::Title:Return of the Energizer Bunny::
::Author:Chrissy::
::Email:scully8746@hotmail.com::
::Summary:My version of Seas. 5/2, with the return of an old "friend"::
::Spoilers:Seas.5/2::




Buffy was patrolling the streets of Sunnydale, not exactly un unknown occurrence on a Saturday night. The two vampire fledglings she'd staked already weren't really unknown occurrences either. 'But God knows they were boring as hell...,' she thought, twirling a stake in her palm. 'I need a real challenge...'

She heard a noise to her right, and turned, half-hoping for something supernatural. When the sound turned out to be a cat - 'Someone else out for a midnight prowl...' - she sighed discontentedly and continued her trudging.

Then, before her instincts could warn her, a figure lunged at her from behind. The blonde turned quickly, blood rising, heard pumping, adrenaline rushing, to face... another blonde.

"Spike!" she hissed angrily. "Don't do that to me!"

The platinum grinned the only way he knew how and slapped her on the back. "Just thought I'd give you a scare. Don't tell me you didn't know I was coming...?"

"Well-I...," Buffy stuttered. "I-Of course I did! But you shouldn't do that. It isn't nice to sneak up on people when they're hunting."

"Hunting, is it?" He scowled comically. "Come on, Slayer, can't you leave anything for the other blokes? Don't I get my share of the violence?"

Buffy glared at him. "You're sick. You know that, right?"

"At least I'm a demon," Spike shot back. "Hunting's in my blood."

"I'm the Slayer," Buffy retorted angrily. "It's in my blood, too!"

"Well, isn't that interesting!" Spike grinned and sauntered ahead.

Buffy groaned, and, against her better judgment, jogged ahead to catch up with him. "What do you mean, 'interesting'?" she questioned. "Would you quit with the freakin' mind-games? Why can't you ever talk straight?"

"You want straight?" Spike pulled the package protruding from his breast pocket and offered Buffy one - "Ew!" - before lighting one for himself. "Here it is. Your blood. My blood. Slayer. Demon. And isn't it interesting that our blood needs the same things." He dropped the cigarette, grinding it nervously under the toe of his combat boots. He leaned closer to Buffy, smoke pouring from his nostrils, catching the light of the street lamp with every word. "Isn't it... interesting that we have the same needs..." His voice dropped. "...The same...desires..."

"You're really sick," Buffy repeated, darting backward, away from him.

Spike smiled. "Am I."

Buffy stared at him, now deadly serious. "Spike, I seem to recall already having this discussion with you. Which begs the question... why are you still following me?" Her expression hardened with her words, and Spike retreated, trying for all his worth not to show how flustered he felt.

"Well, if that's the way you feel about it..."

"Yeah. It is." Buffy just stared at him. Her eyes dared him to make a move, but despite his instinct, despite the undead heart that wanted to beat in his chest, he refused to move, staring her down. And to his delight, Buffy was the one to finally back off.

"Look..." She swept the hair back off her forehead. "It's been a long night... I-I think I'm just going to go home. Slay all you want," she muttered. She turned and walked away, not waiting for his response.

Spike grinned smugly, forcing his small victory to outshine his overwhelming defeat, and retrieved another cigarette from the box in his pocket. He set out for the cemetery, intent on having a good evening. 'And the three key elements? A fag, some fresh air, and a nice spot of violence!' He wondered if he'd get lucky. Perhaps there'd be a Fyral demon about....

***

Lindsey smiled as he placed the ornate golden box on the conference table. "You're sure this is what you want?" He opened the lid and backed a step away.

"Positive," Darla purred, stepping out of the shadows. She glided toward the box, her smile growing wider as she opened the lid to reveal the tool inside. It was a metal rod, dark worn. Its look was neither expensive nor antique, and was decidedly out of place in the modern conference room. Darla didn't care, though. She lifted the rod carefully from the velvet padding, running her fingers down the length of it. "This will do just fine..."

[END ONE]