Sunnydale. The town's name spoke of happy greetings and bright days showered with smiles. Kids rode their bikes while following the ice cream truck. Parents picked their sons and daughters up from school and took the family dog for a walk. Daughters became nurses and secretaries; sons grew up to be lawyers and doctors.
Sure, it could happen. Then again, looking down the dank, dark alleyway, it was hard to believe that such a renegade side street could be part of a picture-perfect town.
Rodents were the main course of life, scurrying about beneath overturned crates and behind garbage dumpsters overflowing with human waste. Shadows were hardly a surprise, sheets of blackness flowing over and through each other, allowing not a trace of light past their ink-like barriers.
Rain had somehow found its way between the buildings that lined either side of the alleyway. The light sprinkle was already forming puddles everywhere in the uneven concrete.
Surveying the silent chaos to which he had been exposed, Spike felt quite at home. A terrifying catacomb such as this was completely devoid of humanity, and though he would love to be provided with some helpless victim, the serenity was enough to satisfy his hunger for now.
Lifting a petite, white cylinder to his lips, the sound of a Zippo clinking open echoed around the brick walls as finally a hint of light was added to the atmosphere. But the flame was extinguished not a moment later, metal hitting metal again as the lighter was closed.
Keeping the bringer of habitual pleasure at his lips, Spike took the cigarette between his fingers, inhaling a sensual, drawn out drag. The toxic chemicals streamed through his system, attempting to do damage to his tissue, but failing. Walking corpses were very rarely affected by tobacco.
Spike was revelling in the silence that had finally overtaken him. For nearly a day, all he had been exposed to was the taunting laughter of Angelus, the swooning moans of Drusilla, and the dismay of conquer that had come in many forms.
Angelus had returned again. Spike knew that he should be bouncing from wall to wall, singing a merry little tune with Drusilla at his side, making some poor businessman suffer the torture that would become Spike's aphrodisiac. But no, he had subsided to the shadows, the calm of darkness. Why? He didn't even want to think about it.
Looking with overdrawn boredom to his booted feet, Spike tenderly put pressure on one of the limbs. He was currently folded in a wheelchair, but lately his legs hadn't been bothering him as much. One of the many benefits that came with eternal life was of course accented healing powers.
Pressing himself even farther onto his limb when pain didn't become a factor, Spike gave a cruel grin. It wasn't long before he was standing on both feet, his leather duster crinkled from being sat on all day, but still flowing neatly about either limb. The feeling of standing was like being born again. He wasn't a prisoner of the aluminum frame anymore.
Taking in a deep breath, Spike gazed about the world with yellowing eyes. He was at a new altitude now. It had been quite a while since he had last stood up, and did it ever feel good. He felt strong again.
Of course, Angelus wouldn't be allowed the knowledge of Spike's ability to stand. Not even Dru would be permitted to know that Spike's legs were virtually healed. For now, he wanted to watch Angel. Spike had the feeling that Angelus had lost a few bolts in his head along with his soul, and for that reason, it would be best to let his grandsire take dominance for the time being. If he knew that Spike was almost as strong as him, the blonde vampire might become nothing more than a pile of dust.
Buffy pulled on her pristine white jacket while she slipped into a pair of comfortable heels. She couldn't remember ever being able to say that 'getting older' was the only thing she had done for her birthday. Then again, she had lost her virginity, but for now, the terrible aftermath of such an action was enough to cancel out the bright star her night with Angel had been.
Glancing momentarily at her bedroom door, Buffy felt guilty for sneaking out on her mother yet again, but she just couldn't stay inside. She felt like she might suffocate. The air was so dry, the walls so closed, the carpet and furniture so smothering. Who wouldn't feel trapped?
Climbing onto her roof, Buffy followed her usual route to the ground, finally free to explore the cool, crisp, and slightly moist twilight surrounding her. The rain that sprinkled down on her cheeks was a welcomed treat.
For a while, Buffy kept up a strong composure, strolling the streets of Sunnydale with confidence. Her head was held high, legs moving in fluid strides, lungs taking in deep, cleansing breaths.
All of that continued until she passed by a tattoo parlour, and she spotted a pair of wings with the word "Angel" scrawled across the centre. The simple design brought floods of memories thundering through Buffy's veins. They weren't thoughts, only images that glowed with different emotions, all of which had to be extinguished now.
Buffy glanced up, and was thankful to see an alleyway cutting away from the main street like a stab wound. The Slayer skipped ahead as quickly as she could, scooting around the corner and into the pitch black side street, her hands immediately clutching her face, allowing whimpers to drip through her fingers.
Spike replaced himself in the red metal cage that had become his home for some time now. The muscles in his legs clenched firmly around each other as he did so, and the vampire realised that just standing had been slightly exerting. Perhaps he wasn't as strong as he thought.
The vampire's varnished fingernails were just about to pull out his lighter and cigarettes again when an odd sound struck him. Stopping all movement, Spike glanced toward the end of the alleyway, and saw a blonde creature fling herself around the corner, her face immediately thrown into her hands, entire form convulsing in whimpers. She looked appetizing indeed, all bothered. There was something about her though that seemed familiar; something Spike couldn't quite place from this distance.
Spike turned toward the girl, strong arms propelling him easily upon the black rubber wheels. Beneath the cloak of darkness, Spike could still hardly see anything upon first glance. Animalistic eyes squinted, attempting to make out a few more of the contours, figure out what it was about the girl that made her seem so familiar.
Blonde hair was falling everywhere. On Buffy's shoulders, in front of her face, even behind the hands that were clasping her sobs, so rich in pain. Pain was all she could see, hear and feel right now. But somewhere, Buffy was also feeling something odd, some premonition tugging at the edge of her mind.
By now, Spike had stopped not three feet away from the unknown girl. He was about to stand up, ready to pounce on the girl, have his first kill in a long time, when something stopped him. She looked up, exposing both Slayer and vampire to something neither of them had quite expected.
"Slayer…" Spike's voice caught in his throat. He sat down quickly, swiftly; hoping the tousled strands of hair in front of her eyes had been enough to blind her from the sight of him rising from the wheelchair. Even the slightest idea that he was a threat to Buffy and her pathetic Scoobies could mean the dust bucket for Spike.
Buffy's hands brushed blonde away from her face immediately at the sight of him, wiping away her tears. Mascara was now liquefied, creating black streaks near her eyes. "Spike… What are you doing here?"
A rather smug, intelligent smile curled across Spike's lips. "I dunno, love. I was about to ask you the same question… what's a pretty girl like yourself doing down in my neck of the woods?" he spoke mockingly, and his lips remained plastered in their smirk. But, as his voice echoed about the alleyway, Spike's words hit him with a brutal force he didn't imagine.
Buffy might be the Slayer, the one being on the entire planet who was made by nature to be a warrior. She might have the blue prints of a perfect killing machine, a machine with a soul of course, and therefore sworn to kill his kind. But… damn… she was hot.
Every time he and the Slayer had met before, it had been because they were mortal enemies. Spike had looked over her body not so much as a shape and artwork, but more as a piece of meat; a piece of meat where targets for him to strike at were placed here and there. They had met in combat always before, at times when he was a threat. Now, he was no threat, he was 'stuck' in a wheelchair, and Buffy didn't have to punch him upon sight.
"None of your business" Buffy shot back, her voice laced with some form of poison. She had become very irritable right now, most likely because of Spike's presence. That mocking, always laughing gaze of his, the contempt tone of voice.
When Buffy slung her words to him, those particular words, Spike knew exactly what had her so tied. "Oh", he said, drawing the word out in realisation "you're all hissy because you've been thinking about the big poof again, right?" Those eyes. The way her eyes pierced him with every word. The way her hips were connected to her body just perfectly. How had he not noticed it before?
Green eyes, exploding with a thousand pitless emotions, glanced at Spike. "Who?"
Spike smirked, his thoughts on Buffy's appearance stopped momentarily. The exact curve of Spike's lips made Buffy's mind tingle with ferocity. "Angel. The big poof. You know, your ex, about…" Spike lifted his hand high in the air, stretching as far as he could "yay high, hair up to the clouds…"
"I know who he is, Spike" Buffy interrupted, not wanting a lecture on her inability to comprehend his nicknames for others.
"Well, sorry pet. You just seemed confused" Spike continued to let the smirk drip from the edges of his lips, letting it hang loosely, casually. It was an excellent mask for what was really going on behind his fathomless eyes.
"Leave me alone" Buffy's words were short, to the point. Demanding. She wanted him out of sight.
"Well, let me think here. 'No' would be a good answer in my opinion" Aside from the smirk, Spike was left bewildered still. His insides were churning, the natural male in him just itching to let his eyes continue to explore the Slayer's form. Every curve seemed to be more than perfect. Her tight jeans weren't exactly modest, either.
The vampire in him though was constantly telling his innards to shut up. This girl was the Slayer. She would stick a spear of wood through him at the first sign that she needed the chance to do so. She was the Slayer. Vampires, well, vampires like him at least, don't get turned on by the Slayer.
Spike's egos continued to battle with each other.
"Leave Spike. Or else I'll…"
"What? Sob on me?" scoffing slightly, Spike took pleasure in his mocking ways "I'm scared, Slayer. Real scared" Spike smirked, watching the contortion on Buffy's face grow even more amusing. God, this girl had fallen hard for Angel. Having seen Angelus day in and day out for decades at a time had made Spike constantly question why.
Buffy gave an angered, disgusted sigh, unfolding the arms she had only recently crossed in the first place. "Fine." Rolling her eyes, she pushed herself away from the wall using the hips Spike had recently been admiring. Glancing her over one last time, Spike noticed something that the Slayer obviously had not.
The heel on her right shoe was wedged into a small pothole. The motion of Buffy's rather angered paces as she went to walk away from Spike was enough to send her falling forward, precariously toppling toward the earth.
Spike jumped up, despite the fact that Buffy would obviously uncover the truth about his injury. Muscular arms stretched out to catch the girl, wrapping around the shoulders of her ivory jacket, and holding her above the earth for a moment. Everything stopped.
In catching the girl, and instinctively turning her to face him, Spike's fingers had accidentally brushed against the open nape of her neck. The breeze created by either of their motions had catapulted Buffy's scent toward him in a fury of fruit and natural beauty.
Buffy's spine had been wracked with electric tremors as the cool caress of Spike's fingers had trickled against her heated flesh. Her mind reeled, remembering the touch that only a vampire could bring to her. His scent was something rather pleasing. Cigarettes mixed with some aroma that could only come with a rugged being such as Spike.
For a moment, Slayer and vampire remained in the cloak of darkness, wrapped in each other's hold. Spike's leather duster was perfectly contrasting with the white polyester of Buffy's jacket. Each face was framed with tousled blonde hair, both of their bodies moist and slick from the rainfall. Spike was gripping Buffy by the waist and shoulders, his thumb sensuously stroking where a vampire might bite her. Buffy's hand was hanging loosely by her waist, the one closest to him falling against the shoulder of his leather duster. Her chest heaved up and down in anticipating breaths, exposing a new pleasure to Spike's eyes.
Their scene was frighteningly perfect. It remained that way until Spike's alter ego took over, and until Buffy's mind snapped back from the fantasy it had currently been set in.
Buffy pushed against the vampire, groaning in disgust as she used his body as a manner of standing despite her loss of balance. "Let me go, Spike." Her voice was still venomous, as if her fall had been Spike's fault. Once standing, the Slayer proceeded to brush herself off, straightening her clothes, a rather impossible task though during rainfall.
The blonde vampire simply sat down in his wheelchair again. "Blame a guy for trying to help". His eyebrows were raised. In all truth, Spike was stuck as to why he had helped Buffy of all people.
"Uh, yeah I'm blaming you! I don't need your help, Spike. Just… ugh…" Buffy flung her arms down, rolling her eyes as she turned away from Spike. She was angry from the confusion currently drowning her, and Buffy spun around the corner of the alleyway, back into the safety of streetlights.
Left in silence, Spike simply stared toward the street Buffy had escaped to, its path shrouded in light. Why had he caught her? It's not like she couldn't have saved herself. In the back of his mind, Spike realized this girl was precious cargo. She had the power to kill Angel if she really wanted to, and the way he was acting, it could end up being a good thing. That was why he saved her, Spike affirmed to himself. No other reason.
Buffy could still feel Spike's thumb delicately rubbing her porcelain skin. His touch had been so cool, so much like Angel's. So much good came from being held like that, by a vampire. What frightened Buffy though was how she had taken some pleasure in things that were only Spike. His smell… the blonde hair, his dark, rain-glistened features.
It was very wrong to take pleasure in a creature such as Spike, and Buffy knew it. All the way home, Buffy told herself that it was just something to do with her hormones, and the similarity his touch held with Angel's.
It wasn't until much later that Buffy also realised Spike had been standing. That now meant Angel, Drusilla, and Spike were a threat to her, not to mention the other hundred or so vampires crawling the streets.
Buffy was glad to make it home and into her nice, welcoming bed.
Spike, on the other hand, remained in the alleyway for some time. He listened to the scurrying rodents, attempting to use their noise to take his mind off the events that had unfolded before him only moments ago. Perhaps a night with Dru could take his mind off what had just happened. That is, of course, if she wasn't too busy with the nancy boy.