Times like this he was thankful for the lack of circulation. He had a dim memory that protracted periods of time spent sitting on cold floors was bad for you in some way. Grinned suddenly when he remembered why.
Piles.
His Mother's voice tutting disapprovingly as she dragged him up off the church steps, slapping the dust off his breeches with her hand. Hadn't known it then of course but his health hadn't been her real concern. Just hated to see him playing jacks in the dirt with the local riff-raff. Like he was a common street urchin or something, not a nice respectable lad with three suits and flannels for Sundays. Funny, wasn't really thought of as a bad thing back then. Snobbery. More like a way of life. He popped his lighter, lit his fifth cigarette and inhaled deeply.
"Must you?"
The first thing she'd said in almost an hour and her voice hadn't lost any of it's edge. Must have been stewing over there all this time, trying to think of some other way she could add to his discomfort, other than the main one of taking the only seat. He eyed her lazily, knowing how much that half-lidded stare really ticked her off.
"Yeah, 'fraid I must."
Sucked in a great lung-full and directed it expertly towards her. He could see her struggling not to cough, locking eyes with him in a silent threat of violence, before she scowled and flung herself out of the chair, stalking over to the door for about the thirtieth time. She tried the handle again, applied a little more Slayer strength to the locking mechanism,
"I wouldn't."
She didn't acknowledge that, just continued to strain. He could see a couple of muscles beginning to stand out in her neck, moistened his lips involuntarily at the sight.
"On second thoughts keep it up, sweetheart. Might have an aneurysm."
A loud crack and she was standing there with the lever in her hand. If it hadn't
been so fucking annoying, it would have been priceless. Wait a minute, no...it was priceless. Watched her pull a hand back through her hair, dragging it loose from the ponytail. Not that he needed warmth or anything but he was certainly enjoying the cheery glow from her cheeks. Allowed himself a little chuckle.
"Like to tell me what you think is so funny?"
A lesser man might be intimidated by that, but then he wasn't a man and besides he knew from experience her threats towards him were pretty hollow these days. Knew he'd always be safe while she inhabited the moral high ground of Slayer, protector of the weak and all. Seethed bitterly at the thought, yeah and now he was the one who was weak, no word of a lie. But a comeback? He'd hadn't thought of a comeback yet and precious seconds had been ticking by, might as well just go for the obvious high score,
"You, love. Think maybe Captain Cardboard's starting to rub off on you."
If looks could kill. She dropped the door handle to the floor with a clank, folded her arms.
"And that's a bad thing of course."
He took a last drag, stubbed it out in the bedpan he'd appropriated as a makeshift ashtray.
"Too right. Slayer's not about muscle."
"You don't say? And of course you'd know all about that."
She was listening now despite herself, he could tell. The pugilist stance more a formality than anything else, dropped her eyelids to hit him with a look of studied contempt.
"If anyone would it's me."
She wasn't getting it so it sent it home like one of his trademark railroad spikes.
"I killed a couple of you lot, didn't I? How'd you think I managed that without knowing a thing or two?"
He was right, she knew he was right and he could see she knew that he knew. Saw her curiosity pique a little, God, he could read her like a book. The slow relaxation of the fists, sliding back along the wall to drop wearily into her seat, yeah, like she didn't have anything better to do. Might as well hear what bullshit yarn the vampire was going to spin. She yawned and he got a long look at all those perfect white teeth, the pink little tongue settled between, the glorious red throat behind. Faux boredom, she did it so well and his mouth twitched in appreciation. But here it came anyway, right on schedule,
"OK, lets hear it then. Lets hear what pearls of wisdom the vampire has managed to glean from his entire lifetime of slaughter. Seriously Spike..."
She shifted her seat a few inches towards him, dropping her head onto her hands in wide-eyed mockery, bated breath and all,
"...I really wanna know."
And she did. She really did, he thought. But then, she really didn't. And what's more he wasn't sure he really wanted to tell her anyway. Sorta like letting her get a peek at the insider knowledge, letting her see the horse during tryouts. Who knows when everything he knew might come in useful again, might make the difference between his winning and losing. No, best keep it to himself, chip or no chip they were still Vampire and Slayer, Hunted and Hunter and any advantage, however small, had to be valuable. He let a slow smile play across his lips, held her eyes for a second, letting her know all that.
"Yeah, you're right Slayer. What would I know."
He could tell she was irked at that one but there was no way she was going to show it. Rolled her eyes like she knew he was full of it, turned her attention back to her nails, picking at the cuticles.
The air-conditioning came to life again with a whirr and she shivered. Spike's stomach let out a long low growl and frowning, he pressed a hand to it under his shirt. Looked back at her. She didn't seem to have heard and now he couldn't help but notice the little vein jumping in her neck, thinking about how it would feel pressed against his lips, her hair tickling his chin. She smelt of sunshine, fruit and flowers, wondered if she tasted that way too. Wondered if her skin was salty right now. Thought about tasting her, brushing his mouth against her throat, maybe a little lower, running a cool tongue over that magical little hollow at the base, imagined her low moan of desire as he.....bollocks. Thankfully got the bedpan over himself before she looked up, surprised at the sudden movement. He raised his eyebrows defensively, managed to summon a look somewhere between innocence and irritability.
"Feelin' a bit sick."
- - - - - - - - - -
"Nah, you're doin' it wrong. It's all in the wrist."
"I'm using my wrist."
"No you're not. Keep it flexible. That's it and again. Slow and smooth."
"Like that?"
"Less force, more love."
"Love? You want me to love it?"
"Not love it, I said do it with love. That's it...better."
"I can't get the angle right."
"That's cause you're forcing it. Close your eyes....that's it, love. Be the card."
She grimaced, tried again and this time...right on the money. The Ace of Spades dead centre, dropped right in with a slap. 'Bout time too, almost used up the whole pack and the floor littered with them, some as far away as the door. For a Slayer, her hand eye co-ordination was pretty patchy. He watched her as she experimented again, perfecting her technique, making a little zipping noise from between her teeth and found himself smiling. Never seen her like this before, not a trace of the Chosen One, just...well, Buffy he guessed. So this is what her deadbeat friends got every day? And there was him thinking the stick up her arse was a permanent feature.
She laughed suddenly, scored another bulls-eye and he felt something weird, a little stomach flip that could just be a side-effect of the hunger. Made him antsy, angry inside and sent him jumping to his feet, trying the lock himself, punching the door.
"What's the matter? You going stir crazy?"
He turned back and looked at her, legs spread out on the floor, that gorgeous golden hair tumbling down all over her shoulders and swallowed hard, confused. What the fuck was going on? Temporary insanity had to be. That or the panda syndrome, lock any two animals in the same room for long enough and they were going to start looking at each other funny. Yeah...that was it. He just needed to focus for a minute, breath out the tension, breath in the....fuck.
"I need a drink."
- - - - - - - - - -
"That's not going to work."
"It'll work."
"O.K, but you're gonna be sick."
He sighed, shook up the bottle, watching the two liquids mingle, the last of the contents of his hip flask, plus two bottles of neat cough syrup...like some kind of exotic cocktail. A medicinal Tequila Sunrise without the Tequila. Stopped shaking and watched the mixture settle.
"It's gonna taste disgusting. You're insane."
"No...just really....really bored."
Unscrewed the top and took a slug, well, certainly felt slug-like, slow-moving down his throat. Jesus. Actually....
"Well? What's it like?"
He took another gulp, wiped his mouth, handed it to her,
"Not bad. Bit like kirsch..."
Watched her gingerly sip a mouthful, fall back spluttering, rubbing her tongue with a sleeve,
"...with a bite."
He took the bottle from her and dropped back against the wall, made himself more comfortable with the help of a sack of bandages. Her eyes were watering and, after a moment or two, he passed her a roll of lint to dry them. A rueful smile, something rare and she dabbed at her face with it, cleaning away the running mascara.
"You've got..."
He mimed the smudged make-up and she scrubbed at it again, suddenly self- conscious. Why did that spark something? A little stab in his gut again and a sudden need to touch her, wipe her face with his hands, hold her, kiss her sweet little....Christ in heaven. Get a grip. Tipped the bottle back and chugged on it hard, really couldn't be drunk enough at this precise moment.
"So...what did you think? The first time you saw me?"
He choked, almost inhaled the shit then if that were possible, either way it was in his nose and fuck...stung like a sonofabitch. Grabbed at her hand when she offered the bandage back, anything to staunch the water rolling from his eyes. Couldn't even focus on what she'd meant with that last question, what he'd thought? Why the hell did she care what he'd thought? He blew his nose, ignoring her look of disgust, tried to read her expression through a veil of tears and failed. She was just looking at him, no agenda, just plain honest to goodness curious and he was thrown. What had he thought? That night? The same thing he thought every time he looked at her of course.
"I thought...this one's different."
Wasn't expecting that was she? And he almost regretted it, almost took it back or killed it dead with a sneer. Like she was something special? But found he didn't really want to, wanted her to know suddenly. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe just that little glimpse of the other her, the real her he'd been treated to, but suddenly he wanted her to know everything, just how amazing she really was. How unlike anyone he knew. And she didn't know it, he was pretty sure of that.
"I thought she's the one. The one who's going to do for you. I thought...if anyone can, it's her. I thought watch this one Spike. Watch your back."
He saw he react to that, recognising he was sincere, that he had meant it.
"Really?"
He took another slug, handed her the bottle again,
"Scout's honour."
She took a draft, this time no coughing, let the liquid sink back in her mouth and drizzle down her throat. He watched it making it's way, the pulse in her neck calling to him.
"Wow."
Yeah. She was flattered he could tell. He shifted on his pillow, took out his cigarettes again and this time, didn't know why, raised his eyebrows at her as he opened the pack,
"All right if I...?"
She waved her hand at him, seemed to barely even notice the little gesture and he lit up, trying not to ignite the fumes that were coming off them both now in waves.
"Know what I thought about you?"
That was unexpected, but he found himself suddenly curious too. Remembered the fire in her eyes in the alley that night, back of The Bronze as she stared him down, stake in hand: 'What happens Saturday?' 'I kill you', the picture still pin-sharp, one of his favourite memories.
"Go on..."
She swallowed another mouthful, shuddering at the raw taste, passed it back,
"I thought..."
she hesitated looking at him, allowed a small grudging smile,
"I thought...pretty cool."
His eyebrows shot up to his hairline, mouth almost dropping open in surprise,
"You thought I was cool?"
She tried to back-pedal a little, almost squirming now,
"No! What you said. That thing about me dying...you said like 'You die' or something." she shrugged, "It worked...sounds really good with an English accent."
"Yeah?"
A smirk, almost playful,
"Yeah. Like 'bollocks'. I can't say 'bollocks' properly, it sounds lame."
"It's more of a 'ol' sound, you should maybe work on it. Get the Watcher to give you some coaching."
"English Swear-Words 101?"
"Well...they're the best. We invented swearing."
"That's bullshit. Americans are the kings of profaness...prof..."
She was getting drunk and it was almost cute.
"Profanity?"
"What you said."
She took the bottle of her own accord this time, sunk another hit like a pro.
"So you were scared? Of me?"
She screwed up her nose,
"Scared?!!! Nah...."
Saw his hurt look and conceded a little,
"O.K...a bit...maybe. When Angel said all that stuff about you..."
"Angel said? What stuff?"
She grimaced, another slug and this time no sign of her giving it up,
"'Bout you being like this....killing dynamo...or something." a mock-sombre tone, "'He will not stop till everyone is dead'!!"
"Angel said that?"
His turn to say wow. Well. Who would have guessed it. Maybe he'd cut the old git some slack next time he saw him, by way of a thank you. Took another drag on his cigarette, feeling pretty good now,
"'...course that was before we kicked your ass."
"You what?"
She tried to eye him back it wasn't quite working, the Slayer intimidation technique so much less convincing with a quart of hard liquor inside her.
"No one kicked my ass! I left."
"Yeah, then you came back and...we set you on fire."
He spluttered, speechless for a moment,
"You did not! I caught fire."
"Yeah..."
she frowned, momentarily floored,
"...but I...I didn't put you out. And then you were like....all....extra crispy."
His lips twitched, wanting to smile at her, daft bint, all sign of the Chosen One expunged, just a pissed-up college girl now with a smart mouth. Watched her shove her hair back again with barely contained irritation, sucking on the bottle like a skid-row tramp.
"Buffy...hey. Think you've had enough now."
He reached for the booze, trying to wrest her super-strength grip one-handed, but couldn't do it. Snatched his hand back when it looked like she might be about to use her teeth. She burst into laughter at the surprise in his face,
"Yeah...look out! Buffy bites!"
Uncontrollable giggles shook her body and he watched as she slid slowly down the wall, her bottom slipping out from under her at the last moment. A soft 'thunk' and her head hit the linoleum. After a moment or two of motionless silence, he crept over on his hands and knees, lowered his face to her's. Reeled back at the alcohol fumes. Her breath was like evil popsicles. Lifted one of her eyelids to check on her status,
"Spike?"
He jumped back, managed to regain his composure though before she pushed herself up on one elbow. The one open eye bloodshot as hell.
"D'you think I'm pretty?"
He blinked in surprise, considered a lie, something scathing. But she was drunk and liable to forget pretty much anything he said anyway.
"Yeah baby. I think you're real pretty."
He moved forward, balling up the bandages she'd been sitting on into a makeshift pillow. Lifted her head almost tenderly and placed it underneath. She sighed and he stroked back the hair that had found it's way into her mouth, not quite sure what he was doing.
"Cold."
That he could deal with, pulled off his duster and laid it over her, tucking the sleeves under her body, under her thighs, trying to make it cosy. She smiled, made a little purring sound in the back of her throat,
"Mmmm. Smells nice."
"What does?"
"Coat."
"Yeah, what of?"
She snuggled down into the collar, pulling it over her face, mumbled something he could barely hear. Had to pull back the lapels just to make sure.
"Of what?"
"Smells of Spike."