Bitter Business
by Kirayoshi
Come With Me
[reviews]
Chapter Three
Come With Me
Hear my cries
Hear my call
Lend me your ears
See my fall
See my error
Know my faults
Time halts
See my loss
Know I'm lacking
Backtracking
Where I met you
Pistol packing
Itchy finger
Trigger happy
Try to trap me
Bad-rap me
Wiretap me
Backstab me
Break the faith
Fall from grace
Tell me lies
Time flies
Close your eyes
Come with me
--Puff Daddy
"Come With Me"
"Hey, Dawnie?" Willow's voice chimed over the telephone. "How you holding up?"
"Hey back," Dawn answered as she sat at her desk, struggling to balance the handset of her phone between her shoulder and her cheek while doing her homework. "Almost finished with my math for tomorrow. So, when are you heading back home?"
"In an hour or so," Willow replied glumly. "I gotta set up some alarm spells around the Magic Box. Buffy's worried about Demona trying to loot Giles' magical artifacts."
"Gotcha," Dawn nodded. "Uh, is Buffy with you?"
"Patrol," Willow answered simply. "She dropped me off at the Box after we met with Goliath. She check with you yet?"
"Not yet," Dawn answered, nervously twirling a lock of her hair with her fingers. "She usually checks in with me every half-hour or so."
"Ah," Willow hummed for a second. "I wouldn't worry 'bout it, Dawnie. It's gonna take more than a typical patrol to take down Buffy. I'm sure she'll call you soon."
"Yeah, I figure that myself," Dawn agreed. "I'll see ya later tonight."
"See ya then," Willow answered.
"Love ya," Dawn grinned just before the connection severed. She returned to her homework and began plowing through her final problems, her mind only half concentrating on the assignment before her.
She hated her sister's patrols. She never told Buffy this fact because she didn't want her sister worrying about her, but she hated sitting alone in the house while Buffy was out fighting God-knows-what. It wasn't that she was afraid for Buffy; she knew from personal experience that Buffy was capable of holding her own against most anything the Hellmouth had to throw at her.
She also knew from personal experience that Buffy was capable of doing anything to safeguard her friends and family. Up to and including sacrificing her own life. If it weren't for a crazy confluence of events, between the former members of the Initiative reviving the Adam project with Buffy as their guinea pig and the fragmentation of Buffy's own soul, Dawn would still be alone.
She remembered how alone she had felt during that time. Her father only wanted to loot her trust fund. Willow and Tara were slowly drifting apart. Buffy's death had all but destroyed any family Dawn had. Only a miracle had brought Buffy back, mending her family, and Dawn didn't want to lose her.
Dawn hated her sister's nightly patrols, but not because she was afraid of what was out there.
She was afraid of losing her sister to what was out there.
She shook the darkness from her thoughts and concentrated on the last of her story problems. She knew that she wasn't going to lose her sister any time soon. This Demona person, she wasn't in Glory's league. She wasn't a goddess, she was just a demonic being with a hard-on for senseless violence. Buffy could take her. She had to; it was her job, right?
Just as she finished double-checking her final problem, a sharp rap at the front door grabbed her attention. She sprinted down the stairs to the door and peered through the scope. "Spike!" she gasped aloud, "What are you doing here?"
"Open the door, Niblet," the dour vampire answered. "Your sister sent me!"
"That's a lie," Dawn answered. "Right now, she'd just as soon stake your butt as look at you!"
Spike nodded reluctantly. "I know that, Dawn. But right now she's got bigger fish to fry. She and the Scoobs are going up against Demona, and she's worried that the garg-bitch's gonna go after you to get to her. So I volunteered to watch out for you."
"And she bought it?" Dawn asked skeptically.
"Hey, she knows how much I care about you, Li'l Bit. We're on a temporary truce for now."
Dawn leaned against the door for a second. "I dunno. Willow put her mojo on the place to uninvite you, and Buffy left me specific orders not to let you back in, under any circumstances. We're talking on pain of serious grounding here."
Spike snarled quietly at himself. Figures she'd think of that, he thought angrily. "Tell ya what, Bit," Spike offered with saccharine sweetness. "Why don't you join me? We can go somewhere public, get lost in the crowd."
"You sure about that?" Dawn asked. "What's to stop Demona from attacking us out in the open?"
The lies flowed from Spike's mouth like syrup on pancakes. "From what Buffy told me Demona's been keeping a low profile. She wouldn't dare attack you in the open, not without any advance preparations. Please, Bit, trust me."
Long moments passed as Spike stood outside the door. Then the door slowly swung open, and Dawn emerged, wearing her denim jacket over her shirt. "Okay, Spike. I trust you," she announced.
"That's my girl," Spike smiled toothily as he peeked through the doorway. "Don't worry, I-WHAT THE HELL IS SHE..."
"Oh, hello Spike," the chirpy voice of Buffy Summers greeted the hapless vampire, causing him to jump a foot off of the porch. Spike gawked at the figure sitting calmly on the sofa as she stared blankly at the television.
"Oh, that," Dawn doubled back as Spike glared hard at the unexpected guest. "Willow's been salvaging the Buffy-bot. She hopes to have her up and running by the end of the month."
"Oh bugger me for a Guinness, why?" Spike groaned under his unused breath. As Dawn opened her mouth, he stopped her with a curt wave of his hand. "Rhetorical question, Niblet. I guess Red's gotta have a hobby. Well, let's go, shall we?"
"You sure this is okay?" Dawn asked as she locked the front door behind her and joined the blond vampire in the yard.
"I give you my word," Spike answered solemnly, "that Demona won't come within a mile of you."
As Dawn strolled happily by Spike's side, the vampire smirked to himself. No, li'l Bit, I won't let Demona touch you. After all, you're mine!
========
"...And we're walking, and we're walking..." the cheery tour guide shepherded the group around the museum foyer. "And here, we have our newest exhibition of paintings, the Prophecy series by the famed master of fantasy painting--"
"Ooh," Willow cooed excitedly in Buffy's ear, drowning out the painter's name, "This is good stuff! You gotta see these paintings!"
Buffy turned her eyes toward her best friend, surprised to see Willow licking her lips suggestively. She glanced again at her surroundings; marble benches, high columns with deeply carved white bases, enormous paintings hanging from the walls, distanced from the crowds milling around the hall by burgandy velvet ropes. She was standing next to Willow, with Xander, Anya, Faith, Tara, Dawn and Giles behind them. She felt Willow's hand in her own, as natural as if it belonged there. She glanced back at the tour guide, who suddenly resembled her mother.
Buffy gathered her wits quickly and began thinking; The first thing I remember, I was getting my butt kicked by Spike, now I'm in the middle of a museum. Ah, I get it, dream. Probably a Slayer dream. She gave a resigned sigh at the thought. Okay, B, you know the drill; start watching for prophetic visions.
"And here," her mother's clone announced, referring to the first painting, "we have 'Return to Avalon'. The figure on the left is believed to be Arthur Pendragon, legendary king of all England, blessing the knights of his new Round Table, as seen on the right." Buffy peered at the painting, her eyes focusing on Arthur's knights. Their faces seemed deliberately obscured, painted in vague brushstrokes and soft shadings, but they still seemed familiar to her.
"Over here in the next exhibit," Joyce chimed happily as she led the group to another large painting, "we have an abstract painting, entitled 'Dark and Light'." The painting was a gray-tone watercolor, a portrait of a young woman with a diagonal check pattern superimposed over her. Her face seemed to shift between the black and white squares, between the light and the dark, from an angelic glow to a devillish cast. Her expression was confused, conflicted, half smiling, half scowling, as though at war with herself. Buffy glanced at Willow, and felt the shudder that shook the young wiccan's frame through her hand.
"And we're walking," the tour guide continued, leading the group to the next portrait. "This final picture is called 'Gift of the Kindly Ones', and is clearly meant to be a portrait, although there is some debate as to the original subject's identity." Buffy stared hard at the painting, shocked to see a portrait of herself. The image in the painting sat upright, her arms resting at her sides, her stance alert and ready. A pair of leathern wings draped behind her like a cloak, and two small horns sprouted from her forehead, making her look more like a Gargoyle. These additions seemed to be a natural part of her body, something with which she was familiar with, even comfortable. Almost like a view of her true nature.
"She's so beautiful," Willow breathed aloud, her eyes intently staring at the painting.
Buffy only now noticed that the crowd around her and Willow had faded, and the two women were the only people left in the museum. Willow turned to Buffy and placed her hand on the Slayer's cheek. "Why do you not see the truth about yourself? Why do you deny your true beauty? Why must you hide what I love so much about you?"
Buffy could have become lost in her beloved's eyes, their deep forest green revealing their depths to Buffy as she moved closer to Willow. Their arms reached out to embrace each other and their faces moved closer to an inevitable kiss--
========
"Buffy! Buffy!" An urgent voice called out her name, as an acrid stink assailed her nostrils, shattering her dream-state. As her vision focused, she began to recognize the strong purple hand under her nose, and noticed the small glass ampoule he was carrying as containing smelling salts. She shook off the remaining dizziness and the effects of her dream, fighting off a slight vertigo as she raised her head.
"Goliath?" she mumbled, slurring her words slightly as the vestiges of a concussion scrambled her vision. The gargoyle gently placed a hand on her shoulder, saying, "You must rest for a moment, Buffy. You still have several livid bruises from whomever or whatever attacked you. Fortunately they appear to be fading with a remarkable speed."
"The plus side of being a Slayer," Buffy groaned as she stretched her protesting arms over her head. "I'm a fast healer. But what's happening? W-where's..." A sudden flash of memory claimed her, shaking off the last of her disorientation. "SPIKE!"
"Buffy," Goliath tried to restrain the Slayer, but Buffy broke free of the gargoyle's gentle but strong hands. "You need your rest. You need time to heal."
"I don't have the time!" Buffy insisted loudly. "Spike's after my sister!"
Goliath's eyes narrowed to grim yellow slits, as a growl threatened to erupt from his throat. "Spike," he intoned darkly. "Was he a thin lanky vampire with slicked-back blond hair?"
"I take it you two met before," Buffy said hastily.
"I warned him to leave Sunnydale," Goliath whispered through clenched teeth, "or I would kill him myself."
"I said the same thing," Buffy snarled, "but obviously he didn't listen. He's got a hate on for me, and now he's come back for revenge. And he's gonna use my sister Dawn to get it!"
"Not if I have any say in the matter," Goliath's voice reminded Buffy of thunder in the distance, and his eyes flashed an angry fire as he spoke. "Quickly," he added, spreading his wings wide to catch the prevailing winds and scooping Buffy up into his muscular arms, "I can get you to your home faster by air."
"Thanks, Goliath," Buffy answered as she wrapped her strong slender arms around his neck. As Goliath charged forward, his body slowly gaining lift and altitude from the wind against his wings, Buffy's thoughts turned to the monster who had threatened her sister.
"You're going down, Spike," she whispered against Goliath's chest. "You're going down tonight!" Goliath, hearing Buffy's vow, nodded in silent accord.
========
Willow sat in silent meditation, her mind attuned with the energies that flowed throughout the Magic Box, mentally testing, attuning, nudging the threads of power around her, creating an arcane network around the shop, one that would withstand any magic assault that may be used against it. She finally opened her eyes and smiled, satisfied that no dark magic would encroach the shop this night. She unfolded her legs, stretching them slightly before standing, and stepped out of the backroom.
"Let's see," Anya announced gleefully as her nimble fingers flew across her calculator's keys, "with the sales on natural beeswax candles and ceremonial robes for the next equinox observances, plus the ouija board for the cheerleader's Halloween party, that gives us a net profit this week of...YES! Hey, hey, hey, HEY!" She raised her hands over her head and started to clap her hands and shuffle her feet across the floor.
"Uh," Willow started tentatively as she leaned against the doorframe and watched Anya's exuberant display. "I know I'm going to regret asking, but what are you doing?"
Anya smiled happily as she turned to Willow. "I'm doing the Dance of Capitalist Superiority." She returned to her dancing, happily unconcerned for Willow's reaction.
"I was right," Willow sighed, "I do regret asking." Not for the first time, Willow Rosenberg found herself wondering what Xander Harris ever saw in this former vengeance demon. Her constant preoccupation with sex and money tended to grate on Willow's nerves.
Anya continued her joyous dancing, until her left foot snagged against an electrical wire. Her arms started flailing as she began to lose her balance. Willow quickly rushed to Anya's side, catching her body before it could fall. "Whoa," Anya gasped as she regained her equilibrium. She glanced at the redhead who had steadied her fall. "Thank you, Willow," she said, obviously relieved. "And that's from both me and Xander Jr. here," she added, patting her tummy.
"As long as you're both okay," Willow nodded, smiling slightly. As she led Anya to a nearby chair, she reflected on how Anya was fretting over her unborn child. While she still valued money, it was clear that her child's welfare and Xander's happiness were more important to her. Maybe she's not as hopeless as I thought she was, Willow smiled to herself.
The sudden ringing of her cellular phone interrupted her thoughts. She fished out the phone and glanced at the call-waiting window. "Hey, Buffy," she chirped as she flipped the phone open. "What's the up?"
"I need help, stat!" Buffy shouted worriedly. "I'm here at home, and Dawn's not here!"
Willow could pick up the worried tone in her best friend's voice, could almost see her pacing frantically. "Calm down, Buffy. Dawnie's probably at the library. She told me she wanted to look something up for a report she was doing. She can take care of herself."
"You don't understand," Buffy shouted. "Spike's back in town, and he's lost his chip! He beat me up tonight, and told me he was going to turn Dawn!"
"Oh my Goddess," Willow gasped in terror. "Okay, I'm with Anya at the Box. I'll call Xander and we'll search for her."
"Thanks, Willow," Buffy answered. "I'm with Goliath right now. We'll go scout out Spike's crypt."
"Xander and I'll check out some of the other cemeteries. Take care, Buffy."
"You watch your back, Willow," Buffy sighed. "He's dangerous now."
"So am I, Buffy," Willow intoned ominously, "especially when my family's in trouble." She hung up her phone and told Anya, "We got trouble. Spike's back in town and hunting for Dawn."
"Okay," Anya announced brightly as she and Willow rushed out of the Box, "Let's go get Xander and start the search!"
"No, you're going back home," Willow insisted as Anya locked the front door. Before Anya could begin moaning, Willow added, "You need to take care of yourself, Anya. Yourself and Xander Jr."
Anya grumbled briefly, but then nodded. "Okay, Willow, I'll go. But you'd better not cop a feel of Xander's goods while you're out looking for Dawn."
Willow smirked sardonically. "Uh, last I checked, Anya," she reminded her, "I'm still gay."
Anya said nothing more as Willow contacted Xander via cell-phone. Despite her lingering jealousy of Dawn and her past infatuation with Xander, she fervently hoped that the Slayer's sister was okay.
As Anya pulled her car out of the driveway and sped toward the house she shared with Xander, red glowing eyes peered from the shadows. Demona emerged slowly from the cover of a nearby back alley, her eyes staring covetously at the shop windows of the Magic Box. With a stealthy tread that belied her size and strength, she crept to the front door and grasped the doorknob.
A surge of arcane energy shook her frame, knocking her back from the entrance. She grimaced in pain as she regarded the magic shields that protected the shop. Biting back a growl, she retrieved her cellular phone from a leather pouch she wore at her hip.
"Sorcerer," she barked into the transceiver, "tell Wolf I have need of him."
========
He was enjoying the fight.
He could smell the sweat from Dawn's brow as he faced her, the anxiety and fear as he landed his first powerful blows. No subtle feint and counter-feint here, he was going for the throat with her. He smiled as he saw her weaken, her lips still turned in a defiant sneer even though her defeat was imminent.
"Any last words, Dawn?" Spike snarled as he pummeled his victim.
"I'm not dead yet, you fashion-impaired corpse," Dawn chuckled throatily as she landed a gut-crunching kick to her opponent's midsection. Recognizing that she now had the advantage, she pressed it without mercy. Gaining her second wind, Dawn unleashed a flurry of rapid kicks and punches, quickly overpowering the hapless vampire.
"Finish him!" an unearthly voice chimed, and Dawn smiled at her fallen foe. With one last uppercut, Dawn ended the fight in a decisive victory, plunging a foot-long blade in her opponent's gut.
"Kitana wins!" the video-game announced. "Fatality!"
"Oh yeah!" Dawn whooped in victory, letting go of her joystick and lifting her hands over her head in a raise-the-roof gesture. "Who's house? My house! Who's house? My house!"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Spike fumed mockingly as he lifted his hands from the video game console. "Good on you, Chun Li, you are the strongest girl in the world, yadda yadda yadda. I'm telling you, though, if they had a Killer Instinct in this pizza joint instead of Mortal Kombat III, I'd own your butt!"
"What," Dawn quizzed Spike coquettishly, "Fulgore's moves don't work on Sub-Zero?"
"Fulgore would wipe the bloody floor with Sub-Zero, Bit!" Spike answered defensively.
"Yeah, right," Dawn smirked. "Then Kitana would take down the winner! Now me, I always took you as being more like Seifer from Final Fantasy VIII."
"Oh please," Spike rolled his eyes, "I'm Sephiroth from FF VII and don't you forget it!" Dawn chuckled at the hapless Brit as he strode toward the cash register. "Okay, what's the damage?"
"Let's see," the cashier smiled sweetly as she totaled the price of Dawn's pizza, "one small pepperoni pizza and medium root beer, that's $8.43 after tax."
"Here," Spike tossed the cashier a ten dollar bill at the cashier, "Take your tip out of the change."
As they left the pizzeria, Dawn asked Spike, "Look, I know you're on a liquid diet and all, but would it have hurt for you to try a piece of pizza?"
"As a matter of fact, Niblet," Spike stated matter-of-factly, "yes it would. In fact, no offense but would you mind breathing upwind of me? That ol' saw about vampires and garlic, alas, is all too true."
"Oh, sorry," Dawn shrugged her shoulders. "Forgot, vampire. Hey, I've gotten to know you so well over the last year or so, it's easy to forget that you're not human."
Oh don't worry, Bit, Spike thought to himself, I'll remind you of that fact soon enough. He glanced around as he and Dawn strolled aimlessly toward Spike's DeSoto. Yeah, that's right, Bit, Spike's mind goaded him. Stay close to your ol' buddy Spike. He wouldn't hurt you, right? He can't; after all, he still has that chip. Oh wait, that's right, he doesn't anymore.
Spike regarded Dawn almost clinically, observing her young lithe form. She might have been an inch or so taller than Buffy, but Spike could still see some of the Slayer in her, in the almost unconscious grace of her steps, in the strong upright set of her shoulders. Spike could see clearly that she took after her sister. Yeah, this young girl was definitely Slayer stock, even if she would never actually be called.
And an even better Childe.
So what's taking you so long, William? Take her!
Spike steeled himself as he stared hard at Buffy's sister. He furrowed his brow, anticipating that familiar ache as the ridges would form, hooding his eyes, and his fangs would extend, preparing for the bite. This was the moment he lived for, the thrill of the hunt, the glory of the kill, the adrenaline rush of tasting his victim's fear.
But that moment wasn't happening. Spike willed the demon to overtake him, sought that familiar, almost sensual thrill as the demon strained against him, against his veneer of civility and show his true form. Carpe noctem. Seize the night. But his demon didn't stir. The monster that was the true Spike, the divine anger, the terrible grace, the very heart of his vampiric existence, the beast still slumbered.
It had to be sleeping, Spike assured himself. Hey, it's been a few years, but y'know what they say, killing's like riding a bicycle, right? It's still asleep, that's it. It has to be. Or else... no. No, by all that's unholy, no...
A faint sound, a scrape of metal against metal, pricked Spike's ears. A switchblade. Spike stopped and glanced around. Three young men emerged from the nearby alley in what Spike identified as regulation gang-banger uniforms; torn t-shirts, bomber jackets, chains and huge rings. Their eyes smoldered in the dim streetlights and their posture spoke of arrogance. They clearly believed that they owned this street and anyone who dared to pass this street at night had to deal with them. "Get behind me, Dawn," Spike whispered urgently, and for once the younger woman didn't argue.
"Yo yo yo, wha'sup?" the lead gangster hooted, as the two others fell into lockstep formation behind him. The three thugs approached Spike and Dawn slowly, their boots thudding dully on the concrete sidewalk. "You showin' your bird a good time?" He stopped just two feet away from Spike, and craned his head to the side to address Dawn. "How about it, chickie, he showin' you a good time? We can show you a better time, eh guys?" The other two punks started chuckling and leering suggestively, causing Dawn's stomach to lurch.
"The 'bird', as you gentlemen put it," Spike spoke darkly, his lips downturned into a challenging sneer, "is with me. And I doubt you're her type anyway. Wrong species for a start."
The lead punk clenched his teeth in quietly boiling rage. "You insulting me? Are you-" He pushed Spike with both hands, but the blond Brit stood his ground. "INSULTING ME?"
Spike dusted off his jacket where the punk had touched it. "Uh, yes. Yes I was insulting you. How astute of you to notice it."
"That's it, pretty-boy!" the leader shouted, whipping out his blade and waving it less than an inch from Spike's face. "Who you think you are anyway-" The punk blinked as his hand was suddenly empty.
Spike smiled blandly as he held up his right hand, holding the punk's blade. "Your worst nightmare," he intoned levelly. He allowed his face to contort to its vampiric nature, and chuckled as the punk's posture sagged, his courage deserting him. His two lieutenants backed away in sheer shock, turning around and running down the alley as though demons were nipping their heels. The lead punk stared into the vampire's eyes, seeking some vestige of humanity in their yellow depths. Spike, for his part, found himself fighting a gag reflex at the sickly sharp smell that suddenly hit his nostrils; apparently the punk's sudden loss of courage had reached his bladder.
The punk backed away rapidly for a few steps, then twisted around and followed his deserting compatriots. Spike held the stolen knife by the tip of its blade between his thumb and forefinger, then launched it at the fleeing thug. The blade impacted with the thug's shin, inserting neatly into the flesh of his leg. The thug fell to the ground, cradling his injured leg in his hands, and howling in agony.
Spike grinned mirthlessly as he strolled toward the bleeding punk. "Do you know what I am now, you little shit? Do you understand what I am?" He yanked the punk's head up by his hair and pulled him up to face him, sending fresh waves of pain through his shin. "You think you're scary. You think you know how to instill fear. Mister, you're just a rank amateur." He sniffed again at the punk, smelling the sweet aroma of his fear.
"SPIKE!" Dawn yelped behind him, "What are you doing? You're killing him..." Dawn's voice trailed off into silence as the full weight of her words hit her. He was hurting another human being. A thug who meant to bring harm to her, yes, but still a human. Not a demon, not a vampire, but a living, flesh and blood human being.
And Spike was hurting him.
And Spike felt no pain.
Spike paused for a second as he heard Dawn's plea without listening to it. He then placed his hands on either side of the punk's head, and twisted it around. Dawn heard the sickening snap of the thug's neck and watched as Spike dropped the lifeless body to the ground like a sack of rocks. Spike turned toward a terror-stricken Dawn, gazing at her through eyes that, for the first time in his vampiric existence, were truly dead.
"Sub Zero wins, Niblet," he whispered hoarsely, lifelessly. "Fatality."