Lonely Vigil
by
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, Joss Whedon, please don't sue me! The only thing of value I own is the computer, anyway!
Author's Note: Please be easy on me, as this is my first foray into the Buffiverse. It is not, however, my first fanfic, so feel free to send constructive criticisms to teneljade@netzero.net. Thanks!
Setting: Canon until right after 'Into the Woods', AU from there.
Rating: PG-13
The expression on the platinum-blond vampire's face was wistful. It was obvious he wasn't hunting, yet the casual onlooker would not be able to figure out what exactly he was doing, either.
Xander knew.
The dark-haired teen sauntered slowly towards the lonely demon, making his movements as calm and unhurried as possible. He made no secret of his presence, yet the vampire did not turn. Xander waved the cloud of smoke from his face, grimaced, and broke the silence.
"Do vamps get lung cancer? Because if you've been sucking smoke, for what, about two hundred years, you ought to be dead by now."
William the Bloody, or Spike, as he was better known, sent only a glare in the younger man's direction. "I am dead, you bloody imbecile." His voice was lilting with a British accent, who's delicate elegance seemed out of place on such a vicious demon.
He dropped the cigarette, stomped on it, and turned on his heel, never once noticing that his entire motive for being there had come out when she'd heard the noise.
Xander watched the blond demon retreat with his shoulders hunched. Spike wasn't a large man, but he was wiry, and gave the impression of being tall and poised. That was, when he wasn't sulking, Xander reflected.
A light lit the porch on the house they'd been standing outside of, and Buffy Summers' voice rang into the dark night. Down the block, the vampire stopped suddenly, and then dropped his head even farther, and continued to walk. It isn't worth it, he reminded himself.
But he did turn his head long enough to see Buffy greet Xander with a hug, and a smile. Oh, how he wished she would one day greet him like that.
Retreating into his apartment, Spike just barely missed the sunrise. He had walked all night, head down, shoulders slumped. Just plodding, putting one foot in front of the other, not sure where he was going, and honestly not caring. So exhausted that he failed to notice that the door no longer hung on its hinges.
"Cut that a little close, didn't you? With the sunrise?"
Spike jumped at the unexpected voice. "Bloody hell!" He took a closer look at the intruder. "Don't I have to invite you?"
The dark shadow in the back of the dim apartment nodded. "You did. Once, a long, long time ago."
Spike nodded. "Oh, well, knowing that makes everything all better." He dropped into a chair, keeping a watchful eye on his guest, and picking up his trusty liquor bottle. "You know, you're not safe. This chip doesn't say anything about not killing fellow vampires."
"I didn't come here to fight."
"Funny. Because breaking into one's apartment, and then scaring the crap out of them is generally sort of an invite to be attacked." Spike looked down at the bottle he was holding. "Were you in my drinks?"
A displeased sound came from the broad, dark shadow of a man. "No, I was not in your drinks. Would you settle down and let me talk?"
Spike put the bottle back on the table with a slam. "Sure. Anything you say. This is only my house, and that'll only be the fifth...or was that sixth? door that I've had to replace in the last two years!"
"I will pay for your door."
Spike made an annoyed sound of his own. "So, what are you here for, anyway?"
The dark vampire's face was bathed in shadow, but Spike could see the worry etched on his handsome face. "The Slayer. She is in mortal danger."
Spike shrugged, pretending to be indifferent to the news. "So? She's usually in danger, mate. Part of the job description."
He took a swig from the bottle, and put it back down. "Besides, where you do get off caring, anyway? We're vampires, in case you hadn't noticed. And she's the Slayer. That means we're supposed to want her dead, not out of danger."
The other vampire glowered at Spike. "We're not ordinary vampires, and you know it."
"Yeah. But you might have a soul, I only have a stupid chip in my head! I don't actually care about the Slayer, I just can't hurt her."
Angel made a derogatory snort. "And I'm a saint. Yeah, Spike, you don't care about her. If you had that chip out of your head, the first thing you'd do is kill her, right?"
Spike nodded absently. "Right."
"Yeah, right! You're in love with her, you're not going to kill her!"
Spike's head snapped up. "I am not in love with the bloody Slayer, Angelus!"
Angel shrugged, and took a step out of the shadows. "Whatever you say, Spike." He paused, not quite looking at the smaller vampire. In fact, his eyes were so blank that Spike wasn't sure he was looking at anything. It seemed like through might be a better word for what his sire was doing.
Then he refocused, and pulled his gaze around to the vampire he had made, and felt at least a little responsibility for. "Keep the Slayer away from the graveyard tomorrow night. Me and my boys'll take care of things."
Spike snorted. "And how, exactly do you propose I do that? My word isn't exactly law when it comes to her."
Angel's face was hard. "Make it law. I want her kept out of that graveyard tomorrow, Spike, and I think your survival instincts are strong enough to do the trick."
Spike pretended to be incredulous. "Are you threatening me, mate?" He asked.
Angel's face didn't change. "Not yet." And with those parting words, the dark-haired demon walked blindly into the sunlight.
Spike took a moment to absorb what he'd just seen. When he did, he simply shrugged his shoulders, and answered the miracle the only way he could. "Angel."
"Buffy! I swear! There really is a vamp nest downtown, and it needs to be checked out. I... I saw a lot of vampires there." He finished hurriedly.
Buffy had her patented 'I'm SO much better than you could EVER be' look on, and Spike knew she was about to slam the door in his face. Sure enough, there came the door. Spike grabbed a large stick/branch, and shoved it in the doorway to keep the door from closing all the way. He would have stuck his foot in, but she hadn't gotten around to inviting him in yet.
The platinum-blond demon hurriedly changed tactics. "Oh. Well, it's too bad you're busy. But I can take care of them just as easily by myself... Guess I just wanted to make sure I wasn't... doing your job for you if you didn't want me to."
The door opened a little more again. Success! Buffy's face was still skeptical. "And what's that supposed to mean, Spike?"
"I think you know."
"No, I don't. Otherwise, I wouldn't have asked, William."
Uh-oh. Things were going downhill when she started calling him the dreaded W-name. He was about to backpedal, when he realized who he was faced with. And he never backed down from the Slayer.
Spike squared his shoulder and adopted a lazy pose on Buffy's porch, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. "It's supposed to mean that I think you're worried you can't take on those vamps, so you've invented some excuse to get out of coming."
Buffy snorted, but Spike could tell she was starting to take offense. Still, she covered well. "Spike, I don't need an excuse to back out of going somewhere with you. Excuses are things that are used when someone needs to be polite. Have you ever, once, seen me be polite to you?"
"Well, there was that one time when we were married..."
Buffy was getting mad. "Does this little visit have a point, Spike, or is it just torture-the-Slayer-night?"
"Oh, it has a point all right. In fact, I can't believe it slipped your mind that quickly. If you were as mad as you seemed to be earlier, I don't think you'd forget that fast--"
"No, Spike, I meant a real reason, not just one you invented for some crazy reason, which is unknown to anyone but you. Vamp nest downtown? Can you get any more lame than that? Honestly."
Spike held up a hand in defeat. He couldn't hold them both up, because he was holding his cigarette in the other. "Okay, okay, that was pretty lame. How about I tell you the real reason after we get there?"
Buffy looked at him. "Where's there?" She asked critically.
Spike smirked. "You'll see."
Buffy threw her head back and growled. "Aggghhh! You are so annoying, Spike!" But, despite her protests, she was pulling on a denim jacket and slinging her bag of slaying equipment over her shoulder. She stalked out the door, pulling it shut behind her. "All right. If I have to go to figure out what the hell it is that you want, let's at least get going."
The ride to the old campsite was uneventful. Buffy threw Spike more glares than he could count, and the ever-not-so-patient vampire calmly ignored. Apparently, a subject that doesn't respond to negative stimulus at all is useless to an angry Slayer, because she seemed to be pretending he didn't exist.
Only when they were parked did Buffy seem to notice where they were. She sat back tight against her seat, holding her hands out as if warding Spike off. "Spike, are you crazy? This is a make-out site! What the hell are we doing here?"
Spike relaxed comfortably in his own seat. "Well, when the teenage and young adult citizens of Sunnyhell are making out, what do you think they're not watching out for?"
Buffy relaxed a little, her guard still up tight. "Things that go bump in the night," She filled in. She fished around in her bag, and pulled out a sharpened wooden stake. Spike scanned the campsite for sights of demonic activity, but the wooded area was quiet, apart from the heavy breathing in the cars on either side of them, and the occasional odd thump.
After ten minutes of this, Buffy was bored. For a Slayer, she didn't have very much patience, Spike mused idly. But he supposed Slaying didn't require a lot of surveillance and the such. It was mostly an action job.
"What are we going to do while we wait for these vamps to show?" She whined. Spike covered a smile with a cough, partly because she was so cute when she whined, and partly because there were no vamps, they were the hoax he'd invented to keep her away from the graveyard, which was her usual patrol.
He leaned back in his seat, and put a hand to his chin, pretending to give it great thought. Then, without warning, he swooped over and kissed her, hard and fast. Buffy got a glazed look in her eyes, and she asked, "Wha...what was that?"
"I kissed you. It's a make-out sight, I kissed you. Making sense yet?" He asked. But he was starting to get concerned. The funny glazed look in the Slayer's eyes was dissipating, and it was being replaced by anger.
"Spike. You kissed me. That's just.... ugh!" His heart fell a little at the rejection, but he forced himself to keep light, it wasn't like he'd expected anything different.
"Okay. If I'm so 'ugh', who would you rather be kissing?" He asked.
Buffy's face went to stone.
Spike took a guess. "A certain someone who's mailing address in somewhere in South America, possibly in a graveyard?"
Buffy slapped him. Hard. He held a hand to his cheek, and looked at her, incredulous. She'd hit him plenty of times before, but he'd always had the feeling she was just making a point, or taking her anger out on a living punching bag. Now she was mad. He could feel her anger in the air.
"You will not talk about Riley that way!" She hissed. Spike held up his hands in defeat.
"All right, all right! Not over Captain Cardboard yet, huh?" He asked, knowing he was setting himself up for it.
Buffy slapped him again, but this time, she exited the car while he was recovering. He called after her, but she refused to acknowledge him.
He sat back, still rubbing his aching cheek, and mused upon the fact that he'd managed to drive his precious beauty even farther from him. Not that she knew he had any intentions beyond annoying her for the rest of her life.
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