The thing about Sunnydale that drove Spike crazy was how bloody ridiculous the residing humans were. After snake-mayors, Halloween costumes made de facto, and that time when every single resident came down with supernatural laryngitis, he would have thought they'd be used to it. There were forty-two sodding churches within the town limits for god's sake, and yet every single time something weird happened, it was like Bon Jovi had unexpectedly arrived at the local Fuel N' Go to play a free concert on top of the gas pumps. Everyone felt the need to stand around and gawk as though they'd never seen anything stranger than a tag sale.
As he sat with Charlie in the car, waiting for the throngs of walking happy meals to thin out, there was little doubt in his mind who could pull off a feat as shockingly impressive as transporting a palace from one side of the world to the other. It was too much of a coincidence to be anything besides Bleakgrave. And though it made sense that the magician would choose Sunnydale, with the town being the center of everything evil and mystical, it bothered Spike immensely that the man could be wreaking havoc so nearby. They needed to find Buffy as soon as possible, and begin making headway into disposing of him.
As if sensing the tiny sliver of Spike's doubt over the cause of the exhibition, most of the lights in the windows of the palace flickered out, leaving a smattering of illuminated windows that formed the shape of an eloquent letter B.
"He just doesn't do subtle, does he?" Came the sardonic voice from the passenger side.
"Mayhap it stands for Bugger. Or Bollocks," Spike suggested, trying to make light of the situation.
Growing tired of the delay, Spike attempted to pull the DeSoto around the congestion of traffic. He was immediately stopped by a cattle-like crowd of people in the middle of the street, ignoring his incessant honking and Charlie's shouting, their frenetic chatter buzzing as loud as a bee colony. A few of them were even shooting pictures of the far-off building with disposable cameras, no doubt purchased with haste from the convenience store a few blocks down.
"Humans came up with the concept of Darwinism, yeah? If they're too bloody stupid to get out of the way of a movin' car, I'm just choppin' off the bad meat," he reasoned aloud, slamming on the brakes and scowling when the warning tingle in his head began to go off.
"There's a few non-homicidal, less brain-zapping ways of getting through, you know," Charlie remarked, eyebrow raised at the sight of Spike rubbing his forehead.
"Care to share these ways with the class, pet?" Spike doubted any of her ideas would be as fun as mowing people down.
"Just get out of the car for a sec," she replied. With a dubious glance at her, he put the car into park, leaving the keys in the ignition as he abandoned the driver's seat. Charlie slid over the leather interior and stepped out next to him. "Okay, now vamp out and pretend to bite me."
It didn't even make the top one hundred list of things he was expecting her to say. "Did you leave your bloody senses at the hotel?" he sputtered.
"Even double checked under the bed before we left. Trust me. I'll make a scene and we'll be gone before anyone does anything but run for the hills. Or at least run for that restaurant over there. Either way, empty streets."
"Alright," he said, resigned, "If I get dusted in the process, it'll be on your freckled shoulders. Mean that figuratively and literally." Though he protested, the truth was that it'd been a long while since he'd been able to give anyone a decent scare, and a crowd of Sunnydale sheep would make for most satisfying prey. He let the cartilage in his face shift, clenching his jaw as Charlie screamed bloody murder right next to his ear. She cowered dramatically against the car as Spike let out a ferocious growl and plunged towards her, trapping her within his arms.
His teeth points pressed against her neck in the very same place that they had once broken through, but instead of penetrating, he sucked at her tender flesh and flicked his tongue along the faint ridges of the scar he'd made.
It took seconds. Mere seconds for the entire horde to catch wind of the faux attack, and they began to shriek and stampede back to the safety of their cars and interiors like the cowards that they all were. It was like old times. And it was beautiful.
After a long moment of chilling screams, Charlie let her voice fade into moans, full of the kind of suffering that ended in bedrooms instead of grave plots, though Spike was the only one who knew it.
"And, end scene," she said, almost intelligibly, when the crowd had mostly vanished. It was clear that his ministrations on her neck had pleasurably affected her, and Spike gave her one last love-bite on the neck for good measure.
"Gutless wonders, all of them," Spike sneered jovily.
"I'm not gonna argue that. But let's mosey before someone decides to grow a backbone."
They were back in the car and down the street before anyone tried to intervene, only one or two flabbergasted faces staring after them as they flew by.
Spike parked behind a dumpster in his preferred abandoned lot, shielding the car with a few sheets of cardboard and other trash for camouflage before they began the short walk to the Magic Box. As they approached the shop, a foul stench filled the air, growing stronger the closer they drew. Stopping at the entrance, they came to the unfortunate realization that the scent of rotten sulfur wafting out the door was the only thing more rambunctious than the yelling coming from within.
The shrill voice they heard coming from inside could only belong to the ex-vengeance demon. "Everybody knows it! You just don't do it, Giles! Do you like this smell?"
"No! Of course I don't like the smell!" Spike could easily visualize the look of disdain on Giles's face without even seeing him, and he decided he'd spent far too much time around the Englishman.
"That's why you don't put skink root and holy water on the same shelf!" Anya scolded the watcher, "One little accident, and the place smells like a garbage disposal. Who's going to want to shop here now?"
"Well, as I recall, it wasn't me who wanted the inexpensive shelving units that can't survive a minor earthquake."
The door was slightly agape already, and Charlie pushed it the rest of the way open, quietly enough that neither Giles nor Anya heard the intrusion. The store seemed to have held up reasonably through the quake, with the exception of one section of shelving which had collapsed onto itself. The stench of the aftermath was overwhelming, though the two arguing constituents seemed indifferent to the fact they were still standing in the middle of it.
"I was saving us money!" the ex-demon countered, almost nose to nose with the watcher. "It didn't say in the catalogue that it wouldn't hold up, it said, top quality, excellent price! And how am I supposed to go home smelling like this? Xander won't want to touch me!"
Giles had turned as pink as the innards of a grapefruit as he glared back at his employee. "Anya, this isn't the time to be worrying about your… escapades." He practically turned vermillion when he caught sight of the open door and realized the argument had an audience.
"I think it is time to start worrying whether you can buy air fresheners by the pallet at Costco," Charlie suggested, her mouth contorting into a grimace as she took a begrudging step inside.
"Oooh, get the piña colada scent," Spike added, mostly for the sake of further provoking Giles, "Loads better than that clothesline fresh rot."
"Charlie, Spike, you're just in time. If time was two hours ago." Sarcasm out of the watcher's mouth was confirmation of the man's intense vexation, probably not a good sign when it was the opening line in his greeting.
"Got held up a bit," Spike explained, "and you're not gonna like the latest developments, Watcher."
"Can we take this outside? I think I'm going to asphyxiate." Charlie was already edging back towards the door, covering her mouth and nose with the cuff of her shirt.
"You don't breath, luv, you're dead," Spike reminded her.
"Yeah, well I breathe," Anya said irritably, "and it smells like we're standing in a month old egg salad sandwich."
"See! Let's not be sandwichy."
"Agreed." Giles hurriedly cracked open a few windows before stepping towards the exterior of the store, everyone else following suit behind him. He sat down on one of the benches outside, Anya and Charlie taking the second one, and waited until a young couple had strolled past the shop before beginning his inquiries. "So what are these 'latest developments', as it were?"
"Not for certain, but sure seems like Harry Potter's homely, evil twin decided he wanted a change of scenery, with little ol' Sunnydale as his new hometown," Spike disclosed, leaning against the store's painted stucco facade, lighting up and taking a long, well-deserved drag off his cigarette.
"Meaning, what, exactly?" Giles asked tersely, clearly not in the mood for Spike's ambiguous, whimsical language.
"Meaning that France is now missing its Versailles, because it's sitting on Kingsman's Bluff. That's what the quake was about, and you can guess who's behind it," Charlie answered.
Giles removed his glasses, rubbing his face in alarm. "Dear lord. That cannot be good."
"Nope, not good. So what happened to this meeting we were supposed to be having?"
"We were going to call everyone and meet back here when you guys showed up, but now…" Anya glanced angrily towards the shop's interior, "there's customer-repelling stinkage to deal with."
"Isn't there somewhere else we could meet?" Charlie loosely crossed her arms and looked pointedly at Giles. It'd been mentioned more than once that most of Scooby meetings pre-Magic Box had taken place at the watcher's abode.
"I'd offer my apartment," Giles clarified, "but there's a noise ordinance after 10 PM, and ever since Thanksgiving the other tenants have been less than forgiving about letting the rules slide. It seems that no one appreciates arrows and tomahawks in their drywall anymore."
Everyone looked at Anya, the next obvious choice. "We just paid to have the carpets shampooed. Don't even ask."
"Perhaps Buffy would be willing to offer up her house. This is something of an emergency," Giles decided.
"Where is she? Patrol?" Charlie asked. Giles nodded affirmatively.
Spike blew a last puff of smoke out his nostrils before crushing his cigarette out against the stucco and flicking it onto the sidewalk. "Restfield?"
"I believe so," Giles answered, as Anya scowled at Spike and picked the compressed stub back up off the ground, throwing it into a garbage can a few feet away.
"We'll drop in on her then, leave our stuff at the crypt. Maybe you lot should give Joyce a ring in the meantime, yeah? Give her a heads up that the Suicide Squad's about to descend on her residence?" Spike wouldn't put it past the Scoobies to show up at the Summer's house without bothering to inform the matriarch, but he had too much of a soft spot for mothers, and Joyce in particular, to let that happen.
Giles frowned at Spike's unusual amount of respect for a human, especially one with such close ties to the slayer, but made no comment. "Yes, I suppose that could work. If all goes well, we'll meet there in an hour?"
"Aye aye, Watcher." Spike caught Charlie's eye and gave his head a quick jerk in the direction of the crypt, and the two of them began the trek back. They walked in silence for a little while, sticking to the sidewalks and following the roads on autopilot.
Once they'd gotten a few streets away from the store, Spike directed one dark eyebrow at his companion, "Feelin' peckish?"
"How'd you know?"
"Your stomach's been rumblin' like trolley train since we got to the shop. And you've been starin' at me like you're a poorhouse orphan and I'm the only cuppa porridge left."
Her lips curved into an enigmatic smile and her eyes darkened a fraction as they passed a secluded alleyway. "Maybe I just want porridge to do bad, bad things to me."
God, but it tempted him. Hustle down the secluded narrow alley and have a few minutes of explosive bliss up against a rough brick wall. "Gonna be the death of me, pet. Save that thought for later. But if you think for a second that I'll let you anywhere close to my neck… or other parts... after a two day fast, you're off your bird."
"No worries. If we're about to crash a Buffy battle, then I'm doing takeout."
"Takeout?" Spike repeated, as he watched her pull two large plastic containers out of her bag in explanation. "On the other hand, nevermind."
As soon as they passed under the elaborately twisted iron gates of the Restfield Cemetery, the grunts and yells of an extremely physical altercation guided them to the slayer's exact location. They found Buffy balanced precariously on top of a crypt, launching herself downward to pummel a particularly ugly Strom demon into the ground.
"Yeow." Charlie was completely riveted as she watched Buffy drive a fist into the demon's stomach, inhaling sharply as the demon lashed back at the slayer with a nastily curved dagger. Spike had forgotten that she'd never seen Buffy fight.
Buffy blocked another attempted knife slash, countering with a side kick to the back of the demon's knees that sent him flying. "Guys, if you're here to give me the rundown on Bleakgrave, can it wait until I'm pulverizing this guy?"
Spike looked wistfully at the fight taking place. "How 'bout I help you pulverize that guy, and then we can get this rundown over with as quickly as bloody possible?"
"Works for me. I have a date with my history book that I can't miss. Plus Riley's home tonight."
Spike rolled his eyes, annoyed that the soldier's away mission hadn't taken more time. Like forever. "Goodie. Maybe we can swap stories 'bout that time he put me in captivity like a bloody rabid mongrel."
Buffy yelped as the demon sliced open the edge of her shirtsleeve. "Are you helping or snarking?"
"You go sit," Spike instructed Charlie, pointing out a row of stones a safe distance away. "Watch. There's more to a fight than monkeyin' onto somethin's back and havin' a feast."
"Ya don't say."
"Mean it, Charlie. Off with you. Plenty of opportunity to rumble with the big bads later, don't want you gettin' your face clobbered on account of bein' overeager and still green 'round the ears."
"Hey," Charlie said, holding up her hands in acquiescence, "I'm not looking to fight him, he's all yours. I just want the leftovers." She meandered away to find a place to park herself.
Though larger than most Strom, the one Buffy was fighting was no exception to the textbook definition, with its pointed, bony head and closely set, beady eyes. The species weren't generally known for their cunning, but what this one lacked in flair, it made up for with lethal enthusiasm.
Spike jumped into the brawl, not bothering to change from human form. It was already a bit of an unfair fight, though he had to give the demon credit. Outnumbered two to one, the thing only grew more determined, deflecting both Buffy and Spike's attempts to take it down and lobbing a few harsh punches to both of them with its free fist.
Perched atop a nearby tombstone, Charlie braced an arm over her head as clumps of dirt and grass rained down on her.
"Doin' alright, pet?" Spike called out, rolling away from the demon's vice-like grip around its dagger, having barely avoided the blow that desecrated some poor sod's final resting place. Buffy took a running leap into the demon's side, knocking it down as it roared in aggravation.
"I'm good. Great, in fact," Charlie assured him, moving her limbs to sit cross-legged on the stone. "You know what this is? Dinner theater."
"Glad to provide entertainment," he responded dryly.
"Would you rather have me providing the entertainment? I can narrate this epic skirmish, if you want."
"No," came Spike's definitive answer.
"Oooh! I do! It'd be beneficial to Slayer morale." Buffy grunted as the demon's foot connected with her thigh, and she elbowed its shoulder in retaliation, keeping a close watch on the knife.
"Alright," Charlie said, shrugging playfully as Spike sent her a menacing glower. "Ladies choice, Spike. You're overruled. Aaaand, in the ring, err…. ring of headstones... we have Buffy and Spike against an unnamed, armed, and very growly demon. We'll call him Jeff."
"You're callin' him Jeff?"
"What's wrong with Jeff?" Buffy asked.
"He's a bloody Strom demon, for starters."
Buffy grinned at Charlie. "I like Jeff. Continue."
Charlie cracked a wicked smile at the bickering combatants. "Right, continuing. Jeff seems crazed with bloodlust, wildly stabbing at our two heroes as they try to lock him down. Buffy powerfully kicks the knife out of Jeff's hand as Spike watches passively from the sidelines."
"Oi!"
"Annoyed, Spike turns and looks at the humble narrator in dismay, ignorant of the fact that Jeff is right behind him and- ohhh, oh. That's gotta hurt! Spike glares at the narrator again, while Buffy does all the work and punches Jeff squarely in the jaw. I think Spike needs a bandaid."
Spike eyed the shallow cut that ran from elbow to his shoulder. "Could we wrap this up, Slayer? For the sake of time and possibly my ego?"
With a lightening fast dodge and roll, Buffy snatched the demon's knife off the ground. "You hold, I'll slay?" She asked, eyebrows raised in silent appeal.
"With pleasure." Spike feinted left, then skated around the demon's other side, grabbing both its arms and locking them behind its back. The knife flashed as Buffy went in for the killing stab to the demon's heart, and the the creature's weight sagged in Spike's grasp.
"Gotta cleave the head off, Slayer. Regenerates, this one does. 'Less you fancy a do-over in a coupla minutes, but I don't think I can take another round of blow-by-blow from Bob Costas over there."
"He regenerates?" Buffy scowled at the demon, something which might have made an impact had it still been alive. "Sneaky. Well, who said you didn't learn something new every day?" She sliced the demon's neck in one quick, efficient swipe, making a face as its head bounced and rolled a few feet away. The rest of it dropped straight to the ground when Spike released its arms.
"And you," Spike grumbled, marching over to Charlie, and placing his hands on both sides of the gravestone she was sitting on, "you're a menace."
Buffy began wiping off the demon blade on the wet grass. "Spike, don't take it out on her. It's your fault you got distracted."
"Aw, are you okay?" Charlie leaned forward and inspected the thin line of red that ran up his arm, carefully running her fingers along the undamaged skin.
"Could be better. Pride's feelin' a little fragile at the mo'. You should drink up so we can get back to the crypt for a few," he said, pursing his lips, "and make me feel all manly again." A good fight with minor injuries never failed to get Spike's blood flowing in a downward direction.
"Say no more, my pride-deficient manly-vamp. I will drink with gusto," she promised, raising her chin to smirk at him. Unable to help himself, he leaned in, heatedly pressing his lips to hers in promise of things to come.
The knife slipped out of Buffy's hand and dropped to the ground with an audible thump. "Oh my god. I'm seriously gonna pretend I didn't just see that."
Spike had forgotten that the slayer was still standing there, but he supposed it didn't matter what she saw. Whatever relationship he had or didn't have, there was no need for it to be kept a secret.
With one last lingering kiss, Charlie hopped down off the headstone, pulling the containers and something silver and shiny out of her bag before making her way over to the headless demon carcass.
"What's that?" Buffy asked, curiously peering into the other girl's hand.
The brunette vampire eyed her sheepishly. "It's a spile. Willy had a bunch of them for his ale casks, but they're usually used for tapping maple trees, for syrup and stuff."
"And you're doing what with it?"
"… tapping this demon?"
Buffy groaned. "And goodbye, pancakes. Forever."
Charlie winced at the slayer's reaction, rolling the spile around between her fingers. "Sorry. I keep forgetting what smells good to me doesn't really entice everyone else."
"Anyone else," Spike corrected.
"Eh, it's okay," Buffy gave a dismissive wave of her hand, "Mom's on one of those no carb diet kicks so I probably wasn't going to be eating pancakes for a while anyway. Bonus, now I won't even crave them."
"Joyce is on a diet? Bloody ridiculous, she has a lovely figure."
"Right?" The slayer agreed, turning her back as Charlie shoved the spile into the demon's exposed flank, "That's what I told her, but she's been thinking about dating again and is all self-conscious about it. So anyways, what happened with Bleakgrave?"
If there was one thing Spike didn't want to do, it was repeat the events of the past thirty six hours in multiple different ways to multiple different people. "It's a tale I'm only tellin' one more time. Meetin's startin' in a half hour at your place, Slayer."
"Emergency code Summer's Residence? Since when? I thought we were meeting at the store."
"That was the original plan," Charlie piped up, "but trust me when I say you'll want to maintain a wide berth from the store for a good day and a half. Your nose will thank you."
"Got it. Just don't bring that…" the slayer pointed the knife at the steadily filling container of gooey green fluid, "when you come, or it's going to be the last meeting I'm ever allowed to have."
"Not to worry, Slayer," Spike gave Charlie's crouching form a smoldering glance-over, "Definitely stoppin' by the crypt 'fore we head out."
Buffy had already started walking towards the cemetery entrance. "Ugh, Mom's gonna be so mad I'm doing this on a school night."
A/N: Uh oh! Things are about to get real interesting in Sunnydale, so hang on to your hats, kiddies. Hope you're all still enjoying reading as much as I'm enjoying writing, and thanks for all the recent favs, follows, and comments. You guys are better fuel than coffee!