Turning the Tables

Part 1

Setting: Just after 'Passions'

Disclaimer: I don't own any little bit of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Bummer for me.

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            Buffy hummed softly along to the radio as she put away her laundry.  Sunnydale's all purpose station, WSUN, was having their weekly Flashback Party.  This week was 'Back to the Eighties', and she recognized the opening chords of 'Tainted Love'.  She continued her humming, and as she listened, her thoughts drifted to the only topic on her mind lately. Angel.  She missed him so terribly much, it was unbelievable.  It felt like she was drowning, struggling to breathe.  How ironic it was that Angel, who did not breathe, was her breath.  The past weeks had been absolute hell, and just when she thought it couldn't get any worse, Angelus made a new play.  Ms. Calendar.  Buffy remembered that just yesterday she had been angry and bitter with the computer teacher.  Now she was gone, and the Slayer was left with powerful guilt.  Added to the enormous guilt that was already laying on her from the loss of Angel's soul; it was crushing.

            "I can't sleep at night…" she sang thickly, eyes welling up against her will.  Don't do this…you've cried enough.  Taking deep breaths, she folded a cheery blouse and tried to steady herself.  Just as soon as she thought she had herself under control, the flood gates broke loose and she began to sob silently.  Her shoulders heaved and her tears flowed, but she didn't make a sound.  Like always.  Crying, dying inside, and putting on a smile.  How much longer could she last like this?  Hiding the harshest of her pain and grief, what she needed help with most?  She started to take another breath, but a cool hand closed around her wind pipe and another body pressed heavily against hers.

            "There now, pet. Don't cry.  I'm going to make all the pain go away." Buffy whimpered, then cursed herself.  A cardinal rule of Slaying: Never let them know you're afraid.  Vampires feed on fear as much as blood.

            "Hush.  I could crush your neck before anyone heard you.  Besides, you scream, I kill her."  Spike chuckled softly and tightened his grip slightly.  He was so close she could feel his breath on her face, cool against her skin.  Buffy bit her lip.  She knew he was right.  She would die before her voice did, barely giving anyone time to hear her scream, much less save her.  Besides, she had no doubt he would kill her mother without a second thought.  It was entirely possible he already had killed her, but she didn't want to add to the odds.

            Two pricks, and searing pain on her throat.  Her lip bled, and she dryly thought how humorous it was.  Both she and her mortal enemy were tasting the exact same thing.  She closed her eyes to shut off any more tears, she wouldn't give him that pleasure.  And, silently, she stopped breathing.

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THREE HOURS BEFORE

            Spike sat glumly in his wheelchair, hating the world.  Well, maybe not the world.  But Sunnydale.  Not all of Sunnydale…pretty much just Angelus.  Hating Angelus with a more bitter passion than ever before.  Angelus who was running his life.  Angelus who made cracks about his weakened state, his sacrifice.  Angelus who, at the moment, was in the bedroom with Drusilla…from which came lots of thumping sounds and high-pitched giggles.

            "Stupid blighter…" Spike muttered, clenching his fists.  This was all her fault! The blood Slayer!  He remembered, it seemed so long ago, going after those idiotic vampire worshippers.  The Slayer had been there then, and he had been so afraid he would lose his princess.  His beautiful, precious Drusilla.  That the Slayer would take her away from him.  And she had.  Not then, no…she waited until he was down to strike.  Little slut, just had to fling herself into her namby-pamby loverboy's bed and send off his soul.  The nerve of that bitch!  I'm gonna kill her…Spike thought angrily.  His fury twisted and burned till he was hit with an idea.  I'm gonna kill her now!  He would kill the Slayer…that would prove to Dru that he was just as tough as Angelus was, tougher even!  She would coming running back to him, sorry she had ever left his side.  They could get the hell out of Sunnydale, leave Angelus here to his little vendetta and live the high life for the rest of eternity.  Maybe even find a nice spot to settle down in, stay put for a while.  Inspired by the vision of himself and Drusilla cuddled up in their own mansion, far away from Angelus and any Slayers, he gripped the arms of the wheelchair and pushed himself up.  He could stand, just barely, and had to grab onto a statue as he tumbled forward.  But it was enough.  If he could surprise her, he wouldn't need to fight or even walk for long.  Just get to her house, and kill her.  Kill her mother, kill anyone there.  And sit back, and wait for Drusilla to throw herself back into his arms.

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ONE HOUR BEFORE (before the first section, not this one)

When Joyce Summers heard the doorbell ring, she braced herself.  It was likely it would be that bastard Angel, back to hound her poor daughter.  She usually tried to think positively, or at least neutrally, about everyone.  But this was just too much. It was sick, just what she should have seen coming.  All those parenting books, it was a scenario she should have spotted a mile away.  A mysterious older man whose sweet words and pretty face seduced her innocent little girl.  She put on her meanest mom-scowl and opened the door.  It wasn't Angel.  Instead, it was a pale man with platinum blonde hair and stunningly blue eyes.  Maybe it wasn't Him…but this man certainly didn't seem like any better news, clad entirely in black.  Definitely not the kind of man she wanted on her doorstep.

            "I'm looking for Buffy," he said.  He was leaning heavily against the door frame.

            "I'll bet you are," she said, eyes narrowing.  The man looked somewhat confused.

            "Right then, I suppose this must be a bad time…but I really need to see her."

            "For what?" Joyce snapped.  He leaned back slightly.

            "Didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition.  Then again," he seemed to consider his words, "No one really expects the Spanish Inquisition-"

            "Let me guess.  You're her 'tutor'.  Need to spend time alone in her bedroom with the door closed."

            "No.  Actually I just need my book.  She needed it for English Literature class, and the librarian suggested she get it from me.  Maybe you know him…Rupert Giles?"  Spike smirked inwardly as the magic name took effect.  The Slayer's mother did a full 180.  She smiled brightly.

            "Oh, you know Mr. Giles?"

            "Family friend." Spike lied quickly with a friendly smile in return.

            "Oh, well, come in, and we can see what we can do about getting your book back."  Spike's smiled widened by about a foot as he stepped across the threshold into the Slayer's house.

            Joyce led the way into the kitchen and opened a cabinet.

            "Would you like some cocoa?"

            "Love it."  He plopped down on one of the stools by the counter, happy to get his weight off his weak legs.

            "I don't think Buffy has ever mentioned you…?"

            "William.  No, we really don't know each other very well.  Just through good old Rupert."  Joyce set a steaming mug before him.

            "Not to impose…but do you have any of those little marshmallows?"

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PRESENT TIME

            Spike was using Buffy to support himself, but he could feel the power returning to his body with every mouthful of her blood.  Slayer's blood…worked like a charm.  So delicious, much tastier than run-of-the-mill human blood.  Other vampires really didn't know what they were missing.  Of course, it took something special, something…powerful, to get a taste of Slayer blood.  And he had the right stuff.  Angelus could never kill the Slayer.  Did anyone wonder why he always just toyed with her?  Cause he didn't have the stones to kill her! That's why!

            The Slayer was getting limper and limper, and he was forced to hold her body up.  He marveled at the sudden return of his strength.  He would have liked to laugh out loud, but his mouth was otherwise occupied.  She was almost dead, almost gone.  Number 3 for the Big Bad.  Then something hit him.  He didn't want to kill herOf course I want to kill her! He shouted silently.  This was the Slayer! His entire existence was centered around his killing girls like her!  But they hadn't been like her before, a sly little voice whispered in his ear, none of them were so pretty.  So strong.  None of them had her fire, her passion.  That doesn't matter, she dies now!  But she wasn't dying.  He couldn't bring himself to drink that last drop of her blood.

            "This is bollocks!" He said aloud, raising his head from her neck, blood still dripping from his mouth.  What was wrong with this picture?

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