TITLE: "Said she'd be back"
AUTHOR: Betty Woo (lwa@rocketmail.com)
RATING: PG, non-specific reference to violence & sex
PAIRINGS: Buffy/Spike. Kinda.
SPOILERS: Starts at close of Episode 7.1, includes season 6 spoilers.
FEEDBACK: Bananafishbones!
DISCLAIMER: Joss owns all the Buffy characters, and we love him for it. Some lines have been lifted from Oscar Wilde's play "Salome" and Hans Christian Andersen's "The Ugly Duckling".
CHAPTER FOUR - Crossed Wires
Early evening, and the streets of Sunnydale rang with the all-too-familiar sound of the beep.
"Hi, An, this is me. But then you already know that, because it's my voice. Unless this is some kind of voice-shifting demon trying to trick you. *pause* Uh, not that I always think demons are trying to trick people. Or other demons, for that matter. Right. *pause* This is going about as well as a land war in Asia, isn't it? Call me. Please?"
BEEP
"Hello, Buffy? Pick up, Buffy. I know you're there. It's not like you'd be out on a date or something. But if you are, and it goes badly, well, you know who to call. That'd be me, right? Don't call Hallie. Me. He left another message. Will you please tell him to stop doing that?"
BEEP
"Dawn? You can't expect me to believe that a 16-year-old girl has her cellphone turned off. I'm going to be patrolling late tonight, so Xander will be picking you up from Janice's at eight. Got that, eight? Not eight fifteen, or eight twenty. Eight. And no, you can't come patrolling on a school night."
BEEP
"Buffy? Giles. Look, there's been a slight change of plan. We're coming back, sooner than I'd anticipated. Actually, I'm staying here to finish up some research, so. *pause* Can you meet her at the airport? I'll email the details in a few days. Hope all is well with you and Dawn, and remember to put your weight on the ball of your foot with that backwards kick."
BEEP
Buffy snatched up the phone as the answering machine clicked off, indicating a disconnect. "Damn," she muttered, fingering the handset. She could call Giles right back, but this month's phone bill was dangerously close to overdue and another long distance babble session to England wouldn't help solve that problem. Besides, she wouldn't know what to say. Hi, I've got a new job, I'm not ready for Willow yet, and by the way, Spike's back and totally insane?
That'd go over about as well as her request to train in four-inch heels. She smiled at the memory of his exasperated sigh and lowered the phone back into its cradle, looking around to find the purse she'd dropped in her rush to the phone. Stakes spilling everywhere, as usual. Some girls worry about tampons falling out of their purse. Me, I get the embarrassment of explaining Mr. Pointy.
Running her fingers over the familiar wood grain, she grinned. When in doubt, kill nasty evil things. That always helped to clear her thoughts. Even if being the Chosen One put a crimp in your social plans, at least it came with a couple of perks.
* * *
His eyes jerked open, the world hazy for just a moment before snapping into focus. That was the moment he hung all his hopes on, that instant between the nightmares and the realization of waking. The fragment of a second when he forgot where he was and what he was. However hard he tried, it slithered out of his grasp, left him down in the dark and the dirt. Mired in William the Bloody.
"Not a duck. Not a swan."
"Well, I guess that would make you a turkey, now wouldn't it." Slick, smug voice, male. That sodding git who'd made Buffy for him. But nobody could make her, not really. And nobody could make him, either, however much he tried. And damn it, he'd been practicing his speech. Because she was coming back, she'd said so herself. Her real self.
"And she's got you baked up real good, doesn't she Sparky?" That grinding slide as the voice changed. "There'll be time enough for feasts once I'm through, and songs written in my honor." Spike shut his eyes, trying to find some scrap of melody that might drown out the voice. Her song, of course, which led to the kiss, which lead to the... and damn, was he whimpering again? "Not that there will be many left to sing them..."
"But I have patience." Footfalls pacing around him, heavy now, the faint light glinting off the military spit polish on the tips of those combat boots. "Everything's proceeding according to the mission plan, right on schedule."
He could punch through his eardrums. But no, he'd tried that before, spent several days deaf and it still hadn't made the voice go away. "I believe," he muttered, softly as he could, "I must go out into the world again." It was never quiet enough.
"Rude. I was talking." Antiseptic smell, medicinal and soapy. Out of place among the dirt and the dried blood. "Think she won't betray you, because you've gotten yourself all souled up? Think again. She couldn't forgive my Faith just one little slip, do you think she'd forgive all the horrible..."
Not her again. Not... "wonderfully horrible things we did together. Remember the little twins, in Budapest?" His dark princess, leaning in close and wrapping her arms around him, enveloping him in her lilac fragrance. "Miss Edith still talks of them. And that Slayer..."
"So much easier to kill than this one, wasn't she?" The lilacs rot as her arms shift away. Spike flinches, cowering as the ancient one leans over him. "But then, you were still worth something in those days. And you will be again, once you've finally accepted the truth..."
Let it be Dru again. Let it be any of them, just not...
"That you're beneath me."
* * *
It was a perfect night for patrolling. A fat, lazy moon cast a blue glow across even the dimmer corners of the cemetery, and the light breeze was just cool enough to keep her from breaking a sweat. Sadly, it didn't look like any of Sunnydale's more unpleasant denizens were taking advantage of the perfect weather.
"Where are you, evil ones? A slayer with nothing to kill is a very bored slayer, after all."
Buffy checked her quick draw for the 64th time that evening, striking terror in the hearts of a couple of fireflies. If only. A slayer with nothing to kill was a slayer with nothing to do but think, and thinking about the events of the last year was a one-way ticket to Broodville. Everything had fallen apart, and all her slayer strength had done was help make it worse.
Are you real? That's a heck of an opener, she thought ruefully. Strong, forceful, really lets him know where you stand. It was his fault, honestly, catching her off guard like that, and in the middle of a fight no less. Certainly not the romance novel scene she'd been scripting in her head for just that inevitable moment.
Maybe there'd be some action over by the mausoleums. Always some new nasty trying to move in, after all. She vaulted over a couple of tombstones on the way, just to get her pulse racing a little. Sharpen herself up, and maybe a fight would come along. Too late, she realized that her body had betrayed her once again, leading her back to his doorstep.
How many times had she stood here last year on the threshold of this stone crypt, wondering what the hell she was doing? She thought about knocking, checking in on Clem. See if he knows anything about a certain slightly less peroxided vamp being back in town.
Snap. A twig, behind the crypt wall on the right. Buffy smiled faintly and slid Mr. Pointy into the palm of her hand. Two long strides and a half spin, kicking back with her right foot (weight forward on the ball, thanks Giles). That ever-so-satisfying crack as her sole connected with something solid, pushing the shadowed figure to the ground. Continuing the spin down to one knee and the stake swung forward as she did her instinctive face and pulse check.
Damn. Buffy jerked her wrist back just in time, halting the wooden point just an inch above the heart. I just can't get no satisfaction tonight, she thought, brushing the loose grass off her pants as she straightened up again.
"What are you doing here, Halfrek?"
AUTHOR: Betty Woo (lwa@rocketmail.com)
RATING: PG, non-specific reference to violence & sex
PAIRINGS: Buffy/Spike. Kinda.
SPOILERS: Starts at close of Episode 7.1, includes season 6 spoilers.
FEEDBACK: Bananafishbones!
DISCLAIMER: Joss owns all the Buffy characters, and we love him for it. Some lines have been lifted from Oscar Wilde's play "Salome" and Hans Christian Andersen's "The Ugly Duckling".
CHAPTER FOUR - Crossed Wires
Early evening, and the streets of Sunnydale rang with the all-too-familiar sound of the beep.
"Hi, An, this is me. But then you already know that, because it's my voice. Unless this is some kind of voice-shifting demon trying to trick you. *pause* Uh, not that I always think demons are trying to trick people. Or other demons, for that matter. Right. *pause* This is going about as well as a land war in Asia, isn't it? Call me. Please?"
BEEP
"Hello, Buffy? Pick up, Buffy. I know you're there. It's not like you'd be out on a date or something. But if you are, and it goes badly, well, you know who to call. That'd be me, right? Don't call Hallie. Me. He left another message. Will you please tell him to stop doing that?"
BEEP
"Dawn? You can't expect me to believe that a 16-year-old girl has her cellphone turned off. I'm going to be patrolling late tonight, so Xander will be picking you up from Janice's at eight. Got that, eight? Not eight fifteen, or eight twenty. Eight. And no, you can't come patrolling on a school night."
BEEP
"Buffy? Giles. Look, there's been a slight change of plan. We're coming back, sooner than I'd anticipated. Actually, I'm staying here to finish up some research, so. *pause* Can you meet her at the airport? I'll email the details in a few days. Hope all is well with you and Dawn, and remember to put your weight on the ball of your foot with that backwards kick."
BEEP
Buffy snatched up the phone as the answering machine clicked off, indicating a disconnect. "Damn," she muttered, fingering the handset. She could call Giles right back, but this month's phone bill was dangerously close to overdue and another long distance babble session to England wouldn't help solve that problem. Besides, she wouldn't know what to say. Hi, I've got a new job, I'm not ready for Willow yet, and by the way, Spike's back and totally insane?
That'd go over about as well as her request to train in four-inch heels. She smiled at the memory of his exasperated sigh and lowered the phone back into its cradle, looking around to find the purse she'd dropped in her rush to the phone. Stakes spilling everywhere, as usual. Some girls worry about tampons falling out of their purse. Me, I get the embarrassment of explaining Mr. Pointy.
Running her fingers over the familiar wood grain, she grinned. When in doubt, kill nasty evil things. That always helped to clear her thoughts. Even if being the Chosen One put a crimp in your social plans, at least it came with a couple of perks.
* * *
His eyes jerked open, the world hazy for just a moment before snapping into focus. That was the moment he hung all his hopes on, that instant between the nightmares and the realization of waking. The fragment of a second when he forgot where he was and what he was. However hard he tried, it slithered out of his grasp, left him down in the dark and the dirt. Mired in William the Bloody.
"Not a duck. Not a swan."
"Well, I guess that would make you a turkey, now wouldn't it." Slick, smug voice, male. That sodding git who'd made Buffy for him. But nobody could make her, not really. And nobody could make him, either, however much he tried. And damn it, he'd been practicing his speech. Because she was coming back, she'd said so herself. Her real self.
"And she's got you baked up real good, doesn't she Sparky?" That grinding slide as the voice changed. "There'll be time enough for feasts once I'm through, and songs written in my honor." Spike shut his eyes, trying to find some scrap of melody that might drown out the voice. Her song, of course, which led to the kiss, which lead to the... and damn, was he whimpering again? "Not that there will be many left to sing them..."
"But I have patience." Footfalls pacing around him, heavy now, the faint light glinting off the military spit polish on the tips of those combat boots. "Everything's proceeding according to the mission plan, right on schedule."
He could punch through his eardrums. But no, he'd tried that before, spent several days deaf and it still hadn't made the voice go away. "I believe," he muttered, softly as he could, "I must go out into the world again." It was never quiet enough.
"Rude. I was talking." Antiseptic smell, medicinal and soapy. Out of place among the dirt and the dried blood. "Think she won't betray you, because you've gotten yourself all souled up? Think again. She couldn't forgive my Faith just one little slip, do you think she'd forgive all the horrible..."
Not her again. Not... "wonderfully horrible things we did together. Remember the little twins, in Budapest?" His dark princess, leaning in close and wrapping her arms around him, enveloping him in her lilac fragrance. "Miss Edith still talks of them. And that Slayer..."
"So much easier to kill than this one, wasn't she?" The lilacs rot as her arms shift away. Spike flinches, cowering as the ancient one leans over him. "But then, you were still worth something in those days. And you will be again, once you've finally accepted the truth..."
Let it be Dru again. Let it be any of them, just not...
"That you're beneath me."
* * *
It was a perfect night for patrolling. A fat, lazy moon cast a blue glow across even the dimmer corners of the cemetery, and the light breeze was just cool enough to keep her from breaking a sweat. Sadly, it didn't look like any of Sunnydale's more unpleasant denizens were taking advantage of the perfect weather.
"Where are you, evil ones? A slayer with nothing to kill is a very bored slayer, after all."
Buffy checked her quick draw for the 64th time that evening, striking terror in the hearts of a couple of fireflies. If only. A slayer with nothing to kill was a slayer with nothing to do but think, and thinking about the events of the last year was a one-way ticket to Broodville. Everything had fallen apart, and all her slayer strength had done was help make it worse.
Are you real? That's a heck of an opener, she thought ruefully. Strong, forceful, really lets him know where you stand. It was his fault, honestly, catching her off guard like that, and in the middle of a fight no less. Certainly not the romance novel scene she'd been scripting in her head for just that inevitable moment.
Maybe there'd be some action over by the mausoleums. Always some new nasty trying to move in, after all. She vaulted over a couple of tombstones on the way, just to get her pulse racing a little. Sharpen herself up, and maybe a fight would come along. Too late, she realized that her body had betrayed her once again, leading her back to his doorstep.
How many times had she stood here last year on the threshold of this stone crypt, wondering what the hell she was doing? She thought about knocking, checking in on Clem. See if he knows anything about a certain slightly less peroxided vamp being back in town.
Snap. A twig, behind the crypt wall on the right. Buffy smiled faintly and slid Mr. Pointy into the palm of her hand. Two long strides and a half spin, kicking back with her right foot (weight forward on the ball, thanks Giles). That ever-so-satisfying crack as her sole connected with something solid, pushing the shadowed figure to the ground. Continuing the spin down to one knee and the stake swung forward as she did her instinctive face and pulse check.
Damn. Buffy jerked her wrist back just in time, halting the wooden point just an inch above the heart. I just can't get no satisfaction tonight, she thought, brushing the loose grass off her pants as she straightened up again.
"What are you doing here, Halfrek?"