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Title: Wayward Author: Devil Piglet Rating: R/NC-17 Disclaimer: All characters of ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ are used without permission. Author’s Notes: Set very loosely after 'Get It Done.' Feedback: Reviews are welcome: devilpiglet@yahoo.com. *************************************** Part 3: Ripening “Eat it,” Spike said, not for the first time. Nikki looked him up and down contemptuously. “You eat it,” she answered. Her meaning was clear. “Cute. Look, it’s been three days -- you said so yourself. You want to get better, don’t you? Well enough to stake me good and proper? Then be a good little Slayer and eat the fucking food.” His words were harsh but his voice was pleading. She fidgeted, halfheartedly stifling a yawn. Sleep was tricky but terribly tempting, a time when her most private love emerged unchecked.A solemn little boy who rode on her shoulders when she walked through the apartment. An alarm clock of childish giggles. His squeals when she took him to the Bronx Zoo on his third birthday. She pushed the memories away and looked again at the tray he held. A turkey sandwich, liberally padded with lettuce and tomato. Meat was expensive, after all, and from the sounds that occasionally drifted downward, there seemed to be a rampaging troop of Girl Scouts in residence. Nikki eyed the sandwich again. White bread. Of course.The plain and somewhat unnerving truth was, she didn’t want to eat. She couldn’t say why she’d pushed away all the food he’d brought her – well, besides the fact that it came from him. The vampire was right about one thing, though. If she kept on like this she’d never recover. Each hour sapped her strength a bit more, and her strength was the one thing she’d always taken for granted. To be weak – and in his presence, no less – was making her crazy. “Leave it,” she said imperiously. “I’ll have some later.” “Now.” “The company I’m in is ruining my appetite.” She waited for him to slam the tray down and stalk off. Instead he nodded, placed the tray beside her and left, all without a word. She watched him take the stairs two at a time, and then heard the door softly click shut. She remembered him being more arrogant. Cocky. Someone had taken him down a notch or two, that was for certain. She wished it could have been her. The night before, when she’d first recognized him – she hated, hated that she’d felt a bolt of fear, however brief. He’d spend the rest of his damned life paying for that moment. Rage had overtaken her quickly enough – he’d been surrounded by giggling, chirping girls. She didn’t know how he’d kill them all. Didn’t care, either. He wouldn’t get the chance. She’d followed him, discreetly, but she was so tired and shaky it was hard to keep up. Fortunately their bizarre little procession was also a slow one and she’d tracked them…here. To this comfortable suburban house with its beaming porch light and slightly overgrown lawn. It was all so normal, and when she found herself thinking that the aging, tree-lined street reminded her of her childhood in Park Slope she’d wanted to scream, to tear things. She settled for him. She was disgusted with herself for failing, ashamed of this unfamiliar frailty that leadened her limbs and caused the world to swim before her. His death would have been a joy to her, his blood sweet on her tongue. Okay, that was…unpleasant, Nikki thought. She wrenched her mind from those rather unwelcome images and checked out her lunch again. It hadn’t become any more appetizing in the last few minutes. She unenthusiastically picked up one half of the sandwich and took a bite. *************************************** “Would you care to update us on our newest arrival?” “Here’s an update. Her name is Nikki. Use it.” Spike opened the microwave and removed a mug of blood. He took an appreciative sip and settled at the kitchen table.“Spike…” “She’s in a bad way,” Spike answered shortly. Lighting a cigarette, he inhaled deeply. “Got the shakes, thinner than she was when I hauled her in here.” He idly passed the flame of the Zippo back and forth beneath his fingertips as he spoke. “Left her with some food, don’t know what I’ll do if she doesn’t eat it. She’s got a fever that won’t quit. Had a hell of a time bringing it down last night.” Xander smirked. “Check out Nurse Nancy.” Spike didn’t look up. “Come over here and I’ll show you who’s a nancy.” “Enough. Both of you.” Giles removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Buffy around?” Spike asked casually. “Buffy’s whereabouts, Spike, are none of your concern. Buffy herself is none of your concern. If I have even the slightest suspicion that your obsession with her is re-awakening, I will not hesitate to act. Is that absolutely clear?” “Fine talk from the man who walked out on her.” “That’s not --!” Giles looked to Xander for support, but the other man bit his lip and looked away. “I got plenty to keep me up nights, yeah? Got a nice litany of sins to recite before I lay me down to sleep. But I didn’t go to deepest Africa and get a fucking soul shoved up my ass to hear you tell me I’m not fit company for her. Seems to me like I’m the only one who fought for her, the only one had the stones to help her live her sad, short, miserable excuse for a life. And I’m not going anywhere. Not yet. I’m not the same as before. I’ve changed.” “Into a needy, unpredictable liability. Your existence has been a series of dangerous and destructive episodes, and you have already become a drain. On Buffy, and on all of us.” “What a load of bollocks. I’ve helped her, more than any of you!“ “You’ve damaged her, more than any of us. We only allow you to remain here as a concession to Buffy. Don’t forget that, Spike.” Taking a long swallow from the mug, he grinned faintly. “Yeah, you’re full up with the milk of human kindness.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “Gotta go check on my patient.” *************************************** Dimly she heard the door to the basement slam, the trudge of heavy boots on the steps. Then she was overtaken by more convulsions. The footsteps stopped, then she heard a soft rush of air as he leaped down the rest of the stairway. “Fuck, fuck, Nikki…” She tried to speak, to tell him don’t say my name. Instead more dry and desperate gasps escaped. Her eyes stung with tears. He came up behind her, grabbed her up in his arms. She couldn’t stop retching though she had emptied her stomach long ago. As she flailed blindly he caught her arms and pinned them to her sides. He was pressed up against her now, her back to his front, and somehow his absence of breathing calmed her own. She sucked in air, waited for it to cool the taste of sick that surrounded her. Her body was still wracked with spasms but that seemed a very distant fact; unimportant when weighed against the stench of bile and sticky, oppressive way her clothes clung to her. “What happened?” she heard him asking, from far away. She tried to wriggle out of his grasp but merely succeeded in loosening his hold. “Ask the chef.” She felt the muscles of his chest bunch as he tensed. “Was nothing wrong with that meal. We did a shop two days ago; everything’s fresh.” When she didn’t respond he added, “Haven’t touched it myself. Knew you wouldn’t want that.” “Uh-huh.” She was inclined to blame this on him – her mother used to laugh about Nikki’s cast-iron stomach and she hadn’t sicked up a meal since that fried rock shrimp at Astroland – but instinct told her otherwise. She knew he planned to kill her. It was his nature. And she saw death, dancing in his eyes. Still, poisoned sandwiches didn’t seem like his style. Not nearly so dramatic or satisfying as – Blood coats her arms, her legs; broken bodies lie in her wake and she feels the grin split her face. She’s slick and slippery, dripping in scarlet and she throws her head back and she laughs, laughs, laughs at the roiling sky. “Wash,” she managed. “Want to wash up. God, I have to, have to…” She began yanking at the fabric of her damp shirt, frustrated at her own impotence. “Past time we got you out of those clothes, although I wasn’t quite sure how to bring up the subject –“ But she was already scrambling away, toward the cheap little bathroom in the corner. “Bloody – Just wait a minute, will you? Just wait.” He caught her up in his arms again and half-carried, half-dragged her to the hollowed-out nook beyond the stairwell. A thin sheet hung across the makeshift doorway, affording the barest modicum of privacy. Inside there was a new toilet, an old, chipped sink and a rusty showerhead. Bathing on a budget. She was deposited unceremoniously on the intermittently tiled floor as he reached across, twisted the faucet. The showerhead sputtered and came to life. “It’s going to be cold,” he warned her. “Yes,” she mumbled. “Cold.” Another moment, and her flesh might blister and break open. “Right, then. In we go.” He lifted her inside. She collapsed under the spray, let the water stream down her face, past her lips. Cradled in the vee of his legs, while he tipped his head back to rest against the wall behind them. He cussed, almost too low for her to hear above the shower. She felt him smooth the hair back from her face, maneuver her slack limbs. She closed her eyes. *************************************** Spike sat on the floor, slumped against the ungiving metal of the cot. She was sleeping now; small favors and all that. The way he’d been able to take her back to bed, tuck her in without a protest worried Spike as much as her more obvious symptoms. She was getting worse, slipping through his fingers and he couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t fix it, even as he listened to her shallow, pained breathing above him. He felt the persistent pang of hunger in his belly. When had he last eaten? Seemed like months. Everything before she came was fuzzy and indistinct; sepia-toned images of an old home movie. She was his cause now, his goal. Here in their basement, where sunlight shied away and time stopped moving. He stared at his abandoned mug of blood a few feet away, kicked at it with his foot. It teetered on the hard floor and a crack appeared in the mauve glazing, but it remained upright. He dropped his head into his hands. *************************************** Screaming. Hoarse, demented yowls as he struggled back to consciousness. Buffy, I’m sorry, my heart, didn’t mean it, would never….just wanted to…A solid punch to his jaw and he awoke with a start. Nikki straddled him, wild-eyed and raging. She held a stake in her raised right hand; her left pummeled him mercilessly. “What did you do to me?” she cried. “Son of a bitch, what have you done? What am I?” He blinked up at her, at a loss. Where had this energy come from? An hour ago she hadn’t been able to stand up and now she was giving him one of the more respectable beatings of his unlife. Then he noticed her lips, smeared with crimson. The earthy, intoxicating scent of blood that wafted from her breath. Another blow, this time to his nose, and he took the opportunity to peer around her. His mug lay overturned on the concrete, nary a drop spilled. Empty. The next time her fist came down her grabbed it, forced it down. She was improved, certainly, but not at full strength just yet. Then the stake traveled downward at a speed that Spike found fairly alarming. He knocked it from her hand and encircled her wrists in his. “What am I?” she wailed. “What did you do? God, what…” He eased out from underneath her and she redoubled her efforts to attack. They struggled in silence for a while. Finally she stopped fighting him, lifted her hands to her face. Made an awful, awful sound when she pulled back and saw the blood on her fingertips. He recalled a century of Dru’s fears and night terrors, the way she’d slice open her pretty pale flesh with the gold-plated scissors that he never hid well enough. “It’s okay, sweet. It’s all right. It’s all fine. Tell me what you did, hmm? Did you have a bit of the blood I left? ‘S that what happened?” She nodded wordlessly, her features contorted in a mask of despair and revulsion. For a terrifying moment he waited for her to shift into game face -- but the pulse at her wrist had pounded strong beneath his imprisoning hands. She was quick, bursting with life. “Why this? Why couldn’t you just kill me? Anything but this…” “Hush, darling girl. We’ll get it sorted in no time. Doesn’t mean a thing, this. Come now, love.” He tugged her forward, taking her face in his hands.The bump and jostle of the tube car, his knees on either side of her. He bears down, and twists 'til he hears the crunch. With his thumbs he wiped at her mouth until the stain of blood was gone. “See? All better. There, close your eyes. Rest now.” He gathered her to his chest and she crumpled there bonelessly. For the first time, he noticed, that ebony silk-skin had a healthy, subtle warmth rather than blazing heat. Her fever was gone. She wept quietly against him while he rocked her. He murmured soothing, broken words in her ear and pressed the lightest, very lightest kisses to the top of her head. "There's a girl. I've got you, hear? Not going to let anything happen to you, not now. You're safe now. I've got you."And even as she sobbed out her despair he secretly rejoiced. Because she was no longer dying; life blazed inside her even as she wished the flame out. She was saved. Part 4: So Young
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