Bar Fight

“I tell you, mate,” Spike drawled, leaning in toward Clem, as if confiding a state secret. “Women are the real evil. You shouldn’t get too attached to your bird. She’ll hurt you, she bloody well will.”

Clem sighed, looking at his friend with sympathy. He had probably drunk way too much already, and he didn’t look like he was going to stop anytime soon, seeing how he was downing the bad bourbon as if it were water. The demon had known, as soon as he had seen Spike walk in the bar, that something was wrong. Shoulders slumped, head down when he usually stood straight and proud, and that growl when he had thrown a few bills on the counter and asked for a bottle… Yep. Trouble, if Clem had ever seen it. It had been quite a while since the last time – years, actually, because as far as he knew all was fine between the vamp and his unlikely wife. But as soon as he had attracted his attention, as soon as Spike had sat down at his table, he had known what was wrong. Buffy. What else?

At first, the vamp simply had refused to say anything, and so Clem had made the conversation, and told him about what was new since the last time they had seen each other. Ever since he had started being so close to the Slayer, and maybe even before that, Spike had been on the look out for all sorts of rumors and information, and Clem didn’t mind telling about what he heard. Arrival of new vampires clans in town, departure of others, the latest rumors about whatever rare artifact was supposedly buried in Sunnydale, anything that might be of interest to the Slayer.

After emptying his first bottle, Spike had admitted that yes, it was trouble with Buffy that had brought him there. Clem had not pushed to know more, very aware that the vamp would spill, sooner or later, and that pushing wouldn’t make it any sooner. A few glasses later, and Spike was mumbling something about being either too much of a demon, or not enough, which didn’t make much sense to Clem. The explanation that followed, along with gestures and appropriate curses, wasn’t any more enlightening. The only clear thing was that Buffy was making Spike crazy, and he didn’t know whether to shag her senseless, as he so elegantly put it, or get back to what they had once been so good at, namely fight like there would be no tomorrow. Clem had no advice to offer there. He had often thought, although he wouldn’t dare say that to Spike, that getting that close to the Slayer was dangerous for any demon, and particularly for one with the kind of temper that Spike had. He was still surprised that neither of them had killed the other yet.

As time passed and morning was approaching, the bar slowly emptied, until only a few vamps, in addition to Clem and Spike, were left in the bar.

“Come on, Spike,” Clem said jovially. “The missus is going to get worried if you don’t get back to her before sunrise. I’ll help you get home, alright?”

Forgoing glasses, Spike picked up the nearly empty bottle, and finished it in one long gulp.

“Yeah,” he said when he was done, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his coat. “Guess you’re right. ‘Don’t want the bloody Slayer to…”

As he was getting up, the vampire leaned on the table, which tilted over, sending both him and the empty bottles and glasses to the floor in a loud crash of broken glass and muffled curses. The bartender barely looked up, and shook his head, resigned.

“Spike!” Clem exclaimed, worried. “You’re OK?”

With a little help, the vampire was back to his feet, a faint line of blood on his cheek where he had been cut by broken glass.

“Spike?” a voice questioned as its owner approached. “Did you call this pathetic loser Spike?”

The four vamps that were the other only patrons were coming closer, and Clem was suddenly sure he should have left a while ago, already. They didn’t look friendly in the slightest. At least, Spike seemed a little more aware of his surroundings, some sense shocked back into him by his fall. He glared at the approaching vamp, his bloodshot eyes now infused with gold.

“You have something to say?” Spike asked with something that was very close to a growl.

“To you?” the vamp chuckled. “Not so much something to say as something to show you.”

And with that, the vampire swung his fist at Spike’s face. Usually – that was, sober – Clem was sure that Spike would have had no trouble avoiding the blow. As it was, it caught him in the jaw, sending him to fly backward, right into Clem who was behind him, and they both fell to the floor. Clem knew he should have stayed home to watch the Firefly marathon. He just knew it. A bit late, now, though.

The wanker’s fist crashed into his jaw, and blood flooded Spike’s mouth as he stumbled back into Clem. The blow dissipated all too quickly the very nice drunken feeling he had been nurturing so far, effectively making useless his excessive consumption of bad booze. In other words, he would get the hangover without having fully enjoyed the effects of getting drunk, which were to forget, for a blessed if too short time, about the mess Buffy was making with both their lives. Being robbed of his relief made him as mad as the unprovoked hit. He got back to his feet, shifting to game face thoughtlessly, and threw himself at his attacker, getting in a couple of hits before the vamp leaped back, laughing.

“Is that all you can do?” he said mockingly, and for the first time Spike noticed his accent, British, unmistakably. “And here I thought you were a Master Vampire! You’ve been coddling Slayers for too long! Gotten soft, and slow. Pathetic!”

“’Ll show you pathetic,” Spike growled as he once more charged the black haired man.

One to one. Even drunk, Spike could have staked that wanker in a minute. But in his anger, he hadn’t paid attention to a small detail. The guy had friends, three of them, and they didn’t just look at the fight. They jumped in.

Four to one. Spike had had worse odds, more than once. And in such a small place, with the tables and chairs crowding the area, they couldn’t really take advantage of their number superiority as they got in each other’s way rather than get good shots at Spike.

Four to two. Clem had finally pulled himself from his stupor, and was now joining in the party, brandishing the broken leg of a chair more like a club than like a stake, which would have been quite more helpful. The demon could fight, but he needed a crash course to remind him on effective ways to kill vampires, Spike noted wryly.

Three to two. Seeing Clem unproductive use of piece of wood had reminded Spike that he himself had a stake in his duster’s pocket, and that he might as well use it rather than his fists. The vamp – not the leader of the group, unfortunately – never saw what struck him. His dusting brought a sudden halt to the fight, as his three companion jumped back in surprise, one of them growling:

“Shit! Sire won’t be happy!”

Another one added: “Let’s dust him, and bring his ashes to…”

“No,” the one Spike had dubbed as the leader snapped. “We’ll get into even more trouble if we kill him now.”

Having assured himself that Clem was alright, Spike turned back to his opponents, ready to keep on the fight, but was met by three retreating vamps. It was more than annoying. First, they pulled him out of his drunken daze, and now they stopped playing?

“Come on! Don’t tell me you’re running away just because it’s only three of you, now!”

“We’ll meet again, don’t worry,” the leader said with a wicked grin. “Sooner than you think, and it will be painful for you, and even more for your cursed Childe!”

The last word stunned Spike, and finished to sober him completely. For a moment even after they had left, he just stared at the place where the vamps had been. They knew. He didn’t know how, but they knew about Buffy. They knew she was his Childe. He had never had any Childe before her, so the wanker couldn’t have been talking of someone else. But how could he know? In six years, they had managed to keep in a secret, managed to kill all demon witnesses before they could talk when, by accident, a couple of times, she had shifted to game face where she could be seen.

“Spike, you’re still with me here?”

Spike was startled by Clem’s hand gripping his shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied absently. “I have to get home.”

“It’s not any of my business,” Clem started, hesitant, “but when he said your Childe…”

Spike turned dead eyes to Clem as his friend dispelled the frail hope that he might have misunderstood the vamp’s words.

“You turned her?” Clem whispered, his surprise all too evident.

Looking around them, Spike was suddenly glad that the bar was empty. Except for the bartender, who knew better than to listen. Or should know better. Just in case, he motioned for Clem to follow him out. Once in the back alley, he pulled out his cigarettes, taking a long drag before he finally answered Clem’s question.

“Yes, I turned her.”

Clem’s surprise only increased. “Wow… that’s… but you two still patrol and everything, how…”

“She has her soul,” he said in a sigh. “Her shiny and beautiful Slayer soul.”

“Wow…” Clem repeated, clearly stunned. “How come that guy knows and you never even told me? I thought we were friends!”

There was now a bit of disappointment in the demon’s voice, as well as on his features, and Spike smiled apologetically.

“Nothing against you,” he explained. “We were just trying to keep it a secret. I guess the cat is out of the bag now, though. Unless we manage to dust these guys before they can spread the word. You know them?”

Clem shook his head. “First time I see them. I think they’re new in town, maybe part of that new clan I was telling you about. But if they’re new, how can they know about your little secret?”

Spike could only frown at that, having no answer to give his friend. All he had was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Everything seemed to be going to hell at once.

As dawn slowly approached, Buffy’s discomfort only grew. Spike still wasn’t home, and she was getting more than a little worried about him. Where had he gone, in such a fury? What was keeping him away from her, maybe outside where the sun would soon be an urgent problem?

In her mind, she had practiced her apologies, had tried to form clear sentences that would tell him all he needed to hear, all she needed to say, so that he could understand what was going on in her head, in her heart. But as she became restless, all the words slowly were lost to her, until all was left was a fear, deep inside her, for her Mate’s life. Since he had been kidnapped, he had always made a point of always letting her know where he was whenever it was required from them to be apart for a little while. But now, she didn’t know where he was, and anything could have happened to…

The sixth sense that always warned her when he was close was suddenly triggered, and she bolted to the door, opening it to see her Sire running down the street as the sky was slowly lightening on the horizon. She could only bite the inside of her cheeks, urging him on mentally as her gaze went from him to the sky and back. He was finally inside, with maybe a couple of minutes to spare, and she literally assaulted his mouth as soon as she had closed the door, tasting alcohol on his lips, pouring into the kiss all of her fears, cupping his face in her hands… only to have him jerk back with a hiss.

She was trying to swallow her tears to ask him what was going on, when she noticed the discoloration on his jaw, on his left eye, the trace of blood on his cheek…

“I’m alright,” he said softly, probably noticing the panic in her widening eyes. “Nothing to worry about, luv, really.”

Careful, now, she traced her fingers to his bruises, before running her eyes over his body in search of more wounds.

“What happened?” she asked, choking on the words. “I was so worried…”

He shrugged out of his jacket and pulled her into the protective circle of his arms.

“I’m sorry, luv, ‘didn’t want to scare you…” he whispered against her hair.

“I’m sorry too,” she murmured, her eyes filling up with tears. “I didn’t mean it, not any of it, and I’m sorry, and…”

“Shh… I know, luv. Don’t think about it.”

And with these simple words – he knew – things were already better. And there would be quite enough time later to ask him what had happened, where he had been, to tell him about her decision concerning the Slayers, to talk with him about their relationship and everything else. Right now, he was here, right against her, and that was all that mattered.