Champions

Spike paced his room like a restless lion. Three days had passed since Gunn died and, despite Angel’s better judgment, they had moved into much nicer lodgings. They now resided in a comfortable penthouse in a building owned by one of Angel’s long time associates. Spike’s argument had been that if he was going to die in his sleep, he at least wanted to be in a comfortable bed. It seemed pretty obvious to him that they would be found wherever they went, so why should they bother hiding?

Angel spent most of his time sitting in the corner of the living room in a moody silence. Spike wouldn’t have cared had it not been so amusing to act as though he did. The easiest way to get Angel all riled up was to intrude on his personal time. IT had always been that way and probably always would be. The only entertainment Spike had found for himself during the long days trapped inside was asking inane questions and seeing just how much he could get away with before Angel stormed off in a very childlike rage. His sire could always be counted on for a quick laugh.

Not today though. Today, at the first sign of Spike’s presence in the room, he had grabbed a newly carved stake and come right for him. Spike wasn’t a fool, though Angel frequently called him one. He had wisely decided to spend the rest of the day in his bedroom, bored to tears.

He glanced at the bed half-heartedly. He was tired and he knew he should sleep. But his dreams had been somewhat less than restful of late, so he had begun to avoid sleep as much as possible. With a sigh, he threw himself onto the bed in angry defiance, hoping to at least give his body some rest, if not his mind. Reluctantly, he began to examine his latest dream. As always, Buffy had played a major roll. But there had also been another woman, one who was becoming a more frequent star of his dreams. HE could never see her face, but the image of large, black wings and small, curved horns told him that this was the beast that hunted them. How he knew she was female, he could not tell, as he never got a good enough look to be sure. But something about the way she moved banished all doubt as to her sexuality. The idea that such a gracefully feminine creature hunted him sent chills down his spine, and Spike cursed himself for being overly poetic. The trouble was, he was more afraid of this girl than he like do to admit. Perhaps it was because of the dreams, or maybe it was something else. He couldn’t be sure. He only knew that this fight, which had to come sooner or later, was one he whole heartedly wished he could avoid.

Slowly, without his knowledge or consent, Spike fell into a light doze. If conscious thought had been possible, he would have thanked the powers that the dreams did not come. Instead, his body and his mind gave themselves over, gratefully, to some much needed rest.

* * *

At first, Spike thought the dream had at last returned. The Sun had set, but the darkness of his room seemed like a living thing. T he smell of a woman was close at hand, and he rolled slowly over.

“Buffy…” he whispered, and reached out for her.

Something sharp plunged into his chest. He grunted in shock and his eyes flew wide with surprise. The woman before him held a stake in her hand, and she kept it steady, embedded in his chest, mere inches from his heart. The curtains fluttered around the window, exposing her point of entrance.

“Who are you, that speaks the name of the slayer as though she were your lover? You are a vampire…” Her voice was oddly deep, and yet still with that unique femininity that made who and what she was undeniable. She moved her face closer to his and she was illuminated by a streak of moonlight that had come through the window.

Spike gasped. This was the creature that haunted his dreams? She looked to be barely out of her teens, with large, luminescent eyes and pale skin. Her high cheekbones cast soft angles around her face, framing a heart shaped mouth that seemed just a tad too large for her face. The poetic side of him wondered what her smile was like. She was dressed from head to toe in tight black fabric, making her part of the shadows. She looked like a weapon freshly drawn from it’s sheath. Gone were the wings and horns. All that remained was that mockingly innocent face, shadowed by her short fall of hair.

“Answer my question,” she whispered softly. “It won’t save your life, but it will prolong your death. How do you know the slayer? Is she near?” There was an urgency in her voice that confused Spike, and he supposed he probably knew its cause. If the slayer was in town, her job would be a lot harder, particularly since he had a connection with her.

But Buffy wasn’t there. She was in Rome and likely to stay there. As far as Spike was concerned, she might as well have been in another dimension. His face darkened as he struggled to keep his pain from showing on his face. As his attacker chuckled in an obscenely musical way, he knew he had failed.

“So that way goes the game. They told me she might become an issue, but they did not tell me why. Now I understand.” She leaned close to Spike’s ear, her weight forcing the stake a fraction closer to his heart. Seductively, she whispered, “You were her plaything.”

Spike’s face shifted instantly as he willingly let his demon side spring forth. Before her voice had died away, Spike had grabbed her fiercely by the shoulders and shoved with all his strength. Her bent position had weakened her stance and she toppled off the bed with a significant lack of grace. Spike plucked the stake from his chest and bounded after her, snarling as he landing on top of her small frame. Using his superior weight, he slammed her into the floor and held her there.

“I may have been her plaything,” he growled, “but I’ll be dammed if I’ll let some pathetic little girl mock me for it.” Rising up slightly, he sneered. “Hey, Angel!” he called. “Come and have a look at our big scary demon!”

With a guttural war cry, the girl slammed her knee into Spike’s unprotected groin. He cried out in sudden pain and toppled over. The stake he held skittered away and under the bed, useless to either of them. She straddled him across the stomach and dug a finger into the wound in his chest, making him yowl in pain and grab wildly at her hand.

“The others won’t come. Do you think I am a fool?” she asked with surprising calmness. “I came for the weakest when the others were not here to protect it.”

Spike swung his fist wildly and felt it connect with soft flesh and bone. The girl grunted and wobbled, loosing her grip on his chest, but staying firm. The pain cleared slightly and he looked up at her. His punch had landed hard on the side of her face. And angry red welt was already rising high on her cheek and he could tell that, if nothing else, she would have one hell of a black eye. The difference, now, was that she looked angry. She punched him in the face with her right hand. And then again. And again. Blow after blow rained down on him, until his face felt as though it had been smashed, and put back together with shards of broken class rubbed between the joints. His attacker’s fist was coated in blood, both in sprays, and in dense patches where her knuckles had split, to mingle her own blood with his. He fell out of his demon face with a snarl of pain and defeat.

Her weight left his body and he floundered to find purchase on the floor, so that he could rise. He felt her fingers slide into the longer hair on the back of his head and yank. Adding insult to injury, she dragged him across the floor to where a small chair sat beside the door. With one swift kick, she broke the front leg and reached down to retrieve it. With a smirk, she looked down at him.

“I’ll send the lady your ashes and my condolences.”

His fist came up and slammed into her stomach before she could strike, knocking the wind out of her. He clambered up her slight frame and gripped her by the light fabric of her garment. His face was turning black and blue all over, and one eye was nearly swollen shut. With a growl, he head butted her fiercely.

The girl dropped to her knees, clutching her forehead. Spike reared back and kicked her in the face, sending her flying across the room. He chuckled, evilly.

“Now this is what I’ve been waiting for,” he said, oddly confident. “A big, no hold barred fight.” He took a few steps towards her, but stayed safely out of range. “What I don’t get though, luv, is how you managed to peg me as the weakest link” In a sudden move, he lunged at her, gripping her throat tightly, cutting of her air. She clawed at his hand, drawing blood, but doing nothing to loosen his grip as she gasped futilely. “Please, do tell.” He smiled wickedly and loosened his grip just enough for her to speak.

“Of the four of you,” she croaked, “I went for the easiest first. The human was already dead, I just helped him accept it.” She gasped hoarsely for more air. “Then there was you. A vampire, nothing more. And after that, Illyria, a force that has been feared for time out of mind.” A cough closed her throat and darkness crowded around her sight. “Lastly, your leader, and my prime target.”

Spike sputtered in outrage. “I rank that far below the poof?!”

In his sudden distraction, his hold on her throat loosened just enough for her to wrench his hand away from her. She scrambled a safe distance away and sat, gasping for breath, as Spike attempted to focus on what was really important.

“You work for the senior partners then?”

The girl looked up at him, looking suddenly a lot less like a dangerous enemy, and more like a scared young woman. Some small part of him softened at that look, and went out to the poor girl. He moved slowly closer to her, wincing as small injuries made themselves felt.

“You do, don’t you?”

She looked at him pleadingly, but said nothing. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other. Seemingly defeated, she lowered her eyes, a slight sobbing sound coming from her throat. Spike sauntered closer to her. Now he understood. The girl was as much a prisoner as they had been. Hesitantly, he put a hand on her shoulder.

With shocking speed, she brought her fist backwards and slammed it straight into his temple. He collapsed sideways with a howl of pain and the girl made good her escape. She stopped just short of the window and paused. With a grunt of effort, the black wings erupted from the bared diamond on her back, and small, curved horns sprouted from her head. With a final, somewhat defiant growl, she leapt out the window and disappeared.


* * *

Angel returned a short time later, carrying several shopping bags. The smell of the blood he carried in them was taunting, but he hadn’t really been able to force himself to eat for some time. He considered each hunger pain to be penance for his serious lack of judgment. Besides, the pain of hunger was easier than the pain of loss. Matters weren’t helped any by the fact that Spike steadfastly refused to accept his own share of the responsibility. And, Angel couldn’t help but think bitterly, his own share of the guilt. If Spike had stayed in the room with Gunn, like any sane person would, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. If nothing else, maybe they would at least know a little bit more about the thing that hunted them.

Angel struggled through the doorway, turning sideways to squeeze his bulk along with the bags he carried through the narrow space. He grunted from the effort, and from an overload of frustration.

“Anyone here?” he called in exasperation. “I could use a little help!”

No answer came and Angel made a mental note that this was one more example of how he was tired of playing the beaten down father role. Carefully, he set down his load in the small kitchenette, and stood up, stretching his back as he did so. Only then did he catch the smell.

It came from the room Spike had claimed as his own and it was, unmistakably, the smell of blood. Angel’s mind reeled and he realized the smell of the pig’s blood must have blocked it out. If the room smelled of blood, and Spike had not answered when he called... Angel felt sure he would know if Spike were dead. Surely he’d be able to smell the ash. But he wasn’t sure. With great trepidation, he moved through the cluttered living area towards the closed door.

“Spike?” he called hesitantly. The sound of movement reached his ears followed by a low moan.

Angel was surprised by the feeling of relief that rushed through him. He searched his feelings for a moment, questioning his own sanity. In his heart of hearts, Angel still loathed Spike wholly and completely. But he knew, very suddenly, that he didn’t want to see Spike die. Some part of him had come to grudgingly respect the changes in the other man, and, though he hated to admit it, he had grown accustomed to having Spike in his life again. With a shake of his head, he opened the door and stepped inside.

His eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness as he attempted to focus on Spike’s prone form. The blond vampire lay in a heap on the floor, nearly curled into the corner. He bled profusely from several small wounds. The fact that they still oozed sluggishly spoke of just how recently they had been inflicted. Angel took an unsteady step into the darkness.

Spikes eyes opened blearily. He gazed at Angel through his right, as it was the only eye that could completely open. The left was swollen nearly shut and had turned a disgustingly unhealthy shade, which matched most of the rest of his face.

“Oh…i’ss you, is it?” he slurred. “Come to take an easy shot at me? Kick me while I’m down?”

Angel’s annoyance returned, and he crossed the room in two large strides. He grabbed onto Spike’s shoulders and heaved him up, making the smaller man breath in sharply pain raced through him. No,” he said with a grunt. “I’ll help you if you can manage to just…not…be yourself for the next ten minutes.”

With shuffling feet, the two men moved into the living room. Darkness had hidden most of the bruises, but now they stood out lividly in the bright lamp light. He looked as if he had been beaten repeatedly with a sledgehammer.

“So, let me guess,” Angel said as he retreated to the kitchenette for on of the blood containers. “You got a visit from the smack down fairy?” He tossed the package to Spike, who bit into it with relish. After a few noisy gulps, he took a shuddering breathe and sank, gratefully, onto the couch.

“Very funny,” he said dryly.

“So, it’s our newest stalker, then.” Angel sank down onto the couch beside Spike and sighed. “It’s nice to see you walked away from the fight.”

“Nice?” Spike snorted. “Angelus, I’m touched! You do care.” He clutched his chest in mock feeling.

“What kind of demon is it, then?” Angel asked vehemently.

“S’not a demon,” he answered, seriously.

Angel stared at him blankly for a long moment. “But I thought you said…”

“She’s a half demon. That’s why we couldn’t smell her coming. She smells too much like a human.” He took another gulp of blood.

“She could be anyone then…” Angel said with concern. “We’d never even know.”

“Oh no,” Spike said, with a slight chuckle. “This bird…I won’t be forgetting her any time soon. And she will come for us again, that much is for bloody certain.”

“Illyria is out there right now... We should find her.”

Spike shook his head. “I wouldn’t worry about Blue. She can take care of herself. ‘Sides, I gave our little girl a run for her money tonight. She’ll need to rest ofr awhile before she comes at us again.


* * *

The darkness breathed. It watched her. It was angry.

The girl knelt in a small circle of light amidst the utter blackness. The left side of her face carried an ugly bruise which crept around her eye and made vision difficult. Purple hand prints encircled her throat where the vampire had choked her. Her wings drooped with fatigue, but she was too proud to draw them in. And besides, she lacked the energy it required. Shakily, she utilized all her remaining strength to keep her knee from giving out and spilling her onto the floor.

“You failed,” a deep guttural voice intoned, echoing in the darkness and seeming to come from everywhere at once.

“I am delayed only,” she said, her voice sounding stronger than she felt.

“Failure is not an option. You have never been defeated before.”

“I was foolish. I underestimated my target’s strength. Next time I will be prepared.” She trembled slightly, trying hard not to let it show.

“You expect us to let you continue?” There was mocking in the voice, and she knew they were baiting her. Steadfastly, she remained silent, staring straight ahead, her head lowered in a subservient position. Long moments passed in silence.

“Very well,” the voiced boomed. It sounded slightly amused. “Complete your task and you shall earn our mercy. You must make haste. Already the slayer draws dangerously close. We feel her presence coming nearer. Make haste, or feel our wrath!” The light went out and the voice withdrew. They had left her on her own once more.