Tainted Returns

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Part Two
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The atmosphere in the crypt kept getting more and more tense until Spike thought he might actually scream -- *just* to see the reaction. Grumpy, as he taken to privately referring to Lart, was still pouting, angry over what he saw as a loss. Unfortunately, even M'lkaro seemed to be getting impatient. Margaso demons were hard to read, but the big demon kept sighing and glancing toward the exit through which Xander had disappeared. It made it pretty obvious what was bothering him.

Spike, himself, had done it a few times, wondering, with growing concern, whether Xander really *had* changed his mind. Of course, it could be the boy couldn't manage to lay his hands on the money. Spike frowned as that new worry inched its way into his thoughts. He groaned mentally. He could *not* believe he actually *wanted* Harris to 'buy' him. But then, his eyes strayed to the two demons who'd so easily overpowered him. **On second thought,** he mused, ** *Whelp*, hurry the bloody hell up!** His arms and legs were beginning to ache -- not to mention the fact that his jaw still felt like crap.

He tensed as he heard the upper crypt door open, relaxing only when he realized it was Xander. **Thank you!** he thought fervently. **We can finally get this over with!**

Only moments later, Xander came striding through the opening, money in hand. He strode straight up to M'lkaro, only his eyes flickering once toward Spike. He frowned.

"Who hit him?" Xander demanded angrily.

M'lkaro bowed *slightly*. "Verta, pos conna. Lart."

Spike sighed. "This other wank--" Twin glares from M'lkaro and Xander cut off Spike's name calling. "Lart did. He lost his temper."

"Twenty dollars off the price. He's more damaged than when I agreed to the sale," Xander stated firmly.

Spike's jaw dropped. **Ouch! Note to self, until it heals don't get shocked.**

Lart growled, launching himself forward.

**Fuck!** Spike groaned. **We're toast!**

The next few seconds passed in a frenzied blur to Spike, Xander surprising him yet again by being well prepared for the angry demon's charge.

The boy whipped a shotgun from beneath his duster -- **Hey! That's *my* duster!** he thought irrelevantly. -- firing it at point blank range. The demon howled as he fell to the floor, the buckshot destroying his knee.

Jerking his gaze from the wounded Lart, Spike was surprised to see that Xander had worked himself to the wall, his back pressed up against it. He held the shotgun steadily pointed at M'lkaro, though he hadn't fired it at the Margaso leader. Something *else* caught most of his attention, however; Harris was covered in Lart's blood.

**Oh *that's* just bloody fantastic!** Spike thought sourly. **My night just *can't* get any worse!** He frowned. **And no,** he added quickly, **no one *has* to prove me wrong.**

"Are we going to have a problem now?" Xander asked, his voice steady despite the fear Spike could smell rolling off the boy. "Or can we still do this?"

M'lkaro grinned, and Spike almost fainted from relief.

"Varnassa."

"Deal," Spike translated.

M'lkaro cautiously stepped back, slowly reaching down to grab his bag. He clearly telegraphed each movement to the wary Xander, waving the boy forward after opening the bag.

Xander moved forward, lowering the business end of the shotgun until it pointed toward the floor. He glanced in the bag, then nodded and took a half-step back.

"What's he going to do, Spike?" Xander asked without taking his eyes off M'lkaro.

"Beats me," Spike responded, though he had a sinking feeling he knew *exactly* what the damned demon had planned. The bloody bastard was going to do the whole blasted ritual.

Spike watched in silence as the other demon removed several sheets of paper, and to all appearances completely ignoring everyone else in the room -- including the still moaning Lart -- began writing.

Xander fidgeted restlessly as the first page was set aside and the writing continued. Half way down that page M'lkaro looked up.

"Gorona?"

"He wants to know your name."

"Xan-- Alexander LaVelle Harris."

M'lkaro produced another piece of paper and held out the pen.

Spike was about to translate the unspoken request when Xander set the shotgun on the table and took the pen.

After Xander handed it back, having written his name, several minutes passed as M'lkaro kept writing. Spike shifted, trying to ease the strain on his arms and legs. Having been in this position for *far* too long already, he was growing concerned that he wasn't going to be able to move when finally released. He knew damn well that it was going to hurt like the very devil when he was finally let go. This wasn't exactly the first time he'd found himself in a similar situation.

"Gorona doxz farmala."

"Beneficiary!?" Spike exclaimed.

Xander and M'lkaro both turned icy glares in his direction. **Well, *that's* just bloody fine,** Spike thought. **S'not like *I* matter!**

"Willow--," Xander began, then a truly evil grin spread over his face as he cocked his head, and looked over his shoulder at Spike. "Elizabeth Anne Summers," he said, holding out his hand.

Spike's eyes widened. **Oh you right bloody bastard!** Spike thought venomously

The pen exchanged hands twice more. After that, it was a matter of seconds before M'lkaro gathered the papers into a pile and straightened, a predatory smile on his face.

"Ratta naut korma yut!"

Suddenly, there were two piles of paper instead of merely one. M'lkaro picked up one stack, handing it to Xander.

Spike rolled his eyes. **Right!** he thought. **Like Harris is gonna be able to read Margasan.** He frowned as Xander's eyes flickered back and forth, slowly scanning down the first page, and then the second.

M'lkaro pulled a small knife from his bag and flicked it quickly across one calloused fingertip. Lowering the oozing digit, he pressed it to the bottom of both pages, then offered the knife to Xander.

Xander shook his head, a smile playing across his lips as he pulled out his own knife. He deftly copied the demon's movements, carefully placing his bleeding finger in exactly the same spot on his own set of papers.

Picking up both sets of paper, M'lkaro rounded the table, stalking over to the hanging Spike. He set the papers on the floor at Spike's feet, and then, fishing a key out of a previously unseen pocket, he released the manacle on the vampire's right arm. Spike let out a moan as pain shot through his abused body, muscles held too long in one painful position protesting the movement vehemently.

Grabbing hold of Spike's newly freed wrist as he sagged, unable to support himself, M'lkaro once again flicked the knife. Spike winced as it slit across a finger. By itself, it would have been an utterly ignorable sensation. Added to everything else, it was just something he could have done without.

He barely noticed as M'lkaro first turned toward Lart, telling the younger demon to leave, then unlocked the manacle still around his left wrist. His body screaming in protest as, no longer held in place, Spike slumped to the ground. His focus briefly changed as Xander once again copied M'lkaro's actions, slicing a finger and pressing his bloody finger to the second set of papers.

M'lkaro rose then, holding out the papers with his and Spike's blood print on the bottom. "Velna rot, corna veta new."

Spike wearily raised his head as he automatically translated -- this time loosely. "You keep his, he keeps yours."

Spike largely ignored the rest of what Xander and the demon did, keeping only enough attention focused outward to know when he needed to translate, which he had to once, explaining that another set of papers that M'lkaro was handing the boy was the original agreement between Spike and the Margasos.

Spike perked up as he heard the Margaso give the ritualistic business farewell, and he dutifully translated.

"Farewell, and good journey," Xander responded, surprising Spike for the umpteenth time since this whole thing started by giving the demon a respectable bow. He straightened quickly as M'lkaroned ned to take his leave. "Wait," he asked. "How, um, far reaching *is* this . . . agreement?"

Spike groaned. He'd *really* hoped Xander wouldn't ask that particular question.

M'lkaro faced Xander, a broad grin blooming that bared all of his formidable set of razor sharp -- and *long* -- teeth. "Vera pod relava. Rettew mkiut qot." M'lkaro paused a moment before continuing, his smile, if that was possible, growing larger, as he now returned Xander's bow -- this time showing true respect Spike noticed absently. "Korna vot iotre era huir, eto korova *cur*."

"The entire demon community, with a couple notable exceptions," Spike translated exactly, hating the fact that M'lkaro had slipped back into ritualistic speech, "honor the Margaso agreements." Pausing in the same place M'lkaro had, Spike sighed. "Most demons are of the opinion that those who break with us are *idiots* who deserve their fate."

Xander snorted in laughter.

Spike *wasn't* as amused.


TBC