"Spike Maneggi"
PLEASE Read and Review – I need all the support I can get. I'll even take flames, if that encourages you to talk to me. (Though I'd prefer con.crit, obviously.) Oh, also, check out my Harry Potter fics.
Cheers. I'll try to update soon.
Part One: Un-biteable
"You know," Buffy said knowingly, as they sunk into chairs in a shadowy corner of the Bronze one warm summer evening, when the cockroaches had been thoroughly eradicated but there was an infestation of termites to replace them, "I think these de-lousing parties are getting way too regular."
"Oh, I don't know," Xander replied, "What is the Bronze, if not a hive for those in our society who are scorned and loathed elsewhere?"
"Is it Dingoes playing tonight, Will?" Buffy asked. "I heard Oz leant a new chord…"
"You heard it from me," Willow nodded proudly. "It's not them tonight, though. Oz's parents are out of town and he went with them to visit family in Idaho. Giles is in London until Sunday, Englanding-it-up."
"So it's just us?" Xander summarized. "Just us, memories of the good old days, and the Bronze – which, by the way, hasn't been this dead since that time a bunch of unholy guys got in and started making with the killing spree. Did Giles come up with any reason why it might have been so slow lately, before he left?"
"Nothing," Buffy shook her head. "But you know the drill – little vamps, big demon action around the corner. Personally, I'm hoping for something with slime. We haven't had any slimy demons in a while – I think we're due."
"I feel somewhat bereft, you know," Xander said. "Like we've been abandoned by those people who we love and hold dear, and dearly hold directly in front of us during fights so that we won't get the toothy end of a vamp. Who'll protect us from demonic up-risings while all the grown-ups have gone?"
"Oz isn't a grown-up," Willow frowned.
"And there won't be any up-risings while I'm around," Buffy added firmly. "Plus, Giles'll be back in two days. What could possibly go wrong between now and then?"
Xander and Willow stared at her.
"Famous last words, much?"
Buffy threw them a tired glare. "Oh, please. I'm not superstitious – nothing's going to happen!"
&
Polonius lifted his cool fingers, and curved them around the charred remains of a thick brick wall, its plaster crumbled and cracked like shattered icing over a cake after it'd been sliced. His sensitive ears could pick out every creak and groan in the surrounding brickwork; every speck of light and twist of dust in the air seemed tangible to him.
"Fawning over this old place?"
The vampire turned swiftly, coat swinging about his waist. Masked by the darkness infusing everything around him, was the shape of a person. A girl.
A girl who, by all methods available to him, appeared, by and large, to be entirely, deliciously human.
She was warm. He could feel her body heat from where he stood, at the other end of the destroyed corridor. He could sense her blood, pumping around her body, filling her, making her all living and stuff. Her rust-coloured hair fell around her pale face, her eyes trained on him. And he realised she'd come from nowhere. He hadn't heard her arrive. She'd been waiting for him.
"Who are you?" he asked, cautious. Not every human female who approaches a vampire was cocksure enough to stand around, leaning casually against a blackened pillar with her hands hooked into her belt.
She grinned. "That was going to be my opener."
He blinked. Odd.
"What d'you want?" he asked.
"World peace? Cure the sick? Feed the starving?"
Polonius was not certain what to do with himself, so he sneered. "Would you like to feed me?"
The girl's smile did not fade. In fact, it broadened.
"No thanks, mate, I've already made dinner plans. Besides, where I come from, it's the gentleman who pays for dinner. So come on then, why the interest here?" She glanced around the deserted corridor, flicking her hair off her face. "Can't be for the workmanship – this place blows. What happened, giant snake made the place explode?"
Her eyes twinkled. Which irritated him. He decided he should probably kill her soon, or she'd take an eye out with that pointy gaze.
Just as he lunged towards her, she brought her arm up and he smashed straight into the heel of her hand, knocking himself down with the force of his own momentum. Spots bloomed in front of his eyes and his nose cracked. If he'd been human, blood would have been spouting from his nostrils. Luckily, he wasn't, and he was on his feet in seconds.
"What are you?" he snarled.
"My question came first, so you answer mine, and I'll answer yours."
Furious, Polonius howled, and threw his fist straight at her face. She ducked, lunged, and kneed him in the stomach, and it reflexively emptied of air. He doubled over as she tugged his collar down and elbowed him in the back of the neck. He lurched, splattering on to the soot-dusted floor.
Throwing herself down after him, she landed her knee into his chest, and if he needed air he would have been more completely winded than he was already. Somehow she managed to pin him to the ground, before pulling a short, wooden stake from her inside pocket. He froze.
"All right! Stop! Get off me!"
"Yeah, because that's at all likely," she snapped. "Now why are you here, and what's your bloody name?"
He suddenly realised she was English. Not that it was a great comfort when her knee was practically lodged under his ribcage.
"I used to go to school here," he wheezed. "Years ago, in the thirties. I have returned to Sunnydale to see what has become of it all." He looked around. "I didn't find much."
She nodded, but pressed her knee firmer into his chest. "And your name?"
"Polonius."
She stared at him. Then let out a sharp bark of laughter.
"No wonder you didn't want to tell me it. What were your parents thinking?"
"No idea. But it's all right: they made it up to me," he replied, smirking, and eyeing her lean neck through the hair pouring over her shoulder. "They made me a nice meal."
"Let me guess," she said dryly. "Where they it?"
"You're getting the hang of this." He snapped at her throat, but was greeted only by a smack round the jaw. He shook his head to clear the dizziness. "Do I get my answers now?" he asked grumpily.
She considered him for a few moments, before standing up. He shuffled quickly to his feet.
"No funny business," she warned, waggling the stake at him.
"Don't worry, I'm not finding any of this very amusing," he said, rubbing his ribs. "What are you?"
"My name is Red Andrews."
Polonius regarded the stake.
"Are you a Slayer?" he ventured, fear sliding icily over him.
"Fuck, no," she laughed. "I'm just very, very good at what I do."
"And what is it that you do?" he asked, sick to death – if that had been possible – of all the cryptic fun.
Red Andrews just smiled. Two seconds later he was hurled through a window and landed on a verge, wheeling down it and tumbling swiftly until he slammed into a charred sign that read, 'SUNNYDALE HIGH SCHOOL – KEEP OUT'.
&
Willow looked up from where she'd been washing her hands in the bathroom of the Bronze. She tweaked idly at a stray piece of hair, pulling at the ends – she was still getting used to it constantly scuffing her neck, but she liked it. Loved it, in fact. Made her feel all grown-up and collegey. She lowered her fingers, wrist resting on the edge of the basin while she rinsed them, but the tugging feeling continued. She frowned.
Something was pulling on the very edge of her hair, fiddling, fingering the feathery ends. She felt something not unlike the sensation of an ice cube being dropped down the back of her shirt, and froze, as the strands of hair lifted softly off her neck again. She spun around.
"Hello, pet."
She would have screamed, if Spike's cool fingers hadn't closed swiftly over her mouth as he wedged her against the sink. The smell of stale smoke and peppermint surrounded her, and she fought somewhat pointlessly against his hold on her. He was close. His mouth was close, leaning over her throat. Her suddenly very naked-feeling throat.
He chuckled. "Shhhh, I'm not going to bite you. Just fancied a little chat, all right."
She squirmed, trying desperately to move, to get out. Buffy was in the bar, probably wondering where she'd got to. If she could just get free long enough to yell…
"Honestly not going to hurt your pretty neck, Will. It's not you I'm after, all right? What I need from you I can't get if you're dead. Remember that Drusilla chick? Love of my afterlife? Need you and your box of tricks again."
Willow stopped moving, but her eyes were wide as pennies, and Spike hadn't moved his hand yet.
"If I was hungry I'd 'ave bitten you by now – I haven't eaten in days," he admitted with a grimace.
Slowly, cautiously, he dragged his hand away.
"If you try to bite me," Willow muttered darkly, "I swear I'll scream so loud that your eardrums will bleed."
Spike balked, looking at her. Her eyes were large and dark and furious, but he'd expected her to be trembling. She wasn't. She was undoubtedly bloody pissed off, but no unanticipated eardrum bleeding happening, so all good, for now. Her bottom lip was very pink. He hadn't noticed that before.
"I need a spell," he said.
"Well, duh," she huffed, shuffling away from him and straightening her jumper out. It was green, he saw, and soft. "What else would you want me for? It's not like I'm the biteable type."
A grin crept into one corner of his mouth.
"Oh, I don't know," he said, very deliberately. "Don't put yourself down. Your neck is looking… near-on irresistible, just about now," he growled. "Love the new look, by the way, Red… you seem so much more accessible." He stroked the tips of her hair again, pinching it gently between finger and thumb, black nail polish glinting.
Willow swallowed. "What happened to Mr. No-Biting?"
"He stepped out."
He lent in, very slowly. Painfully so. Willow frowned, leaning back, peering at him.
"What?" he asked.
"You… you haven't…" She rubbed the bridge of her nose. Why hadn't he vamped out?
Spike chuckled softly, his nose brushing her burning ear. She gasped involuntarily. "Still need my spell," he told her, grazing his blunt teeth over the crook of her neck. He could smell her fear, as strong as the stench of disinfectant in a hospital. It was all he could do not to rip through her skin like it was wet tissue paper and devour her. He could taste the sweetness of it already. It made his mouth water. "Can't… can't spell anything, can you? If you're dead…"
"Spike." Her voice sounded loud and delicate next to his ear lobe. "I think maybe you should back off. Spell's a no-go if you lay another incisor on me. Not to mention that you'd be a dead man walking. Figuratively speaking," she added.
Biting his lip, he straightened up.
"You know what?" he asked. "We don't have to do this now." He grinned. "Later, Rosenberg. We can chat abou' it later. I fancy some buffalo wings."
And he swept out in a whirl of leather, sweeping a hand through his hair. Willow watched him go, still clinging to the porcelain sink.
When she returned to the table and perched on the edge of her seat, everyone else looked at her, which she didn't enjoy.
"What's up, Will?" Buffy said. "Was the bathroom a blast or what? You were gone ages."
"Oh…" she replied, nodding feverishly. "It ticked all the boxes."
Xander peered at her. "You sure you're all right, Willster? You look a little wigged."
Willow looked up, and saw the others watching her.
"That, er… that might be because S-Spike's back in town."
"What?"
Willow nodded. "Yeah. I-I met him in the bathroom. H-he…"
She trailed off, feeling Buffy and Xander's eyes on her like fridge magnets to metal. Sharp, penetrating, concerned magnets to metal.
"My God, Willow, are you all right?" Buffy asked, before lifting her head and shooting glances around the room.
"No blood or fangs," Xander said, examining her neck. "What d'you do, Will, shove a cross in his face?"
She shook her head, dazed. "No, I didn't. I didn't do anything to him. He left, he said he wanted some… b-buffalo wings, or something…"
Buffy appeared utterly dumbfounded. "He left you to get buffalo wings? Spike? Big Bad himself? Why didn't he just have a nibble on you?" she said bluntly.
"I don't know," Willow said, truthfully.
"But what did he want?" Buffy asked.
"Besides fried bar snacks?" Xander said with levity. "Ah, Spike, you evil wrongdoer, you…"
"He wants another spell doing," Willow said. "Buffy, I think I'm gonna take off. Mom and I are going to visit my aunt tomorrow morning, so…"
Buffy nodded. "All right. I'll walk you home."
&
Willow was glad that Buffy was there, but at the same time there was the unshakable feeling that if Buffy wasn't, there was more chance of seeing Spike. What she couldn't understand was why the two thoughts didn't concur, didn't agree, as she knew they should. She shouldn't be having any fuzzy-feelings at all for the un-dead, let alone Spike, of all the un-dead in Sunnydale. He would kill her in an instant.
Yet he hadn't. He'd had every opportunity. Remembering his mouth over her neck, feeling the terror and excitement brushing against each other, mingling… It had been intoxicating.
Buffy and Willow had been silent for sometime. Willow was soundless because she was thinking about Spike: strange, disconnected thoughts involving the smell of leather and something vague and metallic, and the hot feeling when his mouth had prickled over her neck. This was wrong. Very, very wrong.
Buffy was silent because someone was clearly following them. And if it was Spike, then he was an idiot. He knew exactly what she was capable of, and hearing him walk just out of sight was something she was very capable of, even if it had gone unnoticed to Willow, who had her arms folded tightly over her chest and her shoulders hunched.
After two more streets, Buffy had had enough. As they turned the corner onto Willow's road, she turned and thrust her arm into a hedge, her fingers closing around leaves and cotton, and she hauled Spike into sight by his t-shirt.
He yelped, and stood under a streetlamp, brushing twigs and mud from his trousers, and yanking himself from the Slayer's painful grip.
"Hey there, Slayer," he said, as though thoroughly bored. "Fancy seein' you here…"
"Why are you following Willow?"
Spike looked confused. "'Scuse me?"
"You heard me," she said, pulling a stake from her pocket and ramming it to his neck. Spike scrambled backwards, breathing heftily through his nose.
"Buffy, no!"
Buffy frowned, turning to look at Willow.
Willow looked almost as surprised to have spoken as Buffy did. And that was nothing to the expression on Spike's face. His mouth had fallen open, his brows pulled together into a frown.
"Willow, what?" Buffy asked slowly, stake still lodged in Spike's throat.
"I don't know," Willow said slowly. "Sorry, don't know why I did that. It leapt out of me. Go on with the dusting, Buffy."
Spike backed further as Buffy pushed the stake harder, and he saw Willow flinch. He looked at her in utter confusion.
"Tell me why I shouldn't stake you right here, Spike?"
Spike laughed. "Sod off."
Buffy made to ram the stake harder, pulling her arm back a little and throwing some weight behind it.
"No!"
Buffy slipped, surprised by Willow's second outburst, and Spike took the opportunity to duck underneath the stake and skip out into the road, behind Willow, who looked bewildered.
"Sorry!" she said. "I mean…"
Buffy couldn't stop looking at her in disbelief.
"Get out of here, Spike," she muttered, staring at Willow. "Now."
He didn't need telling twice.
&
Xander nearly jumped out of his skin when he went down into the basement to put the whites in and saw Spike sitting in the corner in a broken armchair, reading a leaflet entitled, 'From California to Los Angeles: An Idiot's Manual'. His surprise issued from his mouth in the form of a high-pitched yelp.
"What're you doing here, Spike?"
"Manly squeal," Spike said, eyes glued to the pamphlet. Xander glared at him.
"How'd you get in here?"
"Your mum let me in. She's a nice woman. Lovely fruit punch. You planning a road trip?" he asked, waving the flyer at him.
Xander shrugged edgily. "Maybe. Look, can I just ask – are you here to bite me?"
Spike shrugged. "Well, I thought maybe I might," he said, springing to his feet and dropping the leaflet into his vacated chair, shaking his head into vamp-face. Xander squealed again. "Oh, relax," he said, waving the sound off. "Don't panic, I'll make it quick. Painless. Well…" he amended, "as painless as it can be, under the circumstances."
He strode across the room, and grabbed Xander by the collar.
"L-look, Spike, hang on! Are you sure you don't, you know…" Spike watched Xander's big old brown eyes darting around, looking for an escape route. "D'you wanna beer first, or something?"
Spike thought about it.
"Yeah, all right. You migh' scream less if you're really hammered when I eat you."
&
Remember, PLEASE PLEASE Read & Review - only takes a sec. Cheers.