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Angels and Demons by TalesofSpike
 
Chapter 5.16
 
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Note: Thanks to my beta t_geyer for her unending patience, perseverance and support.

SECTION 5 - LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON

He raised his son in the English way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone else's rules...

... It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns the pattern, he won't break the chain

Fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod will raise the next boy


(Rick Springfield Album - Living in Oz)




Chapter 5.16
Sunday, June 16th, 2002


The loud groans from the TV room told her that Ireland had conceded an early goal, but Dawn didn't even try to make it through to watch the replay. Instead she flipped through the phone's memory until, this time, she found Buffy's number. If Spike wouldn't answer maybe she would. It wasn't that Dawn was worried... yet. She just figured that if she had already found them by the time Giles finished his tea and realised that he didn't have all the numbers for everyone's cells, then that would be kinda cool.

She wasn't worried, she told herself as she got the message that the cell phone she was trying to reach had been switched off. She wasn't worried at all, but just the same it might be an idea to get Wes to drive and Faith as back up while they checked out a few of their more likely boltholes... just to be on the safe side.

She'd give Spike another ten minutes, in case he'd been in the middle of beating some helpless fledge to a dusty pulp, or maybe he couldn't get his phone out of his pocket, what with carrying some bringer, or maybe if they were really lucky he might even have got the creepy preacher guy. A few extra minutes wouldn't hurt, but just in case she'd ring the hospital... Of course, if Spike had ended up there as anything other than a visitor, they were in deep trouble and as long as he was conscious he would have called...

"Wes? Faith? How d'you guys feel about forming up for a search party?" she called out, pulling on her jeans and jacket over the top of her nightshirt, her phone still pressed against her ear as she waited on hold for the hospital switchboard.

Though the speed with which he rose from his seat suggested he might be concerned in his own right, the watcher directed a teasing glance at Brandon as he replied. "I don't see a problem. Up until last week, Ireland had never scored more than one goal in a World Cup Final match in the history of the tournament, so unless they're planning another major break with tradition, it's not like I'm going to be missing too much."

"Heyyyy. No fair!" Brandon protested. "They're not beaten yet, not as long as Robbie Keane's on the pitch."

 




 

"Spike?" Buffy struggled her way through the veil of sleep, trying to identify the 'wrongness' that tugged at her consciousness. She raised her voice slightly and then tried again. "Spike? The bedclothes are moving... Spike?"

Panic began to set in when she couldn't 'feel' the vampire's emotions, but then she realised that she was still fully dressed. No skin to skin contact. Neither breath nor reply escaped the vampire's lips and she rolled to face the body behind her. Pain burned through her as fabric matted with blood ripped away from her injured side, reopening the wound. Her teeth pressed into her lip and, just as she had sought to open them, her eyes involuntarily screwed shut.

"Spike?" Her hands reached out blindly in front of her. Instead of flesh and bone, she found fabric and padding. Even before she could bring the pattern into focus the colour told her where she was. Back on that sofa. Back in her mother's house.

Holding her side, she rolled once more, searching for her vampire. There, on the floor with his back against the front of the settee, his skin and hair painted brown with crusted blood, his T-shirt and jeans ripped and torn but there , where if she just let her arm drop over the side of the cushions she could touch him. There , where her fingers brushed against his arm. There and not dust.

Her eyes slipped closed, all thoughts of what had originally awoken her forgotten, and she drifted once more into a healing sleep.

 




 

Faith grimaced as she made her way back up the ladder from the underground section of Spike's old crypt. "There's something dead down there, but seein' as how I've never seen a vamp that was semi-liquefied before, I'm gonna stick my neck out an' say that it isn't Spike."

"Strike one, I guess." Wes pulled the crypt door open and waited for Faith to precede him.

The slayer turned to one side as soon as she could, doubling over and retching to try to clear her throat of the lingering layer of inhaled particles that seemed to coat it.

"Are you alright?" he queried.

"Sure," the woman drawled sarcastically, when she could finally get her breath. "I love the smell of putrefying corpses in the morning."

The pair made their way back to the cemetery gates where Dawn and Rogue were waiting in the relative safety of Wes's car, the teenager ready to pound on the horn if anything scarier than Clem made an appearance. They had nearly made it back there when Wes's phone rang.

The watcher hardly spoke other than to give an occasional brief acknowledgement. As soon as Dawn vacated the driver's seat he climbed in, phone still pressed to his ear, and flicked through the preset radio stations until he found a local news broadcast. With a terse, "We'll let you know if we find them," he ended the call and tossed the phone into the back seat.

Faith was just shutting the door on one side as he pulled away.

"Once again I would like to stress that this morning's explosion is nothing to be concerned about. Southern California has always had its share of seismic activity, and city engineers expect to find that the blast was the result of a slow build up of gas from a cracked pipe. The blast was mostly contained underground and although a minor access road has been closed until it can be confirmed that there has been no damage to the road's substructure, there has been no apparent property damage. I repeat that at present there is no suspicion of foul play and no links have been made to any terrorist campaign." Sunnydale's latest mayor dutifully put the requisite hellmouth spin on the latest incident despite being dragged from his bed to give a press conference.






 

When they pulled up outside 1630 Revello Drive and opened the car door, Rogue was the first one out, sprinting onto the front porch and then dashing back again as if to urge Dawn and the others to hurry up before she took off again.

"It's not like I was expecting to need it any time soon," Dawn argued as she tugged free the mountain of circulars and bills that crammed the mailbox as she passed, more from nervousness and habit than any real desire to check their correspondence.

"I would have thought, given your desire to check Spike and Buffy's known haunts, that bringing along your house key might have been a reasonable idea."

"I'm a teenager. We're not meant to do reasonable. Anyway, it wouldn't be a problem if Spike hadn't made a big deal about not leaving the spare lying around when the house was empty. I bet I can pick the lock, anyway. Spike taught me how to get out of handcuffs. It's got to be easier if you've got both hands free."

"Or you could do the same as whoever left the bloody smears on the door. Just turn the handle and walk on in..." Faith suggested, standing to one side of the open portal like a game show hostess.

For a fraction of a second both Dawn and the watcher froze in place, unsure whether their ease of entry was a hopeful sign or an intimation that the house had been violated in their absence. Rogue had no such misgivings and charged straight into the living room, yapping her delight. That broke the deadlock and the teen ran after her at speed only to stall again when she reached the doorway between the hall and the room where her sister and future brother-in-law lay. Rogue lapped at Spike's unresponsive face and then at the puddle of coagulating blood that marred the hardwood floor, its spread making it impossible to tell which of the two blondes was more responsible.

Wes came up behind Dawn, his eyes taking in the scene in an instant. He tossed his keys at the slayer. "Faith, get the crossbow from the car and then give the keys to Dawn. Dawn, I want you to lock yourself in my house and don't come out until someone marches into the house and pulls you out... now! " he added forcefully when the younger of the girls failed to move.

"Wh-. Why?" Dawn looked at the watcher as if he had grown a second head. "What are you doing? Why aren't you helping them? Shouldn't we call an ambulance?"

"I am helping them by keeping you safe. Faith, get her away from here." Wesley began to roll back his shirt sleeve until the tip of a wrist-mounted, spring-loaded stake appeared.

The slayer tugged at the teenager's arm until she reluctantly followed her, looking to her now for an explanation.

"It's the blood, kid. They're covered in it. His? Hers? Who knows? Watcher's playing it safe, just in case."

"He doesn't need a stake. Spike wouldn't hurt him even if he was starving."

Faith opened up the trunk and pulled out a crossbow and a quiver of bolts and then tucked a couple of stakes that were also there into her jeans. "The stakes aren't for Spike."

Dawn's eyes blazed as she stormed back toward her home.

 




 

"But he wouldn't!"

"Are you sure ?" Wes's eyes barely left the two inert forms to check Dawn's face. "Everyone said when your sister died the last time it nearly killed him. There was nothing he could do about it that time, but do you really think that if he had a choice between her bleeding to death or his turning her that he'd be able to watch her die? It wouldn't even have to be deliberate. How much of the blood on his face do you think is his? Just one kiss..."

"Couldn't I stay until you or Faith check her pulse?"

"You know what Buffy's priority would be."

"Even if he did turn her, she wouldn't come out of it before dark. It's this whole thing. They always rise at night because if they didn't they'd go 'snap, crackle and burn' as soon as they crawled out the ground."

"We don't know that, Dawn. Vampires are able to sense the sun's movement. It's a natural self-preservation instinct. The fact they choose to wait for dark to dig their way out of their coffins does not preclude their being aware for some time before that... And, honestly, if anyone knows what might happen when a slayer is turned, they're not letting on. And once we take account of the claim, there's no saying how things might develop."

"Oh!" Dawn's face fell as she realised the truth behind his words but then gave Wes a tentative smile. "You'll fetch me as soon as you know she's okay, right? I mean, like Faith said, this is all playing safe. It's not like it's..."

"The instant. Now go! The sooner we know you're safe, the sooner we can get started."

Wes watched from the front door until the teenager made her way safely into the house across the road.

When he returned to the main room, Faith tossed him the crossbow and readied a stake. "You stand at her feet. I'll reach over from the head end and get her wrist."

Wes didn't argue but simply took his place and loaded a bolt in the crossbow. Faith bent over to take the other slayer by the wrist, and a vampiric howl rent the air.

 




 

"It's not your fault." Buffy's tone was soft as she tried to coax the huddled figure in front of her to raise his head. She crouched to run her fingers through curls that were normally bright as sunshine, but which were now caked with dried blood. Tiny flakes of rust fell like macabre dandruff with each pass of her hand, and the scent pervaded the very air around them as if they wallowed in a slaughter house. Her blood and his, blood of bringers and Turok Han, mingled in the air, but each had its own distinctive thread. If she concentrated, she could pull them apart like a consummate parfumier identifying the elements of a rival's latest creation. Her other hand was clasped over the wound in her side, blood oozing between her fingers.

She caught a flash of gold as his gaze briefly met hers before returning to the rubble strewn earth at his feet. "'Course it's my fault, love."

Buffy looked at the lightening sky, knowing that the makeshift structure that towered over them would do little to shield him from the sun's rays. "It wasn't your fault a year ago, and it isn't your fault now."

The vampire's head shook beneath her hand. "My fault. Shoulda done something. Should've been me. Should've kept a bloody hold of the damn axe. Too slow... Too damn stupid. Just not bloody good enough. You were right. There's nothin' good nor clean in me. Thought I could do it. Be a man for you..." Again there was a glimpse of demon yellow as Spike glanced upward. "But I'm just makin' you dirty like me. Both soaked in blood, now."

"You saved me, Spike. You. I-. You are a man... You're all the man I want." Her hand dropped from his hair to the side of his face, fingers tracing brow ridges and cheekbones and she allowed herself a small smile as the vampire couldn't help but nuzzle into her touch. "You're not just a man, though. You're my man... and my demon and that doesn't make you any less, no matter what I said when-."

The hand on Spike's cheek disappeared in an instant, bright light blinding him, the light of the newly risen sun and the bright flames as Buffy burned in its vengeful wrath. The vampire howled his grief and knew that it was his taint that had made her unclean, his failure that allowed her to be hurt, his fault that he had lost her again.
 
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