Broken Origin II: Chapter Two
Buffy dragged herself out of Sunnydale Municipal Cemetery at what she figured was about an hour 'til dawn.
She was aching and bruised, bloody and limping, but she was determined to make it to the high school to finally get cleaned up – she deserved it, after the night she'd just had.
She made it to the high school with little incident, though she had to duck out a couple of times when a Sunnydale police cruiser passed by.
The digital clock on the sign in the front lawn of the school read 4:15 a.m. when she arrived, so she figured she had about an hour, safe, to get in and get out without being seen.
Buffy went around to the back of the school, and kept to the shadows, looking for a way in. It wasn't hard to find.
There was a closed dumpster set close up against what she thought must be the kitchen area of the school's cafeteria. A bank of low, old-fashioned transom windows ran along the wall above it. Here was her way in.
Getting up on the dumpster took some doing, though, with her injured leg. The twisted knee already felt better, because of her Slayer healing abilities, she suspected, but it still felt agonizing trying to bend it enough to spring up and land on top of the dumpster lid.
Once up, she snuck a look in the windows. Everything looked dark and quiet – and not a little creepy. What was it about schools at night? And the smell…they all always smelled the same…
Buffy felt along the window sills in the dark, her fingernails encountering aged and splintering paint. All the lower windows had been sealed shut by countless layers of white paint over the years, and they wouldn't budge. She finally discovered one of the transoms above the windows was very loose. The long, wide pane of glass popped right out of its soft, moldy old caulking, and she carefully laid it aside to replace it when she left.
Clutching the top of the frame with her bloodied fingers, she swung her body up and over the main window and slid inside, dropping heavily to the floor. She hissed as her knee was jarred, and then sat hard on her butt, clutching the offending joint.
After the pain subsided, Buffy planted a hand on a long butcher's block nearby, and used it to heave herself up.
She looked around, and paused when she saw a row of huge freezer/refrigerator doors facing her. Her much neglected stomach flipped at the thought of real food, and she went straight for the shiny silver handles catching the fading moonlight.
The doors revealed empty shelves and compartments – she guessed it had been foolish to think there'd be anything in them with school being out for the summer, and all.
Sighing forlornly, she dared another quick look around the kitchen, but didn't find so much as a crumb.
Giving up on the idea of food, Buffy went out into the cafeteria area, and then into the school proper. She ventured out slowly, listening carefully for any sign of movement, but the place seemed to be deserted.
Passing by trophy cases and old cork bulletin boards, Buffy felt pretty much lost until she saw a small arrow-shaped sign that read 'Lounge'. Curious, she followed in the direction that it pointed, and found herself in a large seating area in front of a huge mural. Off to one side of the mural, there was a door with a plate read 'Staff Only'. She ventured inside to find a small teacher's lounge, complete with double coffee pots, tables with napkins and condiments on them, and - God bless those teachers – a regular-sized refrigerator in one corner, that just happened to hold several mouth-watering goodies!
Before she even thought about it, Buffy had seized everything she could get her hands on out of the fridge, and sat at one of the tables to gorge.
She had a little of everything – bottles of chocolate milk, a box of Twinkies, a wrapped half of a foot-long sub, bottles of spring water, an apple, half a dozen jelly donuts, and – wonder of wonders! – a bar of Hershey's dark chocolate. She was in Heaven!
When she was done, Buffy felt lazy and satisfied, but guilty, too, for stealing. She also felt like a beached-whale – she was convinced she was never going to get up again, but the gray light filtering through the windows told her she didn't have much time if she wanted to get clean.
Saying a mentally apology to whoever's meal she'd stolen, Buffy nonetheless wrapped up the ends of the food to take with her in a brown paper sack she found nearby. There was no telling when she'd get to eat again.
Leaving the room as she'd found it, she caught sight of a laminated piece of paper on one wall that held the layout of the school for fire exits. She was able to find the showers easily thanks to that.
Once inside the girls locker room, she sighed in anticipation, setting her sack aside. Before she went to the shower area, though, she first raided the lockers, hoping some absent-minded girl had left something useful behind at the end of the year. She found a full, trial-sized bottle of shampoo-plus-conditioner hiding in the depths of one locker, and a discarded yellow sweatshirt with the Sunnydale H.S. logo stamped across the front. A hesitant sniff proved the hooded sweatshirt to be clean, if not a bit stale from being stuck in a locker for a few weeks.
In another locker she found a new pink disposable razor, and in another, a single gold hair clip. She also found one black bra – which she quickly put back, because she wasn't anywhere near desperate enough to wear someone else's underclothing! – an unopened box of tampon's – thank the Lord! – a burgundy hair scrunchy, and a pair of drawstring, double-layered burgundy gym shorts made out of slinky jersey material. These, she guessed, were accidentally left behind, because there was a number nine stitched in yellow on one leg. They were probably part of someone's basketball uniform.
Feeling as if she'd struck gold, Buffy hummed happily to herself as she gathered up her treasures and went into the showers.
It was full dawn, and slowly stretching towards full morning when Buffy raced out of the girl's locker room. She sprinted down the halls, shoes squeaking occasionally on the waxed floors.
She was so going to be caught, she just knew it! She hadn't meant to spend so long in the showers, but the heat had felt so good on her aches, she'd just lost track of time. She'd used the whole bottle of shampoo getting clean, and then awkwardly washing the filthy ripped jeans and underclothes she'd been wearing – she'd tossed the t-shirt, because there was no saving that. And then there had been her quick trip into the library…
Buffy ran into the cafeteria, and then into the kitchens, everything she owned in the world tucked safe into the large brown sack crushed against her chest. She was scrambling up on a counter to reach the window when her eyes caught the glint of shiny utensils hanging on the wall beside her. A number of small kitchen knives and a large butcher knife made their way into her sack before she pushed herself up and out of the window.
Crouching on the dumpster, she carefully replaced the transom window pane, earning herself a cut across two fingers in the process. She then jumped down onto the ground and ran around to the front of the school, her chest heaving from exertion as she paused to survey the dimly-lit grounds. The coast was clear.
Taking a deep breath, she edged around the corner of the building, and took off running.
Willow felt really bad for dragging Xander out of bed so early again, but the new librarian was due in Sunnydale any day now, and the library just had to be in order for her.
"Are you sure you don't mind?" she asked for the thousandth time as they approached the school.
Xander, still yawning widely beside her, took the option of foregoing to answer and waved his hand in a "Don't be silly" manner instead. He was still rubbing sleep out of his brown eyes, and had sleep lines on his cheek from the wrinkles in his pillow case.
Willow's heart turned over as she covertly studied him through her lashes as he walked along beside her. Xander was her best friend, and always had been ever since she could remember – but she was in love with him too, and it was really hard not to stare at him sometimes. She knew he knew she liked him, and it made him uncomfortable when she paid too much attention to him like that, so she tried not to act like anything more than his old buddy.
But it was still really, really hard…
There were walking up the front lawn of the school, under some trees, and Willow reached into her pocket for the key ring the principal had given her to use at the beginning of her job. She was still looking down when they rounded the trees, and Xander suddenly clutched her arm.
"Hey! Look, isn't that that girl from yesterday?"
Willow looked up, to where Xander was pointing. Barely visible in the gray light was a girl in Sunnydale high colors, running across the lawn. She was in a hurry, it seemed, and she didn't stop running until she reached the sidewalk. She paused, and Willow saw her taking a look up and down the street as the streetlights clicked off, one by one.
"I don't know," Willow said doubtfully. "She looks different."
Xander was already walking off toward her, though, and Willow sighed, her brow creasing as she followed him.
"Hey!" Xander called when they were a few feet from her.
Clearly startled, the girl whirled towards them, her foot flying out and catching Xander in the chest. Willow watched in horror as the kick propelled her friend backward several feet. He let out a loud oof as he landed flat on his back on the ground.
There were several moments of silence before the boy uttered a breathless, "Ow."
Willow gasped and rushed over to him. "Xander!"
Xander was already sitting up, pressing a hand to his chest. "I'm okay, Will….whew. Just got the breath knocked out of me."
The mystery girl was walking up to them, and Willow looked up at her helplessly.
"Why'd you do that?"
The blonde girl chewed on her lip, looking very guilty. "Look, I'm sorry, but you shouldn't have snuck up on me like that. I thought you were something – I mean, someone, else." She hesitantly stepped forward, and held out her hand to help Xander up.
He took it, and she pulled him to his feet. Willow stood up beside him.
"Are you okay?" The girl asked.
Xander, in all his manliness, just shrugged it off, trying to look cool. "Yeah, I'm fine – by the way, when exactly did you escape from the mental institution?"
The girl's face fell, and Willow immediately felt awful. She smacked him on the arm. "Xander!"
Xander scowled and rubbed his arm. "What?"
"I'm sorry…boy's can be so stupid," Willow told the other girl earnestly.
"No…it's okay. I'm really sorry, it's just reflex for me. I'm not used to, uh…being around people anymore." The girl looked at the ground, her thin face pale, and her expression sad. The sky above them was rapidly lightening, and that was when Willow was able to get a really good look at her. She gasped again.
"Oh, my gosh! Are you alright? What happened to you?"
The girl's face lit up in alarm. She clutched a brown sack in hands to her chest and began backing away. "N-nothing, I'm fine, really – "
"You really don't look fine," Xander said, slowly moving closer to get a better look at her. "Are you in some kind of trouble? Do you need some help?"
The girl blanched and turned to run.
"Wait!" Willow cried out, and the girl paused, poised for flight. "Please, we won't say anything, if that's what you're scared of. Just…stay. Talk to us for a second."
Mystery Girl turned around, one hand fluttering up to shield the mass of bruises on her face. Glittering green eyes blinked at them through swollen purple lids, and then she quickly lifted a hand to pull out the scrunchy tying her now shiny blonde hair back. Her hair fell into her face, obscuring the bruises, and the girl pushed the scrunchy onto her skinny wrist like a bracelet.
Willow noticed a thick, slashing white scar across that very same wrist, and barely kept from shuddering. Had she tried to take her own life? Because, wow, did it look like it had hurt…
Willow watched her pityingly, and then realized the girl probably wouldn't appreciate her pity. "Um…we wanted to thank you, for yesterday, didn't we Xander?"
Xander was too busy staring at the girl's battered limbs to chime in. The girl wore a sweatshirt despite the heat, and the sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, exposing black and blue marks on her forearms. The shorts she was wearing showed off pale, skinny legs, and they were just as marked. He blinked when Willow elbowed him again.
"Oh, right, thanks. You, uh…you sure saved my bacon."
Mystery Girl watched them silently through her hair.
"I-I'm Willow, Willow Rosenberg," Willow blurted, afraid the girl was going to bolt again at any second. "What's your name?"
She blinked at them, seeming startled by the question.
Willow watched her, concerned. "Do you…know your name?" she asked gently, wanting desperately to help her.
"Oh. Yeah, sorry. It's just been so long since anyone asked, or called me by it…I'm Buffy. Buffy…Summers." She held out her hand, which was very small, and very beat-up, and Willow shook it, surprised to feel how much strength was in it.
This Buffy looked like she'd been lost in a cave for a month!
"Xander. Is me. Hi. Nice to meet ya'," Xander said stumblingly as he too shook her hand.
"Hi," Buffy responded. "So, um…what are you guys doing out here so late - I mean, early? It's not very safe around here…"
"The library is a harsh mistress," Willow said by way of explanation.
Xander laughed. "Sunnydale? Not safe? You obviously haven't lived here very long. This place is like, the Boring capital of the world. Not much happens in a one-Starbucks town like Sunnydale."
Buffy didn't laugh. The look in her eyes was kinda' creepy, like she knew something they didn't about their cozy little home town. Her eyes looked old for her age.
"Yeah, well…I've gotta' book. There's…someplace I have to be. It was nice meeting you guys." Before Willow could protest, Buffy turned around and walked away. A few yards away, however, she stopped and looked over her shoulder at them.
"Just be careful, okay? You guys seem really…nice. I'd hate to see you get hurt…or something."
With that, she turned her head forward again, and moved off, walking quickly despite a slight limp.
"Okay," Xander said once Buffy was out of earshot, "that was weird."
Willow had to agree. "Do you think we should follow her? What if she's in trouble at home, or something?"
"I dunno…hey, look at this." Xander bent down, and picked up something from the sidewalk. It looked like wooden tent stake. He dangled it from his fingers, a look of confusion on his face. "Huh."
"She must've dropped it." Willow frowned.
"This week is getting weirder and weirder." Xander shrugged his bag off his shoulder and unzipped it, dropping the stake inside. He then followed Willow up to the school, and they let themselves inside.
Willow went directly to the library to get started, but Xander headed to his secret stash in the teacher's lounge first, as usual. Surprisingly, he was back rather quickly.
"What's wrong?" Willow looked up from the computer only briefly, but quickly abandoned her work at the wigged expression on her friend's face.
"Didn't you say the staff, even the janitor's, weren't due back until Monday? That we're supposed to be the only ones in the school until then?"
"Uh…yeah?"
Xander crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned a hip against the library table. "Huh," he said again.
"Why? What is it?"
He shook his head, still looking mystified…and a little bereft.
"My Twinkies are gone."
Spike was still wide awake when the Slayer finally got back at the end of the morning. He'd slept so much the day before, he wasn't the least bit tired.
He was sitting on a stone sepulcher in a far corner, back against the wall, one knee drawn up with his forearm resting across it. His cigarettes and lighter lay at the ready beside him, but he wasn't interested in them at the moment. The Slayer looked – and smelled – a hell of a lot different from when he'd last seen her, practically staggering out of a cemetery near dawn. She'd obviously bathed somewhere, and pilfered fresh clothing and food – the wrinkled paper bag in her hand smelled of it. There wasn't a trace of dirt on her anywhere, and she'd pulled her straggling blonde hair back into a ponytail, so he could actually, for the first time, see her entire face . It didn't matter much, though, seeing as most of her features were bruised and swollen.
"What took you so long, Slayer? You look pretty thrashed."
"I had stuff to do…and then I had to go steal a toothbrush. That was an experience."
His eyes caught the limp in her step. "You in pain?" he asked eagerly.
"Undeniably."
"Got your ass kicked, didn't you?"
"Nothing like getting your ass kicked to make your ass hurt," the Slayer told him wryly, wincing as she lowered herself to sit on the leaf dusted floor.
"Serves you right, goin' off like that. Stupid bint. Could've gotten killed – or worse. Pity you didn't. Would've put me out of your misery."
She didn't say anything, just leaned back against the wall and pulled a book from the brown bag beside her. She opened the cover and started reading, her beaten expression growing from bored to one of enthusiastic interest.
Spike scowled. She wasn't talking to him, now, was she? Probably sore at him about calling her stupid. Well, her silence suited him just fine – he'd never been one compelled to fill up the quiet with useless, rambling words, anyway…
His silence lasted all of five seconds as he finally noticed she had her little up-turned nose buried in a book.
"What are you reading?" he demanded to know.
"Slaying for Dummies," Buffy quipped bitterly without looking up.
Spike rolled his eyes and sat back against the wall. He looked up at the ceiling of the crypt, which was carpeted in old cobwebs, and amused himself picking out shapes for a few minutes before he sighed with boredom. He snuck a look out of the corner of his eye to see if the Slayer had noticed, but she was still intent on ignoring him. He sighed again, more heavily this time, and she gave her head a small shake before letting the book fall to her lap. He looked at her as if in surprise when she glared at him.
"What?" he asked innocently.
"What?" the Slayer asked in return, her tone hard. Her black and blue, hazel green eyes were slitted with suspicion.
Spike shrugged. "Nothing."
He watched her return to her book, and waited for a few minutes before he sighed again, more loudly.
"Spike," she gritted through her teeth, and he hid a smile. She really was too easy to rile.
"M'bored," he said listlessly, glancing at the high windows. It was only noon-ish.
"So?" she asked peevishly. "Go to sleep or something." She turned a page, never lifting her bruised eyes. "Isn't that what you're supposed to be doing, anyway?"
Spike moved restlessly, dropping his head back against the wall to look at the ceiling again. "I don't need that much sleep – never have."
"Well, find something to do, then," the Slayer said absently, busily skimming a page.
At her suggestion, Spike briefly entertained visions of getting up, crossing the room, and breaking her neck – or perhaps biting her throat out and playing in her pulsating, spraying blood like a toddler in a lawn sprinkler - but he found it just made him hungry.
Abandoning his relaxed pose against the wall on top of the sepulcher, he swung his legs over the edge and hopped down, slowly pacing the crypt until he finally found himself standing next the girl where she sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor. He was getting aggravated at her inattention of him when he caught a glimpse of what she was looking at.
"Oh, come on! What's this, now?" He swooped down and jerked the book out of her hands, shaking his head all the while. He held her place with his forefinger while he turned the book over to look at its binding. He scoffed. "The Ancient Art of Hand-to-Hand Combat? You've got to be kidding me."
"Hey! Give!" The Slayer was on her feet now, hands on her hips, wincing as her sudden movement pulled at her still-healing injuries from the night before. She reached for the book, but Spike stepped back, lifting it to look over the page she'd been reading. He gave a short laugh, and flipped it to continue reading, and she took another swipe.
"Toss off, blondie, I'm readin'." He reached out and put a palm in the center of her forehead, holding her off while she took a couple of frustrated swings at him with her tiny fists. He chuckled when she finally gave up and backed off, batting his hand away.
Spike looked up from the book and shook his head at her. He unceremoniously threw the book over his shoulder, and fixed her with a mock-pitying look.
"Guess you really weren't kiddin' about the Slaying for Dummies, thing," he said in a provoking manner. "D'you really think you're going to learn anything useful about fighting from a book?"
The Slayer crossed her arms and proceeded to stare miserably at his boots.
Spike chuckled again, and then stood there with a small smile tugging at his lips as he regarded her dejectedness.
"If you want to learn how to fight, I'll teach you," he heard himself offer.
Oh, bloody hell, he thought with instant regret.
The Slayer laughed at him.
Spike stared at her, frowning, and she kept on laughing as she stepped around him to retrieve the book from the floor.
"You, teach me to fight? Thanks, but no thanks. I think I'll take my chances with the wise writings of David J. Wang, PhD." She held up the book and tapped the cover.
"There's nothing you can learn from Dr. Wang that I can't show you, love," Spike told her, and caught the tip of his tongue between his teeth to keep from laughing as she sent him another suspicious look, as if sensing some sort of underlying meaning in his words.
"C'mon," he said cajolingly, her reluctance goading him. He was bored, after all, and besides, hadn't that been a part of his plan, showing her a few things so she could last five minutes without him shadowing her every second of the bloody night?
"Why would you ever want to help show me how to defend myself?"
Spike shrugged, making a show of looking indifferent. "S'like I said. M'bored. Now come on, have a go."
She arched her brow. " 'Have a go'?" she repeated dryly.
He set his feet shoulder's width apart, and put his hands on his hips, bracing himself. "Yeah, come at me. Show me what you've got, Slayer…unless, of course, you're too battered from last night."
Her eyes narrowed, and she suddenly threw the book at him.
Spike, caught by surprise, instinctively ducked, and when he came back up, she kicked him in the face. The blow spun his head around, but he stayed on his feet. When the ringing in his ears stopped, he reached up to finger his jaw, and turned back to look at her. She was smiling smugly.
"Y'know what? This is actually kinda' fun," she told him brightly.
"Not yet," Spike growled under his breath, his angry blue eyes fixing on her," but it's gonna' be."
"C'mon, Slayer…remember, move toward the punch, instead of away from it, if you can't stop it with your forearm. Don't wanna' bruise your brain, now, do you?"
Buffy stopped Spike's fist, all right – with her face.
"Ow!" She clutched her throbbing cheek with her fingers, glowering at the vampire. "That hurt! I thought we were just practicing!"
Spike smiled derisively. "We are. Didn't say anything about it not hurtin', now did I?"
Buffy groaned. "I think I chipped a tooth." She ran her tongue over a rough spot on a molar.
"Sorry – forgot to tell you to clench your jaw, too, so your teeth don't scrape together from the force of the hit. Oh, well."
Buffy sent him an evil glare.
"What? You wanted to learn the 'art' of hand-to-hand, right? Well, pain makes great art."
"Is that another way of saying that if you hurt me during practice, I'll learn not to make mistakes on patrol that can cause pain?"
Spike cocked his head at her. "Maybe I meant that pain can make you creative in a fight."
"Well, I don't know about you, but pain sucks the creativity right out of me," Buffy mumbled, running her palm over her already bruised cheekbone. "I think you just like beating me."
"Be lyin' if I said I didn't," the vampire readily agreed.
"Had enough yet?"
Buffy took a deep breath of the cold, stale air in the crypt. Her ribs mightily protested the act, and she bit her inner cheek to keep from crying out. God, but she hurt. She hadn't even known it was possible to feel this bruised and still be conscious.
She stubbornly shook her head. "Let's keep going."
Spike's gaze turned speculative. "You sure? It's gettin' late." He nodded toward the windows, indicating that the sun had gone down. "We've been at this for hours."
Buffy's eyes flickered over to the windows. They were dark. Funny, she felt exhausted, but she hadn't even really noticed the passage of time. She looked around the crypt, realizing how dark the shadows had gotten.
"Slayer?"
"Are you tired?" she challenged Spike, thrusting her chin forward.
"Not at all. I could go all night, love," he drawled, and Buffy felt her cheeks go hot.
Spike smirked at her, and she pulled her shoulders back, willing the blush away.
"Just shut-up and hit me, alright?"
"As if you have to ask..."
"I'm going on patrol," Buffy announced a little while later.
Spike gave her a dirty look from where he'd resumed his earlier seat, and waved her at the door. "Do I really look like I give a bloody hang?" he asked long-sufferingly, gloomily prodding a sore spot on his lean jaw – she'd gotten in a lucky punch, earlier, hitting him just below his ear, and the blow had almost cracked the hinge of the bone.
"Ooh, this responsible streak of yours is really sexy, Spike," Buffy said sarcastically, bugged by his easy dismissal of her.
Spike merely raised his brows at this, and stared at her, his pacific-blue eyes hooded and intent . "D'you want me to take responsibility for you, Slayer?" he asked too quietly.
Yeah, he'd take responsibility for killing her. Buffy swallowed, and automatically took a step back. "O-of course not."
"Good."
Buffy turned to walk away, feeling extremely uncomfortable in his presence suddenly, but stopped as Spike spoke from behind her again.
"Y'know what? I think I'll come with."
"What?" She turned back to look at him. He was shrugging into his duster, as if he was actually preparing to follow her. "What are you doing?"
"Thought I'd tag along for a bit, s'all. I've got to go out anyway."
Yeah, to hunt. "Let me get this straight – you want to come watch me kill all your evil little friends?"
"I'm evil, pet – I don't have any friends. Figured I could give you a few pointers on the slaying, y'know, tip you off on vamp habits, an' all."
"I just told you I didn't need you to be responsible for me – even if you could feel responsible, that is."
"And I just told you, 'Good'. Now let's get going…and a bit of useful advice, pet? You have to look out for yourself in this life. 'Cause no one else will."
Buffy was still chewing over what he'd said, later in Weatherly Park - in between bouts of nausea from the demon carnage the vampire left like a trail behind him; all in the pursuit of 'training' her, of course.
She remembered reading somewhere about the human body having like, dozens of feet of intestine…it looked like the same went for more than a few species of demon. Her nose twitched as it was assaulted anew, and she couldn't withold a groan of misery.
Spike looked at her, regarding her calmly over the orange-bloodied blade he still held before him. The demon had actually attacked them with the rune engraved sword, and Spike had taken it from him with little effort. His whole arm was dripping blood and gore, and none of it was his. Buffy's stomach lurched. Spike only looked mildly amused.
"You look as if you're gonna' heave," he casually remarked.
Buffy swallowed against the revolt of her stomach. "Do you care if I'm sick?" she asked resentfully. "Careful, you might have to start acting like a human being."
Spike had the grace to look insulted. "Bite your tongue, little girl! Just figured you for havin' a stronger stomach, bein' the Slayer an' all." He snorted and shook his head, bending slightly to wipe the mess from his weapon and arm on the leathery skin the dead demon had worn as a covering. "Shoulda' known better."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, nothin'." Spike peered up at her from beneath his lashes, a malicious gleam coming into his eyes. "S'just…well, you haven't exactly been much of a Slayer from the start, y'know?"
Inexplicably hurt, Buffy glanced away and stood stiffly, crossing her arms over her chest in defense.
"Oh, come on," the vampire slyly persisted, doubtlessly pleased he'd hit a nerve. "You have to admit, you're not built for the life – mentally, understand. Don't matter what you look like. All Slayers have the same strength, regardless of body structure."
"Are you saying I'm stupid, again? Because if you're trying to hurt my feelings, there, well, I know I'm never going to be in the running for a Nobel prize." Buffy said defiantly.
Spike didn't answer as he stood up, and studied the long sword in his hand. "Not a bad prize for a night's work," he commented, and then, unexpectedly, tossed the blade to her.
Buffy caught it carefully at the hilt, and then weighed it in her hand – surprisingly, it wasn't all that heavy.
"Well, it's clear we have one too many chiefs in this partnership, pet. I'm skiving off."
Buffy looked at him. "You leaving?"
He was already backing off, hands tucked in his duster pockets. "Jus' said as much, didn't I?" He smiled at her in the near darkness, teeth flashing. "M'goin' to grab someone to eat – have fun." He turned around, starting to stride off.
"Spike!"
The vampire put a hand in the air, as if waving goodbye, but he didn't bother to stop.
"Spike!" Buffy's eyes strained in the night. "Spike, I swear, if you kill anybody – "
"I won't kill anybody…Jesus…" drifted back to her.
"Promise me!" Buffy knew she was being stupid, but she was desperate for peace of mind – however flimsy.
"Alright, alright, I promise…for all it's worth, anyway. G'night, Slayer."
Despite Spike's 'promise' that he wouldn't kill while feeding, Buffy found herself sneaking after him. She knew Spike wasn't the sort to make promises and honor them, and the Slayer side of her conscience wouldn't let her rest until she saw evidence of it with her own eyes.
She tracked him through the dark streets at a safe distance, well aware of his ability to catch her scent, and knowing how furious he'd be if he knew she was following him.
Around one a.m. he went into what looked like a bar in an alley off the town square. After an hour or so of impatient waiting, Buffy saw him leave with a pretty dark-haired girl who looked about college age, on his arm.
A familiar emotion zinged through her at the sight, and it made her frown. Why in the world would she be jealous of Spike and that girl? She was like, dinner to him. Why should she care? She should be, like, protecting her!
And I will, she thought determinedly.
Eyes narrowed, Buffy slipped around a corner and watched as the couple entered an alleyway down the street. She dared to venture a little closer, but only enough to be able to see them and barely make out what they were saying to each other.
"So…" the girl at his side said coyly, "what kind of a name is Spike?"
Buffy saw the vampire's smirking smile and felt her own chest tighten. He didn't answer, but then she knew what the answer was already. She watched him lift a hand to the girl's jaw; saw the girl's lashes flutter as he slowly lowered his head towards hers…
Buffy wanted to rip the girl's heart out and stomp on it when she saw Spike's lips touch hers. She clenched her jaw when the soft kiss grew deeper, and wetter, and she heard the girl moan low in her throat as she swayed towards him.
Spike's other hand came up to tangle in the girl's hair, but just on the pretext of pulling her head to one side so her neck was exposed to him.
Buffy's cheeks felt crimson as she watched his lips leave the girl's mouth, and she saw his tongue dart out to trail a path down her jaw to her throat. Her throat tight and her mouth dry, she found herself envying the oblivious girl as Spike caught one of her hips in his hand and spun her around to face the alley wall. His own hips pressed flush against her backside as he lowered his head to hover over her arched neck, her long dark hair still fisted in one of his hands.
Swallowing hard, Buffy barely managed to control her breathing as she watched him lower his head to the pulse pounding under the girl's skin. She didn't think she'd ever seen anything so blatantly…carnal.
Her breath caught when she saw his demon face emerge, saw his fangs lengthen and dart downward into smooth flesh. She couldn't help jumping a little when she actually heard the crackle of skin breaking, and then the barely perceptible sound of liquid being drained. Spike growled, a heated, animal-like sound deep in his throat, and he jerked his head a little, as if trying to settle his fangs deeper still.
Buffy's lips fell open as she looked at him, suddenly wishing more than anything to be that girl. She saw a glint of gold as Spike's eyes opened into narrow, predatory slits, and moved her way. She darted back around the corner of the building, holding her breath. Had he seen her?
After a minute, she dared a look back. She couldn't help it. Apparently he hadn't seen her, since he was still feeding, eyes closed again.
Buffy watched, entranced, aching with a strange want, until the girl made a soft whimpering noise and her head fell slack. Spike, true to his word, lifted his head well before the point of draining her, and let it roll back on his shoulders as he savored the last few drops on his lips.
Buffy caught herself licking her own lips at the sight, and then shook herself as Spike's face turned back to human and he backed off of the girl with a ragged, satisfied sigh. The brunette staggered a little, but he caught her, murmuring something to her that Buffy couldn't hear, and slid an arm around her waist to help her walk. She heard the girl stiltedly apologize, shaking her head as if she were dizzy, and then heard her laugh and say something about having had one too many. Spike tilted his head, smiling at her, and offered to take her back to the club to call a ride. The girl must have had enough wits about her to remember how dangerous Sunnydale could be after dark, because she just nodded, frowning a little as if she couldn't quite remember how she'd gotten outside in the first place.
Backing off, Buffy watched to make sure he did as he'd claimed he would, and then with one last, long look his way as he watched after the girl's cab, she took off, running all the way back to the cemetery, and into the crypt, wanting to be there before he got back.
She didn't have to worry, though. He didn't come back until nearly dawn.
Buffy pretended to be asleep when he let himself in, humming quietly under his breath, and nearly wore her teeth into nubs grinding them together, wondering just how many more girls he'd gotten 'pelvic' with last night…
To Be Continued in Chapter Three…
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