Disclaimer: Don't own them, but wish I did. What can I say, 'cept this is just a lark, and for fun and amusement only. I do own Michael, a character loosely based off of… I'm not sure anymore. I've used him in short stories I've written before.
Rating: I'm only gonna explain this once. It's rated R for Violence, Language, Adult Situations. Send the kids to bed, or they may end up like me....
A/N: I missed the better part of the last two seasons, so I'm working off of what I know. Tara's dead, Anya's gone (I'm not sure how to work that into my story... yet...) and Spike and Buffy are still working through there 'little' problems. Willow did almost end the world, but Spike returned shortly after leaving. That's his story to tell, and he will... eventually.
A/N+1: Gotta have Faith, that's my motto. I've re-vamped this story, just touch-ups here and there, really, and again. Enjoy, read, and review… please?
Title: A Foo Fighters song, 'About a Girl'. Just borrowing the line. Don't own it.
*****
The light rain was cold against his skin, but the mild discomfort was far from his mind. Small things like that are easily ignored when you're fighting for your life, especially against four vampires. Ignoring the clinging fabric of his drenched shirt, the weight of his water logged jeans, the small squishing noises of his soaked boots, all added to the discomfort that was tied in a small knot in the back of his mind.
Michael grunted as a glancing blow caught his jaw, stunning him. He would have died then, or half a dozen other times that night, if the vampires fought together. Instead their haste and independent actions allowed him the time to stumble farther into the alley and shake his head, regaining his focus.
Physically, he was impressive. At six foot five and two hundred ten pounds, he was taller than most, yet he moved with a fluid grace uncommon to men his size. His dark hair hung, wet and limp, to his shoulders. The two-day beard gave him a haggard appearance; his dark hazel eyes seemed tired as he ducked and blocked the inhumanly fast attacks.
One vampire over-extended his punch, giving Michael the chance he needed to turn the fight in his favor. Grabbing the vampire's wrist and pulling it out wide, he lashed out with his left foot, sending the vampire into a pile of broken pallets. Luck favored him here, as a jagged beam pierced the vampire's heart, destroying it mid-scream.
Using his off-balance stance, he sprawled on the ground, avoiding the conflux of claws that would have shredded him. Rolling quickly, he caused a vampire to crash to the ground. They were a tangle of limbs, until Michael managed to get his stake out of his sleeve and into the vampire's heart. Two down…
Without thought he blocked the other attacks and calmly rose to his feet. With the practiced moves of a master, he flowed through blocks and counters. His right heel caught one vampire on the knee, snapping it loudly. Following with a powerful elbow, he cracked the other vampire's ribs, then shattered it's arm almost casually. His left foot caught the first vampire's other leg, breaking it mid-thigh. Broken bones wouldn't kill them, but they were still broken bones, painful and disabling.
Michael paced just out of the vampires collective reach, his breathing and heart rate returning to normal. The two vampires struggled to regain some semblance of dignity as they watched him helplessly, for even vampiric regeneration required some time.
"What are they after?" he asked calmly, the stake held easily in his right hand.
"We don't know what your talkin-" the first was cut off as the stake found his heart in an instant.
"I don't want to die," the last whined pitifully.
"Too late for that," Michael said calmly. "I know who you work for. I just want to know what you're after."
"Alright," he continued pitifully. "It's this girl, Faith, she's," one final time the stake sunk into undead flesh in that dark ally. Michael stood alone, again in silence with only the dead until his own voice propelled him down the ally.
"Fucking Slayers."
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