Disclaimer: All of Joss's characters belong to him. The ones from my head belong to me.
A steady stream of water dripped between the gaping cracks overhead, gathering in a stagnant puddle on the cement floor. It was cold...the kind of chill that seeps into the bones and takes up residence. The small battery powered lantern did nothing to stave off the darkness, but then these were creatures that thrived on it.
"Uh, Boss?" Ralph croaked, staying well out of range just in case the big guy decided to unleash his barely contained wrath. Between mouthfuls of food, his employer grunted a response.
"How exactly do you plan to get close enough to snatch this key thing?"
Eyes the color of night, red-rimmed and intense, fastened onto the cowering form that hovered between the small circle of lantern-light and the shadows. When a hearty laugh erupted from the hulking beast, Ralph visibly relaxed. Never knew what was going to set the big guy off. Thankfully, the honest question hadn't.
"I...am not going anywhere," he growled. "Why do you think I hired you?"
"To infiltrate and destroy, I'm guessing. It's what I do best."
"Indeed." he grumbled, pushing away the plate of bones in front of him. "Never forget that's the only thing keeping you alive. The only way I can stand this..." He waved his clawed hand at the man lazily. "...horrible affront to my sensibilities."
Ralph retreated a few more steps. So he looked human...big deal. Meant he didn't have to spend his days lurking underground. Made life easier in the long run. But the boss man didn't particularly care for the gentler species. Had a yen to wipe them all out, actually. Hence the job.
"Just remember, this is a seize and capture, not a kill. If my goods are damaged in any way, you'll find out just how bad an idea it is to offend me." A cold grin spread across the creature's face as he heard Ralph almost swallow his tongue.
"What about the Slayer?"
The wooden bench beneath him creaked as the demon shifted his substantial weight; he was growing weary of the inquisition. "Kill her, don't kill her. It makes no difference. Bring me the Key and the Guardian intact, and I may allow you to live."
"Consider it done." Without a thought, he turned on his heel and fled through the sewers, not stopping until he could taste the fresh air on the surface filling his lungs. Ralph hated these audiences with the beast, they always set him on edge. In retrospect, he figured he might have been better off leaving well enough alone. Passing for human had gotten old after the first two centuries, and it was boredom more than a deep-seated desire to bring chaos that had landed him in his current predicament.
"Next time," he mumbled, "I'll take up cards."
*****
Spike let the book fall from his hands with a resounding thud, a playful smirk gracing his mouth as the watcher jumped. "Isn't there anything else we could be working on, mate? This stuff is so dull I'm starting to feel the need for tweed."
With a heavy sigh, the older man set his own volume on the table softly. "No, there really isn't."
As he pushed away from the table, patting his pockets in search of smokes, Spike countered with a sigh of his own. Then a gleeful grin lit his face when he found the crumpled pack and tapped a cigarette out.
"It all says the same bloody thing, you know. Great warrior. Insurmountable odds. Ends in either death or triumph." Giles stared at him with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. "What? I do know words that require you to string together more than two syllables. The Slayer on the other hand..."
Spike planted the filter between moistened lips and made for the door. "These prophecy blokes need to come up with a different tune. This repetition bit is making me right nauseous." The bell above the door tinkled merrily as he stepped out into the midday sun.
He heard Giles grumble under his breath before returning his attention to the text lying open on the table, "Would it have hurt them terribly to rearrange his disposition?"
Blinking, he shaded his eyes with a cupped hand. Still hadn't quite gotten used to daylight. And so maybe he still had the sensitive ears too...wasn't about to tell them that. Hear some very interesting things when people think you're not listening. A devilish grin spread across his features, leaving a twinkle in his eyes as he studied the glowing tip of his cigarette. Sometimes, he thought, you just have to make your own fun. The chuckle that had formed deep in his chest got caught in Spike's throat as he slumped against the building, his face slipping into an impassive mask.
Fear. He never felt it anymore. Not since that moment on top of the tower. But now it twisted in his stomach, writhing and desperate, driving him near sanity's edge. The visions so terrifying, he could only bear to process brief snippets of them. Tiny flecks of blood standing out on Dawn's neck where sharp claws dug in. Salty moisture on his tongue as he lay helpless and bound. The echo of maniacal laughter as it pounded against his eardrums. The black gaze that pinned him to the ground, and a burst of pulsing green light that filtered through his closed eyelids. He couldn't escape the emotions that washed over him...failure, loss, defeat, and a palpable sense of dread that made his innards quiver.
Then the world came crashing back around him. Only sound at first - cars rushing by, quick footfalls on pavement, the faint rustle of wind between the leaves. When Spike pried his eyes open, he found his forehead crushed against the rough surface of the sidewalk, as if he was bent in supplication. His fingertips had left uneven crimson streaks on the concrete, and he knew he'd been clawing, fighting, trying to free himself from the terror. Rolling himself up to a sitting position, he leaned back against the building and spat the crushed cigarette that still hung between his lips into the gutter. His hands shook as he liberated another smoke from his back pocket, and when the flame from his lighter met the tip of it, he shuddered.
It was times like this he wished he didn't care so much. Hoped that if he sat here long enough it would all just go away. But Spike had always been realistic. He knew it never stopped. Just hadn't known what a burden it would be. At the time, he'd thought himself quite clever...the way he was pushing the Slayer's buttons.
"And the thing about the dance is, you never get to stop. Every day you wake up to the same bloody question that haunts you: 'Is today the day I die?'"
Time hadn't changed the truth laid bare in those words. Love had tied his fate to Buffy and Dawn, and no amount of wishing would make the evil nasties leave his girls alone. So every day he risked his life for them, hoping that he could spare them even the smallest bit of pain, longing for a little sliver of peace in the wreckage. Spike shook off the morbid thoughts and stubbed his cigarette out against the concrete. Moping accomplished nothing, and he knew it. Sooner the Scoobies knew about this, the better.
With a heavy sigh, he rose and pushed open the front door of the shop. He'd never been one to beat around the bush.
"Something's coming."
Spike thought he saw a flicker of guilt pass over Giles' features as he lowered the book to the table, but dismissed it...or tried to, at least until he heard the words.
"I know." The watcher plucked his glasses from their perch on his nose and brought out the handkerchief from his pocket habitually. It was a soothing gesture. Centering.
"What?"
"Buffy...she had a Slayer dream last night."
"And you decided to keep it to yourself until now? Bloody hell, man...I've been working through those useless old books all day. Why didn't you tell me?"
"I decided it was best to keep things quiet until we knew whether the threat was real. The last thing we wanted to do was alarm you all unnecessarily."
Spike ran a hand through his already unruly hair as he lowered himself onto the bench. "You'll never learn...the lot of you. When will you get it through your thick skulls that keeping secrets just wastes time." He shook his head. "We all spend most our lives on edge for one reason or another. How much could one more hurt?"
"Perhaps it was a poor choice on my part. But as much as I would love to debate the pros and cons of my decision with you, there's work to be done. I believe whatever vision you had...you did have a vision didn't you?" Spike nodded his assent. "I believe that is all we need in the way of confirmation."
"Right then. Back to the books, I'm guessing?"
"In good time. First I would like you to tell me what you saw...in detail. It could be crucial."
*****
A soft sound, something like a groan, slipped past her lips as Buffy's body met the ground. Damn him, she thought, always screwing things up...even when he's not trying.
"Very good," she mumbled, taking the proffered arm. With a grunt Buffy allowed herself to be pulled up and she faced her opponent, her student. A sly grin spread across her face. "Now lets see if you can take me when I'm not distracted."
"I'm game," he said. Sean? Or was it Sam? Her classes were getting bigger. Seems the veil of Sunnydale ignorance had lifted enough that people wanted to be able to protect themselves. Sean-Sam was middle-aged and a bit overweight, but there was a great deal of power behind his punches, and the way he carried himself probably led most to believe him an easy target.
Misdirection, underestimation...always formidable allies if you're caught in an alley with a demon. And she should know. Those that didn't recognize her always met quick and dusty ends, primarily because they saw nothing beyond the small frame and the bottle-blond hair. The former demon leaning against the doorframe had never made that mistake. And how did he manage to look so dangerous without the ever-present cigarette dangling from his lips? Buffy scowled at him. All she could do was shake her head when she saw the amusement put a twinkle in his eyes and tiny creases at the corners of his mouth. Deep down, she knew what that look meant. Her little spill would fuel a mock-fest a week or more in the making. With a deep calming breath, she backed a few steps away from her sparring partner, intent on ignoring Spike's presence completely. He was a distraction.
"Whenever you're ready."
Buffy braced herself, bare feet digging into the pliable surface of the mat and waited for...god what is his name...to attack her. With a deep breath, her student advanced on her with small, cautious steps.
Spike grinned. He loved watching her fight. Missed that deadly dance of hers. It was one reason on a very, very long list of why he hated being "one of the good guys." A frown creased his brow when he realized she was holding back. A necessity yes, but no less infuriating. It made her movements clumsy almost. Pulling her punches, slowing her reactions. Making her something less than she was. And when she pressed her knee against the small of her opponent's back, twisting his arm behind him, Spike almost grimaced at the gentleness in her hands.
"Now, what did you do wrong?" Buffy smiled in spite of herself. She had always loved winning. Who doesn't? She released her hold on the supine form and stood to look at the fascinated gazes in her students' eyes. Sean-Sam didn't answer, but rolled onto his back panting from the exertion. Christine, a small slip of a girl clad in a leotard and baggy sweatpants, answered for him.
"He got too caught up in the offense. Left himself wide-open for attack."
"Exactly." She extended her hand to the prone student, helping him to his feet. A glance at the clock told her that class would officially be over in five minutes. "Lets call it a day. See you all on Thursday?"
Chatter filled the room as everyone recovered their gym bags from the far corner, but one voice rose above the others.
"Fancy showing them a real fight, pet?" All movement stilled, and her students whispered to each other, their eyes darting between Spike and Buffy curiously. He had already unlaced his boots and set them aside, and when her eyes found him, he was peeling his T-shirt over his head. Little threads of electricity danced in her blood, as her body responded to the beauty of his.
"Spike, I don't really think..."
A raised eyebrow. That damnable cocky smirk.
"Let's ask them shall we?"
Buffy couldn't tell if the hoots and applause were because her students wanted to see them spar, or if they just wanted more half-naked Spike. Self-defense classes are always largely female, and hers was no exception. Something deep and primal stirred in her gut when she caught a knot of twenty-something girls off to the left leering at him openly.
Mine.
What? No. Not...mine. I. Don't. Care.
Her cheeks flushed and she grinned at Spike across the room.
"Fine. We'll show them a real fight. I'll try not to make you whimper. I know how you hate to look all weak and kitteny in front of people."
He returned her grin and crossed the room with a few long strides, stopping only when he was painfully close to her. Spike always invaded her personal space. Like he thought if he could just get close enough, he could insinuate himself in her heart, under her skin.
A burst of warm breath fluttered against her ear when he whispered into it. "I can think of a few things you could do to make me whimper that wouldn't make me all that upset, love."
That was all it took.
Spike's head snapped back as her fist met his nose, and he laughed...it almost sounded like a giddy giggle. He always knew just how to piss her off, and the thin trail of blood dripping down over his lips brought a surge of nostalgia over her. An ache for the time when things were simple. When he was a demon and she was his executioner. The feelings that had crept in when she wasn't watching were counter to everything she believed about the world, and the blows she rained on his torso were testament to that.
They danced. A swirling, primitive, aching ballet of fists and sweat, blood and bone. And that annoying undercurrent of barely contained desire that always flooded through both of them when they fought. Who knew love and hate could be so closely related? Her distraction earned Buffy a stinging kick to the chin, and she struggled half-heartedly against him when his legs straddled her hips, his hands pinning her arms above her head.
"Check and mate," he murmured quietly. A fine droplet of blood hung on his chin, threatening to spill on her white tank top. Spike lowered his head and placed a teasing kiss on the side of her neck, right over the scar Angel had left. The place she knew instinctively he would have drained her if he were still that badass vampire from her past. To wipe the last shred of his Sire from her body. Humiliating. He was so cock-sure and self-assured. Practically beaming with the knowledge he'd beaten her.
"Off."
His body shook with barely restrained laughter, but Spike made no move to free her. With a venomous smile, she brought her hands forward swiftly, looping them around his neck before he knew what hit him. Buffy hadn't expected so much pain when she head butted him, but then she often forgot he was as hard-headed as she was. He had lost his grip on her wrists when their foreheads collided, and she pressed her palms against his chest insistently.
"I said. Get. Off."
When he didn't budge, Buffy pushed him, sending him sprawling halfway across the mat on his ass. The room was still except for the quiet whir of air-conditioning, and empty besides the two of them. Her students had probably crept out sometime during the fight, and secretly she was glad they hadn't witnessed her defeat. Fuming, she retrieved her towel from the front of the room and wiped the blood and sweat from her body.
"I did have a reason for coming here, you know." Spike's words broke the silence between them.
"Oh, really? Other than to call me out in front of my students? Imagine that." Buffy threw the damp towel in her bag, and took a long swig from her water bottle. She still didn't trust herself to look at him. If she did, she might get lost in how good it felt to have him straddling her.
"Oh right. Because I live to ruin your bloody day, eh pet?"
"Just spit it out, okay. I'm so not in the mood right now."
Spike sighed, one of those heavy, long-suffering deals that he produced only when he was infinitely frustrated with someone.
"I had another sodding vision. Watcher thinks it confirms your dream. He's researching it right now and wants you to come by. Asked me to make sure you would. Now if that's all, I'm late picking Nibblet up at school." He tugged the T-shirt over his head roughly and bent down to tie his boots.
When her hand fell on his shoulder, it was all Spike could do to not bite each of those pretty little fingers clean off - vampire or no. Sometimes she got to him in the worst way.
"Spike...look, I'm sorry for getting bent out of shape. I've had a bad day, and I didn't get any sleep." He looked at her, and saw the exhaustion painted plainly in the dark circles beneath her eyes. If he hadn't been on her side now, he'd be ecstatic...knowing she was so close to breaking. As it was, he was too stung by the way she'd treated him to care much.
"So you thought you'd use me as your personal punching bag?"
"I wasn't the only one doing the punching, now was I?" That irritating shrill tone crept slowly back into her voice as she crossed her arms over her chest.
"Whatever you say, love. I thought it might be fun. Miss seeing you all wild and flushed after a really tough battle. It's been far too long since you faced any real threat. Don't want you to get out of practice. Dangerous business, that."
"Could have picked a better place than my classroom." Buffy knew he was being honest with her. He worried...probably rightfully so. The schedule was getting to her. Teaching and slaying and waking up soaked in sweat with terrifying dreams still burnt on her retina. And everyday fighting herself.
"Yeah, well. I've got to go get the 'Bit. Wouldn't do to let a sixteen-year-old girl walk home in broad daylight, now would it?"
Spike didn't wait for her answer; he just pushed through the door, grumbling as he slid behind the wheel of the DeSoto and gunned the engine.
A steady stream of water dripped between the gaping cracks overhead, gathering in a stagnant puddle on the cement floor. It was cold...the kind of chill that seeps into the bones and takes up residence. The small battery powered lantern did nothing to stave off the darkness, but then these were creatures that thrived on it.
"Uh, Boss?" Ralph croaked, staying well out of range just in case the big guy decided to unleash his barely contained wrath. Between mouthfuls of food, his employer grunted a response.
"How exactly do you plan to get close enough to snatch this key thing?"
Eyes the color of night, red-rimmed and intense, fastened onto the cowering form that hovered between the small circle of lantern-light and the shadows. When a hearty laugh erupted from the hulking beast, Ralph visibly relaxed. Never knew what was going to set the big guy off. Thankfully, the honest question hadn't.
"I...am not going anywhere," he growled. "Why do you think I hired you?"
"To infiltrate and destroy, I'm guessing. It's what I do best."
"Indeed." he grumbled, pushing away the plate of bones in front of him. "Never forget that's the only thing keeping you alive. The only way I can stand this..." He waved his clawed hand at the man lazily. "...horrible affront to my sensibilities."
Ralph retreated a few more steps. So he looked human...big deal. Meant he didn't have to spend his days lurking underground. Made life easier in the long run. But the boss man didn't particularly care for the gentler species. Had a yen to wipe them all out, actually. Hence the job.
"Just remember, this is a seize and capture, not a kill. If my goods are damaged in any way, you'll find out just how bad an idea it is to offend me." A cold grin spread across the creature's face as he heard Ralph almost swallow his tongue.
"What about the Slayer?"
The wooden bench beneath him creaked as the demon shifted his substantial weight; he was growing weary of the inquisition. "Kill her, don't kill her. It makes no difference. Bring me the Key and the Guardian intact, and I may allow you to live."
"Consider it done." Without a thought, he turned on his heel and fled through the sewers, not stopping until he could taste the fresh air on the surface filling his lungs. Ralph hated these audiences with the beast, they always set him on edge. In retrospect, he figured he might have been better off leaving well enough alone. Passing for human had gotten old after the first two centuries, and it was boredom more than a deep-seated desire to bring chaos that had landed him in his current predicament.
"Next time," he mumbled, "I'll take up cards."
*****
Spike let the book fall from his hands with a resounding thud, a playful smirk gracing his mouth as the watcher jumped. "Isn't there anything else we could be working on, mate? This stuff is so dull I'm starting to feel the need for tweed."
With a heavy sigh, the older man set his own volume on the table softly. "No, there really isn't."
As he pushed away from the table, patting his pockets in search of smokes, Spike countered with a sigh of his own. Then a gleeful grin lit his face when he found the crumpled pack and tapped a cigarette out.
"It all says the same bloody thing, you know. Great warrior. Insurmountable odds. Ends in either death or triumph." Giles stared at him with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. "What? I do know words that require you to string together more than two syllables. The Slayer on the other hand..."
Spike planted the filter between moistened lips and made for the door. "These prophecy blokes need to come up with a different tune. This repetition bit is making me right nauseous." The bell above the door tinkled merrily as he stepped out into the midday sun.
He heard Giles grumble under his breath before returning his attention to the text lying open on the table, "Would it have hurt them terribly to rearrange his disposition?"
Blinking, he shaded his eyes with a cupped hand. Still hadn't quite gotten used to daylight. And so maybe he still had the sensitive ears too...wasn't about to tell them that. Hear some very interesting things when people think you're not listening. A devilish grin spread across his features, leaving a twinkle in his eyes as he studied the glowing tip of his cigarette. Sometimes, he thought, you just have to make your own fun. The chuckle that had formed deep in his chest got caught in Spike's throat as he slumped against the building, his face slipping into an impassive mask.
Fear. He never felt it anymore. Not since that moment on top of the tower. But now it twisted in his stomach, writhing and desperate, driving him near sanity's edge. The visions so terrifying, he could only bear to process brief snippets of them. Tiny flecks of blood standing out on Dawn's neck where sharp claws dug in. Salty moisture on his tongue as he lay helpless and bound. The echo of maniacal laughter as it pounded against his eardrums. The black gaze that pinned him to the ground, and a burst of pulsing green light that filtered through his closed eyelids. He couldn't escape the emotions that washed over him...failure, loss, defeat, and a palpable sense of dread that made his innards quiver.
Then the world came crashing back around him. Only sound at first - cars rushing by, quick footfalls on pavement, the faint rustle of wind between the leaves. When Spike pried his eyes open, he found his forehead crushed against the rough surface of the sidewalk, as if he was bent in supplication. His fingertips had left uneven crimson streaks on the concrete, and he knew he'd been clawing, fighting, trying to free himself from the terror. Rolling himself up to a sitting position, he leaned back against the building and spat the crushed cigarette that still hung between his lips into the gutter. His hands shook as he liberated another smoke from his back pocket, and when the flame from his lighter met the tip of it, he shuddered.
It was times like this he wished he didn't care so much. Hoped that if he sat here long enough it would all just go away. But Spike had always been realistic. He knew it never stopped. Just hadn't known what a burden it would be. At the time, he'd thought himself quite clever...the way he was pushing the Slayer's buttons.
"And the thing about the dance is, you never get to stop. Every day you wake up to the same bloody question that haunts you: 'Is today the day I die?'"
Time hadn't changed the truth laid bare in those words. Love had tied his fate to Buffy and Dawn, and no amount of wishing would make the evil nasties leave his girls alone. So every day he risked his life for them, hoping that he could spare them even the smallest bit of pain, longing for a little sliver of peace in the wreckage. Spike shook off the morbid thoughts and stubbed his cigarette out against the concrete. Moping accomplished nothing, and he knew it. Sooner the Scoobies knew about this, the better.
With a heavy sigh, he rose and pushed open the front door of the shop. He'd never been one to beat around the bush.
"Something's coming."
Spike thought he saw a flicker of guilt pass over Giles' features as he lowered the book to the table, but dismissed it...or tried to, at least until he heard the words.
"I know." The watcher plucked his glasses from their perch on his nose and brought out the handkerchief from his pocket habitually. It was a soothing gesture. Centering.
"What?"
"Buffy...she had a Slayer dream last night."
"And you decided to keep it to yourself until now? Bloody hell, man...I've been working through those useless old books all day. Why didn't you tell me?"
"I decided it was best to keep things quiet until we knew whether the threat was real. The last thing we wanted to do was alarm you all unnecessarily."
Spike ran a hand through his already unruly hair as he lowered himself onto the bench. "You'll never learn...the lot of you. When will you get it through your thick skulls that keeping secrets just wastes time." He shook his head. "We all spend most our lives on edge for one reason or another. How much could one more hurt?"
"Perhaps it was a poor choice on my part. But as much as I would love to debate the pros and cons of my decision with you, there's work to be done. I believe whatever vision you had...you did have a vision didn't you?" Spike nodded his assent. "I believe that is all we need in the way of confirmation."
"Right then. Back to the books, I'm guessing?"
"In good time. First I would like you to tell me what you saw...in detail. It could be crucial."
*****
A soft sound, something like a groan, slipped past her lips as Buffy's body met the ground. Damn him, she thought, always screwing things up...even when he's not trying.
"Very good," she mumbled, taking the proffered arm. With a grunt Buffy allowed herself to be pulled up and she faced her opponent, her student. A sly grin spread across her face. "Now lets see if you can take me when I'm not distracted."
"I'm game," he said. Sean? Or was it Sam? Her classes were getting bigger. Seems the veil of Sunnydale ignorance had lifted enough that people wanted to be able to protect themselves. Sean-Sam was middle-aged and a bit overweight, but there was a great deal of power behind his punches, and the way he carried himself probably led most to believe him an easy target.
Misdirection, underestimation...always formidable allies if you're caught in an alley with a demon. And she should know. Those that didn't recognize her always met quick and dusty ends, primarily because they saw nothing beyond the small frame and the bottle-blond hair. The former demon leaning against the doorframe had never made that mistake. And how did he manage to look so dangerous without the ever-present cigarette dangling from his lips? Buffy scowled at him. All she could do was shake her head when she saw the amusement put a twinkle in his eyes and tiny creases at the corners of his mouth. Deep down, she knew what that look meant. Her little spill would fuel a mock-fest a week or more in the making. With a deep calming breath, she backed a few steps away from her sparring partner, intent on ignoring Spike's presence completely. He was a distraction.
"Whenever you're ready."
Buffy braced herself, bare feet digging into the pliable surface of the mat and waited for...god what is his name...to attack her. With a deep breath, her student advanced on her with small, cautious steps.
Spike grinned. He loved watching her fight. Missed that deadly dance of hers. It was one reason on a very, very long list of why he hated being "one of the good guys." A frown creased his brow when he realized she was holding back. A necessity yes, but no less infuriating. It made her movements clumsy almost. Pulling her punches, slowing her reactions. Making her something less than she was. And when she pressed her knee against the small of her opponent's back, twisting his arm behind him, Spike almost grimaced at the gentleness in her hands.
"Now, what did you do wrong?" Buffy smiled in spite of herself. She had always loved winning. Who doesn't? She released her hold on the supine form and stood to look at the fascinated gazes in her students' eyes. Sean-Sam didn't answer, but rolled onto his back panting from the exertion. Christine, a small slip of a girl clad in a leotard and baggy sweatpants, answered for him.
"He got too caught up in the offense. Left himself wide-open for attack."
"Exactly." She extended her hand to the prone student, helping him to his feet. A glance at the clock told her that class would officially be over in five minutes. "Lets call it a day. See you all on Thursday?"
Chatter filled the room as everyone recovered their gym bags from the far corner, but one voice rose above the others.
"Fancy showing them a real fight, pet?" All movement stilled, and her students whispered to each other, their eyes darting between Spike and Buffy curiously. He had already unlaced his boots and set them aside, and when her eyes found him, he was peeling his T-shirt over his head. Little threads of electricity danced in her blood, as her body responded to the beauty of his.
"Spike, I don't really think..."
A raised eyebrow. That damnable cocky smirk.
"Let's ask them shall we?"
Buffy couldn't tell if the hoots and applause were because her students wanted to see them spar, or if they just wanted more half-naked Spike. Self-defense classes are always largely female, and hers was no exception. Something deep and primal stirred in her gut when she caught a knot of twenty-something girls off to the left leering at him openly.
Mine.
What? No. Not...mine. I. Don't. Care.
Her cheeks flushed and she grinned at Spike across the room.
"Fine. We'll show them a real fight. I'll try not to make you whimper. I know how you hate to look all weak and kitteny in front of people."
He returned her grin and crossed the room with a few long strides, stopping only when he was painfully close to her. Spike always invaded her personal space. Like he thought if he could just get close enough, he could insinuate himself in her heart, under her skin.
A burst of warm breath fluttered against her ear when he whispered into it. "I can think of a few things you could do to make me whimper that wouldn't make me all that upset, love."
That was all it took.
Spike's head snapped back as her fist met his nose, and he laughed...it almost sounded like a giddy giggle. He always knew just how to piss her off, and the thin trail of blood dripping down over his lips brought a surge of nostalgia over her. An ache for the time when things were simple. When he was a demon and she was his executioner. The feelings that had crept in when she wasn't watching were counter to everything she believed about the world, and the blows she rained on his torso were testament to that.
They danced. A swirling, primitive, aching ballet of fists and sweat, blood and bone. And that annoying undercurrent of barely contained desire that always flooded through both of them when they fought. Who knew love and hate could be so closely related? Her distraction earned Buffy a stinging kick to the chin, and she struggled half-heartedly against him when his legs straddled her hips, his hands pinning her arms above her head.
"Check and mate," he murmured quietly. A fine droplet of blood hung on his chin, threatening to spill on her white tank top. Spike lowered his head and placed a teasing kiss on the side of her neck, right over the scar Angel had left. The place she knew instinctively he would have drained her if he were still that badass vampire from her past. To wipe the last shred of his Sire from her body. Humiliating. He was so cock-sure and self-assured. Practically beaming with the knowledge he'd beaten her.
"Off."
His body shook with barely restrained laughter, but Spike made no move to free her. With a venomous smile, she brought her hands forward swiftly, looping them around his neck before he knew what hit him. Buffy hadn't expected so much pain when she head butted him, but then she often forgot he was as hard-headed as she was. He had lost his grip on her wrists when their foreheads collided, and she pressed her palms against his chest insistently.
"I said. Get. Off."
When he didn't budge, Buffy pushed him, sending him sprawling halfway across the mat on his ass. The room was still except for the quiet whir of air-conditioning, and empty besides the two of them. Her students had probably crept out sometime during the fight, and secretly she was glad they hadn't witnessed her defeat. Fuming, she retrieved her towel from the front of the room and wiped the blood and sweat from her body.
"I did have a reason for coming here, you know." Spike's words broke the silence between them.
"Oh, really? Other than to call me out in front of my students? Imagine that." Buffy threw the damp towel in her bag, and took a long swig from her water bottle. She still didn't trust herself to look at him. If she did, she might get lost in how good it felt to have him straddling her.
"Oh right. Because I live to ruin your bloody day, eh pet?"
"Just spit it out, okay. I'm so not in the mood right now."
Spike sighed, one of those heavy, long-suffering deals that he produced only when he was infinitely frustrated with someone.
"I had another sodding vision. Watcher thinks it confirms your dream. He's researching it right now and wants you to come by. Asked me to make sure you would. Now if that's all, I'm late picking Nibblet up at school." He tugged the T-shirt over his head roughly and bent down to tie his boots.
When her hand fell on his shoulder, it was all Spike could do to not bite each of those pretty little fingers clean off - vampire or no. Sometimes she got to him in the worst way.
"Spike...look, I'm sorry for getting bent out of shape. I've had a bad day, and I didn't get any sleep." He looked at her, and saw the exhaustion painted plainly in the dark circles beneath her eyes. If he hadn't been on her side now, he'd be ecstatic...knowing she was so close to breaking. As it was, he was too stung by the way she'd treated him to care much.
"So you thought you'd use me as your personal punching bag?"
"I wasn't the only one doing the punching, now was I?" That irritating shrill tone crept slowly back into her voice as she crossed her arms over her chest.
"Whatever you say, love. I thought it might be fun. Miss seeing you all wild and flushed after a really tough battle. It's been far too long since you faced any real threat. Don't want you to get out of practice. Dangerous business, that."
"Could have picked a better place than my classroom." Buffy knew he was being honest with her. He worried...probably rightfully so. The schedule was getting to her. Teaching and slaying and waking up soaked in sweat with terrifying dreams still burnt on her retina. And everyday fighting herself.
"Yeah, well. I've got to go get the 'Bit. Wouldn't do to let a sixteen-year-old girl walk home in broad daylight, now would it?"
Spike didn't wait for her answer; he just pushed through the door, grumbling as he slid behind the wheel of the DeSoto and gunned the engine.