TITLE: The Mission
AUTHOR: Old Spike
RATING: PG-13, for a naughty word
DISCLAIMER: The characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. I'm just borrowing them. No profit sought or made.
SPOILERS: "Gone." For purposes of this fic, Spike has seen Buffy's new 'do.
SUMMARY: Spike saves a little reminder...
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic—my very first--was originally posted to the BtVS-TabulaRasa and Spike's Salvation mailing lists at Yahoogroups.
FEEDBACK: Yes, please. But please be gentle...this *is* my first time. :)
He waited in the shadows. Watching casually. Taking long, patient drags from his cigarette.
The ladies began to leave the house. Red and the Little Bit first. Trying again to see that movie they ventured out to a few nights ago? He didn't think Red would risk going back to Rack's place so soon--especially with the nibblet in tow--but he'd check up on them anyway...later.
Finally, the Slayer made her exit. He watched her for a few seconds, noting the way her hair caught the street light. He'd get used to the cut, he knew, but for now, he didn't like it. It didn't bounce the same way when she walked. It certainly wouldn't bounce the same way when she...
"Mind out of the gutter, mate," he muttered to himself. "You're on a mission. Plenty of time for nasty thoughts later."
He climbed to her window, now mercifully free of the garlic she'd hung there before. The window was unlatched, so he slid it up and climbed into her bedroom. He hoped she hadn't felt compelled to empty the trashcan so soon after she'd done the deed.
He found the wicker basket and moved it toward her open bedroom door. Taking advantage of the hallway light she'd forgotten to turn off, he looked inside. There it was...the hair she'd hacked off just the day before. Holding the can in his right hand, he reached in with his left and caressed the golden tresses, just as he had the other morning in her kitchen.
"Poor, poor Goldilocks. The big bad vamp admired your hairdo, so you had to go an' chop it all to bits. Do you really think that's all I want from you? You think a bloody haircut's gonna keep me away? Not bloody likely."
He chose a single long lock and freed it from the can. Holding it up, he sighed slightly as it caught the light. Just one lock, no more. Any more and the Slayer might get suspicious, realize he'd been here. Just one lovely, golden lock. For remembrance.
He walked back into her room, placing the trashcan in its usual spot. He reached into a pocket of his leather duster and removed a handkerchief. He unfolded the cloth and reverently placed the lock in its center. He folded the handkerchief and returned it to his pocket.
He walked back to the window. Stepping one foot out onto the roof, he turned back for one last look at her room. He gazed wistfully at her bed, then shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes.
"See if I pay *you* any more compliments, bitch."
~ The End ~