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Edges of My Mind
by Tami
Chapter 3
Sunnydale
Two hours later, Spike was slowly walking back home to his crypt. It was more like shuffling his feet across the pavement really. After all, what did he have to look forward to aside from a possibly empty crypt and the Slayer’s scent surrounding the place? With Captain Cardboard in town it was doubtful she’d be waiting for him with open arms. Buffy was never the “open arms” type of person. Unless you were Angel and even then that was so melodramatic he had actually wanted to throw up the few times he witnessed it. They could have their own soap opera or TV show, maybe even a Lifetime movie: The Slayer and the Poncy Souled Vampire.
He had just spent a better part of the past couple of hours taking one-drink shots out of all of the liquor in Willy’s storage room. At one point, Willy did come in to find him capping one bottle and uncapping another. When Spike had turned his demon face on the very human bartender, Willy held up his hands in surrender and wisely kept his mouth shut. Spike was fine with the silent surrender as Willy tended to stutter and bungle his way in and out of trouble. The last thing he wanted to deal with for the night was a stuttering fool.
Using the sewer system, Spike walked through the tunnels into the lower level of his crypt. He stopped short at the sight that greeted him and his jaw dropped in shock. Everything was blackened.
Spike clenched his teeth so hard to stave off the tears that his jaw hurt. Where his bedroom used to be was now one big, giant, blackened crater. Everything he ever owned: books that Angelus read to him, oriental rugs he had gotten from his travels with Drusilla, dark mahogany cedar dresser set that he had custom made, everything was destroyed. Wait. Scratch that. Drusilla’s bed, the one he had moved over from storage in the Crawford Street mansion when he had first set this place up sat there untouched.
Spike stared at the clean bed with crumpled sheets from when he had last used it had not been touched. Well the bedding was riddled with bullet holes. But the frame itself was not destroyed. Spike gave a dry, humorless laugh at that. The Slayer and Finn had managed to obliterate everything he possessed, but Buffy still managed to miss the bed. Bloody ironic that was.
“I see you’re back. Like the new makeover,” a gruff voice asked.
Spike turned to see Riley standing at the mouth of the sewer tunnel. “Yeah, bloody marvelous. It gives it that bombed out shelter vibe,” Spike answered in monotone. He was still in shock trying to absorb what the hell just happened to his home.
“Hmm,” Riley hummed as he walked closer to the vampire. “Remember what I said I’d do if you ever touched her?”
“Get over it, Cardboard. Yu fucked up your chance and left her. After that she was fair game. So piss off and go back to whatever jungle you came from,” Spike said disinterestedly.
“You see, Spike. I don’t think I will. You need to be taught a lesson. You’re what we call a human sub-terrestrial and hell you’re not even all that human. You’re a demon wearing a human’s body and you don’t have a soul. You’re as evil as they come, Spike. With that chip in your head, you’re spineless. You can’t do a fucking thing to hurt me. But I can hurt you,” Riley explained slowly. He wanted to make sure Spike understood every word.
Spike stared daggers at Riley. He was just waiting for the boy to make a move, silently bracing himself for the fist about to come. “She came to me first, that’s generally how it works. What of it anyway, Cardboard? She’s not your concern anymore. You’re a married man now, got a whole new life, pretty new girl, livin’ it up in some foreign jungle.”
“What’s it feel like to know you weren’t there first and that you got sloppy seconds, Spike?” Riley asked with a cruel twist of his mouth.
“I don’t know, crew cut, you tell me,” Spike said with a smirk. “How does it feel to know your girl, sorry, ex-girl, was with a vampire before she met you?”
Riley didn’t even speak. He answered by drawing back his fist and punching Spike in the nose. The blonde felt along the cartilage with gentle fingertips to see what the damage report of being hit in the nose three times in one night had caused. He looked over at Riley and chuckled. Spike couldn’t help but laugh. He may have a chip preventing him from harming the boy wonder, but he still had a sharp tongue that could slice him to ribbons.
“Is that the best you got? I must say, even the Slayer and my Sire have hit me harder than you do,” Spike edged on.
Riley’s mind flashed on seeing Buffy and Spike under the covers together and then flashed on meeting Angel in that alley a couple of years ago and Buffy’s reaction to the vampire when all three of them were in Buffy’s dorm staring at each other. Now standing here in front of him was Spike, the blonde nuisance, who had been a thorn in Riley’s side ever since he met him.
The more Riley thought about it the angrier he became until he punched Spike, knocking him down. He followed the blonde vampire to the floor and continued laying punches on his face and body. Spike tried to defend himself by holding off the blows, but between Riley’s hard fists and his defensive movement it triggered the chip in his head and he was blinded by the white hot pain behind his eyes. Deciding that the pain was worse than the beating he was getting, Spike brought his arms up to cradle his head. He prayed that it would be over soon so he could crawl under the covers of Drusilla’s bed and pass out.
Riley used his whole body to batter Spike: fists to the face and chest, knees jammed repeatedly into Spike’s ribs with the movement until Riley was sure he had felt one of them crack. Nearly two years of not being able to go after the vampire because Buffy had felt sorry for him were surfacing. Every jab, every punch marked a week, a day, a moment that Spike had antagonized him knowing that Buffy would buffer the fight.
Spike had retreated into his mind. He was awake. He still felt the punches landing on his bruising flesh. He still felt his blood rising to the surface and welling up when the bruising blistered into open abrasions. Bones were bruising and possibly cracking, muscles were being tenderized. Everything from the neck down was turning into a dull ache even as the pain in his head from the chip firing was searing his thought process.
Spike found himself in a room dimly lit by a few lamps. The place looked familiar. Like the cottage they had secured a couple of months after he was turned. Angelus had grown tired of living in the Royal London Hotel and moved him and Drusilla here. He looked down at his apparel and sure enough he was back in the clothes of this period. When he had escaped Riley’s beating and – concentrating on the muffled sounds with his vampiric ears, he heard his own shouts and grunts and roaring growls. What the hell was going on out there? Why had his conscience sent him here?
Spike turned and went to the door. He tried to open it but the panel wouldn’t budge. Half of him wanted to stay here where it seemed safe, but the other half wanted to know what was happening on the other side. He heard childlike giggling from the next room. It was a melodic tinkle in his ears. There was only one person he knew with that laugh – Drusilla. Then he heard gruff growls – Angelus.
Spike cautiously walked to the doorway and peek around the corner. The last time he had come upon a scene similar to this with Angelus, he found his Sire fucking Drusilla. That was the night his Sire taught him about his station in the world now that he was a vampire. Nothing was yours to own, you merely took it if you wanted it.
So now he cautiously peered around the door. Drusilla was sitting on Angelus’ lap, quite innocently. She looked up, sensing family near.
“My Spike! You’ve returned to me. Miss Edith said you would! Come! Daddy was telling stories!” she said excitedly.
Angelus looked over at his childe and smiled. “See, Dru, I told you that you had nothing to worry your pretty little head over,” he declared.
Spike looked at them stunned. Huh. He thought it was earlier in the time period. This was the house in Yorkshire after he had taken his nickname. He looked around as if he were seeing the house for the first time. “How long was I away?”
“Just over a few hours, m’boy,” Angel said. He patted Drusilla on the ass lightly. “Up now, princess, daddy has to see to a few things now that Spike’s home.”
Drusilla gave a pout of displeasure before she hopped to her feet and gave Spike the biggest smile he’d ever remembered seeing on her delicate face. She grabbed an ivory-handled hairbrush and tiptoed over to Spike as if she was sneaking up on him with a coy smile.
Spike watched her. It had been ages since he had seen his Dark Goddess this healthy and carefree. She was still mad as a hatter, but she was childishly happy. Those years before Sunnydale watching her slowly waste away after the mob attacked them were heartbreaking torture. But here she was, sparkling eyes, happy, playful, and as healthy as could be expected for someone certifiably insane. He missed her seeing her this way. After the Acathla incident, she never really forgave him for helping to send Angelus to hell.
Spike smiled. “Hello, Dru. What have you got there, my sweet?”
Drusilla’s dark blue eyes grew as wide as saucers, like she realized she’d been caught trying to sneak a peek at Christmas presents. Then she held out the hairbrush in offering.
“Ah, would you like me to brush your hair, pet?” Spike asked softly.
When she nodded, he took the brush from her hand and led her back to the chair Angelus had vacated. Sitting Drusilla down on the stool in front of him he started to brush out her raven locks gently working the bristles through the tangles.
Spike had been carefully brushing Drusilla’s hair for a half an hour. It was peaceful and relaxing. He hadn’t done this since she’d left him in South America. Finally she spoke up. “Daddy will understand. He will help you. Go to him, he will take back what is rightfully his, my Spike.”
Spike stopped the brush in mid-stroke. How did this version of her know what was happening out in the real world to him? He didn’t think she would have knowledge of the things Drusilla from his time knew. “What do you mean, kitten?”
“The little tin soldier is taking what is not his to own. Angelus shall be very cross when he finds out. He will take back what is his and bring back my white knight in all his glory,” Drusilla said with a dreamy look in her eyes.
In all his glory? What was Drusilla prattling on about? He hadn’t been himself since they put the chip in his head. Why would Angel care about him? Let alone take him back? The last time he saw his Sire face-to-face was in L.A. a couple of years ago when he had him tortured over the Gem of Amara. Angel wouldn’t want him back after that.
As if Drusilla had read his mind, she said, “Go to him. Come back to the family again, my Spike. He’ll welcome you. Let daddy reclaim what is his.”
“But, pet, there is so much bad blood,” Spike said as he resumed brushing her hair.
“It flows like the flooded river. The flood will wash away the tainted to make room for the purist blood. Miss Edith said that you are to go to him and she has never been wrong before. He will make everything right again,” Drusilla replied.
“What about Buffy, pet? I have to be there to help her. She’s going through a bad spot,” Spike questioned.
Drusilla pulled away from the brush slightly and Spike dropped his hand as she turned to face him. Leaning closer, she placed her palm gently over his silent heart. She tilted her head as if she were listening to something in the distance. Then she raised her head and stared into his cerulean eyes, her full lips mere inches from his own.
“Her aura surrounds you, but she has grown dim in your heart. You want something she is not able to give. She cannot satisfy my dark prince. Please, Spike … go to daddy,” Drusilla finally begged.
Spike brushed his fingertips along her hairline and lightly caressed her cheek. He smiled at her and said, “Okay, Dru. I’ll go to him. But, if he rejects me, I’m blaming you.”
Drusilla gave him a big smile. She knew she wasn’t wrong. Angelus would help his boy. Spike was his favored childe, even above her. She knew the order of things with her daddy. Spike had a special place with their Sire. Her Angel would take him back into the fold and make him whole again.
Spike kissed her lightly on the lips and returned her hairbrush. He rose to his feet and walked to the door that Angelus went through earlier. Slowly stepping closer he was a bit nervous as to what mood he’d find his Sire in when he opened the door.
When he was just about to grab the doorknob, he looked back at Drusilla. She cocked her head at him and went about brushing her own hair as she watched him. Once he realized he wasn’t getting anymore help from her, he opened the door to a flash of white light.
Spike opened his eyes. Well as much as he could open them when they were swollen from Riley’s fists. His vision was blurry at the most. Riley was just finishing when he had started to come around again. He let out a feral growl when the man pulled out of his abused body almost viciously. He lay there in complete shock of what he allowed to happen to himself while his mind went on holiday. The Big Bad, Slayer of Slayers, taken down by a chip that nearly fried his brain if he even thought of harming a human, had become utterly conscious of the fact that he – that Riley violated him – and he couldn’t fight back because of the bleedin’ chip.
“Maybe, next time you’ll stay away from her, huh Spike?” Riley sneered and then left the crypt.
To Spike, Riley’s words were distant in his ears. He lay there unmoving, still trying to wrap his mind around what just occurred. When did the rape actually happen anyway? I don’t remember it happening. I remember the punches and knee jabs. Oh, God, everything hurts. Spike tried not to move too much, for when he did intense pain hit him like a ton of bricks.
Spike lay there for what seemed like days or hours. He couldn’t tell how long he’d been there. Drusilla said to go to Angel, but damn if he knew how he was going to accomplish that. It was nearing dawn and he was pretty sure he still had a few cans of black spray paint. Oh, God. The very thought of moving brought on a whole new wave of pain coursing through his body. He needed blood to heal.
Go to daddy , Drusilla’s voice rang in his mind. “When I can move, I will, Dru.” Spike mumbled to himself. He was about ready to fall asleep from the pain when Angelus’ voice boomed through his head like a ringing gong, Move, boy. You don’t mind the pain, you’re a vampire, damn it. Get up!
“Oi!” Spike’s eyes tried to spring open, but they were too swollen to manage more then a little bit. Great, Angelus. You want me to get up and move and I can barely see. Well, he could still see better than a human would at any rate, but that was neither here nor there at this point. He morphed into his demon and a bit of the pain in his face subsided. That helped the sense of sight considerably.
Spike crawled to his knees and then used the bed as leverage to climb onto the mattress. He felt a little light-headed and spacey. Looking down at himself, he still couldn’t remember how his clothes had ended up in disarray. Then again, the scene he had come upon when reality floated back seemed like a bad dream. He willed himself to wake up and see Buffy still dozing beside him on the coffin. Spike rubbed his eyes, shook his head, blinked, pinched himself and the scene still wasn’t changing.
Spike thought about leaving and not being here to back the Slayer up if she needed him. You want something she is not able to give. She cannot satisfy my dark prince. Please, Spike, go to daddy . . . go to daddy . . . go to daddy, Drusilla’s voice echoed in his head. He carefully pulled his clothes on and then stood on shaky legs. He grabbed the bedpost for purchase. Turning his head and focusing his clearing vision on the bed frame as if he was seeing it for the first time, Spike wondered how he’d get it out of this mess. He didn’t want to leave Drusilla’s bed behind, but he had to.
After steadying himself, Spike stumbled out of what was left of his crypt. Once outside, he tried to walk a few paces, but his foot caught on a small mound of dirt and he stumbled to his knees. He sat there and gathered his bearings. Go to daddy, Drusilla’s voice repeated.
After tonight’s display from the Slayer, he knew he wouldn’t get any help from her. He was just an evil thing to take care of her needs; no more than a sex toy to her, which would be all fine and great, except for the thing that just happened to him. Spike wondered how he was going to get to LA in one piece. Between the pain and the approaching dawn that he could sense was coming if not a few hours away.
Spike finally made it to the Desoto, climbed in and switched the engine on. He had to get to Angel. Drusilla said he’d help. For once in his un-life, he prayed that she was right. |
