Chapter 4.13
Buffy turned back over in a bed that suddenly
seemed huge and empty. Her eyes flicked open, seeking the illuminated
display of her radio alarm. 2.04 a.m. Two minutes since she had
last looked. When she had made to follow Spike, Lily's hand had
fallen on her arm in the gentlest possible touch. She could easily
have shaken free and gone after him, but she'd found that in a
matter of days she'd come to trust the old demon implicitly when
it came to matters of the heart.
"Stay," she had suggested. "He go. Blow smoke.
No say things he no mean when he come home."
It had taken Buffy a few seconds to realise
that the empathic demon had meant that Spike was leaving so that
he could blow off steam. It was evident that they had some serious
talking to do, and apparently Spike had been trying to avoid making
the experience more unpleasant than was necessary. That was just
peachy, but even Spike had to have run out of steam after three
hours. Buffy threw back the freshly laundered bed linens. She
walked over to her wardrobe, and pulled out a pair of sweatpants
and hooded tracksuit top, pulling them on over the camisole and
boxers she had put on when she made her way to bed over an hour
ago.
Just in case, she scribbled a quick note, setting
it on her pillow and then shifting Mr Gordo so that his weight
would prevent it being blown away by a stray breeze from the open
window. She didn't dare shut it in case Spike returned while she
was away. Even though he apparently had had a key to the house
for some time, she knew that if he returned in the early hours
of the morning he'd choose the method of entry least likely to
disturb the house's other occupants. Slipping on a pair of running
shoes, whose Velcro fastenings seemed to tear through the silence
that enveloped their abode; she grabbed a stake from the trunk
beneath her bed and slipped out through the window.
She didn't know if it was instinct or habit
that drew her steps to the cemetery that housed Spike's old crypt.
Pushing open the door, she found the upstairs much as they had
left it when they had cleared out the things that Spike had considered
worth taking to his new apartment. She drew a gentle hand across
the back of the armchair that Spike had favoured. Still her slayer
senses tingled and that part that was particularly attuned to
the blond menace told her that he was close by.
She crossed to the ladder that led down to the
area Spike had professed to be unsafe after the blast she had
set off on the occasion of Riley's last visit. Cautiously, testing
each step before she put her full weight on it she made her way
down into the lightless subterranean room. Her eyes failed her.
No matter how long she waited they were unable to penetrate the
gloom, so she relied on her slayer senses instead. No other creature
drew breath in the vampire's former lair, and her senses told
her that there was only one vampire here, and yet an unfamiliar
scent pervaded the entire cavern. She edged slowly toward the
area where her slayer sense told her the vampire was, never lifting
her feet merely sliding them forward meagre inches at a time.
After three or four feet she ran into something
solid. Reaching down, she felt with her hands until she was able
to confirm that she had reached the collapsed bed that she and
Spike had managed so conspicuously to avoid. A tentative crawl
across its surface confirmed that it was still empty. On the far
side, Buffy regained her feet and began to inch forward once more,
inwardly cursing her lack of foresight in not bringing a flashlight
or even some matches she could have used to light the remaining
candles. She fumbled blindly over piles of rubble, reduced to
crawling over the uneven surface until she was almost at the edge
of the room. Her senses screamed at her that he was nearby and
yet she couldn't find him.
And then, as she made her way across the rubble
on her hands and knees she felt something that didn't seem to
fit. Tentatively she probed the area that had given beneath her
before pulling away. Her hand was damp and not entirely cold.
Kneeling she sniffed until she was sure that the scent matched
that which now filled the lower area of the crypt. Her hand reached
out again, touching the foreign surface once more. The texture
was all wrong too. She imagined that this was what an elephant
would feel like if you were to feel it, not the flexible and tender
flesh of its trunk's underside, but the tough weathered hide that
protected its flanks. Moving her hand around she found that whatever
it was only an area about twice the size of her fist was exposed.
The rest, whatever it might be, was covered by rubble.
Buffy sat back on her heels to consider what
she knew. Something that still retained some of the warmth of
life, but which no longer drew breath was at least partially buried
under what had to be a fresh rock fall. Somewhere nearby, her
senses told her that Spike lay either passed out or otherwise
unable to contact her. Buffy began to peel away the rocks one
by one, throwing them as far behind her as she could. Damn vampire.
Just when there's an argument in the offing
he goes and gets himself hurt.
It took Buffy twenty minutes to clear the rocks
that covered the demon corpse. Then, it took her five minutes
to drag it off to one side. The thing must have been about eight
and a half feet tall and weighed almost four hundred pounds. If
Spike wasn't under here she was so going to kill him when she
found him. Moving back she felt around the area where the demon
had originally been lying. The first touch of denim had her working
her way frantically up his body, brushing aside the few rocks
that remained to bar her way. Pulling him up by the lapels of
his coat, she managed to get him into a fireman's lift, taking
him up the ladder and outside into the moonlight.
When she laid him down on the grass outside
her crypt, she flinched at the trail of blood from his temple
back into his hair. A black streak amongst the silver threads.
Cursing herself for leaving the house so unprepared, she searched
his pockets, sending up a silent prayer that his phone would be
on him and working. When she found it she contemplated her options.
She was reluctant to ask Xander for help. Thankfully, she now
had another option. She dialled the number from memory, not needing
to consult the directory, which by all accounts would be cryptic
at best.
Unsurprisingly, since by her best estimate it
had to be at least quarter to three, the answering machine kicked
in. The pre-recorded message was the one that had been on the
machine when they bought it. Spike had refused to be coaxed into
recording one. "Wes, pick up. I know you're there."
Surprisingly enough even though she waited there
was no reply. Maybe the former watcher was a really heavy sleeper,
or Buffy smiled at the possibility that he hadn't made it home
yet. Lori and Marie had both still been in Lily's apartment when
the girls had left Wesley there. Maybe the ex-watcher was going
to end up with more reasons to stay in Sunnydale than anyone had
anticipated.
Buffy hesitated at her other possible course
of action. Anya did have the keys to the DeSoto, and unless Wes
had admitted to being able to hotwire the car, which she rather
doubted (where was Giles when you needed him?) Buffy had expected
to have to call her anyway. Nevertheless, there was a world of
difference between asking her to leave the passenger door of the
car unlocked and stick the keys in the glove compartment and why
was it a glove compartment? Why not a map compartment or a sweet
compartment? Okay. Focus. Asking Anya to get up at three, drive
a car with a blacked out windscreen to a graveyard and help her
carry round a literal dead weight probably wouldn't go down very
well.
That left just one option.
She got him back inside and stayed put. If she
texted Dawn she would get the message when she got up. Of course,
she wouldn't actually be there to make sure Dawn got up. With
a sigh she explored the options on Spike's phone until she found
how to set the alarm. She'd just have to call the house early
enough to make sure Dawn got to school on time. She pushed the
cell phone into the pocket of her sweatpants.
"What is it with you and the sleep of the knocked
unconscious?" she muttered as she hoisted him over her shoulder
again, thankful that this time she only had to get him to the
sofa. Laying him down on his side as near to the back of the sofa
as possible, she stripped off his duster. She curled up next to
him, pulling his arm around her waist and then draped his coat
over them both like a blanket.
If the awkward vampire wouldn't wake up so they
could go home she would just have to visit him in his dreams instead.