Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or the franchise's characters, places, etc. I am not making a profit from this work other than the joy I take in writing it.
Previously: Weeks have past since the fallout of the Initiative and the take down of Adam. The summertime hibernation of the hellmouth has begun with demon activity at a low. With the Scoobies vacationing elsewhere and Riley home for the summer the responsibility of baby sitting the graveyards once more rests with Buffy.
FETUS
"Not that I'm harshing or anything!"
The instep of Buffy's tennis shoe connected solidly with generic vampire number 105's face from a quick but nicely placed roundhouse kick. The powerful strike jerked the vamp's head sharply to the right and had him stumbling off balance. The pair had been at it for nearly five minutes and after that last blow it was clear that the demon would be needing a timeout. Not in any rush to head back home, the slayer broke her ready stance, placed both hands on her hips, and continued with her ranting in the hot June night.
"I get it, you know? I really do," she continued. "I'm the Slayer and my place is at the Hellmouth. The Chosen One for the Chosen Mouth – err – Chosen Place! God, how is that any better? Anyway! Xander, Willow, and Riley and the rest? It's not their destiny to spend night in and night out playing glorified vacuum cleaner."
"What?" the vampire mouthed when the stars circling his head finally cleared way to reveal a still very much amped up vampire slayer. "Uh, I'm sorry?"
"Oh?" Buffy blinked when she saw that the vampire was trying to show her some empathy. "Oh," she repeated and smiled, realizing she had an attentive listener. "That's sweet of you to say. I'm Buffy by the way, what's your name?"
"Peter," the vamp pleasantly replied and dropped his own guard to chat with his would-be executioner. "But I wasn't exactly the skinniest guy growing up. So since third grade I was called Porker."
"Aw," Buffy said, sincerely, and then shook her head. "Kids can be so cruel."
"Yeah," Peter nodded helplessly. "No offense but I can see how you might get some shit for 'Buffy.'"
"Oh don't get me started," Buffy groaned and then gave him a curious look. "You're still pretty new at this aren't you?"
"And pretty confused," Peter answered honestly. "I know I want to cut off your head and gorge on your blood but you're awfully nice."
"Thanks I appreciate that... A question though. You said you were new does that mean you haven't eaten anyone yet?" Buffy said carefully.
"Well no," Peter replied and then gestured to the far side of the cemetery. "I only just dug my way out and I'm pretty sure I'm a vampire. I am a vampire, right?"
"Yes," Buffy confirmed. "But you haven't bitten or eaten anyone?"
"No but what-"
Buffy's stake was a blur as it plunged into Peter's chest before exploding him into a cloud of dust, a look of confusion still drawn over his face. Buffy lowered her eyes and took a moment to look over the remains of the nice-guy vampire she had been chatting with.
"Because I don't want to remember you as a killer," Buffy whispered quietly to Peter's remains.
"Good show, luv," another voice intruded, unfortunately an all too familiar voice, that unsurprisingly was accompanied by the sound of a zippo lighter being snapped shut.
And now my night is complete.
"How old is that thing?" Buffy said with a gesture to Spike's lighter.
"This thing?" Spike asked and waved the vintage silver lighter in his hand. "Picked it up in Nazi Germany during the forties."
"And do I want to hear the story behind it?" Buffy continued as she sheathed her stake in the back of her jean's waistband.
"Likely not," Spike smirked and began to prowl over to her with no small amount of swagger in his hips. His stalk resembled that of a panther sizing up a lonely and helpless gazelle. Luckily for her, she was far less a gazelle and more of a lioness. Bonus, according to last year's Discovery Channel marathon, a lion would kick a panther's ass.
Or was it a cheetah? Wait, cheetahs are tiny. Ugh – whatever. Point is even his walk is disgusting.
"You're disgusting," Buffy retorted and turned away to continue the night's patrol elsewhere. She increased her gait to try and put as much distance as possible between her and Spike but the vampire's longer legs easily closed the distance. Moments later and she found herself walking step by step next to her once and future nemesis.
"Most dead bodies are," he said and when she turned her head to the right she picked up on the very condescending glimmer in his blue eyes and ghostly smile. "Including your friend back there, 'Peter Porker.'"
"Even more evidence to the jury," she snapped as harshly as possible and turned away from him once more, hoping that he would get the hint already. If he did, Spike never showed it – he never did. "Least he never killed anyone."
"He would have," Spike said in a very matter of fact voice. "Would have done you in if you weren't all juiced up on Chosen blood."
"And on to blood," Buffy made an eew-face as the pair exited through the cemetery's rusted iron gates. "That took what, seven seconds? Seriously, Spike, is that all you think about?" When out of the corner of her eyes she caught Spike's knowing leer, she shuddered and felt the sudden urge to vomit. "I walked right into that."
"Oh right," Spike smiled seductively. "Like you never got hot and heavy after a good slay."
"Conversation over," Buffy said firmly and decided to play the "ignore the blood-sucker game" until Spike grew bored and left.
"And there it is," he laughed. "Almost isn't a challenge anymore. So easy to get your knickers in a twist and those pouty lips to clam up like a cold fish."
"That it? Keep bringing it," Buffy gibed, unable to control her tongue. "Keep it up and we'll find out how much dust you'll leave behind. Given the size of your over compensating ego, I'm thinking less than an ash tray?"
"Maybe," Spike conceded. "Only one way to find out though and we both know the real reason why you aren't reaching for that stake just yet."
"Impotency?" Buffy snorted.
"Hardly," Spike and came to a stop next to a tree with his back leaning into it. Buffy had no intention of stopping and listening to whatever insane troll logic was behind Spike's thoughts. "Oh yeah there it is," he drawled. "That hot little body looks so delicious, you huffing away like that."
Almost no intention.
"You're a pig, Spike," Buffy shot back and turned around to face him as another thought occurred to her. "And you know what else? Don't think I forgot how you tried to kill me and my friends last month. Playing us against each other? You're not as harmless as you claim."
"Hello?" Spike retorted wryly and took a deep drag off of his cigarette. "Evil. My name is next to it in the bloody dictionary. You white hats are the ones who tried to paint me as toothless."
"A mistake I won't be making again," Buffy promised darkly. "Next time, Spike and-"
"And what?" he demanded.
"You know what."
"Yeah I do," Spike sighed as his tone changed from snarky to something else altogether. "C'mon, Slayer. You and I both know we aren't going to kill each other until that chip they stuck up there gets stuck elsewhere."
"No I don't know, Spike," Buffy said as her tone became colder. Her arms tightened across her chest as she held her glare on him. "If you really believed that, you would've warned me off about Adam." Seeing Spike shift his feet nervously, Buffy pressed home her point and this time it was her who closed the distance with each step emphasizing another accusation. "You would've tried to take me out the time you came back all pathetic over losing that ho-bag girlfriend. If you really meant that, you wouldn't have tried to take me out wearing that gem. You would've wanted some kind of fair or twisted honorable fight between us."
"That right?" Spike asked, her words quickly stirring up the vampire's ire. Pushing himself off the tree, he threw his unfinished cigarette to the ground and stalked closer and closer, meeting her halfway until the two enemies were bare inches apart. The scent of her coconut body wash filled his senses while the smell of leather and tobacco nearly overwhelmed her. Neither would give an inch. "Maybe I'll barricade you in? Set your house on fire, yea? Blow you away with my shotgun? Give me a headache but I'd still bury you six feet under. List goes on, Slayer." He saw her flinch and knew he had got to her. It wasn't anything she hadn't already considered but hearing him actually voice that he had similar thoughts did bring up a new perspective to their private little cold war. Would he really go nuclear? Would he take it to the next level?
"What's stopping you then?" Buffy said and even though she managed to say it a very calm measure of voice, Spike knew in that moment if he didn't give her a valid reason, she would stake him. Stake him and never look back. She knew that threat was always present but she had done her best to ignore up until then. But now it was out in the open and unless he provided a real reason why he was unwilling to resort to that sort of method? She was done taking chances.
"It's one thing to hand you to Adam," Spike said after a very long and tense moment had come and gone. "Or trying to do you in with that pretty rock on my finger. But you see, luv? Each of those times you at least had a fightin' chance. Either way, the day you do snuff it? Just know that ole' Spike here had some sort of role involved."
"I will kill you," Buffy threatened and this time she broke that other unspoken rule they had. She crossed those last few inches to press her body right up against him, nearly nose to nose. Normally Spike would have made some lewd comment but in that moment he considered the subject at hand more important than anything else. It was as sacred a vow that Spike would ever make and to soil it was the last thing on his mind. It also gave him some reflection and in that moment he had a real sense of clarity.
"Maybe," he said quietly and looked away from her, his fingers flexing – wishing he still had that cigarette to occupy himself. "Even if you don't though. If I'm the one who walks away?"
"What?" Buffy growled heatedly. It was only then did Spike realize where his thoughts had been blindly leading him. That if he was the one to walk away alive, undead in his case, he doubted he would ever be the same. He had never met anyone like this slayer before and doubted he would again, no matter how long he lived. It was a sobering thought and as Buffy watched the normally adept wordsmith struggle to find the right words to voice his thoughts, Spike's inner-dictionary came up blank. Frustrated, he scowled and gently pushed her back so as not to activate the chip. The nearness of her was clearly getting to him but as to why, Buffy didn't have the faintest of ideas. "Spike!"
"Doesn't really matter now does it, Summers? You'll be a corpse and I'll be back to slaughterin' and shaggin', happily I might add."
"What are you avoiding?" Buffy demanded.
"A very stake-worthy topic," Spike deflected. "This is somethin' I'd like to not talk about, you know? Save it for that day you and I do throw down."
Biting the inside of her cheek, Buffy turned away to consider both what Spike was saying and what he was not saying. She knew he wasn't going to kill her or her friends by something so unfitting as a house fire or gun. Even if the explanation he gave was found wanting, their past battles were evident enough that he would much prefer going at her with "fists and fangs" as he would phrase it. Anything else that might be said about it was beside the point and she found herself agreeing with his decision to table such a discussion until later. If there would be a later. Spike had made it pretty clear that he was willing to help another of her would be killers, such as the recent situation with Adam. If such an occasion arose again she resolved to stake him on the spot. Until then, she was willing to tolerate his presence. As aggravating as Spike could be some nights, any kind of familiar company was better than walking alone.
Casting a glance at him over her shoulder, it appeared that whatever that moment shared between them was had left Spike equally perturbed. But thankfully, given this uncharacteristic silence, he seemed just as inclined to live in denial-world as she was about what had transpired. Resuming her walk to the next cemetery, Buffy was not surprised when for the second time that night, Spike fell into step beside her. It was an interesting facet of their antagonistic relationship. She wasn't sure what else to label what they had but then maybe it was better not to think too much on it. That thought would also go into her denial-vault.
Continuing on in silence, they cleared cemetery after cemetery. For Buffy it was because of destiny. For Spike it was to get his rocks off by fighting something he could kill. Unfortunately it was summer. With the longer days and shorter nights, demon activity was at its low point, leaving her "destiny" seeming pretty redundant and Spike restless with unspent energy.
"Mates are out of town then," Spike said after nearly thirty minutes of quiet. Buffy imagined that that thirty minutes of silence was likely a record between the two. "Heard you talkin' about it back there with Porker."
"Willow and Tara are spending their summer at a coven," Buffy told him, seeing no reason to hold out. "Anya is dragging Xander all over the country. Not that she hadn't seen everything already but because she hadn't seen it with him. Pretty romantic actually."
"Yeah," Spike replied, his voice more subdued than from earlier. "Bit like me and Dru would do."
"You say so," Buffy shrugged and kicked the edge of a tombstone.
"Take it then that Soldier Boy is frolicking elsewhere too then," Spike hypothesized. Buffy didn't say anything but then she didn't have to. "And the Watcher?"
"Garage sale actually," Buffy said and a small smile touched her lips at the thought.
"Heh," Spike chuckled. "You must be cravin' the action then." It took Spike a total of five steps before he realized that he was walking alone and when he turned back he saw Buffy glaring at him. Going over what he just said Spike realized what she might have misinterpreted. "What? It's the truth."
"I don't crave slaying," Buffy said sharply. "I have lots of things to keep me occupied."
"Really?" Spike challenged.
"I have to clean the house for one," Buffy started, holding her head high much to Spike's chagrin. She opened her mouth to continue but quickly found herself at a loss for words as her mind came up empty.
"Wow," Spike drawled. "Knowin' how you go spick-and-span that would take an age and a half."
"First! I can spick-and-span with the best," Buffy sputtered much to Spike's amusement. "I'm the spick-and-span... spanner! Understand?"
"You're a cocker spaniel," Spike supplied helpfully.
"Exactly! Second, I don't need to justify myself to anyone – least of all you," Buffy finished confidently and fully under the belief she managed to wipe that annoying smirk off his face. Except of course when she did tilt her head to the right, that happy belief balloon was popped. Spike's smug look and teasing glint in his pretty blue eyes zeroed Buffy's satisfaction and doubled her frustration. At that moment she really wished he would just morph into his demonic vampire face. It was so much easier to deal with him like that.
Give me a reason. Give me a reason to punch that nose. Give me a reason – since when did I start needing a reason?
"So, you don't crave slaying but love getting' down and dirty with your mop?"
"I – what? No. No! I don't – not? No down and dirties! God, you are so-!"
"Slayable?" Spike offered in a voice suave thick with seduction and his eyebrows doing their talented charmer dance. Buffy only rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation.
"It's a break. That's what it is. From school and even from slaying. Slaying time off. From full-time to part-time vampire slayer. Break from apocalypses and the traditional monster of the week."
"Really?" Spike asked, clearly trying to fight from doubling over with laughter at her situation. She wanted nothing more than to deck him and walk back home. However the last few weeks devoid of friends and boyfriend had left her craving some company. Some enjoyable way to pass the time. Anything at all and if Spike was all she could manage, then so be it. At least until he made her want to throw him off a bridge, which was rapidly approaching.
"Movies," Buffy added when her brain at last gained some momentum. "And books!"
"My oh my, Slayer," Spike teased. "What a rollicking social life you have. How do you ever balance it all out?"
"Shut up, Spike," Buffy snapped but when that evil glint in his eye still shone brightly she decided it was time to fight fire with fire. "At least I have family and friends. What do you have? Harmony? Oh but wait – she left you too."
"Bugger that. Have you heard her yammer? Take my hand over that bleedin' PA system," Spike scoffed. Given her own experiences with the former classmate Buffy found herself in agreement with his assessment. Focusing his mind away from the 'PA system with fangs' Spike squinted his eyes as another thought occurred to him. "You are right about one thing. Has been a slow few weeks since that blowout with Adam-And-Pals. I never did spend a summer on the hellmouth before. Thankfully still got my soaps though and whatever demons I can scrap with."
Buffy bit her tongue and suppressed the urge to order him to lay off the demons as she needed any action she could get. Unfortunately her denials about "craving slaying" were still questionable and the last thing she wanted was to hand Spike more ammo to use against her. Not because he would criticize her for it. Aside from Faith no one would understand that craving better. That doesn't mean she was okay with him using it as something to crow about when her friends returned.
Plus the idea of Spike and Faith together? Very wig-worthy.
"I know how to have fun, Spike," Buffy reiterated in a tone that signaled their back and forth over her fun-life was closed. Unfortunately Spike never cared about tones. Buffy clenched her fists and decided to do what Giles suggested: close her eyes and count to ten.
One...
"Books, movies, and the occasional slay?"
Two...
"Stay away from the elderly homes, pet. Don't want to overdo it!"
Three – four – five...
Spike couldn't hold it back any longer and howled with laughter.
TEN!
"That's so pathetic it's – OW! Bloody 'ell! Why the nose? Always the nose with you!"
"Stay away from me, Spike," Buffy warned, flexing her knuckles from the hard right cross she had landed squarely. "Otherwise you'll find out just how much 'fun' I can have."
"Ooh," Spike taunted despite the pain he felt. Pinching his nose to staunch the blood flow his voice did come off more than a little strained and very nasal, something that pleased her immensely. "Please, you wouldn't know fun if it was spelled out in front of you. Also, and this is off topic, can I borrow your washer for some laundry. That time of month for me."
"What time of whose month?" Buffy asked, her eyes going wide at that particularly worded phrase from his mouth.
"Clothing, pet," Spike said slowly, speaking as if she were a child. A very slow child. "Gettin' tired of breaking into the laundromat."
"Breaking in-? It's open 24 hours a day!"
"I know," Spike whined. "No challenge."
"Stay out of my house, Spike," Buffy growled. She saw his mouth begin to open and decided enough was enough. Slaying alone was better than this. She readied her right leg, her eyes focusing on the perfect target.
"You – BLOODY HELL!"
"What did you expect? You didn't want it in the nose," Buffy said snidely, watching Spike fall to the ground and curl up into a near fetal position. The vampire groaned in writhing pain as he gingerly felt his groin, making sure that both jewels were still safely intact.
"Not fair," he mumbled.
"Hmm," Buffy mused and knelt down next to him. "Know what else? Wasn't nice what you said to my friend Peter. But 'Porker' is hardly something to smile about. No I think 'Fetus' is much – much more original. And looking at you now? Very appropriate."
"Bitch," Spike muttered between coughs of pain. Buffy turned to walk the other way but despite his gasps Spike's chuckles followed after her – wheezing chuckles. "That the best you got, Slayer? No wonder you're alone."
She didn't turn. She didn't say anything back. She kept walking because even though he was the one on the ground Buffy knew that he would be the one smiling when he went to bed that night.
With one more cemetery to go Buffy quickened her pace, eager to get tonight's patrol over with and hopefully not see his mind-blowing face for at least another week.
Mind-blowing?
Buffy stopped mid-step and frowned at that particular turn of phrase.
"Even when he's nowhere in sight," she muttered and continued her way to the last cemetery.
Stupid... Smug... UNBELIEVABLY ANNOYING...
"Self-obsessed! 80's reject! Pompous know-it-all!"
For Rupert Giles the soundtrack to Rocky 4 wasn't something he would normally associate with pain but after today he wondered if he would ever be able to listen to the soundtrack or even watch the Rocky movies without wincing.
"Stupid vampire," Buffy spat as she jabbed at the two focus pads he held out for her. "Bloody this and bloody that."
"Uh? Buffy-"
"I can have fun," she ranted. "Lots of fun. I'm a funnosaurus rex!That stupid... Fetus!"
"Fetus?" Giles questioned, momentarily surprised at the latest nickname until her next punch landed. Buffy knew she was supposed to go at only half-strength, or tenth-strength, but Giles had the feeling his charge was lacking her normal focus this afternoon. Given the subject of her rant he was fairly certain as to why or rather who.
"He thinks he knows me so well," Buffy continued waspishly. "Knows all the bloody chinks in my bloody armor!"
"Spike? Wait Buffy-" Giles tried to say only instead to nearly cry from his slayer's continued onslaught.
"No!" Buffy snapped and wailed so hard on the next punch Giles' felt his hand nearly break, despite the protection of the padding. "His name is Fetus now!"
"What are you – OW! Good Lord, Buffy!" Giles shrieked and pulled the pads away from her. Shrugging them off his wrists he tenderly felt his swelling hands that would undoubtedly be bruised over come tomorrow.
"Huh? Oh my God," Buffy whispered. "Oh my God! Giles," Buffy said again as he face became horrified at the damage she had done to him. "I'm so sorry!"
"Bloody hell," her watcher grumbled but when he saw her wide eyes and trembling lips Giles immediately pushed the throbbing pain aside and held up his hand to reassure her.
"Giles?" Buffy whispered.
"I'm – I'm," Giles coughed between the excruciating waves of agony. Still he kept up a brave face to calm his surrogate daughter. "Not to fear, Buffy. I'm quite all right."
"No you're not," Buffy cried and moved forward to cup his hands in hers. The were only beginning to swell but already his hands nearly dwarfed her own in comparison. "Giles, I'm so sorry! I never meant to hurt you like this."
"Oh I know, Dear," he smiled behind gritted teeth. "And please worries aside they will be quite fine. Just let us remember next time a tenth-strength... or maybe twentieth?"
"I think the next time after I run into Spike I'll take it out on the bag first," Buffy said resolutely, still cradling his injured hands in hers.
"A sound decision," Giles agreed. Leaving the focus pads behind his slayer gently took him back inside her house and sat him down in the kitchen. Ten minutes later and Giles was resting his aching hands on two large packs of ice. Buffy, much to Giles' own aggravation, had gone back to not only droning on about her frustrations but pacing so hurriedly he felt he might go dizzy from her antics. There were very few people who could get under his slayer's skin like that vampire, and thankfully so. Truthfully, given Spike's bothersome nature, Giles found himself surprised he had lasted as long as he had.
"Okay! So maybe being alone for the entire summer sucks but come on? It isn't like I don't want them to go out and enjoy themselves! It's summer vacation and Riley hasn't seen his family in so long! Just everything is so boring and frustrating here without them and-and-and-and-"
"Monotonous?" Giles offered.
"Mono?" Buffy frowned. "The kissing disease?"
"No. Monotonous," he clarified. "Boring and staying the same."
"Oh," Buffy said and ran her hand through the back of her hair, neatly kept in a pony-tail. "Mononus."
"Monot – never mind. Well it certainly sounds as if he is becoming more of a hindrance than a benign fixture."
"I know what you're thinking," Buffy sighed and took the chair next to his. Looking at the tiled floor, downtrodden, she continued, "I can't stake him. It wouldn't be right."
"Well what did he say exactly?"
"Oh you know," Buffy rolled her eyes at the thought before speaking in her best cockney imitation. "Blah, blah ,blah. Bloody this and bloody that. Blah, blah Pet and luv and bloody this and bugger that. Blah!"
"Uh," Giles hesitated. "I was hoping for more substance?"
"He kept going on about me! Like he knows me so well! Saying that I'm bored. I don't have fun. That right now the only thing I have to look forward to is slaying."
"Well," Giles tried, picking his words carefully. "I don't see how such remarks would get to you. Well that is unless they hold some grains of truth?" When she only continued to stare at the floor with a forlorn look across her face Giles realized just how accurate Spike's estimations were. "Buffy-"
"Except he does knows me," Buffy shuddered before he could start reassuring her. "Why is it that the one guy who gets this part of me is the person I despise most?"
"Well? He is one of your most notorious foes. And I think it is fair to say no vampire knows more about slayers. To say he knows you though is quite another accusation."
"I wear this armor. I try so hard to keep people like him from seeing through me. But, Giles? He always does."
"Buffy-"
"And I'll never say this to anyone else but the other thing? About me looking forward to my patrols? Looking forward to killing? He was right about that. I try to hide it – bury it. Push my patrols off like some sort of chore. Killing vampires and demons as something I don't have a choice in. I'm in this empty space though, Giles. No one else to focus on but the kill and it's clearer than ever. And with the way this summer is going I think now more than ever I feel what it's like to be a slayer. Alone. No friends. No support. If an apocalypse happened right now I don't know what I would do."
"I do," Giles said and went to place a hand on her shoulder but when a flare of pain shot through his fingers he pulled back. As heartfelt the notion was he rethought it and returned to nursing his hand with the icepack. "You would handle it like you always do," he continued, undaunted. "You would face the evil and you would not falter. There was never a challenge you couldn't overcome. And yes while there would be some difficulties without your support network it would hardly be the first time you were alone and not only survived but flourished."
"Me," Buffy said wistfully. At Giles' confused look she continued. "When Angel – when Angelus had me cornered I was alone. His sword to my throat and asked me what I had left." Giles saw what Buffy was getting at. She never told him the full details of what had occurred after his rescue at the mansion, citing it too painful to talk about. "And I did what I had to," she finished and finally looked away from the floor and turned her eyes to his waiting eyes. "Thanks, Giles. For listening to my crazy rah-rah ranting."
"Of course, Dear," Giles said. "And while it isn't often I make the rounds, should you wish for some more friendly company I would be happy to provide a more welcoming companionship."
"Thanks," Buffy smiled happily and leaned over to give him a warm hug. "I needed to hear that and don't worry about Spike. I know how to handle him."
"Oh?" Giles asked, curious as to the story behind that.
"I kicked him in the balls."
"Oh," Giles frowned and closed his eyes at the thought. "Uh, how hard exactly?"
"Half-strength. He went fetal. Pretty sure he got home before sunrise."
"Yes well," Giles stuttered and wave of sympathy washed over him despite the animosity he felt towards the normally loathsome demon.
Tenth-strength for me with the focus pads and tomorrow my hands will be black and blue. Half-strength to Spike's unprotected nether region? Dear Lord, how is he still walking?
"Don't know don't care," Buffy shrugged and Giles realized he had said the last part out loud. "Angelus had it worst. He pissed me off and I let him have it all."
"Remind me to start wearing a cup," Giles joked. Taking a moment he compared the two and found he felt no sympathy whatsoever for Angel's alter ego. Spike however, despite the trouble he had caused them over the years the idea of a slayer-powered kick to that very sensitive area left the Englishman feeling a slight twinge of sympathy for his countryman. "And you're right," Giles determined, focusing on the welfare of his charge instead of two mass murderers. "You know how to handle him, more so than anyone, I would wager. As much as he seems to know you, I dare say you may know him even better."
At those words Giles watched Buffy suddenly grow pensive. After a minute of comfortable silence he was about to ask her whatever had crossed her mind but Buffy beat him to it.
"You're right," Buffy concluded. "I do know him. I can't kill him and clearly violence isn't having enough effects. Not as much as I would like."
"Buffy?"
"Giles," Buffy said slowly as a most wicked smile fell its way onto her. "You still selling that polaroid camera?"
"Finally," Spike grumbled when Buffy closed her front door and skipped down the steps with an eager grin on her face. A frown sprouted onto Spike's face when to his surprise he saw her pull out a walkman with and inserted a tape to listen along to.
Score one for you, Slayer.
He was far enough back and just on the periphery of her senses so that she wouldn't feel his presence. Despite his distance, he could still pick out the seemingly bubbly-Buffy as she fixed one of the two ear buds into her right ear. Leaving her left ear open so as to hear any demon's approach, she continued to skip out of her front yard and down the sidewalk towards the nearest cemetery. After all this time spent with her, Spike knew the exact route she would take that night and also knew that he would have roughly two hours to get in, do his business, and get out before she returned. As for the slayer's mum? Tonight Joyce was in LA ,so he would have the Summers household all to himself.
Still, she seemed awfully sunny about something. Maybe it was because she'd found something to keep her mind busy while slaying. She'd finally caved in to at least have some audible entertainment on the slower summer nights. Spike approved and made a note to ridicule the slayer about her selection of tunes next time he interrupted her patrol. The coast clear, Spike hefted his bag of laundry over his shoulder and quickly made his way into the house, wincing as he did so. It had been five days since his run in with her that had left him limping back to his crypt. As much as he complained about her punches to the nose, they were nothing in comparison to that below the belt shot she'd taken. They were mortal enemies. They were supposed to show each other at least a modicum of respect. He wasn't about to stroll up to her and give her a titty-twister!
Although seeing the expression on her face might be worth a gamble with my unlife.
Climbing up the steps to her porch, Spike made a second mental note to remind her of who he was and why she should show him the respect he deserves. He wouldn't be toothless forever. Feeling the doorknob, Spike wasn't surprised to find the door locked, not that it mattered. Months ago he had borrowed (without asking) her spare key and made himself a copy before stealthily returning it. Since then, he had been sneaking in every few weeks to do his laundry and any other necessities when the two were out. Until he finished renovating his crypt and finding himself a reliable water source, Spike was breaking into Buffy's house whenever chance allowed.
The lights were off but that hardly mattered to the vampire and he shifted into game-face to keep his night vision sharp. Wasting no time, Spike found his way to the basement door and descended the stairs. Finding the washing machine empty, he loaded his black on black shirts and jeans as well as his black and red button downs before adding in the detergent and closing the machine's lid. Dropping the empty clothing sack behind him, Spike left the basement and headed to the kitchen sink, a box of blonde hair dye in his hand.
Two hours or so. More than enough time to get in and out. He grinned devilishly at the expression Buffy would have on her face if only she knew that her arch-foe had been breaking into her home on a monthly basis to take care of his clothes and grooming. He had ever so subtly alluded to it the other night but that was more a parting shot to see what kind of reaction the idea would draw from her. With evil glee, Spike had not been disappointed. He knew she would never agree to such a proposal. Witnessing the look on her face and knowing he had been doing it despite that? It only made the evil that much more appetizing.
Washing his hair in the sink Spike then began to work the home brewed Sweet'N Low dye mixture into his hair but hissed when it stung his scalp. It wasn't that it hurt so much as it was unexpected. He always added the artificial sweetener to tone down skin irritation. He made a third mental note to add more sweetener to the mix next time.
Spike didn't have a mirror but after decades of practice, he was well versed in the process. So preoccupied with his work that he didn't feel the other presence creeping outside in the yard before climbing up into a certain tree and ducking into Buffy's open bedroom window. The dye set, Spike rinsed his hands and tucked his hair under a shower cap. Shifting his face to its normal human guise Spike lazily stretched out his muscular shoulders and arms as he made his way into the living room and turned on the TV. Clad in only a pair of black jeans Spike leisurely laid his legs and feet out onto the coffee table and switched the channel to some standup comedy act. Thinking himself completely alone, Spike became so absorbed in the program that he never noticed the dark shadow slip down the stairs and edge near the room's light switch.
It wasn't until a bright flash bulb exploded did he realize the error of his ways.
"WHAT THE HELL!"
At that moment Buffy flipped on the light switch and Spike was greeted to the sight of a happily grinning vampire slayer. He expected shouting. He expected enhanced interrogation threats with pointy wood. He expected multiple punches to the nose and a fever pitch out her door. Or worse! Another kick to the pisser.
Got to start wearin' a bloody cup!
However Buffy's expression of not only mirth but actual evil glimmering was more chilling than any attack she could launch against him. It set him very much on edge. He didn't like the look of this at all.
"Aw," Buffy whined and studied the polaroid picture that popped out of the camera. "Stupid dark. Didn't come out that well."
"Buffy?" Spike gawked, truly speechless.
"Oh look," she said and then snapped off another picture of the coveted shirtless Spike. A shirtless but also astonished and speechless Spike wearing only jeans and a shower cap. Retrieving the next picture she studied it and smiled happily. "Much better..."
"You – you – you!"
"What?" Buffy said ever so sweetly with her lips stretched into a wicked grin. "You really think I would forget that throw-away line about washing your clothes in my basement? You think I wouldn't figure out that you would sneak in on the one night both me and my mom were out?"
"You knew!" Spike shrieked. "All this time?"
"Of course I – wait, all this time?" Buffy frowned and then it was her turn to look surprised, albeit briefly. "You've done this before?"
"How'd you sneak in?" Spike demanded, choosing to ignore what now both knew to be a self-explaining question.
"Hello?" Buffy rolled her eyes. "Years of sneaking in and out to dust vamps with an unknowing mom in the house. Believe me when I say I know all the ins and outs of sneaking into my own house, Spike."
"You... you let me sneak in?" Spike said as the truth was finally beginning to hit home.
"Again with the duh," Buffy smirked. "I figured everything out days ago, bleach-boy."
"Days ago?"
"Yup," Buffy grinned. "Lots of time to make my own evil plans and prepare."
"Prepare?"
"Do you really think I would stop at taking pictures?"
"Mother fu-"
"Bleach," Buffy winked as her smirk grew even larger. "Bleach-boy."
"You wouldn't!"
Buffy's clicking the camera of another picture was all the answer he needed.
"I think I'll call this one: 'You can't handle the truth!'"
"No-No-No-No!" Spike cried before leaping from the couch and racing to the basement with the sound of Buffy's own evil laugh echoing after him. Later on he would come to realize that her laugh was as evil as any other villain he had met. Most likely from all the times of listening to her enemies' evil plans. Coming to a halt before the washer Spike closed his eyes and took a deep breath to gather his nerves. Bracing himself he opened the washer and waited until the machine cut off. His eyes peeking open to to see his worst fears realized.
"Yeah," Buffy drawled playfully behind him. "Switched out the detergent with bleach."
Lifting up his favorite button down red shirt Spike found that it now resembled a flamboyant pink monstrosity. Tightly clutching its lapels he turned around and Buffy bared witness a face paler than ever before, which only meant one thing. Another picture was taken to the sound of Buffy's maniacal heckles of evil. Throwing the ruined shirt to the basement floor Spike returned his attention to the washing machine and one by one he inspected every shirt and pair of pants, counting his losses. The damage was total with every one showing devastating collateral damage from the slayer's diabolical prank. His entire wardrobe. Every article of clothing that Spike examined prompted a click of her camera accompanied by a very mocking laugh.
"You..." Spike realized, his face a sheet of white. His body trembling in horror that Buffy had managed to pull something so grand over on him. "You?"
"You're not the only one who knows his enemies," Buffy chided. "Hmm... maybe this one can be called 'Big Bad 'Fraidy Cat?'"
"I'm gonna – I'm gonna!" Spike snarled and started to close in on her, fists clenched. Readying herself Buffy prepared to bolt. Even with the chip, in his state of mind she wouldn't put anything past the vampire, a master vampire at that. He did descend from the master's line after all. Still she did have one more card to play before the real fireworks began.
"Like I said, Spike," Buffy taunted. "I had days to prepare. Days to sneak into your crypt. Days to find that lovely box of hair dye you keep hidden away."
It did burn somethin' fierce, mate. But the Slayer? Miss Self-Righteous? She wouldn't!
"You wouldn't," Spike's face fell and turned a ghastly shade of white more so than the one mere seconds ago. More so than Buffy had ever seen ever on a vampire. She didn't think they could get that pale. It was a picture to remember.
"Oh, Spikey," Buffy smiled and gently patted the hollow of his cheek with her palm. "After all our time together? Believe me when I say that you have provided me with plenty of motive."
Horrified wasn't a strong enough word. Spike didn't know if there would ever be a strong enough word as he backpedaled several steps and ripped the shower cap off his head and tugged a small tuft of his hair into his palm. Squeezing a pinch of the dye into his hand Spike's eyes bulged at the hot pink color leftover.
Another flashbulb exploded. Actually five exploded as Buffy mercilessly captured the results of her handiwork. Fingering one of the pictures she threw it like she would a dicus to Spike's feet. Leaning down Spike picked it up and after the moments of shock wore off he went from trembling in horror to trembling in a murderous rage. The slayer had bent his last straw and he was going mental.
"Hot pink?" he snarled at the sight of every stray of hair dyed in what he considered to be chip-pain justified color. A color he would kill her over. "Hot pink?"
"I think it's an improvement," Buffy replied as she stared at one of the other pictures she had taken of his hair in that state. "Yup! So an improvement. Besides how long have you been bleaching? The industrial revolution? Only Billy Idol wasn't around back then..."
"You're dead, Slayer."
"Actually," Buffy giggled and began to make her way up the stairs and away from what was now a very traumatized but still pissed off vampire. "Technically you're the dead one."
"Break your bones," Spike began and dropped the picture to the ground. His eyes laser-locked onto the woman before him the vampire stalked forward as Buffy carefully backed further up and further up the staircase. "Break your bones... Tear out your intestines... Choke you with 'em... Choke you to an inch of your life... And THEN I'll break out the railroad spikes!"
"Have to catch me first... Willy," Buffy added, completely unaware as to the impact that name would have on the crazed vampire.
Spike's arms began to wave uncontrollably in all directions. His face a visage of snarling and grotesque expressions promising her bloody vengeance. Frothing at the lips he looked as if he were having a seizure as his fingers flexed and stretched. If Spike had claws, Buffy was sure they would be elongated and reaching out to tear her apart. However the fangs glaring from his mouth when Spike morphed into his demon were more than enough. She had never seen Spike more furious. Never more vicious. The transformation from terror to rage looked more like when Oz would transform into his bestial nature. Transforming into a werewolf. In this moment, Spike was more than murderous. He was insane. He clawed at his chest and Buffy knew that if he was wearing a shirt he'd be tearing it off. That thought seemed to occur to him also because when he looked back at his pile of trashed clothes, that uncontrollable rage vanished to be replaced by a look she hadn't seen in Spike's eyes in a long time. The look of a cold blooded killer committed to destroying everything about her.
"Run."
Buffy had come prepared with not only a camera but a pair of stakes, a bottle of holy water, and a cross around her neck. On top of all that, Spike was of course chipped and anything he tried would fry his brain. At the moment though none of that seemed to matter as Buffy began to run as hard and fast as her legs could pump out. Racing through the house, she made it out the front door with Spike hot on her heels. She slammed the front door shut, believing that would gain her at least a few extra precious moments as he dealt with the obstacle. The sound of glass breaking behind her told otherwise as Spike barreled through the living room picture window and landed on his feet without missing a step. She made a note to make him pay for cost of the window repairs.
"GET BACK HERE!"
Buffy's feet dashed across the pavement, trying to put as much distance between her and the homicidal demon as possible. It wasn't so much that she was scared to face him. Truthfully, she was fully confident that she could take him on in such a manic state. The insane rage would leave him wide open against a calmer and collected fighter. That didn't mean he wouldn't rip her own clothes off in the process or break her bones or something equally injuring. She had never before seen him so pissed and could only hope that running in circles around the whole of Sunnydale would eventually wear him down. But betting on hope alone wasn't that reassuring, given who she was facing. Buffy knew going in that he would be pissed but she never thought this would drive him over the edge, thus an exit strategy was something she had unfortunately overlooked.
Street after street the uncanny pair sprinted past. Buffy was holding her own but she couldn't outrun him forever. That was one of many things that sucked about being human. She needed to breathe. Vampires didn't. That didn't mean she wasn't resourceful or wasn't without options herself. She just needed to act before he got a hold on her. Changing direction she ran down a different street that led them into another residential area. Up ahead she saw the place she was looking for and burned her last remaining drops of adrenaline into that final bend.
Relieved to see that both cars were out and the house darkened Buffy reached the front door, broke the lock, and rushed inside to the safety Willow's parents' house. Collapsing just inside the threshold, Buffy was on hands and knees gasping for breath. It wasn't so much that she couldn't run that far. As far as she knew she could run a marathon at a respectable pace. However when it came to running at an all out sprint over five miles? Even slayers had their limits.
"GET OUT HERE!" Spike yelled angrily. Looking over her shoulder Buffy grinned pleasurably as Spike unsuccessfully charged into the wide open doorway repeatedly only to be repelled backwards each time due to the no-invite rule. "I'M GONNA KILL YOU!"
Buffy's only response was to take out the polaroid and snap another picture. She would scan the photos later and upload them to the internet. She had an inkling that Willow and Tara would enjoy it at least half as much she was right now. The sight of Spike throwing himself again and again at the invisible barrier only made her laugh harder. Still his growls and snarls were wearing on her. Leaning back on the floor of the foyer, her elbows planted firmly, she looked at him as innocently as Buffy knew how, which only enraged him further. When she took out her iPod and placed both buds in her ears, drowning his shouts out entirely, a moment passed when she asked herself if vampires could actually spontaneously combust. Oddly enough, the idea of Spike dusting didn't thrill her as much as before. As the vampire finally began to wear himself out, Buffy realized something.
She was crying. Crying and bawling with laughter. She hadn't been this happy all summer.
A few days after the her prank on Spike, Buffy sat alone in her bedroom painting her nails. She had been at it for some time now and after brushing away the last dab she looked down at her work. The results left her smiling. She let her thoughts roam free and they wandered and wandered until eventually focusing on Spike and "that night" as she had come to refer to it. She imagined that Spike most likely had a different name for it. Her mother also for that matter. Her mom hadn't been pleased when she came home to find the living room window shattered and its frame in pieces. Buffy hadn't even known where to begin but had been granted a short reprieve when her mother had told her that it was late and they would discuss the matter in the morning.
Between the threat of motherly retribution and the hilarity of pink-haired Spike repeatedly throwing himself against an invisible barrier, Buffy hadn't got much sleep. The following morning she had slept in late before she managed to rouse herself and after climbing out of bed she'd looked to her window and noticed a green duffel bag hanging on the tree limb outside. Confused at first, she'd opened her window and carefully looked it over. Granted she was still only just waking but given the bag's wear and tear and the location it had been left in, she'd been fairly certain she knew who had left it there for her to find. Only question was, what for?
She'd reached out to grab it and carried it in. Setting it down on her bedroom floor, she'd been a little wary but then she'd recalled Spike's words to her one week before – the night when she gave him that unkind below the belt kick. Whatever happened between them he wanted it to be special. Their supposed final duel to the death. Perhaps even honorable or whatever the delusional vampire thought would pass for that. Somehow, instinctually, Buffy had known that whatever Spike was currently planning as pay back wouldn't come so soon as the morning after, much less in the duffel sitting on her bedroom floor. Tired of the anticipation and anxious to get going, Buffy had opened its flap and found to her surprise, a wad of rolled up cash. When she'd counted it, she'd found that it came to just over seven hundred dollars.
The expression of jaw hitting the floor was very much applicable in that moment. Buffy had figured that she would have to beat it out of him or use the photos she had taken as blackmail. Not that she hadn't already decided to share them. Before the day was over she would upload one of the pictures to her private smilebook page. It was the final piece in her master plan to get Spike back after everything he had pulled.
The Scoobies would be let in on it in full, there was no escaping that. However it was the threat of sharing those photos with the demon underworld she had decided to bait him with. It was one thing to show her friends but it was quite another to ruin Spike's reputation further. The chip was bad enough as it is. That had been Buffy's plan – until she found seven hundred dollars hanging outside her window.
There had been no message with the money in the duffel, just the money, and it had taken a while for Buffy to figure out why he had dished out that much cash so quickly. It wasn't until she'd seen the relieved look on her mom's face when Buffy had handed her the money that she'd realized why. He hadn't been giving the slayer the money, he had been giving it to her mother. It was something that had left Buffy very much perplexed. It was also currently occupying her mind when the house phone rang and she ran to answer it.
"Hello?"
"Slayer..."
"Oh," Buffy grinned cheekily. "I was wondering when I would get this call." Buffy frowned. "Actually, no I wasn't. You're calling me on the phone?"
"Well yeah," Spike answered, his tone dropping the evil threatening thing and returning to the more familiar annoying tense. "What? Demons can't use phones?"
"I just never expected you to call me on one," Buffy replied.
"Well what did you expect? Soddin' smoke signals?"
"Ambushing me on patrol more likely," Buffy said dryly and then a sudden thought occurred to her as to why he wasn't making this appearance in person. "Wait... Is your hair still pink?"
"It's takin' a bit," Spike ruefully admitted. "Kind of strawberry blonde at the moment. Needs more bleach." Buffy could almost hear the clenching of Spike's jaw muscles. It only made her giggling double. "So happy you're enjoyin' yourself, Slayer."
"Well," Buffy grinned. "You can expect similar reactions from the others when they get back."
"Damn it, Slayer," Spike groaned miserably. "What the 'ell?"
"What? You really thought I wouldn't share my bounty?"
"Call it wishful thinkin', I suppose."
"Yeah right," Buffy said with a roll of her eyes.
"Don't know why you're so flip, luv. You do realize this is only the beginning."
The laughter stopped.
"What are you saying, Spike?"
"You really think I'm not goin' to retaliate? Don't tell me you forget who you're dealing with?"
Buffy steeled her resolve. "You really want to go this road?"
"Well what the hell did you expect?"
Wishful thinking?
"Mom's still pissed about the window," Buffy said, deciding to sidestep the question. "The money goes a long way though."
"I want the change," Spike demanded.
"Pfft," Buffy scoffed. "Consider what's left over as payment for emotional damages."
"Emotional damages? You ruined my clothes and dyed me pink, you bloody bitch!"
"Fine then," Buffy grinned. "I'll hand you back whatever is leftover from the window repairs if you don't retaliate."
"Sod it," Spike grumbled. "Fine, Slayer. Just drop the backpack with change near my crypt when all is accounted."
What?
"Wait, are you lying?"
"Evil, pet. What the hell do you think?" Spike replied. "Oi! You owe me an entire wardrobe though."
"Please," Buffy rolled her eyes. "Black tees and black jeans? Not like I torched your leather."
"My duster is off limits!" Spike shouted loudly enough that Buffy had to pull the phone away from her ear.
"Oh so there are rules now?" Buffy said dubiously. "Okay then, my turn. No killing anyone. Oh! And no destroying my clothes. Oh! And you keep your fangs out of Mister Gordo!"
"The stupid pig?"
"He is not stupid! But not the point; we are talking bounds of reason, Spike," she settled. "Otherwise consider your invite revoked."
"Bounds of reason? You made my hair pink and bleached my clothes!"
"Not your zippo," Buffy reminded. "Or your duster. Or your TV. Nothing that you can't replace – or steal for that matter."
"And what the 'ell is that supposed to mean?"
"Like you don't shoplift," Buffy scoffed sarcastically. "If I hand you a hundred dollars you'll just spend it on blood and whiskey."
"You suck, Slayer."
"Tell you what," Buffy decided. "I let you use my washer and dryer once a month – supervised – and we'll call it even."
"Okay. For my clothes the washer and dryer. But you better not think I'm not gunning for yah. Fair warning this war is far from over, Slayer."
"Know something, Fetus? I wouldn't have it any other way."
Before he could bite off another threat, Buffy hung up. She found a chair, sat down and took a moment to roll over what he had said. What he had promised. End result was a shiver running down her spine. Threatening each other was nothing new. The number of idle threats made to each other in passing were countless and usually served as a means of how they related to one another. This time though, things would be different and despite the "rules" agreed to there was no telling how long or how far this new war would escalate. They were mortal enemies and perhaps fated to one day be the person who killed the other. Until that day though?
Maybe the heat was getting to her but despite it all Buffy still grinned.
This summer suddenly became a lot more interesting.
To Be Continued...
Appreciation: A big special thank you goes out to the story's beta, All4Spike. A talented writer in her own right please a big welcome for her and much appreciation for her assistance.