Disclaimer: See previous chapters.
Memories from Dust
Chapter Five: The Second Slayer
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The usual hustle and bustle of a New York City subway station was missing, but then again, it was after one in the morning, so it wasn't really that unusual.
I looked down the long, dark tunnel, hoping for any sign of the subway, while at the same time watching the men out of the corner of my eye.
There were four of them, large men, the only other living things underground at this hour. They too were watching me, though none of them were trying to hide it.
I knew what they were thinking: one girl, all alone in an otherwise empty subway station? I was asking for trouble.
I don't have time for this! I thought angrily, my whole body wired with nerves.
I lit another cigarette and leaned against the concrete wall, trying to look nonchalant. Even after years of practice, I was having trouble. I know, I know, Spike had already killed one slayer, no reason he couldn't off another. But still! You never really know with slayers; they're unpredictable, they're an actual threat, a challenge.
Spike had seen the current slayer, Nikki, boarding an almost empty subway. Telling me to meet him at the last stop, he followed after her.
All I had to do was wait.
If only those men knew how much they didn't want to mess with me: being nervous made me irritable, and when I was irritable, necks tended to snap.
Yet there they were, stupid humans, sizing me up.
I was wearing heavy, black combat boots, which let me tell you, are the most comfortable things on earth, if you get the right kind. My legs were covered in fishnet stockings, most likely ripped because it's much harder to stay neat when you have to chase your food. The stockings disappeared under my pleated, green-plaid mini skirt, which was followed by what had started as a nice white T-shirt, and was now pretty much held together entirely by safety pins.
Both Spike and I had gotten in to the whole seventies-punk look, although I had left my strait, brown hair alone while Spike had bleached his platinum blonde. Think Billy Idol look alike, although Billy Idol actually stole his look from Spike . . .
I heard the sound of wheels on track, and all thoughts of the men who were still watching me vanished. Spike had to be on this train. If he wasn't . . . well, I wasn't going to think about that. He had to be on it.
The doors slid open with a hiss, and there he was, a triumphant smirk stretched across his face.
"Number Two?" I asked, putting out my cigarette against the brick wall.
"Number Two." Spike confirmed, and then he was pushing me up against the wall and kissing me hard, and I was kissing him back, tasting the fight and the kill and everything else that was Spike. He had always been cocky, but the way he was holding me now, the way he was kissing me, he was so sure, so confident . . . I must say, I liked it very much. Very much indeed.
"Like my new coat?" He asked when we finally pulled apart.
I hadn't even noticed the long, black, leather duster he was now wearing. "A scar from the first and a coat from the second; things just keep getting better."
He laughed, and was about to kiss me again when we both heard a noise from behind him.
"You've missed you ride." I said sourly, noticing that, although the subway had left, the four men who had been waiting in the station with me were still there.
"These boys been bothering you, luv?" Spike asked me with a glint in his eyes.
"They keep looking at me like they want something." I said innocently.
"Well, you're a pretty girl." He grabbed me roughly, pulling me in front of him and holding me close. "Tell you what, boys." Spike's hand slid (very noticeably) up my shirt. "If you can get her, she's yours."
The men exchanged a glance. Spike looked menacing, but, although he'd kill me if he knew I said this, he's rather small. Each of the men was much bigger than him, and there was only one of him . . . and I was just a girl. Were they ever wrong.
Of course, the horny bastards came right at us. Spike threw a punch at one of them, and I beat off another with a kick. Punch-kick-jump-kick-punch- grab-snap and all four of them were dead.
Spike let out a scream of victory, and I ran towards him, hooking my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck and kissing him all over everywhere.
He pulled back and spun me around, as my shrieks echoed in the empty station. "C'mon pet," he said, putting me back on the ground. "Let's go an' get something good to eat."
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Memories from Dust
Chapter Five: The Second Slayer
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
The usual hustle and bustle of a New York City subway station was missing, but then again, it was after one in the morning, so it wasn't really that unusual.
I looked down the long, dark tunnel, hoping for any sign of the subway, while at the same time watching the men out of the corner of my eye.
There were four of them, large men, the only other living things underground at this hour. They too were watching me, though none of them were trying to hide it.
I knew what they were thinking: one girl, all alone in an otherwise empty subway station? I was asking for trouble.
I don't have time for this! I thought angrily, my whole body wired with nerves.
I lit another cigarette and leaned against the concrete wall, trying to look nonchalant. Even after years of practice, I was having trouble. I know, I know, Spike had already killed one slayer, no reason he couldn't off another. But still! You never really know with slayers; they're unpredictable, they're an actual threat, a challenge.
Spike had seen the current slayer, Nikki, boarding an almost empty subway. Telling me to meet him at the last stop, he followed after her.
All I had to do was wait.
If only those men knew how much they didn't want to mess with me: being nervous made me irritable, and when I was irritable, necks tended to snap.
Yet there they were, stupid humans, sizing me up.
I was wearing heavy, black combat boots, which let me tell you, are the most comfortable things on earth, if you get the right kind. My legs were covered in fishnet stockings, most likely ripped because it's much harder to stay neat when you have to chase your food. The stockings disappeared under my pleated, green-plaid mini skirt, which was followed by what had started as a nice white T-shirt, and was now pretty much held together entirely by safety pins.
Both Spike and I had gotten in to the whole seventies-punk look, although I had left my strait, brown hair alone while Spike had bleached his platinum blonde. Think Billy Idol look alike, although Billy Idol actually stole his look from Spike . . .
I heard the sound of wheels on track, and all thoughts of the men who were still watching me vanished. Spike had to be on this train. If he wasn't . . . well, I wasn't going to think about that. He had to be on it.
The doors slid open with a hiss, and there he was, a triumphant smirk stretched across his face.
"Number Two?" I asked, putting out my cigarette against the brick wall.
"Number Two." Spike confirmed, and then he was pushing me up against the wall and kissing me hard, and I was kissing him back, tasting the fight and the kill and everything else that was Spike. He had always been cocky, but the way he was holding me now, the way he was kissing me, he was so sure, so confident . . . I must say, I liked it very much. Very much indeed.
"Like my new coat?" He asked when we finally pulled apart.
I hadn't even noticed the long, black, leather duster he was now wearing. "A scar from the first and a coat from the second; things just keep getting better."
He laughed, and was about to kiss me again when we both heard a noise from behind him.
"You've missed you ride." I said sourly, noticing that, although the subway had left, the four men who had been waiting in the station with me were still there.
"These boys been bothering you, luv?" Spike asked me with a glint in his eyes.
"They keep looking at me like they want something." I said innocently.
"Well, you're a pretty girl." He grabbed me roughly, pulling me in front of him and holding me close. "Tell you what, boys." Spike's hand slid (very noticeably) up my shirt. "If you can get her, she's yours."
The men exchanged a glance. Spike looked menacing, but, although he'd kill me if he knew I said this, he's rather small. Each of the men was much bigger than him, and there was only one of him . . . and I was just a girl. Were they ever wrong.
Of course, the horny bastards came right at us. Spike threw a punch at one of them, and I beat off another with a kick. Punch-kick-jump-kick-punch- grab-snap and all four of them were dead.
Spike let out a scream of victory, and I ran towards him, hooking my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck and kissing him all over everywhere.
He pulled back and spun me around, as my shrieks echoed in the empty station. "C'mon pet," he said, putting me back on the ground. "Let's go an' get something good to eat."
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =