81. Final Conflict
"There's no
answer," Joyce informed Travers in
a cold, even voice, flipping her phone closed and staring defiantly at
the man who seemed so mild-mannered and unintimidating, and yet was
creating a terrible threat to her and her entire family.
He did not looked pleased by her words – or convinced.
"May I see your telephone please, Mrs. Summers?" he asked politely,
though his tone left no room for refusal. "I'd like to try the call
again. Perhaps Miss Summers was – otherwise distracted..."
*You don't know the half of it,* Joyce thought darkly, wishing
fervently that these men could have had the opportunity to have met
with her daughter's dangerous, evil alter-ego. But by now, hopefully,
Spike was in the midst of defeating her – which was the most likely
reason why Buffy's phone had gone unanswered.
"If she still does not answer the phone," Travers said, scrolling down
the list of numbers in the phone until he found Buffy's, and dialing it
quickly before holding the phone up to his ear, "I'll simply leave her
a message. We have time to wait." He listened to the phone ring as he
shrugged his shoulders lightly, a smug, disapproving sarcasm in his
words.
"After all – she's alone with the vampire, isn't she? How busy could
she possibly be?"
Joyce felt her temper rising at the insultingly pointed tone of his
words. He was clearly making a veiled comment about her daughter's
seeming propensity for taking vampires as lovers. But that was
completely not fair! she thought indignantly. There had only been the –
two, after all – and anyway – now Buffy and Spike were mated, so it was
not like there were going to be any more.
Her eyes narrowed in anger on the distasteful little man. How dare he
insinuate that her daughter was some kind of – of vampire slut!
Travers was utterly unaware of her rising temper – and probably would
not have given it a second thought, if he *had* been aware of it.
Buffy's voicemail had just picked up, and he frowned in disappointment
as he listened impatiently to the pleasant message.
"Miss Summers," he said calmly after a few moments, "This is Quentin
Travers. I'm at the Roadside Inn where your mother and sister are
staying – in their room, actually. They, and your Watcher, as well as
myself and some – colleagues – would all very much like to speak with
you at your *very* earliest convenience. If you would kindly return
here as soon as possible, Miss Summers. There are some matters of great
importance which we wish to discuss with you."
Without saying goodbye, or giving out any further information, Travers
closed the phone and tossed it casually onto the bed, beside Buffy's
nearly unconscious Watcher – who was just beginning to stir a bit.
Joyce frowned with concern as he wearily opened his eyes, letting out a
low moan of disoriented pain. She glared back up at Travers with
disgust and contempt, as she asked in a voice that was much softer than
the expression on her face, "Would you allow me to help him?"
Travers shrugged carelessly, as he sat down in the chair beside the bed
and visibly relaxed somewhat. Dawn rose from the bed across the room
with a startled little cry, as one of the two men casually made his way
toward her – but all he did was sit down on the side of the bed and
pick of the remote control for the television.
Apparently – they were prepared to wait as long as they needed to for
Buffy to return.
"Do as you like, Mrs. Summers," Travers replied coolly. "We've some
time to wait, it appears. Pass it as you will."
Joyce glanced behind her at the man who was now sitting on the bed a
few yards away from her nervous daughter, contenting herself that he
did not pose a threat – for the moment – before moving slowly to sit
down on the side of the bed where Giles lay. Her pretty, graceful
features softened with compassion as she took in the terrible condition
he was in.
Though she did her best to keep it from Buffy, she had always held a
certain measure of affection for the thoughtful, intelligent man who
attempted to appear much more stuffy and unemotional than he could ever
really be – and who would gladly have given his own life to protect
that of her daughter.
And apparently, he had come quite close to doing that. If what Travers
said was true, based on the conversation Buffy had had with Giles
earlier, he had attempted to play things cool with the Council while
they were in town, but they had somehow gotten wise to the fact that
they were being played. And when they had tried to coerce him into
laying a trap for his Slayer, he had refused – and this was the result.
He had been severely beaten, his face badly bruised and his clothes
torn and bloodied in places from the rough handling that had apparently
been dealt him by the two henchmen accompanying the Council leader. And
in Joyce's opinion, no two strong, young, capable men such as these two
should ever exert such unnecessary violence against someone so much
older than them, and therefore not capable of defending himself against
them.
Her eyes narrowed in anger as she looked back up at Travers, whose
cool, remorseless eyes were focused on the television screen.
"How could you do this?" she demanded in a quiet, slightly trembling
voice of intense accusation. "How can you call yourself a – a defender
of what is good and right – when you are capable of – of allowing
something like this to happen?"
"My dear lady," Travers replied with exaggerated patience, giving her a
smile that he probably thought passed as gracious – though she saw it
as nothing more than wicked and deceptive. "We do what we must, to
ensure the safety of the entire world, at times...and if that means
sacrificing the – comfort, or well being of one individual – well, then
– so be it."
"Even if that one individual happens to be one of your own," Joyce
finished with clear disgust in her voice, looking away from the smug,
self-righteous man – so sure of his own right to do just what he had
done.
Travers surprised her with a quiet, controlled laugh of surprise, and
she looked back up at him to see him looking at her with bemusement.
"Mrs. Summers," he corrected, shaking his head slightly, "Mr. Giles is
hardly one of our own – not anymore."
Joyce held his gaze for a moment longer – and what she read there was
intensely troubling. She knew very well, though she had forgotten for
the moment, that Mr. Giles had been fired by the Council, and therefore
was probably no longer deemed deserving of any loyalty or protection
from them.
But that line of thought led her to a much more disturbing idea – one
that she had already thought of, but that was made much more real and
frightening by Travers' words.
If they were willing to viciously beat a former Watcher – who was only
no longer working for them by their own decision – for the "good of the
world"...
...what would they be willing to do with a defiant, uncontrollable
Slayer, who had willingly quit their service?
Joyce was reminded with a chill of grim certainty – even if the ritual
was successfully completed, and Buffy was saved from the invader within
her own body – that would by no means mean that she was safe.
"Guess this is it, huh, Baby?" the Slayer smirked down at the blonde
vampire, pinned helplessly beneath her, one hand trapped under his own
body, and the other pinned tightly above his head with her free hand.
"This is the part where you either submit to me – or you die."
She shrugged carelessly, pressing the tip of the stake in her hand just
a bit harder against his already broken skin, adding, "And to tell you
the truth – at this point I really don't care which. It's up to you,
Baby."
"See – that's the thing, pet," Spike returned her smirk without fear,
though his mind was racing, trying to come up with a way out of this
perilous situation. "There really *isn't* any bloody option, love. You
may have forgotten – but I *can't* lose this to you! Not really...I can
make *you* submit to me, but you can never make me submit to you –
remember?"
"Hmmm," she mused thoughtfully, apparently untroubled by his words. She
was obviously feeling much more confident now that she had regained the
upper hand, and he was making no real attempt to fight her at the
moment, his restrained wrist above his head ceasing its struggles to
free itself. "Yes – I *do* remember." She paused for a moment, before
shrugging again, carelessly. "Pity. Oh, well. Guess it's time for you
to die, then."
The hard, flippant tone of her voice sent a shudder down his spine as
he was reminded again of just how easily this creature could take his
life, with absolutely no second thought at all.
*Spike,* Buffy spoke urgently in his mind. *Remember how I beat you?
The first time? You were about to kill me, in the mansion – and...*
Spike suddenly felt very sick at the thought of what his mate was
suggesting. After the night he had spent at this creature's mercy,
enduring her torturous whims and degrading sexual attentions – the last
thing he wanted to do was feign attraction to her.
He wasn't even sure that he could.
*Think about it, Spike!* Buffy pressed him, gently but unrelentingly.
*If she reacts so much more strongly to pain – because she's not used
to feeling it – maybe it works the same way – with pleasure...if you can
just get her distracted enough...maybe...*
*All right, love...I'll try,* he conceded reluctantly, closing his eyes
for a moment and trying to gather his strength. *Not gonna be easy
though...*
He opened his eyes to see the Slayer, smiling expectantly down at him,
a puzzled look in her eyes. Only a few brief moments had passed, but
still, he wondered why she had not yet made any move to kill him.
"What are you waiting for, pet?" he asked, lowering his voice to a
soft, sultry tone, meeting her eyes and smiling slowly, as he slowly
raised his leg between hers, then moved it down again, and then back
up, edging nearer to the sensitive spot between her legs. "For me to
beg for mercy? Plead for my soddin' unlife?"
The Slayer drew in a sharp breath, closing her eyes as her head fell
back slightly for a moment, before she deliberately lowered her head to
meet his eyes again, a slow, seductive smile to match his own on her
face.
"Well, actually," she admitted with a little shrug, "yeah."
Spike let a low, rumbling chuckle escape his throat, as he slowly
rotated his hips, pressing his body up against hers, raising his leg
again slightly – and was rewarded by the tell-tale scent of her
arousal, betraying the effect he was beginning to have on her.
"Sorry, pet – not gonna happen. I don't beg. Least – not for my life,"
he amended with a wicked little grin.
"What's with this little change of heart?" the Slayer demanded
suddenly, her smile fading a bit as she suddenly lifted herself up off
of him, her grip on his wrist tightening slightly. "I thought you hated
me, Baby...why are you suddenly all about getting with me?"
Spike shrugged slightly, still holding her gaze with an unapologetic
little smile, as he admitted, "Maybe I'm just stalling for time –
putting off the moment when you take me out. Because let's face it, pet
– we both know you've won." He paused, before adding in a low,
seductive voice, his expression becoming serious, "Or maybe – maybe if
I've got to bloody go out – I'd like to go out in the throes of the
sweetest pleasure a man can know, instead of pain..."
As he spoke, he lifted his hips up off the ground, with an effort
bringing his body back into contact with hers, rotating slowly against
her until he felt her respond, moving slightly with him, relaxing her
body back down against him and allowing the touch.
" 'Less of course – you'd rather not extend – that particular mercy,"
he went on, his voice sounding slightly breathless with feigned
pleasure, as he closed his eyes for a moment, letting his head fall
back in the semblance of losing himself to the pleasure that he knew
she was feeling – even if in reality, he was not.
He knew that that particular moment was likely the most dangerous one
of this little plan – as she could choose not to accept his offer, to
stake him right then and there, and he would not even see it coming.
But the Slayer did not seem inclined to stake him – not yet.
As his body moved against hers, he heard her let out a soft little
moan, before she lowered her head, opening her eyes with an effort to
meet his, as he raised his head as well.
"What the heck," she muttered breathlessly, her forehead resting
against his as she slowly moved up and down with him. "One last dance,
eh, Baby?"
Spike smiled at her ironic choice of words – precisely the ones he
would have chosen, given the chance. "Yeah," he whispered. "One last
dance..."
He closed his eyes, centering his thoughts on his mate, as he tried to
ready himself more fully for the act that was to come. He knew that
timing was crucial; everything would have to happen at the perfect
time, if he and Buffy were going to pull this off properly.
But first – he had to get the Slayer to lose her control.
At the moment – it did not appear that that would be a problem.
Buffy's cell phone rang for the second time, in the car – but neither
of them even heard it. The Slayer was lost to a physical pleasure that
was foreign to her, and thus utterly enthralling; and Spike was
focusing in on Buffy herself, bringing thoughts of his beautiful mate
to his mind to allow him to complete the physical act he knew he would
have to.
He felt the Slayer's body above him begin to tremble with her need, and
he slowly slid his hand out from under him, resting it lightly at her
side. She did not seem to notice that he was partially free, just
continued moving with him as he reached a hand between them to unfasten
her jeans, and then his.
It was strangely quiet, the desert still and silent around them,
neither of them uttering any words of desire or endearment. She was
simply lost in the physical passion – and Spike could not have formed
such words if he had tried. It was all that he could do to muster up
the physical reaction necessary – the emotional reaction was out of the
question.
Once the clothes that separated them had been pushed away – but not
removed – Spike pushed up gently against her restraining hand, not
surprised when she allowed him to move it to her waist, his hands,
gentle for the moment, guiding her toward the correct position.
By this point, she was beyond reasoning out the dangers of what she was
doing.
After a few moments, Spike took a chance – and swiftly reversed their
positions, so that the Slayer was under him. She stilled for a moment,
as if in sudden alarm – but before she could react, he had suddenly
slid downward, into her – and her entire body was enveloped in a shock
of pleasure that consumed her thoughts.
Spike moved over her, in her, for a few moments, allowing the
sensations to engulf her more fully – before he made his move.
Suddenly, he stilled his movements over her, shifting into game face
and lowering his fangs to her throat, tearing viciously through her
flesh.
The Slayer let out a cry of pain, her eyes opening wide in shock and
agony, as her hands suddenly scrabbled against him, trying to push him
off of her – but he was too strong for her, and would not be pushed
away. He caught her hands, pinning them tightly in one of his own, over
her head, despite her useless struggles.
Her wide, panicked green eyes looked up, seeking his – and she was
chilled by the cold look of menace in his golden eyes as they met her
gaze.
"Guess it wasn't quite it, after all, was it, pet?" he mocked her
softly, leaning down to whisper in her ear – before allowing his fangs
to tear into her neck, just above the bite marks he had just left,
eliciting a strangled, terrified scream of pain that was lost in the
empty, lonely desert that surrounded them.
"But now it is," he informed her in a low, hushed voice of deadly
certainty, raising a hand to fist in her hair and draw her head back
sharply, before leaning in close to her again to whisper a menacing
growl of command near her ear.
"Say it – you're mine, pet...you submit...you accept the authority of my
claim over you..."
"No," she gasped out weakly, but the word was almost a sob, and he knew
that it was all but empty.
"Say it!" he snarled, shaking her hard by the grip he had on her hair,
the movement jarring and tearing at her wounded throat.
"No, no!" she cried desperately, her terror clear in her voice. "I
won't! You can't make me!"
"You can't take the pain, love!" Spike reminded her in a vicious,
pitiless sneer near her ear. "You couldn't even take the pleasure...it
overwhelms you...it's too much...these human feelings...these human
thoughts...you weren't made to have them, love...I'd kill you before I'd
let you hurt the ones I love, pet..." He paused before delivering his
point in a chilling, deadly whisper.
"Do you really think you could stand the feeling of *death*? I did...and
I can tell you...not much fun, love," Spike informed her. "And I *will*
kill you – if I have to. For the last time, love – before I tear your
bloody throat out and watch you die – gasping for air that won't come –
drowning in your own blood as it pours down what's left of your throat
– with no comfort, nothing but pain in the last moments of your
existence..."
His last words were barely audible as he demanded, "Will...you...*submit*?"
After a long silence in which he scarcely dared to draw the habitual,
unnecessary breath that he usually did – she finally responded, in a
desolate, broken whisper, barely audible to anyone but a vampire.
"*Yes*."
"Yes?" he echoed, hardly daring to believe it, inwardly elated, but
outwardly cautious. "Yes, you submit? Say it!"
"Yes – I submit," she whispered, her eyes closed, her head turned away,
as she waited for the end to come.
*Yes!* Buffy cheered in his head, thrilled with the outcome. *Finish
it, Spike – finish it so we can go home...*
The Slayer lay still beneath the master vampire, in the silent, cool
desert sand, as he completed the act of dominance, verbally claiming
his authority over her as he exerted it, until his physical need was
spent, and he uttered a growled, emphatic, "*Mine*!" that he was not
sure if she had even heard.
And then, in the moonlit darkness, in the anti-climactic aftermath of
the momentous victory – all was still.