Save the Last Dance for Me
By: Passion4Spike
Chapter 2: Annoying Vampire
Chapter Summary:
Something's up with Buffy, and Spike intends to find out what it is.
The next night Spike stepped out from a downtown alley just as Buffy reached it, stopping her in her tracks. She let out a short, un-Slayer-like squeak of surprise, nearly running into him before she could stop.
"Where's the fire, Slayer?" Spike inquired casually, tilting his head to the side as he studied her. Her heart was racing, she'd been sweating, and her adrenaline was off the charts. Any other time that would be enough to rouse him to rock-hardness with just one whiff, but not tonight. He knew why she was in this state, and it wasn't from fighting vampires or demons.
"Nothing … errr, I mean, nowhere. I'm just …" Buffy waved a hand vaguely down the dark street, "You know … Slayer stuff. Much Slayer stuff to be done. I'm being all Slayer-y."
Spike cocked a brow at her and, before she knew he'd moved, reached into her jacket pocket and plucked out the small, velvet box hidden there.
"Known lots of Slayers, I have," he informed her, turning to the side and holding the box out of her reach as she lurched for it, "But never known one t' play Robin Hood."
A stake suddenly appeared in Buffy's hand – where the hell did she keep those? – and she pressed it against Spike's chest, menacingly.
"Give it back," she demanded, reaching her other hand toward the small box that Spike held at arm's length away from her.
"You won't stake me, Slayer."
"Try me," Buffy growled, pressing a little harder on the stake, piercing his shirt and skin, and drawing a trickle of blood which welled up and soaked into his t-shirt.
"So, what is it? Realized that bright, shiny baubles were what was missin' from yer life, did you?" he inquired calmly, still not relinquishing the jewels. "Girl's best friend and all that rot?"
"I swear to God, Spike, I will dust you right now!"
"Right then … 'ave at it, Slayer," he invited, raising both hands over his head and thrusting his chest out, but still keeping a firm grip on the small box of jewels and holding them high and away from Buffy.
His eyes met hers in a challenge, his head tilted in that way that infuriated her, mocking her, as if he knew her better than she knew herself. Well, he damn well didn't. Not by a long shot. He knew nothing. Why was she even having this conversation with him? She should just dust him and take the jewels and … and … and … and then what? Her heart constricted, and she felt tears sting her eyes. And then she'd be alone. Again. In the darkness. With no escape at all.
"Arrgh!" she exclaimed, turning around and flinging her arms out in utter frustration. "You are the most irritating, annoying, infuriating vampire I've ever known!"
Spike smiled, proud of himself. "Surpassed the great poof, 'ave I?"
Buffy made a growling sound as she turned back around to face him. "Just give me the box, Spike."
"Ummmm … let me think …. No," he retorted dryly. "You tell me why ya have these little baubles."
"It's none of your business. Give it to me," she demanded again.
"In yer list of my finer qualities, you forgot 'stubborn' and 'relentless', Slayer. Might as well tell me, save me following you about every night till I figure it out, won't it?"
"I need them. Please, Spike, just …"
"Tell me why."
"I can't."
"Something wrong with yer tongue, cos it looks perfect t' me," Spike assured her, wagging his brows at her suggestively.
Buffy huffed out an exasperated breath and closed her eyes. Options. She needed to consider her options. She could stake him, that would be the easiest. Definitely the best option. Except for the alone in the dark part of the program. She could beat him up and take it. Not a bad option, except beating Spike up usually just lead to them having sex, which is what got her in this mess in the first place … and were there cameras here in the alley? She looked around but didn't see any, but then she hadn't seen them in her yard, either.
"Just tell me, Buffy," Spike urged, his voice gentle now, all trace of sarcasm gone. His hand reached out to touch her face softly. "Maybe I can help."
Buffy sighed and opened her eyes. His were just inches away from hers, their blue depths full of worry and concern, searching her face for some hint, some idea of what was going on. It looked … real. It looked genuine.
Since when do vampires show worry and concern for a Slayer? Since when do Slayers need vampires to keep them from drowning in the darkness?
Apparently, since now.
But it wasn't 'vampires', was it? It was this vampire. And it wasn't 'Slayers'. It was just her.
"You aren't alone, pet. Let me help you, yeah?" Spike coaxed, opening the small box to expose the brilliant rubies within to the dim light of the alleyway.
Buffy took a deep breath that seemed to come all the way from her toes and let it out slowly, her gaze moving from his eyes to the sparkling jewels. She would go down in the annals of Slayerdom as the worst Slayer ever, of that she had no doubt.
Buffy unceremoniously dropped the unconscious Warren onto the sarcophagus in Spike's crypt. His head thunked on the hard surface, but she barely noticed as she looked around for the vampire. This was his stupid plan and he was freaking late for it!
"Spike!" she called sotto voce, as if she'd awaken their unconscious guest. "Spike! God damnit! Where are you!?"
"Behind you, Slayer," he answered in a normal voice from literally a foot away, making her jump and whirl around, fists clenched and ready to strike.
"Wound a bit tight, are we?" he teased her, adding, "I'll see if I can't help ya with that later, luv," while running his tongue salaciously across his lips.
"Damn it, you're late! Where have you been?! Warren said if he wasn't back on time, those videos would be distributed all over the internet!" she demanded, ignoring his flirtations.
"Just had to get a thing or two I'd need, yeah?" he answered, dropping a large, very dead-looking demon off his shoulder and onto the floor.
Buffy stepped back to keep from being splattered in blood and other grossness, her brows furrowed in confusion. "What's that?"
"Demon," Spike answered unhelpfully as he pulled a long knife from a scabbard at his side and began to slice the demon open at the belly, letting the foul-smelling innards spill out.
"But … what …" Buffy tried again, backing up further and covering her nose and mouth with one hand to try and quell the stench.
Having spilled the demon's guts – very literally – Spike grabbed an axe from its place behind the door and took careful aim. He swung down on the demon with swift, accurate, and amazingly effective blows. The first blow struck at the neck, decapitating it with a sickening gurgle and crunch, then Spike opened the chest cavity straight from the neck to the already open belly, sending globs of foul-smelling puke-green and puss-yellow goo flying in all directions.
Buffy backed up further, watching in a horrified trance as Spike removed not only the things guts, but its brain, and then deboned it, all with what looked like practiced ease. Buffy didn't want to think about how Spike knew how to do that or how he was so skilled at it, but she did want to know WHY.
"Spike, don't you think we should have the Demon Dissection and Evisceration 101 class later? Like, when we don't have a ticking time bomb waiting to go off and ruin my life, for example?"
Spike snorted but kept working on the corpse. 'Ruin her life, would it? To be seen with you, mate,' he thought dourly as he lifted the demon skin up and away from the bones and guts with a squelching sound that turned Buffy's stomach.
Spike's stomach was already turned, but not from the gore. It had been in knots since she'd told him about Warren and his videos of them, and how it would ruin her life for any of her friends to find out that she'd turned to Spike for solace.
Spike had been a fool, he'd known it deep down all along, but somehow wouldn't let the thought surface to be examined closely. She could never be with him, never love for him … not the way he wanted, not the way he loved her. But he'd kept hoping that, with time, she could come to see him as more. More than a vampire. More than an outlet for her lust and an escape from her darkness. More than … well, more than he was, if he was honest.
But no. That dream had been eviscerated just as quickly and cleanly as this demon had when she'd confided the blackmail to him. She must want to keep this secret very badly to actually pull-off these jewel heists, to risk harming humans, to use her powers for something other than good. He knew that would've gone against every fiber of her being, and yet, she'd done it, to keep him a secret. Which meant the thought of her friends finding out about their trysts turned her stomach even more.
Spike sighed and realized that Buffy was talking again, asking questions. God, couldn't the bloody bint shut up for a minute?
The vampire picked up the demon's head, which now looked more like a rubber Halloween mask than anything else, and carried it, along with the skin, over to where Warren lay. Without ceremony, Spike lifted the blackmailer up into a seated position and plopped the demon mask over Warren's head, then proceeded to dress the now semi-conscious human in the demon skin suit.
Buffy felt bile rise to the back of her throat as Spike jammed the bloody demon head on over Warren's. Liquids oozed from the mask and the stench had not lessened at all. She swallowed hard and managed, "Wha…" before her last meal returned with a vengeance and she turned to the side and puked.
"Bloody hell, Slayer! You're cleanin' that up!" Spike chastised. "Didn't take you for a poofter."
"I'm not a poofter! Whatever that is!" Buffy retorted, keeping her eyes averted from the scene as Spike finished dressing Warren completely in the demon skin, head to toe. "But what the hell are you doing?"
Spike finally turned away from their captive and faced her, sighing deeply. He tapped his forehead meaningfully with a forefinger. "You want answers from the berk, I can get 'em … but yer forgetting, Slayer … I can't hurt a human. Just cuz I can hit you, doesn't mean I can lay a hand on this soddin' wanker! No matter how much of an evil arsehole he is."
Buffy's jaw dropped open in comprehension. "And now … you can?" she asked hesitantly.
Spike jabbed a fist at Warren's jaw, quick as a flash of lightning and just as hard. The demon-suited human grunted in pain and fell to the side, rolling completely off the sarcophagus with a squishy thud as he landed on the floor beneath.
Buffy looked from the fallen figure and then back to Spike, who was standing there as if he'd just swatted a fly, her eyes wide in horror. "You've … you've thought of this … I mean … you … knew how to…"
"Blah, blah, blah," Spike retorted, cutting her off. "Thought we were on the clock, eh?
"Best take your-green-tinged-self outside now, don't want more puke on my clean floor," he advised, kicking at the gore-soaked dirt on the ground as he moved over and lifted Warren back onto the hard tomb, laying him out flat on his back. "Got work t' do here, don't I?"
Buffy stood, transfixed, glued to the spot. The ramifications of this whirling through her mind. He could've … he could've killed her friends before, or now, or anytime. He could've been feeding … could've been hunting. He could've easily drugged their food to knock them out and then dressed them in a demon suit and …
"Slayer, get the hell out," Spike demanded, pulling her from her spinning thoughts. His lips were pursed as he moved over to face her. "I don't want you t' see … me … see this … I mean …" Spike stammered before lowering his gaze and settling on, "Just go, pet … please."
Buffy nodded absently and stumbled almost drunkenly toward the door. The thought, 'Spike could've killed them all', stuck in her mind on repeat, followed hesitantly by a single refrain of, 'but he didn't.'