Hellraiser: The Angels Beneath

Xander squinted at the clock and decided it would soon be time for contact lenses. Or maybe glasses. Would Spike still love him even with a pair of spectacles on the end of his nose? Of course. Xander stifled a laugh at the vision of himself looking exactly like Giles, starting with the glasses and ending with the tweed and braces.

Shaking off the image, Xander pulled back the duvet and heaved himself up from the couch. He lowered the duvet back down and checked that Dawn was still sound asleep. She was.

After they’d talked about Xander’s mother and how he coped, or rather didn’t cope, and then talked about how Dawn would survive without her mother, they’d put on another movie and had fallen asleep halfway though. Dustin Hoffman had a tendency to do that to you, if you weren’t careful.

And now it was late.

Xander tiptoed across the room and switched on the corner lamp. The small and near enough ancient blue lampshade filtered a dim sapphire glow around the corner of the room, illuminating a chair, a bookcase, a phone and the clock.

Three o’clock.

There was nothing that was comforting in knowing that. Xander grabbed the phone and took it to the bathroom. Shutting the door carefully and quietly behind him, he sat down on the cool tile and leant his back against the wall.

“Where are you?”

The voice on the other end was tense and hurried and Xander wished himself there to see for himself rather than be here in the darkness of an unlit bathroom.

“Do you need my…? Okay, sure? Coming home soon?...Yeah, I know…‘kay. Love you.”

Xander hung up the phone and stood up to turn the light on. He wasn’t sure why he’d sat down with it off. Maybe it was so that he could picture Spike’s face more easily when he heard his voice.

He was tired. Very tired. But by what Spike had said, his lover was going to be at least another hour, maybe more. He’d been stupid to fall asleep. What if he’d had another nightmare? What if he’d woken Dawn up with his screaming and cries for help?

Xander glanced down at himself and realised that he needed to change. Sleep clothes just put him in the mindset of going to sleep. What he needed was a good old fashioned pair of snug jeans and a nice shirt to go with them. And maybe a shower? Yeah, that would work. Then maybe he’d read for a bit. He hadn’t enjoyed a good comic for a while. Maybe he’d dig out some of his classics.

**

“Urgh, Christ. The next time you come across a nest of these slimy fuckers, do me a favour? Don’t bloody call. Look at my duster. Absolutely sodding covered. Shit.”

“Yes, well, I’m inclined to agree.”

“Not a drop on us,” Willow boasted with a big grin.

Tara beamed at her and then smiled back at Spike and Giles.

“Bloody convenient.”

“That’s the beauty of magic,” Willow pointed out. “Convenient. And often long range. And really good for lazy people that don’t want to get splatted.”

“Yeah? How about a spell for us lazy gits that need demon slime removing from their leather?”

“S-sorry. Still working on that one. We’ll l-let you know.”

“Yeah, would you? Obliged and all that.”

Giles looked over at the pile of decapitated, eviscerated, and just generally mangled demon bodies. They were starting to melt and they stank. “Right. As our work here appears to be more than done, I suggest that we all head to our respective homes for the night.”

Spike glanced at his watch. “For the morning, you mean. Bloody sun’ll be up in a minute.”

“Goodness! You’d better hurry!” Willow squawked.

“Really? Ya think?” Spike retorted with his best impersonation of Xander. It was quite accurate.

Spike made his way to his car and, again, cursed Buffy. And then felt guilty. And then felt angry. So he kicked a defenceless, empty soda can and unlocked the car.

This was one of those times [when Spike wished his life had a remote control. Fast forward would be lovely just about now. Skip past the pain, the death and the darkness and get ready to pause at a moment with no tears and no nightmares. Just him and Xander, that’s all he wanted. Him, Xander and a moment of precious time that no-one could spoil.

Spike gave himself a mental growl and turned on the engine. He needed to concentrate on what was real, what was actually possible. Despite the smiles, laughter and confidence of his friends, he knew - they all knew - that something was crumbling. Their lives were slipping away. And it wouldn’t do. He was not about to let it happen.

Strength was of all importance now. Strength to go on. Strength to hold up the other person. And strength to believe.


**

She waited.

And waited.

And when she finally grew impatient, her sanity threatening to come back to haunt her and show her what she was doing, she kicked in the door and waited inside.

The apartment had never changed in all the years that she’d known Giles. Same simple decoration…illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the open window. Tut, tut. Careless. And the same cluttered chic that only a bookish, British person could get away with without it being called untidy.

It felt comfortable, cosy, maybe even homely. The smell of family in the air, the scent of trust and friendship; it was overwhelming – disgusting.

Buffy drew the knife from her jacket and sat down on the couch. She twirled the blade around and around in her fingers and stared, mesmerised as the blade sparkled and reflected in the fading moonlight.

Strong as steel, that was what she needed to be now. A Slayer that was as deadly as the dagger she held. Giles had turned against her, there was no doubt it. He hadn’t called, hadn’t come to see her to offer his help or even his pitiful words of comfort.

He’d taken Xander’s side. Bastard. How could he do that? It had just been a silly little argument between two friends. She hadn’t done anything wrong.

No, Giles was using this as an excuse to sever contact with her. He didn’t want to know. In fact, Riley was right, it had been so long since Giles had been her friend. For months now all he’d been doing was criticizing and nagging and just getting at her all the live-long day.

He’d claimed to love her once, love her like a father should love his daughter.

Another fucking lie!

Well, she knew the truth now. Giles didn’t love her any more than he loved the noisy dog in the next apartment. None of them loved her. They weren’t turning away from her anymore; they’d already turned and walked away a long time ago. Stupid dumb blond. She’d blinked and missed it.

What was the point anymore? What was the point in carrying on like this? She would do this last act for Riley. She would heal him and see him happy.

Then it was time to leave.

Heaven would let her back in. She was The Slayer.

**

“Buffy?”

Giles stood in the open doorway of his apartment, his gaze flicking rapidly from Slayer to broken door, his brain trying to work out a quick explanation for the presence of both those things.

“Buffy?” he tried again. “What are you doing here? What…what’s going on? Are you hurt?”

A short, sharp laugh and Buffy stood and stared at the opposite wall. “What's going on? Why don’t you tell me, Giles? What is going on with you?”

Giles cautiously took two steps into the apartment and stopped. Something didn’t feel right. Something was terribly wrong.

“You’ve betrayed me, Giles. I won’t be selfish and go on about what you’ve done to me. But I won’t stand by and watch you destroy everybody else.”

The corners of Giles’ lips twitched upwards in a gesture of complete bemusement. “This is a joke, yes?”

“No. I know what you’re up to. You and Ethan. I won’t let it continue.”

“Ethan? How did you…?” Giles paused as Buffy turned to him with wide, fierce eyes. She laughed.

“So I’m right.”

“Yes, you are right that I’ve been in contact with him, although god only knows how you’ve found out about it. But I’ve merely communicated to him our problems with the box. I can assure you that there is nothing untoward about it.”

Buffy didn’t hear a word. “I’ll kill you before I let you hurt my friends,” she said.

Giles stepped further into the apartment, anger pushing him forward to confront his wayward Slayer. “Don’t be so damn ridiculous. Just what do you think I am?”

“A murderer!” Buffy screamed. Her tears flowed in thick streams and she started to pant harshly, unevenly. “You think I’d let you…I know you…You…I…This is all wrong!”

“Yes, yes it is.” Giles took yet another step forward. He’d been well aware that Buffy was not herself, that grief had made her rash and volatile. She’d beaten up Xander, for a start. And made some hasty decisions about Dawn before their mother had even died. Thoughts of Joyce drifted through his brain and Giles found himself regretting not having spent more time with the woman. She’d been good and pure, a wonderful mother and friend to all. For her sake, he should have come to Buffy sooner. He should have gotten her some help.

But Buffy had been slowly sinking for so long, sinking alongside Riley. But Riley’s demise had been much more apparent, much more dramatic. He had been the real worry. Buffy’s state of mind had come a clear second. His relief, everybody’s relief at Riley’s final death had overshadowed everything else, including Buffy.

Then Joyce died.

Then everyone argued over Dawn.

Then Xander got hurt.

Had anyone stopped to see how Buffy was right at the centre of it all and was not simply depressed? She was out of her mind.

With accumulating horror, Giles knew he was too late. If only he’d come to this conclusion yesterday, or the day before, or an hour ago, or anytime before stepping, alone, into his apartment to face a crazed Slayer.

The knife flashed as it slowly moved and Giles knew he would fight, knew he would try to live though this. He just knew that somehow…he would not survive.

Buffy lunged to the right and Giles had no choice but to duck and throw himself further into the apartment.

The fight was on.

Giles tuned in, concentrating on everything he’d ever taught his Slayer, every move he’d watched her perfect and every move that caused her to falter. That was all he needed, the slim chance of just one wrong move, one foot out of place, one overconfident sweep of leg or arm.

The room was a whirlwind. Books, papers and ornament flying and crashing, floating and spinning; the scrape and shattering of table and chairs as they were shoved and crashed out of the way. Book shelves flew and crashed and cushions expelled fluffy feathers as the knife lunged and slashed.

Blood splattered and stained the walls and skin purpled and split from brutal blows that aimed to kill.

But Giles stayed on his feet. Backed up to the farthest end of the apartment, he had no place left to go, nowhere to run. He was open, exposed and standing mere feet away from a killing machine that he himself had trained to never stop, to never give in, to never roll over in defeat.

He closed his eyes for just a moment, a moment to enjoy a last breath of air and to collect himself to die with dignity. She would not make him scream.

Never.

He felt himself change and he fixed her with a look that could only have come from Ripper. He could feel the evil that had crawled inside her and it pulled at his insides and rotted his heart.

He bared his teeth and charged.

Fists pounded and the knife flew out of sight. Flesh ripped and Giles fought for all he was worth - for himself, for his friends, for his only family.

A kick of legs and a scramble and Buffy was across the room. She stood and reached out. From the floor, soaked in his own and Buffy’s blood, Giles watched the gleam of the knife. It was beautiful.

The rising sun took the moon’s place at the window and the room was suddenly bathed in a rich orange glow. Buffy stretched and basked, almost drowning her blood coated body in a sea of pure light. She smiled at her friend and for just a moment Giles could see the girl beneath the monster.

“I love you, Giles. I don’t know why I’m doing this. Please help me.”

Giles reached out, Ripper gone now and the kindly Watcher back in his place. “Buff…”

Buffy calmly walked to her friend and knelt beside him. She kissed his forehead and stroked his hair with the gentle touch of a mother. “I don’t know why I’m doing this,” she said again.

She raised the knife above her head, and screamed.

**

Screaming, screaming, screaming, screaming. She was screaming.

He pounded into her and she screamed as he split her, violated and broke her.

Screaming, screaming, screaming, screaming. She was screaming.

He held her face into the pillow and the screams became muffled murmurs of pain and suffering.

Alexander blinked and gripped tighter to his bear. “Mommy?”

**

Dawn stood back and raised shaking hands to cover her mouth. She watched through a downpour of tears as Spike wrestled Xander out of the chair and onto the floor.

She’d been having a beautiful dream, one filled with roses, chocolate and her mother in a flowing white dress, until the screaming started. At first it was the roses that screamed at her, cried for her to stop and cried for their own mother. Then she was wrenched from her dream state by the screams from her friend. Xander, slipping down in the chair, screaming and fitting as though he was in the grip of a terrible monster that was tearing at his heart.

She’d been scared. She’d hadn’t known what to do. So she stood and prayed that someone would come and help him.

And her prayers had been answered. A blur of black leather with a white halo had swooped passed her and cried out Xander’s name.

Xander writhed and struggled beneath Spike’s heavy grip. He screamed again as the nightmare replayed and replayed and, as he struggled to draw breath against his cries for help, his body jerked and fought with itself and against Spike.

Xander’s name was a mantra, and Spike repeated it over and over again. He chanted it and soothed with it, held tightly and whispered it.

“Come back to me, Xander. Xander, come on. Wake up, baby. Wake up, Xander. It’s me. It’s Spike. Come on, Xander. Xan. Come on, baby. Wake up for me. Wake up, Xander.”

Xander gasped and grabbed hold of Spike’s arms. His eyes blasted open as the dream whirled away and the reality of his home and his lover took its place. “Oh, god.” He closed his eyes again and felt the pressure as Spike pressed their bodies together and held him tightly.

“Spike. Spike…I…I remember.”

**


What had she done? What had she been thinking?

The lifeless eyes of Rupert Giles stared up at her and accused.

“I know! I know! Don’t look at me!”

Buffy stood and wiped her face with her sleeve. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This had been a mistake. Giles wasn’t supposed to be dead.

Riley was going to be so mad.

He needed fresh blood. Living blood. The blood of the dead would simply not do.

She’d fucked up again.

Wound him! Knock him out! Slice open his belly and drag him to the fucking car! Don’t plunge the knife straight into his heart, rip him to pieces, and expect Riley to be happy!

No, she wasn’t going to fail again. Riley wanted Giles out of the way? Well, he'd got his wish. Riley wanted fresh blood? She’d go and damn well get him some. She was The Slayer. She could do anything she wanted and there was no-one to stop her.

Buffy glanced down at Giles again. Her love for him, her compassion and guilt stayed hidden behind a tidal wave of dark rage and insanity. She kicked him and spat.

“Your fault.”

She kicked him again and left. As fast as she could.

**

A curious black eyebrow rose in surprise as the blur of pink material and blood red adornment sped past. A hand on her shoulder instructed her to stay back, to stay out of sight.

They made their way to the apartment, already feeling and knowing that they weren’t going to like what they found, that they were too late.

TBC…