Once It Begins

1 Deadly serious


Spike leaps to his feet out of a peaceful slumber by the bursting of the door. What the hell? His nostrils flare and his demon rattles on the bars of the cage the soldiers put it into when his senses are overflowed. He smells blood, so much fear of losing and being lost, grief, sorrow, panic and helplessness.
Two heartbeats reach his ears like a long missed song; one drumming wildly and the other is weak and slowly. Fading.

He turns around and stills in shock. Just for a second. With golden eyes he takes in the picture which fate painted for him tonight.
A nearly crying slayer is holding one of her sidekicks, the whelp; they’re both smeared with his blood which is flowing freely out of a… well, that’s how it looks like when you rip away a vampire from his prey in mid bite …deep gash in his throat.

They stumble towards him and he needs all self-control to not give into his hunger and blood lust.
The blond woman puts the boy on a stone coffin and turns to Spike.
“Spike!” A plea for help. There is nothingdo fdo for him anymore.
Thumbthumb… thumpthump… thump… thumpthumthump… …
“How thoughtful of you, slayer, to bring along a meal…” The vampire tries to sound indifferent but fails. Longing makes his voice rough.
The next moment his nose is bleeding from the fierce blow her fist gave to his nose.

“You can make him okay, Spike! Do it!” The slayer screams in tears.
“I am not a fucking doctor!” He replies and wants to sound nonchalant again but sounds helpless. “He is dying. It’s too late anyway.”
The slayer sobs loudly. “No! Not for you!” She grabs the bleached blond man’s black shirt and pulls him to her chest. Narrowing her eyes she hisses: “Turn him!”

Spike tries to back away from her, terrified by the craziness he can see in her eyes. “You’re completely nuts!” He whispers, turning his face away.
“Spike, do it! You have to do it! I can’t loose him! Do it NOW!” She screams.
“No, you stupid bint! He never would want to be a vampire! He hates them – me – Angel. I don’t do this.”
“What are you now? Mr. Morality?” She yells outraged and starts in a low flat tone to talk to herself: “Oh god, oh god. Why did I go in the shop? Why did I leave him alone? It’s all my fault. Just because they looked so pretty. Pretty pretty shoes. Lost them in the fight. Lost him. I can’t loose him. I can’t. I make it right again, Xander. I” S” She suddenly states deadly serious and determined.

Spike isn’t fast enough to escape her iron grip. She howls him over to Xander. Spike struggles but can’t get away. With the strength of desperation she holds him in place. A knife comes out of nowhere. Spike gasps and wriggles around but his chip sends blue lighted warnings through his brain. No, he doesn’t want to hurt, but the chip misinterprets the scent of fear to die pouring off in waves from Xander and the presence of Spike’s demon so close to the surface. Nice thing the soldiers build, now working against them in a way. Bloody fucking hell – she is totally off the rocker.

The slayer, saviour of mankind, cuts deep in Spike’s wrist, down to the bone.
He tries to pull away but the chip and her working together are stronger.
“No! Don’t do that to him! Don’t fucking do that! You don’t have a bleeding idea what you’re starting! You bitch, you un-fucking-believable dumb bitch!”
Spike curses on and on but the slayer isn’t reacting in anyway. All that matters for her is ‘saving’ Xander.

The blood pours out of Spike’s wound and she presses the wound to Xander’s mouth. Spike hopes it’s too late. That the last heartbeat is gone along time but knows – hears the truth. The slayer is begging Xander to drink, to come back, not to die – which doesn’t make any sense at all. He is concentrated now on the inevitable task he has to perform. His only concern is the next offspring of his bloodline. The Aurelius Line. He just has to wait. You can’t withstand the ruby fluid – nobody can.

Xander’s lips move, he opens his mouth to take in the powerful blood, swallows, sucks and swallows, again and again.

The slayer cries out in relief and triumph and Spike is remembered about the old black and white flick “Frankenstein”. For her it’ll be creating a monster, something to kill when she realizes what she made Spike do. Perhaps it’s really about resurrecting a friend. An acquaintance she treated like a useless burden as long as he was alive and is now sorry about.
For Spike it’s creating (un)life, father a child and just like now building a family sense - stronger than any human could ever have - for eternity. …unless you happen to piss off a gipsy clan but still…

“Stop! It’s enough!” She barks feeling her control of the situation slip, feeling left out. She pulls on Spike’s wrist. He snarls at her and doesn’t move an inch.
“Stop now or I dust you!” She threatens checking her pockets mentally for a stake.
“It’s not enough, you bimbo!” Spike yells in gameface. “You want him to be a fucking minion? Existing to serou? ou? Following your every command out of fear?” He growls loudly to show his disagreement.

She doesn’t get to answer when a group of six vampires rush through the broken door. She mustn’t. Spike saw the flicker of temptation in her eyes.
“Slayer! We’ll take you down!” The leader of the vampire announces. She instinctively starts to fight them; everything around forgotten.

Spike thanks whoever bought him this time window. The first time in all his years he is thankfully for a horde of vampires stomping into his living room. He isn’t hesitating; he makes a run for the lower level of his crypt, never removing his wrist from the suckling mouth.
The vampire is sure the slayer can handle them on her own – if not he can escape through the sewers.

Eventually he is downstairs, cradling the male body in his arms. The warmth the whelp once possessed is fading quickly. The sucking slows and stops like his sire once told him would happen if you create family and not just minions. Gently Spike takes his arm away, spreads blood on the big gash on the boy’s throat to close it, not wanting it to scar.
He listens closely to the whelp’s physical signals, waiting for the right moment to make him truly his.
The moment is near and he leans forward, praying he won’t nternterrupted. His lips grace the delicate lukewarm skin on their way to the right spot. He’ll set his mark between the end of the shoulder and the beginning of the neck, where you can hide it if necessarily even under the collar of a t-shirt or show it proudly by wearing an open button-up. Just where I got mine.

He finds the perfect place, feels the last heartbeat against his lips and sinks his fangs in with the greatest care. Spike sucks one time only, taking not nearly half a mouthful of blood that’s not already tainted with the demon. He wants to know how Xander Harris tasted, wants to remember now and then the pureness and the sunshine that was him.

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