His Childe

Chapter 42 - To Trust

Half an hour later, Spike, Buffy and Tara had changed out of their bloodied clothes, and were sitting with Willow in the kitchen. The two vampires had drunk three blood bags each, and more blood was warming in the microwave. Willow was munching on an apple. From what she had explained, her lack of recent practice as well as Tara buffering her against drawing too much magic were the reasons why she had felt faint for a moment.

As he had watched her draw the bullet out of Buffy’s body, an idea had come to Spike. She could do the same thing for him. Magic the chip out. He had asked Tara, knowing that Willow wasn’t doing anything magical anymore, but apparently that time was over. He was planning to talk to her about it later. At the moment, a more urgent matter needed to be discussed, even if the three girls seemed reluctant to talk about it.

“What do we do about Warren?” Spike said finally, looking at them all in turn, his eyes ending on Buffy.

She stared at him with fierce determination.

“One thing is sure, we do not kill him, so don’t even suggest it.”

He shook his head slowly, wishing she could understand how scared he was for her. “He tried to kill you, Slayer. And he saw you in game face. You can’t just let him go away.”

“He’s human,” Tara said, looking at Spike almost shyly. “He should be judged and go to jail.”

Willow nodded, though she seemed hesitant. “Giving him to the police sounds good. But now he knows that Buffy is a vampire…”

“And if we just send him to jail the whole demon population will know before a week is passed,” Spike finished. “I still think he should be eliminated. Human or not.”

The microwave beeping punctuated his calm statement, and Spike got to his feet, grabbed the two mugs, and gave one to Buffy. She didn’t pay attention to it though, her eyes piercing him as if trying to see through him.

“Ask me again why I don’t like the idea of your chip coming out,” she said softly. “Without the chip, you would have killed him the moment Willow brought him in. It was written all over your face.”

Spike could feel the demon stirring in him, still angry, still thirsty. He knew his eyes were probably flashing gold. In the aftershock of being shot and healed, she had clung to him like the apocalypse was only a minute away. Now that the moment had passed, the heated discussion they had had in the morning was back into her mind it seemed. He tried to control his voice not to sound too angry.

“You were thinking the same thing. Don’t even try to deny it.”

“The idea came to me, yes,” she admitted. “But I would never act on it. I don’t kill people. I have a soul.”

The last words, a mere whisper, rang in Spike’s ears, stinging as a slap.

“The wanker has a soul too,” he growled. “He still tried to kill you.”

“We’re not talking about Warren here,” she said quietly.

And just like that, they were back to square one. She had a soul, he didn’t. Unable to go through this with her again, Spike drew a pack of cigarettes out of the back pocket of his jeans. He was about to light one when Buffy’s reproachful gaze stopped him.

“I need it,” he hissed.

“Not here,” she protested.

He cast a glance to the window, frowning at the bit of blue sky he could see. Why had the clouds cleared so fast?

“I’ll go check on the wanker,” he growled, “and see if I can give him cancer from second hand smoking.”

She seemed about to object, but finally didn’t say anything. She had let him smoke down there before, and it wasn’t like he would be able to do any harm to the idiot while they lost their time discussing his fate.

He sat on the steps, at last lighting the damn fag, studying the wannabe Big Bad in the middle of the room. A nice trick, Willow had there. To the unwarned eye, Warren seemed free of his movements. But he wasn’t moving at all, merely scowling angrily. As he looked at Spike, a small smile appeared on his face.

“Hey Spike. Care to give me a hand? There’s a lot of cash in it for you.”

Spike didn’t reply, taking a long drag on his cigarette, his eyes never leaving Warren. Deliberately, he shifted to game face for a brief instant, satisfied when the stupid kid’s smile faded. Things were about to become interesting, he thought suddenly.

“The only reason I’m not killing you,” he said conversationally, “is that the Slayer wants to finish you herself. You got her really pissed off, you know. Right now she’s trying to decide how she’s gonna do it. I told her to go for the easy way and drain you. It’s a shame to let blood get wasted, even the blood of a wanker like you. Still the girl likes weapons. She’s wondering what a stake can do to a human heart. And of course, she’s always been a big fan of swords. You should see her collection. ‘Can’t wait to see what she will choose. Any preference?”

By now, Warren was as pale as death itself. Spike watched him shake, smelled the waves of fear coming from him, and couldn’t help grinning.

“I’ll go see if she decided yet,” he said as he flicked the remains of the cigarette by Warren’s feet. “It’s not right from her to keep you waiting, after all.”

Buffy stared at the basement door long after Spike had closed it behind him. He was angry, and she could understand why. She wished she could make herself trust him more, really believe that, even with the chip gone, he wouldn’t kill. But it was hard, especially after seeing the hatred on his face when he had looked at Warren. And yet… he had a point

“As much as I hate to admit it,” Buffy told her two friends, “Spike is right. We can’t just let Warren go. If the word goes out that I’m a vamp, demons will be lining at the door to take me out.”

Both Witches nodded, and for a couple of minutes none of them spoke. They couldn’t kill Warren. But they couldn’t let him go. Finally, Tara broke the silence, and it was painfully obvious that she was deliberately not looking at Willow.

“We can do a spell,” she said quietly. “Make him forget what he saw. Make him forget that he even shot you, since that would raise questions.”

Buffy dared a glance at Willow, finding that the redhead was blushing brightly.

“Tara…” she began in a trembling voice.

A finger coming to rest on her lips stopped her. Buffy busied herself in her mug of blood, wondering whether she ought to leave them for a minute.

“It’s ok, you don’t have to say anything,” Tara whispered. “You’ve proven that you can stay away from magic. It doesn’t mean that you can’t use it when someone is in danger.”

Willow nodded, swallowing heavily, looking immensely grateful. A bit uncomfortable, Buffy cleared her throat discreetly.

“A forgetting spell sounds good. I guess you need ingredients or stuff?”

The tension in the room was broken. Before long, the Witches hurried out to the Magic Box, with the promise to be back quickly. For a couple of minutes, Buffy remained alone, playing with the mug in her hands. Obviously, Tara had forgiven Willow, and trusted her enough to do magic with her again. The reason was simple to guess. She loved her. Buffy had forgiven all the harm Spike had done to her, and he had forgiven her in return. She trusted him with her life, as well as her friends’ and sister’s. Could she trust him with other people’s lives? She remembered all too well unleashing Angelus on Sunnydale, and how she had put an end to that episode. She was scared senseless the same thing would happen if Spike’s soul was out of the equation.

As she was reflecting on this, Spike came back in the kitchen, an odd little grin on his lips, and she wondered for an instant whether Warren was alright down there. The grin however disappeared as soon as he looked at her.

“Luv… Why are you crying?”

She brought a hand to her face, finding it damp with tears she hadn’t even realized she had shed. She shook her head, trying to speak, but only a sob came out. He walked to her, pulling her up into his arms, cradling her against him. The familiar motion of his hand stroking her hair soothed her, as well as the nonsense words he whispered in her ear.

“I couldn’t bear it,” she managed to say after a few minutes. “If you started killing again, I would have to come after you and I couldn’t bear it.”

Pulling away from her just enough to see her face, he wiped the tears from her cheeks.

“Why are you so sure I will go back to killing when the chip is out?”

Unhappily, she noticed that he had said when, not if. His decision was made, and she doubted she could change it whatever she said.

“I saw the look you gave Warren,” she said, repeating what she had said earlier.

A hint of gold went through his eyes, but the anger was quickly gone, replaced instead by worry.

“Buffy, he hurt you! You can’t blame me for thinking about hurting him back. But that doesn’t mean I would. You know why?”

She shook her head, though she had a little idea.

“If I killed him,” he said softly, “if I killed anyone, it would hurt you. And I can’t hurt you. So you see, I can’t kill. I don’t need a soul, I have you.”

His eyes were looking straight at hers, as if pleading her to search in them and see that he was telling the truth. For a few minutes, she let herself drown into the ocean blue depths. When she came back up, she knew.

“I trust you.”