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Chapter Five
Unlocked
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“You know, it’s none of my business. But I’ve just gotta ask.” The critically outdated vampire lunged at her and she backhanded him. “You smell this bad when you were alive?” 

The vamp wore his hair in a large, black mullet and was sporting a black leather jacket with a red anarchy symbol spray-painted onto the back of it. Buffy couldn’t help but mock his sense of style, even if he was dead. She kicked him into a headstone. 

“’Cause if it’s a post-mortem thing? Then boy, is my face red…” Buffy flipped him over the headstone and pulled out a stake.  “But just so you know, the fast-growing field of personal grooming has come a long way since you became a vampire.” 

With a cocky grin, she somersaulted over the headstone, stake raised and ready to make him dust. Buffy’s eyes widened in shock as she landed, feeling him grab her by the arm and force the stake into her abdomen. She looked down in horror at the stake, blood spilling around its edges. Buffy grabbed onto its end and pulled it out, gasping with pain. Her sweater was soaked in blood. 

She looked into the vampire’s eyes and felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time on patrol – fear. Buffy covered her wound with her hand and ran, but hadn’t gotten far when the vampire popped in front of her. She could feel herself shrinking as he stalked towards her. 

“You’re going?” he whined tauntingly. “But you were having so much fun a minute ago.” 

Buffy raised the stake to do him in, but he easily knocked it from her hand and sent her flying into a nearby crypt. She doubled over in pain as he grabbed the stake from the ground and approached her with a predatory grin. She heard the vamp growl as he raised the stake in the air, but realized as he was taken down in a flurry of black leather that the sound had come from his attacker. 

Spike was operating on his basic animal instincts, attacking the Van Halen wannabe with fists flying and fangs bared. He was going to kill him. He was going to rip off his limbs and beat him in the head with them, and then he would leave him to burn as the sun came up. He planned to watch from the safety of the shadows. 

The rocker vamp scrambled out from beneath him and shot across the cemetery. Spike was about to follow when he heard Buffy whimper in pain. He snarled at the runaway, a promise that he would get him for what he did, and then ran to the edge of the crypt, his demonic face melting into that of the horrified and concerned boyfriend that she was more familiar with. 

“What happened?” he asked, his eyes going wide as she fell against him, her hands shaking before her and covered in her blood. She didn’t need to answer him – he could see the gaping hole that bastard had put into his girl. Spike scooped her into his arms. “Let’s get you to a hospital,” he said, lifting her off of the ground. 

Buffy shook her head against his shoulder, her eyes focused on her bloody hands. “H-Home,” she muttered, and luckily Spike possessed vampiric hearing, otherwise her request would’ve been mistaken for a whimper. 

The sun rose after they arrived at Revello Drive. He gently laid her on her bed and braved the sunbeams that caused his flesh to sizzle so that he could draw the shades. Luckily he’d talked her into getting heavier material. 

Spike returned to her side momentarily, finding it difficult to tear himself away and retrieve the supplies necessary to mend her. “Be right back, luv,” he promised, touching the side of her face before dashing into the bathroom. 

He frantically opened the cabinet doors, searching for bandages and cotton balls and… “Where’s the bloody peroxide?” he grunted, feeling himself shaking. Once he managed to find the bottle he dropped it on the floor. Spike cursed and his hands flew to his face as he tried to calm himself. He could feel the tears burning in his eyes, but he couldn’t think about how he could’ve lost her. Spike dropped to his knees and gathered the fallen supplies. He couldn’t think about how if he’d been just one second too late, if he’d been searching for her in any other cemetery… 

“Here you are, luv.” Spike sniffed back tears as he entered her bedroom, dropping the bandages onto the ottoman at the foot of her bed and trying his best to hide his weakness. Buffy was sitting up, and while she needed her hands to grip the edge of the mattress to steady herself, she could see that Spike was having more difficulty holding up. 

“Are you okay?” she asked, noting his frantic motions. 

“Am I okay?” he replied with a shaky laugh as he knelt before her. “Bloody hell, pet. That’s what I should be askin’. You were the one who – ” 

He couldn’t bring himself to say it. For a man who’d earned his nickname by torturing hundreds of people with railroad spikes, he was having difficulty with the thought of something being shoved into her gut. 

“Hey,” she said, extending her right arm to gently touch his cheek. Spike calmed slightly at her touch and met her eyes. “I’ll be OK,” she said convincingly, before her not-so-convincing loss of balance. She fell forward into his arms. 

“Yeah,” he replied, setting her back onto the bed. “Yeah,” he repeated doubtfully, his eyes glazing over as he helped lift her blood-soaked sweater over her head.  

As a vampire, the sight of blood usually thrilled him. Buffy caught a glimpse of his humanity when she saw him nearly gag at the sight of the wound on her belly. Spike recovered quickly and he tossed the sweater into the waste basket. “Let’s clean you up.” 

He wiped the blood off from around her wound and then proceeded to sterilize it. 

“Ow,” she said sharply with a wince. “That stings.” 

She tore her eyes away from her fascinating wound to look at Spike. His hands were at his head, sterile cotton pads clenched in his fingers. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Spike sniffed before looking up at her and dropping his hands. “I hurt you, pet. Can’t do that without getting zapped.” 

Buffy frowned. “Maybe I should do it.” 

“No, no. I can do it. You’ll just have to toughen up, that’s all,” he added with a slight smile that quickly faded once he returned his eyes to the wound on her belly.  

Spike wasn’t accustomed to caring for humans. Well, nothing beyond a band-aid here and thermometer there. Joyce had called him in five months ago when Dawn had been ill. He was the only one not working or going to school and the Bit had a nasty bug that was pretty contagious. Luckily, vampires don’t get sick, so Spike was immune. On the other hand, he didn’t know the first thing about taking care of anyone. He did his best to think back to when he was human and caring for his sick mother, but he had some sort of mental block on all of his memories of her. Just the facts remained – her name was Anne, she was decent, she had consumption and then… she died. 

It was that day with Dawn that made him realize that he needed to learn more about first-aid. What if Buffy got sick? What if he was the only one around to take care of her or Dawn or Joyce? 

“There,” he said finally, taping the end of the gauze to finish off.  

He’d just found out. 

“Wow,” said Buffy, suddenly sounding perky. She had more color in her face and she wasn’t shaking as badly. “You did that quick.” 

“Yeah,” he replied solemnly, his eyes on the floor as he collected the scattered items. Buffy winced as she tried to pull a clean shirt over her head. Spike immediately stopped what he was doing and helped her. He received a grateful smile in return. 

“You’re good at this,” she said with wonder. “I guess that comes from a hundred years of caring for a crazy sick lady.”  

Spike winced and Buffy instantly felt guilty for bringing up Drusilla. She was the marker of all the evil he’d done in his past, and he preferred not to think on her. “Dru wasn’t sick the whole time,” he replied. “Just those few months.” 

“Right.” Her voice was small. “Spike, are you OK? You’re pulling an Oz on me. I can barely get you to speak.” 

He heaved a frustrated sigh and looked up at her. “What do you think, Buffy?” His tone wasn’t harsh, but she fell silent all the same. Spike’s voice dropped low. “I almost lost you.” 

She wanted to smile and tell him it wasn’t true, but that would be a lie. If he hadn’t arrived when he did he probably would’ve lost her. Buffy flashed back to that moment when the vampire reared the stake in the air, ready to strike. She had been transfixed by the raised weapon, unable to think about anything but the fact that she was finally going to die. It was the word finally that had disturbed her. 

“But you didn’t,” she replied, her hand caressing the side of his face. “I’m here.” 

“You better not go anywhere,” he said with his eyes closed, obviously trying to sound threatening despite his vulnerability.  

Buffy smiled. “I promise.” 

* * * * 

“I have to call him, Giles.” 

There was no room for argument. Buffy’s tone was serious and desperate, and he understood that she needed to know. 

“He’s the only one who can tell me what happened.” 

Giles nodded in acquiescence and Buffy walked over to the phone. If Wesley answered this time, then Buffy would drive herself to L.A., no matter how much the thought frightened her mother. Spike had killed two Slayers, and he was going to tell her how. 

Buffy nearly dropped the phone to the floor. No, Angel had killed two Slayers. She was calling Angel. 

She couldn’t dial the number. It wasn’t a matter of having it memorized – which she did, for some odd reason – it was something gnawing inside of her, whispering wicked little things. William the Bloody… 

Buffy slammed the receiver back into its cradle. “I’ll be back.” 

“Buffy?” Giles called in concern as he watched her fly out the door to the Magic Box.  

This can’t be good. 

* * * * 

“Willow!”  

Buffy stormed into her best friend’s dorm room without bothering to knock. At the site of Tara’s shocked face she quickly rethought that action. 

“I’m sorry, I should’ve…” 

Tara closed her textbook and crawled off of the bed. “It’s OK. Willow’s at the library studying for her French exam. Can I help you with something?” 

Tears were falling from Buffy’s eyes. “Something’s wrong. No, everything’s wrong.” She began to pace the length of the room. “Giles would freak out if I told him. A-And Xander, he’s Xander. Of course he’d jump on the chance to take him out… but he and Spike get along well enough... why would I think that?” she asked Tara, stopping and looking at the girl. 

“S-Spike?” Tara stuttered in confusion. 

“Nobody can know. Not Willow, not Anya – nobody. Especially not Spike.” 

Tara eyed her friend with concern. “They can’t know what, Buffy?” 

“I need you to do a spell for me.” 

Tara’s eyes went wide. “Me? But, Willow, sh-she…” 

“…can’t know. I don’t want anyone to. I trust you, Tara. I’m just afraid that if any of my other friends found out…” 

“Did Spike do something?” she asked. Buffy was clearly upset and upset people usually don’t have the best reasons for wanting spells. Magic usually makes their problems worse, actually. If she could get Buffy to talk about what was bothering her then maybe she wouldn’t have to do something that could blow up in their faces. 

Buffy bowed her head. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” 

Tara sighed. She was clearly not going to get much out of the Slayer. “What is it that you want?” 

Ten minutes later they were sitting in a circle on the floor of the small dorm room, spell ingredients located in the center. 

“Are you sure Willow won’t be back anytime soon?”  

Tara smiled reassuringly and shook her head. “It’s her first exam in this class, so she’ll probably pull an all-nighter. Besides, I locked the door, so we’ll have fair warning if she decides to come back early. 

“This is a simple spell, but it takes a lot of concentration. If your memories have been locked like you think they have, then they should… I dunno, bubble up to the surface or something? You’ll have to clear your mind. T-Try doing complex math problems in your head,” she suggested with a smile. “That always makes my brain shut down.” 

“I don’t have to snort any magic powder, do I?” Buffy asked, eyeing the satchels of powder between them. Her attempt at injecting humor into the situation did nothing to remove the pain from her voice. 

“No. Just clear your mind while I chant.” 

Buffy closed her eyes. 

Wow, for someone who isn’t big with the words, Tara’s pretty good with Latin. No, don’t think about that. Clear your mind. Big, flowery fields with happy frolicking bunnies. No, that’s my happy place. OK, math… think calculus. The limit of 1/x² as x approaches 4… ooh, it’s working. Now use a derivative… logarithms, integrals, limits… 

Tara stopped chanting when Buffy’s body went rigid. She reached inside a small satchel and grabbed a pinch of powder, throwing it onto Buffy’s face. The gold powder sparkled as it landed, making Buffy look as though she were covered with glitter. 

Buffy gasped and her eyes shot open. She didn’t know what she expected, but this was definitely not it.  

* * * * 

“Hey Giles,” greeted Xander as he and Anya entered the Magic Box snacking on a back of Tito’s barbecue chips. “Where’s Buffy? She didn’t go out on patrol, did she? I know she’s the Slayer, but c’mon…” 

“No, no,” Giles interrupted as Xander and Anya sat across from him at the table. “Spike’s on patrol. Buffy’s looking up a lead, at least I hope she is.” 

“A lead?” queried Anya through a mouthful of chips. “Is this about that demon woman?” 

Giles shook his head. “No. She’s looking into the details surrounding the deaths of previous Slayers.” 

“It’s about time she realized she wasn’t immortal,” Xander commented with approval. Anya shot him a look. “Although,” he continued, chip in hand, “you’d think that she would be, to you know, counteract the vampires.” 

Giles heaved a heavy sigh. “I’m worried about her.” 

* * * * 

William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers … What happens on Saturday? … Look at you. Terrified … Angel, pretty name … Like I wanted to stick around after that … I can’t believe I invited you into my house … I violently dislike you … I can’t believe you’re breaking up with me … Buffy, it wasn’t Angel who attacked your mom, it was Darla! …  I guess you weren’t worth a second go. Come to think of it seems like someone told me that. Who was it? Oh yeah.  

“Angel.” 

Buffy scrambled out of the circle, breaking the spell. No, no, no, no, no… She looked to Tara, whose face mirrored the horror she felt inside. “Did you… did you see?” 

Tara nodded. “Spike tried to kill you.” 

“Yeah,” Buffy muttered breathlessly. “A lot.” 

* * * * 

Buffy wanted to run but the wound in her abdomen made the effort too painful. She had fled as quickly as she could from the dormitory as soon as Willow had entered, suspicion coloring her features as she eyed the magic ingredients scattered on the floor. Buffy took one look at her friend’s innocent and ignorant face before dashing through the door. 

She hobbled through the streets of Sunnydale, wishing she could cry or explode or do something to make the pain and confusion go away.  

It was like there were two Buffys from alternate dimensions shoved into one body. One Buffy knew that Spike was evil and soulless while the other still regarded him as her closest companion, the one person she could trust. Such conflicting ideas, emotions and memories made her want to scream.  

Buffy stumbled into a nearby phone booth. She stared at the phone, remembering now why she had Angel’s L.A. number memorized. He had been her first love. For so long, she thought that there had only been Spike. Part of her scoffed at the idea of ever loving Spike, but the scoff soon turned into a sob. How could she not love him? Every time she looked at him she saw… 

Angel.  

They’d taken her love for Angel and associated it with Spike. Why would they do that? If they wanted to make him an ally, they could’ve just made her not hate him. Why did they have to make her love him? Why did they change her memories of Angel? He was her ally already, why didn’t they just bring him back to Sunnydale? 

Why would they do this? 

“Buffy!” 

She whipped around, her elbow colliding painfully with the corner of the payphone as she did so. 

Spike approached her, stake in hand. “What are you doing out? I thought we agreed I’d go out on patrol. You’re not trying to get yourself killed are you?” 

Buffy reared back and punched him squarely in the nose. “Get away from me!” 

The wound prevented her from running away, but she walked as briskly as she could. Spike stopped her. “Buffy!” he growled in annoyance. 

Buffy turned and faced him, ready to give him a right hook when she saw the blood dripping across his upper lip. Pain overwhelmed her at the realization of what she’d done. She’d attacked him. 

“Oh my god,” she muttered, but then her guilt was replaced by anger. “No, Spike just leave me alone!” 

“Are you bloody kidding me? Not this again!” he cried out as he followed behind her. “You’ve been keeping something from me and it’s time I’ve had it.” 

Spike stepped in front of her suddenly, almost knocking her backwards. Buffy recovered quickly and looked into his loving – no, lying – eyes. 

“Tell me the truth, Buffy.” 

She glared at him bitterly and opened her mouth to speak, but then the other part of her came to the surface, the part of her that still loved him instinctively. This didn’t effect her words, however, just how she spoke them. “You want the truth?” she replied weakly. “Fine. The truth is that I don’t love you.” 

Spike froze, physically stung by her words. He didn’t move to stop her as she brushed past him, he couldn’t seem to make his limbs work. She’d said the words to him several times before with such feeling that his logical mind told him that it was a lie, that she did love him. But somewhere, deep inside, he felt her words as if they were true. And that scared him more than the words she’d just spoken to him. 

She had promised him earlier that day that she wasn’t going to leave, and now she was walking away.