Disclaimer: Even thought I actually own them all, I let Joss Whedon borrow
them one day, and he never gave them back...
Spike gripped the baseball bat in his right hand, leaning on it against the couch. "Found your friend yet?" He asked.
"She's on the couch." Said Buffy, rejoining him. He lifted a hand towards her face, and she flinched back. He moved forward, calmly grabbing her cheek to get a good look at her face.
"Rupes set your nose good." He noted. "It could heal straight."
"Jerk!" She spat, pushing him back. He stumbled and fell to the floor. She looked around. "So they're heading to the PTA."
"Plan to trash the place. Burn it up." Said Spike from his seat on the floor. He rubbed his face. "Fat lot we can do to stop them, shape we're in."
She kicked him in the stomach, knocking him down to a prone position. "You pig!" She snarled, stepping closer to him. "This is your fault!"
"Is not." He replied weakly. "What're you going to do? Call the cops?"
"The worthless, useless cops?" She asked him, her brow drawing forward in a scowl. "No."
He considered this for a second. "You're going after them yourself." He sat up abruptly. "You crazy bird!"
She put a foot on his chest, pushing him back to the ground. "With Trick out of commission, that'll only leave—"
"Every sodding Vampire and Demon you've ever met, and then a few new ones they picked up this week!" Snarled Spike. "It's insane!" His eyes glittered. "Impossible odds. A dangerous mission. Can I come?"
She sighed. "Can you come? What happened to impossible odds?"
"I like those kinds of odds." He replied. He tried to sit up, but she kept her foot on his chest, holding him done. Quickly, before she could move, he grabbed her ankle, holding in a manner that was a threat to twist, to throw her to the ground. "They're my favorite. Outnumbered, outgunned, death only inches away."
"Inches, huh?" She asked, jerking her leg out of his hand. "Okay, you can come. You try to double cross me and get my family hurt again, and I'll tear your lungs out."
He chuckled. "Trust me when I say I've learned at least some lesson here."
"Like what?" She asked, tucking the nightstick into her belt.
"Like, don't get caught." He replied, standing up. "Let's just make a quick stop in your mom's medicine cabinet, and then we'll get moving."
Buffy touched her aching cheek, which was burning. "Medicine cabinet." She agreed brusquely.
He turned, considering her. "Don't get too mad I beat your face in." He said. She flushed. "I mean, your real beauty isn't your face anyway."
"You make one comment about my body, I'll kill you right now." She said coldly.
He gave her an odd look. "I meant your spirit, ducks."
She decided to ignore him. It was easier on her blood pressure. She led the way to the medicine cabinet, where he began taking his shirt off.
"What are you doing?" She asked.
"Does it have a bandage? I need to bandage up my chest, get the broken ribs steady." He said. She glowered at him, producing a length of bandages. "Perfect." He said.
He began winding the bandage around his bare chest, and she tried to ignore him. Tried awfully hard. After all, the sculpted body, those hard abs, that taut skin over flowing muscles, the milky pale skin...
Yes, she was ignoring him as she found the painkillers and dry-swallowed two, nearly gagging at the taste.
Spike grabbed three, swallowing them. "How're your ribs?" He asked, tying off the bandage and putting his shirt back on.
"Terrific." She muttered.
"No, seriously." He said. "You go into a fight with broken ribs, they'll only get worse."
She winced. "Yeah, I'll bandage myself up."
"You know how?" He asked. Her eyes flashed.
"Oh, and you're the medical guru? Sorry, no thanks. No shirtless-Buffy for you."
He chuckled. "Oh, be that way." He said, amused. "It was a serious question. Mostly." He added off her look.
"Yes, I've bandaged ribs up before." She snapped at him.
"I guess I should have asked you to do mine, then." He said regretfully. She put her hand on the nightstick threateningly, and he threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Don't be so touchy." He said, mock-offended.
"I'm not touchy." She muttered, walking into the bathroom.
Spike sat down, taking a few deep breaths in an attempt to regain his strength. "This is not gonna be pretty." He said loudly. "Gonna be down- right ugly. Neither of us is one hundred percent."
Buffy returned, adjusting her shirt over her now-bandaged ribs. "What are you babbling on about?" She asked, annoyed.
He grinned. "We're gonna need each other. You reckon you handle it? Teaming up with me?"
She scowled. "Well, we'll see." She said darkly, retrieving the nightstick. Spike picked up his baseball bat.
"Don't worry, I've got your back." He said, falling into step behind her.
"God, you better not be staring at my butt!" She said.
"Don't worry." He said, falling into step beside her. "Your lovely hiney is safe enough from my prying, lecherous eyes for now."
"And why is that?" She asked sarcastically.
"Your shirt tails are coverin` up the goods." He replied seriously. "You might want to consider tuckin`."
"Or not." She said resolutely, exiting the house.
He smirked. "Oh, your buttons are easy to press." He said. "They just light right up. Practically screaming 'press me!' And fun, too. You're cute when you get mad."
"You're not so cute when I'm mad." She muttered.
There was a single motorcycle out front, leaning against the tree Spike had leaned against, waiting for the Slayer. Spike glanced to it. "Fancy riding in style?" He asked her.
"Why are you helping me?" She asked.
"Thought we went over this." He said, gritting his teeth.
"No, you said you liked impossible odds. That's all. Earlier today you smashed my face into a wall and tried to kill me!"
He leaned forward. "I beg to differ. If I'd tried to kill you, you'd be dead."
"And you double-crossed me!" She said. "We were supposed to be on the same side then, and you double-crossed me!"
He shrugged. "You're cuter than the other team." He pointed out. She shook her head.
"That's not a reason." She said coldly.
"I don't need reasons." He said. "Those are for tidy, nice boys who you can explain."
She shook her head. "What drives you?" She asked him.
"I drive bikes." He said, purposefully mishearing her. "Come on, let's go." He pushed her towards the bike, and she went with it, watching him as he straddled the bike, hotwiring it quickly.
"What made you the thing you are now?" She asked him.
"Man named Angel." He said coolly.
"Someday I want to meet this Angel." She said, getting on the bike behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. He gave a grunt at the pressure on his ribs.
"He was a bloody poser." Said Spike. "You break a few kids' teeth, and he's all boo-hoo, stop it now! Pretty please!" Spike mocked Angel easily. "Played all big and bad when really he just liked the rep."
"And you aren't playing?" Asked Buffy.
"What?" They shot forward, the bike propelling them through the street.
"You say you're bad, but you played the white knight back there!" Screamed Buffy. "And now for no discernible reason, you're on my side!"
"Ask me later." He said resolutely.
Spike gripped the baseball bat in his right hand, leaning on it against the couch. "Found your friend yet?" He asked.
"She's on the couch." Said Buffy, rejoining him. He lifted a hand towards her face, and she flinched back. He moved forward, calmly grabbing her cheek to get a good look at her face.
"Rupes set your nose good." He noted. "It could heal straight."
"Jerk!" She spat, pushing him back. He stumbled and fell to the floor. She looked around. "So they're heading to the PTA."
"Plan to trash the place. Burn it up." Said Spike from his seat on the floor. He rubbed his face. "Fat lot we can do to stop them, shape we're in."
She kicked him in the stomach, knocking him down to a prone position. "You pig!" She snarled, stepping closer to him. "This is your fault!"
"Is not." He replied weakly. "What're you going to do? Call the cops?"
"The worthless, useless cops?" She asked him, her brow drawing forward in a scowl. "No."
He considered this for a second. "You're going after them yourself." He sat up abruptly. "You crazy bird!"
She put a foot on his chest, pushing him back to the ground. "With Trick out of commission, that'll only leave—"
"Every sodding Vampire and Demon you've ever met, and then a few new ones they picked up this week!" Snarled Spike. "It's insane!" His eyes glittered. "Impossible odds. A dangerous mission. Can I come?"
She sighed. "Can you come? What happened to impossible odds?"
"I like those kinds of odds." He replied. He tried to sit up, but she kept her foot on his chest, holding him done. Quickly, before she could move, he grabbed her ankle, holding in a manner that was a threat to twist, to throw her to the ground. "They're my favorite. Outnumbered, outgunned, death only inches away."
"Inches, huh?" She asked, jerking her leg out of his hand. "Okay, you can come. You try to double cross me and get my family hurt again, and I'll tear your lungs out."
He chuckled. "Trust me when I say I've learned at least some lesson here."
"Like what?" She asked, tucking the nightstick into her belt.
"Like, don't get caught." He replied, standing up. "Let's just make a quick stop in your mom's medicine cabinet, and then we'll get moving."
Buffy touched her aching cheek, which was burning. "Medicine cabinet." She agreed brusquely.
He turned, considering her. "Don't get too mad I beat your face in." He said. She flushed. "I mean, your real beauty isn't your face anyway."
"You make one comment about my body, I'll kill you right now." She said coldly.
He gave her an odd look. "I meant your spirit, ducks."
She decided to ignore him. It was easier on her blood pressure. She led the way to the medicine cabinet, where he began taking his shirt off.
"What are you doing?" She asked.
"Does it have a bandage? I need to bandage up my chest, get the broken ribs steady." He said. She glowered at him, producing a length of bandages. "Perfect." He said.
He began winding the bandage around his bare chest, and she tried to ignore him. Tried awfully hard. After all, the sculpted body, those hard abs, that taut skin over flowing muscles, the milky pale skin...
Yes, she was ignoring him as she found the painkillers and dry-swallowed two, nearly gagging at the taste.
Spike grabbed three, swallowing them. "How're your ribs?" He asked, tying off the bandage and putting his shirt back on.
"Terrific." She muttered.
"No, seriously." He said. "You go into a fight with broken ribs, they'll only get worse."
She winced. "Yeah, I'll bandage myself up."
"You know how?" He asked. Her eyes flashed.
"Oh, and you're the medical guru? Sorry, no thanks. No shirtless-Buffy for you."
He chuckled. "Oh, be that way." He said, amused. "It was a serious question. Mostly." He added off her look.
"Yes, I've bandaged ribs up before." She snapped at him.
"I guess I should have asked you to do mine, then." He said regretfully. She put her hand on the nightstick threateningly, and he threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Don't be so touchy." He said, mock-offended.
"I'm not touchy." She muttered, walking into the bathroom.
Spike sat down, taking a few deep breaths in an attempt to regain his strength. "This is not gonna be pretty." He said loudly. "Gonna be down- right ugly. Neither of us is one hundred percent."
Buffy returned, adjusting her shirt over her now-bandaged ribs. "What are you babbling on about?" She asked, annoyed.
He grinned. "We're gonna need each other. You reckon you handle it? Teaming up with me?"
She scowled. "Well, we'll see." She said darkly, retrieving the nightstick. Spike picked up his baseball bat.
"Don't worry, I've got your back." He said, falling into step behind her.
"God, you better not be staring at my butt!" She said.
"Don't worry." He said, falling into step beside her. "Your lovely hiney is safe enough from my prying, lecherous eyes for now."
"And why is that?" She asked sarcastically.
"Your shirt tails are coverin` up the goods." He replied seriously. "You might want to consider tuckin`."
"Or not." She said resolutely, exiting the house.
He smirked. "Oh, your buttons are easy to press." He said. "They just light right up. Practically screaming 'press me!' And fun, too. You're cute when you get mad."
"You're not so cute when I'm mad." She muttered.
There was a single motorcycle out front, leaning against the tree Spike had leaned against, waiting for the Slayer. Spike glanced to it. "Fancy riding in style?" He asked her.
"Why are you helping me?" She asked.
"Thought we went over this." He said, gritting his teeth.
"No, you said you liked impossible odds. That's all. Earlier today you smashed my face into a wall and tried to kill me!"
He leaned forward. "I beg to differ. If I'd tried to kill you, you'd be dead."
"And you double-crossed me!" She said. "We were supposed to be on the same side then, and you double-crossed me!"
He shrugged. "You're cuter than the other team." He pointed out. She shook her head.
"That's not a reason." She said coldly.
"I don't need reasons." He said. "Those are for tidy, nice boys who you can explain."
She shook her head. "What drives you?" She asked him.
"I drive bikes." He said, purposefully mishearing her. "Come on, let's go." He pushed her towards the bike, and she went with it, watching him as he straddled the bike, hotwiring it quickly.
"What made you the thing you are now?" She asked him.
"Man named Angel." He said coolly.
"Someday I want to meet this Angel." She said, getting on the bike behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. He gave a grunt at the pressure on his ribs.
"He was a bloody poser." Said Spike. "You break a few kids' teeth, and he's all boo-hoo, stop it now! Pretty please!" Spike mocked Angel easily. "Played all big and bad when really he just liked the rep."
"And you aren't playing?" Asked Buffy.
"What?" They shot forward, the bike propelling them through the street.
"You say you're bad, but you played the white knight back there!" Screamed Buffy. "And now for no discernible reason, you're on my side!"
"Ask me later." He said resolutely.