83. A Deadly Risk
"Joyce! Let me
in!" Spike's slightly muffled voice called insistently through the
motel room door. "Hurry up, pet, it's urgent!"
Everyone in the room froze at the sound of his voice, all eyes focused
on the door. Joyce's heart was pounding and her mind was racing as she
tried to think about her options – and realized with a sinking feeling
that she really *had* none.
His use of the word "me" made it sound as if he was alone – which was a
thought that she hardly wanted to begin to consider. Either Buffy was
not with him at all, or she was too weak to be of any assistance in a
fight at this moment. Perhaps she was waiting in the car – or perhaps
he was carrying her in his arms...
Had they even heard the message Travers had left? Did Spike or Buffy
have any idea what was waiting for them inside this room?
Giles was in no physical condition to be of any help against Travers
and his men, and Spike's ill-timed words left no doubt in the minds of
Travers and his men as to who was on the other side of the door.
Already the two dark-suited men had risen from where they sat on the
bed, and were edging toward the door, their weapons drawn and readied.
She hesitated, her eyes narrowing and her jaw setting in determination.
She knew what Travers wanted her to do – but the thought of just
opening the door – with that single, simple action, drawing Spike into
a trap that he might have no idea existed.
No. She would *not* do that.
But then – she knew in the next moment that she would have no choice
but to do just that – as one of Travers' men slowly, pointedly,
adjusted the aim of his weapon, turning it away from the door – and
aiming it directly at Dawn.
Immediately, Joyce went to the door.
"Just a second, Spike, hold on," she said, her voice terse and
trembling as she fumbled with the deadbolt and the lock, silently
praying that Spike had at least heard the voicemail, at least knew what
he was about to walk into.
She opened the door, holding her breath in anticipation of whatever
might happen, to see the blonde vampire standing alone in the doorway,
looking at her with an expression of urgency and concern.
Surprise – real or feigned, she could not be sure – registered in his
sapphire eyes as he took in the scene before him, one brow rising
regally in speculation at the two burly men glaring at him, and the two
guns in their hands aimed at his body.
"Didn't realize you had company, pet..." he said slowly, not moving to
enter the room, but not moving away from the door, either.
"William the Bloody," Travers announced with a polite smile that was
still somehow cruel and menacing, as he stood smoothly and turned to
face the vampire. "I've heard so very much about you -- but never
thought to have had the opportunity to meet you." He paused for a
moment, nodding toward the interior of the room as he went on in a
voice of cool steel, "Do come in."
His tone left no doubt as to whether the words were a request or a
command.
Spike did not take too well to being commanded – but he had gotten very
good at playing whatever part was required of him in any given
situation, over the past century and a half – not to mention the past
few difficult days.
After what the Slayer had put him through – the Council wankers were
sure to be a bloody walk in the park.
Slow, cautiously, he stepped into the room, eyeing the weapons warily.
Assuming that they were ordinary guns, they could not kill him – but
that did not mean that they could not do a lot of damage,
incapacitating him enough that he would be useless to protect his
little family – and that would never do.
"Sorry that I can't say the same for you, mate," he said in a low, even
tone that did not betray a hint of fear, his piercing gaze finding that
of the older man, and calmly staring him down. "And who might you be?"
"Quentin Travers, head of the Watcher's Council – chief executive of
the organization responsible for the utter destruction of your kind,"
the man smiled that same cold, unsettling smile – apparently as
unafraid of Spike as Spike was of him.
"I can't rightly see as how you can take credit for that just yet,"
Spike noted with a little smirk. "Don't count your chickens, and all
that..." As he spoke, he slowly moved to stand with his back to the
closed door, so that he could safely face every person in the room. He
glanced idly from one to the next, including Joyce and Dawn in his
calm, thoughtful gaze, as he took a cigarette from the pack in his
pocket, and casually lit up.
"So," he asked quietly. "what's the big meeting about?"
"I trust you and the Slayer received my message?" Travers said, his
eyebrows raised in a question, his brow knit in the beginnings of a
frown at the vampire's casual, unconcerned demeanor. "And yet – she did
not see fit to join us?" His disapproval of Buffy's absence was clear
in his tone.
The soft, dark laugh that left the vampire's throat sent a chill down
Joyce's spine, and forced her to remind herself mentally that this was
*Spike* -- and despite the fact that he was a soulless vampire who had
killed hundreds, he would *never* hurt her little girl...
*He wouldn't – would he?* she wondered, almost cringing at her own
doubt.
"She doesn't see much at the moment," Spike informed the Council head,
meeting his gaze appraisingly, without any emotion besides the clear
amusement in his cold, ice blue eyes. "She's dead."
The little cry of shock and dismay that left Joyce's lips was
completely real – and Spike had to control himself, to keep himself
from reacting to the raw pain in the sound, and rushing to reassure her.
He had to be convincing if this was going to work.
"Dead," Travers repeated skeptically, clearly not sure whether or not
to believe him. "I suppose I shouldn't wonder – you *have* killed two
Slayers before..."
"Yeah," Spike nodded with a grim smile, shrugging easily. "It was her
or me, really – she was trying to kill me...took me out to the desert
with that in mind...let her think she had the upper hand the whole
way...then turned the tables on her – and made her my third."
He hoped desperately that Joyce was picking up on the inconsistencies
in his story – the small, insignificant details that were false, that
would mean nothing either way to the Council – but could reveal the
truth to the Slayer's mum, if she would hear it.
Joyce had not heard anything past his announcement that her daughter
was dead.
"No!"
Dawn's high, young voice cried out in a voice that was somehow
trembling and strong at the same time – and intense enough to draw the
attention of the assembled adults, even in the midst of the tense
standoff that was developing.
Spike forced himself to giver her an impassive look, cold, dead eyes
focused on hers with bemusement and mild curiosity bordering on boredom.
"No," she repeated, slowly moving toward the master vampire – and no
one made any move to stop her. "No – you didn't. You *couldn't*...could
you?"
The innocent trust, bruised and uncertain, in her wide, sparkling blue
eyes was almost Spike's undoing. He longed to tell her the truth, to
admit that it was a lie and end the heartache of grief that Buffy's
loved ones were enduring in this moment.
But he couldn't – not yet.
"Oh, trust me, Bite-size," he laughed mirthlessly, trusting that the
Council men would hear the nickname with a more sinister twist than
Joyce and Dawn would ordinarily have heard it. "I could...and I did."
Dawn closed the distance between them, standing very near to him and
looking up to meet his piercing gaze – wondering at whether or not he
was telling the truth – and yet, unafraid of any harm coming to
herself, either way. Some part of her, deep down, knew that Spike would
never hurt her.
"Oh come now, Dawnie," he sneered, a cruel note coming into his voice
as he smiled coldly down at her. "You shouldn't be surprised. You're
the one that told me to do whatever I had to do..."
Dawn's eyes widened slightly further in painful shock at the reminder
of her warning to him, before he and her sister and left, driving off
across the desert to finish the ritual. She had reminded him that it
was not really her sister in her sister's body, and he could not hold
back.
But she had *never* meant...
The cruel, pitiless tone of his voice, apparently intended to hurt,
sparked an anger and pain in Dawn that would not be denied.
Automatically, instinctively, she raised her hand to strike out at the
larger, stronger creature in front of her that could destroy her, if he
felt like it, with very little effort at all.
"How *could* you..." she began, in a voice that trembled with rage and
betrayal, as her small hand swung toward Spike's face.
With lightning speed, he caught her wrist in a vice-like grip – though
not tight enough to actually hurt her – and held it there, his eyes
boring into hers intently. Her eyes widened with shock at the sudden
connection she felt, the intense wave of sensation that she fought
quickly to not allow to show in her face.
"I do what I have to, pet – to survive," Spike reminded her, his voice
much harder than the expression in his eyes, willing her to see, to
feel, the truth of what was happening in this moment.
Dawn could feel the slight pushing, the very near presence of her
sister – and suddenly instinctively knew that Spike had not, could not
ever, hurt her. Buffy was very much alive and well.
And Dawn knew what she had to do.
With a force that made the gesture appear defiant, she jerked her hand
back, lowering it slightly to grip his arm and pull it downward,
leaning in closer to him aggressively, as if to challenge his cold
words, his restraining grip.
And in that moment – she focused with everything she had, on her sister
– on the connection, the oneness, that they had discovered between them
earlier. She *was* Buffy – and Buffy was her. They were one and the
same. She closed her eyes for a moment as she felt it happen – and then
opened them, jerking away again.
This time – Spike let her go.
"Enough of these games," Travers snapped, stepping forward as if to
break up the confrontation – though his lateness in doing so made it
very clear that Dawn's safety was not the issue for him. He really
could care less whether or not the vampire hurt the girl that he
planned on killing before all was said and done, anyway.
At the moment, she was simply wasting his time.
"A claim has taken place between you and the Slayer. These things are
not generally taken lightly by your kind – and the claim, as I
understand it, gives the Slayer a certain measure of control over you,"
Travers went on, his voice calm and suspicious as he studied the
expression of the vampire before him. "How am I to believe that you
managed to subdue her, given the fact that you were under her power?"
"I wasn't," Spike informed him. "Stupid bint allowed me to return the
claim – and then – then, all bets were off."
The wicked glint in his eyes as he spoke those words, looking down as
if in memory of that final, glorious fight with the third Slayer he had
defeated, sent an unwilling shiver down the Watcher's spine. Still, it
was clear in Travers' expression that he was not sure yet whether or
not to believe Spike's story.
"You returned her claim?" he echoed uncertainly. "Equalizing the
claimant's rights between you," he mused, thoughtful. "And then –
you're telling me that you defeated her – killed her in battle..."
"That's what I'm telling you, mate," Spike nodded with exaggerated
patience. "Only to walk into *this* bloody mess," he added with a
resentful muttering voice.
"Don't see why you're so worried about it," Dawn muttered angrily – but
Spike could see the sparkle in her eyes, though her act was very well
done. "If you killed her – and she's the best Slayer that's ever lived
– then it's not like these guys pose much of a challenge!" she snorted
in derision, rolling her eyes at the large men and their paltry weapons.
Unfortunately, her words called Travers' attention to something that
might have been better left unnoticed, at the moment. The older man's
eyes narrowed slightly in realization, as he spoke slowly.
"Yes – good point, child – I find myself wondering, vampire...why you've
not set about tearing everyone in this room apart..." There was a smug
sarcasm in the Watcher's voice, as he took a slow step closer to the
vampire, as if to demonstrate the fact that he was not afraid of him.
"...or at least...attempting to do so. You wouldn't get far if you tried;
my men's guns are loaded with wood-tipped bullets, designed for
stopping anything, human *or* vampire, that is necessary – and they're
very good marksmen..."
Spike shrugged, nodding in acquiescence to his point. "Perhaps I'm just
not bloody stupid – did that thought cross your mind?" he asked with a
defiant, mocking smirk.
"Not really, no," Travers said bluntly, that cold, predatory smile back
in place as he moved closer to the vampire. "No – I rather think that a
vampire of your reputation, in a situation like this – would already be
fighting his way out of said situation..." He was silent for a moment,
allowing his point to sink in, before completing his thought with
pointed emphasis.
"...assuming he *could* fight his way out of it, of course..."
Spike did not allow his expression to reveal anything, as he met the
man's gaze unflinchingly – but made no move to attack. "And why would I
not be able to do that, mate?" he asked, a cold, deadly quality to his
voice.
"The same reason you would not have been able to before the Slayer's
little witch friend cast her spell – now that the spell has been
neutralized – and the Slayer's essence returned to the place from
whence it came – it only stands to reason that your freedom from the
chip that controls you, would also have come to an end...doesn't it?"
Travers' soft, subtly threatening voice was almost hypnotic, in the
stillness, as every person in the room took in his words.
Dawn's eyes widened, and she shook her head slightly, a silent apology
on her lips as she realized what her mistake might have cost her friend.
Spike carefully avoided her gaze, not wanting to give anything away,
looking down for a moment before returning Travers' gaze again with a
wicked light in his eyes.
"Maybe you're right," he said softly. "But then again – maybe you're
not...care to test your..."
His words were cut off unexpectedly as the Watcher raised his hand and
delivered a sharp, backhand blow across Spike's face, stunning everyone
who witnessed it with the surprising violence.
The blow did not even budge the blonde vampire, only turned his head
slightly to the side – but he made no move to return it, or defend
himself in any way – and the men with Travers gradually relaxed, as
they realized that their boss was right.
This vampire posed no threat to them.
Travers smiled slowly. "You know," he replied quietly. "I believe I
*will* try my luck, vampire..." He glanced behind him at the two men now
flanking him, moved in close to assist in his intimidation – which, on
his own, was sorely lacking. "Now – I'm quite curious to know for
certain whether or not you're telling the truth about the fate of the
Slayer – and as I can tell, there's only one way to know for sure."
He was quiet for a moment, before asking softly, "Where is her body?"
Spike shrugged, his smile faded with the revelation of his
defenselessness – though he still refused to show any real fear. "Out
in the desert where I killed her. Useless to me, now, isn't she? You
didn't think I'd cart her bloody carcass back here, did you?"
Travers' smile widened slightly, in an almost indulgent way, at the
vampire's defiant tone. "You will take us to her body," he stated
coldly.
Spike glared at him, his chin raised slightly in bold defiance. "Maybe
I will..." he began.
One of Travers' men moved in beside him, pressing the specially armed
weapon he held into his ribcage warningly, and he suddenly stopped
talking, hesitating a moment as he weighed his options – and they did
not seem to be all that good.
"Maybe I will," he repeated with a sigh of resignation, nodding slowly
and looking down as if in defeat.
Travers nodded in satisfaction. "Jenkins," he ordered without looking
at the man he addressed. "You will stay here and guard our guests. We
will go and verify the Slayer's death. Wait for the call from me, to
take any action. Understood?"
"Yes, Mr. Travers," the man agreed obediently, moving to sit in the
chair his boss had vacated, where he could keep an eye on their
prisoners, as Travers, Spike, and the other dark-suited man headed
toward the door.
No sooner had they closed the door behind them, than Dawn suddenly
leaned forward, gagging slightly and coughing, before jumping up and
rushing toward the bathroom. Jenkins frowned, looking after her, but
made no move to stop her.
He supposed a sudden bout of nausea was a reasonable reaction to
finding out that her sister had been killed.
"Mom!" Dawn called out in a hoarse, plaintive voice that anyone at all
familiar with kids would have known was false.
Jenkins, fortunately, was *not* familiar with kids.
"Let me go to her," Joyce asked him, imploring him with her eyes,
red-rimmed and ravaged with shock and pain. The revelation of Buffy's
death had not been easy on her, either.
He hesitated a moment, before nodding his assent, though he kept his
eyes focused on the bathroom door through which Joyce had disappeared.
No sooner had she knelt at her daughter's side, where Dawn knelt on her
knees in front of the toilet, then the teenager straightened up,
gripping her mother's arm and meeting her eyes with no trace of
weakness or sickness.
"Mom," she whispered intently. "Don't worry – Buffy's alive!"
Joyce's eyes widened with hope as she searched her daughter's gaze.
"Honey – are you sure?" she asked. She wanted desperately to believe
her – and it *did* seem that Dawn was somehow deeply involved in all of
this, and would likely know if Buffy was okay or not.
"Yes...and she's here..."
"*What*?" Joyce whispered, in shock. "Where?"
"In Spike's car – outside..." Dawn replied. "Well – her body is, anyway..."
"Wait – Dawnie – how do you know this?" Joyce stopped her, shaking her
head – mostly just trying to keep up.
"Because she told me," she replied simply.
"She -- *told* you?" Joyce echoed, frowning in confusion and
bewilderment. "But – how...?"
"When Spike touched me," Dawn replied, earnestly holding her mother's
gaze. "I have to get to her – I have to get her back to her body so we
can go help Spike!"
"How are you gonna do that, Honey?" Joyce asked, her voice trembling
with fear and uncertainty. "If Buffy's with Spike..."
"But she's not with Spike, Mom," Dawn interrupted, shaking her head,
her eyes shining with triumph and excitement.
"She's with *me*."