A/N So these are going to be a number of oneshots centered around Buffy and Spike on the theme of Curiosity. I've tried to make them so that they slot within the canon and can be viewed as missing scenes, but have not quite succeeded with them all. That being said, they do not follow on from one another at all so please read them all separately.

This one is set post 2x22 'Becoming (part 2)'. Spike is curious about what happened with Acathla and goes back to see. Enjoy.


Underestimated

That bloody Slayer was inside his head.

Spike stared harder at the road, trying to ignore the compulsion that tugged at his insides, the compulsion to go back and see what happened. He set his jaw resolutely and exhaled sharply through his nose.

He decided that he did not care and settle Drusilla more comfortably against him. What would he do with his pet anyway? She might wake up. She would be mad. She might run away. The creature called Curiosity gnawing away at his self control momentarily ceased its feast to point out that there were chains in the back of the car, if he were interested. He ignored it...and saw in the distance the sign that meant he was about to leave Sunnydale...leave without knowing...

What he did know was that he wasn't being pursued by the mouth of hell, that much was obvious by the lack of screaming wind and dragging sensation. That must mean she had won right?

"But how?" he barked out loud, surprising himself and jolting Dru. Angel had been about to skewer her with a sword. How could she have survived? Yet Acathla was dormant – so Angel's blood must have sealed him in...

"Bloody hell," he muttered and rolled his eyes. Wrenching on the wheel he did a full U-turn on the still empty roads, screeching past the 'Welcome to Sunnydale' sign.


She was crunched in a ball when he arrived back at the mansion, facing the statue with her knees drawn close to her chest, her back to him. He couldn't see a sword. He couldn't see Angel. He hovered, a black shadow in a leather coat, watching her, wondering if his curiosity was satisfied enough to merely see that she lived – against all odds. He was about to melt away again when she spoke.

"I thought you said you weren't coming back." Her voice was deadpan, matter-of-fact.

"Haven't left the country yet baby," he replied, equally coolly.

"Wanted to know what happened, huh?" she tilted her head to look at him now, her face streaked with tears in the dirt and dust, "that's not like you."

"You don't know me." It was a statement, his eyes were sharp and her face became even more grim than before.

"I guess not."

Her eyes went back to the statue and Spike took a couple of steps closer to stand behind her, just out of staking distance – their truce, after all, was completed.

"How come our mate here isn't sucking us all into hell then?" he asked, gaze staring down the statue. He sensed her look up at him with that wry quirk of her eyebrows, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Nice to hear you had such faith in me."

"Nothing personal," he shrugged, "when I left you were about to be brutally stabbed through the heart, rather ironically given your profession."

He felt the sarcastic glare turn searing and resisted the urge to take a step back.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you didn't stick around to help," she snapped. He didn't respond so she turned back to the statue with an angry huff. He waited, knowing she wouldn't be silent for long, she wasn't the type.

"You know..." there it was, "you vamps keep underestimating me. I'd have thought you'd have learned by now..."

Spike scrolled his eyes down to look at the back of her head. He found himself admiring the glow of her hair, even in the darkness, savouring the scent of her perfume. He felt the desire to draw closer, to touch her. It was an unusual reaction given the circumstances.

"I never learn," he inter-toned solemnly and she looked back at him. The edges of his lips curled up in a dangerous smile with a quirk of his head, "that's part of the fun."

They stared at each other for a long moment, neither speaking, and he realised that she had never answered his question.

"Where is out mutual enemy then?"

Her eyes snapped away from his so fast he barely had time to register the flash of pain. He'd found the source of her tears then. It amused him that the almighty Slayer did have a weakness after all.

"Probably in Hell," her voice wavered as she pointed at Acathla, the guilt and grief bleeding through, "soul and all."

The smugness in his chest died instantly.

"His soul?"

She nodded. As she did he felt every muscle in his body tense for flight and alarm bells sounded in his head. He had faced many Slayers in his time and killed them most satisfyingly, but of them all this one was the most dangerous. She was right, he did underestimate her. If he didn't he would be well away from here, not daring to stand in the same room. She had defeated Angelus. She had destroyed the man she loved, soul and all for the sake of the world. Dangerous didn't fully cover it.

He couldn't help but feel it was unfair that she looked so much like a helpless teenage girl, just a pretty airhead, and yet was so deadly. Was it any wonder they underestimated her?

"Ouch," was all he said in the end and she didn't bother to reply. "So what's next?"

"Why do you care?" she muttered suspiciously and he had to concede that it was a good question.

"Call it curiosity," he murmured back.

He didn't think she would reply but to his surprise she just shrugged.

"I've got nothing to lose by telling you." Her voice was deadpan. "Mom kicked me out. The impotent troll expelled me. I've got no plan, no where to go..."

"Fire-axe kicked you out?" The surprise exploded from him in a bark of almost laughter. The Slayer turned accusing eyes onto him, wet with tears and he tried to wipe the smirk off his face, not quite managing.

"It must suck to be you at the moment."

He didn't say what he could have – that he knew mothers. Mothers sometimes said things they didn't mean and no mother that defended her daughter with a fire axe would in her right mind kick her daughter out. He didn't say any of this of course. As far as he was concerned a Slayer in any sort of pain was a good thing.

"Oh...and I'm wanted for murder. No biggie." She looked back at the grave of her ex-boyfriend and missed the sudden gleam that lit up Spike's eyes.

"Well you can't stay here then" he crouched down behind her, on her level, almost close enough to whisper in her ear. He could smell her. A single breath was intoxicating. She twisted slightly to glance at him, highlighting the curve of her neck. He gave her his best concerned face and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"What are you suggesting?" Her voice was harsh, thick with tears and anger. "That I should leave?"

He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head.

"I'm suggesting that there are other options than being somewhere you are wanted for murder." He let his eyes pierce her own, burn into her. "After all," he murmured slowly, "what have you got to lose?"

She stared at him a long moment before turning away again. That was enough he decided, he didn't want to push too hard. A Slayer-less Sunnydale would be ideal should he ever want to return.

The movement of her head caused her hair to slip to the side. His eyes tracked the curve of her neck and imagined the taste of it. He couldn't remember the last Slayer being so attractive. He'd always wanted to bite them of course, but for very different reasons. His face began to contort, fangs lengthening...

"Don't even think about it buddy."

He blinked and the moment was gone. She wasn't even looking at him, how had she done that?

"I think it's time that you left."

He rose to his feet in time with her. She spun around, thankfully stake-less, toe-to-toe with him, head tilting up to look him in the eye. He felt tension zing between them and swallowed hard. She seemed to be unaware of it.

"Good idea," he agreed wholeheartedly and took a step back. She held her ground, watching as he retreated out the building. Just before leaving entirely he paused to look back.

She stood differently to the way she had earlier that night. Her eyes were older, grief weighed heavier on her shoulders, but she had never looked more magnificent.