, being human. Times haven't changed much. The details, yeah—gone are valets and servants, cravats and top hats—but the tedium remains the same. If I hadn't been changed, I'd have probably died a bitter and jaded old fellow, rotting of consumption like me mum or, if I were lucky, from liver failure. God knows if I'd had to put up with those pillocks in my class for the rest of my life I'd have drunk myself into a coma.
Glad I'm not normal. Got to see the world, didn't I? Lived through too many wars to keep track of, seen things most humans only dream of, and got to stay strong and young (manner of speaking) through all of it.
She hasn't lived long enough yet to appreciate it, maybe.
I've got to do my best to see she does.
Could maybe patrol for her, though. Give her a night off? Let her have a spot of normality if it's what she wants. Bet she'd like that, not having to do the work for once. She's freezing her arse off out there every night, anyway. Probably jump at the chance to stay home with her mum and her mates, all warm and cosy.
It's not much of a gift, but it's something she might accept.
And if she tosses it in my face, at least it won't break my nose.
19 January 2001 (after midnight)
Should have seen that coming. God, I’m a berk. Never even occurred to me she’d see my offer to patrol as more evidence that I’m playing Judas again.
Things had been going so swimmingly, too.
She likes poetry.
The Slayer likes poetry.
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear the Powers That Be were doing this on purpose. What better way to torture a vamp than to make the most perfect woman in the world his bleeding mortal enemy? It's enough to drive me round the bend.
She looked so damned adorable, standing there in the moonlight, all bundled up with fur round her throat and her nose turning red from the cold. I couldn’t resist flirting a little. Love watching her eyes get all big and dark and confused, her pulse rabbiting away. Had ourselves a sweet little moment there—till she remembered what I was and who she was and my bloody fag singed my fingers.
So goddamn close. Wouldn’t have taken much. Just reach out and wrap an arm around her, pull her against me, kiss her till she’s as breathless as I am. I want to fist my hands in all that golden hair, wrap it around my fingers until they burn. Taste the heat of her mouth, feel her all warm and wriggling beneath me, smelling like sunshine and strawberries and everything a vampire isn’t ever supposed to want.
Buffy’s the first thing in more than a century that all of me is dead set on. William wants her with every drop of blood in his dead heart, my demon wants to curl up at her feet and purr like a sodding house cat, and I… I just want. Need. Need to be near her, hear her voice, argue with her, make her smile, watch her fight, watch her try, help her somehow.
If she’ll let me.
She did let me fight, tonight, when the chips were down. Heard her question that one little demon. I think the White Witch is getting nervous. Afraid we might actually beat this challenge after all. Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t off the Slayer back before I knew I loved her, since Louhi’s little assassins pretty much answer the question of who wins if the Slayer dies before the year is up. Kind of lost it, there for a moment, after I heard that, didn't even realise till she stopped me that I'd demolished that last one's face.
That icy cunt better keep her mitts off my girl.
Of course, then I had to go and tell her I’d patrol for her, for her birthday. That shot everything to hell. If she could only see that I’m on her side. That when I’m with her I don’t want to be a monster anymore. I lost my temper, there at the end, tried to tell her the only way I know how. Figured maybe using someone else’s words would get it through her head.
If I’ve got to dust, let it be from her passion, not her hatred. Give me her fire, let me burn.
Don't know which of us is the bigger idiot: her for refusing to see what I'm practically shoving in her face, or me for hoping for even a second she'd believe a word out of my bloody mouth. What's it gonna take for her to realise I'm not playing her false?
This isn't easy. I'm a vampire, for chrissakes. There's not a moment when I'm not utterly aware of the demon in me, clamouring to get out. Yeah, she calms it somewhat, but it's still there. It still wants blood, still wants death and destruction and chaos. Nature of the beast. Just because I'm old enough and strong enough to be able to leash it… doesn't mean it's easy.
And I get no sodding credit for it. Try to do what's right and I get suspicion; act like I'm supposed to and I get hostility.
Bloody vicious cycle with no end in sight.
If I were smart I'd get the fuck out of town. Go somewhere with no Slayers or demons or witches. Some pissant little town somewhere with a good butcher and …
Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? I can't leave. Not anymore. Probably never could.
Why do I get the feeling that I've been on this bloody road since the day I was born?
Dammit… gotta go dig up that book, what was that poem?
… And then I came to Three ways,
And each was mine to choose;
For all of them were free ways,
To take or to refuse.
“Now which shall be the best way,
East, West or South?” said I . . .
So then I went the West way—
I often wonder why.
… And then I came to Two ways,
And each was luring me:
For both of them were new ways,
And I was fancy free.
“Now which shall be the least way,”
Said I: “to gain my goal?”
And so I took the East way,
With freedom in my soul.
… And then I came to One way,
And to the South it ran;
Then lo! I saw this sun way
Was mine since time began;
My pitiless, my doom way;
No other could there be,
For at its end my tomb lay,
And it was waiting me. . . .
Poor fools! Who think you’re free.
—Robert Service
19 January 2001 (noon)
I don't know what's worse: knowing she doesn't trust me, that she thinks I'm a monster when I’ve done nothing lately but try for her… or that she'll let Mr. Gordo at her throat and tremble with desire under his touch when she doesn’t even know who he is, and he’s clearly not chipped. Feel like a bloody Chinese finger trap.
But god, the taste I had of her last night… wrapping her in my arms, feeling her hot little body shivering against me, breathing in the scent of her hair, her desire, not even a whiff of real fear on her. Could have spun her round and taken that sweet little mouth of hers, just like I wanted to… but when I kiss her I want her to know it's me. I want her to kiss Spike… not Mr. G. It was enough though, just to hold her for a moment, just to know that she wanted me right then, as badly as I wanted her.
It's enough. A crumb. Hell, half the sodding cookie.
If she can trust Mr. G, then… there's hope, yeah?
I just… need to change my tactics.
Slayer's never going to trust me, awake. Not yet. Not till she's sure I'm on her side, and that's not gonna happen if I keep trying to win her over. Gotta let her come to me, maybe? Let her think she's in control and knows which end is up. Maybe start charging again, since the Watcher seemed more comfortable with it and she expects it of me anyway. If she thinks I can be bought… fine. Let her buy me.
No skin off my nose if I make a bit of extra dosh.
Then I gotta find a way to let her know about Louhi. If I can fork that information over, maybe that'll show her.
Has to be a way.
Can't tell her about the Ice Bitch. Can write about it here, but the spell keeps her from reading the journal. Could try leaving notes, maybe? Little ones. All over. Word here, and there. Let her and the Watcher try piecing them together? Maybe if it's not a direct message I can get around it.
If that doesn't work… could try looking for a counter spell, maybe? Something to break it? I know Red said that it's a bloody willpower thing, but there's got to be something. Reversal spell, maybe.
Has to be a way.
20 January 2001 (after midnight)
Well, that went over about as well as a lead zeppelin. Figured I’d patrol for her anyway, just start earlier while she was still partying with her mates. Good way to work off some steam, right? Dusted four or five fledges and a catoryk demon that was stalking some kids over by the park by the time I’d made it over to her house.
Figured it’d be a lark, following her about, watching her get frustrated when she couldn’t catch me doing something evil.
Only she’d already left by the time I got there.
And the demons were arriving.
Nasty, pointy-toothed buggers from last night, only more of the little bastards. They were getting up the nerve to charge the door when I found them. Started out back in ones and twos, and finished up in the front with a solid half dozen. Don’t know if Louhi told them hands off her bloody merchandise, but none of them wanted to fight me. Just made it all the easier to take them out. Scrappy little things, though. One managed to stab me in the thigh with a knife and I busted my knuckles up on another one’s teeth, but it wasn’t much of a fight, in the end, despite the numbers. I stuck round a bit longer, just to be sure there wasn’t a second wave, then headed home.
Of course I’d run into the Slayer when I got here. Thought about telling her what I’d been up to, but it was far funnier to watch her dig herself a hole, blaming and accusing me of doing evil when I knew she’d get home and find all those dead demons on her lawn. Heart about started again when she picked up this sodding journal, though. I thought for a second she’d broken the spell on her own, but the minute she got distracted there it went again.
She’ll be back, probably tomorrow. Expect I’ll get whatever passes in her world for an apology.
Maybe I’ll try a new plan. Picked up some paper and pasteboard and markers tonight. Figure I can post clues round the crypt, maybe. If it’s big and out of place, maybe she’ll see. If that doesn’t work I’ll head over to the Magic Box tomorrow and put sticky notes with messages all through the Watcher's books.
Something’s got to give here.
20 January 2001
One of these days I’m gonna have a plan that goes right, and the whole sodding world is gonna flip on its axis.
Plan poster-board failed spectacularly. You’d think bright green neon signs bigger than her bloody head would get her attention, but no such luck.
Top it off, she came storming in ready to blame me for everything from Krampy Claus to the evil elves from hell that attacked the last two nights. I’m bloody sick and tired of being the scapegoat. You’d think with all I do round here, it’d earn me just a smidgen of respect. But no, something goes wrong it’s got to be Spike’s fault.
Sure as hell is never the Slayer’s or her bloody mates’.
God, only in this twisted town does a bloke have to act evil just to get a shred of respect and trust.
Trusts Mr. Gordo, but she won’t trust me. Bloody hell.
On the other hand, this new Watcher she brought by looks like she might have more than a couple of braincells to rub together. Clearly she’s got taste, if she’s interested enough in me to write a sodding thesis. She’s a bit dry round the edges, but all it’d take is a little flattery and I’d have her wrapped round my finger. Fuck, she was nearly panting for it when she came in. Clearly nobody bothered to teach her that walking into a vampire’s lair smelling of fear and arousal is like skipping to the gallows. Couple of years ago she’d have practically fallen on my fangs. Nothing quite like a willing meal.
She might be off the menu, but there’s no harm in flirting. Wouldn’t have taken much for me to convince her to bend herself over a sarcophagus and beg—not that I would.
Want Buffy too much to bollix up my chances by getting my rocks off on her new Watcher bird.
Felt a bit better, though, watching the Slayer get all flustered and jealous. It gave me a bit of hope. She may not want to want me, but deep down… there’s something. Might just be lust, but…
I read about Slayer Dreams a long time ago, back when I was still hunting my first one. Far as I know, they’re not like Dru’s visions—though they’ve got a bit in common. Know sometime it lets them see into the past, see previous Slayers, events, anything that might help them in their fight. But sometimes they get bits of the future, only all jumbled up or symbolic. Sounds like that’s what Buffy had.
Three Spikes.
Never really thought of it that way. Not, literally. Yeah, I know I natter about William and the demon and all, but they’re just me. But I can see how she might see it that way in a dream.
Thanks to Louhi’s spell I can’t tell her what’s coming, can’t warn her, no matter how hard I try. Can’t convince her I’m on her side.
But looks like someone up there is trying to clue her in. Guess I owe the PTB a favour for that one. Still, not about to give up. If she’s dreaming about it now, means things are getting worse. Means there’s a reason the Powers are stepping in.
I’m not about to let Louhi win.
28 January 2001
Poster-board signs—didn’t work. Slayer ignored them.
Sticky notes in watcher’s books—haven’t worked yet.
Leaving messages on answering machines—can’t talk.
Spray paint on windows of magic box? – too much work.
Found book on counterspells, but none of them have any bleeding effect.
I did some research on curses, though. Think maybe that’s what Louhi did. Bloody things can only be removed by the one who did the cursing, or broken by a specific person. I’d lay odds that the only one who can bust the bloody thing is the Slayer.
Buggering fuck.
Puts me right back at square one.
Unless there’s a way to hedge round it. Drop vagueish clues? Not that Buffy does well with vague.
[NOTE: The following entry is written in an unsteady hand, some of the letters crudely formed and some words nearly illegible. At one point it looks like the author may have switched hands, though the legibility doesn’t improve much, the penmanship is slightly more old-fashioned]
3 February 2001
Ever tried to write when you can barely see out of both eyes, and half the fingers on your left hand are broken? No? Then sod off if you can’t read my writing.
Fucking Louhi.
Was waiting when I got back from the Magic Box tonight.
“I love your decorations,” she said when I came in. She was fingering some of the posterboards I'd put up round the crypt with her name on them. "You even spelled it correctly. Someone's been doing his research. A literate vampire. Who would have thought such a creature existed?"
Fuck conversation. I was done with the bitch. Grabbed the nearest weapon to hand and went for her head.
Should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.
Plucked the knife out of my hand and tossed it clear across the room. Then she did that invisible bonds thing and pinned me to the wall like a bloody butterfly.
“Naughty thing,” she said. “Killing my minions. Protecting that silly Slayer. I’m really quite cross with you. I think I shall have to punish you. Jack, darling? Would you like to teach my vampire a lesson?”
I don’t know if he’d been there the whole time, or if he melted out of the shadows. Could have been either. Tall, wiry bloke. Blue and white streaked hair sticking up all over, blue eyes, white skin, nasty right hook.
When they were done working me over, she left me where I fell. Both my eyes were so swollen she looked like a white blur.
“Come with me willingly,” she offered. “End this silly game. We both know you can’t possibly beat me.”
“How many times do I have to say ‘sod off, bitch’ before you get the hint? I’ll never be yours, you fucking stupid cunt."
That’s how I got the slashes across my chest. One more shirt for the rag bin, I suppose.
Bloody hell. Gonna take a couple of days for all this to heal. Not sure how I’m gonna get out of sparring with the Slayer till it does. Maybe if I stay up later, she’ll be asleep by the time I show up. If not…
I’ll figure something.
Fuck. Could use some O-neg right about now. Bloody chip.
9 February 2001
When I was a lad, ‘bout twelve or so, some of the other boys at school dared me to climb a tree. I was a scrawny thing, small, not very athletic. Wasn’t much of a surprise when I fell out. Had half expected it. Wasn’t expecting the broken arm.
I’ve been hurt a hell of lot worse since then, but I still remember that pain. Don’t remember much after that, not till I came to in the school infirmary. Lucky for me it was a clean break, and splinting it and wrapping it took care of it. Fortunately, it was my right arm, so they let me write left-handed till it healed up, and by then they were so thrilled with how much better my penmanship was they didn’t bother correcting me. Well, not as much.
I spent months with my arm in that bloody sling.
Now if I break something, it’s usually healed in a matter of days. But the pain is still there, just all sped up instead of stretched out over months. I get the joy of all that knitting and healing happening in a matter of hours. Best I can do is park my arse in my chair or in bed and drink myself insensible till the worst of it’s passed.
Least a break is better than a spinal injury. Course, that didn’t take nearly as long to heal as everyone thought it did, but it’s not an experience I’d care to repeat.
Think Louhi must've done something when she went after me this time. It's taking longer than it should for me to heal. Or maybe it's just this swill diet I've been on. Mostly healed up, now. Bones in my legs knit up just fine, ribs are back in place. Whatever was grinding in my hip finally stopped. Just some fading bruises on my fingers and chest and back. Feels like a few on my face, too, but I can’t exactly check, now can I? Starting to get cabin fever, though. I need to get out, tonight.
Thought maybe Buffy’d be by, but no such luck. Not that I could explain why I look like a walking bruise, in any case. Three and a half months left. I can make it awhile longer.
10 February 2001
If I’d known all it would take to get Buffy’s interest was to refuse to talk, I’d have done it sooner. God, she dances like a dream… If I dust tonight it’ll be as one happy vamp. Got to dance with the sun for a few moments, didn’t I? And I barely got singed.
Having her there, in my arms, makes it all worth it; the chip, the humiliations, the pain, sodding Louhi and her ridiculous challenges.
Even if I never get another taste of it again, I’ll take that memory with me to hell.
Better yet, I even managed to slip her a clue. Sort of. In the most bloody roundabout way I could. Whether she picks up on it or not… at least I did something, right?
Fuck. Just want to sit here for a bit and burn tonight into my brain, keep it forever.
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