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Reality is Overrated.
Author : Caitlin
Rating : NC-17 in later parts
Characters : Buffy/Spike
Setting : Post-Post-The Gift. Buffy's back, all is right in the world, etc.
Feedback : To Caitlin@teenagewildlife.com if you like it. Trying something new after not writing it ages. So feedback would be appreciated Thanks :)
Notes : Haven't posted fic here for ages. I actually used to have an account and posted stuff before but then deleted it all. I had a reason at the time, it was very valid, I think I was planning on doing a site or something (never actually happened, I discovered you actually have to work at that kind of thing) but anyway the point ? I haven't posted fic in a while, so be gentle, and with that ominous note, on to the story.
* * * * *
No rainstorm in Sunnydale is ever like the last one.
Sometimes the clouds are as dark as steel wool. At others the haziness resembles dirty dishwater. And of course when the touch of the powers of be is fleeting, which happens a lot on a Hellmouth, trust me, the sun will be as bright as a summer afternoon with the rain just coming down in bucketfuls. So I wait till night, usually after patrol, to run.
Down here the evening rain sneaks up on you with no warning. The breeze had been stiff against my back making this run just bearable. I could feel the tension building in the air and with the wind pushing at me, I felt as if I could run forever. The sea stretched itself by my side like ribbon tossed carelessly away by a child, forgotten in the summer heat.
It was on just such a night that I felt the first fat rain drops.
"Oh, Hell." I muttered to myself. Down here there's no place to find shelter. On one side you have the muddy sea with some scraggly rocks emerging from the depths. In the distance there's the thick forest. So I picked up the pace from a casual jog to running at full steam. I just hoped Dawn had remembered her key to let herself in when she got dropped off from her friends, there was no way I was going to be home before eleven. Oh great and I wanted an early night as well, Giles was going to be so pissed if I was sleepy through our training sessions tomorrow for the third time this week.
Ahead of me, the huge glossy green leaves of the woodland trees began to shake and bend in the stiff rain sweetened gusts proceeding the storm. I turned and looked over my shoulder and saw black clouds racing behind me. Damn. Nowhere to take cover. I kept running. The raindrops became heavier and cold. As the bend in the bay of sand straightened out I saw a runner ahead of me almost off the beach and like me was heading for the woods . I watched the figure dash across the street which separated both and head for the front porch of what looked to be a deserted old house, buried in the trees. Funny, I've never run down here this way, I realised. I don't think many people do. Too isolated and isolation's not good in a place like Sunnydale. But surely if one person could stand on the porch for shelter, so could two.
The rain turned rapidly into a miniature monsoon and I felt my soaking clothes next to my skin as I shot across the street. The nylon shorts would dry quickly but my drenched white T-shirt was all too revealing.
As I got under the porch I looked down at my chest, trying to pull away the sticky wet fabric. I looked up at the other runner and felt my eyes caught and held.
Oh great.
"Spike,"
"Very observant of you Slayer, unless there's someone going around with my face I'd think so,"
Suddenly I realised how dumb I'd sounded, but instead of looking apologetic I scowled and edged as far across the otherside of the porch as I could, feeling the wooden floorboards creak under my feet and feeling the rain squish in my sneakers and between my toes.
It was then that I realised that he wasn't clad in black jeans and duster. But in sneakers just like me; scuffed and black with dark sweat pants and a white wife beater. I watched the rain drops stream down his large arms and long legs, before I realized a little belatedly that I had been staring at him.
"Wanna take a picture pet? It'll last longer,"
"You," I said, frowning, not sure whether to laugh or what, "You with the normal clothes,"
"And you're saying my other clothes aren't normal?"
I looked at him, "Well yeah,"
He gave a snort, "Well, can't exactly go running in boots now can I? And as long as no one sees me I'm pretty safe,"
"No, I guess not,"
With that he fumbled around in one pocket for something and brought out a pack of sodden Marlboros, "Blast," He frowned angrily, "Bleeding rain,"
"Tell me about it," I agreed, leaning backwards, feeling the wall bend against my weight.
"How long you reckon this'll go on for?"
I gave a shrug, "You got me,"
"Could make a run for it," He suggested, raising his eyebrows and mirrored my stance; leaning back against his side with one wet sneaker pressed up against the peeling wood.
"It's alright for you," I said, "You don't get cold. I on the other hand would be a walking popsicle,"
"I do get cold," He replied indignantly, tossing the wet pack of Marlboros to the ground after deciding they were gonners, "Just not the nasty pneumonia that follows,"
"My point exactly, and I can't afford to get ill right now,"
"What? A chance to have people waiting on you hand and foot, feeding you soup whilst you sit tucked up warm in bed and watch the telly. Nah, that would be a pisser wouldn't it luv?" He replied with a mocking glint in his ice blue eyes.
"You've forgotten what it's like to be sick haven't you? And anyway," I said, "It's not like Dawn can really play nursemaid, have you ever tasted her cooking?
I saw him smirk, "I'm always open to playing nursemaid pet," He leered over at me, "As long as the favour's returned,"
Ugh, it's easy to forget what a cocky lecherous pervert Spike can be when he's just standing there in running gear with his bleached white hair sticking up at funny angles and drops of rain falling off his nose.
"In your dreams buddy," I said, but couldn't help but let a small smile emerge anyway.
"Everynight," He drawled, "Everynight,"
The smile dropped slightly from my face and I turned away to stare out at the rain again. He's probably not lying when he says that and for some reason it makes me feel funny and makes my throat burn. He never says anything, hasn't said anything since I came back but I know that he feels the same way as he did before. And for some reason that's okay, it's normality now and ever since I came back normality (or at least as normal as it's going to be for me) is all I want.
Sometimes I'll catch him just staring at me, when I used to do that he'd turn away, act as if he was just glancing or something. Now he meets my gaze and we get engaged in a staring contest: who can hold out the longest, who gets that nervous feeling first when your lips suddenly become parched and you can't stop fiddling with your hands or tapping your foot. I've started counting who wins those battles. So far it's Spike - 23. Me - 5. But I'm getting better. Sort of.
This is one of these times. I don't know how I can feel him. It must be one of those instincts left over from when we used to fight, when I had to know where he was or where he was going to be before he did to get my punch in first, maybe that's it. But the feeling's different now, it's not my Slayer sense that kicks in it's something different to that. Something that tingles instead of stings.
I meet his eyes without a hesitation and I think I can see a smile emerge on his lips. Maybe I should start timing these contests now instead of just making a count of who wins. Okay here goes.
1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10.
Do vampires have to blink? I suddenly wonder, because if they don't that's so unfair and I should at least get some penalty points for that. All this blinking makes me lose my concentration and want to turn my head away even more. Stupid rain.
11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20.
He must practice this. In front of the mirror or - no wait: vampire (shoot almost forgot, so easy to forget) so strike that. Oh shit, what if he's still got that mannequin thing and practices with that? Hopefully he thinks my shuddering is just because of the icy rain. Stupid icy rain which doesn't seem to be stopping anytime soon. Hey hang on, why am I shuddering? It was him who built the darn thing, he should be embarrassed and doing the cringing and shuddering not me.
21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30.
Ha! I'm so going to win this. A drop of rain's just slid from his scalp and is currently beginning it's descent down his eyebrows to fall onto his dark lashes. How come I've never noticed that before? How dark his eyelashes are, so that when he blinks it feels like I can feel them, silvery and whispery on my own cheek.
//Thud//
Shit, what was that?
Both of us look to inside the old abandoned house. Darn, now what does that count as, a draw? So what's that now?
"What the bloody hell was that?" Exclaims Spike, looking inside the house.
Oh yeah, alarming thuddy noise. Sacred Slayer duty, yadda, yadda, but dammit what was it? Spike - 24. Me - 6, no surely I won more times then that -- oh damn.
I turned to look down the long veranda. The paint on the columns and door frame was cracked and peeling away exposing older layers and some bare wood. The wooden porch floor was weathered and uneven and creaked as I shifted my weight. However in the midst of such neglect I noticed sparkling leaded glass windows made with pieces of scarlet and azure glass arching over the door lintel. I saw the heavy ornate brass door knocker that was suggestive of a more pretentious era. A lit gas lamp swung slowly from the porch ceiling, its flame flickering precariously in the storm winds. Spike's head was turned and his hands cupped over his eyes to avoid the glare from the stark skies as he tried to make out what was behind the dark windows. I stood behind him.
"Probably vamps holed up in there, perfect spot for the evil dead to raise a family,"
Spike shook his head, "Can't believe anybody would wanna live in this dump," He said, moving away from the window and casting a look to where a spider was weaving a web between one mildewed crack to a battered and peeling wooden beam.
"From the guy who lives in a crypt, that's grand," I scoffed.
"Yeah but a crypt with electricity luv,"
"Sorry," I said rolling my eyes, "My bad,"
Spike nodded, "So," He said cocking his head to the door, "Wanna go take 'em out?"
I looked around, the rain was still pelting down, the trees swaying in dark shapes around us, only just withstanding the winds.
"Not like there's much else to do," I sighed.
With a smirk at the prospect of violence Spike turned and raised a foot and kicked the door down, wood splintering on impact and paint falling in flakes like snow in winter to the floor. The door creaked for a few seconds then toppled backwards landing with a crash and a shower of wood and paint on the inside.
"Well done stealth boy," I said wryly, stepping over the door, "Could you have possibly done that any louder?"
"Well what do you suggest Slayer?" He replied following me.
"We could have just tried the door knob,"
"Oh yeah, and they're just gonna leave the door unlocked ready to get slayed in their sleep aren't they? Have a little respect for my kind Slayer,"
"Well I guess we'll never know, seeing as you well and truly slayed the door,"
He rolled his eyes, "Look just quit your whining and let's find these plonkers already,"
Just then we heard more noise. Crashing and tumbling; footsteps, fumbling, like someone moving about. Someone with no co-ordination or who was incredibly drunk. Hmmm, I could go a drink right now, just something to warm me up. I wonder if Spike still has that bourbon.
I tried to look around, find a light source or something but there was nothing, just a mass of different shadows and shapes. The only thing in relief was the wooden panels around the now empty door frame. Meanwhile the noises kept on coming from upstairs.
A small pin prick of light appeared by my side. Spike's lighter.
"Great idea," I remarked, "Open flame in a whole wooden house,"
"Unless you've got a flashlight hidden down those shorts luv I'd shut up,"
I pulled a face, "Aren't vampires meant to be able to have good night vision?"
"Yeah, but you're not a vampire pet,"
I looked at Spike waving that stupid lighter about the place, exposing a narrow hallway with doors down either side and watched him walk forward and find a staircase at the foot of the hall before shaking off the strangeness of his comment and the fact he showed no embarrassment at all and followed him.
At the foot of the stairs the sounds of movement got louder. They must be upstairs.
"I reckon about four," He said.
"Five," I replied almost reflexively.
"Care to put a wager on that luv?"
"And what are you gonna pay me with when I win Spike? Cigarette butts?"
"Afraid you might lose?" He jeered. God he always knows how to get me to rise to the bait.
"Tenner that there's four then," He said at my pout. I nodded reluctantly before beginning my ascent.
My hand tested the banister, seeing if it would hold my weight. The first stair felt pretty sturdy and the wood was pretty firm. I'd be alright. Hoping to hell I wasn't about to fall through a weak stair I forced myself not to think about it and just walked, feeling Spike close behind me. The wooden banister was rough like sandpaper under my hand. Damn, all that money on Aloe Vera hand moisturiser for nothing. I heard Spike curse as he caught his palm on something sharp on the edge, probably a splintered and protruding piece of wood. Better watch Spike with all these makeshift stakes, I thought.
"What you laughing at?" His deep British accent rolled through the thick air like heavy sweet sorghum syrup. I shook my head, realising I'd been sniggering about the scenario of mighty William the Bloody accidentally staking himself on a banister.
"Nothing," I said, my voice a squeak and I heard him huff, non-believing.
The hallway stretched in both directions at the top of the stairs. I paused and Spike immediately stopped behind me, his head over my shoulder as we both listened. I held up a finger anyway to be quiet, just so he knew was in charge of this little mission. I tilted my head to one side, listening to hear where the noises were coming from and it was then I realised he was in full vamp face. He bent down to my ear.
"Double doors," He whispered, "In front of us,"
It was then I realised how different his voice is when he's vamped. Throatier, like he takes the words from deep down in his chest. The words are slicker, fiercer then his normal brash English tones. Taking a breath I stepped forward, felt the door and then decided to take Spike's approach.
The door swung open with my first kick and I ran into the room, Spike immediately behind me, ready to fight.
Empty.
Huh.
It was a bedroom. A four poster bed on the right in the middle of the wall, a dressing table opposite with closets on either side and a bedside table on our right.
"The window," Spike growled and cocked his head to the curtains flapping in the wind on the opposite wall from us, white sheets billowing like ghosts in the wind, the heavy rain spitting inside onto the pale bed and staining the sheer silken bed sheets. Launching myself over the bed I grabbed the window sill, just stopping myself from toppling over. The rain began it's assault on my face and I blinked several times, brushing hair out of my face with my free hand as I searched the below for any shapes running away from the house.
I hadn't realised just how tall that staircase was. Even I'd have a problem running away unscathed from a drop like that. Behind me I heard drawers opening and closing. Typical Spike, we're on patrol and he's looking for stuff to nick. Talk about your priorities.
Okay looking back now it was probably stupid. I was just asking for it. But I had to lean over just a bit further, try and see if I could make out any shapes moving about in the rose bushes and vines that trailed over the ground, whirling about in the rain like poisonous and dangerous snakes, slithering over the brick wall. But I'm the Slayer, I couldn't just let vampires get away and they had to have gone somewhere. I heard something, I didn't just imagine it. And this place definitely didn't feel right.
I felt a hand on my shoulder, "It's okay Spike I've got a grip," I assured him.
The force on my shoulder didn't let off, "I told you Spike I'm fine, I'm just trying to see if our friends took the big leap,"
"What?" I heard his cockney tones, but they weren't as close as I expected them to be. It was like he was still across the other side of the room. I didn't know Spike could throw his voice.
"Spike what are you - ahhh!"
The grip on my shoulder became icy and I felt my body being flung like a rag doll over the window sill.
"Buffy?!"
I could only just hear his voice over the cacophony of winds which screeched in my ear like a banshee. My fingers gripped the window tighter, the bone shining white through the sheer force of the grip. I felt my body being battered and thrown against the wall, time and time again. Felt the bile rise in my throat as I thought of the sheer drop below me and the nest of thorns and roses and hard ground that would be my safety cushion if I let go and Spike didn't get his ass over here soon.
"Buffy!" I looked up, blinking furiously through rain which felt like spiked daggers in my eyes and saw the blurry shape of Spike, his white blonde hair being slicked down onto his face, saw his lips move as he swallowed the rain and felt his hands clasp over mine.
"It's alright I got you,"
Yeah that's okay for you to say, you're not the one hanging over the side of a building. Idiot.
But then I did an even stupider thing. I looked down.
Oh God I hate heights.
I guess falling off scaffolding to your death will do that to you.
Spike must have seen the look on my face as he reached over, trying to get a grip further down my arm.
"Don't look down!" I heard him shout.
No shit Sherlock.
The clouds were growing darker as the winds around us grew fiercer. The storm swirled around us, buffeting our bodies. His left hand held onto my left wrist, the grip tight and bruising, whilst he bent down over me and attempted to hook his right hand under my right armpit. But both our skin was slick and slid when it touched as he attempted to hold on. I could feel the goose bumps break out on my skin as the cool air hit against me and I struggled to try and put my feet on the crumbling red brick wall, but my trainers were soaked and I couldn't get any friction. I felt something bang against my nose, cool and metallic as he still scrambled to get a grip on my right side. It was some kind of chain around Spike's neck. At that precise moment I heard him give a grunt and grab hold of my tee shirt, felt my left side full away momentarily until he gripped me under my left armpit as he had on the right. I saw the muscles in his face twitch as he heaved me up and over the window sill, my legs still being thrown against the brick.
We landed in a mass of limbs and salty rain on the other side, the curtains still flailing frenetically above us. I breathed heavily, thankful that I didn't have the wind to fight against and leant back against Spike, one of his hands still draped around my waist.
I looked outside again. The cumulus clouds had become even darker and rolled inland with a passion both awesome and terrifying. They'd become almost black or perhaps a greenish gray. The wind was much stiffer and stronger now and I could see the lightning off in the distance. I wondered how much more severe it would become. I wondered what would have happened if I'd lost my grip. Or if Spike had let go. I knew certainly he'd never do that but the fear was still just as deep.
"Bloody hell," Spike muttered behind me, "Next time you decide to go kamikaze at least give me a little bit of warning Slayer,"
Suddenly a loud thud gave out behind us. We both turned. The door had slammed shut.
Another thud and something swiped at us.
The windows in front of us had closed and the lock slid shut with a jitter, holding them in place whilst the curtains died like withered flags either side.
"Uh oh," I said looking at Spike, his eyes wide and suspicious like my own, "This can't be good."
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