Rated: PG-13
Summary: Spike leaves after "Dead Things," wanting nothing more than to get Buffy out of his head. Wesley's still an independent contractor after the events of "Loyalty." And the Slayer's still living in the land of denial.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters featured
below except for Nika. She's all mine. And I'm not making any money off
of her either, so please don't sue.
Chapter 26: Late March 2006
"Connor, thanks for coming," Wesley said, greeting the young man with an affectionate handshake and clap on the shoulder. "I don't think Spike's going to be able to come."
Connor frowned. "Is he still not talking?"
"No," Wesley replied, sounding unhappy. "Not even to Danika, and that is most unusual. What about Buffy? Have you seen her?"
Connor nodded. "I went over there with Dawn the other day. She looked tired, but she seemed fine otherwise. Dawn said she won't tell her what their fight was about, just that they'd pretty much broken up."
Wesley sighed. Nika had been worrying about Spike constantly over the last week and a half. If the vampire was emerging from the basement, it was only when he knew he wouldn't see anyone else. Both of them had tried to rouse him from his room, only to be answered by a surly "go away."
Nika said he'd been this way to a certain extent at the very beginning of their acquaintance, but he'd already had a few weeks of getting used to Buffy being gone. Wesley had thought a spot of violence was just what Spike needed, but if it was, he was getting it without the ex-Watcher being present. He'd told his partner—through the bedroom door—of tonight's job and his need for backup, but Spike had yet to show, so he'd given Connor a call.
The younger man shifted slightly, looking towards the basement door. "Maybe I should try."
"No, I don't think it's of any use," Wesley replied. "Spike will come out when he feels like it."
They had turned to leave the kitchen when the creak of the basement door could be heard. "You said you needed me."
Both men turned, but it was Connor who was the first to speak. "You look like shit, Spike."
"Piss off," Spike replied automatically. He was paler than normal, dark circles under his eyes.
Wesley frowned. "How long since you've fed?"
"'m fine," Spike replied, though there was no life in his voice.
"Well, you're not going," Wesley said, sounding frustrated. "Not if you've been drinking. I can't have you at less than your best."
"I haven't touched a drop," Spike replied, nearly snarling the words.
Connor shrugged. "He's telling the truth," he said, responding to Wesley's questioning look. "I can't smell any alcohol on him."
Wesley shook his head. "Very well. If you want to come along, grab a travel mug. We could use your presence, but you won't be of any use at all if you faint from hunger."
"Vampires don't faint." Spike did grab a container of blood from the fridge though, not bothering to heat it. "And 'm not sure I'm of much use to anyone."
"Don't be a stupid git," Wesley reprimanded him. "When you pull your head out of your arse, you can be a great deal of help."
Spike shot him a reproachful look. "You know, 'm in a great deal of pain here. You might be a little more sympathetic, Watcher." The two men locked gazes in a battle of wills. Spike looked away first. "Can we just go an' get this over with?"
"Fine," Wesley said. "Let's go."
~~~~~
It wasn't their typical job. The Verak demon clans were quite well assimilated into human society, and preferred to keep a low profile. Every hundred years or so, however, rival clans would find it impossible to settle their differences peaceably. The last conflict had cost hundreds of lives. This time, they had decided to hire an outside intermediary—Wesley.
The fat check they'd offered in exchange had made the deal sweet enough, but the reasons behind their choice of mediator made Wesley feel good. He was known to be just in the demon world, fair and knowledgeable about demons and their various cultures. Word had gotten out that the human called Wesley could be counted on to be an impartial judge and would live up to his agreements.
Thus, Wesley was going to be doing the negotiating because he knew the language. Spike and Connor were there as his bodyguards. While none of the Veraks were supposed to be armed, to not show up with backup would be a demonstration of weakness.
Connor looked every inch the young warrior, so Wesley wasn't too concerned about the Veraks' perception of the boy. Spike, on the other hand, with his exhausted appearance, could possibly be seen as a weakness.
The ex-Watcher was just happy that the blood Spike drank on the drive over seemed to revive him a bit. By the time they were entering the Veraks' Hall of Judgment, Spike's limp and haggard face made him look more like a seasoned veteran than a vampire with a hangover.
Negotiations went smoothly enough. With Spike and Connor casting imposing shadows to either side of him, no one was willing to risk their wrath. Wesley soon realized that most of the argument had to do with trade agreements that left one clan feeling cheated, so it was merely a matter of reworking the agreements to everyone's satisfaction. Easier said than done, of course, but it could have become much more complicated.
By the time the negotiations were over, and Wesley had received his payment, sunrise was quite close. The look on the vampire's face when he realized how close it was sent a slice of fear into Wesley's heart. He exchanged a glance with Connor, and then took Spike's arm firmly in his grip. "Let's go. We need to get you home."
Spike didn't say anything, merely nodding and wearily climbing into the passenger seat.
The drive back to Nika's house was made in silence. Connor quickly said his goodbyes and headed over to his own car, a refurbished Supernova that he and his father had worked on together for his 21st birthday. Wesley herded Spike into the house, sitting him down at the kitchen table and beginning to make coffee and heat up a mug of pig's blood.
"Do you want to tell me what happened?"
Spike stared down at the grain in the ancient table, rubbing his thumb along one of the scars in the wood. "Buffy an' I had a fight."
"I had gathered that much," Wesley replied dryly.
He took the mug that Wesley held out and drained it quickly with a grimace. "Hate that stuff."
Wesley sipped his coffee and waited. He knew that Nika wouldn't be home quite yet from her EMT job. She was working overnights three days a week now, and yesterday she'd had to pull a doubleshift. "It was stupid," Spike finally admitted. "We were walkin' after dinner, an' I was trying to get up the nerve to ask her what she wanted from me. Heard some screamin'—of course—an' we sped off to the rescue."
"Vampires?"
"Human bugger," Spike corrected. "Thinkin' he had an easy target. Slayer rushed in there an' knocked the gun out of his hand. I—I dunno, I overreacted. Just kept thinkin' about what would have happened if he'd managed to get a shot off."
Wesley sighed. "So you fought."
"I said somethin' I shouldn't have—'ve got chronic foot-in-mouth syndrome when it comes to Buffy," Spike explained. "An' then she hit me. Maybe I deserved it, but..."
"I see. Did you strike her in return?"
"No. I wanted to, but I didn't. Just walked off. I kept seein' her face in that alley, tellin' me—" He stopped there, unwilling to continue.
Wesley nodded. "Are you going to apologize?"
Spike's chin set stubbornly. "No, 'm not. I shouldn't have said what I did, but I think it might be a little true. An' anyway, she hit me. She's goin' to have to be the one to say she's sorry first. 'm not crawlin' back to the Slayer. Not this time."
Wesley resisted the urge to heave another sigh. It looked as though the next few weeks were going to be miserable, at least until someone came to their senses.
~~~~~
"Why don't you just call him already?" Dawn demanded, getting very tired of her sister's constant long face. "You know you want to."
"No," Buffy said stubbornly. "Not after what he said. He's going to have to say he's sorry first."
Dawn rolled her eyes. "That's really retarded logic. What if neither one of you backs down? You can spend the rest of your life being sorry and stupid, or you can swallow your pride and apologize to Spike. You're the one that hit him."
"I know," Buffy said, frustrated. "What's the point, though, Dawn? If we're always going to end up fighting and mad at each other, why even bother?"
"It's not the fighting," Dawn pointed out. "Connor and I have had our fights. And I've heard Wesley and Nika arguing too, so it's really not that big of a deal. It's just that you and Spike have a lot of baggage surrounding the whole fighting thing, and this time you hit him."
"After what he said—" Buffy started, trying to defend herself.
Dawn fixed her sister with a stern glare. "You know, in my sociology class, they would say that hitting anybody, no matter what the reason, was wrong. You never hit your human boyfriends."
Buffy winced. That was true enough, and Peter had definitely deserved to be hit a lot more than Spike had. Seeing that she had Buffy on the ropes, Dawn continued inexorably. "Besides, I'm wondering if you weren't pissed off because Spike was right, at least a little."
"Fine!" Buffy burst out. "I was horny. Yes, I still want Spike, and he's not going anywhere with that. But that's not what it's all about."
"Are you sure he really knows that?" Dawn asked. "I know you told him you loved him, Buffy, but I don't think Spike really believes that this relationship of yours is going to last very long. After Connor and I had our first fight, I asked Nika what I was supposed to do, because I was pretty sure that it was over for us. She laughed and said that every couple fights, but everybody's got to learn how to bend a little. All Spike has done for you is bend, Buffy, and he's finally learned how to take care of himself. Until he knows he can trust you not to walk at the first sign of trouble, maybe you should be the one that bends."
Dawn gave her sister another stern look. "And you were the one that hit him."
Buffy winced. She sounded close to tears when she finally spoke. "But what if I ruined it?"
"I don't know." Dawn gave her sister a hug. "I guess you'll survive."
Buffy wasn't nearly so sure.
~~~~~
Nika was snuggled up against Wesley on the couch in her living room. "So Spike is okay?"
"I think he will be," Wesley replied, stroking her hair. "We'll have to see what Buffy does." They had both slept the day away, and had risen late, Wesley finally telling Nika what Spike had told him early that morning.
She sighed. "Let's not fight, cariad annwyl. I don't want there to be pain between us."
"'Oh, I think we are too wise to woo peaceably,'" Wesley quoted.
She sighed. "Then promise me we won't go to bed angry, even if we have to stay up all night—or all day—to sort it out."
"That I think I can promise you."
They sat quietly, simply enjoying the peace of the other's presence, when Wesley's phone rang. "Wyndam-Pryce." Nika listened to the one-sided, intense conversation, dread beginning to take over. She had accepted Wesley's job, and had accepted it was a dangerous one, but every time he went out she knew that he might not come back. When he disconnected, she asked, "You have to leave?"
"Soon as I can rouse Spike," Wesley replied. "Apparently, there are a large number of vampires bent on taking over a club tonight. One of the owners got word and decided to call me."
Nika raised an eyebrow. "Why not just shut down the club?"
"They would just choose a different time," Wesley pointed out. "Or a different club, one that we had no warnings for."
"How many?"
"He thought more than a dozen."
"Wesley," Nika began. "Far be it from me to tell you how to do your job, but shouldn't you have more than just Spike?"
Wesley considered it, finally nodding. "You're right. We could probably handle it, but more hands means less chance of anyone getting hurt." He quickly dialed Connor's number, but had to leave a message.
"Call Buffy," Nika suggested.
"Do you think it wise?" Wesley asked, concerned. "Not just with the pregnancy, but with Spike?"
"They have to see each other sometime," Nika pointed out reasonably. "And the pregnancy is still not so far along that it will make it dangerous. From what Dawn has said, Buffy's been going out on her own recently. At least tonight she'll have the two of you with her."
"Of course." Wesley sighed. "Though I'm not sure I'm ready for more drama."
~~~~~
Buffy climbed into the backseat of Wesley's new SUV. "Hey, Wes. I like the new wheels."
"Thank you," he replied politely. "It seems to be coming in handy so far."
"Did you get rid of the Big Dog?"
"No," Wesley replied, smiling a little. "My fiancé informed me that I would not be getting rid of the motorcycle."
"Smart woman," Buffy murmured, sending a cautious look at Spike in the passenger seat. "Hey, Spike."
"Slayer."
There was enough of a chill in Spike's voice to have Buffy sitting back against the seat in silence. No one seemed to have the use of their tongues as they finished the drive to the club. When Wesley pulled up, he gave both of them stern looks. "This is going to be difficult enough without the two of you at odds with each other. We have fifteen minutes before we have to go in. I would suggest you take a moment to ensure we don't go in there and end up getting everyone killed."
There was the slam of the door as he exited the vehicle and then a long silence. "Spike—"
"Forget it," Spike said shortly. "Let's just forget it even happened."
"No," Buffy protested. "I don't want to forget it happened. I wanted to tell you I was sorry."
Spike shook his head, finally twisting in his seat to face her. "No, luv, what I said wasn't fair, but what happened wasn't right. It just showed that we haven't really gone anywhere. I—I'm not sure this is gonna work out."
"Spike, no!" Buffy protested. "We don't have to end this after one fight."
The vampire looked away, profoundly unhappy. "I don't want to end it, luv, but we can't keep doing this."
"What? Fighting?" Buffy asked. "We fight all the time. It's what we do. We—we just have to figure out how to do it better."
Spike glanced down and away, out the window. "Now's not the time," he finally said. "Can we go in there an' do our jobs?"
"Hey, we made a great team when I still hated you," Buffy pointed out.
He smiled. "Yeah, that was fun. Remember the vampires in the magic shop with Angel?"
"Yeah," Buffy met his grin with one of her own. "That was probably more fun for you than me."
Spike reached for the door handle, and Buffy stopped him. "Spike—"
"I know, luv," he said softly. "I know." Spike could see the words in her eyes, but sometimes love just wasn't enough.
~~~~~
The situation inside the club was as chaotic as they had feared it would be. As seemed to happen so often, they found that the estimated numbers of the enemy had been lower than the actual count. Thankfully, the advance warning had allowed the owner to clear the club before the vampires actually showed up.
With somewhere around eighteen vampires, rather than the estimated twelve, however, it became difficult to keep track of each other. They had tried to stay close, but the vampires' leader was smart, and he'd managed to deploy his minions in such a way as to separate Buffy, Spike, and Wesley into their own corners of the large open room.
In spite of being outnumbered, Spike and Buffy were easily the match for the group, and Wesley made up in experience and brains for what he lacked in strength and speed. Buffy caught a glimpse of her former Watcher several times, and she admired his fighting style, which had much improved.
She was putting a stake through the heart of her last vamp when she heard a cry from behind, and felt a hard body slam into her, throwing her to the ground. Buffy landed with an oomph, and turned her head to see Wesley land next to her, a long piece of pipe straight through his shoulder.
"Bloody hell!" Spike's curse rang out, and Buffy pushed herself off the ground to see him stake the last target. He was at Wesley's side in a moment, checking for a pulse, looking his friend over to ascertain the extent of his injury. "Alright, mate?"
"I've got a bloody pipe sticking through my shoulder. What do you think?" Wesley muttered, not sounding particularly okay. Buffy figured if he was being cranky, he was probably better than he looked.
Spike pulled out his cell and tossed it over to Buffy. "Better call the ambulance, luv." While Buffy punched in the numbers and explained the situation to the operator in a low tone, Spike examined the injury. It looked as though the pipe had gone straight through, missing any vitals. The pipe was only about a quarter inch thick, but its presence was going to make it difficult for the paramedics to take care of him. "Think I might need to yank this out, Wesley," he said in a low voice. "I know they say not to do that, but I think it would hurt more to leave it in an' let them yank it."
"Somehow I'm certain you're correct," Wesley replied. "Do it quickly, Spike."
Spike grasped the pipe as close to the shoulder as he could,withdrawing it in one smooth motion. Wesley gasped in pain, his face becoming even paler, but he made no other sound. "Gotta give you credit," Spike said, laughing shakily. "You got stones, Wesley."
"Thanks." Wesley hissed again as Spike pressed the shirt he'd been wearing over the wound, applying pressure. He winced as he remembered something. "Nika—she's on duty tonight."
"You think—" Spike stopped mid-question. "Of course. That's just our luck." He glanced up at Buffy, who nodded.
"I'll go watch for them." Buffy looked down at the fallen man, an expression of pain flitting across her features. "Thanks, Wes. I owe you."
"One of these days I'll let you pay me back," he promised.
Buffy headed outside to watch for the paramedics, and Spike stayed to continue applying pressure to the wound. "You've got to stop getting hurt on the job."
"That's what I keep telling myself. So far it isn't doing any good."
They let the silence grow. "How bad you think this is?" Spike asked.
"It doesn't feel as bad as the gunshot wound," Wesley replied. There was the sound of sirens outside. "If—you'll call Nika for me?"
"'Course, though knowin' our luck, she'll be here."
Their luck was holding, since Spike could pick up both Buffy and Nika's voices coming from outside, as well as another, unfamiliar voice. The Slayer entered, closely followed by both paramedics. "You ever think about not getting hurt, cariad?" Nika asked, hurrying over to Wesley's side. She turned to her partner. "Ethan, I'd like you to meet my fiancé, Wesley."
"Nice to meet you," the big, red-haired paramedic replied gravely. "We'll get you patched up in no time, Wesley."
Ethan and Nika went to work on the fallen man, quickly getting him up on the gurney. "We'll meet you at the hospital, luv," Spike said quietly. He and Buffy had been standing back, out of the way, not wanting to interfere with their ministrations.
"Thanks, Spike." Nika turned to give him a grateful look, but otherwise her face was blank of all expression. Slayer and vampire watched them leave, and then went out to Wesley's car.
The drive over was as silent and tense as the earlier trip had been. Buffy was the one who finally broke it, just as Spike parked. "I feel like this was my fault."
"Not your fault," Spike murmured.
"But if I'd been paying more attention—"
"We all know the risks, Slayer, Wesley better than anyone. He's going to be fine."
Buffy shook her head. She would never get used to it: watching people she loved get hurt or get killed. Starting with her first Watcher, all the way up through Tara, with so many in between. Maybe Wesley would be okay, but she didn't feel any better about it.
Nika was seated in the waiting room when they got there, and Spike hurried to take a seat next to her. "You doin' okay?"
"Yeah, Ethan told our supervisor about Wesley, and he told me to take the rest of the night off." Nika had been completely professional when she'd arrived with the ambulance at the club, but now her voice shook slightly, and both Buffy and Spike could see the tears that threatened. "He's going to be okay, of course. It's not a life-threatening injury."
"What are they saying about his shoulder?" Buffy asked from Nika's other side, reaching over to hold the woman's hand.
Nika shrugged. "He's in surgery. They won't know for a while. There was definitely some damage done, but that's all the doctor could say."
"You know Wesley, Nika-luv," Spike said gently. "He's tougher than he looks."
She nodded bravely. "I told myself I wouldn't fall apart when he got hurt. This is just part of his job."
Spike put an arm around her shoulders, and Nika leaned into him. Buffy watched with a sense of jealousy. She knew that she didn't need to worry about anything inappropriate in their relationship, but she wanted to be the one leaning on Spike. She wanted to be the one to feel his arms around her. It really wasn't fair.
And then the little voice in the back of her head reminded her that it was perfectly fair, and if she hadn't gone and screwed up a good thing, she would have been the one with her head on his shoulder.
Hours always seemed to pass like days in hospital waiting rooms. Spike kept a surreptitious eye on the Slayer as she sat, or paced, or tried to read some tattered magazine. He had almost lost her tonight, he knew. Had Wesley not seen the vampire throwing the long pipe—part of a metal table—it would have gone right through her throat, or possibly her head. Not even her status as the Slayer would have saved her.
Spike knew that most of his anger from the other night had been born of fear. Like Nika, he had loved and lost before. Unlike Nika, he'd loved, lost, and then regained the same person. He couldn't see himself recovering from Buffy's death again.
He also knew that Buffy's primary way of dealing with anger and hurt was to lash out physically. Spike had long ago realized that there was usually a disconnect between brain and mouth whenever he was around the Slayer; the fight had been a stunning example.
So he'd done a lot of soul-searching—figuratively speaking—over the last couple weeks. Contrary to popular opinion, he hadn't lost himself in a bottle or in violence. This time, Spike really did want to know what the bloody hell he was supposed to do about the Slayer, without the liquor informing his decisions. When he added up his fear, plus the Slayer's right hook, with his mouth for good measure, the equation didn't add up to lasting love and affection.
He'd done the math. It was a recipe for madness and despair.
And it didn't change his desire or love for her one iota. One of these days, however, he'd piss her off even more than he had the other night, and she'd leave him. Or stake him. Spike actually preferred the latter option.
The doctor came out into the waiting room just then, interrupting his gloomy train of thought. "Nika?"
Nika stood quickly. "Is he going to be okay?"
"Why don't we have a seat?" he suggested. Once they were all settled, he said, "Mr. Wyndam-Pryce will be fine. There was some damage to the muscles, of course, and one of the tendons was severed. We were able, however, to repair it. I think he'll make a full recovery."
Nika smiled, and Buffy released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Spike spoke up. "How long's he goin' to be out of commission?"
"That's hard to say, really," the doctor replied. "I've seen a number of these cases come through—not with the exact same injury, of course, but similar. It could be months, or even up to a year before he regains full range of motion, but much of that is dependent upon the individual."
He stood. "I'm afraid they're expecting me in the OR for another patient shortly."
"Can I see him?" Nika asked quickly.
"I don't see why not." The doctor smiled encouragingly. "I'm sure he'd appreciate seeing you there when he wakes up. No other guests until he's moved into another room, though."
Nika glanced at Spike. "I need to—"
"Go, luv. We'll catch some rest and come relieve you tomorrow sometime." Spike glanced at the clock. "Actually, it'll be today after the sun sets." As Nika disappeared down the hall towards the recovery room, Spike turned to Buffy. "I'll give you a ride home. You look about done in."
The Slayer nodded, and then said quietly. "I'm not so tired that we can't talk, Spike, and I think we need to."
"If that's what you want."