((Note: As before, this story is still taking into account everything that
happens on the show. So spoilers up through and including "Get it Done" for
this one. Enjoy, and please, pretty pretty please with anything you want on
top, review. I'm dying for some input. Even if it is of the negative
persuasion. I can deal. Really, I'm very thick skinned. ))
Buffy knew he was in the basement. She'd like to think it was her slayer powers that screamed: 'Vampire this way!' but she knew it wasn't true. Once it might have been merely that, but that had changed long ago. Somewhere along the line she stopped receiving the usual generic warning sirens when she came near him and they were replaced by much more personalized ones. Ones that tugged gently on her sleeve like a small child saying, 'Hey, Spike this way.'
A small shiver ran from her toes up through her spine, culminating at the base of her neck as she approached the door, her small hand barely touching the knob. She hadn't spoken to him since she came back from the insane vision quest the night before. She knew, from what Willow had told her, that the demon that had been sent in her stead Spike had killed. She had also noted the return of that oh so famous duster of his, and shuddered, wondering if her brutal words had brought that on. It wasn't that she felt guilty for what she had said to him, or at him as the case may be. She had in fact meant every word of it. What they needed right now was an army. A brutal, bare knuckled army. They weren't going to get there if every last one of them didn't give it their all. *It's not enough*
She pushed the image of the First Slayer and the accompanying one of the raging army of Turok-Han from her mind, right now she needed to deal with the issues at hand. Make sure everyone was ready for what was coming. *If that's even possible. No, no negative thoughts.* She mentally put up a no vacancy sign in her head.
She began to catalogue the events over the last few weeks. It had been nearly three weeks since the whole since the whole Sandman-y issue. The little prophetic dreams that had gotten everyone in a huff, but had ultimately lead to little more then another pile of dirt in her back yard. Her eyes became wet with the memory. This was what the First had been trying to do, suss out there weak points, figure out were to pierce their skin, and which direction to twist the knife. Well it had worked. Chloe was dead and anyone of them could be next. She doubted very much that her little "inspirational" speech the night before had done much to reverse the effects the First was having. Amazingly out of the two people it had contacted directly, Chloe was the one to give in, and Andrew *Andrew?* had been able to resist. She shook her head at that thought. *Gotten give the little twerp credit where credit is do. Maybe I should take another look at his big board.*
Her thoughts trailed off momentarily remembering Wood's reaction to their little hostage. *Wood. Hmm.* She began to wonder if he had any visits from the First, or any unpleasant dreams that he couldn't quite make heads or tails of lately. She'd have to ask.
She shook the thought, away, realizing with an almost smile that she had been so lost in her.*Brooding?* that she had been standing with her hand on the doorknob for nearly five minutes. She sighed heavily, *Time to get with the movin' Buffy.*
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Spike pounded relentlessly on the heavy bag, a low growl rumbling in his throat. He knew she was there. Jesus, how could he not. He could sense her common, even if he hadn't been able to pick up the delicious smell of her shampoo from a mile and a half away. It permeated the whole place, but was always strongest when she was near. And she had been near. For nearly five minutes now. Just standing there at the top of the stairs, torturing the shit out of him with her mere presence. *Why can't the bloody bint just leave me alone just once.* He snarled, pounding into the bag again, wishing she would just go away.
When he finally heard the knob turn, and the creak of the stairs, he slowed, grabbing the bag as he heard her approach and then stop a few steps from the bottom.
"Got somethin' on you mind, Slayer. Or are you up for another round of 'Kick the Spike'?" He moved to his makeshift bed and grabbed his smokes. Lighting one up, making as much effort not to look in her direction as he was in keeping his demon down. *Bitch'll be the death of me.*
He heard her shift on the stairs, finally addressing him. He turned then, the bitterness he felt very plain on his face.
"Spike, I." She thought briefly then, deciding maybe talking wasn't such a great idea at that time. She moved off the stairs and onto the main floor. "I'm not here to play 'Kick the Spike' at least, not in the traditional sense." She glanced at the floor, before looking back up at him, "Well, not that there really is a traditional sense, considering it's not actually a game or anything." She caught the look of utter annoyance on his face and stopped. "Wanna spar?"
At that, his old smirk crept on his face. He took a long drag of his cigarette before tossing it to the floor and squashing it out. "Love to, Pet."
They both moved forward then, falling quickly into their old dance. This really wasn't what Buffy had come down here for, but at the moment she was having a hard time remembering what had been the reason, such was her memory these days. She got so caught up in the thought that she completely missed the left hook that nailed her in the jaw, spinning her away from him as he danced back again, moving deftly on the balls of his feet.
A chuckle escaped his throat and he began in his singsong voice: "Someone isn't on their game."
She merely growled in response and launched at him, throwing a double roundhouse, which he blocked, followed by a left-right jab, which he didn't. She grinned as she drew blood, licking her thumb as she danced back herself this time. Tilting her head; "You're right, someone isn't."
With that the match was on. They both moved fluidly, countering each other as only they could, each missing a few blocks here and there. Both of them had open wounds now, but they were minor, considering the damage they were truly capable of doing.
Buffy was moving in, confidence brewing inside her as she was clearly on the offensive now *Got him.* She threw a front kick jab combo, expecting to take him off his feet with the force of the blow she sent. Consequently she was completely taken off guard when he grabbed her hand, crushing the fingers slightly in his grasp as he turned, twisting her body towards him, and nailed her hard in the stomach with a back kick, releasing his hold on her at the same time. The force of the kick sent her reeling back into the wall, knocking the breath from her body and quite a few items off the shelves.
Before she had even had a moment to catch her breath he was over her, a predatory look on his face as he grasped her throat in his hand, his eyes flashing gold momentarily and his demon visage just barely concealed. "I win."
Her shocked eyes meet his gaze briefly as he released her from his grip, and in a flash he had his duster in hand and was out the door.
An almost smile tinged the side of her lips as she held her side, bringing herself to a standing position. She wasn't sure what to feel about this turn of events. Then again when did she ever know what to feel when it came to Spike? It was obvious from his little display that he had taken her words to heart, and it almost pained her to think about that. About how much he took whatever it was she told him to heart. She knew he knew it was true. *Can't love you Spike, you don't have a soul.* So what does he do? He goes out and gets one. A light laugh escaped her lips at the thought. *Need you to be that old murderous bastard again Spike.* So that's what he did. Just about the only thing he never did that she had told him to do, was leave. She shook her head as she headed back upstairs, leaving the mess on the floor where she had fallen. *Damn stubborn vamp,* and for once she was glad.
Buffy knew he was in the basement. She'd like to think it was her slayer powers that screamed: 'Vampire this way!' but she knew it wasn't true. Once it might have been merely that, but that had changed long ago. Somewhere along the line she stopped receiving the usual generic warning sirens when she came near him and they were replaced by much more personalized ones. Ones that tugged gently on her sleeve like a small child saying, 'Hey, Spike this way.'
A small shiver ran from her toes up through her spine, culminating at the base of her neck as she approached the door, her small hand barely touching the knob. She hadn't spoken to him since she came back from the insane vision quest the night before. She knew, from what Willow had told her, that the demon that had been sent in her stead Spike had killed. She had also noted the return of that oh so famous duster of his, and shuddered, wondering if her brutal words had brought that on. It wasn't that she felt guilty for what she had said to him, or at him as the case may be. She had in fact meant every word of it. What they needed right now was an army. A brutal, bare knuckled army. They weren't going to get there if every last one of them didn't give it their all. *It's not enough*
She pushed the image of the First Slayer and the accompanying one of the raging army of Turok-Han from her mind, right now she needed to deal with the issues at hand. Make sure everyone was ready for what was coming. *If that's even possible. No, no negative thoughts.* She mentally put up a no vacancy sign in her head.
She began to catalogue the events over the last few weeks. It had been nearly three weeks since the whole since the whole Sandman-y issue. The little prophetic dreams that had gotten everyone in a huff, but had ultimately lead to little more then another pile of dirt in her back yard. Her eyes became wet with the memory. This was what the First had been trying to do, suss out there weak points, figure out were to pierce their skin, and which direction to twist the knife. Well it had worked. Chloe was dead and anyone of them could be next. She doubted very much that her little "inspirational" speech the night before had done much to reverse the effects the First was having. Amazingly out of the two people it had contacted directly, Chloe was the one to give in, and Andrew *Andrew?* had been able to resist. She shook her head at that thought. *Gotten give the little twerp credit where credit is do. Maybe I should take another look at his big board.*
Her thoughts trailed off momentarily remembering Wood's reaction to their little hostage. *Wood. Hmm.* She began to wonder if he had any visits from the First, or any unpleasant dreams that he couldn't quite make heads or tails of lately. She'd have to ask.
She shook the thought, away, realizing with an almost smile that she had been so lost in her.*Brooding?* that she had been standing with her hand on the doorknob for nearly five minutes. She sighed heavily, *Time to get with the movin' Buffy.*
--------- ------------------------------------------------------------------ -----------------
Spike pounded relentlessly on the heavy bag, a low growl rumbling in his throat. He knew she was there. Jesus, how could he not. He could sense her common, even if he hadn't been able to pick up the delicious smell of her shampoo from a mile and a half away. It permeated the whole place, but was always strongest when she was near. And she had been near. For nearly five minutes now. Just standing there at the top of the stairs, torturing the shit out of him with her mere presence. *Why can't the bloody bint just leave me alone just once.* He snarled, pounding into the bag again, wishing she would just go away.
When he finally heard the knob turn, and the creak of the stairs, he slowed, grabbing the bag as he heard her approach and then stop a few steps from the bottom.
"Got somethin' on you mind, Slayer. Or are you up for another round of 'Kick the Spike'?" He moved to his makeshift bed and grabbed his smokes. Lighting one up, making as much effort not to look in her direction as he was in keeping his demon down. *Bitch'll be the death of me.*
He heard her shift on the stairs, finally addressing him. He turned then, the bitterness he felt very plain on his face.
"Spike, I." She thought briefly then, deciding maybe talking wasn't such a great idea at that time. She moved off the stairs and onto the main floor. "I'm not here to play 'Kick the Spike' at least, not in the traditional sense." She glanced at the floor, before looking back up at him, "Well, not that there really is a traditional sense, considering it's not actually a game or anything." She caught the look of utter annoyance on his face and stopped. "Wanna spar?"
At that, his old smirk crept on his face. He took a long drag of his cigarette before tossing it to the floor and squashing it out. "Love to, Pet."
They both moved forward then, falling quickly into their old dance. This really wasn't what Buffy had come down here for, but at the moment she was having a hard time remembering what had been the reason, such was her memory these days. She got so caught up in the thought that she completely missed the left hook that nailed her in the jaw, spinning her away from him as he danced back again, moving deftly on the balls of his feet.
A chuckle escaped his throat and he began in his singsong voice: "Someone isn't on their game."
She merely growled in response and launched at him, throwing a double roundhouse, which he blocked, followed by a left-right jab, which he didn't. She grinned as she drew blood, licking her thumb as she danced back herself this time. Tilting her head; "You're right, someone isn't."
With that the match was on. They both moved fluidly, countering each other as only they could, each missing a few blocks here and there. Both of them had open wounds now, but they were minor, considering the damage they were truly capable of doing.
Buffy was moving in, confidence brewing inside her as she was clearly on the offensive now *Got him.* She threw a front kick jab combo, expecting to take him off his feet with the force of the blow she sent. Consequently she was completely taken off guard when he grabbed her hand, crushing the fingers slightly in his grasp as he turned, twisting her body towards him, and nailed her hard in the stomach with a back kick, releasing his hold on her at the same time. The force of the kick sent her reeling back into the wall, knocking the breath from her body and quite a few items off the shelves.
Before she had even had a moment to catch her breath he was over her, a predatory look on his face as he grasped her throat in his hand, his eyes flashing gold momentarily and his demon visage just barely concealed. "I win."
Her shocked eyes meet his gaze briefly as he released her from his grip, and in a flash he had his duster in hand and was out the door.
An almost smile tinged the side of her lips as she held her side, bringing herself to a standing position. She wasn't sure what to feel about this turn of events. Then again when did she ever know what to feel when it came to Spike? It was obvious from his little display that he had taken her words to heart, and it almost pained her to think about that. About how much he took whatever it was she told him to heart. She knew he knew it was true. *Can't love you Spike, you don't have a soul.* So what does he do? He goes out and gets one. A light laugh escaped her lips at the thought. *Need you to be that old murderous bastard again Spike.* So that's what he did. Just about the only thing he never did that she had told him to do, was leave. She shook her head as she headed back upstairs, leaving the mess on the floor where she had fallen. *Damn stubborn vamp,* and for once she was glad.