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“Should be over here!”
At least the room is a corridor away from the furore of fighting that they’ve just run through. Ash glances through the door and back. Gunfire echoes through the door of 314 before it falls shut, and orange fire blazes for a moment in the small window set into the steel.
“Is this place okay to be magic central?” Buffy’s asking, behind her.
Giles says it should do. The place is bleak, silver walls and two empty gurneys which the others are pushing aside to make enough space for the ritual.
“How long before it kicks in?”
“Five minutes, give or take.”
Buffy nods sharply. She has a job to do.
As she heads through the hidden door in the corner of the room, off into some uncharted corner of the military base, Ash joins the others in barricading it closed once she’s out of sight. It goes against her instincts, but she reminds herself that this time, they have to split up to work together.
Usually Buffy’s the one closest to the carnage, though.
Another rattling boom sounds from across the hallway. So far, no demons have made it far enough to get through the first door, but Ash paces over to keep watch in case.
“This enough space?” She tosses over her shoulder at the guys as they set out the spell.
“The space itself is more than adequate,” Giles says distractedly, “so long as nothing that’s out there manages to get in.”
Ash cocks her head. That’s the kicker, all right.
“You guys should focus on the spell. Why don’t I keep watch out here? If they get through the main door, hopefully I can stop them before they get in here.”
Xander looks sharply up from the spell preparations.
“You wanna get closer to that bloodbath?”
“Course not, but if something interrupts the spell while you guys are defenceless, we’ll never stop it.”
“We barely survived two minutes in there!”
“Door should make a bottleneck. I’ll be fine.”
Xander, unconvinced, looks around at the others. Willow is busy lighting the last candle and shrugs. Giles, collecting the cards, sighs wearily.
“Much as I urge you to be careful, I do see the value in having an additional line of defence.”
“And you guys have to get on with this. Come on, one more barricade. It makes sense.”
And so she’s collecting one of the guns Giles and Xander had swiped from the soldier boys and stationing herself in front of the room that’s now their magic base. The scrapes and clangs of the second gurney being pushed into place as a barricade ring through the door.
She blows out a breath. Not alone. The guys have it handled. Just cover their backs.
~
The battle is glorious carnage. Of course, he’s only stalling while the gang work their mojo to fix everything, but why not make the most of it while it lasts?
Spike whirls and dives through the melee. Blasts of fire, demons roaring and people shouting echo through the hangar. He hasn’t been in the midst of such chaos since the Boxer rebellion. He’s on a different side now, he supposes, but it would be hard to tell. Everyone is out for each other, it seems. He sees one soldier gunned down by a stray bullet from one of his own, panicked and firing at will from the stairwell until his round runs out, at which point a Grappler demon tackles him, the both of them plummeting into the fire below.
Two more demons pounce, and he’s away again, darting between them, striking just right until one swipes, misses, tears out the other’s throat. They fall into a tangle at his feet. Jumping back, he escapes the falling bodies, but collides with yet another assailant.
Whirling around, he’s face to face with a khaki. The military bloke may be human, but it’s no solace when he charges as quick as the demons had.
Blast, can’t kill these blokes. Human.
Spike deflects the blows thrown his way, searching for an out without offing this guy. His opponent isn’t so forgiving; he dives for something on the ground, comes up with a stake gun, fully loaded. Bollocks.
Spike dances back, but he can’t shake the guy off. He manages to duck his attacks, refusing to give him a static target. Muscle memory and adrenaline kick in, and when the guy leaves an opening, Spike goes for the hit.
The pain blinds him.
“Spike!”
The yell barely filters through the ringing in his skull. Clutching his head, he falls back, as if the soldier had hit him, and not the other way around.
These days, he’s quick to blink away the surge of pain, even if it took him by surprise. He got too cocky, and now he’s on his arse in the middle of a warzone, an enemy he can’t fight looming in front of him–
A shape flies in front of him, leaping from a pile of wreckage. It takes the soldier with it. The stake-gun clatters away, directly into a new explosion, where the fire engulfs it.
And, ramming the butt of a not-insignificant piece of weaponry into the guy’s head, is Ash. She turns to him, ruffled and breathless in front of the blooming flames, and he can breathe again.
“Spike, down!” She cries.
Following unquestioningly, he throws himself to his front as she aims the gun. The rounds burst towards him, over his head, and then a Thraxis demon is slumping, dead, next to him. He scurries quickly out of the path of its blood as it leaks out, already sizzling its way through the stainless steel floor.
Ash is at his side, the two of them carelessly colliding as they scramble to face the danger surrounding them on all angles.
“This way!” She says, pulling him back.
No sooner have they fallen back against a large door than a pack of vampires in full face descend on them. One leaps down from a khaki four-by-four, but Ash is there to meet it. Swinging her gun, metal connects with his face and he slams into a pile of crates which burst with the impact.
Spike is straight into a fight of his own, tackling two at once. He sends the first tumbling, and another already fills its place. A smattering of gunfire sends them all ducking.
A splintered piece of wood skids to a stop at his feet. A glance at Ash shows her standing from a pile of broken boxes. Behind her, a vamp is bursting into dust and as Spike watches, she plants her foot into the chest of another, a grunt of effort tearing from her throat.
He snatches up the weapon she’s gifted him and makes ruthless work of his three vamps.
Sure enough, hers is also gone when he turns back.
She backs away again, pressing herself against the door below the large numbers 314.
“Some fight, huh?” He pants, stationing himself next to her.
“Some fight,” she agrees.
He adjusts his grip on his stake; she clutches the gun in front of her chest, staring into the fray. Her eyes don’t stop darting around, always flitting to the newest sound.
“Aren’t you meant to be solving this business with those scoobs of yours?”
“They’re back there,” she nods behind them. “Can only hope I’m buying them enough time.”
“You’re doin’ ‘em proud,” he beams, bouncing on his heels as he looks around.
Not a second later, Ash springs to attention.
“Look out!”
A huge, furry demon is charging, and they’re right back in it.
~
The Slayer and her gang did it. Again.
It does make him feel a little better that they always thwarted him, now that they've taken down the sodding American military.
They’re ushering out the survivors. A shell-shocked sort of calm hangs over the groups they’re leading out of the various exits. Even if he helped them out in the end, Spike’s not exactly eager to be on display to the types who kept him in those cells. The types who were still coming for his blood not minutes ago.
He’s chosen a secluded corner, sheltered below the metal stairs, to sit back and wait it out. It’s where Ash finds him.
At first, he startles when the footsteps stop just paces away. But it isn’t a soldier, or the Slayer back with more orders. Ash tosses her gun down at her side. The edges of her mouth soften, too tired for a real smile, and he’s immediately relaxing again.
She picks through the dust towards him, the makeshift seat he’s found on a stack of sinister-looking cases, dark, military and deliberately obscure. Sinking down at his side, she mirrors him in sagging against the wall.
“It’s over,” she breathes.
“Best spot of violence I’ve seen in months,” he drawls. “Reckon we can persuade them into another round?”
She exhales with a laugh, nudging him playfully.
There’s no weight, no sharpness. The cavernous space is hollow with the echoes of violence, and their words feel light, surreal in its wake.
Ash tips her head back to rest on the wall.
“Tell them to make a gun that’s not so heavy, first. My arms are gonna be aching all week.”
“Dunno what you mean, pet, you were a natural. Look good with that thing.”
She gives a little shudder next to him; he feels it up his arm.
“Didn’t like the feel of it.”
“Can always stick to stakes.”
She only hums her agreement. For a moment, he sits in the silence with her, sticking out his feet and listening to the faint scatter of footsteps leaving.
“Pals all alright?”
She hums again. “Think they’re gonna be a while. Lots… to sort out.”
“Yeah. I saw Buffy with that soldier boy of hers, herding the troops. Someone’s gonna have to answer for this whole operation. Mind, I’d like to not be here when they do.”
He shrugs, and a dull weight falls onto his shoulder as it lowers.
It doesn’t alarm him. It’s soft, and warm, and settles with a comforting weight. Blinking, Spike twists his head round.
Ash’s eyes are closed, her quiet breaths slow and even. A spray of blood is spattered across one side of her forehead, but she manages to look peaceful beneath it.
Spike stares. Lips parted in quiet shock, he simply looks down at her, and keeps looking. A year back, he would have ripped her a new one. Told her how crazy she was to let her guard down. Falling asleep next to a world-feared vampire? On his shoulder, no less. Didn’t she have any respect for him – or herself, at that?
Now, it stalls him. She had sought him out. To come out of a mess of a battle like that, noise and adrenaline and enemies galore, and find him.
It’s a good thing he’s dead already. He’s finding it hard to breathe. For all they squabble and tease, what she’s saying right now – without words – hits him, loud and clear.
Safe.
Bloody Valkyrie in there, she was. Human, and still diving into a room of demons and souped-up soldiers for the good of her friends. He can see her hair flying, ringed with fire, the fear turning to determination in her eyes.
Since he met her, she’s never pretended the fight doesn’t scare her. But she faces it anyway, time after time. She’s one hell of a fighter, a survivor, his Ash. His. In some way or other, she is, he realises, letting that new truth settle into place.
They’re something to each other. The one they sit with after the fire burns out and the guns blaze into nothing, for a start.
And here she is showing it to him, entirely by accident.
It’s a simple, almost casual display. She’s tired: she sleeps.
But he’s not been the casual option, the simple choice, perhaps ever. The one who’s easy to be with, who feels safe. The one someone drops their guard with.
Her eyelashes shift, a breath leaving her as she melts further against him.
He lets her, turning to face front. He gazes over the smoking remains, accepting the trust she’s silently placing in him. She makes it easy, too.