Chapter 11: Underneath the Mistletoe

Spike opened the basement door to the Magic Box to find Giles pointing a crossbow at him. He quickly held up his hands to protest his innocence.

“No need for that. Here to help, Rupert.”

“Be that as it may, considering your current… condition, I don’t feel particularly comfortable having you around without Buffy's supervision,” Giles replied coldly. “So you'll have to forgive me if I take extra precautions until she arrives.”

Spike rolled his eyes and shrugged, giving the Watcher a wide berth as he headed for the research table. Surveying the scattered materials, he asked, “What needs work?”

Reluctantly, Giles set down his crossbow in order to sift through the papers. He handed Spike an ancient-looking text that had several pages flagged with post-its, and an English-to-Etruscan dictionary.

Spike stared at it. “This is not a language I speak.”

“Half of it’s in Latin. You’ll be fine.” His brusque, dismissive tone mostly masked the implied compliment to Spike’s abilities, but it mollified the vampire enough for him to settle at the table and begin working.

They sat in awkward silence for over an hour, only speaking to clarify a translation or ask a work-related question. Every time Spike thought about making small talk, he glanced at the crossbow resting within Giles’ reach and changed his mind.

“This looks like another one of those rituals,” Spike said finally. “If I’m reading it right, the penultimate one.”

“Penultimate to what?”

“Haven’t figured that out yet. Just know this ritual involves a human sacrifice… ‘in preparation for the grand event,’ near as I can tell.”

“Let me see.”

Spike handed over the text along with his scribbled notes. “Looks like another blood ritual. There’s the usual song and dance, and then the, uh, participant… drinks the blood of the sacrifice.”

“Well, I suppose that’s your area of expertise, isn’t it?”

The vampire’s head snapped up at the icy words, finding that Giles had fixed him with a hard stare.

“What would you do, Rupert,” Spike asked, his tone deceptively casual, “if I told you I’d killed someone last night?” He raised his eyebrows, never looking away from the Watcher’s gaze. “What would you do? Have the Slayer put me down like a rabid dog?”

“No.” Giles picked up the crossbow and aimed it at him. “I’d do it myself.”

Just then, Buffy walked in the door, taking in the tableau with a horrified gasp. “Oh, my God, what are you – Giles! Are you holding him at gunpoint?”

“Crossbow, actually,” Spike pointed out. “Much more effective.”

“Giles!” Buffy rushed over and snatched the weapon out of her Watcher’s hands. “Spike isn’t dangerous. End of discussion. There will be no threatening of any kind!”

Giles’ forehead creased with surprise at the sudden reversal of taking orders from his charge, but he acquiesced with a nod. He wasn’t in the mood for an argument, and Spike had been well-behaved. “Of course.”

“Was just showin’ Rupert the ritual I found,” Spike said, quickly changing the subject. “Looks like it’s the last step before the big finish. If we can get a bead on when it’s supposed to happen, maybe we can stop it.”

“And if we stop it,” Buffy picked up the thread, a broad grin spreading across her face, “then Mr. Big Bad Warlock can’t do whatever comes next. Spike, that’s awesome. I knew you’d be able to help.” Excitement getting the better of her, she flung her arms around his neck. Startled, he hugged her back tentatively.

It only took a moment for Buffy to feel awkward, and she pulled away quickly, avoiding Spike’s curious gaze. “So, what do we have to do?” she asked, directing her question to her Watcher. “How do we stop the ritual?”

“There’s a ceremonial blade,” Giles explained, peering over the text. “I think I’m familiar with…” He sifted through the books on the table, pulling out one of his large reference tomes and flipping to a page full of sketches of knives. “Yes. The Lothorian dagger. It was lost over a century ago, but it’s believed to be buried in…”

“In a crypt in Sunnydale,” Buffy finished dryly.

Giles glanced up in surprise. “Yes. How did you know?”

“Because everything evil ends up here eventually. Haven’t you been paying attention for the last five years? Which crypt? I’ll go get it right now.”

“Ah, well… I’m not sure.”

“Giles!”

“Well, it’s not like they left us a map and a decoder ring, now is it?”

“So, what are we supposed to do?” she asked. “Check every crypt in Sunnydale?”

“I can tell you right now, it’s not mine.” Buffy shot Spike a look, but he just shrugged. “What? It’s a place to start.”

“I’m working on it, Buffy,” Giles assured her, heading into the shop’s office and coming out with a map of Sunnydale. “If I had detailed records of who is buried in each cemetery, that would be of some help.”

“That’s computer stuff,” Buffy replied, her face falling. “Willow. I can’t –”

“Call her anyway,” Spike suggested. “Maybe she can walk Tara through it, at least.”

*****

Three hours later, after much map-checking and cross-referencing, and a little illegal hacking of cemetery records courtesy of the witches, Giles finally looked up from his notes.

“I think I’ve narrowed it down to these three crypts,” he said, handing the list to Spike, who was seated across the table, still working on translation.

Spike studied the names Giles had scribbled. “This one’s right near me.”

Buffy hurried over, taking it out of Spike’s hand to see for herself. She tore the paper in two, right between the names of the crypts, handing one half back to Spike.

“Okay, let’s split up. I’ll check Lakeview; you hit the one by the railroad tracks. We’ll meet up at the one by your place.”

Spike nodded. The sun had set while they were preoccupied with research, and it was now plenty dark enough for him to head outside.

They walked together in silence until they reached the end of Main Street, at which point Buffy would have to turn in the direction of the residential neighborhood while Spike veered off toward the outskirts of town. Before they parted ways, Spike grasped Buffy’s arm.

“Be careful, Slayer.”

She met his eyes and nodded. “You, too.”

Buffy’s trek to the crypt was uneventful. It was almost as though the vampires and demons in town had realized that something big was going down, and they were staying out of the way for their own good.

When she reached the cemetery, she scouted out the crypts until she found the one Giles thought was the likely resting place of the ceremonial dagger. The door creaked as she pushed it open, and she brushed aside the cobwebs in her path, stepping cautiously into the crypt.

She ran her hands lightly along the stone walls, looking for any sign of a concealed compartment where the dagger might have been hidden. But there were no ancient carvings, no cracks that didn’t match the seams of the stone, and definitely no X marks the spot.

Which is a shame, because I could really use a clue about now.

Not finding anything on the walls, Buffy turned her attention to the sarcophagus in the middle of the crypt. She inspected that as well for potential hiding places, but finding none, she grabbed the edge of the lid and shoved the stone slab onto the ground. Peering into the coffin, she wrinkled her nose.

“Nothing but dead guy,” she muttered.

With a sigh, she turned back toward the door, not bothering to replace the cover of the sarcophagus. “Let’s hope Spike has better luck.”

*****

“Bollocks. There’s nothing here.”

Letting out a noise of disgust, Spike strode out of the crypt and headed back toward his own cemetery. He would’ve liked something to slay, just to take the edge off the ever-present bloodlust, but the town was strangely quiet.

As he rounded the corner of his crypt, Spike got his wish. The demon was dressed in human clothes, but his skin was a tough leathery hide, a ruddy reddish-brown color, and he had twin rows of horns protruding from either side of his jaw and forehead. He was also armed with a stake in one hand and a sword in the other.

“Spike,” the demon growled, taking a menacing step toward him.

“Do I know you?” Spike replied, edging away from the crypt so the demon couldn’t get him trapped against a wall. “I don’t owe you money, do I? ’Cause if I do, you know I’m good for it, yeah?”

“I’m not here to chat.” Brandishing his sword to emphasize that point, the demon rushed Spike, forcing him to duck out of the path of the slashing blade.

“Right.” Spike danced backward on the balls of his feet, wishing he had a bigger weapon than just fists and fangs. “Skip the small talk, then. Get right to the fight to the death.” He went for a punch, but had to jerk back without making contact to avoid getting his arm sliced off.

There was little for him to do but dodge and feint as the sword kept him out of attack range. If he could just get inside his crypt, he had a whole stash in his weapons chest, but the demon seemed to realize the advantage of keeping Spike away from the door. He brought the sword down across Spike’s body, slashing through his t-shirt and leaving a deep gash across his middle.

Spike stumbled at the sudden sharp pain, only to be knocked backward with a fierce punch. Before he could recover, he was hit again, and this time he fell to the ground. The demon lunged at him with the stake, and only a quick twist of his upper body saved him from a dusting. The stake ripped through muscle and tissue, embedding in his left shoulder.

“Ow!” Spike said indignantly. “That bloody hurt!” He kicked the demon back with both feet and then kipped up off the ground, despite the pain that shot through him with the maneuver. He nearly fell back down again, but he gritted his teeth and shoved one arm into the gaping wound in his belly. Closing his other fist around the stake, he yanked it free with a grunt.

The demon came at him again with the sword, leaving another bloody slice, this time in his right arm. Spike managed a roundhouse kick that knocked the sword out of the demon’s hand, and he jabbed the stake into its eye.

Howling in pain, the demon blindly lashed out at Spike, landing a blow to his midsection by pure luck. His fist drove right into Spike’s already shredded stomach and the vampire doubled over in agony.

This gave the demon a chance to reclaim the sword, and with it in hand, he knocked Spike to the ground again with a kick to the chest. Spike’s head smashed against the wall of his crypt, and he found himself cornered, weaponless, and bleeding. His vision swimming, he tried to push himself up, using the wall for support, but before he could get to his feet, the demon raised the sword for a decapitating blow. Spike closed his eyes as he felt the stinging blade bite into his throat, feeling a vague bit of apprehension at the impending oblivion.

But oblivion never came.

He opened his eyes to see the demon sprawled on the ground a few feet away, a furious, fiery Slayer standing between them. Before the demon had a chance to rise, she was on him, pummeling him with strength remarkable even for the Slayer. The demon threw her off and got to his feet, but she was quicker. With a flick of her foot, she flipped the sword off the ground and into her hand, driving it through the demon’s chest. It collapsed with a gasp, and Buffy, satisfied with the kill, turned back to Spike.

Her face immediately shifted into an expression of horror. She tumbled to the ground at his side where he had propped himself up against the wall of his crypt.

“Spike!”

Rivers of blood poured from his multiple wounds, and his head lolled to the side. Acting purely on instinct, Buffy leapt to her feet and yanked the sword out of the demon, cutting a jagged slice across her own wrist. Cradling him carefully, she pressed the cut to his mouth, forcing him to drink.

He only took a few mouthfuls before pushing her away. “You have to go.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“The dagger, Buffy! You – you gotta get there before they do. I’ll be all right.”

Buffy hesitated a moment, but she knew he was right. Torn, she leaned over and kissed Spike quickly, tasting her own blood on his lips, and then she ran off toward the third crypt.

She wasn’t the first visitor of the night. As she flung open the door, a black-robed demon with a hood concealing its face came barreling out, the dagger in hand. She tackled him to the ground, trying to get her hands on the knife. The demon, though not as strong as the one she’d just fought, managed to wriggle out of her grasp, flinging her off as he leapt to his feet.

Giving chase, Buffy vaulted off a raised headstone and delivered a crushing kick to the demon’s back, dropping him to his hands and knees. She moved to leap on top, but found herself jumping right onto the knife blade as the demon flipped onto his back. It drove into her thigh, only to be yanked roughly back out, its serrated edges tearing through her flesh, and she rolled to the side with a cry of pain.

Rising to her feet again with less than the usual Slayer speed, Buffy ran after the fleeing demon with an uneven, loping stride, but she lost sight of him as she came to the edge of the cemetery.

“Dammit!” she cried, shoulders sagging in defeat as she limped back to where she’d left Spike, the wound in her thigh throbbing.

When she got back to Spike’s crypt, he’d managed to get himself inside and was sprawled on the chair on the upper level.

“You get the goods?” he asked, when he heard the door open.

Buffy shook her head despondently. “Demon guy beat me to it.”

“We still got one more chance. Stop the final ritual.” He paused, focusing on her scent. “You’re bleeding.”

“So’re you.” Buffy came over to the chair and crouched down, looking over Spike’s injuries with guilty eyes. “I’m sorry. I wish I’d gotten here sooner.”

Not to be pitied, Spike eased himself up off the chair and headed for the refrigerator to get some blood, in an attempt to show her that he was fine. “Just a few flesh wounds. Be fine in a day or so.”

Buffy stopped him, ghosting a hand over the gash at his neck. The blade had cut a deep tear into his throat, and would’ve sliced through cleanly if she hadn’t shown up to knock the demon off balance.

“That thing almost killed you.” Her stomach gave a sickening lurch at the thought. “Do – do you have a first aid kit?”

Spike nodded toward the hole in the floor. “Downstairs.”

By the time Buffy came back up with it, he had fixed himself a mug of blood and was gulping it down. As soon as he was through, she pushed the duster back off his shoulders, paying no heed to his protestations.

“Stop it,” she said, forcing him to stop wiggling out of her grasp as she stripped him of the coat. “You’re gonna make the cuts open up again.”

Tentatively, she pulled his shirt out of the waistband of his jeans and carefully lifted it up. Spike hissed as the dried blood gluing the shirt to his stomach wounds tore apart.

“Sorry. It’s just a bit… There,” Buffy said, as she got the shirt above the gash. Once the fabric was loose, she slid her hands up his sides, and then over his upraised arms, pulling the shirt off. It occurred to Spike that she probably didn’t need to touch him quite that much, but he wasn’t in any position to complain.

“So, what the hell was that thing?” Buffy asked, as she got to work bandaging his wounds.

“Kailiff demon, I think. Usually work as muscle for other demons, or bounty hunters. I’d wager our warlock friend sent him.”

“Because of the dagger?”

Spike shrugged. “Maybe. Or it mighta just wanted to take me out.” When Buffy looked at him curiously, he went on, “I think it might’ve been a hit. That demon was just hangin’ around, waitin’ for me to show up. Hey, that’s enough.” He batted away the roll of white gauze in her hands, which she’d already used to wrap his midsection, his left shoulder, and his right bicep, and was now trying to figure out the best way to cover the gash on his neck. “Gonna make me look like a mummy.”

“Too bad.” She tilted her head to the side. “Can I just, like, tie this around your throat?”

“Why? ’Fraid my head’s gonna fall off?”

She shoved him gently in his good shoulder. “Don’t joke. I need to do your neck somehow.”

“Well, you can’t choke me, so…”

“Wanna test that out?” she asked with mock menace, but she did start wrapping the gauze around his neck loose enough that it would be comfortable, even though he didn’t need to breathe.

Once she was working again, she picked up their conversation. “So, you think this demon was connected to the warlock?”

“I think he hired him. Makes sense, right? Went after Red, now me. Taking out your strongest fighters.”

At his words, Buffy’s hands froze. “I can’t lose you,” she breathed, dropping the gauze and grasping the hair at the nape of his neck as though she could keep him alive just by holding on.

“Not goin’ anywhere,” he whispered hoarsely.

Spike swallowed hard at her closeness, the tenderness in her expression, and the undeniable intimacy. He dipped his head, and when she didn’t pull away from him, he let his lips meet hers.

She didn’t resist the kiss, relaxing her death grip on his hair to let her fingers gently massage the back of his neck. The hesitant caress of her mouth intensified against his, and he felt her exhale against his skin, her lips parting in a yearning sigh. Spike caught her bottom lip between his teeth, licking and nibbling until she whimpered with need. Taking it as permission, he deepened the kiss, his arms snaking around her as his tongue swept fervently into her mouth.

She had forgotten what it was like, kissing him. Had forgotten how he could make the world disappear, could kiss her until it was difficult to remember her own name. He overwhelmed her senses, and her entire body called out to him, begging for more, begging to get lost completely in his embrace.

It was a terrifying feeling for her, who never gave herself completely to anyone, and yet she craved it. It filled her with the same exhilarating high she felt when she fought, when she slayed. The thrill of danger, of death, of risking everything she knew and everything she was.

She had never been able to give her heart fully, to him or any other since Angel, had never mastered the art of surrendering herself to love – but for this one moment, she could give him everything.

Spike slid his hands up her bare back, inside her clothes, leaving a trail of gooseflesh that made Buffy shiver. He hardened instantly at the discovery that she wasn’t wearing a bra, and slowly slid his thumbs forward until they grazed the curves of her breasts. In response, Buffy let go of him to shrug out of her coat, letting it fall to the floor on top of his duster and his bloody shirt. His hands returned to her with magnetic urgency, brushing across her nipples with the pads of his thumbs. Buffy arched into him, catlike, a moan vibrating in her throat as her mouth pressed insistently against his, her fingers running over any part of his skin that wasn’t covered in bandages.

Their numerous injuries had slipped their minds in the heat of the moment, but they were given a fierce reminder as Buffy’s injured leg suddenly buckled under her weight. Spike attempted to support her, but he felt the pain ripping through him as he tried to use his severed muscles. They collapsed in a heap on the coat pile, breaking the kiss as frenetic giggles consumed them.

Spike drew in a deep breath, running his gaze over Buffy, her small frame slowly stilling as the laughter faded. He was bandaged like a mummy, she was covered in his blood, and both of them could barely stand, but it was still the most romantic kiss he’d ever had.

In that moment, he was absolutely sure that Buffy was in love with him.

The girl in question rolled over, sobered now, and rested her head on his chest. “What are we doing?” she murmured, a doleful expression on her face.

His heart sinking at her sudden change in demeanor, Spike stroked her hair. “Buffy…”

“No, I – oh, God.”

“Yeah,” he replied, reluctantly letting her go and pushing himself into a sitting position, the gauze around his waist crinkling. “We can’t… we can’t do this. You have a boyfriend, and I have a – a Susan.”

Buffy swallowed down the lump in her throat at his words, a whirlwind of emotions hitting her all at once. She couldn’t believe how easily she’d forgotten their attachments, and she was overwhelmed with guilt. And yet, she couldn’t help hearing a note of rejection in Spike’s words, as though their kiss had changed nothing between them.

Do I want it to change things?

She thought of Jacob’s accusation – I think maybe you’re a little bit in love with him – and her immediate denial. Was it possible Jacob had seen something she hadn’t?

As she climbed unsteadily to her feet, Spike noticed the cut on her wrist where she’d tried to feed him. “Let me get that for you.”

Following his gaze, she caught his meaning and cradled her wrist to her chest. “No, I’m okay.”

“You did it for me,” he insisted. Reluctantly, she held out her arm to him and he bandaged it for her, picking up the gauze she’d dropped on the floor.

“Anyplace else?”

They both glanced down at the bloodstain on her thigh, and it occurred to them simultaneously that she’d have to take her pants off for him to reach it. Considering what they’d done with most of their clothes on, taking off any more was definitely a bad idea.

“I think I’m fine, really,” Buffy replied in a rush.

“Right.” Nervous and fidgety, Spike forced himself to look around the crypt, anywhere but at her. “You should go tell Rupert about the demons.”

Buffy nodded, taking a few steps away from him. She tried to think of something to say, but words completely failed her. An ache settled in her chest, a weighty combination of guilt, regret, and longing. Turning to go, she immediately spun back around and flew at him, kissing him again. She was rougher this time, more desperate, and he broke off the kiss with an “Ow.”

“Sorry,” she said, letting him go and dropping her head sheepishly.

“Buffy. Go.”

“But –”

Spike cut her off with a shake of his head, sending her away, assuming that was what she really wanted. To go back to her boyfriend and forget about their little indiscretion. Even if she couldn’t seem to keep her hands off him now, she’d surely wish she had later.

“This never happened.”

The words hit her like a ton of bricks. He didn’t want her after all. He’d tested it out, and decided she wasn’t worth breaking up with Susan. Crushed by the rejection, Buffy turned and fled from the crypt before Spike could see her cry.