"Back in the Basement"
PG
Spoiler for rumored up-coming plot.
Spike lay on the pallet Willow had made up for him on the hard, cold floor of the basement, and listened to the clatter and chatter of the household overhead. It was mid-afternoon and he should've been in deep sleep mode, but the overflowing humanity in the Summers' home made for restless napping. He could sense the life flowing through all the corpuscles and veins like a veritable smorgasboard of flavors he couldn't sample. It was frustrating and tension-inducing. Besides which, all the shrill, girlish voices were as annoying as fingernails on a chalkboard. No. There would be no more sleep this afternoon. He may as well get up and see if he could be of any use in training slayerettes.
He sat up, groaning at the creak of bone and ache of muscles, which had yet to completely heal from his ordeal at the hands of the First. Wrapping his arms around his knees, he rested his forehead and contemplated the weird new life he had fallen into. Trainer of slayers! He would never in his darkest nightmares have imagined such a twist. From killer to coach, Spike chuckled at the irony and dragged himself to his feet. His stomach rumbled, ready for blood, and he hoped someone had bothered to pick some up today, since he'd finished the last bag yesterday evening. Probably not. His needs weren't top on the grocery list.
He looked around the dingy basement and wondered if it would be better to move back into Xander's place now that the construction worker had resumed living in his apartment. At least there he'd have a bed. He wondered when he'd become such a wanker that he couldn't even set up his own housekeeping in a crypt somewhere. But he knew the real reason he was kept like a household pet. Buffy was still watching him and with good reason. He himself didn't know if the First had the power to creep back in his head and make him do things, he certainly couldn't expect any of the others to completely trust him.
Well, better to sleep on Buffy's basement floor and be close to her anyway, though the scent and sight of her was driving him to distraction. He pulled on his shoes and a well-used T-shirt, considered that it was time to steal a few new clothes, then headed off upstairs to face the estrogen horde.
A chorus of "Hey Spike" and "How ya doin?" broke over him as he entered the living room. He nodded glumly at the bright-faced teens, then caught sight of Willow, worried frown creasing her brow, bent over her laptop with rapt attention. He slipped into the seat next to her and gave her shoulder a nudge. Never thought he'd see the day when goofy Wicca girl seemed like the elder statesman of the group. The others might not see it, but there was a new gravity and weight about her that came with the acceptance of her power and her sin. He understood that mantle of guilt and responsibility very well now and wished he dared talk to her in more than a surface manner.
"What's up?" he asked, quietly, when she glanced at him.
She shook her head and gazed at the computer screen again. "I'm not sure. Maybe nothing...but, maybe something big. I'm not ready to share 'til I've researched some more."
He nodded and fell silent, watching the lot of girls looking at fashion magazines, plaiting hair, and cleaning weapons, as they gabbled non-stop.
The front door slammed and Dawn entered, shrugging her backpack off and letting it drop on the hall floor. Spike caught a frown passing over her face before she quickly replaced it with a friendly smile, as the slayer wannabes greeted her. Must be tough for the kid, having her home invaded by all these strangers. He was proud of the way she carried on, schoolgirl by day, hostess to the band of Potentials every evening, researching sandwiched in between. He hoped she knew her mum would've been proud of her, too.
Dawn glanced over toward Willow and Spike and her smile was extinguished. 'Plenty of hard feelings there, and with good reason,' the vampire thought, but that didn't make the little twist in his gut at her reaction to him any less painful. Earning trust again was a long, uphill battle. Most days he felt like Sisyphus, pushing a damn rock up that hill only to have it roll back over him and mash him flat into the ground.
Ignoring the girl's expression, he smiled and nodded at her. Willow was too engrossed in her research to even look up. Spike thought the young witch used that computer as a shield to keep her distance from a world she could no longer face. Prophecies and obscure histories were certainly easier to understand than human emotions.
The front door opened again and, for Spike, all the energy in the room coalesced at one point. The light of his life was back in his sight, and his heart rose into his throat. Buffy entered the house arms laden, tripped over the threshold, dropped the case she carried in one hand spilling papers across the floor, scraped her knuckles against the door frame trying to catch them, and succeeded only in losing the grocery bag she had balanced in her other arm. Applause burst out from the Potentials, as apples and canned goods rolled across the floor. Then, amidst good- natured laughter, the girls scurried to help retrieve the lost items.
Spike remained seated enjoying the show. Buffy had enough help, and besides, he didn't want to devolve into a complete ponce, scrambling around on the floor with the lot of them. Even in misery one had to maintain some attitude.
Eventually the Slayer looked up to check on him and Willow, the two psychic invalids, as she did every day, gauging their mental state as if they were fragile porcelain and might shatter at any given moment. It was quite annoying and infinitely touching to see her concern. Made Spike feel like a weakling, which he supposed was accurate, prone as he was to breaking down into a sobbing mess since the whole soul fiasco began. Well, no more. With that Evil no longer invading his brain, it was time for him to be strong again, a support on which Buffy could lean 'stead of the other way round.
When his eyes met hers he gave a big, false smile. 'See? Everything all right here. No worries. Strong like bull.' He rose from the couch, slightly jostling Willow to make her attend to the fact that the Summers' girls had arrived, and headed into the kitchen to see if anyone had remembered to get him a fresh supply of blood. He brushed past Andrew, who had just descended the stairs, and the git jumped back in terror. Too bad his nice, fresh blood was off limits. Surely just a nip now and then wouldn't hurt.
Stomach rumbling, the vampire opened the fridge and peered in.
"Here, Spike. Make yourself useful," Buffy said, coming up behind him and plunking the broken grocery bag on the counter. She tossed him a carton of juice and a gallon of milk, which he placed in the almost empty refrigerator.
"You buy all these, Slayer?" he asked. "Any of those little bints chip in on the groceries?"
Buffy remained silent but the next item she tossed him was a bag of blood, reminding him the Potentials weren't the only ones eating her out of house and home. Point taken - even though a little blood surely didn't cost near as much as the pounds and pounds of food the slayers-in-training put away. As he put the last of the vegetables in the crisper, Spike wondered if there wasn't something he could do about the financial crunch, which only added to Buffy's burden as a Slayer. He'd have to think on that.
"How was your day?" he asked, fishing for a conversational opening.
"Crazy. High school kids are walking neurosises...es.es." She paused and reconsidered. "They're way screwed up! And back in the day, I always thought it was just me."
Spike remembered vividly some of his school day humiliations, memories that were much closer to the surface since 'the change'. It made him simultaneously smile and cringe to think of the complete wanker he'd been. A dreamy, poetic scholar didn't go over well among the hearty, rugby- playing, callous schoolmates it had been his misfortune to endure. He gave a short, harsh laugh.
"Never changes," he answered. "It's always the hunter and the hunted."
Buffy looked at him curiously, then bent down to put the microwave popcorn away, giving him a lovely view of her rounded rear which he took full advantage of. She straightened, turned, and leaned against the counter, arms crossed.
"No. It's not just the strong and the weak, thing. Some of the kids who come in to see me, you would think are the most in-control, well-adjusted, popular kids in the school. But underneath it, they're not. They're all pretty much unhappy one way or the other."
"Doesn't end in high school though, does it?" she added, thoughtfully.
"No," Spike agreed.
"Adults just hide it better I guess," Buffy mused.
"It's all the soul mumbo-jumbo. I was perfectly happy when all I had to do was kill and feed." Spike tried for a teasing tone but ended up sounding bitter.
Buffy frowned at him, shook her head, grabbed a paper grocery sack and began to fold. She looked out the window at the backyard as she spoke again.
"Um, Spike. I'm.....I have something to do.....tonight. Would you take the girls out for training?"
"Whatever you need." He watched the nervous tension in her hands and wondered what this was all about. "You know I won't let anything happen to them."
"I know." Buffy agreed. There was a long silence, broken only by the shrill voices of the permanent slumber party in the other room. Buffy spoke in a rush. "Look. You might as well know. I have a date."
Pause. "Oh," he said neutrally.
"I.....He....The principal at the school. He's a really nice guy. Anyway, he asked and I thought, what the heck. Slayers need a break, too."
"That's good, then." Taking a mug from the cupboard, Spike sliced the bag of blood with his fangs and poured it in.
"It's just one date. Doesn't mean anything." Buffy sounded apologetic.
"You should go." He put the mug in the microwave and hit a button. "Have a nice time. Forget all this for awhile." He gestured vaguely at the other room.
"Yeah." She leaned against the counter again, staring at the closed kitchen door and listening to the shrieks of laughter from the other side. After a moment she tossed her head, breaking her reverie and pushed off the counter. "Well.....thanks."
He nodded.
"I'm gonna go get cleaned up." She left the room and he watched the door swing shut behind her. The microwave timer pinged, and he robotically removed his drink and held it between his hands, warming them. He stared down at the thick red liquid, mesmerized, then he poured it slowly down the drain and carefully rinsed the cup and sink so not a trace was left behind.
He walked back through the living room full of girls and creepy little Andrew to the back hall and the basement door, turned the knob and retreated down the stairs to his proper place in the world.
End
PG
Spoiler for rumored up-coming plot.
Spike lay on the pallet Willow had made up for him on the hard, cold floor of the basement, and listened to the clatter and chatter of the household overhead. It was mid-afternoon and he should've been in deep sleep mode, but the overflowing humanity in the Summers' home made for restless napping. He could sense the life flowing through all the corpuscles and veins like a veritable smorgasboard of flavors he couldn't sample. It was frustrating and tension-inducing. Besides which, all the shrill, girlish voices were as annoying as fingernails on a chalkboard. No. There would be no more sleep this afternoon. He may as well get up and see if he could be of any use in training slayerettes.
He sat up, groaning at the creak of bone and ache of muscles, which had yet to completely heal from his ordeal at the hands of the First. Wrapping his arms around his knees, he rested his forehead and contemplated the weird new life he had fallen into. Trainer of slayers! He would never in his darkest nightmares have imagined such a twist. From killer to coach, Spike chuckled at the irony and dragged himself to his feet. His stomach rumbled, ready for blood, and he hoped someone had bothered to pick some up today, since he'd finished the last bag yesterday evening. Probably not. His needs weren't top on the grocery list.
He looked around the dingy basement and wondered if it would be better to move back into Xander's place now that the construction worker had resumed living in his apartment. At least there he'd have a bed. He wondered when he'd become such a wanker that he couldn't even set up his own housekeeping in a crypt somewhere. But he knew the real reason he was kept like a household pet. Buffy was still watching him and with good reason. He himself didn't know if the First had the power to creep back in his head and make him do things, he certainly couldn't expect any of the others to completely trust him.
Well, better to sleep on Buffy's basement floor and be close to her anyway, though the scent and sight of her was driving him to distraction. He pulled on his shoes and a well-used T-shirt, considered that it was time to steal a few new clothes, then headed off upstairs to face the estrogen horde.
A chorus of "Hey Spike" and "How ya doin?" broke over him as he entered the living room. He nodded glumly at the bright-faced teens, then caught sight of Willow, worried frown creasing her brow, bent over her laptop with rapt attention. He slipped into the seat next to her and gave her shoulder a nudge. Never thought he'd see the day when goofy Wicca girl seemed like the elder statesman of the group. The others might not see it, but there was a new gravity and weight about her that came with the acceptance of her power and her sin. He understood that mantle of guilt and responsibility very well now and wished he dared talk to her in more than a surface manner.
"What's up?" he asked, quietly, when she glanced at him.
She shook her head and gazed at the computer screen again. "I'm not sure. Maybe nothing...but, maybe something big. I'm not ready to share 'til I've researched some more."
He nodded and fell silent, watching the lot of girls looking at fashion magazines, plaiting hair, and cleaning weapons, as they gabbled non-stop.
The front door slammed and Dawn entered, shrugging her backpack off and letting it drop on the hall floor. Spike caught a frown passing over her face before she quickly replaced it with a friendly smile, as the slayer wannabes greeted her. Must be tough for the kid, having her home invaded by all these strangers. He was proud of the way she carried on, schoolgirl by day, hostess to the band of Potentials every evening, researching sandwiched in between. He hoped she knew her mum would've been proud of her, too.
Dawn glanced over toward Willow and Spike and her smile was extinguished. 'Plenty of hard feelings there, and with good reason,' the vampire thought, but that didn't make the little twist in his gut at her reaction to him any less painful. Earning trust again was a long, uphill battle. Most days he felt like Sisyphus, pushing a damn rock up that hill only to have it roll back over him and mash him flat into the ground.
Ignoring the girl's expression, he smiled and nodded at her. Willow was too engrossed in her research to even look up. Spike thought the young witch used that computer as a shield to keep her distance from a world she could no longer face. Prophecies and obscure histories were certainly easier to understand than human emotions.
The front door opened again and, for Spike, all the energy in the room coalesced at one point. The light of his life was back in his sight, and his heart rose into his throat. Buffy entered the house arms laden, tripped over the threshold, dropped the case she carried in one hand spilling papers across the floor, scraped her knuckles against the door frame trying to catch them, and succeeded only in losing the grocery bag she had balanced in her other arm. Applause burst out from the Potentials, as apples and canned goods rolled across the floor. Then, amidst good- natured laughter, the girls scurried to help retrieve the lost items.
Spike remained seated enjoying the show. Buffy had enough help, and besides, he didn't want to devolve into a complete ponce, scrambling around on the floor with the lot of them. Even in misery one had to maintain some attitude.
Eventually the Slayer looked up to check on him and Willow, the two psychic invalids, as she did every day, gauging their mental state as if they were fragile porcelain and might shatter at any given moment. It was quite annoying and infinitely touching to see her concern. Made Spike feel like a weakling, which he supposed was accurate, prone as he was to breaking down into a sobbing mess since the whole soul fiasco began. Well, no more. With that Evil no longer invading his brain, it was time for him to be strong again, a support on which Buffy could lean 'stead of the other way round.
When his eyes met hers he gave a big, false smile. 'See? Everything all right here. No worries. Strong like bull.' He rose from the couch, slightly jostling Willow to make her attend to the fact that the Summers' girls had arrived, and headed into the kitchen to see if anyone had remembered to get him a fresh supply of blood. He brushed past Andrew, who had just descended the stairs, and the git jumped back in terror. Too bad his nice, fresh blood was off limits. Surely just a nip now and then wouldn't hurt.
Stomach rumbling, the vampire opened the fridge and peered in.
"Here, Spike. Make yourself useful," Buffy said, coming up behind him and plunking the broken grocery bag on the counter. She tossed him a carton of juice and a gallon of milk, which he placed in the almost empty refrigerator.
"You buy all these, Slayer?" he asked. "Any of those little bints chip in on the groceries?"
Buffy remained silent but the next item she tossed him was a bag of blood, reminding him the Potentials weren't the only ones eating her out of house and home. Point taken - even though a little blood surely didn't cost near as much as the pounds and pounds of food the slayers-in-training put away. As he put the last of the vegetables in the crisper, Spike wondered if there wasn't something he could do about the financial crunch, which only added to Buffy's burden as a Slayer. He'd have to think on that.
"How was your day?" he asked, fishing for a conversational opening.
"Crazy. High school kids are walking neurosises...es.es." She paused and reconsidered. "They're way screwed up! And back in the day, I always thought it was just me."
Spike remembered vividly some of his school day humiliations, memories that were much closer to the surface since 'the change'. It made him simultaneously smile and cringe to think of the complete wanker he'd been. A dreamy, poetic scholar didn't go over well among the hearty, rugby- playing, callous schoolmates it had been his misfortune to endure. He gave a short, harsh laugh.
"Never changes," he answered. "It's always the hunter and the hunted."
Buffy looked at him curiously, then bent down to put the microwave popcorn away, giving him a lovely view of her rounded rear which he took full advantage of. She straightened, turned, and leaned against the counter, arms crossed.
"No. It's not just the strong and the weak, thing. Some of the kids who come in to see me, you would think are the most in-control, well-adjusted, popular kids in the school. But underneath it, they're not. They're all pretty much unhappy one way or the other."
"Doesn't end in high school though, does it?" she added, thoughtfully.
"No," Spike agreed.
"Adults just hide it better I guess," Buffy mused.
"It's all the soul mumbo-jumbo. I was perfectly happy when all I had to do was kill and feed." Spike tried for a teasing tone but ended up sounding bitter.
Buffy frowned at him, shook her head, grabbed a paper grocery sack and began to fold. She looked out the window at the backyard as she spoke again.
"Um, Spike. I'm.....I have something to do.....tonight. Would you take the girls out for training?"
"Whatever you need." He watched the nervous tension in her hands and wondered what this was all about. "You know I won't let anything happen to them."
"I know." Buffy agreed. There was a long silence, broken only by the shrill voices of the permanent slumber party in the other room. Buffy spoke in a rush. "Look. You might as well know. I have a date."
Pause. "Oh," he said neutrally.
"I.....He....The principal at the school. He's a really nice guy. Anyway, he asked and I thought, what the heck. Slayers need a break, too."
"That's good, then." Taking a mug from the cupboard, Spike sliced the bag of blood with his fangs and poured it in.
"It's just one date. Doesn't mean anything." Buffy sounded apologetic.
"You should go." He put the mug in the microwave and hit a button. "Have a nice time. Forget all this for awhile." He gestured vaguely at the other room.
"Yeah." She leaned against the counter again, staring at the closed kitchen door and listening to the shrieks of laughter from the other side. After a moment she tossed her head, breaking her reverie and pushed off the counter. "Well.....thanks."
He nodded.
"I'm gonna go get cleaned up." She left the room and he watched the door swing shut behind her. The microwave timer pinged, and he robotically removed his drink and held it between his hands, warming them. He stared down at the thick red liquid, mesmerized, then he poured it slowly down the drain and carefully rinsed the cup and sink so not a trace was left behind.
He walked back through the living room full of girls and creepy little Andrew to the back hall and the basement door, turned the knob and retreated down the stairs to his proper place in the world.
End