Chapter Eight: Aftermath


“Do you have any idea what you just did?!?!” Spike shouted, slamming the door once they had entered the room. His jaw tensed and twitched as he gazed down at her, his fists clenching and unclenching as he tried to maintain some sort of composure. But to her credit Buffy remained unfazed by his anger, her eyes meeting his own, refusing to be intimidated.

Buffy didn’t really know what had come over her that night. The now infamous stake that she had constructed out of a broken chair leg was still in her hand. Weeks before, when Spike had left her to her own devices, she had made it. Left with nothing but her fear and paranoia, she had made it for the moment when she was to escape. And as Spike appeared to be less and less interested in her, she had figured it important to have something to protect herself with when the day came that he wouldn’t return and she’d be left with a house full of bloodthirsty vampires. She had brought it with her to the Bronze for her own protection, but she hadn’t thought she was actually going to use it.

All she knew was that something inside of her had snapped when she saw that vampire about to attack Spike. It had all been instinct; her brain didn’t even have time to process what was happening.

But why? Why would she endanger herself for Spike, especially since he had made her life for the past month a living hell? Even if he hadn’t expected it, Spike could have taken on that vampire all on his own. So what had compelled her to stake that vamp? She knew that if in the off chance Spike got killed, she would be done for. Technically, and ironically, Spike was her only lifeline. With him gone, she could kiss this mortal coil goodbye. Maybe that was what had made her pull that stake out from under her cloak. She couldn’t ignore the nagging thought at the back of her mind, the one that was considering that she had done what she did from genuine concern about Spike’s wellbeing.

So what did that mean? She wasn’t sure, but she knew that Spike couldn’t know the truth. He couldn’t find out that she had done it for him. He had to think she had dusted that fledge out of anger and not out of the fear that she would never see his stupid smug face again.

Letting out an exhausted sigh, Buffy removed her cloak, briefly breaking eye contact with Spike, who still seemed like he was going to burst a vessel. “Yeah, I do,” she stated calmly. “I just spent my night helping you reclaim you Leader of the Pack status.”

She watched as he relaxed at her response. “And I’m grateful. Really, luv, I am. But you know there’s gonna be some hell to pay for what you did,” Spike replied, easing out if his duster.

‘Great!’ Buffy thought. ‘The whole night had been for nothing.’

Spike turned from placing his leather coat on his chair to find Buffy with a self-deprecating look etched on her face. He knew ranting at her wasn’t fair. He was actually angrier at himself for letting things get so out of control. “Oh well, sod it! Guess ya made things kinda interestin’,” Spike admitted, smirking at her.

“What...?”

“Said you shouldn’t worry ‘bout it, luv.”

“So, I didn’t completely screw everything up?” Buffy asked, hopeful her little performance as ‘slave-girl’ hadn’t been completely pointless.

“Actually, luv, ‘m thinkin’ vamps ‘round here are gonna start mindin’ what they say ‘bout you,” Spike commented, sitting down on the bed’s edge.

“Why? Cuz I killed one of them?” Buffy asked, still not completely convinced.

“You’d be surprised what kind of power that holds. It’s no joke when the hunters become the hunted, pet,” Spike rebutted.

“So, let me get this straight,” she paused as she collected her thoughts. “I might have actually helped you out by staking that vamp?” Buffy inquired, slightly bewildered.

“Possibly. Hopefully Damon won’t make too much of it. But other than him, yeah, all the minions know not to mess with me or what’s mine.”

Buffy contemplated while she worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Once she seemed to have finally accepted what he was telling her, her eyes narrowed in irritation. “So, what the hell were you getting all mad about?”

“Dunno. Felt like the moment called for it,” Spike shrugged, knowing that his hollering had been more reflex than based on actual anger.

“Huh,” Buffy replied, clearly unimpressed. “I’m gonna go and get out of these clothes.”

Spike groaned loudly when he heard the bathroom door close behind Buffy. As excruciating as it was just to see her in those clothes, the idea of her slipping out of them was a million times worse.

Since the whole staking incident, Spike hadn’t had much time to reflect on the past night’s events. Namely the mind blowing shag he had had with Buffy in front of a crowd of lust crazed vampires. God, it had been one of the most erotic experiences he’d had in the longest time. Marking her as his for all to see; claiming her, figuratively speaking anyway, in front of everyone. And as surprising as it was, he had sensed that she had enjoyed it as well.

He knew the only reason she jumped him was because he had been playing with his mark on her neck. She wouldn’t have otherwise. ‘She probably regrets it,’ he reflected, knowing she didn’t feel the same way about him.

‘'Probly blew my chances.’ It hadn’t occurred to him until now that fucking Buffy was most likely gonna make her despise him again. All the progress they had made, opening up to one another and possibly becoming friends, was shot to hell. Who was he kidding? They’d never be friends.

Finding himself in a sour disposition, Spike just wanted to get the hell out of the room. He needed to give himself some time away from Buffy and all the unnatural emotions she managed to bring out of him.

Sliding off the bed, Spike made his way to retrieve his duster when Buffy suddenly emerged from the bathroom. Decked in a tank top and pajama bottoms, face scrubbed and hair loosely tied back at the nape of her neck, she had never looked more beautiful. The urge to flee vanished when he finally noticed the bruises on Buffy’s cheek.

“You’re hurt luv,” Spike said, making his way over to her.

“You can thank Mr. Dusty for that,” Buffy quipped, a little thrown at Spike’s concern.

Taking her chin gently in his hand, he slowly turned her head from side to side, inspecting her injuries. ‘She must be gettin’ tired of this,’ he thought. ‘Always bein’ hurt; it always bein’ my fault.’

Stroking her cheek lightly, he gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’ll get some ice for that.” Making his way to the room’s small fridge, he pulled out an icepack from the tiny freezer compartment. Wrapping it up in a shirt he found on the bed, he carefully placed it against her swelling face. Slowly guiding Buffy to the couch, Spike helped her get comfortable, throwing a blanket over her so the room’s constant chill wouldn’t affect her. All his hovering made Buffy brake out into a fit of laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Spike asked, unsure what had brought on the unexpected giggle fest.

“I think you should change your name to Florence Nightingale,” she joked, trying to stifle a giggle.

“Is right that?” Spike asked, appearing not in the least bit amused but inwardly ecstatic that Buffy wasn’t angry at him for anything that had happened that night.

“Uh huh. I think you’d look cute in a nurse’s cap,” she added with a snort.

“Your sense of humor still eludes me, pet,” Spike replied, sitting down next to her. “Where’d you learn you could kill a vamp with a stake, luv?” he asked out of the blue.

Buffy sobered up at his question, knowing where the question was leading. “It’s like common knowledge, Spike. It’s in all those cheesy horror movies. You know, the ones with the castle and the angry mob with torches. My cross hurt you, so I figured the stake thing was probably true too.”

“So what you mean to say is that from your expert knowledge in bad horror cinema you deduced that stakes are weapon of choice against vamps?” he asked, receiving a nod in response. “And,” he continued. “That on your first try, you managed to stake a vamp in the exact right spot? Well that’s just impressive,” he said, unmistakably skeptical.

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yeah, it is.”

Slumping into the couch, Buffy cast her eyes to her lap where she began to fiddle with the drawstrings of her cotton pants. “I kinda practiced when you weren’t around much. Just in case I needed to protect myself,” she explained, still finding her clothing incredibly fascinating.

“Who were you practicing for, pet?” Spike asked, his voice stern.

Buffy didn’t answer. Her refusal to even look him in the eye told him enough. “It was for me, wasn’t it?”

Buffy nodded. “It was before you told me that you…you know and you left me here all alone. I figured you’d just get bored with me and leave me,” Buffy shivered at the thought. “But, I gotta admit, things are different now.”

“Because I love you,” Spike said, thinking it was what she meant.

“There’s that,” Buffy admitted, a little uncomfortable at how easily he could say those three words to her. “But also because I don’t think you’d leave me. Call it love or possessiveness, but I don’t think you’d ever leave me.”

Spike gave her a confused look. ‘Of course I’d never leave you, you crazy bint.’ God he should leave her, run from her screaming like a madman for all the grief she’d caused him. But he couldn’t. He might play the role of Master vampire but it was Buffy who had him the short hairs. He was completely and utterly love’s bitch.

“But the stake. You brought it tonight and kept it from me. Speaking of which, where the hell did you manage to hide it anyway?” he asked, not remembering feeling anything on her person during their coupling.

“I put it in my boot,” she explained. “And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you wigging out.”

“Course I’d ‘wig out’. What compelled you to bring it?”

“To protect myself,” Buffy replied.

“That’s bollocks. I was there. You didn’t need it,” Spike snapped back.

Lowering the icepack from her face, making sure Spike clearly saw her cheek, Buffy calmly said, “You weren’t always there, Spike.”

The vampire flinched at her remark, knowing it was nothing but the truth. He had lowered his guard down for a second and by some stroke of bad luck, Buffy had managed to nearly get throttled by some pissant fledge.

“Plus,” Buffy added as she watched Spike’s countenance diminish. “If I hadn’t brought the stake, I wouldn’t have been able to dust the sorry asshole and make everyone afraid of me.”

“Guess you’re right,” Spike mumbled, still feeling like the world’s biggest pillock for nearly getting Buffy killed. Like many other things that had happened that night, it hadn’t hit him until now the severity of what could have occurred. Buffy could have died. He hated how he hadn’t even noticed Buffy’s face until a few minutes ago. He hated how he had almost shrugged off the whole incident and was just about to leave because she made him feel guilty. And he really hated how he couldn’t get the image of Buffy dead in his arms out of his head.

Placing the pack back on her face, Buffy watched as Spike retreated into himself, an upset expression marring his usually flawless features.

Reaching out, Buffy patted his hand reassuringly. “It’s okay. Still all in one piece here,” she smiled, hoping he wouldn’t get all broody.

Inhaling deeply, Spike nodded, put at ease by Buffy’s claim that she was alright. He only hoped that her optimism was grounded in fact, that everything was really going to be okay.




*******


“I can’t fucking believe him!”

Vincent and Natasha, who were both lounging at the now empty Bronze, watched an infuriated Damon pace back and forth on the dance floor.

“I think it’s rather ingenious,” Vincent remarked. “Training her so that she’d protect herself; it scares the minions away.”

“And Spike makes sure she sticks around for the long haul,” Natasha added.

“You’re kidding me, right? You actually think he did this to protect his property? Didn’t any of you see his face when he saw what she did? It didn’t even look like he knew what was going on,” Damon countered.

“I don’t think Spike would be foolish enough to let the girl carry a weapon without being aware of it first,” Vincent commented.

“Well, I didn’t think Spike would be stupid enough to keep the fucking girl!” Damon growled.

“I kinda have to second that. Definitely wasn’t something I expected,” Natasha supported.

“He kills one of mine, lets his whore kill another one and fucks her in front of all of us and then has the gall to expect me to just go along with it?” Damon vented, still pacing the wooden floor.

Vincent watched the younger vampire with a twinge of disgust. Damon, who was slightly younger than Spike, couldn’t understand how he, in such a small amount of time, had managed to stronghold the majority of Sunnydale. In Damon’s logic, Spike had nothing that he didn’t have. However, Vincent knew that wasn’t the case.

Where Damon would have to resort to violence, Spike would only require the use of a menacing glance to make another vampire submit. The minion that had dared to challenge their leader had been under Damon’s influence and brainwashing. His misguidance had proven quite lethal for the insubordinate fledgling. Yet, in most cases, one only had to watch Spike enter a room, and see how the crowd would part. There were only a few vampires that had that amount of power and Vincent could count them off on one hand. What Damon didn’t understand was that what Spike had had nothing to do with age, or strength, or even charm. It was an innate quality, one that couldn’t be taught by experience. It was all in the blood.

Everyone knew, but seemed quickly to forget, what line of vampires Spike heralded lineage from. He was after all technically the Master’s great great grand Childe and the Aurelian Order wasn’t anything but excellent at securing and using power. Damon was a fool to think he could ever take on Spike. Vincent, being at least two centuries older than his peroxide leader, knew that challenging Spike was futile, and more importantly, foolish. He was actually looking forward to seeing Damon fail miserably.

Vincent turned his attention back to Damon, who had stopped rambling, but who was still pacing angrily. Natasha on the other hand appeared indifferent, inspecting her nails as she reclined in her chair, acting very bored.

“So, now what?” Natasha asked.

“We follow Spike like we always have. Nothing has changed,” Vincent answered.

“Are you blind?” Damon asked, infuriated. “Nothings changed? Everything has changed, old man. Not only is Spike making that bitch his number one priority, but soon he’ll be forcing us to call her ‘Mistress Buffy’.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Vincent remarked, beginning to get annoyed with Damon’s insolence.

“Just you wait and see. It’s only a matter of time before this whole clan is groveling at her feet,” Damon replied through gritted teeth. “And you’ll all be wishing I killed her when I had the chance.”

Emphasizing his point, Damon stormed out of the club, leaving behind Natasha and Vincent to ponder his statement.

“You think he’ll do it?” Natasha asked.

“Do what?”

“Try and get rid of Spike.”

“If he does, he’ll just end up dust in the wind,” Vincent replied, waving his hand in the air.

“Vincent, did you just make some obscure pop culture reference?” Natasha asked, feigning shock.

“I guess I did,” Vincent admitted with a chuckle.

“Guess we’re starting to finally rub off on you.”

“Just don’t tell anyone, alright?”