1. What He Deserves
"Spike."
The single spoken word held a depth of anger and hatred that would have
made an average man's blood run cold just to hear it – knowing that
such fury was aimed in his direction.
Fortunately, Spike was not by any means an average man – and his blood
*already* ran cold.
A sardonic smirk rose on his lips before he turned around to face the
source of the all-too-familiar familiar voice. The intruder glared at
him with a murderous rage in his eyes, stalking across the crypt floor
toward the, to all appearances, completely unaffected blonde vampire.
Apparently – the person standing in the doorway did not exactly inspire
fear for Spike.
Or maybe – Spike was just too drunk to care.
He tipped the half-empty bottle in his hand in a mocking greeting to
his uninvited guest, the smirk on his lips not quite reaching his
haunted, pain-filled eyes. It was too soon – too close to the moment
when his heart had been most recently shattered – for him to even give
a second thought to the man staring at him with such hatred, or what
his intentions might be.
"Thought you'd be here sooner," Spike remarked flippantly. "It's been –
how long has it been?" he shrugged, dismissing the answer to the
question as unimportant – especially with his mind too clouded to do
the math at the moment. "Took you that long to work up the nerve to
face me, you soddin'...?"
His question was suddenly cut off as his enemy reached him, striking
out without hesitation across his face in a brutal blow with his fist.
"I'm gonna kill you, Spike," he announced quietly, in a low, dark
voice, as the vampire recovered his footing, but made no move to strike
back. At the moment, maintaining his own balance was about all that
Spike seemed to be able to manage.
"You're gonna try," Spike corrected him, all traces of amusement
vanished from his glittering blue eyes. "No guarantees on the outcome,
mate." He shrugged casually before adding, "Can't see why you think
you're entitled to the attempt, anyway, truth be told. Not like you've
got any bloody claim on the girl anymore. *You* left her – remember?
Really now, it wasn't so very long ago. Can't see how you can blame
*me* for your own poor judgment in passing up a treasure like her..."
"Shut up, Spike." The words were ground out in a dangerously trembling
voice of barely restrained rage, as his attacker took another menacing
step toward him.
"Been saying that to me for years," Spike observed with a slightly
slurred laugh that bordered on an actual giggle – not that he really
cared. The same drink that had caused the sound to come out that way,
also prevented him from caring *how* he sounded. "Think one of these
times it'll actually take?"
"This time I'm gonna *make* it take," the other countered furiously,
striking out against him again, this time hard enough to knock Spike
backward against the wall of his crypt, hard enough to give him at the
very least a splitting headache, if not to crack his skull.
But the vampire was feeling no pain at the moment.
"Come on, mate," Spike laughed as he awkwardly steadied himself again,
almost reluctantly tossing the bottle aside and taking on a ridiculous
parody of his usual fighting stance – ridiculous because of the
unhealthy amount of alcohol-induced stumble and stagger that replaced
his usual swaggering grace. "Let's give it a go then, if you're that
set on a fight...I'll make it quick..."
The surprised amusement in his opponent's dark laugh should have given
him warning that all was not as simple as it appeared to be – but
Spike's judgment and perception were both hampered at the moment, and
he noticed nothing off about the situation. As far as he was concerned,
this was a fight that had been in the making for years – and he was
more than ready to take on the man that stood before him, poised and
ready, intent on taking him down.
As determined as he was to finally put the blonde vampire in his place,
Spike was just as determined not to let him – regardless of history,
regardless of certain facts which were most definitely not in his
favor. Whether or not he really had a chance, Spike was not about to
back down from this or any fight.
"Look at you!" the intruder sneered, incredulous that the vampire
actually seemed to think that he was in any condition to defend himself
at all. "You really think you can take me on like this? Look at
yourself! You're a wreck!" He paused, giving Spike a derisive up and
down look before adding coldly, "How long have you been sitting here
wallowing in alcohol and your own pathetic, worthless state?"
Spike's eyes narrowed in anger as he snarled back, "You oughta know
about the wallowing – not to mention the pathetic state – shouldn't
you, mate?"
"I'm not your mate," the man snapped back, his voice seething with
fury. "How about I help you with that little self pity problem, Spike?
Do us both a favor and send you to where you belong?"
"By all means," Spike replied without a moment's hesitation. "You're
more than welcome to try – if you think you stand a bloody chance of
beating me."
"Hasn't been that long since I've beaten you, Spike," the man reminded
him, a cold threat in his voice as he moved slowly closer to him.
"Well – yeah," Spike admitted with a little half-shrug. "But as I
recall, you had a bit of an unfair advantage at the time, didn't you?"
"Doesn't matter," was the cold reply. "Cheap shot – who cares? I'll
take it – just to see you go down."
If Spike had been just a bit more sober, he would have noticed several
things long before he actually did – the tremble of pain and betrayal
in the voice of his attacker, betraying a deep-rooted desire for
vengeance that would not allow the man to let this thing go easily...the
blind hatred and fury in his dark eyes that revealed no trace of
compassion or pity for the vampire's obvious state of disadvantage...
...or the small, black pistol that suddenly appeared in his opponent's
hand.
"Yeah," Spike sneered, bouncing slightly – although without his usual
grace – on his heels, itching for the fight that his opponent had
promised. "You're good at taking those cheap shots, aren't you? About
the only ones you can get, aren't..."
The shot rang out, echoing against the stone walls of the crypt until
Spike wasn't sure whether it was the thunder of the gunshot, or the
roaring in his ears, that drowned out the harsh laughter of the one who
had pulled the trigger. When the haze of pain from the bullet that had
torn through his stomach began to fade away, Spike struggled to open
his eyes, realizing with sudden, sobered alarm that he was on his
knees, on the floor of his crypt.
He quickly scrambled to his feet, biting his lip against the pain of
the movement, as he simply struggled to place himself once again on the
same level as his attacker.
"Yeah – guess you *would* need that to take me on, wouldn't you?" he
taunted him between harsh, ragged breaths, his right hand clutching the
bleeding wound in his stomach, while his left hand braced against the
wall of the crypt to help him stay on his feet. "No bleedin' way you
could take me in a fair fight...not like that's gonna kill me though..."
The small smile that rose on the lips of the shooter was in no way
pleasant or reassuring, as he countered softly, "Who says I want you
dead?"
"*You* did, you bleedin' wanker!" Spike pointed out, gasping for breath
as he leaned back against the wall for a moment, trying to regain his
bearings – and a bit of control over the situation. "Told me you were
gonna see me dust, didn't you? Don't think you're gonna do it with
*that* thing!"
The expression on the gunman's face did not change as he repeated his
last statement, amending it slightly, "Who says I want you dead –
*yet*?"
Spike did not allow the chill that those words sent down his spine to
show in his face, as he forced a slow smirk to his face, standing up
straight again, despite the pain shooting from his stomach throughout
the rest of his body.
All at once – he felt very sober.
"Cute," he remarked with a false unconcern. "Very cute, mate – but the
whole bloody Bond movie villain routine went out with – well – Bond
movies. If you wanna fight – then fight...but enough with the games,
yeah?"
"You're one to talk about games." A bitter laugh followed the words.
"After what you did – how you stole her from me – when you didn't even
care..."
"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't," Spike countered, his eyes narrowed
defiantly. "Not really any of your business, is it? At any rate – seems
I cared a sight more'n you did, doesn't it?"
The gun in the man's hand steadied, taking aim on the vampire's chest
again – but he did not say a word in response to Spike's quiet taunt.
"Unless you've got wood-tipped bullets in there – and I *really* don't
think you do, judging by the first round – your weapon's not your most
effective choice, mate..." Spike started in again – mostly just trying to
distract his opponent enough to allow him time and opportunity to
regain the upper hand.
*Who're you kiddin', mate?* he admitted to himself grimly. *Ever since
you allowed him to walk in on you here, pissed out of your mind – you
never *had* the upper hand in this little scenario to begin with...*
"She was mine." The quiet, emphatic statement drew Spike out of his
thoughts, his eyes back to the resolute face of the intruder. "Mine,
Spike – and you just had to put your hands on her – had to..."
"Woman's not a possession, mate – not a thing you can own, 'less of
course she lets you. And after the way you tossed her away – can't
blame the girl for looking elsewhere, can you now? Way I see it –
you're the one to blame..."
"Shut up, Spike!" he was cut off again with a menacing snarl, as the
man holding the gun closed the gap between them, drawing back the gun
and bringing it down across the vampire's face viciously, once, twice,
and yet again.
When the blinding flashing lights faded away from his vision, Spike
realized with dismay that he was once again on his knees. Apparently,
the effects of the alcohol on his undead body had yet to completely
wear off, after all.
He started to look up once again at the face of his attacker – but
suddenly froze at the feeling of cold steel pressed firmly against his
head, directly behind his ear and aimed at an angle so as to pass a
bullet straight through his skull and out the other side, a few inches
higher than the point where it would go in.
"You've taken the last thing you're ever gonna take from me, Spike..."
"Oh so she's a *thing* now, is she!" Spike shot back at him, disguising
the slight tremor of fear in his voice with a laugh of false triumph.
"Oh, she'd bloody well love that! Thought I was the only *thing* around
here that walks and talks and rubs elbows with you lot...Besides – what
the bloody hell are you talking about, last thing I've taken from
*you*? 'S long as I've bloody well known you you've done nothing but..."
The crack of the weapon against the back of his skull was loudly
audible, seeming to reverberate both within and without the vampire's
head, as his head was knocked violently against the wall beside him
with the force of the blow, just before he felt the muzzle of the gun
pressed once again against his head.
The low, menacing whisper startled him with its nearness, and he jumped
slightly as the voice of hateful pleasure was heard in his ear, "I said
shut up, Spike."
For once – Spike shut up.
After a moment, the gunman went on, "Everything I've wanted –
everything that was mine – you took away, Spike. You made her want you
instead of me...*you*! You're nothing but a dead, disgusting *thing* --
and she still preferred you to me..."
"Now – which exactly..."
"Shut. Up."
Another moment of heavy silence passed between them, the only sound in
the room the raspy, labored breathing of the wounded vampire, and the
heavy, anticipating breath of his attacker – terribly eager to exact
the vengeance he felt he deserved.
"I don't know what it is about you, Spike," he mused, his voice
trembling with a mixture of anger and excitement. "Don't know what it
is about you that makes them want you – even *knowing* what you are...but
they do – don't they?"
Spike did not bother to respond – was really not sure what he could say
in this moment that would not serve to get him pistol whipped some more
– or even shot again.
And though a bullet through the head would not necessarily kill him –
not unless it was aimed with a precision that even this man certainly
did not have – Spike hated to even imagine what such an injury *could*
do to him.
"Wonder if you'd even be the same person?"
The softened voice of his attacker sent a sick feeling straight to the
pit of Spike's bleeding stomach – timed so perfectly with his own
thoughts as to be deeply unsettling – and more than a little
frightening.
"A bullet through the head – do vampires *get* brain damage? I mean –
if it didn't dust you...what do you think it would do?"
Spike was silent, swallowing hard as his mind raced and he struggled to
keep a handle on his own rising fears.
*He's not gonna do it,* he told himself firmly. *He wouldn't. Even he's
not that dark – not that sadistic and twisted as to...to...* He couldn't
even finish the thought in his mind – though deep down, he knew that it
was a comforting lie, designed to soothe his own fears.
This man *did* have just that sort of darkness in him – no matter how
cleverly it was usually disguised.
*He wouldn't do it – she wouldn't like it – wouldn't approve –
wouldn't...oh – bollocks...wouldn't bloody well care, now, would she?* he
remembered with a sinking feeling in his stomach. *Not the way she
feels about me now...not after what I've done...Bloody hell – this is no
more than I deserve, after...*I'm* the one she'll never bloody forgive –
she barely gave two cents about me *before* -- don't wager she's gonna
care what he does to me now...*
Once again all too well in sync with his own thoughts, the soft whisper
near his ear suddenly stilled his desperate wonderings with the weight
of the three simple words.
"*Let's find out*..."
And before he could react – before he could move or fight or object or
plead...
...a single shot rang out in the silence of Restfield Cemetery.
And in Spike's world – everything went black.