Normal Girl
Spike poured a shot of vodka for Leira, who reclined in a chair, taking in the sights. She felt quite at home and strangely at ease with the dark stranger who was pumping alcohol into her. She checked her watch. 2am. They had been chatting easily for a few hours now, but it seemed time to touch the nasty subjects.
"So," she crossed her legs, downing the glass easily and squirming slightly at the aftertaste, "William the Bloody, poet turned vamp reacquires his soul. Pray tell,"
The bleached vampire paced in front of her, glowering as he told his tale, stopping every now and then for a shot of vodka or blood, sometimes both.
".And now here I am, moping around like some bloody fool, all guilty and anguished."
"As you would be," said Leira, smiling understandingly. "And the business with Buffy isn't going too good, I'm guessing?"
"What.how.who.how do you know?" Spike felt lovesick and angry at the same time. Anya, he thought, the day that girl learns to keep her mouth shut.!
"And no, it wasn't Anya," Leira made eye contact with him again, reading his thoughts and sending a shiver down his back, "its one of the few things she didn't tell me about. I guessed. Who wouldn't, what with all the sparks flying around."
Spike made a sound in his throat thoughtfully. Leira chuckled lightly, and he noticed how her eyes sparkled mischievously.
"It'll work out, I'm sure," she said knowingly. "I've met girls like her before. Hot then cold, nice then nasty. She'll come round to you. What girl wouldn't?" she laughed again, and Spike allowed himself to grin. Pains of Buffy aside, he had decided that maybe Leira was just the friend he'd been looking for.
"What about you then, pet? Tales of New York?"
"A few. Typical superhero trash though, normal girl grows up, normal girl starts to realize she's stronger and faster than the average teenager, normal girl meets a bit of a dark crowd, normal girl discovers she's supposed to save the world, normal girl not so normal anymore."
"Ah, normal girl moves to Sunnydale."
"Normal girl meets the Slayer and her bloodcurdling buddies." Leira stood up to put the shot glass on a table, and Spike walked closer to her, moving in until they were nose to nose. He cocked his head to the side and she followed his movement.
"Normal girl goes home with strange vampire."
"Normal girl accepts drinks from strange vampire."
"Normal girl alone in crypt with strange vampire."
"Normal girl ready to go to sleep," Leira smiled and tapped Spike on the nose. "Not with the strange vampire." She grinned again flirtatiously, "Serious, I'm wasted. Where am I crashing?" Her mood had switched to happy from serious in a split second.
"Lounge," Spike suggested, dismayed but oddly intrigued with the girls behaviour. The fact she'd turned him down made him like her even more. For a few fleeting moments thoughts of Buffy had left his head, but she returned like a dagger through the soul.
She's so different to her, he thought. Buffy was petite and blonde, this girl was able and dark haired. Where Buffy was closed, Leira was open. Where Buffy would stab him repeatedly with her words, Leira would make him laugh. Buffy was concerned with all things good, with being good, with doing good. But Leira had her dark side, her fickle side, the side where she would get dirty and not regret it. Stop it, he told himself. You've known her what, four hours?
"Hello?" Leira waved a hand playfully in his face. "Sleepy person here."
"Right. Make yourself at home love."
"Okay," she sat back down, and pulled off her boots. She opened her bag, pulling out a white shirt and pajama pants. Spike knew it was his queue to leave, but he stayed. Leira seemed non-plussed, turned away from him and pulled of her shirt, putting on the white one and turning back to him. Spike stood, mesmerized. Buffy was beautiful, but so was Leira.
"Modest boy, aren't we?" She asked cheekily, raising an eyebrow.
"Well pet, it's my crypt."
"Mmm," she shrugged. Spike smiled again.
"Best be off though. See you when you wake up."
"Give me two hours, love," she mimicked him playfully, before reclining on the lounge, letting the stale smell of cigarettes and liquor wash over her. Crude, but comforting. * Exactly two hours later, Leira woke up. It was about five in the morning, but the inside of the crypt was still dark, flickering only with the dim light from candle flames. Spike sat in a corner, deep in thought. He noticed as Leira's eye flickered open.
"Mornin' love," he cringed inwardly. How many times had he woken beside Buffy to say that, to see her smile tease at her lips?
"Hey," Leira smiled. Nice guy. She peered at him and he peered back, both wondering what it would be like to wake up to those words and each other.
"Sweet dreams, pet?"
"Surprisingly, yes. Usually they're filled with the whole stake- through-the-heart scenario, but not this time. Six rounds of sweetness, daisies, chocolates, gummi bears, the whole shebang."
"Good. Listen, you'd best be getting back to the Magic Box, Giles'll be wanting to do some nuclear testing on you or something."
"Ah yes, Rupert Giles, ex-watcher. Funny guy. A bit.prattish."
"Now that," pointed out Spike, "is one of the reasons I like you."
"Yes, and that," Leira pointed to an empty bottle of vodka, "is one of the reasons I'm never going near liquor again. Hangover central."
"Fancy a bit of scotch to bring the headache down, love?"
"Please." * When Leira had left, Spike sat down on the lounge. There were barely any reminders of the nights he and Buffy had spent together, no remnants of their nights spent in passion.
He felt like being sick. He hated himself, loathed himself for the things he'd done. Souls were a bitch. He was plagued with guilt, torrents of it, but he didn't show it. He knew how Angelus had felt, but he was stronger than Angelus, he reminded himself, he wouldn't fall apart.
Then Buffy. What he'd done - tried to do - to Buffy followed him everywhere. Every time he saw her he saw her scared face, fighting, struggling beneath him. He hurt; his body ached with self-hatred whenever he thought of it. It was beneath low, it was beyond.he sighed. She would never forgive him. He'd tried to make her love him, he loved her still. With every fibre of his body, he worshipped her. But she hated him. She was disgusted with herself, disgusted with him. And it was all over.
All over. He thought. All over, all over, all over. The words stabbed him as they repeated themselves. There was no way he could win her back. No way he could make her love him.
And there was no way he was going to let her see the pain he caused her. No way in hell.
NEXT: "You mean the non-committal man with the beady eyes?"
The Scoobies find our just what this whole end-of-the world gig is, and all the gory details that come as a side dish to The Shar'ayj Prophecy
NOTE: All you B/S fans (I know I'm a huge one) I'm not ruling them out, K?! Just giving Spike a bit of a wake-up call - not to give too much away.
Spike poured a shot of vodka for Leira, who reclined in a chair, taking in the sights. She felt quite at home and strangely at ease with the dark stranger who was pumping alcohol into her. She checked her watch. 2am. They had been chatting easily for a few hours now, but it seemed time to touch the nasty subjects.
"So," she crossed her legs, downing the glass easily and squirming slightly at the aftertaste, "William the Bloody, poet turned vamp reacquires his soul. Pray tell,"
The bleached vampire paced in front of her, glowering as he told his tale, stopping every now and then for a shot of vodka or blood, sometimes both.
".And now here I am, moping around like some bloody fool, all guilty and anguished."
"As you would be," said Leira, smiling understandingly. "And the business with Buffy isn't going too good, I'm guessing?"
"What.how.who.how do you know?" Spike felt lovesick and angry at the same time. Anya, he thought, the day that girl learns to keep her mouth shut.!
"And no, it wasn't Anya," Leira made eye contact with him again, reading his thoughts and sending a shiver down his back, "its one of the few things she didn't tell me about. I guessed. Who wouldn't, what with all the sparks flying around."
Spike made a sound in his throat thoughtfully. Leira chuckled lightly, and he noticed how her eyes sparkled mischievously.
"It'll work out, I'm sure," she said knowingly. "I've met girls like her before. Hot then cold, nice then nasty. She'll come round to you. What girl wouldn't?" she laughed again, and Spike allowed himself to grin. Pains of Buffy aside, he had decided that maybe Leira was just the friend he'd been looking for.
"What about you then, pet? Tales of New York?"
"A few. Typical superhero trash though, normal girl grows up, normal girl starts to realize she's stronger and faster than the average teenager, normal girl meets a bit of a dark crowd, normal girl discovers she's supposed to save the world, normal girl not so normal anymore."
"Ah, normal girl moves to Sunnydale."
"Normal girl meets the Slayer and her bloodcurdling buddies." Leira stood up to put the shot glass on a table, and Spike walked closer to her, moving in until they were nose to nose. He cocked his head to the side and she followed his movement.
"Normal girl goes home with strange vampire."
"Normal girl accepts drinks from strange vampire."
"Normal girl alone in crypt with strange vampire."
"Normal girl ready to go to sleep," Leira smiled and tapped Spike on the nose. "Not with the strange vampire." She grinned again flirtatiously, "Serious, I'm wasted. Where am I crashing?" Her mood had switched to happy from serious in a split second.
"Lounge," Spike suggested, dismayed but oddly intrigued with the girls behaviour. The fact she'd turned him down made him like her even more. For a few fleeting moments thoughts of Buffy had left his head, but she returned like a dagger through the soul.
She's so different to her, he thought. Buffy was petite and blonde, this girl was able and dark haired. Where Buffy was closed, Leira was open. Where Buffy would stab him repeatedly with her words, Leira would make him laugh. Buffy was concerned with all things good, with being good, with doing good. But Leira had her dark side, her fickle side, the side where she would get dirty and not regret it. Stop it, he told himself. You've known her what, four hours?
"Hello?" Leira waved a hand playfully in his face. "Sleepy person here."
"Right. Make yourself at home love."
"Okay," she sat back down, and pulled off her boots. She opened her bag, pulling out a white shirt and pajama pants. Spike knew it was his queue to leave, but he stayed. Leira seemed non-plussed, turned away from him and pulled of her shirt, putting on the white one and turning back to him. Spike stood, mesmerized. Buffy was beautiful, but so was Leira.
"Modest boy, aren't we?" She asked cheekily, raising an eyebrow.
"Well pet, it's my crypt."
"Mmm," she shrugged. Spike smiled again.
"Best be off though. See you when you wake up."
"Give me two hours, love," she mimicked him playfully, before reclining on the lounge, letting the stale smell of cigarettes and liquor wash over her. Crude, but comforting. * Exactly two hours later, Leira woke up. It was about five in the morning, but the inside of the crypt was still dark, flickering only with the dim light from candle flames. Spike sat in a corner, deep in thought. He noticed as Leira's eye flickered open.
"Mornin' love," he cringed inwardly. How many times had he woken beside Buffy to say that, to see her smile tease at her lips?
"Hey," Leira smiled. Nice guy. She peered at him and he peered back, both wondering what it would be like to wake up to those words and each other.
"Sweet dreams, pet?"
"Surprisingly, yes. Usually they're filled with the whole stake- through-the-heart scenario, but not this time. Six rounds of sweetness, daisies, chocolates, gummi bears, the whole shebang."
"Good. Listen, you'd best be getting back to the Magic Box, Giles'll be wanting to do some nuclear testing on you or something."
"Ah yes, Rupert Giles, ex-watcher. Funny guy. A bit.prattish."
"Now that," pointed out Spike, "is one of the reasons I like you."
"Yes, and that," Leira pointed to an empty bottle of vodka, "is one of the reasons I'm never going near liquor again. Hangover central."
"Fancy a bit of scotch to bring the headache down, love?"
"Please." * When Leira had left, Spike sat down on the lounge. There were barely any reminders of the nights he and Buffy had spent together, no remnants of their nights spent in passion.
He felt like being sick. He hated himself, loathed himself for the things he'd done. Souls were a bitch. He was plagued with guilt, torrents of it, but he didn't show it. He knew how Angelus had felt, but he was stronger than Angelus, he reminded himself, he wouldn't fall apart.
Then Buffy. What he'd done - tried to do - to Buffy followed him everywhere. Every time he saw her he saw her scared face, fighting, struggling beneath him. He hurt; his body ached with self-hatred whenever he thought of it. It was beneath low, it was beyond.he sighed. She would never forgive him. He'd tried to make her love him, he loved her still. With every fibre of his body, he worshipped her. But she hated him. She was disgusted with herself, disgusted with him. And it was all over.
All over. He thought. All over, all over, all over. The words stabbed him as they repeated themselves. There was no way he could win her back. No way he could make her love him.
And there was no way he was going to let her see the pain he caused her. No way in hell.
NEXT: "You mean the non-committal man with the beady eyes?"
The Scoobies find our just what this whole end-of-the world gig is, and all the gory details that come as a side dish to The Shar'ayj Prophecy
NOTE: All you B/S fans (I know I'm a huge one) I'm not ruling them out, K?! Just giving Spike a bit of a wake-up call - not to give too much away.