88. Aftermath
"He's gonna wake
up before too long," Spike
said, his voice low and controlled again – all traces of the intense
emotion that had momentarily overwhelmed him, now vanished from his
voice. "Let's see what they've got in the boot – gotta have something
to tie him up with, yeah?"
"Spike..."
The vampire did not respond as he opened the driver's side door of the
car and took the keys from the ignition, then moved around to the back
of the vehicle to open the trunk. Sure enough, there were a couple of
lengths of good, sturdy rope, as well as a couple of shovels and other
suspicious looking tools.
"Just your bloody stereotypical murderer's gear," Spike shrugged with
grim irony, as he took out the rope and strode across the sand back to
the still unconscious Watcher – completely ignoring the anxious Slayer
that seemed to follow his every move, just a couple of feet behind him.
Buffy's tone was pleading, desperate, as she begged him in a voice that
trembled with tears, "Spike – please talk to me...tell me what...what..."
"Maybe you'd best go pull the car up, love...your Watcher will know what
to do, yeah?" Spike suggested, looking up at her briefly as he expertly
bound the hands and feet of the fallen man. "This Council stuff is more
along his lines of work, anyway...he'll know the best way to go from
here."
Buffy was silent for a long moment, staring down at him, her frantic
mind trying to process his cool rejection of her plea, the stony
resolve in his voice as he made it very clear that for the moment, she
was dismissed.
He had absolutely no intention of discussing this right now.
His determined rejection would have aroused her indignation and fury –
if she had not heard the unmistakable note of desperation behind it –
the unspoken plea in his voice to do as he had asked – and just let it
be.
He wasn't ready yet.
So – Buffy let it be...for the moment.
Tears streaked her face as she turned without a word, and strode off
across the sand toward the parked DeSoto, invisible in the darkness of
the desert that surrounded it.
Spike felt the ache of her emotions, as if they were his own, through
the claim that bound them, and he froze as she walked away, setting his
jaw in resolution, not to do the one thing that a part of him longed to
do in that moment – to go after her, to comfort her – to take her arm
and turn her around and pull her into his embrace, reassuring her that
he was still hers, and she was his, and he still loved her with
everything in him.
He *did* still love her, completely.
And that was why it hurt so much.
Yes, he wanted to go after her – but if he did, he knew what he would
see when he turned her around to face him.
The face of his torturer.
She would wrap her arms around him, clinging to him with all she was
worth for the comfort he was offering her – and he would feel the
suffocating, restricting vise of the Slayer's grip...unrelenting,
abusive, controlling...
*But Buffy's not like that...she would never...* he reminded himself,
shaking his head slowly as he tried to make sense of the whole
situation.
He was just so bloody confused.
It was not Buffy's fault, not really, the things that had happened to
him – though her own foolish trust in listening to her Watcher's idea
*was* what had brought the whole thing about. Still – it was not Buffy
that had nearly killed him this very night. It was not his mate that
had hurt him – that had tortured and terrorized him, played vicious
mind games with him in an effort to dominate him completely, to break
him.
*Not her,* he reminded himself firmly, closing his eyes and trying to
accept it – then giving up for the moment with a weary sigh, bowing his
head and choking back a sob of his own, that went unheard in the
stillness that surrounded him. He was alone for a few more moments,
with no one but the unconscious Watcher as company.
*Not her – but it bloody well looks like her – sounds like her – feels
like her...*
"Bloody hell," he whispered, sinking back on his knees in the sand as
he finished his task of binding their prisoner, bringing his hands up
to cover his face as he drew in a few deep breaths that bloody well
*felt* necessary at the moment.
He felt like he was drowning.
*Oh, Buffy, Buffy, love,* the soft, anguished sob rang out in his mind,
though the words were not intended to actually be heard across the link
that joined them. *What are we going to do?*
By the time the DeSoto was pulled up to park, still a good distance
from, but within sight of, Travers' sleek, black sedan – the blonde
vampire had managed to compose himself – mostly. His tears had been
checked, and his expression was calm and controlled, as Giles, limping,
but apparently feeling a bit stronger now, got out of the car with
Buffy and Joyce.
Buffy had made it severely clear in no uncertain terms that Dawn was
*not* to get out of the car. She had parked quite a ways away, but she
wanted to take no chances on Dawn's seeing Travers' body.
"Good Lord," Giles muttered, his eyes going wide, as he stumbled to a
stop on the other side of Travers' car, a few feet from the lifeless
body of his former employer.
Spike was silent, regarding the Watcher with solemn eyes. There had
been no other way; if he had not shot Travers, the man would have
killed Buffy. Still, he knew that when it came to him, Buffy's Watcher
and friends had a very strong disposition to take whatever side
happened to be *not* his – and he could not take it for granted that
that would not be the case now.
"He had to," Joyce reminded the Watcher softly, echoing Spike's
thoughts as she stopped, a few steps away from Giles, her eyes focused
on the dead body in front of them with horrified fascination. "Travers
was going to kill Buffy."
Buffy had told them what had happened, briefly, in the car. She wanted
them to be prepared for what they would see when they got out.
Really – there was no way that Giles could have been prepared.
His inscrutable ice blue eyes moved slowly between his fallen colleague
and the subtlely defiant face of the vampire who had taken his life,
several times, before he finally spoke, his voice quiet and firm.
"Thank you."
Spike could not hide the surprise he felt at those words, his eyes
widening slightly, before he dropped his gaze self-consciously, afraid
that his traitorous eyes might reveal too much of the powerful emotions
swirling around him, surrounding and engulfing him until he no longer
knew *what* he was feeling exactly.
But – to hear the acceptance in the Watcher's tone...it meant a lot to
Spike. More than he would have expected it to, in fact.
"Yeah, well – couldn't let him hurt her. But now we've got a problem.
What do we do with them?"
"Them?" Giles' gaze had fallen on Travers again, but he raised it
sharply to meet Spike's eyes again in a question.
The vampire nodded simply toward the other Watcher, bound and still
unconscious a few feet away. Giles took in the sight for a few moments,
before looking to Buffy. "I'm assuming – the Slayer situation is under
control?"
Buffy nodded, her eyes downcast and welling with tears. She could not
bring herself to meet Spike's eyes at the moment, not while discussing
anything even remotely related to the ordeal he had been through.
"Yes," she said softly. "My Slayerness is back under wraps...where it
belongs..."
"Very good," Giles nodded slowly, a little grimace of regret passing
across his face. "Now that that little debacle is over – I believe the
time has come to call the others back. I believe that Willow might be
of some service to us in this situation – perhaps a – a memory wipe of
sorts?" he suggested, frowning in thought as he considered how best to
handle the problem of the still living Watcher. "It's a relatively
simple spell."
"Yeah," Buffy nodded slowly, frowning. She didn't like the idea of
Willow's doing any more magic, but if it was simple magic, it was
better than killing the man. "That might work."
"Bloody hell," Spike muttered, shaking his head and turning away from
them both with a harsh, bitter laugh.
"What?" Buffy's voice was defensive, anxious, as she turned her eyes on
her mate. "What is it?"
He turned back to stare at her in disbelief, shaking his head. "Buffy –
how can you even think...?" His voice trailed off, as he looked away
again.
"Look," Joyce broke in softly, stepping forward, placing herself
between the Watcher and the Slayer on one side, and the vampire on the
other. "I'm no expert on all this – magic and vampires and Slayers and
all – but it seems to me that there is no way that Willow needs to be
doing any more magic." She paused for a moment, giving her daughter and
Giles a dubious look, as she added, "She doesn't seem to be very good
at it."
"Yes, but – with the proper guidance..." Giles began to protest.
"Which she obviously hasn't had yet." Joyce's voice took on a severe
note as her eyes narrowed on the Watcher. "Maybe, at some point down
the road, she might be able to handle it. But in the mean time – when
this spell went so terribly wrong – do you really think she ought to be
messing around in someone's head again?"
"As I said, it's a very simple spell," Giles insisted. "Just to alter
one man's memories to not include the events of the past few days..."
"And what about the rest of the bloody Council?" Spike demanded,
re-entering the conversation, his voice trembling with anger. "You
gonna have Red fix their memories, too? Because I'd wager the whole
Council is aware of this *little* situation as you so dismissively put
it! And don't you think it's gonna be a bit suspicious if this one guy
turns up, not knowing what happened, and Travers *never* shows up?
They'll just send someone else...unless you wanna get the little witch
started on some *really* heavy mojo..."
He paused, shaking his head and clearly trying to regain control,
before he added in a quiet voice full of shaken emotion, masked by
sarcasm, "Yeah. Go right ahead. Maybe this time she'll actually get
someone killed." He glanced down at Travers with a dark look, before
muttering pointedly, "Oh, right – already there, and can't see how it
was any great loss. Yeah. Right. Have her go right ahead."
"Spike, don't..." Buffy began, a note of apology in her voice – but she
couldn't stand the turn the conversation was taking.
"Yes I bloody well will!" Spike snarled, whirling around quickly and
stalking swiftly toward her, his eyes flashing golden, mere inches from
hers. "I am *through* taking orders from you, Slayer! I'll speak if I
bloody well want – now that you don't have the power to magically seal
my lips..." His voice softened slightly on the end, and the look of
pain that flashed across his face was unmistakable, sending a stab of
remorse through the Slayer's heart.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, reaching a hand up toward his face in an
instinctive gesture of comfort. "Spike, I'm so sorry..."
Before her hand could make contact, the blonde vampire jerked away with
a sharp little intake of breath that revealed the sudden jolt of fear
that he could not help but feel – and everyone froze, stunned at his
reaction.
*But I shouldn't be,* Buffy reminded herself, the ache in her chest
building until she thought her heart would burst. *God, what I've done
to him!*
Humiliated by his own reaction to his mate's touch, Spike closed his
eyes for a moment, swallowing hard. "Let's – let's just go," he said in
a soft voice of defeat, as he started off toward the car. "You lot do
what you want with him – not my problem anymore, is it?"
"Spike..." Buffy whimpered, her eyes welling with fresh tears as she
started off after him.
But Joyce caught her arm gently, holding her back. "Buffy, honey," she
said softly. "Just – just give him some space. This has gotta be really
hard for him..."
"But – but he won't even let me make this right! I want to, so bad,
and..."
"And how exactly do you intend to do that?" Joyce demanded, not angry,
but a challenge in her voice. "By saying sorry? Buffy – it's not gonna
be that easy."
Buffy had no words; she knew her mother was right.
The only question was – what *would* it take to fix this?
Joyce allowed the words to sink in, silent for a moment, before turning
her attention to the Watcher. "I *really* don't think Willow's doing
magic is a good thing – especially not to manipulate someone's
thoughts..."
Giles sighed and shook his head in concession. "No," he agreed. "I
suppose you're right. I'll need to – dispose of the body, I
suppose...somehow...that might be accomplished by magical means..."
At Joyce's look of alarm, he smiled softly.
"Willow's not the only one who knows a bit of magic, Joyce...and I've had
a lot of time to get *mine* under control."
His smile faded as he turned his eyes to the other Watcher. "And as for
him," he said quietly, but with a note of deadly certainty to his voice
that sent a shiver down Joyce's spine. "There are other – non-magical –
ways, of ensuring that something you wish to be a secret, remains so..."
"You're not going to kill him?" Buffy asked, alarmed, studying her
Watcher's grim expression, which was just shifting into the hint of a
cold smile.
"No," he assured her. "I won't have to."
Spike stopped by the driver's side door, leaning his back against it
and reaching for his cigarettes with trembling hands. He somehow
managed to get them out, and take one from the package. Lighting it, on
the other hand, was another issue altogether.
He jumped a mile, master vampire or no, when the back driver's window
rolled down, and Dawn spoke quietly, matter-of-factly.
"Need some help with that?"
He cursed his own weakness of emotion, too obvious to the teen in the
car, before answering her without looking at her.
"Believe I've got it, Bit...thanks."
"Uh-huh. Looks like you've got it," she replied sarcastically. "If your
goal is to set yourself on fire with that thing."
Spike cursed softly under his breath, flinging the uncooperative
lighter to the ground and snapping tersely, "Just drop it, Bit, okay?
It's been a rough night!" He put the cigarettes back in his pocket and
ran a shaking hand through his disheveled blonde hair, turning his eyes
away from her before she could see the tears that were building there.
He had to keep it under control; no sense scaring his Bit, breaking
down in front of her.
*Yeah – yelling at her's so much soddin' better,* he thought with a
wave of bitter self-disgust.
The small, gentle hand on his arm stopped him cold, and he froze,
trying to still the tremors running through him, revealing his emotions
to her – but he could not make himself pull away.
At that moment, he needed the tenderness too much.
"You know," Dawn said, her soft, childish voice full of an innocence
and affection that brought the tears dangerously close to falling.
"It's okay -- *not* to be okay, Spike. With us. It's okay. You know
that, right?"
The simple sincerity of her words, the innocent love and concern, was
the master vampire's undoing.
The tremors he had been trying to control shook him uncontrollably, as
he raised his hands to his bowed head, silent sobs shaking his body as
he leaned back against the car.
Dawn's eyes widened in shock for a moment – before she suddenly
recovered, her jaw setting with determination as she glanced back
toward her sister, her mother, and the Watcher, still standing by the
other car talking about what to do.
She remembered her sister's instructions not to get out of the car –
but there was no possible way she could see anything traumatic from
here.
Anything besides her always strong best friend, falling apart before
her eyes.
"Buffy can get over it," she muttered, as she opened the car door and
got out, standing in front of the vampire and wrapping her arms around
him in an almost fierce hug, simply standing there and embracing him
with the open simplicity of the child that she was just beyond being.
And within that embrace – for the few moments he had before the Slayer
and her Watcher would return to the car...and he would have to put up his
brave front again, or risk revealing more to them than he wanted to
just yet...Spike allowed his bitter tears to flow.