A/N: Thanks tons for the lovely reviews! *hugs* :o) They mean a lot! And I
hope you enjoy this Spuffy part! ;o). . .
ALSO! This story was written before the recent epis on Buffy. . . and since
I don't follow spoilers sorry if this is screwy! ;o) *dusts off chapter two
and passes it to readers*
So, I lied, and the couple wasn't in the last section. But I forgot about the importance of meeting Willow. . . .
* * *
Because of the backlog of work, I ended up losing track of the amount of time I spent in the tiny basement. When I glanced at the clock with bleary eyes, I realized that darkness had likely descended over this part of the world. As I became more aware of my body's exhausted muscles, I made the decision to close shop for the night and return more refreshed in the morning.
Sighing, I shoved the papers I was working on into an unorganized pile and rose, pulling on my winter coat. At least, I had the small available staff coordinated to come to work tomorrow. The light from the small lamp in the office was the only illumination for the path to the first floor. Slightly disoriented in my new workspace, I staggered up the stairs, fumbling for the car keys in my pocket.
When I reached the open door to the ground level, I caught a vague movement out of the corner of my right eye. Before I could react, a hand grabbed the front of my shirt roughly and dragged me into the light streaming from the reception area. My back and head slammed against the wall, and stunned, I dropped my briefcase with a clatter.
Blinking past the stars marring my vision, I peered into a pair of glowing yellow eyes and inhaled the scent of death that marks all the bodies I dressed for funerals. . . except this dead body was animated. Instantly, I knew that all the information I'd read on the disc was true. The debate inside me ended.
Then, the dead thing spoke, breathing cool air over my face with each syllable, "So you're the new funeral director. We've been waiting for you to arrive."
Swallowing past the fear in my throat, I ceased struggling against his inhuman strength and mustered a confidence I wasn't exactly sure I felt. "Yes, I am. How may I help you?"
The thing laughed, then, throwing its head back and revealing pointed canines and a crumpled forehead that made me shudder inside. "Listen to him." He turned his head sideways, and I glimpsed several similar beings behind him with arms crossed and cocked heads ornamented with cruel smiles. Random chuckles whispered through the air. "He sure is full of it. His heart is racing at ninety miles a minute. He doesn't know the drill yet, but he will."
Words flew out of my mouth before I could censor myself, "Drill? What drill?"
"The drill that every funeral director follows with regard to things that go bump in the night," he replied snidely.
"And what drill is that? What do I have to do to satisfy the vampires of this city?" I wanted to hear my task straight from him.
"Oooo, listen, Frank," my captor taunted condescendingly. His grip loosened on my clothing, and I slid down the wall to my feet. "He knows what we are. Smart boy."
"Mr. Turner left information." His words also warned me to keep the outward appearance of calm in the creatures' presence. It helped that my temperament naturally allowed me to do just that. I knew not to make sudden moves as well.
"Ah. He did, did he? Then, you know why we're here."
I kept my voice even, "Yes."
"In your job as the coordinator of funerals and burials here in Sunnydale, you have the unique opportunity to be near a hellmouth. To keep the undead happy, you have to follow a few rules."
I decided to push the envelope. "What will happen if I don't?"
He intentionally shoved his nose a millimeter from my own, licking his lips with exaggerated slowness. "What do you think will happen? What do you think happened to Mr. Turner?"
Carefully, I swallowed at his very obvious threat. "And what do you expect me to do?"
He ticked off his points by digging a new finger into my spine. "We need you to do things to facilitate the survival of our kind. . . meaning no embalming of bodies with obvious vampire teeth marks on their body. . . none of the required concrete fillers in the graves. . . no informing the Slayer of our whereabouts."
"The Slayer?" I was confused on this point. Mr. Turner had left no mention of a "Slayer" on the disc. . . only the vampires' rules and what I would be required to do to placate them. "What's a Slayer?"
"Me." A distinctly female voice flowed forth from the direction of the funeral home's front door. Power etched the single utterance. She tilted her head and continued, "Or, in the case of the current era, multiple me. But, just me tonight." Her eyes re-focused on the vampires. "Confused yet?"
All eyes flew from me to a slight, leather-clad young woman, standing in the doorway with her legs spread and bearing a crossbow loaded with wooden arrows. She grinned sardonically at the mass of vampires who stood slack- jawed at her entrance. Murmurs of "slayer" preceded the quick rush of vampires as they roared and attacked the woman en masse.
Firing her weapon, the wood landed with a *thunk* into the chest of the nearest vampire. He paused before bursting into dust. As I peered through the flying sediment, she stepped aside and another figure took her place in the door frame. . . a man of average-height. His skin was pale as the vampires', and although his face was marked with youth, his hair was shock- white.
The vampire invading my personal space lost interest in me as the young woman and man began picking off the vampires around them. Unable to move from the horror of what I was observing, I simply stared.
The pair were desperately outnumbered but seemed to take the challenge with indifference to the overwhelming odds. Their arms and legs whipped into their enemies in time to a rapid, invisible beat that the vampires couldn't seem to discover. With each misstep to the two's inner music, dust flew through the air, hanging in a haze that made the scene appear almost surreal. Their movements were intuitive and fluid. . . the mark of hours of training, as I knew from my extremely brief childhood encounter with martial arts.
After several minutes, all but two of the vampires, who hadn't fled, had been weeded away, and I could tell that the two blondes were tiring. Without warning, one of the remaining vampires, the one who had held me against the wall, landed a blow on the side of the young woman's skull with a loud crack. She crumpled to the ground in what appeared to be slow motion, and my captor bent over her prone form.
As if he instantaneously knew, the young man whirled from his current opponent and called what I assumed to be her name, "Buffy!"
The vampire he had been fighting leapt on his back, but the young man slung the creature over his shoulder and pierced his chest without looking. He raced forward, tearing the attacker off Buffy. As the young man was squatting next to her, the stunned, lone vampire was shaking his head.
Spying a discarded wooden rod a few feet away, I snatched it up, my heart doing somersaults beneath my ribcage. With adrenaline pumping through my veins, I stabbed the wood downward, gasping a bit at the shock of the wood tearing through flesh. My victim and I exchanged a wide-eyed glance just before his body completely dissipated.
I staggered back, partly from the astonishment of what I'd just accomplished and partly from the physical exertion of it. I re-faced my rescuers as the man gathered Buffy onto his lap, cradling her head against his shoulder. Alarm pumped through me until I realized that she was conscious. Her small arms encircled his neck, and she nuzzled her face into his shoulder. The expression on his face was one of pure love. It was a look that no one had ever aimed at me.
Then, the young man centered on me. "Do you have a first aid kit around here?" His accent was definitely British.
My brain attempted to re-focus as I noted the gash on the young woman's forehead. "I-I think so." I hurried toward the reception area's tiny office. "I believe I saw something in here earlier when I was exploring."
He moved the young woman with care and followed me down the hall. As I searched for what they required, I listened as Buffy whispered to the man holding her.
"Spike. . . I'm fine. Please put me down." Her words were slightly slurred.
"No, pet. You've taken a pretty hard blow to the head," he murmured in return.
"Um, I think I've walked home with more severe injuries before."
Spike settled Buffy on the sofa in the waiting area. Their voices faded as I separated from them. Through the receptionist's glass, I viewed him tuck a stray hair behind her ear. I opened cabinets and rummaged through the contents, finally finding my target. Happily, I rushed to the doorway with my treasure.
Spike accepted the kit and thanked me. Buffy sent me a smile that said she was placating Spike. I nodded and retreated to the office, keeping my ear on the conversation in the next room.
The slosh of alcohol was followed by a distinct, "Ouch!"
He sighed. "Pet, it's going to hurt."
"I know, but I get impatient with myself. Blow it?"
"More like, you get impatient with me," he countered. "And yes, I'll blow it."
She withstood his next ministrations but made a face and pinched his arm. He swatted away her hand, and she shot him a glare.
"How come you went on that date?" His tone contained an element of hurt as he concentrated on her wound.
"With Principal Wood?" For her part, she was half-surprised and half- amused, forgetting to be annoyed at the pain on her forehead. She seemed to be trying to catch his gaze. "Why are you asking about that now? Jealous?"
"Yeah," he acknowledged quietly. "Shouldn't I be? A little?"
"Maybe," she replied cryptically.
"Is that a maybe or a yes?"
"Just what I said."
"And what's that?" he insisted, dabbing her wound with a medicine cream.
"That *maybe* you should be." Her eyes sparkled at him.
He took her in a circle. "Should be what?"
"Jealous!"
He began stripping a bandage from the wrapping. "Do you *want* me to be?"
My ears strained to hear her low answer. "Yeah. Maybe I do."
A smile spread over his face, and the wrinkles in his brow smoothed out. "Good." Spike began packing away the medical supplies. He raised a brow at his patient. "Done, pet."
As Buffy felt the bandage on her forehead, her eyes widened, and her chin jutted in a mock pout. "You!"
He grinned. "Me, what?" He snapped the lid shut.
"You tricked me!"
"What of it? Got you to stop fighting it, didn't I?"
She thought for a moment, but unable to think of a suitable response, she merely stuck out her tongue at him playfully.
Spike chuckled. "Nice tongue. I seem to remember it as an old acquaintance."
"Just an acquaintance?"
"Maybe."
Before they could launch into another round of banter, I stepped back into the room. "Thank you for saving my life."
Buffy smiled. "You're welcome. It's my job. Thanks for the medicine."
"Who are you, if I may ask? What's a 'Slayer?' And why did you help me? And vampires. . . I didn't know they were real."
"They are very real," Spike informed me. "Welcome to Sunnydale."
"You're the new funeral director, right?" Buffy asked.
"Yes, I am." My thoughts were racing. "Did Mr. Turner die at the hands of those monsters?"
Buffy rose from the sofa and crossed her arms. "Yes. They killed him. With everything that's been going on, I was unable to monitor his safety as usual."
"W-why did they kill him?"
"Because he didn't follow their rules properly. They found out that their numbers were dwindling more rapidly than would be expected if I were simply happening upon them in the cemetery. Didn't take them long to realize that he and I were collaborating to some extent. . .although less so recently with what's been happening in Sunnydale."
"What's been happening in Sunnydale?" What could possibly be worse than the vampires I'd witnessed tonight?
Buffy and Spike exchanged a knowing look. "You don't want to know," she answered.
"Well, if I'm going to put my life in danger, I'd like to know what's out there." I gestured to indicate the infinity of darkness outside.
What they told me next had my head spinning. My dreams from that night on would be filled with vampires, slayers, and an incorporeal evil that had been present since the dawn of time. Why I didn't just up and leave Sunnydale the moment I learned this information, I'll never really know. Perhaps, at the time, I felt like being in Sunnydale, helping this mythic slayer gave me a new purpose in life. I hadn't been an adequate husband or father, but I could darn sure help make the world a better place.
* * *
My first encounter with Spike and Buffy would not be the last. The next segment tells of the second time I saw them together. Funny how when I look back, every encounter with the pair seemed more salient, more significant than the rest of my memories of my duration in Sunnydale.
So, I lied, and the couple wasn't in the last section. But I forgot about the importance of meeting Willow. . . .
* * *
Because of the backlog of work, I ended up losing track of the amount of time I spent in the tiny basement. When I glanced at the clock with bleary eyes, I realized that darkness had likely descended over this part of the world. As I became more aware of my body's exhausted muscles, I made the decision to close shop for the night and return more refreshed in the morning.
Sighing, I shoved the papers I was working on into an unorganized pile and rose, pulling on my winter coat. At least, I had the small available staff coordinated to come to work tomorrow. The light from the small lamp in the office was the only illumination for the path to the first floor. Slightly disoriented in my new workspace, I staggered up the stairs, fumbling for the car keys in my pocket.
When I reached the open door to the ground level, I caught a vague movement out of the corner of my right eye. Before I could react, a hand grabbed the front of my shirt roughly and dragged me into the light streaming from the reception area. My back and head slammed against the wall, and stunned, I dropped my briefcase with a clatter.
Blinking past the stars marring my vision, I peered into a pair of glowing yellow eyes and inhaled the scent of death that marks all the bodies I dressed for funerals. . . except this dead body was animated. Instantly, I knew that all the information I'd read on the disc was true. The debate inside me ended.
Then, the dead thing spoke, breathing cool air over my face with each syllable, "So you're the new funeral director. We've been waiting for you to arrive."
Swallowing past the fear in my throat, I ceased struggling against his inhuman strength and mustered a confidence I wasn't exactly sure I felt. "Yes, I am. How may I help you?"
The thing laughed, then, throwing its head back and revealing pointed canines and a crumpled forehead that made me shudder inside. "Listen to him." He turned his head sideways, and I glimpsed several similar beings behind him with arms crossed and cocked heads ornamented with cruel smiles. Random chuckles whispered through the air. "He sure is full of it. His heart is racing at ninety miles a minute. He doesn't know the drill yet, but he will."
Words flew out of my mouth before I could censor myself, "Drill? What drill?"
"The drill that every funeral director follows with regard to things that go bump in the night," he replied snidely.
"And what drill is that? What do I have to do to satisfy the vampires of this city?" I wanted to hear my task straight from him.
"Oooo, listen, Frank," my captor taunted condescendingly. His grip loosened on my clothing, and I slid down the wall to my feet. "He knows what we are. Smart boy."
"Mr. Turner left information." His words also warned me to keep the outward appearance of calm in the creatures' presence. It helped that my temperament naturally allowed me to do just that. I knew not to make sudden moves as well.
"Ah. He did, did he? Then, you know why we're here."
I kept my voice even, "Yes."
"In your job as the coordinator of funerals and burials here in Sunnydale, you have the unique opportunity to be near a hellmouth. To keep the undead happy, you have to follow a few rules."
I decided to push the envelope. "What will happen if I don't?"
He intentionally shoved his nose a millimeter from my own, licking his lips with exaggerated slowness. "What do you think will happen? What do you think happened to Mr. Turner?"
Carefully, I swallowed at his very obvious threat. "And what do you expect me to do?"
He ticked off his points by digging a new finger into my spine. "We need you to do things to facilitate the survival of our kind. . . meaning no embalming of bodies with obvious vampire teeth marks on their body. . . none of the required concrete fillers in the graves. . . no informing the Slayer of our whereabouts."
"The Slayer?" I was confused on this point. Mr. Turner had left no mention of a "Slayer" on the disc. . . only the vampires' rules and what I would be required to do to placate them. "What's a Slayer?"
"Me." A distinctly female voice flowed forth from the direction of the funeral home's front door. Power etched the single utterance. She tilted her head and continued, "Or, in the case of the current era, multiple me. But, just me tonight." Her eyes re-focused on the vampires. "Confused yet?"
All eyes flew from me to a slight, leather-clad young woman, standing in the doorway with her legs spread and bearing a crossbow loaded with wooden arrows. She grinned sardonically at the mass of vampires who stood slack- jawed at her entrance. Murmurs of "slayer" preceded the quick rush of vampires as they roared and attacked the woman en masse.
Firing her weapon, the wood landed with a *thunk* into the chest of the nearest vampire. He paused before bursting into dust. As I peered through the flying sediment, she stepped aside and another figure took her place in the door frame. . . a man of average-height. His skin was pale as the vampires', and although his face was marked with youth, his hair was shock- white.
The vampire invading my personal space lost interest in me as the young woman and man began picking off the vampires around them. Unable to move from the horror of what I was observing, I simply stared.
The pair were desperately outnumbered but seemed to take the challenge with indifference to the overwhelming odds. Their arms and legs whipped into their enemies in time to a rapid, invisible beat that the vampires couldn't seem to discover. With each misstep to the two's inner music, dust flew through the air, hanging in a haze that made the scene appear almost surreal. Their movements were intuitive and fluid. . . the mark of hours of training, as I knew from my extremely brief childhood encounter with martial arts.
After several minutes, all but two of the vampires, who hadn't fled, had been weeded away, and I could tell that the two blondes were tiring. Without warning, one of the remaining vampires, the one who had held me against the wall, landed a blow on the side of the young woman's skull with a loud crack. She crumpled to the ground in what appeared to be slow motion, and my captor bent over her prone form.
As if he instantaneously knew, the young man whirled from his current opponent and called what I assumed to be her name, "Buffy!"
The vampire he had been fighting leapt on his back, but the young man slung the creature over his shoulder and pierced his chest without looking. He raced forward, tearing the attacker off Buffy. As the young man was squatting next to her, the stunned, lone vampire was shaking his head.
Spying a discarded wooden rod a few feet away, I snatched it up, my heart doing somersaults beneath my ribcage. With adrenaline pumping through my veins, I stabbed the wood downward, gasping a bit at the shock of the wood tearing through flesh. My victim and I exchanged a wide-eyed glance just before his body completely dissipated.
I staggered back, partly from the astonishment of what I'd just accomplished and partly from the physical exertion of it. I re-faced my rescuers as the man gathered Buffy onto his lap, cradling her head against his shoulder. Alarm pumped through me until I realized that she was conscious. Her small arms encircled his neck, and she nuzzled her face into his shoulder. The expression on his face was one of pure love. It was a look that no one had ever aimed at me.
Then, the young man centered on me. "Do you have a first aid kit around here?" His accent was definitely British.
My brain attempted to re-focus as I noted the gash on the young woman's forehead. "I-I think so." I hurried toward the reception area's tiny office. "I believe I saw something in here earlier when I was exploring."
He moved the young woman with care and followed me down the hall. As I searched for what they required, I listened as Buffy whispered to the man holding her.
"Spike. . . I'm fine. Please put me down." Her words were slightly slurred.
"No, pet. You've taken a pretty hard blow to the head," he murmured in return.
"Um, I think I've walked home with more severe injuries before."
Spike settled Buffy on the sofa in the waiting area. Their voices faded as I separated from them. Through the receptionist's glass, I viewed him tuck a stray hair behind her ear. I opened cabinets and rummaged through the contents, finally finding my target. Happily, I rushed to the doorway with my treasure.
Spike accepted the kit and thanked me. Buffy sent me a smile that said she was placating Spike. I nodded and retreated to the office, keeping my ear on the conversation in the next room.
The slosh of alcohol was followed by a distinct, "Ouch!"
He sighed. "Pet, it's going to hurt."
"I know, but I get impatient with myself. Blow it?"
"More like, you get impatient with me," he countered. "And yes, I'll blow it."
She withstood his next ministrations but made a face and pinched his arm. He swatted away her hand, and she shot him a glare.
"How come you went on that date?" His tone contained an element of hurt as he concentrated on her wound.
"With Principal Wood?" For her part, she was half-surprised and half- amused, forgetting to be annoyed at the pain on her forehead. She seemed to be trying to catch his gaze. "Why are you asking about that now? Jealous?"
"Yeah," he acknowledged quietly. "Shouldn't I be? A little?"
"Maybe," she replied cryptically.
"Is that a maybe or a yes?"
"Just what I said."
"And what's that?" he insisted, dabbing her wound with a medicine cream.
"That *maybe* you should be." Her eyes sparkled at him.
He took her in a circle. "Should be what?"
"Jealous!"
He began stripping a bandage from the wrapping. "Do you *want* me to be?"
My ears strained to hear her low answer. "Yeah. Maybe I do."
A smile spread over his face, and the wrinkles in his brow smoothed out. "Good." Spike began packing away the medical supplies. He raised a brow at his patient. "Done, pet."
As Buffy felt the bandage on her forehead, her eyes widened, and her chin jutted in a mock pout. "You!"
He grinned. "Me, what?" He snapped the lid shut.
"You tricked me!"
"What of it? Got you to stop fighting it, didn't I?"
She thought for a moment, but unable to think of a suitable response, she merely stuck out her tongue at him playfully.
Spike chuckled. "Nice tongue. I seem to remember it as an old acquaintance."
"Just an acquaintance?"
"Maybe."
Before they could launch into another round of banter, I stepped back into the room. "Thank you for saving my life."
Buffy smiled. "You're welcome. It's my job. Thanks for the medicine."
"Who are you, if I may ask? What's a 'Slayer?' And why did you help me? And vampires. . . I didn't know they were real."
"They are very real," Spike informed me. "Welcome to Sunnydale."
"You're the new funeral director, right?" Buffy asked.
"Yes, I am." My thoughts were racing. "Did Mr. Turner die at the hands of those monsters?"
Buffy rose from the sofa and crossed her arms. "Yes. They killed him. With everything that's been going on, I was unable to monitor his safety as usual."
"W-why did they kill him?"
"Because he didn't follow their rules properly. They found out that their numbers were dwindling more rapidly than would be expected if I were simply happening upon them in the cemetery. Didn't take them long to realize that he and I were collaborating to some extent. . .although less so recently with what's been happening in Sunnydale."
"What's been happening in Sunnydale?" What could possibly be worse than the vampires I'd witnessed tonight?
Buffy and Spike exchanged a knowing look. "You don't want to know," she answered.
"Well, if I'm going to put my life in danger, I'd like to know what's out there." I gestured to indicate the infinity of darkness outside.
What they told me next had my head spinning. My dreams from that night on would be filled with vampires, slayers, and an incorporeal evil that had been present since the dawn of time. Why I didn't just up and leave Sunnydale the moment I learned this information, I'll never really know. Perhaps, at the time, I felt like being in Sunnydale, helping this mythic slayer gave me a new purpose in life. I hadn't been an adequate husband or father, but I could darn sure help make the world a better place.
* * *
My first encounter with Spike and Buffy would not be the last. The next segment tells of the second time I saw them together. Funny how when I look back, every encounter with the pair seemed more salient, more significant than the rest of my memories of my duration in Sunnydale.
