5. The Challenge
"Oh, God," Buffy whimpered, pacing the floor of
her bedroom with an almost frantic speed, letting out a little moan of
frustration and anxiety as her eyes fell on the alarm clock on her
night stand. "I don't think I can do this, Anya."
It was 7:15.
"Well, it's a little late for that now," Anya pointed out to her in a
matter-of-fact tone that was ironically calming, the voice of reason in
this insane situation that she had somehow managed to get herself into.
"The spell's already done, it's just a matter of waiting for it to kick
in. And if Spike's chip is gonna go down, you'd *better* go ahead and
fight him!"
Buffy had to admit that she was right. "Well, I guess we'd better go,"
Buffy muttered, and Anya thought that she would have sounded more
excited about facing a hundred regurgitating Frolox demons than the
one, currently chipped – but soon to be not – master vampire that she
was about to face. "We need to get Spike over there before the spell
kicks in."
It was a little after 7:30 when they arrived at Giles' apartment.
Buffy took a deep breath before reaching to open the door. When they
entered the living room, the feeling of tension was almost palpable.
Giles was sitting at the counter that made up the border between his
living room and tiny kitchenette, a full bottle and an empty glass of
some kind of liquor in front of him. As she entered, he gave her a
flat, unhappy look and refilled his glass, shaking his head and
muttering to himself.
He wanted her to do the ritual, but he was not very happy about the
idea of her being alone with Spike to do it.
Anya was acutely aware of the resentful looks that Willow kept shooting
her out of the corner of her eye. Buffy's reasoning that the red-headed
witch needed to get the spell done, so Anya should be the one to help
her get ready, hand the ring of an excuse to Willow's perceptive ears,
and she was clearly jealous that Anya should have been chosen instead
of her to help her best friend prepare.
What bothered Anya even more was the much milder, but very similar look
that Xander was giving her as well.
"Slayer!" Spike immediately said when he saw Buffy come in, and there
was no mistaking the agitation in his voice. "I can't believe I'm
saying this, but am I ever glad you're here!"
Buffy raised one eyebrow, her mouth quirking slightly up on one side as
she gave him a questioning look. She was quite certain that in a very
short time, he would not feel that way anymore.
"Your little witch over there has been working her bloody mojo on me,
and wouldn't even tell me what it was all about, and the Watcher and
the boy keep giving me looks like they wanna stake me right now...and I
swear I haven't done a bloody thing, Slayer! I've spent the whole day
tied to this soddin' chair!" Spike pleaded his case, looking up at
Buffy with wide, angry eyes that betrayed a bit of his fear, in spite
of himself.
As he spoke, Willow stood up from the couch and walked to Buffy,
placing something in her hand. Spike did not notice what it was until
the Slayer moved slowly toward him, raising it in both hands toward his
face. It was a thick, black cloth – and he suddenly realized with
indignation, and greater fear – she meant to blindfold him.
He jerked his head back, protesting, "Now wait just a bleedin' minute,
Slayer! You're not gonna..."
His words cut off in a little yelp of pain as she gripped his hair and
yanked his head back forward, leaning in close to speak softly, her
eyes focused on his in a penetrating gaze. "I'm not?" she asked with a
little smirk. "Wanna tell me just how you're gonna stop me?"
He had absolutely no response, and they both knew it. She watched as
his jaw set with anger at her, and at his own helplessness. After a
long moment, he said in a low, dangerous voice of barely suppressed
rage, "I can't stop you. Not now."
She released her grip on his hair, satisfied that she had made her
point.
"But when this chip comes out, Slayer," he went on, meeting her eyes
with blazing fury and defiance in his own. "I'm going to show you just
why they call me what they do."
"William the Bloody?" she frowned, confused.
With menace shining in his narrowed eyes, the words coming out razor
sharp, he corrected her, "Slayer of Slayers."
In a reflex reaction to the chill of fear his words invoked in her,
Buffy lashed out, backhanding him hard with her fist, nearly toppling
the chair with the force fo the blow. She caught it before it fell,
leaning in to place a heavy hand at the back of his neck, pulling him
in close to her as she spoke softly, right in his face.
"I look forward to the day when you try!" she informed him with an
angry challenge in her eyes – but her fear was also obvious, and he
took what satisfaction he could in the knowledge that he *had* gotten
to her. "But until then," she went on with a cold smile, "you can't
lift a finger against me – so why don't you just be a good little
neutered vampire, so I don't have to kick your ass -- *again*. Okay?"
He closed his eyes, swallowing hard in a mixture of fear and fury at
her completely unwarranted treatment of him.
Fury, that she should dare to treat him with such utter disrespect, as
if he were nothing more than a pathetic irritation to be smacked around
and manhandled as she saw fit, rather than the powerful master vampire
who had claimed the lives of two of her sister Slayers – the powerful
master vampire that he still was, only temporarily restrained by the
chip in his head.
And fear, because something was clearly wrong with this picture. In all
the time he had been in the Watcher's house, Buffy had hardly touched
him – well, with the intent of hurting him, anyway, he amended,
thinking again of Red's spell. She seemed to be of the opinion that it
was wrong to hit him when he couldn't hit back, and she hadn't – much.
Once or twice she had punched him, but it had only been if he had tried
to hit her first.
Now, the combination of the odd demeanor of her friends, with her own
more-aggressive-than-usual behavior, and the strange, calculating light
in her eyes, worked together to convince him more and more with every
moment of one thing – he was in very real danger.
And that was not even considering the added evidence of the blindfold
that the Slayer was bringing toward his face again.
He glared at her in hatred at being forced to submit to it as he
muttered out a low response to her words. "Until then," he agreed, with
a deadly promise in his words. He would do what he had to in order to
survive – and when he managed to get the chip out, the "good little
neutered vamp" would vanish, and the master would take his vengeance.
As Buffy tied the dark cloth firmly around his eyes, he fought back a
sudden sense of panic, at being suddenly just that much more helpless,
unable even to see what they were doing around him – or to him.
"Buffy!" he heard Willow hiss in a loud, urgent whisper, and he
suppressed the urge to laugh at the girl's apparent belief that he
could not hear her. He could have easily heard her even had she been
actually whispering, and her voice was louder than she had intended in
her anxiety. "What are you doing provoking him? In a few minutes..."
"Will!" The Slayer's voice was sharp as she cut off her friend's words.
"Oh." Willow's voice was small and sheepish, and he realized with
disappointment that the Slayer had called her attention to the fact
that he could hear her. "Sorry."
*In a few minutes -- *what*?* he wondered almost frantically.
Buffy released a slow breath of relief that she had stopped her
over-anxious friend before she had given anything away. They had all
decided the night before that it would be best not to let Spike know
anything about what was going on until he and Buffy were alone at the
site for the ritual. But Willow, not as aware of vampires' heightened
senses as Buffy was, had almost given it away ahead of time.
The Slayer felt very conflicting emotions about the whole situation, as
she regarded the tense form of the bound vampire in the chair, clearly
afraid – and clearly determined not to show it. She had intended by her
harsh treatment to shake him up a bit, throw him off his game. And yet,
she found herself oddly pleased when his reaction was anger and
defiance, as opposed to the breaking of his confidence that she had
thought was her goal.
Something in her recognized his courage and strength with admiration,
pleased to find in him a worthy opponent.
Of course, she reminded herself, she had already known that Spike was a
more-than-worthy opponent; he was the only one of all the enemies she
had faced that she had failed to truly defeat. It was that fact more
than any other that kept her from staking him, now that he was
defenseless. It seemed so unfair, and even – sad – for him to go out
that way, after coming through so many battles so impressively.
The truth was – she simply had too much respect for him to stake him
now.
But at the moment, she had no intention of letting *him* see that.
She laid a frighteningly strong hand at the back of his neck again,
tipping his head forward as she leaned in to speak close to his ear,
feeling him tense under her touch, at her sudden nearness, as she said
softly, "We're gonna untie you now. And you're not gonna try anything –
are you? Cause I'd hate to have to hurt you."
She was surprised – and a bit disappointed – when he shook his head,
indicating that he would obey. Then, he replied in a voice of quiet
mockery, "No, I rather think you'd bloody well love it, pet. But I
think I'll wait 'til I can hurt you back!"
Buffy was surprised at the relief – and almost...*affection* -- that she
felt at his continued courage in the face of her power over him.
Honestly, she had not expected any less from him.
She kept her oppressive grip on the back of his neck as Xander
reluctantly untied the ropes that held him to the chair. Once he was
free, she pulled him up to his feet, reminding him quietly, "You can't
get away. Don't even try it."
"Wouldn't dream of giving you the pleasure, Slayer," he smirked, in
spite of the fear rising up inside him.
He was absolutely, utterly helpless against her. He knew he couldn't
fight her; that would only result in further pain and humiliation when
his chip fired. He would never get in a second blow. And the way she
was behaving was leading him to believe that whatever she had planned
for him for this evening, it was *not* going to be pleasant.
He was caught off guard when she grabbed his arm and shoved him into
the wall, not very hard, but with enough force to remind him who was in
control at the moment.
"Don't move," she ordered, and he didn't, as his arms were pulled
behind his back by someone else's hands – until he felt a metal ring
close around one of his wrists, and realized with a sense of panic that
he was about to be bound again.
His mind raced with the implications. He had been loosed from the
chair, but he had been blindfolded and now they were chaining him up
again. They meant to take him somewhere, and did not want him to be
able to offer any resistance or even know where they were going.
That could only mean that the Slayer intended him serious harm once
they got there. And it had to be more than a staking – which would have
been bad enough – because that, she could have done here, which a lot
less trouble. He had no idea where they planned to take him.
All he knew was that he could not let them take him there.
He suddenly jerked his left wrist out of the grip of the person behind
him, who let out a startled little cry and staggered back a step or
two, as he simultaneously slammed his elbow into the ribcage of the
Slayer at his side, causing her to release his arm and double over in
pain. At the exact same moment, he spun around, swinging the handcuffs
hanging from his right wrist with flawless aim, catching her in the
face, sending her stumbling back a couple of steps with a little gasp.
He reached for the blindfold that covered his eyes, heading already
toward the door.
And in that moment, the chip caught up with his lightning fast
movements.
A powerful jolt of fiery agony punished his defiance, tearing through
his head with vicious intensity, and he dropped to his knees with a
moan of pain, holding his head, the blindfold, his desperation for
escape – forgotten, swallowed up in agony.
Buffy straightened up, holding her bruised ribs with one hand, her
other rising to wipe the blood from her face where the handcuffs had
cut her, staring at the blood on the back of her hand in surprise, as a
slow smile spread across her face. If Spike could do this much damage
while chipped...
This was going to be quite a fight.
She frowned, puzzled. *And why does that seem like a *good* thing to
me?*
Xander, stunned and outraged by the unexpected violence from the
supposedly harmless vampire, started toward him with a bitter, angry
look on his face, drawing back his foot to aim a vicious kick at his
ribcage, heedless of the fact that he was still reeling from the pain
of the chip.
Buffy noticed just in time, her eyes widening in alarm, and pulled
Xander back before his foot could connect. "Xander," she said quietly.
"no."
"He hurt you, Buffy! I thought the whole reason you were letting this
worthless little piece of shit live was because he *couldn't* do that!"
Xander spat out the words in hatred, glaring down at the helpless
creature with a vindictive rage in his dark eyes.
"*No*," Buffy repeated again firmly, a warning in her voice as she
pushed her friend gently behind her, away from Spike, before crouching
down beside the suffering vampire, helping him carefully to his feet.
He was still shaking, gasping for unnecessary breath through the pain,
as Buffy pulled his wrists behind his back and locked them into the
cuffs, not wanting to risk another incident like the last. This time,
he did not resist, still weakened and disoriented by the aftershocks of
the chip's assault.
He had completely missed the little exchange that had passed between
Buffy and Xander, but he could smell the powerful aroma of the Slayer's
blood – knew that he had somehow managed to hurt her – and expected her
own punishment to follow at any moment.
He was surprised when her hand touched him, not in violence, but as a
steadying support under his elbow, as she led him toward the door. "I
guess I don't have to tell you how very *not* smart that was, do I?"
she said, and there was an odd gentleness to her voice.
It only added to his anger with her. "I'm going to make you pay for
this, Slayer," he informed her in a low growl.
He could hear the surprised indignation in her voice as she replied,
"Hey! That was *not* my fault! You're the one who decided to go all
kamikaze on me, so don't blame me!"
"I *do* blame you, Slayer," he said in a quiet, deadly serious voice,
as they stepped out into the night air.
He wondered briefly if anyone was around, knew that if there was, he
could cause the Slayer a hell of a lot of trouble by calling attention
to the fact that she was leading a man about bound and blindfolded
against his will. But then, he thought about the potential negative
effects of that sort of action, if there did *not* happen to be anyone
around to help him – and decided it was not worth the risk.
And then, he understood the reason for the blindfold.
"For what?" Buffy demanded, her voice rising slightly in pitch on the
last word, in a way that made her sound very much like a petulant child.
To her surprise, the vampire laughed – a soft, bitter sound – before he
replied quietly, "Everything."
"Buffy, are you *sure*?" Giles turned around in the driver's seat to
face his Slayer, who had ridden in the back with Spike.
After all, car doors were not human, and kicking one out would not
activate Spike's chip. They both knew that the vampire could easily
survive a tumble from the car, if he should choose to take that route.
Buffy figured it was better not to give him the option.
"I'm sure, Giles," she said impatiently, as she got out of the car,
pulling Spike along after her, helping him to get out of the vehicle.
"You can go, Giles!" she urged him when the older man did not seem
inclined to move the vehicle. "We'll be back later."
The implication of the words was not lost on the attentive vampire. She
had said "we" – so she did not intend to dust him, then. He was not
sure if that was a relief or not. He *did* feel a sense of relief at
the knowledge that it was just the two of them. No paranoid, over-eager
Scoobies to get him unnecessarily hurt. Just him and the Slayer. And
Slayers, he could deal with.
At least – he could have – before the chip.
He heard the sound of a door being opened, and suddenly his sense were
assaulted by the powerful, familiar smell of -- *family*. He thought
hard, trying to figure out where he was, what place they could be that
would smell so strongly of...
Suddenly, his attention was focused on more important things, as he
felt the Slayer's hands on his wrists, turning a key in the cuffs, and
the next moment – he was free. He felt her hands suddenly near his
face, though he couldn't see her, and he jerked back instinctively,
fighting off panic when his back encountered the wall. He knocked her
hand away from his face when she reached for him again, wincing at the
small current that shot through his head in warning response to his
small act of violence.
"Easy," she said softly, soothingly, as she reached up again to remove
the blindfold from his eyes, and this time he did not resist. "You're
gonna hurt yourself."
He scoffed at her as he opened his eyes, allowing them to adjust to the
dim light. "Like you'd bloody ca..." His words trailed off as he realized
where they were.
The old mansion, where he had spent so long, with Dru – and Angelus.
He looked back at her with suspicion. "What is this, Slayer?" he asked
quietly.
She shrugged, with a small, nostalgic sort of smile. "Just thought this
might be a good place to do this."
"To do *what*, exactly?" he slowly asked her, searching her guarded
eyes.
She was quiet for a moment, looking down, before she suddenly met his
eyes again, an odd little smile on her face. "You've caused quite a bit
of trouble for me and mine, Spike -- and I don't intend to tolerate it
anymore."
A smirk crossed his face as he looked up at her, derisive despite the
fact that he knew he was defenseless against her. "So that's it, then?
You mean to beat the bloody daylights out of me and hope I fall in
line? Not bloody likely, Slayer!"
"*If* I beat you -- you *will* fall in line," Buffy corrected him, a
certain hardness coming into her eyes that sent a chill down his spine.
"I'm challenging you, Spike. I believe you know how it works. If you
can beat me -- well -- then I'm pretty much screwed," she said with a
small smile, which faded as she added, "But if I beat you -- then *you*
will submit to *me*, Spike."
His eyes widened in recognition at her words, a sick feeling settling
over him as he realized the ritual that she was talking about. How the
bleeding hell had the *Slayer* found out about it? But that was a
soddin' foolish question – from the Watcher, no doubt. He'd have to
think of a special way to *thank* old Rupes for contributing that
little piece of information, later.
Providing he didn't become a bloody slave to the Slayer tonight.
"But," he began cautiously, hating the uncertainty in his voice. "the
ritual can't apply in this case, Slayer. Because I can't fight you. So
– you can't technically challenge me."
Her knowing smirk, not at all surprised by his words, made him feel
even sicker as she took a step toward him, effectively eliminating any
distance between them. She glanced down at her watch speculatively for
a moment, before she looked back up at him appraisingly.
"Hit me," she said softly.
He stared at her for a moment in silence before speaking slowly,
cautiously, as if afraid she had lost her mind. "Come again, love?"
"Hit...me," she stated slowly and emphatically, her eyes shining with a
secret triumph.
Thinking he understood, he averted his eyes, angry and embarrassed.
"Now, that's just bloody cruel, Slayer. You know bloody well I can't,
if you're trying to prove a point, trying to say how much of a true
vampire I'm *not*, well you've made your bloody point, now if you'd
kindly just sod off and..."
"Spike," she interrupted him sharply, and he realized with alarm that
that strange hardness was back in her eyes. "I'm not kidding. Hit. Me."
Bloody hell, but the Slayer was a sadistic bint! he thought as he took
a deep breath.
She knew very well that what she was asking would cause him extreme
pain. But they both knew that she could cause him worse pain than the
chip would for a simple light blow, with no real intention to hurt her
at the moment.
After all, the more he hurt her, the more he hurt himself.
Reluctantly, he complied with her order, half-heartedly slapping her
arm, wincing automatically at the expected jolt of pain from the chip –
his eyes widening in disbelief when he felt nothing. He glanced quickly
at her, cringing exaggeratedly with a hand to his head, thinking it
might not be wise to let her know just yet what he had just discovered.
She laughed softly. "I know it didn't hurt you, Spike," she informed
him. "So you can drop the act." She paused. "I *made* it so it wouldn't
hurt you."
He stared at her, uncomprehending, shaking his head slightly.
"That was the spell that Will did." She laughed again. "Oh, it's not
permanent...that's for sure. But for the next six hours or so...you're
chipless."
He looked away from her for a moment, trying to wrap his mind around
the impact of what she was saying, as she went on talking.
"I knew I couldn't challenge you if you couldn't fight back. So I made
it so you *could* fight back. And if I win – the chip won't matter,
anyway. Because you won't be doing any killing or anything like that,
with or without the chip. So – do you accept my challenge?"
She looked at him expectantly, waiting as he stared off into space for
a few moments, still trying to take it in. Slowly, his head turned and
his eyes focused back on hers – and a slow, predatory smile came over
his face, his eyes glittering with evil delight, tiny flecks of gold
sparking through the crystal blue.
Without warning, he drew back his fist and struck her such a powerful
blow that she found herself staggering back up from the ground several
yards away, trying urgently to regain her bearings.
Before she could shake off the dizzy feeling enough to even know where
either of them were, she heard a chilling triumphant laugh, much closer
than she had expected, whirling around to see Spike standing behind
her, stalking slowly toward her again.
"Yes, Slayer," he said softly with a cold smirk. "I accept."