~*~

Chapter 7

~*~

The Bronze was filled with young writhing bodies pumped full of hormones as Spike surveyed the room. Once upon a time he’d be picking out his next meal, but tonight he was chafing at the memory of his erstwhile host Xander Harris and his never ending verbal jabs. The nit had become impossible to be around ever since the witch’s little spell from hell.

He’d never understood Dru’s preoccupation with eye removal before. Now he had a new appreciation.

"Bloody buggerin’ hell,” he muttered and took another long pull on the bottle of cheap bourbon. ‘Really love to make YOU “blind, too”, ya wanker,’ he thought bitterly. The whelp thought he was bleedin’ Oscar Wilde with all his attempts at humor, usually at Spike’s expense.

God, how he hated a weak moron like Xander Harris being able to get away with the swagger and slurs he constantly tossed Spike’s way. Spike used to eat idiots like the Xan-Man for breakfast, ‘after makin’ ‘em piss their pants in terror ‘o course,’ he remembered fondly.

"This cursed chip they shoved in my brain's makin’ me as much of a ponce as William ever was,” he said. The bits of plastic and wire kept Spike from being the Master Vampire and ‘scourge of Europe’ that had set him over and above most other demons. "A bloody force to be reckoned with, I was,” he said proudly to himself.

Now he was as much a target for human bullies and blowhards like Xander as William had ever been.

"Take this hardware out of my brain and I’ll gladly make you blind. Then I’ll make you dead,” he promised.

The quirky apprentice witch’s buggering up that spell caused disaster for everyone around her. Spike had been hit harder than he would have ever imagined with the fallout on that one. Memories of that event were driving Spike mad, far more than the computer chip that prevented his feeding. As always, affairs of the heart always took the biggest toll on him.

He was filled with restless energy of the not-good kind and no way to properly work it off. ‘No one to shag and no way to kill!’ he mourned. He headed out the back door to get some fresh air and work off a bit of aggression on the piles of garbage always to be found in the alley.

A bag of empties flew down the alley with a satisfying crack and tinkle of glass. "Engaged to the Slayer, for Christ’s sake,” he shook his head as if to clear the memory. "Like a pair of soddin’ lovebirds, all cozy. Sittin’ on my lap and squirmin’ about. Gettin’ a fella all ripe and ready… bloody tease, that Slayer. Kisses, too, all hot and tasty like she had a clue about what to do to a man and all…."

He paced angrily while images of the results of the spell gone wrong danced in his mind. He was more frustrated than he had been when Dru was writhing in their bed with every demon in a ten mile radius. Felt more impotent than all that time in the wheelchair. The Slayer was the root of all his misery, he just knew it! The dark alley was now a macabre memory lane rather than the hunting grounds it should be. "Damn!” he exclaimed and threw his empty bottle against the wall of the Bronze.

"Bint probably wouldn’t have the first idea of how to please a man. Only had that one moment of ‘true love’ with Peaches and then that one-nighter with the college Casanova,” he reminded himself. "Might as well be a virgin for all the skill she’d have,” he tried to console himself.

Still, he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about what a delightful bundle she was, all cuddly soft and warm in his arms. "The kisses showed promise, gotta admit. Probably learn right quick. Seemed eager, too. Almost hungry, starved even,” he mused. "I know that feeling all too well,” he admitted sadly.

"It’s this town and this slayer causin’ all my hell,” he reaffirmed. "Before we came here, I was on top. The name William the Bloody caused even fierce demons to tremble and lesser vampires to hide in their lairs. Nothing and no one could stand up to the Big Bad and live to tell. No poncy human like the Boy with the Big Mouth would have dared be in the same room with me, let alone make jokes at my expense,” he raged. Memories of a curly haired, shy poet surrounded by jeering jackanapes flooded his mind.

It had all been simple and straightforward at first: come to the Hellmouth and cure his princess. Racking up slayer number three was only going to be the icing on his cake. It had all gone to hell rather quickly.

This little blonde bimbo with the bad puns had buggered everything. It didn’t take visions like Dru’s to see the bad omens nearly from the start.

He’d scoped out the little slayer and had his surprise attack all ready to take out his number three. First bit of bad luck was runnin’ into his bleedin’ grandsire. "Thought Peaches was still in the game, like he’d been those couple of years after havin’ the soul shoved in,” he remembered.

True, Angel had only eaten criminals and other humans thought of as so much throwaway trash. "Lost his taste for torture, but the Great Souled One still traveled with us, huntin’, killin’ and all,” he reminisced. "How was I supposed to know he was playin’ for the other team?" Spike wondered.

The real kicker to Spike’s well-laid plan that night had turned out to be the Slayer’s mother! No lone defender of the innocent or avenger of blood was this Slayer. Oh no, this one had family and friends all muckin’ about in the demon killin’ business. Like the bloody Mafia. Crazy is what it was. “Bitch should be named Corleone, not bloody Summers.

"Damn fine woman though, that Joyce Summers. Full of fire protectin’ her young. Didn’t even know the bint was more than some boy crazy teenager either. Took it a bit hard when she did find out.” He had to smile slightly in the middle of his tirade as he thought of Mrs. Summers.

"Would’ve thought that one humiliation was enough, but noooo! Never could seem to kill the bloody Slayer, even when she was laid out like a ham for carvin’ in that silly dress on Halloween. Then had to let her drop an organ on me and make me a candidate for Vamps on Wheels. Worst possible time, too, that was--not that there’s ever a good time to be stuck in a wheelchair with a snapped spine,” he corrected himself.

Spike staggered down the alley in pursuit of another bottle of comfort, haunted by his tragic history in Sunnydale.

"Then the Bubble Gum Princess with a Stake had to give ol’ Angel a happy and ruin my love life along with hers. Over a hundred years with his darlin’ only to have to sit in that damn chair and watch her fall all over her Angelus again. Hell, he’d had to put up with the two of them falling all over HIM as they rutted! If the bitch hadn’t dropped that organ on me, I’d have dragged Dru out of town and away from gel boy before she fell under his spell again,” he said with a grimace. “’Ooh, daddy, help princess put together the jigsaw demon and let’s kill all the food supply!’ Pair of idiots! Deserved each other.

"Finally got rid of the git and reclaimed my woman, only to have her turn up funny on me. ‘Soft’, she said. ‘Not a bad enough Big Bad anymore. Love struck by the Slayer’ of all things,” he spat. Dru really was daft on that last one, even more daft than the attempts to drag the world into hell for her daddy.

That was the whole reason he came back to this cursed town: to prove the silly bint wrong about it all. Come back, get all horizontal with a tasty little number--NOT the slayer--and then finish it up by puttin’ a period to ‘Buffy the Vampire Layer’ once and for all! Drag her entrails back to Brazil to drape over his dark plum; do wicked things in the Slayer’s remains.

Bitch lived under some kind of lucky star, she did! "The bloody U.S. Army helpin’ protect her without even knowin’ they were doin’ it! All I wanted was to drain her dry, instead I found myself in some Star Trek kind of holdin’ cell with soddin’ humans shovin’ hardware in my grey matter. Neutered me good and proper, they did. It’s just not right! Someone must’ve put some kind o’ charm or spell on the bint to protect her,” he decided. "Yeah, fallin’ under spells is just a part of livin’ in SunnyD,” he snarked.

Parts of this last spell disaster did bother him, however. The witch had said her flawed ‘do my will’ spell and caused him to get engaged to the Slayer. Spike was more than a little disturbed to remember how in love he had felt, how happy.

"Hell, marriages happen every day without any love or even burnin’ desire. I just don’t understand why it felt like that. Or why I still have those dreams. Or why I always get hard whenever I’m near Buffy. Or why I even think of her as Buffy instead of the Slayer,” he pondered. It just didn’t make any sense.

No matter how much fermented grain he ingested, Spike couldn’t seem to burn the memory of how her small body fit in his arms, how wonderful she had smelled, how soft and warm her skin was against his. Nothing helped, but he kept on trying.

"I need to get bat-chasin’ drunk, and fast,” he decided. "Next thing ya know, I’ll be writin’ soddin’ poems about her golden tresses, and sea green eyes that I could drown in". He stopped in horror, realizing how very close he had come to doing just that. "God, I need a drink,” he remembered, and set off in pursuit of another bottle of forgetfulness.

~*~

Chapter 8

~*~

Tara Maclay had not wanted to meet her study partner at the Bronze. She didn’t care for the crowd that hung out there and felt vulnerable around so many men on the make.

She had only been there a few minutes when one of the burly football players from the University noticed her. "Why can’t he notice someone who might be interested?” she wondered.

The boy was losing at pool against a man dressed in black and smoking, even though it was against the rules at the pub. Tara was a nice distraction for the loser, she guessed.

"Hey, pretty thing. You new at the U? I’d be really, really happy to show you how everything works, if you get my meaning,” he leered at her. "Just let me beat this Eighties reject and I’ll show you a real good time, honey,” he had promised.

"No, thanks. I’m meeting a f..f..friend here any minute,” she had replied. Tara did not make eye contact. She always felt it would be like issuing a challenge if she did. She never seemed to come out on the better end of a confrontation either.

"Don’t see anyone looking for you just now, b..b..blondie. You know how lucky you are that I’m available tonight? Most freshmen have to wait at least a semester before I take notice. You’re gonna be making all the little girlies jealous pretty soon,” he boasted. The neckless wonder ran a meaty hand over Tara’s bare arm, getting far too close to brushing against her lush breast.

Tara felt her body freeze, her mind going blank for a moment like an antelope in the last moments before the inevitable takedown by the cheetah. She found her voice and tried to regain some control over the situation. "I’m really sorry if you thought I was interested, but I’m not looking for anything except my study partner.” Tara tried to pull her arm free from the big boy’s grasp.

"I don’t think you need any studying tonight. I know just what you need, baby. I got it right here, too,” he whispered suggestively. His free hand cupped his crotch suggestively as he made the attempt to tighten his hold on the clearly frightened girl.

A cold hand landed on the boy’s and pried it off of the shy girl’s arm. "Lady said no, I’m thinkin’. Maybe you should take some of those language classes they’re givin’ so you can learn the meaning of that word. Means the same in lots of languages, even ponce.” Spike’s voice was low and filled with menace. The pressure he was putting on the boy’s hand was just enough to get the point across without setting off the chip.

Tara took the opportunity to slip away from the would-be Romeo. She cast a grateful look at the man in the black duster and nearly ran to the other side of the dance floor.

The tension between the two men was thick and everyone expected a brawl to break out at any moment. Steve Foresman didn’t like anyone to tell him what he could or could not do. He also didn’t like losing at any sport, even if it were only pool.

"Yo, Steve, your turn to play. How about showing this dickhead how a real man handles a cue stick and take our money back,” his buddy said with a laugh. The British punk was smaller than Steve, but his buddies didn’t really want their good times to end like they usually did with him. "Think Vanessa just came in anyway, so it’s a good thing you didn’t score with the little mouse,” he said in a soothing voice.

"Yeah,” said Spike, "I bet you get lots of practice handling your cue stick, Stevie. Show us what you’ve got then,” Spike taunted.

Anger does nothing to help a pool game and the sad showing made by the college boy proved the truth of that.

"Maybe you’d better go play with your stick a bit more before you try to use it like a real man,” Spike said with a smirk. He pocketed the cash he’d won and stalked off towards the bar.

The six frat boys had been easy targets for the pool hustle. Spike had won enough to buy some of the good stuff this time with plenty of dosh left over for later.

While Spike enjoyed his winnings and the feeling of power that came from intimidating the bully into letting the bird go, the bully in question sank deeper and deeper into the sulks. Bad enough Mr. Clairol had taken their fun money for the month, then he had to butt in where the stacked blonde was concerned too. The mousy girl should have been honored to have Sunnydale U’s finest pay attention to her at all.

Steve’s long-suffering girlfriend had not come in after all, so he was likely to be sleeping alone tonight. ‘Great. Embarrassed, dissed, horny and now broke, too.’ Steve was not having a good night. That shy girl should have been quivering at the thought of him even noticing her. The interfering pool hustler had made him look a fool on many fronts. His buddies laughed at him being in this unusual position of loser until the hustler had taken them for all their money too.

None of the fine young scholars was happy at being had. They sat at their table, glowering at Spike as he downed another shot with a beer chaser at the bar.

In time, they were joined by a few of their fellow toga party rejects. More angry eyes turned upon the smug stranger in black as the home team shared their tale of woe with the newcomers. Of course, all they saw was a friendless Brit who had already had one too many drinks and far too much good luck for any pool player to have naturally.

When Spike did notice the dirty looks directed his way, he merely laughed to himself. ‘Pfft, if the pups spent half the time perfectin’ their game that they spent slammin’ back the brews, they coulda had a fightin’ chance,’ Spike thought. He never bothered to cheat at pool; his skill was finely honed from over a century of play. Wasn’t his fault the fish thought they could reel in the fisherman!

Spike ordered another bottle of Jack to take back to the Watcher’s with him.

Giles had returned to playing reluctant host to the vampire since his come-and-gone girlfriend had become gone again. It wasn’t home, but it was better than the basement hell that was Xander Harris’ hovel. Giles had become used to Spike staying there at his apartment, but he had also learned to lock up the good stuff from his ‘houseguest’.

At least Spike was free of the chains and ropes the Slayer’s crew demanded he be trussed up in for their safety. ‘Yeah, wish I could do some damage there,’ he thought wistfully. ‘Start with that mouthy Big Bad wannabe, Xander, and finish up with the royal bitch herself,’ he daydreamed.

With a sigh, he took his precious liquid comfort and strutted out the back door of the Bronze, headed for his current haven from the soldier boys with all their toys.

So caught up was Spike in dreams of what he’d like to do to the entire Scooby contingent that he failed to notice his exit was causing a stir at the Phi Kappa Cuppa table.

Tara did notice their reactions, however. She had been too nervous to stop watching their table and she could tell they were really angry with the man who had made them leave her alone.

She had not wanted to meet her study partner here instead of the library, but she was trying so hard to fit in at college that she had given in at the last moment. She had not made any friends yet and had determined to join a group or two and finally explore her hard-earned freedom. She would not let tonight set her back again. She was tired of existing and wanted to try living for a change. Still, being pawed by a drunken bully in a bar wasn’t what she’d had in mind to begin this new life.

Tara did worry a bit for her helper, however, when she saw the table full of college boys get up and head towards the back door of the Bronze where the man in black had just exited. She wondered if she should call on a bouncer to help or just mind her own business.

Maybe she’d peek out the back in a couple minutes, she thought. Just make sure everyone was all right, but not draw any attention to herself in the process.

~*~
Chapter 9
~*~

Spike stopped just outside the Bronze and lit another cigarette. He was feeling a bit of a buzz from the whiskey and beer and was really wishing he could go on a proper hunt, feel like his old self again. He tucked the bottle under his arm and headed towards the end of the alley and the Watcher’s apartment.

"Hey, Prince Charlie, stop! I think you have something that belongs to us. Didn’t think you could cheat us at the table and just walk, did you? I am so hoping you plan to fight back for the cash, man, ‘cause I really want a piece of you,” taunted Steve. He was the obvious spokesman for the large number of drunken athletes that had followed Spike from the Bronze.

"I’d kinda like that coat he’s wearing,” said one of Steve’s less physically endowed friends. "Think the girls might like it,” he said.

The crowd began to close around Spike, cutting off any easy exit from the alley.

"Looks like you need all the help you can get in that department, mate,” Spike shot back as he prepared to defend himself. He set the bottle of Jack down near some boxes and started to turn to the advancing group. He felt the first fist slam into his midsection before he completed the turn.

After the initial blows were delivered, Spike was reminded why he should have used his speed and energy running instead of standing up to the pack of jackals. The damned chip made it impossible for him to take on even one of these rejects.

Just a month or so ago, Spike could have killed the lot of them and drained enough to glut himself with no effort at all. Now he couldn’t even block blows fast enough and was crippled by the chip when he’d try to punch back.

They had him down in short order and rained blow after blow on the fallen, helpless vampire. They helped themselves to the cash he had on him, even what he had started with, and took the coat for good measure.

"Hey, Steve, I think we may have killed him! I’m not getting a pulse here,” one of them said in a panic.

"Shit! Well, let’s get out of here quick. I think we can wake up Coach, make up some story about this clown pulling a knife or something and he’ll square everything with the cops. You remember how great he was last year with that bitch and her accusations. Lots of people saw this jerk hustling us for cash in there. He’s a lowlife. We’re the proud home team,” Steve reasoned. "No need for anybody to panic."

The suddenly sober gang sprinted down the alley and headed for the home of their coach and the safety of his influence with the authorities.

They left the broken body of Spike in a large pool of his own blood, blessedly unconscious. There was a deep stab wound from the knife that one of the gang had put into Spike’s hand. The boy had stabbed Spike before putting it in his hand, and then rolled him over to make it look like he had stabbed himself with his own knife in a fall during the fight. Spike had been past feeling anything at that point.

A soft rain began to fall, mixing with the blood making small rivulets of red to wash down the alley.

~*~
Chapter 10
~*~

Tara nervously looked towards the back exit, waiting for the return of the college boys. They did not return.

She just had to know if the man who had come to her aid was okay. She went to the back and cautiously opened the door to the alley. She looked out into the rain, not seeing anyone or anything, and sighed in relief.

"Okay, I overreacted. I’m sure everything is fine,” she tried to convince herself. "Well, maybe I should just look around a bit more to be certain. I’d hate to be a coward only to find out I should have helped. Besides, those boys are gone and I’ll be safe from them anyway,” she reminded herself.

She had only walked a short distance when she saw the dark form lying on the ground. She recognized him right away, even without the coat he had been wearing earlier.

Tara bent to check on him and pulled back her hand in terror. He was ice cold, covered in blood and not breathing! "Oh, goddess, they killed him! What should I do now? If it gets in the newspaper, my family will know where I am and come for me.” Tara paced in agitation. “I can’t just leave him. He might not be dead. No, do the right thing, Tara,” she encouraged herself.

She ran to the door to get help only to find it had locked behind her. Tara then ran toward the front door of the Bronze to get help for the poor man in the alley. She prayed it wasn’t too late.

In her haste, she wasn’t looking where she was going and ran right into a redheaded girl she recognized from the Wiccan group she had joined that very morning. ‘Willow. Yes, that was her name,’ she remembered.

"Oh, please help him, help me! It was awful and I feel like it’s my fault partly. H..h..he tried to help me and they’ve killed him, I think,” she stuttered. "You’re Willow, aren’t you? Please, I need to call the police and an ambulance, but I think he may already be dead.”

Willow thought she’d seen the hysterical girl before somewhere on campus but could not put a name to her face.

"Um, you need to take a deep breath and calm down so we can help you,” she said in an attempt to comfort and calm the girl.

Tara took a ragged breath but could not stop shaking.

"Okay, where is this guy you think might be dead?” Willow asked.

"He’s in the alley. I saw them follow him out and knew they wanted to hurt him. He beat them at pool and made them leave me alone, so they weren’t happy with him. They were drunk too. I never thought they’d kill him though, or I would have sent help right away, I swear,” she said in a rush. "There’s a lot of blood and he’s not breathing at all."

Willow took the girl’s hand and headed for the alley saying, "Come on, guys, let’s check it out. Buffy, do you have your cell to call the police?”


"Yup, all celled up and callin’ for backup,” Buffy replied as she frantically began to punch numbers.

The evening intended to comfort Willow for losing Oz had taken a quick turn into the lifesaving part of the evening without even a single dance. ‘Well, nothing like a bit of high drama to shake Will out of her own problems.’ No one wanted Willow to resort to witchcraft again to heal her broken heart! ‘Not that I’m wanting anyone dead or anything,’ she amended. “It’ll probably just turn out to be someone passed out after a bar fight,” she tried to reassure everyone. ‘Willow can pat herself on the back for doin’ the good deed and all will be of the good,’ she thought to herself.


The girl who had run up to them was still pouring out the story of the heroic young man who had come to her rescue only to be so badly punished for his good deed. The slight stutter she had displayed earlier disappeared with the urgency of her story.

"I really think he’s dead,” Tara had just finished saying as they came upon Spike’s body. Taking in the scene, Buffy felt her breath leave her body as she looked at the large pool of blood surrounding the familiar figure. She closed her cell phone before sending the call.

"Dead, yeah, but not permanently unless he’s dust,” Buffy whispered quietly. She was uncomfortable with the slight lurch her heart had given at the sight of her recent fiance so still and broken. "So, who did he piss off to wind up pulp boy?” she asked Tara.

No one noticed the slight quiver in her voice because they were all so horrified at the damage done to the once powerful and frightening vampire.