Series: Mortal Allies
Story Title: Episode 4, My Turn
By: Passion4Spike
Chapter 29: National Hot Chocolate Day
Chapter Notes:
SURPRISE! A bonus chapter this week! All4Spike has been getting chapters beta'd so fast! I carved out a bit of time today to acknowledge her amazing-ness by posting an extra chapter. Hope you enjoy.
Thanks to all of you for reading! It means so much to me, like hot chocolate with little marshmallows for my muse! Sending all the sloppy, joyful doggie kisses to everyone who has left a note, a like or a kudo. I'm working on replying to all your lovely comments and treasure every one of them.
Thanks also to my wonderful beta readers and friends: All4Spike, Paganbaby, and TeamEricNSookie. Holi117 has switched to a pre-reader, which I'm so happy she's finding time for that. All mistakes are mine because I keep fiddling with stuff. If you see any, PM me and I'll fix it.
Chapter 29: National Hot Chocolate Day
Buffy flew down the stairs, barely remembering to grab her coat before racing out the front door, the four-legged Spike right on her heels. Then she ran. She had no idea where she was running to, only that she was running away from the vampire who had her stomach in knots and her heart in shreds.
He 'wanted her'. Her body, he meant. Not her heart. He'd said as much—he had no use for a Slayer's heart. The words were like a firebrand, searing into Buffy's soul with every breath. She wasn't Faith. She didn't know how to be like Faith, how to separate the two – heart and body. She didn't know if she wanted to.
Seeing him with the other Slayer had completely trampled Buffy's most ardent attempt at detachment. The hurt and jealousy that flared had been immediate and unstoppable, burning away all her attempts to smother the feelings that had been growing inside her. Her stomach had dropped through the floor, and her heart had cracked, spilling her suppressed emotions out like marrow from a shattered bone.
But Spike didn't care about any of that. How many times did he have to say it before she got it? No need for a Slayer's heart. How hard was that to understand?
Buffy felt hot tears threatening and savagely fought them back, her feet still carrying her away from the vampire who wasn't really hers. She had to stop this rollercoaster of emotions that kept drowning her before they left her at the bottom of an ocean with no way to escape. She had to find a way to stuff it all back in and spackle the cracks, just like Xander had filled in all the bullet holes. Then she could slap a bright, shiny coat of paint on it all, and it would look good as new to anyone looking in from the outside.
Buffy didn't stop running until she got to Restfield Cemetery. As she turned into the familiar gates, the sun dipped below the horizon. The gravestones and mausoleums were cast into deep puddles of shadowy murk in the moments before the scattered streetlights flickered on.
Buffy was breathing hard, as was Spike, his tongue lolling out with the exertion, when she slowed to a walk. Without thinking, her feet found the well-worn path through the graveyard that she'd taken a million times before.
"You and me, Spikey," Buffy said to her furry friend, already pushing her emotions back behind the fragile façade of 'I'm-fineness'. "It's just you and me. No Spike. No Angel. No unknown-future-heart-breaky-guy. No Santa Claus or Easter Bunny. Just us."
Spike whined sorrowfully, leaning against her hip as they walked along.
"Yeah, I know," she agreed, resting one hand on his thick mane, taking comfort in knowing he, at least, would always be there for her. "But it'll be okay. He'll be gone soon, and everything will go back to normal-ish. We'll slay, and get cheeseburgers, and go to school, break in a new Watcher, figure out college, and not think about smartass, frenemy vampires with impossibly blue eyes. Until then, I'll just try to be avoidy-girl."
Spike let out a deep sigh and licked Buffy's hand consolingly.
"Eww," Buffy complained good-naturedly, shaking the excess drool off with a flick of her wrist. "Save the slobber-rama for the stupid vampire who keeps ripping his guts open."
Spike huffed out a breath, letting his jaws fall open into a smug little doggie grin.
"Don't look at me like that. The sooner his guts are fixed, the sooner he leaves, the sooner we can get back to life as we know it. There's no other reason for the concern—" Buffy stopped suddenly, catching sight of a flash of red hair passing beneath one of the glowing amber lights that dotted the area. She ducked down, grabbing Spike and dragging him with her to the cover of some bushes next to one of the larger crypts, a few yards off the path.
Buffy reached into the waistband of her jeans and produced a stake, holding it at the ready as she heard footsteps coming up the same path she and Spike had just been on. Her heart began thrashing wildly in her chest—apparently unaware that it was being held together by nothing but spackle and paint. As the vampire came nearer, she held her breath, gripping Spike's collar anxiously. Despite his clear desire to chomp on the demon, he didn't pull away from her, taking his cue to stay hidden.
Buffy could see the vampire now. Male, wavy red hair that fell to his shoulders, freckles peppering his face, even in his demon form, as tall as Angel, maybe taller, and as broad as a barn. His muscles bulged against the fabric of his vintage 'I want my MTV' t-shirt, making it strain to contain him. Buffy knew him at once: the vampire who had beaten her when she'd tried to save Allison, the one who had taunted her, saying he could, 'play for hours' and how he loved it when she screamed.
The Slayer felt an icy shiver of revulsion slither down her spine with a healthy dollop of terror mixed in. While dangling from that vampire's iron grip she'd known in her soul that she was going to die. She'd not felt so sure about impending death since the Master, who had, you know, actually killed her. At least that was all the Master did—this one would've done much worse.
She could feel the sturdy wood of the stake digging into in her trembling, sweaty fingers. Buffy gripped it even tighter, willing her nerves to abate. She longed to plunge Mr. Pointy into this vamp's heart but, despite feeling stronger, she wasn't sure she could take him. Yet.
The vampire passed by, apparently without noticing her thudding heart or adrenaline induced sweat. He was moving rapidly, clearly focused on his destination rather than his surroundings.
Buffy waited, staying in their hiding spot for several minutes after the vampire disappeared from view. With her stake still in hand, she finally stood up and slid out of the thick bushes, Spike right on her heels. He looked at her expectantly, his brown eyes seemingly lit from within with excited flashes of silver lightning.
"Here's the plan," Buffy whispered to him. "We're gonna track him—that's all. Just see where he came from, see if we can find where he's staying—that's it though. Got it? Just track."
Spike sneezed, apparently not pleased with this plan, but in the next moment, his nose was to the ground and he was following the vampire.
"Spike!" Buffy hissed. "No! Not track him! Track where he came from, as in, that-a-way," she instructed, pointing in the opposite direction from where Spike was heading.
The dog scowled at her, huffing out an indignant breath, but turned around, put his nose back to the ground, and began following the scent. Buffy had to jog to keep up with him, but was happy to see that she could. Even after her headlong retreat from the house, she was strong enough to keep pace with the big dog. That was a good sign, a definite improvement.
Spike came to a stop at the high wall on the edge of the cemetery, whining and looking up. Buffy tucked her stake away, backed up a couple of steps to get a running start, and leapt. She hit the top of the wall with her stomach, driving the air from her lungs. She gasped but didn't immediately fall, kicking her legs to try and find some purchase. In the few seconds the Slayer was up there, she was able to see an old house on the other side of the wall—a two-story Victorian with peeling paint, sagging trim, and a rusty tin roof. It was dark, rundown, and obviously abandoned, with plywood covering most of the windows and doors. It also looked haunted—like seriously, a ghost's wet dream. In the dim light from the distant streetlights, Buffy could only see a single footpath leading to and from the structure through the overgrown yard, and it was right here where the vamp had come over.
Buffy dropped back down to her feet next to Spike. "Good boy," she whispered, patting him appreciatively on the head. "We'll get him soon," Buffy promised as she tugged on his collar, urging him back toward the gate and home. "Very soon."
* X-X *
As Buffy and Spike returned to the house, butterflies began to flutter nervously in her belly. She wasn't sure what she'd say to Spike—the other, extra-fangy one—now. What was there to say? She had planned on the whole avoid-y thing, but that might prove impossible with him staying in the same house. But she couldn't very well stay out all night. Maybe she could just grab a bite of something out of the fridge for dinner and rush up the stairs to her room with it before he saw her.
What greeted her when she came in the back door with the dog wasn't what she expected. The Scooby gang was there—Oz, Willow, and Xander—all sitting at the breakfast bar. At the stove, her mom was cooking up grilled cheese sandwiches and Buffy could smell tomato soup simmering too. Faith and Spike, thankfully, were nowhere in sight. The little green-eyed monster in her belly snarled, 'They better not be nowhere together.'
'Not your vampire!' she admonished herself, stuffing the monster and the whirlwind of emotions back down behind the rickety, teetering wall she'd propped up like a false front on a movie set. Buffy put on her happiest expression as she closed the door, slathering on the spackle and paint. Her smile was so wide it hurt her face. "Hey guys, what's the up?" she asked cheerily as she began to shrug out of her coat and Spike trotted over to his water bowl.
"Xander had some wood samples he wanted to match to the stairs," Willow explained, waving a hand at some small squares of wood on the counter. "And, with the lack of slay-age lately, we thought it would be better if we drove him, you know, with the darkness and all."
Buffy looked from the small samples of wood up to Xander. "I thought you were spackle-guy; I didn't know you were carpenter-guy too."
"I am a man of many talents," Xander proclaimed. "Or, at least, I hope so," he hedged. "I'm gonna try one riser and see how it goes."
"Then the judging of the Sunnydale DIY talent contest will take place," Oz explained and Xander nodded in agreement.
"Were you out patrolling? Are you feeling better?" Willow asked the blonde.
Buffy cleared her throat. "Not exactly patrolling," she admitted. "Just sort of… ummm…"
"Checking up on Faith?" Xander filled in, misreading her hesitation. "Cos God knows, she'll slack on the patrolling for the lamest of reasons."
Buffy gave him that plastic smile again. "So, you know she's back too, huh?"
"Your mom told us," Willow divulged, reaching for a bowl of chips on the counter and taking a couple.
"Then your mom offered sustenance and… well, who are we to say 'no'?" Xander put in.
"Mostly Xander was the overriding factor in that verdict," Oz revealed.
"What can I say? Mrs. Summers is the best cook in three counties," Xander gushed. "How could anyone resist?"
"Wow, it's getting deep in here," Buffy muttered as she came over and stood at the end of the counter next to her friends.
"Buffy, why don't you see if Spike wants to come down and have some of this prize-winning cuisine?" Joyce suggested lightly, turning to look at her daughter.
Buffy paled. This is so not avoid-y! "Uh, I'm sure he wouldn't," she excused, crinkling her nose. "He's not big on cheese."
Joyce's brow wrinkled. "I thought you said he liked cheeseburgers."
Buffy smiled nervously. Oops. "That's my Spike… the other Spike, not so much. I think he probably needs to make with being restful, if he's, you know, resting, cos of the needing of it for… healing."
Joyce still looked confused, but shook her head slightly and turned back to her cooking.
"Need what for the healing?" came a deep baritone from the dining room.
They all looked up to see Spike making his way toward them. The cat-like saunter wasn't quite there, more like a lame mouse limp, but he was erect, standing and walking, and apparently managing the stairs all on his own. He'd put on a black t-shirt and a clean pair of jeans, though his feet were still bare. Buffy remembered his boots and duster were out on the front porch—both needing to either be professionally cleaned and repaired or taken to a toxic waste landfill and buried.
"Spike!" Joyce exclaimed in delight. "You look so much better. Oh, I'm so glad to see you up and about."
Buffy gnawed at her lip, dropping her eyes to the bowl of chips on the counter as Willow also gushed over the goodness of Spike's appearance. Oz and Xander stayed silent, apparently finding it unmanly to do join in on the 'Spike looks great' schmooze-fest.
"Buffy thought you might need your rest," Joyce answered his question. "But I thought you may want to join us for some dinner. Grilled cheese and tomato soup."
"And chips," Xander added, grabbing a handful.
Spike looked at Buffy, who was doing her level best to sink into the floor, not looking at him. He turned back to Joyce with an appreciative smile. "Sounds tasty. Grilled cheese is one o' my favorites."
Buffy's head shot up and she glared at him across the counter. He'd heard her say he didn't like cheese and he was doing this just to get back at her. Stupid vampire hearing! And now… what?
Spike smirked at Buffy and held up a pack of cigarettes and his lighter, before addressing Joyce again, "Do I have time for a quick smoke first?"
"Sure. I'll get sandwiches on for you and Buffy."
"A spot of blood wouldn't go amiss," Spike suggested as he began making his way toward the back door, his blue eyes dancing with amusement at Buffy's discomfort.
Buffy gritted her teeth. Fine, if that's how it was—she could be ignore-o girl, pretend none of that ever happened. Or most of her could. As Spike passed her, he let his arm just barely graze hers, sending sparks of feelings better left buried dancing giddily through her body.
"Be a pet and drop a couple o' those peppers in it, would you?" Spike asked, looking at the Slayer. "Adds a fiery tingle to the tongue, that," he explained, running the tip of said tongue slowly across his teeth. "Like a perfect kiss," he whispered just loud enough for her to hear, though behind him, Oz looked up at the words.
Buffy glared at him. "Whatever you say, buckaroo," she muttered back before turning to the fridge to retrieve some blood. She felt Spike stiffen behind her and smiled to herself—not as forget-y as he pretends.
* X-X *
On the back porch, it took Spike three tries to get the flint to ignite the flame on his Zippo. His hands were shaking, his nerves decidedly unnerved. He'd pulled his cloak of 'Big Badness' around himself when he'd heard Buffy's voice in the kitchen, but it was all veneer with no substance behind it. He inhaled the calming nicotine, savoring the feel of it in his lungs and the taste of it on his tongue as he mulled over everything that had happened.
Well, that wasn't hard to suss out—she'd said 'no'. Well, not exactly, 'No.' She'd stammered out an apology—whatever the bloody hell that meant.
The smoke curled around Spike's head before being borne off on the light breeze as her words swirled around in his mind. She was sorry. He took another drag on the cigarette before clenching his jaw in frustration. Sorry for letting him hope she'd want anything more with him, he suspected. She was the Slayer and he was a soulless demon, with questionable motives, according to the Watcher. He was no Angel, after all. There was no soul guiding his steps. Why did he think she would ever treat him as more than a tenuous friend and a solid enemy?
And yet, she had at least apologized. Which made him think she felt something for him—even if she shouldn't. Why else would she have tended him so ardently, gone to such great lengths to get him fresh blood, and nearly kissed him? Then there was the scene from Othello in the bathroom. And, judging by her body's unmistakable reactions to even the most innocent touch, it wasn't just friendship she was feeling.
But he still didn't know what to do now. Pretend it never happened? Go back to being 'friends'? Confront her, let her know that he knew she felt something? Leave Sunnydale and forget the bloody Slayer and her body-and-mind twisting games?
He'd never been in this situation before. Dru had been… well, Dru. There was no way to compare what he'd had with her to Buffy. They were, literally, night and day. And where did that leave him but straddling the line between the sun and the moon, between shadow and light? He wanted so desperately to touch the radiance that was Buffy, to revel in her strength and savor her wit, to drown in her passion and float in her kindness, to be awed by her ferocity and surrounded by her love—but he didn't know how.
Confronting the Slayer seemed like a bad idea. A pushed Slayer pushes back—with interest.
The thought of leaving Sunnydale made his stomach roil and writhe like maggots on a week-old corpse, leaving him feeling physically ill.
Pretend it never happened? Go back to their previous state of friendship? Well, that was kind of what he'd done in the kitchen, except his stupid mouth had to taunt her a bit. Of course, she'd given back as good as she'd gotten, his fiery Slayer.
His Slayer.
Was she still his Slayer? Or had he cocked that up too?
Spike sighed and flicked the ash from the fag before taking another hit of nicotine. He wasn't any closer to sussing this out than he'd been an hour ago when the Slayer had fled the bathroom.
He listened to the group in the kitchen talking as he looked around for the ashtray Joyce had put out for him. Not finding it, he stubbed the cigarette out on the underside of the railing and tossed the filter into the shrubs. As he continued listening to the light banter between the friends, an idea came to him—he'd ask one of them what he should do. They knew Buffy, they'd know how to approach her properly, without a stake getting involved. Not the handyman—that one clearly had a severe vampire allergy—but one of the others, the witch or the wolf. As Spike rose from the chair, and despite the pain that shot through him with the motion, he genuinely smiled for the first time in at least two days. He had a plan, and contrary to popular belief, his plans were bloody brilliant.
* X-X *
"Spike," Joyce greeted him when he came back in. "You're just in time. Everything's warm… we were just going into the dining room."
"Ta, luv," Spike replied, picking up what he assumed was his plate based on the mug of blood beside it, and following the others into the other room.
"Oh my gosh!" Willow exclaimed, stopping in the doorway and making everyone behind her hastily put on the brakes to avoid a messy collision. "We totally missed Buffy's birthday!" she declared, gesturing toward the calendar hanging on the wall by the phone. "We didn't party or do the gifts or anything."
Buffy snorted. "Buffy and birthdays are unmixy. I'm officially not celebrating birthdays anymore. Ever."
"Awww, but Buffy," Willow admonished, turning around and facing the group gathered behind her, her own plate and a glass of soda in her hands. "It's your birthday… your eighteenth… it's special and needs a major celebration to mark its passing."
"I think that was what Kralik and the Council was for. And believe me, they really made me feel super special," Buffy mocked, rolling her eyes.
"Willow's right, Buffy," Joyce interjected. "It isn't every day my little girl turns eighteen, and I refuse to let the Council and their… their…"
"Bollocks?" Spike suggested.
Joyce gave him a smile and a short nod. "…bollocks ruin it for you."
Buffy set her food back down on the counter. "Look, I really appreciate all the sentiment, but I'm totally serious about birthdays. No more. Ever again. Zero, zilch, nada…"
"Nonsense," Joyce interrupted.
"Exactly! Birthdays are nonsense," Buffy agreed.
"No, I mean not celebrating is nonsense," Joyce clarified.
"It's not nonsense, it's total sense! Have you not been paying attention to Buffy birthday bashes? They're really heavy on the bashing," the Slayer continued to argue. "Have you seen Spike?" she went on, waving a hand at the vampire. "And Giles? In fact, my birthdays have escalated from bashing to blasting… next I'm guessing comes blitzes and bombs."
Buffy looked around at her friends. Willow was about to put on her resolve face. Xander looked like a puppy begging for a Milk-Bone. Her mom was going into her 'I'm the mother and I know best' mode. Only Oz seemed unaffected either way—but then, he always looked like that. "I am not celebrating my birthday. End. Of. Story," she declared, crossing her arms and glaring defiantly at them all.
Joyce moved over next to Willow to look at the calendar, an idea glittering in her eyes. She ran a finger over the dates, starting with the nineteenth. "Okay… how do you feel about popcorn?" Joyce asked, looking back at her daughter.
Buffy arched a brow. "We've never dated, but I'm guessing he's not relationship material. Explodes with the least little thing."
Joyce rolled her eyes. "January 19th is National Popcorn Day… instead of celebrating your birthday we could celebrate that."
Buffy frowned. "I think the universe just might see through that guise… being on the same day and all," she excused.
"Fine," Joyce continued, undeterred, looking back at the calendar. "January 23rd is National Pie Day. January 30th is National Croissant day. January 31st is National Hot Chocolate Day." She stopped and looked up, her bright eyes darting first to Spike before settling on her daughter. "You love hot chocolate," she reminded Buffy. "And it's not on the same day as your birthday."
Buffy sighed, her shoulders slumping. They were clearly not letting this go. "Fine," she ground out, rolling her eyes. "We can celebrate National Hot Chocolate Day."
"With presents and cake and dancing at the Bronze!" Willow added gleefully.
Buffy sighed again, but heard Spike chuckling behind her. "What?" she asked, glaring at him.
Spike smirked, shaking his head. "Nothing, luv. Sounds brilliant to me. Assume I'm invited to this little shindig, am I?"
"Of course you are," Willow answered eagerly before anyone else could speak, though both Buffy and Joyce looked discomfited. "You're a big part of the reason Buffy got to her eighteenth birthday, after all."
Spike's grin widened. Well, well, well. Now he had a few extra days at least to get the Slayer sussed out. They couldn't very well kick his lily-white arse out before the party.
"So, are we going for shindig or the ever-popular hootenanny?" Oz wondered.
"Well, aren't the Dingoes playing the Bronze that night?" Willow asked, looking at her boyfriend.
"We are," he confirmed.
"So, you can decide if we're shindigging or hootenannying," she suggested.
Oz nodded contemplatively. "I'm thinking hootenanny. We can make it chock full of hoot, with just a little bit of nanny. The perfect blend for celebrating chocolatey beverages," he suggested.
"Sounds brilliant… wouldn't miss it, myself," Spike agreed smugly.
Joyce smiled tightly, but grabbed a pen and circled the date on the calendar. "It's all settled then—National Hot Chocolate Day will never be the same."
End Notes:
Well, at least we know Spike will be in town a while longer, don't we? And he's not giving up!
The house I used in the storyboard where our red headed baddie has been living is actually a house very near where I live (Though, of course, I've never been to it). It's called the Frank Saxon House.
"The home sits on the top of a hill at 200 South Saxon Avenue. On November 5, 1998, it was added to the U.S. National Register of Historic Places. The Frank Saxon House is one of the earliest examples of Frame Vernacular architecture with Queen Anne Revival influence in Hernando County. The house is in an extreme state of disrepair with windows, doors, and parts of the roof missing."
Thank you so much for reading and for your patience as I try to catch up with your wonderful comments! I thought things would slow down a bit for me, but so far no luck with that. But I'll get there – I love reading all your notes! They keep me inspired!