Chapter Three: To the Point
An AU fic (no Initiative, chipped vamps, or Riley! I left out Dawn too just because). I will warn readers, there is a little bit of S/A in here, but not all parties involved are willing.
Disclaimer: These characters are products of Joss Whedon and Co, but most of the stuff in this story is mine. You know, all the witty comebacks, sexually awkward situations, and rabid tattooed monkeys! Okay, okay, maybe not the rabid tattooed monkeys, but you're an intelligent fanfic reader, you get the point. Thanks to everyone involved with the creation of this story. The few, the proud, the insane.
After the revelation given him by the Gypsy, Spike had made his excuses and slipped out of the mansion. A private place for him to think was becoming more and more hard to find. He had told Angelus and Dru he was famished, and they didn't contest that. Likely they needed the whole place available to set up some sexual labyrinth. The thought was not particularly agreeable.
"Poor Spike," Dru had consoled, stroking her hand along his jaw. "Nasty dreams make me positively aching for a good meal."
For a moment, he had been comforted by her words, but that was before she caressed Angelus' face with the same damn hand. His face twitched imperceptibly as he witnessed their loveplay, and he felt the need to vomit. Repeatedly, but only after he had washed his face of all her fingerprints.
"I'll show you positively aching!" Angelus growled at the vampiress as Spike strode down the hall towards the door. Her melodious giggles echoed around him as he left.
And just in time too, it seemed, for some time between when the younger vampire shut the heavy door and when he left the grounds, a obscenely loud crash was heard from within. He shook his head in distaste and kept walking, with no real destination but away.
********** 'Away' happened to be the cemetery, and of course the Slayer was there, in her usual haunts. She was fighting a demon whose name Spike couldn't recall, but he knew they were recluses, harmless unless they were in defense mode. The only reason it would expose itself was if it was seeking something. What the hell was it doing out here attracting notice? Then all the pieces came together-it was after the Forbidden Book. Either the Slayer had it in her possession or the demon was on its' way to get the prize.
The combatants were obviously too busy to share in his breakthrough, so he seated himself on a tombstone, content to watch. He had come back to town to see the Book in action. And he would, with or without Drusilla. Seeing the Slayer get whipped would be an excellent start.
Then, as he saw her falter, he intervened without thinking. With a pair of equally skilled fighters surrounding it, the demon soon fell, bewildered by the sudden ferocity of attack. After making sure the demon was through its' death throes, she glared at him. Though he had obviously been helping, she was about ready to kick his ass into the bargain. He himself had to consider out why he had stepped in. Two contradicting explanations ran through his mind.
He had always planned on adding her to his body count, so obviously if she got knocked off by some other demon it'd ruin all his fun. But this 'good Samaritan' act would also be a perfect way to convince her he needed her help to get rid of Angelus. He knew both reasons were true, but the latter excuse would sound worlds better. The deed was done, and he could kill her some other day.
Letting a condescending smile drift onto his lips, he waited for her to chastise him. He could use a good laugh as well as another fight. But she did nothing but stand there, obviously infuriated. He saluted nonchalantly then turned to stride out of the clearing.
"I had it under control, Spike." Buffy's annoyed voice stopped him.
"And I'm the ruler of Caucasia, off to have some warm beer in my cheap trailer park." the Brit shot back in a droll tone. "So if you'll excuse me."
Buffy just snorted, warily amused by the irony between his accent and the image it brought. But she reminded herself that it wasn't 'Trailer Trash Spike' standing in front of her, but 'Unpredictable Killer Spike', complete with fangs and a nasty right hook. Her guard went back up, and she made the first move. Before he was able to react, she had him pinned against the ground, a stake within striking distance.
"Very funny," she told him, her eyes stern. "So now that we've broken the ice, what the hell are you doing back in Sunnydale?"
"Where's the trust?" the vampire laughed carelessly, the movement highlighting his cheekbones.
"The trust is on vacation," his assailant informed him. "And since you were the one attacking me last night, I think it deserves a break."
He just smiled at that comment. Frankly, he was rapidly getting out of his fighting mood, the problem of the soul returning foremost in his mind. Her presence only reminded him of her reunion with Angel. Secretly reliving the fact that he was disgusted by all that Angelus did (in either personality), he studied her face, coolly ignoring the stake's threat. She still bore a tiny cut from his fangs on the corner of her lip, and the bruises were almost invisible, thanks to Slayer healing and makeup. Though faded, seeing his handiwork was amusing. The stake suddenly pressed deeper into his chest, a peevish warning that she still wanted an answer.
"Oh, come off it, Slayer." Spike responded, his lips curling contemptuously. "You don't want to stake me any more than I want to stake you!"
She recoiled in righteous horror at the thought, and he used the opportunity to flip her over, allowing him to stand away from any pointy weapons.
"Anyway, I don't feel like fighting right now," the vampire stated calmly, dusting grass off of his hands.
"Because you know you couldn't win." Buffy shot back, hazel eyes smug.
Striking quickly, he backhanded her and got her trapped up against a tree. He was done moving before she was able to realize her cheek hurt. His eyes gleaming with a touch of sarcasm, he refused to let her up. She squirmed uncomfortably, knowing he was gloating that she had been at his mercy last night as well. She fumbled for a new insult to counteract his intense eyes.
"I get the point, Spike!" she finally said, spitting her words out in a caustic tone. "You're the devil's gift to women. Now please let me go."
He just smirked at that remark. Appeased by the fact that she had been partially humble, he did as she asked. She fell to the ground, testimony to how hard she had been straining to escape.
"What can I say?" the vampire responded, shrugging as she got back to her feet.
"Well, Don Juan," she scowled, obviously not impressed. "You've got goo on your face. Real attractive."
"Ah, but you're covered in it," he grinned, shaking a reproaching finger at her. "You need a shower more than I do."
"Right, and you'd just love to watch, wouldn't you?" the Slayer answered, before getting a nauseous look at her comment. She just had to say that, didn't she?
"Who's got an ego problem now?" he laughed roguishly, refraining from further dirty remarks.
Instead, he reached out and wiped some of the thick gunk off her face in an offhand manner. He stared at it for a minute as if examining its' origins. Then, with his eyes raised to hers, he pretended to lick his hand clean.
"You are so disgusting!" Buffy shuddered.
Chuckling mirthlessly, he showed her the finger, still covered in the mystery excretion.
"It's poisonous if consumed anyway." Spike explained with a straight face.
She gave him an impatient look then decided to ignore his childish mood. "So really, why are you back? Honesty is now required as one of your few virtues."
"I came back for the usual reasons." Spike explained, and was obliged to elaborate by her glare. "You know, cause some havoc, see some bloodshed. This is the Hellmouth, you know. But now."
"Now what?" she queried when he trailed off, hesitant to continue.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, luv." he scoffed, running frustrated fingers through his hair.
"Probably not, but I'm listening," the Slayer prompted, partially curious and mostly on guard.
"I've got Angel's soul." Spike revealed bluntly, the words spilling out. "Apparently the second time round he loses it forever and I'm the unlucky bloke who gets it. All because I had the misfortune of being around you two at the climactic moment. Pun intended."
Buffy just broke out laughing. His story was so funny she could overlook the jibe he had made at her. "That's a good one. If it were true, it would be ironic."
"Easy for you to laugh." Spike griped sullenly. "I'm never gonna get rid of the bloody thing."
She realized he was telling the truth, but was still apathetic to his plight. "I'm really feeling the tears coming on. Poor Spike, right?"
"You should be sympathetic!" he shouted, eyes flashing angrily. "This is all your damn fault!"
Buffy crossed her arms obstinately. "What makes you think you can accuse me."
"You banged the wanker after what? Five minutes?" the vampire interrupted triumphantly.
She smacked him even before he heard her inhale in embarrassment. Her shame was just below the surface of her loyalty to duty, and he managed to bring it out with little effort. Spike's wit was as fast, pointed and painful as his fighting style.
The pair tussled briefly, neither gaining ground in the rain of blows. Finally frustrated with the cocky vampire, Buffy threw a punch meant to knock him out. However, he dodged her fist and used all the momentum of her muscle to drive her into a mausoleum wall, where he swiftly followed to finish the fight. He placed a hand on her collarbone and another lay on her waist, but they were unnecessary as he was pinning her with his entire body. That easily, Spike claimed the upper hand, but did nothing else to harm her. She nearly flinched under his touch, breathing hard from exertion and the proximity of his steeled body. God, how often did he work out?
"So, when do I get my turn?" Spike asked her flippantly, passing off her jitters as the result of combat.
"Excuse me?" she muttered, busy trying to make it seem that she wasn't entertaining thoughts of ripping off his shirt and putting his muscles to other uses.
"Oh, Slayer, you take my breath away." he teased in a lovesick voice, obviously imitating Angel.
"Shut up." Buffy muttered, trying to squirm away. It didn't work. And she had a sneaking suspicion what he was driving at.
"My heart starts beating every time you kick my lame ass!" the vamp continued his tirade, batting his eyes at an irate Slayer. She glared at him but could do nothing else.
"And I'd kill if you'd lay me!" her nemesis managed to choke out, his rich laughter effectively ending any chance of further taunts.
"There will be no laying of you, Spike," she said flatly, amazed that his iron arm still held her in place despite his amusement.
"Oh, please. Like I would." He shot back, gaze immediately insulting. "If I were to do anything resembling fun with you, it would involve sinking my fangs into that pale neck of yours."
She tensed up immediately, breathing deeply in preparation to fight for her life. He was surprised, not having realized his teasing had gotten her off guard. But he needed her on his side right now, so he filed away the incident for use at a later time. It hadn't been the most brilliant move to talk about biting her. Spike sighed, and shifted his position to lighten the pressure on her. Might as well make amends.
"Truce?" Spike inquired, moving his face closer so his surprisingly warm breath brushed her face as he spoke. "Unlike me, you need to catch your breath."
"Nice of you to care," the Slayer wheezed, hazel eyes wary. "It just that you smell like cigarettes, and I'm, err, allergic."
Truthfully, whatever tobacco he used was aromatic and only a faint scent lingered, but the hasty explanation worked. He let her go with an unapologetic grin, and pulled out a smoke as if she had reminded him they were there. She moved to a nearby tombstone and sat down to inspect her fresh bruises. He followed, completely at ease now that hostilities had ceased, however temporary that state might be. Buffy scowled at him, envious of his effortless movements and uncanny ability to appear nonchalant in any situation.
"What happened to truce?" asked the blond vampire, immediately noting her hostile face. The cigarette was held loosely between his lips, causing his speech to slur a little, but the words were still clear.
"Truce?" she repeated incredulously. "I didn't think you even knew of the word, let alone what it means!"
"Yeah, I've been reading a dictionary in my free time." Spike quipped, before growing serious. "You'll need my help though, to keep Angelus from finding the book."
"Book? There's a book?" the petite Slayer grumbled, completely clueless.
He removed the lit cigarette from his mouth, startled that she had no idea what he was talking about. At least now he had established the fact that the Slayer wasn't protecting the volume.
"Do you pay attention at all to the happenings in your stupid city?" he demanded harshly, gesturing with his cig as he spoke.
She irately grabbed it from his hand and ground it out under her foot, ignoring the exotic scent that floated to her nostrils. Maybe it smelled yummy, but nicotine is nicotine.
He shot her a dirty look before quoting in an educated tone, "A cigarette is the perfect type of perfect pleasure. It is exquisite, and it leaves one unsatisfied. What more could one want?"
Buffy recognized the quote vaguely, from some book of Oscar Wilde she had read in college. Well, strictly speaking, the first year of college, before she had dropped out to be a full-time Slayer. She was only slightly surprised Spike knew the novel. After all, he had too much free time on his hands. Why not pick up a dusty book or two?
"You may not have to worry about getting cancer, but smoke is bad for me." Buffy said aloud, amused by the aggrieved look he wore on his face.
"A lot of things are bad for you, luv," he suggested with an insinuating grin, leaning casually against a tombstone.
"Don't call me that," she protested, quelling the innuendo with an irritated flash of her hazel eyes. "What is it with the British and those nicknames they give people?"
He shrugged and was about to answer her, but she cut him off, her manner instantly businesslike as she recalled his warning.
"Can it, Spike. What 'book' are you talking about?"
"The Forbidden Book," the vampire curtly explained, . "A spellbook that will surface somewhere in your little town."
"I hadn't heard about this, but Giles probably has," she replied thoughtfully. "So why exactly is this my problem?"
"In the right hands.err, the wrong hands," Spike amended quickly. "It contains spells which can end everything, in whatever way the bearer wishes. What is perhaps the most troubling thing about this book is that it contains its own power-a child could pick up that book and unleash hell on earth. Assuming of course that they had a human sacrifice to get the spell to work, but you get the point."
"Is that all?" Buffy inquired dryly, impressed by his scholarly side but eyes still serious.
"All I've been able to learn since I first heard about it, which is not to say that is 'all'." Spike replied. "I'm sure your Watcher could dig up some more tidbits if he were so inclined."
She pondered this for a moment, before turning her gaze back to meet his. "I'll believe your story for now, but any tricks or double-crossing and you will be dust. I will find out if you have lied to me, don't doubt that for a second."
"And if I were to ally myself with you?" the vampire ventured quietly, his chiseled face unreadable.
"Pretty thought." Buffy shot back. "However, you have always had your own motives, and I don't see how this will benefit you."
"It worked before against Angelus, didn't it?" he reminded her. "And it's not like I'm gonna pass up the opportunity of violence!"
"What, you don't get enough action hanging around Angelus?" the Slayer taunted.
It was the wrong thing to say. He did not deign to rise to her bait, instead shooting her a withering glance. She grew unnerved by the growing resentment in his eyes, which now seemed to be more a stormy gray than an icy blue. Why had that particular comment sent him off the deep end?
He was furious with her. For all his reassurances he had a soul and her world was in danger, she obviously wouldn't believe him until disaster struck. All she could do was toss out petty insults that struck closer to home than even she realized. Action indeed.
"Bitch." Spike hissed savagely, turning away with few words for his anger. "You can bloody well die. It's a shame I won't get to do the honors."
He was stopped by her soft voice. "So he stole her?"
"Drusilla? Yes," the vampire chuckled bitterly. "God knows what they're doing right now, but yes, he 'stole' her. Why, are you worried she'll be a bad influence on Angelus? I rather think it would be the other way around."
"I'm sorry." Buffy intoned cautiously. His back was still to her so she couldn't read his face, but he suddenly whipped around to confront her.
"That's what you think this is all about, don't you?" he snarled, infuriated once more. "I'm such a pathetic creature, still trying to get Dru back when she's already forgotten me! So I ally myself with my enemy to satisfy an old addiction I can't get out of my system. Well, it may come as a surprise to you, pet, but this isn't about her."
"Then what is it about, Spike?" she queried, bewildered by his moodiness.
"Him." Spike spat out, the simple word becoming a curse. "Him, dammit. The one creature on this earth I hate even more than I hate you."
"Nice to know I've been replaced in your affections," the Slayer wryly commented, not really surprised to learn of his loathing for her.
His face grew sour at her sardonic remark, but he had to struggle to hold his disapproval. It was a valiant effort, but only lasted for seconds before he gave up and dissolved into rich laughter. She stood amazed yet again at the spectrum of emotions he was showing her tonight, seeing the side of him that was not callous. Her eyes crinkled in humor as she also dropped her façade and added her chuckles to his. The moment seemed so unusual for them to be sharing, but there they were, two laughing enemies in the middle of a graveyard.
"You just made my day, Slayer," the vampire said when he was finally able to speak. "You never told me you had a sense of humor."
"Most vamps on the receiving end of my stake don't appreciate my wit, that's true." Buffy agreed mirthfully. "Their loss, wasn't it?"
"Maybe they should be given the chance to let it grow on them?" he suggested mischievously, eyes glinting with the true laughter that he was holding back from.
She couldn't help but grin at his proposal. Spike, however, was not so easily distracted from the issue they had been discussing before he had fallen apart. In front of the Slayer! He rubbed his temples, troubled by the fact that he had just flung his heart out to her. But yet, it still felt intact, and she seemed more inclined to help him destroy Angelus. Throwing caution to the wind, he re-approached the topic.
"Angelus is literally hell-bent on getting the Forbidden Book." Spike softly reminded her, almost sorry he had wiped the laughter off of her face.
"Do you feel better now? You know, after venting?" Buffy asked deliberately.
She knew any further outbursts from him would be a liability to her mission. Assuming he wasn't a liability already. He had been surprisingly honest about wanting to destroy Angelus, opening up to the point that she wasn't quite sure if it was William the Bloody who stood before her. But she didn't know if she could trust Spike completely. What was stopping him from turning on her once she got rid of Angel? It had always been hard to figure Spike out.
"Much," he drawled, cheerfully crossing his fingers. She ignored the gesture. "Not quite better until he's dead, but I can control myself if that's what you mean."
"Then you're in." she said simply, hardening her stare slightly so he knew her earlier threats still stood.
"Swell," the bleached vampire responded, a small quirk at the corner of his lips belying the apparent sarcasm. "So do we start looking for clues?"
"Just as good a start as any." Buffy shrugged. "I might actually appreciate this, Spike."
"Eh, don't thank me yet." Spike warned brusquely, but remembered his manners. "You're welcome nonetheless."
The pair strode out of the cemetery with a matching pace. Though Spike was taller by a few inches, Buffy had developed her walking speed to rival even that of those much taller. Or perhaps he was slowing down for her, but they both moved fast enough that it didn't matter. As they exited the gate, she caught him looking at her from the corner of her eye.
"You'd make a helluva therapist, Slayer," the vampire observed implacably, giving her only distant eyes along with the words. Cerulean blue eyes she could swim in, were they not frozen over when they regarded her.
She blushed slightly, recalling his explosive mood after she had given him one too many taunts. Acknowledging his compliment with a nod of the head, they continued. The remainder of their walk to Willie's Bar was in companionable silence.
A short time later, they entered the building, earning nervous glances from the proprietor. The rest of the midnight crowd ignored the couple, either not recognizing the Slayer or too long drinking to care. Shoving two drunken demons off of their barstools, the white-blond vampire then gestured gallantly for Buffy to take a seat. Eyeing him suspiciously, she did so, and he followed suit. Willie was obviously trying to avoid them, but as the pair shot increasingly meaningful glances towards the other end of the counter, he finally came over, unhappy about it.
It was easy to see why-he had already had a run-in with a customer and it showed in the black eye and bruises. The chances that this customer had been after information instead of alcohol were very likely. Buffy eyed Willie's beaten face coolly, holding an arm out to warn Spike off. In this game, he was just back-up muscle.
"Tough customer?" she inquired dryly of the bartender.
"You have no idea, Slayer." Willie responded nervously, lightly touching a fresh cut. "And I'd like not to get more persuasion aimed my way, if it's all the same to you."
"Tell us what we need to know, and persuasion won't be necessary." Spike said reasonably, but a darker tone colored his words. It was almost enough to make Buffy shiver.
The man's eyes flickered over to the vampire's face, and betrayed surprise as he identified the speaker. "I was wondering why you weren't here earlier with her."
"Her?" Spike asked, his hard face already showing he knew what the barkeep was talking about.
"Yeah, her. Drusilla." Willie affirmed, cringing at the dangerous look on the vampire's face, though it was not directed at him. "But she wasn't the one that roughed me up. She had someone else with her."
"Tall fellow, brown hair, looks like a throwback to Neanderthal days." Spike described scornfully.
"As opposed to an anorexic, crazy tramp?" the Slayer maliciously retorted.
The pair instantly glared at each other, pissed off by the descriptions of their past lovers. Willie licked his lips anxiously, waiting for the staring contest to end. He could practically taste an old grudge in the air, and if this couple broke into a fight, it would be bad news for his establishment. Enough furniture got broken with the regular crowd-he couldn't cover Slayer PMS as well.
"We don't have time for this, Slayer," the vampire said after a minute, his voice bland and emotionless. She blinked, and wiped her face clean of anger. Satisfied, Spike turned to Willie and grabbed his shirt collar. "So what information did you give Angelus and Dru?"
"The location of the Book," the bartender revealed hesitantly, prompted by Spike's hand at his throat. "It's buried under a seal in the sewer system. Somewhere under the cemetery by Rosewood Street. That's all I know, I swear it."
"No protections on it?" Buffy interjected, nodding to Spike to tighten his grip slightly.
"Just a couple archaic protector spells." Willie gasped. "They're pretty tough to get by if you're not an innocent, but it's not impossible to trick them."
"Let him go," the blonde Slayer ordered, thinking out loud about this turn of events. "So Drusilla led Angelus here, and."
"Now I'm confused. Isn't she your woman?" Willie interrupted tactlessly, addressing Spike.
"Not anymore," was the vampire's grim reply.
Spike almost looked relieved to have settled the issues Dru brought up. For better or worse, his loyalties were in the open. Aware of what the moment meant, but finding it necessary to move on, Buffy cleared her throat and laid a hand on his leather-covered shoulder. Startled out of his private thoughts, he jerked his head around at her touch. She removed her hand like he had just bit her.
"We found out what we need to know." Buffy quietly explained. "There's some time before they figure out how to get the book. I'd vote we find a way to stop them."
"Personally, I need a drink." Spike said, a shaky smile coming to his face.
"My treat," she offered unexpectedly, sliding a ten-dollar bill towards Willie.
"What'll it be?" the bartender queried.
"Jack Daniels, straight." Spike ordered, eyes dancing with amusement. The Slayer was buying him a drink. Would wonders never cease?
"Screwdriver," she said next, earning incredulous looks from both the men. "I've been 21 for a few months, you know!"
"Legal, eh?" her companion chuckled, raising his scarred eyebrow in mock doubt. His surprise was real though-she didn't look very old at all. But of course, neither did he, and he was over 200 years old.
Willie came back then with their drinks and she defiantly took a large gulp, not even flinching as the vodka seared her throat. Spike raised his shotglass in acknowledgement and downed the whisky quickly. The Slayer got her change and made short work of her drink. Striding smoothly towards the door, she obviously wanted to make it evident that she could hold her liquor as well as any man. Spike was curious as to whether her sobriety would last long. Because she was so petite, one drink would normally be the limit.
"So what's the plan now?" he ventured, propping himself nonchalantly against a streetlight.
"I don't have any ideas." Buffy confided, wearily twisting a strand of her golden hair.
"Angelus won't try anything tonight." Spike told her. His voice was confident, but he was unhappy about that. Unhappy that he knew with a surety what his grandsire's plans would be, and how they involved him.
"So you're gonna slow him down?" she inquired innocently.
"Yeah, you could say that," he muttered, a scowl twisting his face. She made a small sound as if to ask what was wrong, and he held a hand up. "The three of us are staying in a mansion outside of town. I can take you there tomorrow, and you can listen outside. See if we can pick up any more clues."
"Good idea," the Slayer sighed, fighting not to yawn. She turned her attention to her watch to see how many hours she had left to sleep. It was about a half-hour until daybreak. "You should probably be going. The sun will be up soon."
He eyed the sky and realized she was right. "Tomorrow night then. Hour after sunset at your mum's house, OK?"
"Yeah." Buffy agreed, before lapsing into her most impassive face. It just seemed important to act aloof. "Don't cook on your way home, that'd be a shame!"
"I'll warn the rapists to watch out for you!" the bleached vampire sneered, winking at her. Neither of them were fooled by the unfriendly act.
She gazed at him gravely for a moment, at those eyes darkened an impossible shade beyond their usual blue. "I wish I could trust you."
He opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it. The wistful comment had not been meant to prompt a response. She nodded wearily and they turned on their separate ways home. The foundations of trust had been set tonight, but whether the cement would be solid had yet to be proved. As they walked off in opposite directions, they shook their heads, not quite able to acknowledge that alliance would be a possibility.
A drop of demon goo from the earlier fight fell off of Buffy's sleeve to the pavement, and she shuddered all the more. A shower had never sounded so good.
**********
Spike parked his DeSoto haphazardly in the driveway and strode to the door of the mansion, hoping he wouldn't get caught in the sun. He was just in time, closing the heavy door as the first ray of light peeked over the horizon.
"Good hunting, Spike?" Angelus asked him, tone deceptively friendly as he lounged shirtless against a wall in the foyer.
"Yeah," the younger vampire said brusquely. "Pretty tired though. Think I'll go to bed."
"Not exactly what I had in mind," the other smiled cruelly, moving forward towards his grandchilde.
A bit of a longer chapter, but I liked writing this one, witty wordplay and all. As usual any and all thoughts, however random, are welcome. More on the way, per usual.
An AU fic (no Initiative, chipped vamps, or Riley! I left out Dawn too just because). I will warn readers, there is a little bit of S/A in here, but not all parties involved are willing.
Disclaimer: These characters are products of Joss Whedon and Co, but most of the stuff in this story is mine. You know, all the witty comebacks, sexually awkward situations, and rabid tattooed monkeys! Okay, okay, maybe not the rabid tattooed monkeys, but you're an intelligent fanfic reader, you get the point. Thanks to everyone involved with the creation of this story. The few, the proud, the insane.
After the revelation given him by the Gypsy, Spike had made his excuses and slipped out of the mansion. A private place for him to think was becoming more and more hard to find. He had told Angelus and Dru he was famished, and they didn't contest that. Likely they needed the whole place available to set up some sexual labyrinth. The thought was not particularly agreeable.
"Poor Spike," Dru had consoled, stroking her hand along his jaw. "Nasty dreams make me positively aching for a good meal."
For a moment, he had been comforted by her words, but that was before she caressed Angelus' face with the same damn hand. His face twitched imperceptibly as he witnessed their loveplay, and he felt the need to vomit. Repeatedly, but only after he had washed his face of all her fingerprints.
"I'll show you positively aching!" Angelus growled at the vampiress as Spike strode down the hall towards the door. Her melodious giggles echoed around him as he left.
And just in time too, it seemed, for some time between when the younger vampire shut the heavy door and when he left the grounds, a obscenely loud crash was heard from within. He shook his head in distaste and kept walking, with no real destination but away.
********** 'Away' happened to be the cemetery, and of course the Slayer was there, in her usual haunts. She was fighting a demon whose name Spike couldn't recall, but he knew they were recluses, harmless unless they were in defense mode. The only reason it would expose itself was if it was seeking something. What the hell was it doing out here attracting notice? Then all the pieces came together-it was after the Forbidden Book. Either the Slayer had it in her possession or the demon was on its' way to get the prize.
The combatants were obviously too busy to share in his breakthrough, so he seated himself on a tombstone, content to watch. He had come back to town to see the Book in action. And he would, with or without Drusilla. Seeing the Slayer get whipped would be an excellent start.
Then, as he saw her falter, he intervened without thinking. With a pair of equally skilled fighters surrounding it, the demon soon fell, bewildered by the sudden ferocity of attack. After making sure the demon was through its' death throes, she glared at him. Though he had obviously been helping, she was about ready to kick his ass into the bargain. He himself had to consider out why he had stepped in. Two contradicting explanations ran through his mind.
He had always planned on adding her to his body count, so obviously if she got knocked off by some other demon it'd ruin all his fun. But this 'good Samaritan' act would also be a perfect way to convince her he needed her help to get rid of Angelus. He knew both reasons were true, but the latter excuse would sound worlds better. The deed was done, and he could kill her some other day.
Letting a condescending smile drift onto his lips, he waited for her to chastise him. He could use a good laugh as well as another fight. But she did nothing but stand there, obviously infuriated. He saluted nonchalantly then turned to stride out of the clearing.
"I had it under control, Spike." Buffy's annoyed voice stopped him.
"And I'm the ruler of Caucasia, off to have some warm beer in my cheap trailer park." the Brit shot back in a droll tone. "So if you'll excuse me."
Buffy just snorted, warily amused by the irony between his accent and the image it brought. But she reminded herself that it wasn't 'Trailer Trash Spike' standing in front of her, but 'Unpredictable Killer Spike', complete with fangs and a nasty right hook. Her guard went back up, and she made the first move. Before he was able to react, she had him pinned against the ground, a stake within striking distance.
"Very funny," she told him, her eyes stern. "So now that we've broken the ice, what the hell are you doing back in Sunnydale?"
"Where's the trust?" the vampire laughed carelessly, the movement highlighting his cheekbones.
"The trust is on vacation," his assailant informed him. "And since you were the one attacking me last night, I think it deserves a break."
He just smiled at that comment. Frankly, he was rapidly getting out of his fighting mood, the problem of the soul returning foremost in his mind. Her presence only reminded him of her reunion with Angel. Secretly reliving the fact that he was disgusted by all that Angelus did (in either personality), he studied her face, coolly ignoring the stake's threat. She still bore a tiny cut from his fangs on the corner of her lip, and the bruises were almost invisible, thanks to Slayer healing and makeup. Though faded, seeing his handiwork was amusing. The stake suddenly pressed deeper into his chest, a peevish warning that she still wanted an answer.
"Oh, come off it, Slayer." Spike responded, his lips curling contemptuously. "You don't want to stake me any more than I want to stake you!"
She recoiled in righteous horror at the thought, and he used the opportunity to flip her over, allowing him to stand away from any pointy weapons.
"Anyway, I don't feel like fighting right now," the vampire stated calmly, dusting grass off of his hands.
"Because you know you couldn't win." Buffy shot back, hazel eyes smug.
Striking quickly, he backhanded her and got her trapped up against a tree. He was done moving before she was able to realize her cheek hurt. His eyes gleaming with a touch of sarcasm, he refused to let her up. She squirmed uncomfortably, knowing he was gloating that she had been at his mercy last night as well. She fumbled for a new insult to counteract his intense eyes.
"I get the point, Spike!" she finally said, spitting her words out in a caustic tone. "You're the devil's gift to women. Now please let me go."
He just smirked at that remark. Appeased by the fact that she had been partially humble, he did as she asked. She fell to the ground, testimony to how hard she had been straining to escape.
"What can I say?" the vampire responded, shrugging as she got back to her feet.
"Well, Don Juan," she scowled, obviously not impressed. "You've got goo on your face. Real attractive."
"Ah, but you're covered in it," he grinned, shaking a reproaching finger at her. "You need a shower more than I do."
"Right, and you'd just love to watch, wouldn't you?" the Slayer answered, before getting a nauseous look at her comment. She just had to say that, didn't she?
"Who's got an ego problem now?" he laughed roguishly, refraining from further dirty remarks.
Instead, he reached out and wiped some of the thick gunk off her face in an offhand manner. He stared at it for a minute as if examining its' origins. Then, with his eyes raised to hers, he pretended to lick his hand clean.
"You are so disgusting!" Buffy shuddered.
Chuckling mirthlessly, he showed her the finger, still covered in the mystery excretion.
"It's poisonous if consumed anyway." Spike explained with a straight face.
She gave him an impatient look then decided to ignore his childish mood. "So really, why are you back? Honesty is now required as one of your few virtues."
"I came back for the usual reasons." Spike explained, and was obliged to elaborate by her glare. "You know, cause some havoc, see some bloodshed. This is the Hellmouth, you know. But now."
"Now what?" she queried when he trailed off, hesitant to continue.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, luv." he scoffed, running frustrated fingers through his hair.
"Probably not, but I'm listening," the Slayer prompted, partially curious and mostly on guard.
"I've got Angel's soul." Spike revealed bluntly, the words spilling out. "Apparently the second time round he loses it forever and I'm the unlucky bloke who gets it. All because I had the misfortune of being around you two at the climactic moment. Pun intended."
Buffy just broke out laughing. His story was so funny she could overlook the jibe he had made at her. "That's a good one. If it were true, it would be ironic."
"Easy for you to laugh." Spike griped sullenly. "I'm never gonna get rid of the bloody thing."
She realized he was telling the truth, but was still apathetic to his plight. "I'm really feeling the tears coming on. Poor Spike, right?"
"You should be sympathetic!" he shouted, eyes flashing angrily. "This is all your damn fault!"
Buffy crossed her arms obstinately. "What makes you think you can accuse me."
"You banged the wanker after what? Five minutes?" the vampire interrupted triumphantly.
She smacked him even before he heard her inhale in embarrassment. Her shame was just below the surface of her loyalty to duty, and he managed to bring it out with little effort. Spike's wit was as fast, pointed and painful as his fighting style.
The pair tussled briefly, neither gaining ground in the rain of blows. Finally frustrated with the cocky vampire, Buffy threw a punch meant to knock him out. However, he dodged her fist and used all the momentum of her muscle to drive her into a mausoleum wall, where he swiftly followed to finish the fight. He placed a hand on her collarbone and another lay on her waist, but they were unnecessary as he was pinning her with his entire body. That easily, Spike claimed the upper hand, but did nothing else to harm her. She nearly flinched under his touch, breathing hard from exertion and the proximity of his steeled body. God, how often did he work out?
"So, when do I get my turn?" Spike asked her flippantly, passing off her jitters as the result of combat.
"Excuse me?" she muttered, busy trying to make it seem that she wasn't entertaining thoughts of ripping off his shirt and putting his muscles to other uses.
"Oh, Slayer, you take my breath away." he teased in a lovesick voice, obviously imitating Angel.
"Shut up." Buffy muttered, trying to squirm away. It didn't work. And she had a sneaking suspicion what he was driving at.
"My heart starts beating every time you kick my lame ass!" the vamp continued his tirade, batting his eyes at an irate Slayer. She glared at him but could do nothing else.
"And I'd kill if you'd lay me!" her nemesis managed to choke out, his rich laughter effectively ending any chance of further taunts.
"There will be no laying of you, Spike," she said flatly, amazed that his iron arm still held her in place despite his amusement.
"Oh, please. Like I would." He shot back, gaze immediately insulting. "If I were to do anything resembling fun with you, it would involve sinking my fangs into that pale neck of yours."
She tensed up immediately, breathing deeply in preparation to fight for her life. He was surprised, not having realized his teasing had gotten her off guard. But he needed her on his side right now, so he filed away the incident for use at a later time. It hadn't been the most brilliant move to talk about biting her. Spike sighed, and shifted his position to lighten the pressure on her. Might as well make amends.
"Truce?" Spike inquired, moving his face closer so his surprisingly warm breath brushed her face as he spoke. "Unlike me, you need to catch your breath."
"Nice of you to care," the Slayer wheezed, hazel eyes wary. "It just that you smell like cigarettes, and I'm, err, allergic."
Truthfully, whatever tobacco he used was aromatic and only a faint scent lingered, but the hasty explanation worked. He let her go with an unapologetic grin, and pulled out a smoke as if she had reminded him they were there. She moved to a nearby tombstone and sat down to inspect her fresh bruises. He followed, completely at ease now that hostilities had ceased, however temporary that state might be. Buffy scowled at him, envious of his effortless movements and uncanny ability to appear nonchalant in any situation.
"What happened to truce?" asked the blond vampire, immediately noting her hostile face. The cigarette was held loosely between his lips, causing his speech to slur a little, but the words were still clear.
"Truce?" she repeated incredulously. "I didn't think you even knew of the word, let alone what it means!"
"Yeah, I've been reading a dictionary in my free time." Spike quipped, before growing serious. "You'll need my help though, to keep Angelus from finding the book."
"Book? There's a book?" the petite Slayer grumbled, completely clueless.
He removed the lit cigarette from his mouth, startled that she had no idea what he was talking about. At least now he had established the fact that the Slayer wasn't protecting the volume.
"Do you pay attention at all to the happenings in your stupid city?" he demanded harshly, gesturing with his cig as he spoke.
She irately grabbed it from his hand and ground it out under her foot, ignoring the exotic scent that floated to her nostrils. Maybe it smelled yummy, but nicotine is nicotine.
He shot her a dirty look before quoting in an educated tone, "A cigarette is the perfect type of perfect pleasure. It is exquisite, and it leaves one unsatisfied. What more could one want?"
Buffy recognized the quote vaguely, from some book of Oscar Wilde she had read in college. Well, strictly speaking, the first year of college, before she had dropped out to be a full-time Slayer. She was only slightly surprised Spike knew the novel. After all, he had too much free time on his hands. Why not pick up a dusty book or two?
"You may not have to worry about getting cancer, but smoke is bad for me." Buffy said aloud, amused by the aggrieved look he wore on his face.
"A lot of things are bad for you, luv," he suggested with an insinuating grin, leaning casually against a tombstone.
"Don't call me that," she protested, quelling the innuendo with an irritated flash of her hazel eyes. "What is it with the British and those nicknames they give people?"
He shrugged and was about to answer her, but she cut him off, her manner instantly businesslike as she recalled his warning.
"Can it, Spike. What 'book' are you talking about?"
"The Forbidden Book," the vampire curtly explained, . "A spellbook that will surface somewhere in your little town."
"I hadn't heard about this, but Giles probably has," she replied thoughtfully. "So why exactly is this my problem?"
"In the right hands.err, the wrong hands," Spike amended quickly. "It contains spells which can end everything, in whatever way the bearer wishes. What is perhaps the most troubling thing about this book is that it contains its own power-a child could pick up that book and unleash hell on earth. Assuming of course that they had a human sacrifice to get the spell to work, but you get the point."
"Is that all?" Buffy inquired dryly, impressed by his scholarly side but eyes still serious.
"All I've been able to learn since I first heard about it, which is not to say that is 'all'." Spike replied. "I'm sure your Watcher could dig up some more tidbits if he were so inclined."
She pondered this for a moment, before turning her gaze back to meet his. "I'll believe your story for now, but any tricks or double-crossing and you will be dust. I will find out if you have lied to me, don't doubt that for a second."
"And if I were to ally myself with you?" the vampire ventured quietly, his chiseled face unreadable.
"Pretty thought." Buffy shot back. "However, you have always had your own motives, and I don't see how this will benefit you."
"It worked before against Angelus, didn't it?" he reminded her. "And it's not like I'm gonna pass up the opportunity of violence!"
"What, you don't get enough action hanging around Angelus?" the Slayer taunted.
It was the wrong thing to say. He did not deign to rise to her bait, instead shooting her a withering glance. She grew unnerved by the growing resentment in his eyes, which now seemed to be more a stormy gray than an icy blue. Why had that particular comment sent him off the deep end?
He was furious with her. For all his reassurances he had a soul and her world was in danger, she obviously wouldn't believe him until disaster struck. All she could do was toss out petty insults that struck closer to home than even she realized. Action indeed.
"Bitch." Spike hissed savagely, turning away with few words for his anger. "You can bloody well die. It's a shame I won't get to do the honors."
He was stopped by her soft voice. "So he stole her?"
"Drusilla? Yes," the vampire chuckled bitterly. "God knows what they're doing right now, but yes, he 'stole' her. Why, are you worried she'll be a bad influence on Angelus? I rather think it would be the other way around."
"I'm sorry." Buffy intoned cautiously. His back was still to her so she couldn't read his face, but he suddenly whipped around to confront her.
"That's what you think this is all about, don't you?" he snarled, infuriated once more. "I'm such a pathetic creature, still trying to get Dru back when she's already forgotten me! So I ally myself with my enemy to satisfy an old addiction I can't get out of my system. Well, it may come as a surprise to you, pet, but this isn't about her."
"Then what is it about, Spike?" she queried, bewildered by his moodiness.
"Him." Spike spat out, the simple word becoming a curse. "Him, dammit. The one creature on this earth I hate even more than I hate you."
"Nice to know I've been replaced in your affections," the Slayer wryly commented, not really surprised to learn of his loathing for her.
His face grew sour at her sardonic remark, but he had to struggle to hold his disapproval. It was a valiant effort, but only lasted for seconds before he gave up and dissolved into rich laughter. She stood amazed yet again at the spectrum of emotions he was showing her tonight, seeing the side of him that was not callous. Her eyes crinkled in humor as she also dropped her façade and added her chuckles to his. The moment seemed so unusual for them to be sharing, but there they were, two laughing enemies in the middle of a graveyard.
"You just made my day, Slayer," the vampire said when he was finally able to speak. "You never told me you had a sense of humor."
"Most vamps on the receiving end of my stake don't appreciate my wit, that's true." Buffy agreed mirthfully. "Their loss, wasn't it?"
"Maybe they should be given the chance to let it grow on them?" he suggested mischievously, eyes glinting with the true laughter that he was holding back from.
She couldn't help but grin at his proposal. Spike, however, was not so easily distracted from the issue they had been discussing before he had fallen apart. In front of the Slayer! He rubbed his temples, troubled by the fact that he had just flung his heart out to her. But yet, it still felt intact, and she seemed more inclined to help him destroy Angelus. Throwing caution to the wind, he re-approached the topic.
"Angelus is literally hell-bent on getting the Forbidden Book." Spike softly reminded her, almost sorry he had wiped the laughter off of her face.
"Do you feel better now? You know, after venting?" Buffy asked deliberately.
She knew any further outbursts from him would be a liability to her mission. Assuming he wasn't a liability already. He had been surprisingly honest about wanting to destroy Angelus, opening up to the point that she wasn't quite sure if it was William the Bloody who stood before her. But she didn't know if she could trust Spike completely. What was stopping him from turning on her once she got rid of Angel? It had always been hard to figure Spike out.
"Much," he drawled, cheerfully crossing his fingers. She ignored the gesture. "Not quite better until he's dead, but I can control myself if that's what you mean."
"Then you're in." she said simply, hardening her stare slightly so he knew her earlier threats still stood.
"Swell," the bleached vampire responded, a small quirk at the corner of his lips belying the apparent sarcasm. "So do we start looking for clues?"
"Just as good a start as any." Buffy shrugged. "I might actually appreciate this, Spike."
"Eh, don't thank me yet." Spike warned brusquely, but remembered his manners. "You're welcome nonetheless."
The pair strode out of the cemetery with a matching pace. Though Spike was taller by a few inches, Buffy had developed her walking speed to rival even that of those much taller. Or perhaps he was slowing down for her, but they both moved fast enough that it didn't matter. As they exited the gate, she caught him looking at her from the corner of her eye.
"You'd make a helluva therapist, Slayer," the vampire observed implacably, giving her only distant eyes along with the words. Cerulean blue eyes she could swim in, were they not frozen over when they regarded her.
She blushed slightly, recalling his explosive mood after she had given him one too many taunts. Acknowledging his compliment with a nod of the head, they continued. The remainder of their walk to Willie's Bar was in companionable silence.
A short time later, they entered the building, earning nervous glances from the proprietor. The rest of the midnight crowd ignored the couple, either not recognizing the Slayer or too long drinking to care. Shoving two drunken demons off of their barstools, the white-blond vampire then gestured gallantly for Buffy to take a seat. Eyeing him suspiciously, she did so, and he followed suit. Willie was obviously trying to avoid them, but as the pair shot increasingly meaningful glances towards the other end of the counter, he finally came over, unhappy about it.
It was easy to see why-he had already had a run-in with a customer and it showed in the black eye and bruises. The chances that this customer had been after information instead of alcohol were very likely. Buffy eyed Willie's beaten face coolly, holding an arm out to warn Spike off. In this game, he was just back-up muscle.
"Tough customer?" she inquired dryly of the bartender.
"You have no idea, Slayer." Willie responded nervously, lightly touching a fresh cut. "And I'd like not to get more persuasion aimed my way, if it's all the same to you."
"Tell us what we need to know, and persuasion won't be necessary." Spike said reasonably, but a darker tone colored his words. It was almost enough to make Buffy shiver.
The man's eyes flickered over to the vampire's face, and betrayed surprise as he identified the speaker. "I was wondering why you weren't here earlier with her."
"Her?" Spike asked, his hard face already showing he knew what the barkeep was talking about.
"Yeah, her. Drusilla." Willie affirmed, cringing at the dangerous look on the vampire's face, though it was not directed at him. "But she wasn't the one that roughed me up. She had someone else with her."
"Tall fellow, brown hair, looks like a throwback to Neanderthal days." Spike described scornfully.
"As opposed to an anorexic, crazy tramp?" the Slayer maliciously retorted.
The pair instantly glared at each other, pissed off by the descriptions of their past lovers. Willie licked his lips anxiously, waiting for the staring contest to end. He could practically taste an old grudge in the air, and if this couple broke into a fight, it would be bad news for his establishment. Enough furniture got broken with the regular crowd-he couldn't cover Slayer PMS as well.
"We don't have time for this, Slayer," the vampire said after a minute, his voice bland and emotionless. She blinked, and wiped her face clean of anger. Satisfied, Spike turned to Willie and grabbed his shirt collar. "So what information did you give Angelus and Dru?"
"The location of the Book," the bartender revealed hesitantly, prompted by Spike's hand at his throat. "It's buried under a seal in the sewer system. Somewhere under the cemetery by Rosewood Street. That's all I know, I swear it."
"No protections on it?" Buffy interjected, nodding to Spike to tighten his grip slightly.
"Just a couple archaic protector spells." Willie gasped. "They're pretty tough to get by if you're not an innocent, but it's not impossible to trick them."
"Let him go," the blonde Slayer ordered, thinking out loud about this turn of events. "So Drusilla led Angelus here, and."
"Now I'm confused. Isn't she your woman?" Willie interrupted tactlessly, addressing Spike.
"Not anymore," was the vampire's grim reply.
Spike almost looked relieved to have settled the issues Dru brought up. For better or worse, his loyalties were in the open. Aware of what the moment meant, but finding it necessary to move on, Buffy cleared her throat and laid a hand on his leather-covered shoulder. Startled out of his private thoughts, he jerked his head around at her touch. She removed her hand like he had just bit her.
"We found out what we need to know." Buffy quietly explained. "There's some time before they figure out how to get the book. I'd vote we find a way to stop them."
"Personally, I need a drink." Spike said, a shaky smile coming to his face.
"My treat," she offered unexpectedly, sliding a ten-dollar bill towards Willie.
"What'll it be?" the bartender queried.
"Jack Daniels, straight." Spike ordered, eyes dancing with amusement. The Slayer was buying him a drink. Would wonders never cease?
"Screwdriver," she said next, earning incredulous looks from both the men. "I've been 21 for a few months, you know!"
"Legal, eh?" her companion chuckled, raising his scarred eyebrow in mock doubt. His surprise was real though-she didn't look very old at all. But of course, neither did he, and he was over 200 years old.
Willie came back then with their drinks and she defiantly took a large gulp, not even flinching as the vodka seared her throat. Spike raised his shotglass in acknowledgement and downed the whisky quickly. The Slayer got her change and made short work of her drink. Striding smoothly towards the door, she obviously wanted to make it evident that she could hold her liquor as well as any man. Spike was curious as to whether her sobriety would last long. Because she was so petite, one drink would normally be the limit.
"So what's the plan now?" he ventured, propping himself nonchalantly against a streetlight.
"I don't have any ideas." Buffy confided, wearily twisting a strand of her golden hair.
"Angelus won't try anything tonight." Spike told her. His voice was confident, but he was unhappy about that. Unhappy that he knew with a surety what his grandsire's plans would be, and how they involved him.
"So you're gonna slow him down?" she inquired innocently.
"Yeah, you could say that," he muttered, a scowl twisting his face. She made a small sound as if to ask what was wrong, and he held a hand up. "The three of us are staying in a mansion outside of town. I can take you there tomorrow, and you can listen outside. See if we can pick up any more clues."
"Good idea," the Slayer sighed, fighting not to yawn. She turned her attention to her watch to see how many hours she had left to sleep. It was about a half-hour until daybreak. "You should probably be going. The sun will be up soon."
He eyed the sky and realized she was right. "Tomorrow night then. Hour after sunset at your mum's house, OK?"
"Yeah." Buffy agreed, before lapsing into her most impassive face. It just seemed important to act aloof. "Don't cook on your way home, that'd be a shame!"
"I'll warn the rapists to watch out for you!" the bleached vampire sneered, winking at her. Neither of them were fooled by the unfriendly act.
She gazed at him gravely for a moment, at those eyes darkened an impossible shade beyond their usual blue. "I wish I could trust you."
He opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it. The wistful comment had not been meant to prompt a response. She nodded wearily and they turned on their separate ways home. The foundations of trust had been set tonight, but whether the cement would be solid had yet to be proved. As they walked off in opposite directions, they shook their heads, not quite able to acknowledge that alliance would be a possibility.
A drop of demon goo from the earlier fight fell off of Buffy's sleeve to the pavement, and she shuddered all the more. A shower had never sounded so good.
**********
Spike parked his DeSoto haphazardly in the driveway and strode to the door of the mansion, hoping he wouldn't get caught in the sun. He was just in time, closing the heavy door as the first ray of light peeked over the horizon.
"Good hunting, Spike?" Angelus asked him, tone deceptively friendly as he lounged shirtless against a wall in the foyer.
"Yeah," the younger vampire said brusquely. "Pretty tired though. Think I'll go to bed."
"Not exactly what I had in mind," the other smiled cruelly, moving forward towards his grandchilde.
A bit of a longer chapter, but I liked writing this one, witty wordplay and all. As usual any and all thoughts, however random, are welcome. More on the way, per usual.