Title: Breaking a Slayer 42-43

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

Spoilers/Ships: This is AU. Buffy/Spike/Angel. Xander/Anya. Willow/Tara.

Distribution: Sure, just let me know.

Feedback: Is always nice. DarkRhiannon@aol.com

Rating: NC-17.

Author's Note: Quotes are from Ats "To Shanshu in LA." I've taken considerable liberties with them in order to include Spike (Gunn and Kate are gone because Kate annoys me and Gunn distracts me. *mmmmm Gunn*).

Spike woke from dreaming groggy and confused, unsure of where he was or what was going on. It was decidedly not his usual state, and hardly conducive to continued life as a predator. He felt, even more strongly than before, the absence of Buffy in an almost tangible way. Curling himself tighter around Angel, he stroked the older vampire's bruised and battered face with a surprisingly gentle hand. "Angelus, wake up, you great poofter," he growled.

Angel's dark eyes fluttered slowly open and his slumberous gaze met that of his childe. He smiled at Spike for a moment and Spike's breath would have caught at the love in that gaze, had he need of air to breathe. Then Angel winced as the pain all over his body overtook him again in consciousness and Spike cursed at the sight.

"Spike, Childe, is it time?" Angel whispered hoarsely.

"Not yet, Sire. D'ya need anything? 'M goin' upstairs to see the twits and thought if you wanted coffee or tea, or somethin' else, I could get it for you. Save you the trip."

Angel smiled and lifted one shaking hand to stroked Spike's face softly. "No, thank ye, Childe. I've no need of aught. I don't want anything."

Spike nodded slowly and stroked a hand quickly across Angel's face. "Sleep s'more, then, Angel. Ritual is tonight, gotta be up and about for it. No slackin' off."

Angel sighed unnecessarily and closed his eyes. He didn't feel the kiss that Spike brushed furtively across his head or see the look of concern in the younger vampire's eyes at the lethargy that had overtaken his sire.

Spike went up the elevator and into the office, grabbing a mug of blood on the way. Cordy and Wesley came into the office to greet him.

Spike looked up in mild annoyance at their entrance. "Morning."

"Morning," Cordy replied. "Does Angel want some coffee?"

"No, thanks. Asked him."

Cordy was relentless.  "How about a doughnut?  Chocolate..."

Spike leafed idly through one of Angel's books. It wasn't one he'd read before. The first edition looked relatively well-preserved. He wondered where Angel had found it. "No. He doesn't want to eat."

"Creamy fillings?" Cordy added hopefully.

Spike laughed a little as he looked at her:  "No.  He doesn't want anything." Cordelia made a sound of dismay and looked at Wesley, irritating Spike further. "Am I supposed to know what this is about?"

Wesley stepped in, "We - were just discussing how - Angel doesn't - want that many things."

Cordy added, "He's cut off.  But don't worry, I'm gonna help you with that."

Spike was unimpressed and extremely uninterested. "Oh.  Good."

Cordy, however, was irrepressible. "We'll start small.  Keep it simple.  -  How would he like a puppy?  (Spike just looked at her)  Right.  -  A Ficus?  They're low maintenance.  -  Ant farm?"

Wesley chimed in, "I have to go."

Spike wasn't sure if getting rid of one human was a good or bad thing. If it left him alone here with Cordelia the Irritating, it was a bad thing. "Where are you going?"

Wesley explained, "Rare book shops.  I need references to translate the prophecy.  Probably not a good idea to take the scroll with me."

Spike agreed. At least the former Watcher had some brains. More than could be said for the cheerleader, though he supposed that wasn’t quite true. T'was just that she rarely used the damn thing. "No.  I'll lock it up downstairs in the weapons cabinet."

Wesley continued, "Spike - I hope I'm wrong about all this but - it might be a good time to consult the Oracles."

Spike was disgruntled, "I don't need to see the Oracles about this."

"Well, think about it," Wesley urged, leaving the store.

Cordy attempted more cheer, "Oracles… Get out of the house… Could be fun."

Spike turned and went back down the elevator with the scroll.

*

In the chamber of the Oracles, the blue female hissed at the intruder before her, "How dare you enter this sacred space?"

The blue male added haughtily, "Who do you think you are?"

"We do not appreciate being summoned by a lower being," said the female.

Male added, "Who knows no better than to come here on a whim."

Voca replied, "I'm not here on a whim."

The female Oracle was unimpressed. "We do not council your kind.  The powers of darkness are not allowed to cross this threshold.  How did you get it?"

Voca quoted, "The old order passes away and the new order is come.  He that was first shall now be last and he that was dead shall now arise."

The female Oracle was actually pissed enough to drop her haughty mien, "Yes, and he that is trespassing shall now depart."

Voca put his hand behind his back.

The male added, unnecessarily, "We shall speak no more."

A battle scythe grew in Voca's hand. "Yes - I know."

*

Cordy was walking through an open market.  She picked up a set of paints.

The woman selling them asked, "Do you paint?"

Cordy replied, "Oh, no.  I was just looking for something for a friend.  I thought maybe if he had a hobby... He's a little detached from things."

"Well, they say art is the best therapy for that," the saleswoman replied.

Cordy was struck by a thought, "Really?"

"Sure, they use it in mental institutions all the time.  You get the patients drawing and working with clay - helps them to get back in touch."

Cordy qualified, "Well, he is not crazy or anything.  He's - just different?"

"Depressed," the saleswoman guessed.

Cordy agreed, "Well, he wears a lot of black.  -  How much are these pastels?"

"Oh, these are on special," the woman said.  "You get the entire set, the large one, and some drawing paper and little..."

*

Voca strolled through the crowd. Sheep all of them. One good slaughter would be so rewarding. But no. Not now. He just needed to find…ah!

The saleswoman was ecstatic. "I think you have everything he'll need and then some.  You made my day.  Thanks."

Cordy was happy with the presents. "You're welcome. Perhaps after the ritual this would perk Angel up. He'd been alone for too long. Even Buffy and Spike couldn't help him get over all of the pain of his curse, at least, not till it was taken care of. Ick, she didn't want to think about that.

"You must be really good friends," the woman added.

Cordy hoped so. She cared about Angel like he was the brother she'd never had. He'd been there for her. Now it was her turn to help him. "Yeah.  Thank you."

"Take care."

Cordy said, "Bye," and walked away. Voca passed her from behind and brushed his hand lightly against hers.  Cordy looked around but didn't see anything.  She started to walk on when she got hit by a short vision.  She pulled out her cell phone, but before she could dial out she got hit by another, stronger vision.  This one didn't end, and she fell to the ground screaming.

The saleswoman ran over and crouched down beside her and screamed for someone to dial 911.

*

Voca walked slowly into Angel Investigations.

Spike walked down the steps to his sire's apartment, studying the scroll.  He rolled it up and locked it into the weapons cabinet.  He sensed something and turned back to the cabinet when the phone rang.

"Hello?" he said. "Yeah, what happened to her?  -  I'm with her employer.  -  This is her only family in town.  What happened?  -  I'm on my way." He was torn between Angel and Cordy, but knew that his sire would never forgive him if he left Cordy alone in hospital. Sides, Angel didn't have to do the damned ritual till midnight. Plenty of time. He hung up the phone and hurried out, snagging his duster on the way.

Voca walked in, broke open the weapons cabinet, took the scroll, put something in its place, and closed it again.

*

Spike ran down the hospital corridor.  He stopped at the nurse's station. "I'm looking for Cordelia Chase."

The nurse really didn't want to tell him what was going on. "She is ah, the doctor is with her.  If you'll just have a seat over there... " Just then, Cordy screamed. Spike hurried on. "Wait!  You have to let the doctor handle this!"

Cordelia was convulsing on a bed.

The doctor said urgently, "Try another five mil of Ativan."

Spike entered.

"Hey, you can't be in here," the Doctor said.

"What happened?" Spike asked.

"Are you family?"

Spike was too hurried for this bullshit. "Yes!"

The doctor explained, "They brought her in a few hours ago.  I'm not sure what happened. Does she have a history of mental illness?"

Personally, Spike thought cheerleading definitely indicated mental aberration of some kind. "No."

The doctor asked, "Does she use drugs?"

Spike said, "No."

"Well, she is having a psychotic episode.  We've done a CAT scan.  There is no organic damage that we can see, but we can't seem to sedate her."

Spike leaned over her, figuring his disliked voice was certain to awaken the bint. "Cordelia, can you hear me?  -  Cordelia!  Cordelia!"

The doctor continued, "We're trying a number of different drug therapies.  Do you know if she has any allergies?"

"I don't think so," Spike said. "Drugs won't help her."

The doctor was grim. "Well, something better.  I need to inform you, if we don't find a way to stop it..."

Spike looked from the convulsing Cordy to the doctor and back.

*

Wesley walked into the office carrying books.  He went downstairs and saw the broken lock on the weapons cabinet.  He put the books down and opened it slowly, then started to back away.

*

Spike pulled up across the street and gets out of his sire's car.  When he was halfway across, a fiery blast coming from the lower story lifted him into the air.  He landed in a heap on the road while flames engulfed the building and car alarms started blaring all along the street.
 
 

Spike ran into Angel’s burning apartment from the parking garage, glad not to need air, since it was foul and hazy about him. "Angel! - Sire! -Angelus! Sire!"

He saw Wesley laying on the stairs leading up.  He checked for a pulse. "Bloody hell! He slung Wesley over his shoulder and headed out.

Fire engines and police had appeared in front of the building.  Wesley, wearing an oxygen mask was wheeled over to an ambulance as Spike started back towards the apartment at a dead run. His sire was in there. Angel was trapped in the burning rubble of his former home and chances were good that he was too weak to get out on his own.

Spike cursed the humans in his way, plowing through them with his wiry strength, his slender form's amazing vampiric strength unleashed in his effort to reach Angel in time. He plunged back into the fire from which he'd saved Wesley, concentrating all his keep senses on one thing only, Angel. He must find Angel. Now.

Author's Note: Quotes are from Ats "To Shanshu in LA." I've taken considerable liberties with them.
 

Spike's keen vampiric senses were actually a detriment in the choking smoke and heat that enveloped him. Grateful for his lack of breath, he nonetheless was nearly as incapacitated by the smoke as a human might have been. It overwhelmed his sense of smell, tore at his eyes with caustic heat, and disoriented him almost immediately.

Hazy and confused, he dropped to his hands and knees in the charred rubble of the outer office. Uncaring of the damage he was inflicting upon himself, he crawled through the wreckage and pushed onward through the smoke.

A burning timber fell and Spike rolled to escape it, breathing involuntarily as he did so. At once, his body was wracked with weakness from the fumes. He struggled on and reached the elevator to the basement. It was, of course, not working.

"Bollocks," he swore, coughing as he said it. He stood and grabbed the doors with bloody and lacerated fingers. Exerting all of his formidable strength, he wrenched the doors apart. A fireball erupted behind him, flashing forward at the new oxygen source. Stunned, Spike did the only thing he could think of. He jumped into the elevator shaft.

*

After frantic calls to LA got her nothing but the answering machine, Buffy had tried to convince herself that her dreams were just that. She missed Spike and Angel. Missed them so much that her subconscious was dredging up threats where there were, in fact, none. She just needed to get out of the mansion.

Thus, Buffy found herself patrolling cemeteries with Willow and Tara the night of the equinox. The wiccans had plans of their own for the rite - but those would occur later and without Buffy's presence. In the meantime, they were happy to help her with her duties, though it seemed a particularly slow night for vampires or demons of any kind.

The only ones they'd seen had been two newly risen vamps, who'd not even gotten a chance to utter a word before Buffy staked them with dispatch. Willow was amazed at the energy Buffy seemed to have and the effortless movements of her body as she fought. Certainly, her friend had always been graceful, but now there was a panther-like poise added to the power and spirit that had always been there.

Buffy disappeared for a moment and abruptly Willow realized what it was. Buffy moved like Angel. No, it was more than that. Buffy was moving like Angel and fighting like…Spike? No, not exactly, more as if she had melded her own fighting style with theirs somehow. Willow was no expert on combat, but she'd been fighting at Buffy's side for long enough to recognize that the Slayer's movements had changed. Willow just wasn't sure what it meant.

She was quickly plunged back into reality as a vampire erupted from the densely intertwined bushes and grabbed her from behind. He was about to bite when a feral growl disturbed him. Willow looked up from the awkward angle at which he held her, recognizing the unmistakable sound of another vampire on the hunt. If they fought over her, perhaps she could escape. The sight before her shocked Willow to her very core.

Teeth bared, eyes hard as emerald-flecked amber, Buffy crouched before them…growling.

*

Angel woke, in desperate pain, completely confused. It was almost time for the ritual, he was sure, but something was wrong. *Spike…something is hurting Spike.* He could feel the pain and panic of his favorite childe through the bond they shared. It was what had awakened him. Slowly Angel pushed himself up off the bed. The room was hazy with smoke and now that he was awake, he could smell fire. Close, it was, and getting closer.

The doors from the elevator were wrenched abruptly open by his swearing childe and Angel pushed himself to his feet, shocked at what he saw. Spike looked as if he'd fallen off a cliff. His face was sooty, bruised and bloody and he favored his right leg as if he could barely stand to put weight upon it. He limped slowly from the elevator clutching his ribs and swallowing blood convulsively from his dripping, crimson mouth. "Oi, Peaches, rise and shine," he wheezed in a smoke-choked voice.

Angel took one weak and faltering step toward him, nearly falling as he let go of the bed. "Spike, what's happening? I smell fire," he said urgently.

"Righto, Sire. Someone don't like you much. Gotta get out now, mate."

They stumbled back toward the elevator shaft together, forgoing the blazing stairs with mutual shudders of dread. Fire. Vampires hated it with a passion. It could kill them faster than it killed humans, due to their unique physiognomy. Volatile didn't just describe their tempers.

"You first, Sire," Spike commanded imperiously, pushing Angel into the elevator. Angel reached one hand up and grabbed for the ceiling access panel, now dangling conveniently open from Spike's rapid descent. He hoisted himself up with none of his trademark grace. It hurt too much. He felt wounds that had never closed begin trying to seep again, but with no blood in his system, he felt nothing but a deep and utter enervation. Did he have enough strength to get himself out?

*

Willow held perfectly still in the vampire's grasp as they stared at the Slayer growling ferally before them. "Shit, I ain't that hungry, you can have her, Slayer," he mumbled, thrusting Willow at Buffy in a rush before he turned to run.

Buffy moved from Willow's path in a blindingly fast motion, lunging forward toward the vampire and jumping to his back. Tara pulled Willow to her, hugging her lover in fear and surprise as they stared at Buffy and the vampire. "Sh-should we try to stop her?" Tara asked hesitantly.

"I don't think we can, baby," Willow answered, her eyes glued to the spectacle in front of them.

Buffy ripped the shirt from the vampire's body and clutched his shoulders in her hands, bruising undead flesh and grinding bones together as he whimpered and shook, trying to free himself. Buffy snarled again and tore at the hapless vamp's throat from behind, ripping flesh and muscle from the side of his neck with one vicious bite of her blunt teeth. He screamed, trying to crawl away, but she rode his back in a way that suggested to Willow that she was releasing more than just anger in the attack. Buffy wrenched the vamp's head to one side and bit harder, blood spurting everywhere as he shrieked and struggled, then abruptly, her mouth was full of dust and she thunked to the earth.

Still growling, Buffy spat the bloody ash from her mouth and turned to Willow. The witch watched as the feral golden gleam that had possessed her friend's eyes faded to a small flicker of amber in the hazel depths. "Will," Buffy panted. "Willow, are you ok? Did he hurt you?" She moved quickly to her friend's side and pulled gently at her hair to expose her neck.

Willow flinched from the gentle touch and Buffy pulled back. "I-I'm fine, Buffy, just, um, confused. How come you didn't stake him? I mean, uh, the ripping out of the throat thing…that's ah, kind of, um, new for you, isn't it?" Willow was shaking in reaction to the near miss and really really worried about Buffy.

Buffy looked perplexed for a moment, as if she didn't actually remember ripping the vampire's throat out moments before. Then she blushed a deep red, and backed away from the witches. She stared down at her feet, unwilling to meet Willow's curious eyes for fear of what she might see there.

*Way to go, Buff. Freak out your friends, just when things are getting back to normal. What *was* up with that whole throat ripping thing anyway? And why, for heaven's sake, had it felt so…natural at the time?* She needed to get out of there, back to the safety of the mansion.

"Yeah, uh, right. Well, if that's it for tonight, maybe we should get on home? Still have, ah, rituals to do for the equinox and all," Tara mumbled nervously.

"That's ok, Will. You should go home and be safe. I'll head home after this last patrol," Buffy said, eager to be away from her friends before she said or did anything else to wig them out.

The wiccans said their goodbyes and walked quickly home, leaving Buffy alone in the dark quiet of the cemetery. The peace soothed her and she walked through the darkness very much at home in what was increasingly her element. *I'm not going to worry about this right now,* Buffy thought, as she twirled her recovered stake idly in her small strong hands. *In fact, I'm not staying here. If the boys aren't calling me, I'll just have to go see just what the problem is on my own. Sunnydale can get alone without a Slayer for a few days….* Decision made, she felt much better and headed back to the mansion to gather a few things for the trip.

*

Spike reached for the access panel after Angel climbed laboriously through. Hissing in pain as his broken ribs grated against each other, the blond vampire pulled himself up into the dark, smoky elevator shaft. There was a ladder to one side, he saw, and swore, wishing he'd been able to take that down the flight and a half drop to the basement instead of falling as he had.

No matter, they were getting the fuck out of here. Now! Angel lay, barely conscious, on the roof of the elevator. Spike kicked him none-too-gently in the ribs and his sire growled a warning. "Get up, Peaches," Spike commanded. "Got to get out of this place before the walls come down on us."

Angel nodded acquiescence and pushed himself weakly to his feet. He was weaving, barely able to keep awake. Spike motioned toward the ladder and Angel stumbled tiredly to it. He put one hand on the rungs and began hauling his large frame up with agonizing slowness. Spike followed after, trying to avoid putting weight on his left leg, which he was certain he'd fractured in his abrupt descent. The bond flared suddenly in his head and he felt Angel soothing the pain and taking it away.

"Oi, stop that, you bastard. You got enough shit to worry about without taking my pain, too," Spike said harshly, trying to hide his amazement that Angel would do such a thing for him.

Love poured through the bond just as suddenly as the pain had removed itself and he gasped at the strength of it. A moment later, it dulled, but Spike felt it, still, as well as a deep and utter pride that welled up from the older vampire. Dashing tears from his filthy face with one hand, Spike swore blasphemously and prodded Angel's feet to get him to move faster before the fire overtook them both.