Chapter 4.06
Sunday, May 19th, 2002
"Oh, Willow!" Tara stood back to let
the former Watcher see the jug of blood in the fridge.
"I see it," Wes confirmed. "I'm
assuming the seal is Willow's mark."
The Wiccan nodded. She pulled the jug from the
fridge, setting it on the counter. Then, she pulled open the salad
drawer, revealing a few sealed bags of blood. They, too, had the
same sickly green aura surrounding them as the jug, Willow's mark
appearing on each one. She removed those, too, placing them next
to the pitcher.
"I don't understand. Willow had gone before
Spike even bought all this blood. She hasn't even been in the
house."
"Are you sure about that? There isn't a
spare key hidden somewhere outside in case someone gets locked
out? Assuming, of course, that Willow would actually need a key
to get in, or even that she would need to be here to do the magic.
It's entirely possible that she wouldn't even need to be anywhere
near the house."
"But if the blood's magically poisoned,
shouldn't there have been some sign when we looked at, well, when
I looked at Spike?"
"Not necessarily. She could easily have
used magic to create a mundane poison. There are, in fact, certain
similarities between Spike's symptoms and arsenic poisoning, for
example. In the days when it was commonly available, almost all
cases of arsenic poisoning occurred 'within the family' as the
poison had to be administered at a low dose over a period of time
before the target became immune to the emetic effects of the drug.
Only then, could a larger, fatal dose be given. Spike said when
he was ill during the party that he voided his entire stomach
contents. After that he seemed to be almost his normal self. Last
night, he managed to keep down a portion of what he'd drunk, and
now he's running a fever and has bruises consistent with internal
bleeding. None of this necessarily suggests that the toxin would
have to be magical in nature. There are a few poisons which are
effective against vampires. The poison's actual creation could
be magical, but the substance itself obviously is not." Wesley
picked up the jug, tilting it slightly to stare at the liquid
inside before lowering his nose to sniff the contents. "Or
that may not have been Willow's intent in the matter at all..."
Tara frowned in puzzlement as she watched Wes
carry out his olfactory test. "I could be wrong, but if there
was anything to smell, wouldn't Spike be the first to notice?"
"You would think so, wouldn't you?"
Wes countered as he pushed the jug over toward the young woman.
"Nevertheless..."
Buffy came awake with a start and immediately
felt bereft. There was no Spike in front of her. Her renewal of
her claim on him was nothing but a dream. She began to wonder
how much of the rest of the experience had been real as she realised
that her slip had been pushed up far beyond her waist. Her thighs
were damp and sticky, and as she flexed her vaginal muscles she
realised Spike was still inside her.
"Morning, love." The voice at her ear
was more croaky than his normal, husky whisper, reminding Buffy
that he was ill and probably shouldn't have been doing what they
appeared to have just done.
She moved to ease away from him so that she could
roll to face him, but his arm held her to him with a strength
that seemed at odds with his infirmity.
"Stay... please, love... for a few minutes."
Buffy relaxed back against him. "Oh-Kay.
You can have a few minutes, Mr Snuggles, but after that I get
to roll over and see how the patient is doing and make a start
on my Florence Nightingale routine. I've not had much practice,
but I learned from the best. And, bonus... if you make it downstairs,
we can see how often we can make Giles clean his glasses."
"Don't you ever dare call me that
in front of anyone else, pet."
"Giles? It's going to be your name. Actually,
according to all the papers we have downstairs, it already is."
"You know exactly what I mean. Now shhhh.
See, in my version of what just happened, you should be too knackered
to move for at least half an hour and too high to get all chatty
and torment your man for... well, days?"
Buffy sighed, easing their bodies apart and then
rolling over. Before she could even speak, her shock at Spike's
haggard, hollowed out features silenced her. Tears filled her
eyes and instead of words she let her fingertips brush gently
at his face as she bestowed a longing kiss on his fevered lips.
"Spike, when you're well, I'll lie here, well, actually the
bed itself would be more comfortable, but I'll happily spend hours,
days even, basking in the afterglow of our incredible sex, real
and imaginary, but I don't do sitting around watching the people
I love die. I need to be doing whatever I can to help you get
better. I need to go see if they've come up with anything, find
out what's happening, see if we know whose butt needs kicking,
yet. You understand?"
"Sure, love. But you're forgetting one thing.
I already told you I'm not planning on dying."
"And I'm not planning on letting you."
"Heyyy, you two," Tara called as the
couple made their way to the living room, accompanied by Rogue.
The dog hadn't strayed more than a few feet from the vampire since
the couple woke, following him around as he got dressed.
The back
door stood open to allow the egress of the smoke from the incense
and Tara was in the midst of vacuuming up all the magic sand. "We were just about to send a search party to see if you
were awake yet?" Tara did her best to look cheerful, but
though the vampire didn't look worse than when she had seen him
earlier, he certainly didn't look better.
A sheen of perspiration
coated his face, his eyes seemed to have sunk back into his head
and were underlined by dark purple bruises and his cheek bones
no longer looked sexy, but gaunt.
"Darn. Did we miss the start of the meeting?"
Buffy looked round the room. Giles was still in last night's clothes,
his glasses in one hand as he pinched the bridge of his nose with
the other, a cup of black coffee in front of him instead of his
normal tea. Dawn was seated next to him on the sofa. Her expression
gave away little but the barely touched stack of pancakes on the
plate in her lap said a whole lot more.
"What's up, Dawnie?" her sister asked.
"Don't tell me you've gone off Tara's pancakes."
"If Spike can't eat, it doesn't seem right
that we should."
"Rubbish, Bitlet. Get them down your neck
before you end up lookin' even more like Kate Moss, or bloody
Social Services'll think we're starvin' you and that dress'll
fall off an' end up in a puddle round your ankles come Friday.
What'd you do with Junior Watcher? He gone back
to his for some kip?"
"He's gone to get some things for breakfast,"
Tara answered gravely.
"Alright! What the bloody hell is going
on? I gather since we had a visit from the Orb Fairy that somebody's
been checkin' up on us, but you three are actin' like your damn
dog died, which seein' as she's right here, doesn't make much
sense."
"It's complicated, Spike. Willow seems to
be involved—" That was as far as Giles got before Buffy
exploded.
"Willow? She is so going to get
her octogenarian butt kicked. I am gonna—"
"Buffy!" Giles shouted to
get Buffy's renewed attention. "Willow would appear to have
a hand in events, but as things stand, we don't know whether she
is trying to harm Spike or aid him."
Dawn snorted. "Like she needed to use magic
if she was on our side..."
"Dawn, there is such a thing as giving someone
the benefit of the doubt," Giles insisted. "I can hardly
believe that Willow would feel welcome here at the moment, or..."
The Watcher put his glasses back on, pushing them up his
nose with one finger before he fixed his gaze directly on the
teen. "...That she would expect you to put your trust in
any explanation she might give."
"Well," Buffy interjected. "Why
don't you bring me and Spike up to speed, and then you and I can
go and ask her?"
Dawn rolled her eyes. "I told you
guys not to say anything before she had her second coffee."
"Before we do that, Buffy. I'm led to understand
that Spike is manifesting more symptoms. I think it would be advisable,
if you expect us to find out how this is being achieved, if we
were to see what we're talking about."
"We know what they're doing, Rupert," insisted Spike, "and
if you say Bathmorda's involved, what's the big discussion?"
As the two men argued, Tara slipped into the kitchen unnoticed
by anyone.
"That's where you're wrong. There is no
sign whatsoever of any magic being used to directly affect you."
"So, I'm imagining it, am I?"
"That is not what I said," Giles argued.
"No, but then you've always been quite good
at not quite saying outright what you mean. Or maybe I'm meant
to be faking it, some huge ploy for attention, is that it? Or
maybe... just maybe like I told you stupid buggers in the first
place, vaudun doesn't work the same way normal magic does and
maybe mon-sewer Cloutier's little acid trip doesn't work with
it."
"You know if it wasn't for Buffy, I'd quite
happily let whatever this is take its toll, but Tara assures me
that the only sign of any magic to do with you was the visual
manifestation of your shared dreams, and I choose to have faith
both in her and a sorcerer of the highest renown in preference
to one of your hunches any day."
Tara walked up to the two men who had somehow
managed to end up nose to nose. "Stop it, both of you. Spike,
have some blood." She pressed Spike's mug into his hand.
Spike hadn't even raised the mug above waist
height when he frowned. "What in blazes did you put in this,
Glinda? Essence of skunk? It smells like somebody's cess pit."
Tara took the mug from him again. "Thank
you. Now, if I tell you that blood came from the same pitcher
you were drinking from last night and I've added nothing to it,
perhaps you'll sit down and listen."
"Everywhere?" Buffy asked.
"I've been to every butcher's shop and packing
plant in town. They all say the same thing. When they got in to
work this morning any stocks of blood that they were holding on
the premises had curdled overnight. Everything else was fine,
but they had to ditch all they had. In the end I had to wait while
they butchered a pig at one of the plants and have them collect
the blood there and then, but considering more goes over the floor
than gets collected, I don't think that will keep him going for
long." He held up a plastic carton, holding a little over
a quart of the precious liquid, before setting it on the kitchen
counter beside the box of doughnuts he'd brought.
Spike gave the Watcher a weary smile. "Thanks
for tryin' anyway."
Wes grinned back at him. "As I was saying,
I didn't think that would keep you going for very long, so I made
a detour via the bloodbank, where I found that one of their employees
was willing to be very helpful... for a small fee."
Wes pulled at least half a dozen blood bags out
of various pockets, and Spike's smile ratcheted up a notch. "How
much do I owe you?"
Wes shook his head. "Call it an engagement
present. Heaven only knows when I'd have time to buy you anything
else."
Buffy mouthed a silent "Thank you,"
over Spike's shoulder, before she scooped up the carton, pulled
Spike's mug from the cupboard, filled it and put it in the microwave.
"So... curiouser and curiouser." Spike
tilted his head on one side. "Seems to me, if Red was doin'
some mojo that turned the blood rancid as some sort of time-delayed
side-effect that she'd hardly bother goin' round all the butchers
in town when she could achieve what she wanted just by tamperin'
with our fridge."
"The same thought had occurred to me,"
Wes confirmed. "I believe that Willow deliberately made the
blood undrinkable, and while it is possible that this is some
sort of prank, I'm more inclined to believe this is a warning."
"Which begs the question, a warning about
what," Giles commented. "What does Willow know that
we don't?"
"Let's go find out, shall we?" Buffy
asked, sliding off her stool. "Dawn, when that blood's heated
make sure he drinks it. When he's drunk that one, heat some more
and make sure he drinks that. Repeat until you run out of blood
or we get back."
"Got ya," the teen responded, glad
to have something concrete to do.
Spike followed Buffy as she went upstairs to
fetch a jacket, Rogue still shadowing him as closely as if she
were on a very short lead.
"You're not coming with us," Buffy
told the vamp before he could argue otherwise.
"I'm not stupid, pet. I know right now if
push came to shove I'd be a liability. I'm in even less of a hurry
to get you killed than I am me, but if Giles is right, there's
just as likely people after you at least as much as me."
He loosened his belt.
"Now's not the time, honey."
"Ha bloody ha, pet," Spike responded
as he slid the pouch that held the orbs off the leather strap
and pressed it into Buffy's hand. "If the Watchers are readin'
this wrong, or even if they're right, Red's not exactly in the
most rational frame of mind right now. You want me to stay here
and drink up, then you're going to have to take them."
"Spike, they could be the only thing that's
stopped you keeling over already."
"Or they could be making no difference at
all, but we know if there's a fight, or some bastard with a gun
or a bow, then they will. Don't make me worry about you, love...
please."
"Okay, but if you get worse I want you to
call me on my cell."
Spike leaned in to press a lingering goodbye
kiss to her lips, lifting her slightly so that they were closer
to being level as the kiss deepened and became more passionate.
"Mmm," Buffy drew her head back for
just a fraction of a second before the vampire swooped in to claim
her lips once more. "Spike..." She pushed him gently
away. "Gotta go. Wes and Giles are waiting and the quicker
we find out what's going on, the quicker we can get you fixed."
She pulled open the door on one side of the armoire
and grabbed the first jacket she could see, tugging it from its
hanger as she turned to go. "I'll be back as quick as I can.
Don't go anywhere." She paused briefly with one hand resting
on the door, returning his gaze. "Love you, vamp-boy."
Spike waited until he heard the front door shut
behind her before he allowed his legs to give way and fell back
onto the freshly made bed. "Love you, too, Buttercup,"
he whispered. The vampire rolled onto his side, drawing his knees
up as he clutched at his stomach. Rogue jumped onto the bed from
the other side, crawling until her face was only inches from Spike's
before she lay down, a soft whining coming from her throat.
Dawn muttered to herself as she carried the mug
of blood upstairs. "Like it would have killed him to come
back downstairs and get it." She pushed open the door to
the master bedroom.
"Hey! You! You could at least answer when
I shouted you."
"Buffy?" Spike's voice was little more
than a dry whisper.
"No, Himbo. Dawn. Buffy left, remember?
Gone to see the Wicked Witch... Oh boy!"
"Shut up! She meant it... No! She changed,
I changed, I can be—"
"Tara!" Dawn shouted downstairs. "I
need you."
"No, I don't do that any more, Dru."
Spike's eyes seemed to be following someone's movements around
the room, only there was no one there. Even more strangely, Rogue
now stood on the bed, hackles raised, and a low growl rumbled
through her body as she bared her teeth in the direction that
Spike seemed to be looking. "Can't have pretty girls. No,
Dru, no. Hers." Spike seemed to paw at his neck, his fingers
pulling aside clothing to bare what to Dawn looked like a recent
bite mark, pulling at the healing flesh until it began to bleed.
"Hers..." Spike seemed to be almost sobbing as Tara
entered the room.
"Tara, what do we do? He was fine when Buffy
left. Five minutes later... What's going on?"
When Tara noticed the vamp's eyes gleam with
a hint of gold she decided to take no chances. "Dawn, go
downstairs and find some straws. He should feed as a natural instinct,
if we present it properly."
As soon as the younger girl left the room, Tara
sent up a brief prayer to Morpheus, Lord of Sleep, asking him
to claim the vampire. In his weakened state Spike soon succumbed
to the effects of the spell, and when Dawn returned with a handful
of plastic drinking straws, he was once again quiet. Thankfully,
when the Wiccan managed to get him into a position where he could
suck the blood in the mug through a straw, he started to feed
without regaining consciousness. Tara only hoped that the blood
Wes had managed to procure would be enough to allow him to heal
himself. If not, she didn't know what they would do.
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