Chapter 12: Wake-Up Call

Buffy sauntered into the demon bar like she owned the place. She knew that attitude was half the battle, and sure enough, most of the stares she received quickly turned to fearful expressions and furtive glances. A few demons got their hackles up, looking like they might be ready for a fight, but no one outright challenged her.

She sidled up to the bar and conferred with Willy for a few minutes. It only required her grabbing him by the throat and threatening him twice, so she counted it as a victory. Unfortunately, he wasn’t much help in giving her the information she needed, but he pointed out a couple demons who were new to the Sunnydale scene, and a few who might have their hand in the right sort of magic to control a mercenary. Scanning the possible contenders, Buffy selected a big oafish demon sitting at the far end of the bar. He had brownish slimy skin and a face that closely resembled a toad, if the toad were six feet tall, and he was nursing what appeared to be a mixture of beer and a green putrid substance that was probably a secretion from another type of demon. Swallowing the urge to vomit, Buffy approached the toad-faced fellow and introduced herself with a clean right hook.

“Who the hell is after me and my family?” She drew her arm back for another punch if she didn’t like the answer. A few demons skittered away from the bar, frightened of the Slayer. She didn’t care that she was making a scene. In fact, the more demons that saw her interrogate the first one, the more there’d be who sang like birdies when their time came.

“Wasn’t me,” the toad demon growled uncooperatively. It earned him another blow from the Slayer.

“Who sent the Acanthia demon?” She grabbed him by his slimy throat.

“You’ve never even heard of diplomacy, have you?” came a voice from the back corner of the bar.

Buffy turned her head, hand still gripping the toad demon’s neck. “Spike.” Just the vampire she’d been hoping not to run into.

“You know, contrary to popular belief, some demons don’t like to be punched,” he said, heading toward her with his trademark swagger. He bent his head close to her ear. “Something about flies and vinegar, I think.”

Buffy released the toad demon with a thrust that almost knocked him off his barstool as she faced Spike. “I don’t have time to mess around.”

Spike could see the seriousness in her eyes. He grasped her elbow and guided her toward the door. “Come on, love, let’s talk outside.”

Once they were out on the street, he asked, “What’s happened?”

“Giles thinks the demon may have been doing the bidding of someone else – a witch or a wizard or something who’s trying to kill Dawn.” As expected, the idea of a threat to Dawn grabbed his attention fully. “I need to know who. If you wanna talk to your… demon buddies, see what you can –”

“Already did, pet. What do you think I was doing here? No one’s seen any more of those spiny guys around.”

“What about somebody new in town? Powerful enough to control a demon using magic.”

“Not that I’ve heard of.”

“Well, check it out, will you?”

“Look, Slayer, coulda been just a fluke thing, right?” There was a slight desperation in his voice that betrayed his concern for Dawn, and he sounded as though he were trying to convince himself of the truth of his words even as he said them. “Just some random demon breaking into any house…”

“Which just happened to be the Slayer’s house?” Buffy replied with skepticism. “Yeah, maybe. But I don’t think so. Just check it out, okay?” She grasped his arm and turned puppy-dog eyes on him. “Please, Spike?”

Spike stiffened. She didn’t even know she was doing it – the Slayer rarely played the helpless female card, and he could see nothing but concern in her expression – but he chafed at being manipulated. Not now, not when she came home all shining and blushing from her dates, when she couldn’t even speak to him – had to send the bloody witch – because she was afraid of – what? That he’d slaughter her and the boy in a jealous rage? Not like he could, even if he’d wanted to… which he didn’t, of course, no siree. Hadn’t even thought about ripping his head off, not even in that purely hypothetical “what do you suppose would happen if…” kind of way.

Not that it mattered, of course. He’d bollixed it up last year, and it was all he could do to get her to forget that he’d been the one to drag her out of bed in the middle of the night to see what Soldier Boy was up to, or that he’d chained her up and given her an ultimatum along with his declaration of love. She would always see him as rash, unreliable, and liable to do just about anything to screw up her relationships.

But she was also the bloody queen of mixed signals, and she was trying his patience. He’d do what she asked because he loved her, and he loved the Bit, but damned if he was going to lose his balls in the process.

He jerked his arm out of her grasp. “Seemed like you were doing all right in there.” He nodded his head toward Willy’s. “Knocking heads and breaking hearts.”

Buffy let out her breath in a huff. “Thought you didn’t like my method.”

“’S not exactly subtle, but it’ll do,” Spike replied with a snort. He punched her playfully in the shoulder, a gesture that belied the hint of bitterness behind his tone. “Buck up, Slayer. You can do this yourself. You’re just as welcome over at Willy’s as I am.”

“Why are you being like this?” Buffy complained. There was an itch in the back of her brain that reminded her she’d been trying to avoid Spike earlier because she wasn’t sure she could trust him, but his refusal still stung her.

Spike heard her question for what it was – why wasn’t he doing what she told him to do, just because it was she that said it? She’d gotten used to him doing whatever she asked of him – whatever she demanded, really. This little show of independence took her by surprise.

“You don’t need me anymore, pet. You’ve made up with the Scoobies, you and Watcher are all right.” He flared his nostrils, not yet completely willing to forgive Giles himself. “Even got yourself a boyfriend.” He couldn’t help rolling his eyes a little. “Life’s all sunshine and daisies again. Don’t need an evil night creature buggerin’ things up.” He turned as if to go, but Buffy stopped him.

“That’s stupid. Of course I –” She stopped herself from saying something as ridiculous as I need you.

He waited, looking at her expectantly, wanting to hear those very words.

“You’re the only one who can protect Dawn,” she amended, and she watched the disappointment flicker across his face before he pulled it back behind a dismissive smirk. She paused for a moment. “This is about Jacob, isn’t it?”

Spike scoffed and started walking again. That pillock was the last thing he wanted to talk about right now.

Buffy followed him undeterred. “You’re jealous.”

Spike looked away, annoyed. Got ourselves a bloody Rhodes Scholar here. “Look, I don’t care what you do. I just don’t wanna see you get hurt.”

“I think maybe that’s not completely true.” She was pushing him too hard, she knew it, and if she had any brains she’d shut up now and let him go on his way, but ignoring the issue wasn’t working. If they had to fight it out, she was ready to fight. She had to know where they stood.

He stopped and stared at her. He couldn’t believe they were actually going to have it out right here in the street. “Okay, maybe I do care. But I can’t… I just… I think you’re setting yourself up to be disappointed, is all.”

“Why? Because for once, I actually have a chance to be a normal girl, with a normal boyfriend?”

Spike shook his head, ignoring the feeling he got from those words. She might as well just stake him on the spot. Normal boyfriend, she wanted. Right. Not him. Thanks for clearing that up. “That’s your problem. You’ll never be a normal girl, and the sooner you figure that out, the happier you’ll be.”

“Oh, and you know all about that?”

“I know a little something about Slayers. What makes them tick.”

“You know how to kill them,” she spat, and Spike felt the wind go out of him as if she’d punched him. “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”

“The Slayer is part of who you are. You’re not like other girls – you shouldn’t try to be. You don’t want someone who just treats you like a normal girl. You want someone who loves all of you – the Slayer, too.”

“You have no idea what I want!” Buffy felt an uncomfortable gnawing in her chest as she said it, because she knew he was exactly right. She didn’t know how he managed to be so damned insightful – must be the wisdom that came with over a hundred years of experience – but somehow he’d figured out what she really wanted, when she hadn’t even been sure herself. She’d never let him see it, though.

“Fine,” Spike said, throwing up his hands in surrender. He started to back away from her, but her voice stopped him.

“You’ll check out the thing?”

He took her in, her golden hair falling softly around her face like an angel, her perky nose scrunched up in thought, her eyes sparkling with anger – and he realized he was screwed. Completely, utterly fucked. There was no way he could walk away from her, no matter how many times she shattered his heart. But he could never have her.

Spike felt a surge of envy as he thought of Jacob. He may not be able to save her from demons, but he was what Buffy wanted. A normal boyfriend.

“Yeah,” he said. Instead of going back into the bar, he turned on his heel and headed for his crypt. Investigating demons could wait until he’d gotten himself sorted. Right now, it felt like his entire body was tingling with the jittery rage of jealousy, and he was having so much trouble thinking straight, there was a good chance any demon he talked to would end up on the business end of his left cross – which, while cathartic, wouldn’t really help Dawn.

As the crypt door banged shut behind him, Spike stopped and stared into space. Buffy had been right. He was beneath her. He would never be the one she loved, and he owed her better than just following her around like a sick puppy. He owed himself better – didn’t he have any dignity left?

He stumbled over a coffin lying haphazardly on the floor. He couldn’t remember where it had come from, or why it wasn’t up against the wall like all the others, but at that moment, he didn’t care. He drew his foot back and delivered a solid kick, his boot going straight through the moldy wood. He yanked his foot loose and kicked it again, then again and again until the wood splintered into dozens of pieces and fell apart, exposing the desiccated remains of its owner. His boot came down, crushing first the ribcage, then the skull. He bent down and grabbed a femur, swinging it against the wall like a baseball bat until it snapped in half.

He took a deep, shuddering breath and dropped the bone fragments, running one hand through his hair. He couldn’t keep on like this. This was exactly the rage Buffy was expecting. He wouldn’t admit to himself that he was picturing any particular person as he destroyed the skeleton, but his heart knew better.

He needed to calm down. Shaking, Spike headed over to the corner of the crypt where he kept his liquor. He found a glass tumbler and poured himself a drink, ignoring the clinking noise as his unsteady hand repeatedly hit the bottle against the rim of the glass. He swallowed down half the bourbon in one gulp, but even as the burning liquid hit his throat, he knew it was useless, and the tumbler shattered in his grip, leaving his hand sticky, dripping, and covered in shards of glass.

He barely noticed it. The building pressure within him drowned out everything else. He had to do something. He didn’t want to feel like this anymore.