Breaking a Slayer

Breaking a Slayer: Chapter 5 Breaking a Slayer: Chapter 5   Disclaimer: I don't own them.   Spoilers/Ships: This is AU. Buffy/Spike/Angel.   Distribution: Sure, just let me know.   Feedback: Is always nice.   Rating: NC-17.   Angel cooking was of the good, Buffy thought, sitting on the couch and happily munching on something or other that he had whipped up for her. She actually felt hungry. She didn't remember the last time that had happened. Maybe before Mom died. Everything in the months since then had been a blur of violence and depression for her. She'd never been all that adept at handling her emotions, and the one-two-three punch of being thrown from her body, abandoned by her friends and losing her mom had really done her in…not to mention the other stuff. She still had trouble even thinking of it.   Luckily, the guys seemed ok with letting her heal at her own pace. They'd settled quickly into a comfortable routine, sleeping through much of the day and patrolling, sometimes with her and sometimes apart. Angel and Spike insisted that she have back-up on patrol at all times, for which she was grateful. She did wonder, though, what would happen when her friends arrived back from vacation. Giles was due back from England in two days and she was clueless about what to tell him.   It would be hard enough explaining to him that he'd left the wrong slayer in Sunnydale while his had been trying to get help. Talking to him about the…rape, her mother's death, her subsequent breakdown, and Spike's intervention with Angel to save her was just downright impossible. Still, she owed her Watcher the truth.   Angel smiled down at her, dumping more whatever it was onto her plate. "At this rate, honey, I'm going to weigh a ton!" she said, half-jokingly.   "You still need more calories, Buffy," he said seriously. "As a slayer, your metabolic rate is nearly double a normal girl's…your body needs fuel to function at peak performance."sp; sp; "You are such a wanker, Peaches," Spike muttered, strolling lazily into the great room and plunking himself near Buffy's feet. "She isn't a bloody car, she's a woman. Here, give us a taste, Luv," he said, opening his mouth.   Buffy obliged, spooning some of the whatever it was into his waiting mouth. Spike purred with pleasure. "Mmmm, you made poitrine de veau farcie again, Peaches? Is there any more blanquette de veau?"   "Spike, let Buffy eat it. You can have blood. She needs real food; you don't!" Angel scolded, secretly happy that his mate and childe loved his cooking so much.   "C'mon, Sire, please? Pretty please? We're all out of Wheatabix for my blood and I'm bored."   "Ok and may I just say, 'Eeewwww' to the crackers in the blood thing, Spike?," Buffy interjected, now that she was done chewing the pwah-duh-voh-fa stuff. "What self-respecting vampire puts crackers in his blood, anyway?"   Angel laughed, "No one has ever accused Spike of having self-respect, Buffy."   Spike snarled at him good naturedly, enjoying the banter with them. When had this become so comfortable? And should he feel this good being with his sire and the slayer?   Spike knew it was stupid to get close to them, it made him weak. He was the Big Bad. He should be out sucking the life from humans, not crouching like a dog at the Slayer's feet. Relying on them for blood, craving their companionship, their approval? This wasn't right for the vampire who'd pounded railroad spikes through his screaming victims. A wave of nausea swept over him. He hated being this dependent on anyone, let alone a souled nancy-boy and a Slayer. This distorted parody of domestic bliss would drive him insane faster than the chip ever could. He jumped up and grabbed his duster, disappearing into the night without a word to Angel or Buffy.   "He's suddenly all bad moody. What got into him? Maybe your stew wasn't bloody enough?" Buffy teased.   Angel looked glum, "I knew things were going too smoothly, Buffy. I asked him for his help with you and he gave it…for a price. Now it looks as if he wants the payment I promised him."   Buffy was hurt and confused. "You had to pay him to get him to help with me? Oh…what did he want?" *And why am I hurt that he didn't want to help me. Stupid, Buffy, why the hell would he want to help you? But he did. He could have left me there in that alley…*   Angel paced to the kitchen, avoiding Buffy's eyes. She got up and followed, determined to know the price Spike put on helping her. "He wants the chip out, Buffy. I promised I'd pay for the surgery in LA."   "NO! You can't…he'll be like he was before, all vicious and grrr and he'll try to kill us…again!" *I'll have to stake him. Really stake him this time. I can't do it. Not after all this…I need them. God, I need *them.*   How had she let Angel back into her life? And, GOD! how had she become so reliant on Spike?! Why had he helped her? And now here they were, an impotent vampire, a damaged Slayer and an undead, chipped sociopath. Some insanely warped "Three's Company" - but could she make it without them?   If Spike lost his chip, he'd leave her or die…again. Would Angel stay? Not likely. Then she'd be alone again. Alone with the dark and the cold and the death. "Angel, don't do it," Buffy was crying in fear, her barely stable world collapsing around her once again.   Angel grabbed her in his arms, shaking her gently. "Buffy, I swore. I gave my word. I was a gentleman once. My word means something to me. I promised Spike and he promised that he'd leave…go far away where we wouldn't be in conflict…wouldn't be forced to fight each other." *But I'll miss him so much. My beautiful, vicious childe.*   Buffy broke away from him and ran to the door, sobbing. She grabbed her weapons and headed out into the night, once again shutting down her treacherous emotions so she could focus on slaying. It was the only thing that never changed…the only thing she could truly count on.   Buffy stalked, silent and wary, through the cemeteries of Sunnydale. She'd already dispatched four vamps and a particularly obnoxious demon of the slime generating variety. Strangely, she felt better than she'd anticipated. This was what she was called to do. This was her gift.   Feeling somewhat more at peace, Buffy decided to stop at the Bronze and catch the end of the last set of the night. Perhaps she'd just been brooding too long. She needed to throw herself back into life again. She sauntered through the door and moved nearer the dance floor. The Bronze was unusually crowded for a weeknight, but the band playing was hot…that probably explained it. Buffy stood in the shadows, willing herself to relax and join in the fun.   *   Spike had stormed out with no real destination in mind, too wired to sit still. He'd gone to Willie's and taken great pleasure in intimidating a half dozen minor demons there, but the thrill of that was quickly past, despite the excellent O neg that Willie stocked. Spike left, roaming the streets looking for a spot of violence…anything to get him back on his game.   He found it in spades with a pair of M'fashnick demons in an alley. They were unbelievably strong and wasted no time in pounding on him. Their mistake. Spike was no longer conflicted or bored. This was fun. This was what unlife was all about. He circled the demons like a shark, intent on their every move. One lunged toward him and he seized its arm, jerking it away from the safety of its buddy. He kicked it in the head as it sailed past him, following up with a crushing crescent kick to its vulnerable backbone.   The other M'fashnick grated something in its native tongue, then leapt on him, flailing huge hands that could eviscerate him with one blow if he allowed them to land.   "What's a matter, mate, had a bad day?" Spike sneered, reveling in the violent rush of adrenaline filling his body and freeing his game face. C'mon, let the Big Bad make it all better for you." He grabbed a piece of rebar leaning handily against the bricks of one building and swung, ripping a gaping wound in the demon's gut. It wailed something and clutched at its spilling entrails.   "Now that's gotta hurt, mate. Hey, I never knew that you blokes had purple guts. Very pretty. Let's see if the rest are that color." Dropping the bar, Spike leapt forward and yanked on the snake-like guts of the thing, wrenching handfuls of intestine and other nameless organs from its body in a revolting shower of putrid purple. It shrieked in agony, then fell to its knees, expiring on the spot.   The other half of the pair stumbled to its knees and screamed in rage as it rushed him, clearly intent on exacting revenge for the gruesome death of its companion. Spike chortled with glee, leaping forward to rip at it with fangs and fingers. They rolled through the filthy alley, pummeling and grunting at each other in violent turns. Finally, Spike gained the upper hand and wrenched the M'fashnick's head from its shoulders with a jerk of pure strength. Its clutching hands continued to bash at him for two more minutes before it finally died.   "Now *that* was fun! All I need now is a fag and a shag," Spike laughed, dusting himself off and lighting up. He sauntered to the Bronze, intent on a pint and a game of pool before he returned to the mansion and his undoubtedly irate sire.   *   This had been a mistake, Buffy realized quickly. There were too many people here. She'd been alone except for her vampires *and when did you start thinking of them both as yours, Buffy?* since her mother's death and hadn't considered how the noise and crowd would feel until she was trapped within it. She couldn't get out without brushing against people and every random touch sent warning tremors through her jangled nerves. The dark pulsing beat of the band was too loud in her ears and there were men everywhere. (Boys, really, but to Buffy's strained nerves and overwrought senses they were all a threat, regardless of age.) She turned and tried to reach the door, but ended up being pushed and shoved into the pool table instead.   At the feel of the table against her back, something in Buffy snapped and she was transported back in her mind to the awful night at the bar. She shook in terror and rage, her hyped up senses mistakenly informing her that she was under attack yet again. She threw two hapless guys through the air and snapped a pool cue in half to use as a weapon. Snarling, she turned and thrust the cue at the vampire she sensed behind her.   *Gods No!* It was Spike, and she tried desperately to reverse the thrust, wrenching her arm back and pulling the killing blow. He tumbled backwards, landing on his ass on the now silent floor. Buffy looked up at the crowd now staring at them and freaked. Dropping the broken cue, she darted for the door and took off down the dark street, crying in reaction and relief that she hadn't killed him, unwilling to think about why she cared so much.   *   Spike picked himself up off the floor and dusted himself off for the second time that night, then walked to the door as if nothing had happened. He looked around for Buffy the moment he hit the street, but she'd run off somewhere and he wasn’t sure that now was a good time to chase her. *Bint nearly did you tonight, bloke, and she wasn't even trying to. That's what's gonna happen the minute that chip comes out, if you stick around here.* But where else could he go? Sure, Paris was fun this time of year, but the hellmouth was so much more entertaining. *Yah, right, mate. It's the hellmouth that's keepin' you here…not your sire and the slayer…keep tellin' yourself that and maybe you'll believe it. Wanker!*   Still, he'd better head back to the mansion and see if little miss Psycho had returned. His sire wouldn't be happy if Spike left her roaming the streets in her cute, psychotic rage.   *   Angel was pacing. And pacing. And brooding. Their little menage was fundamentally unstable and he saw no way to fix it. Spike didn't want to be with them, despite their dependence on him. *And when did he become so vital to your unlife again, you idiot?* he asked himself. The fact remained that Buffy seemed more relaxed and, dare he think it, normal around his childe and he himself was already more than passing fond of the irritating brat. They needed him. The question was, did he need them, too?   To be continued…