F.L.D

For reasons unknown, even to the very wise, Sunnydale never seemed to have enough working streetlights. The streets and sidewalks, buildings and alleyways were always encompassed with the lethargic sputtering of weak fluorescent lights, and just when one thought they needed a miner's hat to navigate through the city, one street lamp would flicker to life. For a while anyway. It was something that nagged at Buffy Summers when she first moved to Sunnydale, apart from the fact that the name was ironic enough.

"Ironic."

Spike abruptly halted in his tracks. "What?"

Buffy snapped her fingers. "Sunnydale. Took me forever to figure out what irony was. Why didn't my teachers just use that example? Imagine some moron calling the portal to hell, Sunnydale. It's very ironic, don't you think?"

Spike was stumped. "Very." He was about to start walking again, but instead faced Buffy with concern. "Have you been drinking Slayer?"

But Buffy was lost in thought. "So what was that smiley thing then?"

Spike huffed. "It's simile."

"What?"

Spike turned to face her again, a little impatient. "It's not smiley, it's simile. It's a comparative form of – " The poet that Spike once was, was about to lecture the young lady on her lack of language knowledge but quickly stifled his thoughts when he reminded himself that poets were officially girly boys and he was a macho vamp. "Nevermind." He said as he waved her off. A macho vamp with a chip in his head. Which prevented some of his macho-ness. But by god, he looked good in leather.

For added effect, he swaggered his walk a bit. So involved was he in his new bad-ass walk that he didn't notice his boot heel catching on a crevice in the sidewalk and before his horrified mind could fathom what was transpiring, Spike fell forward and landed in a spectacular face plant.

"Spike are you alright?" Buffy was staring down at the fallen vampire with a puzzled look on her face.

"Bloody lights." He murmured as he rubbed his right knee. "Can't see a soddin' thing."

"I thought vamps were supposed to have night vision." Buffy tried to soften her low blow with a kind smile but Spike would have none of it. He glared at her and growled underneath his breath as he got to his feet.

"Well," Buffy sighed, "we're here." She swung her nylon gym bag off her shoulder, letting it clatter to the ground. Crouching behind it, she unzipped the bag to reveal a full arsenal of weaponry. "So, do you want the crossbow, shiny dagger or Mister Pointy?" Mister Pointy was, of course, Buffy's trusty sidekick stake, battle-ravaged with dried vampire and demon blood, and roughened edges that inflicted nasty splinter wounds.

"Crossbow." Answered Spike as he reached for the weapon. He pointed it experimentally at a tree, squinting as he imagined an opponent.

Buffy was still kneeling on the ground beside the bag. "You didn't have to come." She said quietly. "Tuesday nights are usually pretty dry for patrolling."

A sudden thought struck Spike. "It's 'cause American Idol's on."

Buffy looked at him ludicrously. "What?"

Spike laughed to himself. "Simon's a genius."

Buffy shook her head as she straightened to her feet. What the hell was American Idol? She rarely watched tv anymore.

"Besides," Spike said, turning to face her, "I wanted to come." And he smiled at her, genuinely.

Buffy returned the smile, also genuinely.

A low growling from inside the cemetery caught their attention and effectively killed the moment.

"Lets go to work."

Less than 15 minutes after it began, Buffy sat on top of a decorative stone table in the cemetery, picking at ashes that were trapped under her fingernails while Spike smoked a cigarette.

"Can you even inhale that?" Buffy asked. Spike shrugged and flicked the butt away. He stood and stretched as Buffy sat back, leaning on her elbows.

"Why can't it be more like this?" She asked, staring up at the night sky.

"Like what?"

"Peaceful. Quiet."

Spike looked around. "That's 'cause everyone's dead."

Buffy shook her head. Spike had an innate ability at stating the obvious and ruining a perfectly serene moment. Didn't he used to be poet?

Without warning, a concussive force knocked Buffy clear off her perch and right into Spike's back. The two landed in a very ungraceful heap on top of a grave.

"What the bloody hell?!" Spike was about to go on a profanity-strewn tirade but was cut short by a stinging pain in his eyes. Buffy held a protective hand over her face as a blinding flash of white suddenly solved the lack of light problem in the graveyard. Her once perfectly coifed up-do was blown apart by a wicked gust of wind that was picking up littered pieces of trash and hurtling them through the air, occasionally smacking Buffy and Spike in the face.

The unseen assault lasted for a few minutes at most, but Buffy and Spike were slow to pick themselves up off the ground. Buffy walked cautiously to her black bag containing the weapons, nerves slightly jostled from the hair-raising event. She clutched her precious stake at chest level and slowly walked toward the treed area behind the graveyard.

She stopped. "Spike, what are you doing?"

The platinum-haired vampire was pawing at her hair. "You're a mess bit. Got crap all tangled up in there."

Buffy slapped his hand away and continued her stalking toward the forest. "Do you know anyone in your circle that's opening up inter-dimensional portals?" She whispered.

"My 'circle'? Bit presumptuous of you, ain't it? And for your information, no. I don't know anyone who's looking to open up more real estate."

Buffy rolled her eyes at him, but secretly felt a pang of regret for insinuating his involvement. "Whatever it was, it was powerful."

Spike was sniffing the air. "Powerfully stinky too." His nose wrinkled. "That don't smell like anything from these parts."

Buffy regarded him for a moment before continuing. "Well, lets see what's behind tree number two."

It was Buffy's turn to wrinkle her nose as she found a very ugly and very dead…thing? "That's a funny looking demon." She stated. "You ever seen one that looks like that?"

Spike was shaking his head as he knelt beside the body to get a better look. The body lay on its stomach with its head turned to the side and one visible eye. It had deep gashes above its closed eye, although the wounds looked to be several years old. The demon had greenish skin, sparse bits of black wiry hair on its head and distinctly pointed ears. It had on crude bits of clothing and a long dagger that was still sheathed in a black leather scabbard.

"Don't look much like a local." Offered Spike.

"Turn it over."

Spike did as told and rolled the body over onto its back. Both Spike and Buffy grimaced with disgust. The mouth was opened revealing a gruesome set of fanged and decaying teeth. But even more interesting was the long arrow deeply buried in its chest.

Buffy reached down and grasped the end of the arrow and with a sickening slurp, wrenched it free.

"'Kay, that was gross." Said Spike who turned his head away from the bloody arrow.

"Blood's black." Muttered Buffy as she inspected the arrow. "This is a pretty nice piece of work. Whoever shot him took pride in his work."

"Another Slayer?" Asked Spike.

Buffy shook her head. "Not Slayer. But definitely a hunter of some sort. I'm taking this back. We've got some reading to do."

Spike got to his feet. "Correction. You've got some reading to do, I've got some sleeping to do."

But Buffy was completely ignoring him as she continued to study the craftsmanship of the arrow.
"Uh, Buff? What about the body?"

Buffy shrugged. "I don't think he's going anywhere."

It was Spike's turn to give her a ludicrous look.

"Oh! You mean what to do with it. The bushes I guess."

Spike shook his head. "Stench would only attract visitors. Lets take him down to my pad."

Buffly looked grossed out. "And what, you're just going to hang out with dead demon here all day?"

Spike shrugged. "More entertainment than some of your friends."