Cause and Effect

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Chapter Twenty Six
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Spike sighed impatiently, jumping up and pacing the length of the living room and back again. They'd been gone a mere 10 minutes, or so, and he was already going out of his mind. Why had he agreed to stay behind? It was insane. The instant he asked the silent question, he knew.

"Bloody hell, Harris, why'd you have to go and make it bloody *personal*?"

A loud crash out on the street sent Spike spinning around to face the broken window.

"Okay, now you're just getting twitchy!" he accused himself. "You t jut jumping at every little sound and everyone's gonna think you're a poncy, scared git!"

That thought, however; didn't loosen the band tightening around his chest. He cast an uneasy glance back at the door. Humans didn't need an invite, after all.

Cursing under his breath, he stomped around the room, searching everywhere, every drawer, every closet, every cupboard. "It's gotta be here somewhere!" he muttered. His duster might be a total loss, but it *should* still have some smokes in it. The least the fates should allow is him able to smoke while he went quietly -- or loudly -- insane.

Waiting had *never* been his strong suit, and that had only gotten worse since he'd become vulnerable -- not defenseless, never defenseless, but close enough to it to be . . . unsettling.


~~~ "See, it takes only me, only one, to get the job done," the gleeful voice hissed as white hot pain skewered Spike from behind. ~~~

Spike screamed, his voice echoing the one in his memory flash. His gut tightening, twisting and churning, threatening to empty itself of what little was there, Spike panted as remembered helplessness washed through him.

Reaching up to smooth back his hair, Spike was surprised to see his hand trembling. He growled low in his throat. "Sod this!" he exclaimed raw rage pulsing through him. Forgetting his reason for staying behind, forgetting everything but the possibility of getting his hands around one bastard's neck -- for however brief a moment he could withstand the chip -- Spike bolted for the door.

By the time he'd nicked a ride, avoiding all contact with the breathing, Spike had managed to convince himself the only reason he'd left the apartment was because he needed to kick some arse. It certainly wasn't because he was afraid. He didn't *fear* anything!

**

Angel stood in stunned silence. The yard he'd expected to find dark and quiet was blazing with flood lights, and though it *was* quiet, it certainly wasn't empty. Bodies were everywhere, bodies that he knew weren't dead, because their individual heart beats were sounding loudly in his ears -- as did the occasional snore.

"Off-hand," Xander quipped, "I'd say someone beat us to it."

Angel shook his head, snorting. He had forgotten Harris' tendency to state the glaringly obvious.

"Spike's *really* not going to like this," Xander continued lowly, sounding like *he* didn't much like it either.

"He's not the only one," Angel replied, slowly creeping forward.

"No," Xander agreed firmly, "he's not."

"I thought you two weren't going to try anything without me?" Spike demanded angrily, startling the two half-way across the expanse of yard.

Xander let out a yelp, spinning around to glare at the blond vampire.

Angel managed not to yelp -- thankfully -- but he *did* mimic Xander's glare. "And *I* thought you'd decided to wait at the apartment?" he ground out through clenched teeth. He didn't like the thought of Spike being here -- ever!

As far as he was concerned, he and Xander could wipe things up here -- without Spike ever being involved. It was *his* place to revenge his Childe; it was his right as Sire. But of course, he realized, an ache blossoming in his chest, he wasn't Sire anymore. He was *just* the one who turned him; the bond wasn't there any more. If it had been, Spike wouldn't have been able to sneak up on him -- no matter hard ard he tried.

Spike shrugged, turning to face Xander. "I *tried*," he said, his expression surprisingly -- to Angel -- apologetic. "I gave it my valiant all, but," and now he shrugged dismissively, "I just couldn't *sit* there, not knowing. I just couldn't bloody do it."

A lopsided smirk curving his lips, Xander nodded. "I should have known."

"Yeah," Spike threw back, his own smirk quirking upward, "you should have."

Was that *relief* Angel saw in Spike stance?

"Hey! How'd you get here so fast?"

"Nipped a bike, of course."

Angel and Xander both snorted, shaking their heads.

Spike's expression darkened as he once again glanced to the men laying on the ground surrounding them. Eyes narrowing, he slowly rounded on Angel. "I *told* you that I'd hold *personally* responsible if--"

Immediately shrugging, Angel held his hands up in surrender, but Xander beat him to a reply, cutting of Spike's angry flow of words.

"We didn't do this."

Spike jerked his head around to stare disbelievingly at Xander. "Yeah?" he asked skeptically. "And who did?"

"We don't know, Spike," Angel replied, "but since you're here, why don't we all go in and find out?"

Spike didn't reply, not verbally. Instead, he strode toward the open front door, not bothering to wait and see if either Angel or Xander followed.

A quick glance, a deep inhale to scent the air, and Spike knew who'd done this. Three distinct, and very familiar, scents lingered on the air. "Willow!" he growled, not sure which was stronger, the anger he felt that she'd taken this from him, or, the pleasure he felt that she'd done this *for* him.

He knew Willow had been cutting back on the magick because of Tara, and the air here was heavy with residual spellcasting. The room stank of it. He wondered briefly if Dawn had convinced her before he zero'd in on the basement door.

How he knew it was to the basement, he still couldn't remember, but knew it he did. The entire placed reeked of familiarity, the deja vu kind of familiarity that creeps along your spine, telling you that you've 'been there, done that,' but doesn't give you any concrete evidence to support it.

He shuddered, casting quick, wary glances around the room, trying to fit the latest memory with a place. No, it hadn't happened up here.

//Not *that* time, at least,// the insidiously taunting voice of his subconscious remarked.

His step faltered momentarily as that thought processed its way through his mind. How many times *had* it happened? Had it been only the bastard from his memory? Or were there *other* humans out there who'd--

Swallowing convulsively, Spike viciously shoved his thoughts aside. He would worry about that when the time came.

"Spike," Xander called out as the vampire strode through the door and onto the stairs.

He heard Xander hurry after him, muttering under his breath, but Spike didn't let that slow him down. He took the stairs two at a time, he could *smell* the humans he was after strongly here.

Half-way down, an explosion rocked the building. The staircase swayed dangerously, the wood structure creaking ominously as Spike held tightly onto the banister. Small pieces of stone, along with lung-clogging dust and debris, billowed into the room. Spike ducked the worst of the flying missiles, only to be caught across the cheek with small shard of rock. It sliced open a small cut and he could feel the blood drip freely from it.

He cast a quick glance back at his companions, but they seemed to have faired the unexpected event better than he had. "Okay," he quipped, "anyone else almost feel their heart restart?"

Angel chuckled, the sound a touch shaky to Spike's ears. "Oh, yeah," he replied softly.

"Mine stopped for a second," Xander commented, letting out an slow breath. "Does that count?"

"Yeah," Angel and Spike both responded, "it counts."

The sound of running feet against concrete, heart beats racing in fear, neared, and both Angel and Spike whipped around to face the base of the stairs. Xander was only a split second behind them in response. Two men appeared; panicked, their faces flushed, their hair wildly out of place.

**Other, and Leader,** Spike's mind automatically supplied as he growled.

Xander and Angel both strode down immediately, side by side. Movements nearly in unison, they seemingly agreed silently on individual opponents, both of them lashing out at the same moment with nearly text book right crosses.

As the two men went down, their racing heart beats roaring in Spike's ears, the fresh scent of his own blood filling his nostrils, the wooden staircase hauntingly familiar, Spike's vision began to darken, and he sank down, dropping onto the stairs. Memory after memory rushed in on him; waking up in the trunk, being yanked out, being dragged painfully down these very stairs -- though he hadn't been able to see them at the time -- meeting Doctor.

The entire forgotten time period rushed back to him in the space of a few mortal heart beats, crushing him beneath its weight. And there *it* was his his soul, the part of him that in his weakened, worried preoccupation he hadn't realized was ominously silent. He panted, panic racing through him full tilt as he saw, not the staircase, not the two unconscious men, and not Xander or Angel, but the faces of his tormentors, his torturers, his rapists. Each and every one of them taunting him with something difnt, nt, something *else* to humiliate and break him with.

A firm grip on his arm, coupled with a far away, "Spike!", sent him reeling backwards, jerking frantically away from the person confining him. Other, older, memories flooded him, one on top of the other. Angelus' scent right on top of him sending him scrambling back up the stairs. Scenes of him helpless - on the stairs, on his knees, in the dreaded wheelchair -- inundated him. He *had* to get away. He'd never survive if both the humans *and* Angelus teamed up against him. Angelus and Doctor were of a type, they *both* could learn from the other, and *he*, after all, was only the trash.

**Alone! So alone!**

Another grip fell on his arm, halted his scrabbling progress. He spun around, intent on doing what damage he could, when a new blood scent hit his nostrils. **Sire Blood!** was the only thought that processed as he lunged for the source. Locking his mouth around the freely bleeding wound, Spike sucked, drawing the life giving, calming blood into his mouth. It took only moments for Spike to begin registering *other* sensations.

Xander 'shhshing' softly in his ear. Xander gently threading warm, human fingers through his hair. Xander's heart beat slowing, becoming erratic.

**Xander!**

Spike drew back abruptly, reaching out just in time to snag hold of Xander before he fell over into a dead faint. He held the unconscious human against him, rocking him slowly, and turned questioning, repentant eyes up to the vampire standing helplessly only feet away.

"He'll be all right, Spike," Angel said, turning to glance at the other two men. "Were these two involved?"

Spike nodded shortly, immediately returning his attention to the man in his arms. Twin instincts both told him to share his own blood. He fought them both. Xander was human -- well, close enough -- not vampire, despite the Sire bond between them, and he couldn't even be turned. Sharing was useless on both fronts, and that left Spike at an utter loss on how to help him. Xander had saved his sanity yet again, and *he* could do nothing in return.

"Bitch!"

The shout jerked Spike's head up. "Doctor!" he growled, shifting to game face. He ignored the . . . wrongness about it. *Doctor* was here.