BUFFY, THE VAMPIRE SLAYER
William The Bloody, Chapter 3
"Home Is Where The Heart Is"
"What in the bloody hell was I thinking?" asked Spike of himself, standing next to the very same tree he had often stood by while watching Buffy and her family. "Falling in love with a Slayer."
Spike stood silently, reflecting on his disgusting behavior since having had the chip implanted in his head, and wondered if it had done more than inhibit him from violence against humans. Perhaps it had also manipulated his feeling and emotions, which was easier to believe than that he had allowed himself to develop such thoughts on his own.
Lost in thought, staring through the open door he had exited only a few minutes ago, Spike reflected that perhaps he had been too hasty with Joyce, not letting her suffer like he so use to enjoy. He did have a bit of respect for the woman, he had to admit. She did have excellent taste in shows on the Tele after all.
He nearly chuckled as he thought of the old saying Home Is Where The Heart Is. This was Joyce's home, and her heart was definitely here. It might be in pieces, but it was definitely here.
"Well, well, well," came a soft voice from behind him. "If it isn't the Slayer's love lorn lackey."
Spike turned around nonchalantly, ready to tear into who ever was intruding on his introspection, and only remotely succeeded in containing his surprise at seeing Glory standing before him. She was looking as beautiful as ever, her curly hair seeming golden and free as it hung about her face. Her short, red dress was hugging her figure so tight that Spike smirked at the thought that she should be posting a dangerous curves sign.
"I see you're still into the stalking bit," she said in response to his silence. "Hoping to catch a glimpse of Buffy? Something to entice your memory later, during alone time?"
"Goddess or not, anyone ever tell you you're a bitch?"
Glory's face became a mask of rage. The Goddess was on Spike in two steps, and she grabbed him by the head and locked eyes with him as she snarled threats and promises.
"I'm going to suck out your brain and use your vacant body as my step stool," she growled. "And there's nothing your precious Slayer can do about it."
"Got that right," strained Spike. "She's dead."
"What?" asked Glory, releasing him and stepping back as if she had been slapped.
"Slayer went boom," added Spike, rocking back and forth on his feet.
"But I wanted to kill her," whined Glory, looking sullen. "Her, and those witches, and…"
"They're gone too, I'm afraid," informed the gloating Spike, smiling at her. "Would-be boy and his ex-demon squeeze. Oh, and we can't forget the stuffy, ever vigilant, nearly clue-less Watcher."
"Wait a minute," commanded Glory, holding her hand out like a cop trying to stop traffic. "Are you telling me that they're all dead? Every last one of those annoying people is gone from my life?"
"I see you do understand some English."
"But… But… My key," she mumbled, shaking her head slowly. "Now I'll never find it."
"Oh, that thing," said Spike, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and tapping the end of it against his free hand. "I can tell you where that thing is."
Spike was looking down as he spoke, he therefore missed Glory's movements, but the solid thud of being slammed into the tree was more than enough sensory input to let him know what had happen. That and the fact that Glory was holding him by throat, back against the tree, about two feet off of the ground. Spike grunted in pain, gripping Glory's arm in a vain attempt to force his release.
"Where is my key?" she growled.
"Up the stairs," gurgled Spike. "Second room on the right. Goes by the name of Dawn."
"The child?" asked Glory, looking doubtful. She then smiled in appreciation and nodded slightly. "Those clever little monks."
"Do you mind?" asked Spike, barely getting the words out.
Glory let him drop, smiling with anticipation that she was finally going to be able to lay her hands on her prize. All the years, all the troubles, all the bad hair days were about to pay off, and she couldn't be more ecstatic.
"Thank you," she said, kissing him on the top of his head before turning and bolting into the house.
Gathering himself up, Spike retrieved another cigarette from his pocket and lit it, inhaling deeply. Walking across the street, moving as leisurely as someone out for an evening stroll, Spike concentrated on ignoring the background noise of the night, straining to pick out any sound from the Summers' house.
He was rewarded a few moments later, Glory's scream of anguish so deep and full of power that it blew out the windows of, not only the Summers' house, but also of every building for a block around it. The scream carried on, dwindling to the cry of someone that had given up, retreating into the dark corners of their mind.
Spike smiled as he imagined how Glory must be, on her knees in the room covered with blood, sobbing plaintively as she realized that her key was dead, ravished beyond any hope of revival by any means, even that of a Goddess.
It was time to find a car, LA was calling, and he still had some scores to settle. He just couldn't decide if he should do it fast and dirty, or slow and painful.
Oh, well. He'd think about it on the drive.
"Blue Jean," he began singing, walking down the street and scoping the area for a suitable vehicle. "I just met a girl named Blue Jean…"