78. Mastery
*Maybe you ought
to call Dawn – let her and Mom
know we're okay,* Buffy suggested after they had been driving for about
ten minutes. *They have to be scared to death right now, Spike...*
Spike did not respond for a long moment, apparently lost in his own
thoughts, before nodding slowly. "Right," he agreed aloud, taking the
cell phone from his pocket and pressing the speed dial to connect him
with Joyce's phone.
It had barely started to ring for the first time when Joyce hurriedly
picked it up.
"Is it them? Is it Spike?" he could hear Dawn's tearful, anxious voice
in the background, just before Joyce spoke into the phone, to him.
"Spike? Where are you?" There was a sharp, slightly angry note to her
voice that betrayed her fear and concern.
" 'S all right, pet – didn't mean to scare you so badly. Just had to
get the Slayer away from the unsuspecting populace so we can finish
this without anyone getting hurt."
"What about *you*? And *Buffy*? *You two* could get seriously hurt!"
The angry tears she had been shedding were obvious in her trembling,
hoarse voice.
Spike was silent for a long moment, as Joyce waited for his response.
Finally he answered in a quiet, heavy voice of resignation, "There's
not going to be much getting around that one, pet – one way or the
other." He paused, considering for a moment before continuing
cautiously, "Maybe both ways."
Joyce took in that difficult truth for a moment, before going on in a
trembling voice, "Is she – is she even okay? After – after..." Joyce's
voice caught in her throat over the question, and Spike felt a pang of
guilt come over him at the sound.
It could not have been easy for the woman to watch as he had shoved her
daughter over a ledge a couple of stories above the ground – and he was
convinced by now, that Joyce *had* been watching.
"She's fine, pet...takes a bit more than that to do in a Slayer..."
**Spike!** Buffy hissed in his mind, horrified.
"...not that – anyone's going to be *doing* that, tonight – or anytime
soon, for that matter..." Spike sighed, realizing that his words were not
anywhere near the realm of helpful. "...Joyce...love...it's gonna be fine, I
promise you...we're gonna complete the ritual, and I'll call you when
it's done – okay?"
Joyce was silent for a long moment – and then suddenly, the line went
dead.
She had hung up.
"Well -- *that* was just bloody rude," Spike remarked, a note of hurt
to his voice.
*Give her a break, Spike,* Buffy said in a soft, tired voice. *She's
dealing with a lot here, too...she just needs a little time to deal with
it.*
*Well, it's not like I'm not dealing with it all, too, and times
soddin' ten, love!* Spike countered. *She could be a bit more
understanding...*
*Of the fact that her *daughter* -- to all appearances – is trying to
kill you...and you have to beat the crap out of her daughter and make her
submit to you in order to save yourself and her entire family, maybe
the world...yeah...*that's* easy enough to understand.*
*When did *you* become the soddin' practical one?* Spike demanded
grudgingly.
He could almost feel Buffy's soft, sad smile inside him as she went on
encouragingly, ignoring his only half-serious question, *She'll feel a
lot better once we both get back, safe and sound – for the most part,
anyway.*
Spike could not miss the faint sound of uncertainty and fear in her
voice, and realized that the idea of what he was going to have to do in
a very short time had to be a bit unsettling for Buffy as well.
*I'll try not to hurt you anymore than I have to, love – you know
that,* he assured her gently.
*No,* she said sharply, surprising him. *Don't say that. You do
whatever you have to do, Spike. I'm a Slayer – I'll heal. You just do
what you have to do to win this fight, Spike.* She was quiet for a
moment, before going on with grim certainty. *And if it comes down to
you or her – even then – don't hold back, Spike. *Do not* let her kill
you – even if you have to...even...*
*I am bloody well *not* going to kill you, Buffy!* he declared, shocked
and aghast a her words. *No matter what happens, I *won't* do that!*
*You might have to!* Buffy insisted, a bit harsher than she had
intended the words to come out. *Spike – we have to consider all the
possibilities.*
*Killing you is not a possibility...it won't happen, love – period. I'll
bloody die first...*
*You -- and Mom and Dawn? Whoever else she decides to kill when she
goes on her little happy spree of celebration over winning control of
my body? And there's another thing – if she kills you – she'll probably
kill me, too, Spike. I'm here in you right now.*
*But if *I* kill you – your body – then you'll probably die, too – and
I can't do that...*
*Spike,* she cut him off gently, a courageous resignation to her mental
voice that went a long way towards bridging the rift that had grown
between them, and restoring some of his affection for her. *If she wins
this fight – if she kills you – you, me, Dawn and Mom -- *everyone* she
comes in contact with will die. She will use my body to do incredible
damage. If you have to kill her to win the fight – then you'll save my
family, yourself – who knows? Maybe even me. We don't know exactly how
this whole thing works.*
*Buffy – I don't know if I can do that...* he confessed after a long
silence, as he took in the painful truth of her words.
*Don't tell me that, Spike!* she snapped, her fear evident in her
voice. *You *have* to win this. Period. There's no getting around it,
Spike.*
"Bloody hell, Buffy, would you just *quit* telling me what I have to
do? You can't do that anymore!" he shot back, his voice trembling with
anger and frustration.
His outburst took her by surprise, and momentarily silenced her. Well –
more than momentarily. The silence seemed to spread out between them,
even joined as they were, and he could feel how his words had stung
her. He knew that it was not really her fault – not completely – and he
should care that he had hurt her with his words.
But he didn't. Not right then.
*I – I'm sorry,* she finally whispered, tentative, uncertain and more
than a little ashamed. *I – I didn't mean to – I mean – I wasn't trying
to – to order you around, Spike...*
*Why not?* he shot back in his mind, knowing that he should stop, but
somehow having no intention of it. *You always have...even *before* all
this. This whole bloody thing started because you wanted me to have no
choice but to *obey* your bloody orders – didn't it? Because it wasn't
enough that I'd already been stripped of every semblance of mastery
over my own life; you weren't content until it was in *your* bloody
hands!*
Buffy could not bring herself to respond, but her silence made it clear
that she knew what he was saying was the truth. Still, it was painful
to hear the anger, the resentment in his voice over what she had so
thoughtlessly done to him. She knew she should answer, should
apologize, even – but she knew if she tried to speak, she would only
end up crying.
*I'm sorry, Buffy,* he finally relented with a weary sigh. *It's just –
I can handle this, all right? I'll do what I have to do – but I *won't*
lose – and I won't lose *you*, Buffy – all right?*
*All right,* Buffy agreed immediately, her voice small and cautious.
She was silent for a moment, before continuing softly, *When this is
all over – when we're back home – we're gonna need to – to work this
out, Spike.*
*I know.*
*I mean – we're mated now...that's permanent. I know – I know this is all
hard, and I wouldn't blame you if you never wanted to see me again
after this...but...it's not like either of us can just walk away now...*
*I know that.*
*We just – have to try to work through this...somehow...*
*I *know* that, Buffy,* Spike cut her off, his voice sharp and
impatient and displaying the anger and pain that he was trying so hard
to keep from showing completely – quite a feat considering that she was
actually *in* his mind at the moment, and could hear his thoughts and
feel his feelings. *Can we just -- *not* try to work it through right
*now*? I've got quite a bloody lot on my mind as it is – all right,
love?*
The pet name and slightly softened tone on the end of his words did
little to soften the blow of those words. She knew that she had hurt
him terribly, again and again, during the past few days – and it was
going to take him a while to get past it, even enough to begin to deal
with it.
They needed to talk it through – but if and when they did, it would be
on Spike's terms.
For better or worse, no matter what the cost to herself – Buffy was
finished with trying to control him.
She had finally learned her lesson, well – and it was the most painful
lesson she had ever had to learn.
She just hoped it would not cost her everything that she held dear.
Spike had been driving for about an hour when he finally stopped the
car, in a clear, moonlight patch of open desert. He glanced at the
clock on his cell phone as he turned the key in the ignition to turn
the engine off.
It was 4:00 in the morning.
"We should have a few hours yet until Dawn, pet," he told Buffy,
speaking aloud without thinking about it. "This late in the fall, sun
up shouldn't be 'til about seven," he guessed.
*We're in the middle of the desert...it might come a little earlier than
you're expecting,* she reminded him, anxiety rising in her voice.
*Don't let that worry you, pet,* he told her, his voice much more
optimistic and encouraging than it had been nearly an hour earlier. *I
don't expect this is going to take nearly that long...that Slayer thing
in your body can't take much pain, love – I'll have her begging for
mercy and willing to submit long before dawn...*
Buffy's silence made her doubts clear, though she was hesitant to say
what she was thinking.
He knew – and he knew that she had a point.
His over-confidence had cost him the victory in too many fights – many
of them against the very same body, if not the same person, that he was
about to face tonight.
But tonight – he intended to let it work *for* him, not against him.
He got out of the car and moved around to the trunk, readying his key
to open it. He considered for a moment, preparing himself for what he
would face when he did. Her silence concerned him; he thought it highly
unlikely that she would still be unconscious after so long. She had
already proved that she was stronger than Buffy usually was,
physically, and he would have expected her to be fighting to escape by
now.
Unless of course – she was saving her strength.
*Well,* he said with a grim smile of expectancy, *nothing for it but to
open Pandora's soddin' box, and find out what it holds.*
He was not surprised when Buffy did not say anything in response;
however, he could feel her own emotional tension and uncertainty as
strongly as he felt his own.
He slowly inserted the key in the lock of the trunk, stepping back
immediately to ready himself for the attack he was sure would quickly
come. He knew that no matter how much better the Slayer was feeling
now, he would have the advantage in this situation.
It just remained to be seen if *she* had figured that out yet or not.
He watched her carefully as the trunk lid popped open, and his
excellent night vision revealed her still form to him. He knew it was
highly unlikely that she was still unconscious – so he did not let down
his guard a bit, as he waited for her to react.
After a moment, her eyes opened, and she stared out into the darkness,
though he could not be sure if she could see him or not. It was a
clear, moonlit night in the desert, but she was likely very disoriented
from the events of the night thus far.
And then – he saw it, in the moment when her eyes locked on his,
meeting his cool cautious gaze with defiance and anger. When she
realized that he knew she was awake, and was waiting for her – she
would not be able to fool him on that count – the Slayer began to climb
awkwardly and painfully from the trunk of the car, until she stood on
the ground – obviously favoring her wounded leg.
"Morning, Sunshine," he said in a voice of soft mockery, a slow smirk
spreading across his face. The blonde vampire's gold-flecked blue eyes
were narrowed in menace and cruel intent, as he began to move slowly
toward her. "Sleep well?"
"Shut up and fight," she snarled with bitter resentment, her body
tensing in anticipation of the attack she knew he was about to unleash
upon her. She was still weakened from their earlier fight, and had to
know that he had the advantage in the scenario.
Still, she taunted him onward.
"You sure you want me to do that, love?" he taunted her right back, his
voice low and menacing. His tone made it clear that he had no doubt in
his mind of who was going to win this fight, as he took another couple
of slow, measured steps across the sand toward her.
She did not respond, only allowed her body to take on a defensive
fighting stance, one that came naturally to her after many nights of
fighting such creatures as Spike – and as herself, now. She was ready
for him, whatever the outcome of the battle might be.
Because there was something about her condition that *he* was not aware
of.
She was determined not to allow him to send her back to her prison, no
matter what the cost – and yet, he was just as determined to send her
there. She began to move slowly, stiffly toward him, though her
movements betrayed her pain.
The Slayer and the vampire, circling slowly in the sand, preparing for
the battle of their lives, the battle for control – for dominance – for
freedom – equal in their determination to win, if not in their ability
to do so.
But only one of them could.
In the silver sands, in the few remaining hours of darkness – the
struggle for mastery began again.