Disclaimer: Some dialogue is borrowed from “Becoming pt. 2”
Thread Two
Angelus snarled, frustrated, at the pigheadedness of the Watcher, unable to wrestle his prize from him. “You know what, old man? I’m going to kill you either way…don’t you want your death to mean something?” Angelus’ sneering laughter reverberated around the chamber, as Spike watched on with feigned amusement.
Angelus had executed a litany of torture: a piece of metal seared to perfection over an open flame painted pretty patterns along the watcher’s ribs, fingernails sharpened to points pried flesh slowly from the inside of Giles’ thigh, softly whispered words told and re-told all the delicious things Angelus had done, and would do to the pert little body of the Slayer.
Spike noted that Angelus seemed to have an endless supply of methods for causing pain stored up inside his somewhat splintered mind. The blonde didn’t doubt that the century plus of being caged up behind the soul was the cause of his grandsire’s sudden bout of creativity. Although, Angelus never did break out the chainsaw Spike remembered him having spoken so fondly of earlier.
After several hours of slowly filleting the man, Angelus’ patience was at an end. A crowbar clattered to the floor by the broken remnants of the watcher’s toes as his hunger and annoyance began to get the better of him. With one last spiteful glance, Angelus abandoned his only source of information for the time being, leaving Giles’ alone with the immobile Spike. A patronizing pat on the back and a snide “Watch him,” followed by his grandsire’s laughter at the pun forestalling Giles becoming victory refreshment anytime soon.
It would have been obvious to anyone that the man was nearly beaten. Drying blood began caking along his flesh. An absurd rendition of Sissy Spacek’s Carrie, only this blood was very much his own. He might have laughed at the comparison if his heart thundering against his ribs wasn’t enough to make him want to weep. He thought it really was a pity he never spent more time studying telekinesis; it could have come in real handy at the moment. As it was, Giles watched helplessly as Spike rolled his wheelchair along side of him, the vampire catching his gaze and considering him for a few moments. His expression smug, with a silent promise of torments yet to come.
Spike leaned forward, pressing death-chilled lips against the lobe of Giles’ right ear, ignoring the man’s moan of protest, and spoke. His voice strangely soft and disarming; “You might not realize this right now, but I’m about to do you a favor.”
Giles, oddly amused, made slow, painful eye contact with Spike once more. The creaks his body made as he twisted his neck around betrayed the air of stoicism he tried to where as he spoke. “I sincerely doubt that.”
Spike chuckled deep, the sound resonating about the chamber. “I like you. You got spunk, you know that?”
Giles merely stared back, blood trailing in tiny rivulets from his lips to his chest.
“Simple really. I’d wager that you really do know how Angelus can awaken Acathala. Bloody ponce is just too thickheaded to understand that torture isn’t going to get him the answers he wants.”
Spike raised a scarred eyebrow, gauging the Watcher’s reaction, but was unsurprised when he received none. Slowly, he continued, “Thing of it is, eventually, he’ll look into other ways. Other methods of…”, Spike paused his diatribe, beating back his own malicious amusement, “coaxing the information out of you.”
“Never.” Blood spattered onto Spike’s face as Giles spit the word at him. Spike calmly wiped it away, licking it off of the back of his hand tauntingly; Giles merely returned to his mask of quiet suffering.
“Oh, believe me old boy, he’ll figure it out. And when he does - you, me, that pretty little slayer of yours, all of it, will be nothing but a memory.”
Giles searched Spikes eyes for a moment, and bit bask a slight gasp, finding only truth there, “Why do you care?”
“We like to talk big. Vampires do. 'I'm going to destroy the world.'” His voice took on a mocking tone as he imitated what Giles had to assume was Angelus. “That's just tough guy talk. Strutting around with your friends over a pint of blood. The truth is, I like this world. You've got... dog racing, Manchester United. And you've got people. Billions of people walking around like Happy Meals with legs. It's all right here.” Spike paused for a moment, his head cocked to one side, the look on his face almost nostalgic, before continuing: “But then someone comes along with a vision. With a real... passion for destruction. Angelus could pull it off. Goodbye, Piccadilly. Farewell, Leicester bloody Square. You know what I'm saying?”
Giles swallowed back a bit a blood, he hated to admit it, but Spike was right. Angelus could pull this off. “I’m listening.”
Spike’s lips turned upwards in a smug smile once more, “That’s good. So here’s where things get sticky, the key to unleashing hell on Earth,” he tapped Giles non-too lightly on the head, “It’s all up here, inn’ it? So, time now for you to do your watcher-ly duty, and save the bleedin’ world.”
Giles’ eyes narrowed, as he looked at Spike and breathed out harshly, each word causing obvious pain, “and just how do I that?”
Spike cocked his head to the side, his expression simple, the answer seemingly so obvious to him.
“You die.”
With a growl, Spike latched on to Giles’ throat.