A/N: May or may not be set in the same universe as the previous ficlet.
Welcome to the Hellmouth
(post-series)
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"I still can't believe there isn't a Hellmouth in Vegas."
"Got mmrph mmrph one mmrph."
Buffy can't make out his words through the thick layers of scarves. Not that she's any less wrapped – Cleveland is cold in the dead of wintry night. But at least the wrappings serve their intended purpose with her. Spike, not so much. No body heat to trap in the first place. She cracks another heater pack and hands it to him. "Repeat, please."
There's a brief, woolly struggle, and then a sigh of pleasure.
"And remember – don't put it right next to your skin," she adds. The super-strength warmers, they've discovered, will leave nasty burns even on his supernaturally resilient skin. Spike somehow manages to 'forget' every time they go out. Or maybe he just likes her fussing over him.
That's probably it, actually.
More rustling. "Got no cause for one in Vegas. It'd be all kinds of redundant."
A blast of frigid wind finds its way down the back of her neck, despite the scarves and faux-fur collar. "Stupid evil. Why can't there be a Hellmouth somewhere warm?"
Spike draws her in, shielding her from the wind. She goes willingly. Doesn't hesitate when he tips her head back and captures her lips with his.
It's not so much that he minds the cold, see, but kissing an ambient-temperature vampire is a whole lot less fun in the middle of a Cleveland winter than it sounds. Buffy reminds herself to put in the order for yet another case of hand warmers when they get home. She's gotten used to cooler-than-natural skin over the years, prefers it, even. But there's something to be said for falling into bed with a toasty warm vampire on nights like tonight.
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"Good news – Zante is now officially a Hellmouth."
Buffy turns to see Willow letting herself in through their front door. "Congratulations? First question – how many committee members did they have to bribe to earn that dubious honor?" Willow opens her mouth, with an actual answer to the question, Buffy realizes.
Hellmouth. Duh. Bribery was probably a requirement to even be in the running. "Never mind. Second question – where the hell is Zante, and why do I care?"
"Zante," Willow says, popping open her laptop, "is in Greece. Part of the Ionian Islands, to be specific. And you care because, as a new, and therefore unpredictable Hellmouth, they need an experienced Slayer on site. One who, say, might appreciate the year-round potential for bikini wear-age."
That does sound nice... Willow turns her computer so Buffy can see what she's pulled up.
Oh. Unless the pictures have been photoshopped courtesy of the Hellmouths Are Us travel council, Zante looks to be a picture perfect Meditteranean paradise.
On the other hand... "I also happen to be a bikini-loving Slayer with a more than usually flammable boyfriend."
"I don't remember that ever stopping him in Sunnydale. Equally vamp-hazardous conditions, you may recall."
"True. And how do we know it's a Hellmouth? Is there an official test they have to pass? A seat at the UN?"
"The portents are all there."
Portents. Portents tended to go hand-in-hand with Prophecies starring: Slayer, The. The white, sandy beaches and crystal clear water suddenly look a whole lot less appealing.
"What kinds of portents?"
"The usual. Series of earthquakes in the fiftiess that decimated the entire area. Followed by more earthquakes, and even more earthquakes, then fires."
"The usual," Buffy echoes, studying the idyllic photos of the town.
It is certainly beautiful. But... "I'll have to talk to Spike."
"Of course."
"And even if he agrees, we won't be able to leave for a couple of weeks, at least."
Willow looks up. "If you're worried about arranging travel and packing, you know the Council will take care of it..."
"That's good to know. But..." Buffy gestures to the opposite side of the living room, where a number of wooden pallets line the wall. "I just ordered another truckload of heat packs, and I'm pretty sure the Council has no use for them."
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*A/N: Zante is real - check out their website!
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Buffy can't believe they are actually on their way. Despite having lived in Rome, and England, and Cleveland, moving to Greece seems somehow different. Maybe because this is the first move she's making with Spike, as a couple. Maybe because Zante is one of the few places Spike has never been in his 150 plus years on the planet. It's going to be an adventure, for both of them. A fresh start, not that they need one, but it might be nice to be somewhere free from memories, both good and bad.
She presses her face right up against the window as the Council jet began its descent. "Look," she says, squeezing Spike's hand. "Look."
Spike looks, taking in the sizzling white sand, clear blue water, and balmy skies through the safety of the necrotempered glass. "Looks beautiful, love. I can see you out there sunning on the beaches already."
At his wistful tone, Buffy turns away from the window, the stunning vista no longer quite so appealing. "Willow's working on a little something for you. A sort of sunscreen for vampires. I intend for you to be on the beach, right beside me. During daylight, even."
Willow had asked her not to say anything, not until she was sure her idea was within the realm of feasibility, but Buffy can't bear the melancholy in Spike's voice. Better for him to know she wants him out there with her, even if it never comes to pass, than to always have to put up a brave front and pretend he doesn't care.
"Hmm." It isn't much of a response, but she hears the multitude of emotion in the single sound.
The plane taxies into a darkened hangar, and there is no more time for discussion anyhow. Buffy shoulders her bag and takes Spike's hand again. "Ready?"
"As ever."
The door whooshes open, and before they can even poke their heads out, a wiry woman with unkempt hair is there, shoving a folder in their face and blocking their exit.
"You must Alice," Buffy says. "My... Council advisor." She refuses to call anybody but Giles her Watcher; nobody else is worthy of the title.
Alice brandishes the folder once more. "Yes, yes. Come along. We've no time. There is an Outang demon on the loose and we need you to track it down at once, before it strikes again."
"Yes, our trip was fine, thank you," Buffy mutters. "A few days to settle in and enjoy the beaches? Just what I was hoping for."
Alice grimaces. "My apologies. The demon has wrecked considerable havoc over the last several weeks, and has proven to be quite elusive. The local authorities are blaming the grisly murders on an escaped orangutan, but I doubt their story will hold for much longer. We've been quite anxious for your arrival, Miss Summers."
Buffy sighs. "Yep. It's official. Welcome to the Hellmouth."
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"All in all, I declare the mission a success," Buffy says. She shifts to one side and brushes away the sand attempting to sneak into her bikini bottoms. Satisfied she won't be finding sand in places better not mentioned later, she leans back into Spike's bare chest. "Hairy ape demon defeated and we made it to the beach, all within our first day."
Spike wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her more snugly against him. "Dunno that the fellow who owns the yacht would agree with your assessment, pet."
Buffy tears her gaze away from the brilliant orange glow on the horizon to turn and look up at Spike's face. He takes advantage of the moment, distracting her with a long, slow kiss, until she's twisted all the way around, legs wrapped around his waist. They separate, both of them a little breathless, and it takes her a moment to remember what she'd been about to say. "You think he would've preferred finding a hairy surprise waiting for him down in his cabin when he got out to sea?"
"The rich can be funny about their things."
"Well then he's just stupid."
"He's luckier'n he knows, is all." Spike leans in for another kiss. "Not as lucky as me, poor fellow."
Buffy twists back to face the ocean once more, both of them silent as the distant orange glow burns itself out and darkness descends. "You're right," she says. "He doesn't get to sit on a beautiful Mediterranean beach with his girlfriend, watching his handiwork illuminate the night skies."
"Your handiwork," Spike counters.
"Oh, excuse me? Who was the one who had the bright idea to set the demon on fire?"
"Whose idea was it to trap it on the yacht in the first place?"
"Hello? Death wish much? Vampire. Fire."
"Yeah." Spike grins. "It was great, wasn't it?"
Carnage and destruction enough to satisfy the vampire boyfriend, and post-carnage midnight beach frolicking for her. "Like I said. A success."
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Buffy takes a step back, startled, when Spike launches himself at Nick, knocks him to the ground, and thrusts his fist straight into the other guy's chest. There's a nasty squelchy ripping sound that comes through loud and clear beneath poor Nick's gurgles and screams. Spike's arm emerges, dripping with thick, dark blood.
"For you," he says, handing Buffy the still-beating heart. "Happy Valentine's Day, my love."
"Ew! Seriously, Spike, we need to discuss your ideas of romance."
"Take it," he growls, a little testily. "Got to get Nick here's second heart yet. And then, oh Particular One -"
He shoves Nick's first heart into her hands. Buffy recoils, but doesn't drop the warm, still-pulsing mass. If it touches the earth, it'll grow, presto magic, into a second full-sized demon, and that's so something she doesn't want to deal with right now. She holds it at arm's length, though, as far as her boy-she-wishes-her-arms-were-longer arms will allow. Hey, it's a brand new dress. And shoes.
The squelchy sound repeats itself, and both Nick and the heart in her hands dissolve into a puddle of steaming ooze. "And then," Spike repeats himself, panting a little, "we'll go out to dinner at that romantic little restaurant you've been hinting none-too-subtly about for the last several weeks." He stands, looks down at himself, and sighs. "Right after I wash what's left of Nick out of my clothes."
"And they say romance is dead," Buffy says. She looks down at her own no-longer brand new dress, and with a mental shrug, throws herself into Spike's arms.
"Happy Valentine's Day to you too."
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