| One Good Day by Michelle |
| Somehow Spike got to the mansion before the Watcher, even though it took him several minutes to find sewer access at the campus. He still didn't quite know what to do with Xander and tried to think of something during the travel time, but came up with nothing. He still had time to figure something out, he decided as he entered his old home. When Giles entered the main room of the mansion, Spike was smoking a cigarette and looking around, determining just what he would and wouldn't be able to do in the room. "Spike? Any sign of Drucilla?" He took another drag of his cigarette and waited for the mortal man to reach him before he responded. "This place looks like it hasn't been touched in ages." "I suppose that's a good sign." Giles looked around, peering into the corners of the room. "Where are Willow and Buffy?" "Willow's lying dead in her room, and Buffy's probably there," Spike replied conversationally. The Watcher paused, sure he hadn't heard the vampire right. "What?" Instead of repeating himself, Spike punched the mortal with all his strength, causing the man to go flying across the room. His head slammed into the stone wall and he passed out, just like Spike wanted. It took a bit of maneuvering to string the English man up, since Spike had always had minions to do the menial work. Still, he didn't give up and managed to arrange his victim so his wrists suspended him from the ceiling, which were chained together. A few cigarettes later, the Watcher woke up and discovered his position. His eyes flew over the room to land on Spike, who was leaning against the nearby wall. "You," Giles said in a low but steady voice. "You killed Anya." "Got it in one. Want to use that sharp mind and figure out who else?" "Tara." His voice grew hoarse. "Willow." "I guess that Oxford education really does come in handy. Let's see how you do with this one: the first two were quick, Red was emotional torture, Xander is psychological torture, and Buffy's going to just be fun. Where does that leave you?" Somehow Giles managed to hold his chin up and send his tormentor a haughty glare. "If I could survive Angelus, I can survive you." Spike walked over to a table and picked up a large dagger, one with a curved, serrated edge. "You seem to be forgettin' that I saved you from a chainsaw, old boy." The last two words were said with heavy sarcasm. "Besides, he always went for craftsmanship. I'll settle for pain." He dragged the blade across the Watcher's chest, slicing open both shirt and skin. The dagger was sharp, but the serrated edge ripped and tore at the skin, causing a great deal of pain. Tiny rivulets of blood ran down the exposed flesh, only to be absorbed by the fabric. He did this several times, striking out at random. The clothes were in tatters when he was done, leaving pale English skin decorated with red gashes and drips. Once he was board with cutting, Spike set the dagger down and pulled a poker from the fire he had started earlier. He then dragged the red-hot metal across the mortal's open cuts. Soon the room smelled of seared flesh. The vampire relished the smell, the sight, but mostly the noises. Each moan, each cry of pain was a magical sound to be tucked away and savored. He was inflicting torment on one who had caused him to suffer. It was as close to heaven as a demon could get. Soon, however, the blonde grew board as the excitement of torturing the Watcher wore off. The reactions became repetitive and unsatisfying with each new thing that caused pain. Games were Angelus's specialty; Spike was one for instant gratification. He had planned for his eventual boredom, for he knew that he had yet to get the response he wanted from Giles. Letting the mortal recover somewhat, Spike began to set wood underneath his suspended victim. As his coherence returned, Giles noticed what his captor was doing. "Wha-, what new torment is this?" Spike continued to work as he answered. "I call this one 'justice'. You see, I remember several times you let me burn while I begged - BEGGED - to be let inside. Figure I'd let you know what that's like." And lighting a match, the vampire tossed it onto the pile wood and kindling. Trails of smoke wafted up into the air, quickly followed by tiny flames. They grew until all of the wood was on fire, causing the flames to reach out for new territory. Unfortunately for the Watcher, that new territory consisted of his tattered clothes. The blaze consumed the material and traveled to his flesh, causing the skin that was still intact to blacken and crack apart. The previous smell of charred skin was replaced by the raw, acridic stench of a burning mass of human meat. It hung in the air and clung, an oppressive, intangible thing. Giles began to struggle then, but he was very low on strength and his movements only caused the fire to travel higher. After several minutes he finally gave up and began to cry. "Oh God, please, no," he repeated over and over again, until he no longer had the vocal cords to do so. Spike waited until there were no more cries to leave the mansion, which was shortly after sunset. He was satisfied with the Watcher's reaction, having wanted the man to cry and beg for his life as the flames took it away. It was nothing less than what Giles deserved, in Spike's opinion. Next and best was the matter of one Buffy Summers, the dessert of the gourmet meal he had helped himself to that day. He had plans he had been working on for months, and nothing short of the end of the world was going to stop him from carrying them out. Finding her proved to be tricky, for there were a number of places she could have been. He passed by the college, which was swarming with police, peaked around her house, which was dark, and even checked his crypt. He finally found her at the Watcher's place, which did seem fitting as the last place she would ever see. "Spike?" she said as he walked inside, disappointment clear in her features. "Have you seen Giles? Or Xander?" He paused a minute, taking in her appearance. Her hair was unkempt, the result of pulling at strands and shoving fingers through it. Any makeup she had had was long gone, but tear tracks still lingered on her cheeks. It was, he thought, an excellent start. "Seen them?" he said, closing the door and locking it behind him. "You could say that." "Spike, I don't have time for games." She walked up to him and slammed him into the door. "Where are they?" "I'm not goin' to tell you if you're goin' to play nasty," he told her. When she made no move to lower him, he raised his hand and grabbed a fistful of hair, pulling hard. A clump came out of her scalp and she dropped him quick. "That's better." Her hazel eyes widened with horror as she clutched at her bleeding head. "Your chip . . ." "Is no longer a problem. To answer your questions, the Watcher - or whatever the fire left of him - is hanging in Angelus's old stomping grounds. The whelp's still alive." "You. You killed Anya and Willow." He made a tsking noise and took a step forward. "Don't forget the blonde witch." She took a step away from him. "But the chip. How did you get it out?" "Who said I got it out?" He laughed coldly but joyously as her eyes widened even more. "You know, you're the only one to ask me how. It's simply a state of mind over matter. I stopped expecting pain and started causing it." Buffy lowered her hand and set herself into a fighting stance. "You're not going to hurt me." "It's only a matter of time, luv, and I've got all the time in the world." He launched at her then, trying to knock her to the ground. She dodged to the left but was stopped short by the couch. He attacked again, throwing a punch with his right, which she blocked and countered. Quickly he ducked and attempted to knock her feet out, but she jumped out of the way. They continued to fight the best they could in the tight quarters, knocking over chairs, stools, and piles of books. At one point Spike went flying over the couch, crashing into the coffee table. He pushed to his feet and used the couch cushions to jump over the couch and land on Buffy, slamming her into the ground. Since she cushioned his fall, Spike was able to pin her to the ground with relative speed. The force at which she hit the ground, however, caused her right shoulder to become dislocated. Keeping her still with his body, he broke her left arm just under the elbow. He smirked evily at the look of utter hopelessness on the Slayer's face. Everything he had planned, had wanted since overcoming the chip was within his grasp. Victory was so close he could see it, but he wasn't about to get too cocky. He had seen victory before and had still been defeated. She was wearing a skirt that day, something that Spike was thankful for. All he had to do was unbutton his pants and push them down to his knees, position his hard staff, and push. The cry of pure pain and defeat was priceless, and for yet another time he wished he had a camcorder so he could truly preserve the moment. It was a sound he had longed to hear from her for so long. The smell of blood filled his nostrils as he pumped into her dry channel, tearing her tender entryway and violating her in the oldest, most intimate way. When he had reached orgasm, he stuffed himself back into his pants and stood, leaving her broken and sobbing on the floor. "Now who's pathetic?" he asked as he zipped up his jeans. "It seems I've managed to get the better of all of you." She quieted but did not answer him. Annoyed, he reached down and pulled her limb body up against his, her neck in his hand. "I think you'd like to know I've decided what to do with you remaining friend," he said, caressing her face with his free hand. "I'm going to tell him what I did, but after I turn him. That way he can enjoy it as much as I have." As she began to cry again, he pushed her head to the side and sank his fangs into her neck, enjoying the powerful blood. He was instantly hard again, but draining her, pulling every last drop out of her body was more important than satisfying his urges. Carefully, he placed her body on the floor, with actions just shy of lovingly. She had been a worthy if not aggravating opponent. "I told you I'd be here, Slayer," he said to her corpse. "When you gave in on that one good day." Ripping open her shirt just below her breasts, he took a knife and carved into her stomach SPIKE WAS HERE. He wanted the Watchers to know who killed the Slayer and credit him accordingly. He whistled on his way back to Xander's basement and down the stairs. His lips pursed together in delight to find the boy was still tied up and hadn't managed to escape. For a while he had been worried that Xander would have done so, because everything had gone too perfect for him that day. Whatever ruled the universe must have been smiling down on him to allow his plans to come to fruition. "Did you do it?" the boy demanded, glaring at Spike. Rubbing his hands together, the vampire nodded. "You're the only one left. And do you know why?" "No, but I have a feeling you're going to tell me." "I'm in a sharing mood." Spike got down so he was right in Xander's face. "You're left because being forced to do nothin' while all your friends died was the worse torture possible for you." He shifted into his demon visage suddenly, and the boy jumped as much as he could. "This is the second worse torture." After the witch's and the Slayer's blood, the mortal's was old, stale, and almost sickening. But Spike drank, and once Xander was on the verge of death, he cut open his wrist and made the boy drink. When the whelp died, he finally allowed himself the victory celebration he'd been iching to have all day. He went out and partied, which meant lots of alcohol, lots of violence, and some sex thrown in to get rid of the erection he had been sporting since draining the Slayer. Upon waking up the next day, Spike discovered his newly-made childe was also awake and eager to begin learning the ways of evil. Surprisingly, the blonde discovered he was looking forward to having a pupil. "Come on, boy," he said, leading Xander out of the basement. "I've had one good day, and I think the two hour drive to LA will be just enough time to tell it." back to the archive |