Broken Origin II: Chapter Seven
Buffy paced the cold crypt floor in her bare feet while she fumed.
She still couldn't believe Spike had brought her in and just dumped her on the top of a tomb before leaving again with some lame ass excuse. It may have been July in Sunnydale, but she was freezing her butt off! The flimsy hospital blanket he'd 'abducted' along with her wasn't doing much in the way of keeping her warm.
What was she doing, hanging around here, waiting for him, anyway? He'd as well as kidnapped her – again!
And she'd let him. She'd been so dazed by his coming for her – and not killing her - that she hadn't even thought about putting up a fight.
Maybe she just liked him carrying her around…
"God, I am so mentally challenged."
Staring at the floor in sudden humiliation, Buffy shook her head. She couldn't dwell on the fact that something about Spike made her go stupid whenever he was around. He wasn't here, now, and she had to get back. Poor Willow and Xander were going to have a freak-out, and God only knew what Giles was going to do…
Buffy's toe stubbed up against something hard sticking up out of the floor, and she winced, drawing her foot back, curling up the wounded digit until the pain subsided. Then she looked down and saw the outline of the trapdoor going down to the lower level she recalled Spike talking about before. She realized she hadn't even ever seen it before; but then, how could she have? The floor of the crypt had been so filthy with dirt and debris…
Frowning, Buffy looked around – really looked around – for the first time since Spike had dropped her off.
The crypt was clean.
Well, cleaner then she could remember it being, at least. The floor had been swept clean of leaves, bottles, and trash, as well as most of the dust. The broken tombs had been re-covered with cracked slabs of stone, hiding the dry, skeletal corpses inside, and a five-point black iron candelabra had been placed on top of one of them. The candles were just stubs, really, obviously scavenged, because they were mismatched in color and size, but she was grateful for the light.
Buffy looked up out of curiosity. The ceiling of cobwebs hadn't been touched, unfortunately. She grimaced.
The chill bit at her bare skin again, and Buffy shivered. There wasn't anything up here she could use to cover up with, but what about below…?
After eyeing the candelabra, she bent down and lifted the trapdoor up, revealing a large square of black beneath. It made her pause, made her recall the dark cell Spike had kept her in in L.A., but oddly, the darkness wasn't so scary anymore.
After all, what was there to fear in the darkness that she hadn't already experienced, or seen?
A cold breeze drifted up from below as she stared, making her reach behind her and tug the gaping back of her hospital gown shut. She tugged the blanket higher up around her shoulders. She turned, went back and retrieved the candelabra, and then stood there wondering how she would get down when she noticed the light pick up on a set of very old, very steep steps leading down into the lower crypt.
She cautiously made her way down, stopping when her toes touched dry dirt. She held the candelabra out, and sighed in relief when she saw some of Spike's stuff cluttering the tops of a couple of precariously stacked, old-fashioned coffins lining one of the fissured walls.
Something furry and warm skittered across her bare foot, and Buffy took a deep breath, forcing herself not to react. It was only a rat.
Nonetheless, she didn't waste any time in crossing to the coffin and grabbing the first jumbled stack of clothing she could get her hands on. When she pulled, though, she knocked an old leather-bound book to the floor. Buffy paused, her fingers tangled in Spike's clothing, and looked down at the book in surprise. She heard another rat scratching in a corner, and was tempted to just go and leave the book there, but it was obviously old, and leaving it on the damp dirt floor might damage it irreparably. If it was that old, and Spike still had it, it had to mean something to him.
Buffy sighed, and leaned over, picking the worn book up and tossing it back onto the coffin. As she turned to leave, though, she saw a plump pillow and a single peach satin comforter piled on top of another coffin on the opposite wall. They looked new, and she didn't want to know where they'd come from, but they looked clean, so she grabbed those too, and wobbled her way back upstairs to get comfortable and wait on Spike.
The Slayer was asleep when he got back.
Spike frowned when he saw the girl curled up on top of his favorite tomb, in his newly acquired blanket. Annoyed that she'd helped herself to his stuff, he didn't bother closing the door slowly, but the resulting screech didn't make her stir one bit.
Dropping the bundle of clothes he'd stolen for her from the campus laundromat, he strode forward, narrowing his eyes in the faint light from the candles he'd left burning.
Spike took a closer look at the shirt she wore, and scowled.
She was wearing his red button-down open over one of his black t-shirts for something to sleep in. The overly long sleeves were rolled up her forearms, and she had her hands tucked under her chin, her face completely buried in his pillow.
There was no doubt about it. He was gonna' have to get rid of the girl soon, if only for the sake of gettin' his sparse wardrobe back.
Not to mention the fact that he was havin' some pretty fierce feelin's knowing something of his was keeping her warm…he nudged her shoulder with his foot. No response.
Spike rolled his eyes. Some Slayer she was.
A naughty smile stretched across his lips, and he bent down close to her small, soft ear, just peeking out of his blanket.
"Oi, Slayer!"
"Gah!"
Buffy yelped and jumped up at the ferocious bellow, her eyes springing open in panic as she felt her blankets fall away, and the icy cold floor beneath her bare toes.
"Wha-?" Disoriented, she instinctively brought up her fists, and then blinked when she saw Spike standing in front of her, smirking. She felt her heart slam against her ribs, and then anger rising. She almost popped him in the nose anyway, just because she felt like it, but to Spike that was an open invitation to fight, and she didn't feel much like cracking another rib at the moment. She was still pissed about letting herself be dragged off, though, so she was definitely going to bitch his ear off…
Buffy saw Spike's smirk grow, and watched his blue eyes lazily flicker downwards.
…as soon as she found the blanket again.
Spike's smile stretched wide as he watched the Slayer's discomfort. He didn't bother looking away as she turned red and dropped to the floor to grab the fallen blanket. He arched a brow as she flung him a stinging glare, but didn't say anything in order to break the uncomfortable silence.
She'd called the party, after all. Let her make the first move.
"Will you quit looking at me like that?" she finally snapped, one hand holding the blanket to her waist, the other pushing her hair out of her eyes.
"Lookin' at you like what?" he asked lowly, enjoying her embarrassment.
She was just burnin' to bite his head off, he could tell.
"Quit staring at my scar," she muttered under her breath, looking away from him.
That made him pause and blink. His eyes flickered up to hers, and then to her lips. He hadn't even noticed the scar, to be truthful. Maybe because it wasn't half as bad as his mind had made it out to be over the last couple weeks. The cut had completely healed, but the scar was still jagged and pink against her pale skin.
Spike felt the slightest twinge of conscience before he angrily pushed it away. He was damned if he was gonna' apologize when he hadn't even been tryin' to kill her yet in the first place. She'd been the one to push him. He'd tried to warn her, but she'd just kept pushing…
"What?" he asked abruptly, as if he hadn't quite heard her.
She looked like she might repeat herself, but she glanced at him again. "Nothing," she muttered instead, biting her lip. She looked entirely too vulnerable in that moment for his liking.
"How're you doin'?" he asked snidely. "All recovered from the beatin' I gave you?"
That got her on the defensive again.
"One hundred and ten percent. I'm obviously doing better than you. I'm alive, at least," she retorted.
His lips twisted. "That good, huh?"
"No thanks to you."
"Well, you don't look like you're over it. Lookin' like you feel pretty shattered."
"Spike, why'd you bring me here? I know it was't because you're worried about how I feel."
"To kill you, what d'you think? You can start screamin' now."
The Slayer didn't roll her eyes at him like she had before whenever he mentioned killing her. She actually looked a little apprehensive, but she managed to shrug it off.
"What's the real reason?"
"You wanna' know? Fine. Get dressed first. You're distractin' me with all that glowing white skin of yours – I'm a vampire, I'm supposed to be pale, but you're givin' me a headache with that glare."
"I won't bother pointing out that the reason I'm so pale is still all your fault!" Buffy caught sight of the bundle of clothes on the floor by the door and stomped over to it. After she picked it up she pinned him with another furious look.
"Privacy, please?" she asked pointedly.
"Think you're forgettin' just who this place belongs to, pet."
Buffy shook her hair out of her face. "Fine, I'll just go downstairs, then."
"What's the matter, Slayer? Don't want the Big Bad seein' your frillies?" Spike heard himself taunt.
Buffy barely managed to ignore the shock of sensation that swept through her at the idea of Spike seeing her in nothing but her panties. No guy had ever seen her like that – not even Tyler, who had been the closest she'd ever come to doing 'it' with…
For a second, she wished it was Tyler she was having to deal with. Oversexed teenage boys she could handle – oversexed, centuries-old vampires were another matter altogether.
"Spike, somehow I just knew you were going to turn out to be a creepy old pervert," she said angrily.
The vampire wasn't offended in the least. He smiled widely, his blue eyes hooded as he proceeded to look her over.
Buffy barely kept from squirming as his gaze came to rest on her upper chest.
"Or maybe you're tryin' to hide some prematurely saggin' bad girls, eh?"
Buffy's jaw ached from gritting her teeth.
"Flatterin' yourself a fair bit, aren't you? Mean, s'not like you got anythin' I haven't already seen, love. Who d'you think you are? You've got an ass an' a pair o' tits just like all the rest. Think I can restrain myself if I happen to see you starkers," he added scathingly.
'Oh, no, he totally just didn't – !'
She would have staked him then and there if she'd had a chance.
"I think I'm the Slayer," she snarled. "I know you're an asshole – and you know what? I think I'm leaving!"
Buffy hitched up her blankets and stomped toward the door. Spike was in front of it before she even got there, blocking her exit.
"Y'can't go out there," he said simply, idly crossing his arms over his chest.
Buffy pressed her lips together. Her temper was about to snap.
"Watch me."
Spike rolled his eyes and dropped his arms, but didn't move from his position in front of the door. He focused on the ceiling, and sighed in a frustrated way.
"Fine, m'sorry I said derogatory things about your 'royal' person, Slayer. I mean, how can you have saggin' tits when you haven't sprouted any yet, anyway? Now will you listen to me for five bloody seconds?"
Buffy wasn't shocked by his backhanded apology. It was Spike, after all. What else could she expect?
"What do you want, Spike?" she finally asked tiredly, still wrestling with the urge to slug him.
"Get dressed, I'll wait outside…while I try to decide if lettin' you live hasn't been the biggest royal fuck-up of my existence," he said warningly. "Then maybe we'll talk."
He gave her a pointed look that warned her not to try and escape, or he'd yank her eyeballs out through her nose.
Buffy returned his warning look in kind, and waited until he went out the door to drop the blankets and shake out the clothes he'd brought. They were obviously stolen, and he hadn't been too discriminating in his choices, either, the jerk.
"Geez, don't you ever buy anything new?" Buffy griped aloud as she perused the worn, olive green fatigue pants and black ribbed tank-top he'd brought. The pants were going to be too big in the waist, and the top was torn around the hem, a thin strip hanging down toward the ground.
"A vampire with personal shopper issues – now that's terrifying…"
"Heard that," Spike called through the door, his muffled voice sounding disgruntled.
Buffy rolled her eyes and yanked the pants on, and then reluctantly shucked off Spike's shirts to hurriedly tug on the tank. She shivered as the cool air hit sleep-warmed skin, and felt her throat go tight as the warmth and the leathery/smoke scent abruptly disappeared along with the clothes.
She was right about the pants. They were baggy in the leg and hung super-low on her hips, exposing most of her hipbones – and the fact that she wore nothing underneath – and the ripped hem on the black tank hung down towards her thigh. However, they were clean, at least. She could smell the fabric softener fresh on them.
She bundled the blankets, shirt and all, into an untidy ball, and piled them on top of a tomb. Some vague need for revenge made her keep the vampire's red shirt, though. She smiled a little evilly as she pulled it on over the tank and tied it at the waist.
"You can come back, now," she finally called, snagging the torn hem of the tank and ripping it the rest of the way off.
Buffy was tying her hair back from her face with the strip of fabric when Spike came back through the door, carrying a pair of small black boots in one hand. He stopped when he saw her, and narrowed his eyes.
"Hey, now, that's my shirt!"
Planting her hands on her hips, Buffy smiled sweetly at him.
"You'll get it back…someday."
"I mean to have it back before you lay one toe down outside this door," he retorted, flinging the boots at her.
Buffy caught the heavy boots in the crook of her arm and ignored the sting of the rubber soles hitting her soft inner elbow. She caught them by their laces and dangled them at arm's length, eyeing them speculatively. In description, all she could think of was "retro".
"What are these?"
The vampire frowned at her. "They won't do you any good if I have to tell you what those are, Slayer."
"Spike, I'm not wearing somebody's grungy old – "
"They were Dru's, alright? Picked 'em upin London'bout the time your mum was still changin' your nappies. She wore 'em once, didn't care for 'em. Been ridin' around in the boot ever since we came to the States, even when I left the car in storage. Take 'em or leave 'em, don't matter to me."
Buffy pulled one of the boots on and stamped her foot for good measure. She didn't know whether to be glad or disturbed that she and Spike's former paramour shared the same foot size.
"Thanks, Spike. This was…thoughtful of you," Buffy managed to choke out.
Spike held his hands up, his expression going sour around the edges. "Spare me, please. You're gonna' offend m'tender ears with all that fake gratitude."
She was more than relieved to let it go.
"Fine with me. So, what'd you need to talk to me so badly about that you dragged me out of the hospital in the middle of the night?"
Spike smirked, his scarred eyebrow rising with the slow motion.
"I dunno, Slayer. What did you need so badly that you let me?"
Gulp.
Buffy stared at him, deer-in-the-headlights.
He snorted. "Get that look off your face, girl, m'just winding you up. C'mere n' sit down, now. Ol' Spike's got a story ta' tell."
Giles returned to the hospital just after midnight…only to find the hallway outside the Slayer's room in an uproar. Doctors, orderlies, and nurses stood in groups, talking to two uniformed police officers.
He was about to catch the shoulder of one of the nurses and demand to know what was going on when Willow and Xander caught his eye, waving him over to where they stood just around the corner at the end of the hall.
Giles gave the chaos a last, harried look before he hurried down to talk to the two youths.
"What had happened?" he asked immediately. "Where is Buffy?"
The boy, Xander, stood with his hands shoved in his trouser pockets, his dark eyes looking haunted.
"I left the hospital room to get some coffee," he explained quickly. "Before I headed back, I saw Buffy being carried off by that Spike guy."
Giles slumped against the wall. "Oh, dear lord."
"It's my fault," Xander said. "If I hadn't left…I should've tried to stop him."
"You said he was too far away for you to catch up anyway," Willow protested, reaching up to squeeze his shoulder. She turned tear-reddened eyes on Giles. "If it was anybody's fault, it's mine. I fell asleep – "
Giles straightened up. "It was just as well you did. There was little you could have done. I take full responsibility – she was my Slayer, and I should have waited until I was certain there was no danger by leaving."
"Wait. What do you mean, 'was'?" Xander asked angrily. "You talk like she's dead already."
"In light of what I have learned about the undead of Sunnydale today, there really is every likelihood that she is," Giles told him shakily.
As if having this Spike fellow – an obvious master - in town, on top of the Master, wasn't bad enough, the vampire who'd killed the previous Slayer before Buffy, Angelus – yet another master vampire - was in Sunnydale.
"You're not just gonna' give up on her, on you?" Willow asked, looking horrified.
"Yeah, you're gonna' look for her, aren't you?"
Pulling a kerchief out of his pocket, Giles wiped the folded cloth across his brow and upper lip. He then fumbled about with nerveless fingers until he found the small telephone tucked away in another pocket.
"Of course I will not abandon her. I shall just have to inform the council of what has happened, and they will alert the team that originally tracked them here from L.A. to search for her and the vampire that kidnapped her…as soon as I remember how to turn this ruddy thing back on."
Willow took the phone from him and flipped it open, pushing a button and then another before thrusting it back at him.
"There, it's ringing."
Giles stared at her. "How did you know - ?"
"Oh, the number? It's already programmed into the phone. Didn't you know? All you have to do is dial '2' and hit 'Send'."
Dropping his eyes to the troublesome object, Giles frowned until he heard a voice speaking on the other end. Lifting it to his ear so quickly he almost dropped it, he spoke into it.
"Hello? Yes, it's Giles." He rolled his eyes. "Rupert Giles. Yes, the librarian – may I speak to Quentin Travers? Well, find him, damn you! There's been a…a bit of an upset, here…"
Turning away slightly, cursing as he was put on hold, Giles failed to notice Xander and Willow quickly making an exit behind him.
Buffy was extremely worried by the time Spike was finished with his undoubtedly 'fishy' explanation. She had the feeling that he was leaving out things.
She pressed her fingertips to her temples as she tried to absorb it all – and it was a lot.
"What was this guy's name again?"
"Angelus. A.K.A. the Scourge of Europe, the Terror of Mongolia – "
"Okay, okay, I get it, big bad guy. The question is, what's he doing here?"
"He's here to make my exisistence miserable, is what he's here for. That, and to 'help' the Master rise. He's got plans of his own on that score, m'certain."
"Okay. So you don't want to see this Master rise?"
"Hell, no!"
"Even though he's your, what? Great-grand…sire?"
"He's not exactly anyone I care to lay claim to. You think I don't have anything better to do than be at that crusty old sod's beck 'n call, my only reason for existing to figure out how to set about grubbin' him up outta' the bloody ground so he can go around fucking up my world? I like it the way it is, thanks. Far as I'm concerned, the Master can rot in his hole." Spike stopped his rant long enough to tear a matchstick out of the book now sitting on the tomb lid next to him, strike it impatiently on the side of his drawn-up boot, and put it's flame to the end of his ever-present cigarette.
Buffy slid off her perch next to him – a safe distance away, of course – and began pacing nervously.
"So what are we gonna' do? I mean, this Master sounds bad enough, but he's got that chick – "
"Darla," Spike supplied in a bored tone.
" – Darla, and that 'Angelus' guy, and the minions – " she stopped in her tracks and shook her head. "This is insane. As if my life isn't bad enough, now I have to stop a bunch of vampires from trying to take-over the planet!" She looked at Spike in exasperation and with a hint of vulnerability. "I don't know how I'm gonna' do this, Spike," she confessed.
"Well, that's where Yours Truly comes in," Spike said self-importantly, hopping off the tomb to face her. He took a deep draw off the cigarette and lifted his fingers to his lips to remove it, leaning back against the tomb, balancing on his elbows. He smiled wickedly.
"See…I'm gonna' kill 'em."
Buffy didn't take that comment too well.
"Hey, I'm the Slayer, here! I'm the one who's supposed to kill this 'Master' guy! I'm the Chosen one!"
Spike's smile faded and he snorted as he straightened up from his relaxed pose, as if sensing a fight coming on. "Freakish strength and a guaranteed early death. An' wasn't that a lovely gift to receive from the christening party good fairy? Bet you're ever-so proud," he said bitingly, dropping the cigarette underfoot and grinding it into the stone.
"You just don't get it, do you? You're a vampire! You don't just run around helping the good guys and killing your own…do you?"
Spike didn't hesitate to correct her. "Hey! M'not helpin' anybody. What I do n' why I do it is no one's business but my own!" He tapped his chest with one lean finger.
"You're planning something," Buffy said suspiciously. "You want Sunnydale for yourself, don't you?" she further accused. "You were gonna' kill me after it's all said and done, weren't you?"
"What makes you think m'not still plannin' on it?" Spike asked, drawing himself up challengingly.
Buffy's eyes widened with sudden understanding.
"No, you weren't gonna' kill me…you were gonna' let the Master do it for you, and then kill him, weren't you? And then your sire shows up and you know you can't beat him – "
"Hey, now!"
" – and it's put a twist in your plans, is that it?"
Spike looked down on her with a slight sniff, dropping his shoulders into their usual, careless slouch. "I don't need anyone to help me beat Angelus," he muttered belligerently. He cut his blue eyes at her. "I can take 'im. And don't go gettin' all miffy with me. S'not my fault you got tapped to be a soddin' martyr."
Buffy thrust her chin in the air. "I'm not 'miffy'. Besides, what makes you think I couldn't take these guys?"
"Y'mean besides your self-professed doubt?" Spike flicked his forefinger against his temple. "I know whereof I speak."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Spike sighed, and let his head fall to one side as he looked at the ceiling in exasperation. "It means you're barking."
"Urgh!" Beyond aggravated herself Buffy almost punched him. "Why do you have to be so…so…"
"Wickedly good-looking?" He pressed his tongue against his teeth and peered at her from under lowered lashes.
"Grr. I can never understand half of what you're saying!"
"Prob'ly jus' as well," Spike muttered under his breath.
"Just forget it!" Buffy turned away and began pacing the floor again.
"So they're going to try and kill me, huh?"
"They won't just try, pet. Don't matter if they manage to fail the first time, or even the second. They'll come after you with everythin' they got 'till you're nothin' but 'a footnote in some Watcher's dusty old diary'", he said, cheerfully throwing her own words to him back in her face. "Angelus alone would break you like a toothpick."
"So do something about it."
That made him draw back. He looked at her as if he couldn't believe what she was saying.
Buffy couldn't believe what she was saying either.
"You were training me…so why don't you finish it?"
Spike shook his head, looking at her as if he were in awe of her utter insanity.
"You are barking."
"Xander, I wanna' find her as much as you do, but where do we even start? Maybe we should just wait on Giles - ?" Willow asked Xander as they stood in the middle of the street outside of the hospital.
"When she was having dinner earlier, Buffy said she'd been staying in a cemetery, remember? She didn't want to talk about it. Or him," he added bleakly. "I bet he took her back there."
"Yeah, but…there are a lot of cemeteries in Sunnydale. I'm just worried we're gonna' run into that Spike guy if we find her," Willow said anxiously. "I don't wanna' get bitten again. That was not fun."
Xander gave a fierce shudder, looking around the dark streets with nervous eyes.
"Knock it off, will ya? Every time you say that guy's name I swear I get a rash." To make his point, Xander began scratching at his forearms through his sleeves.
"C'mon. I'll take you home, and go check the cemeteries out for myself."
"What? No way! We're in this together, buster!"
"Willow, it's going to be dangerous."
"So you just think I'm gonna' go home and go to sleep knowing you're chasing around vampires?"
Xander smiled at her.
Willow smiled back.
"Restfield is the closest," Xander finally said. "Let's start there."
Willow nodded reluctantly, but started walking with him down the street.
"Let's just hope Mr. Giles's 'team' shows up soon."
"I wouldn't count on him," Xander commented, sounding a little angry.
"Why not?"
"These council guys don't seem to be too worried about Buffy, if you ask me. I mean, look at what they let her go through, even after they found her. "
Willow was doubtful. "I dunno. I like Mr. Giles. He seemed like he was pretty worried about her to me."
"Maybe. It's just…I think there's a hell of a lot more going on here than anyone's telling us."
Willow snorted. "What else could be worse than Spike? Oh. Sorry."
Xander frowned at her and kept on scratching his arm.
He and the Slayer had gone their separate ways again – for the time being.
Spike watched Buffy as she made her way back down the streets toward the hospital. When he was satisfied she'd make it safely, he headed back to the crypt to settle in early for the coming day. He had the feeling he was going to need the rest…
He hadn't taken two steps inside the cemetery gates before he saw trouble.
Or maybe just a couple of late night snacks.
"Well, well. If it isn't the Slayer's pets. It's late. Shouldn't you two be tucked up all nice 'n snug somewhere?"
"We're looking for Buffy," the tasty brunette blurted, looking faintly defiant.
Spike smiled. "Buffy?"
The boy got all puffed-up at that. "Yeah, Buffy? The girl I saw you take off with at the hospital a couple of hours ago? She's got dark blonde hair and big casabas?"
"Xander!" The girl slapped his shoulder, though she didn't take her wary eyes off Spike.
Xander shrugged. "What? I yammer when I'm nervous." He gave his arm a fierce scratch and glared at him.
Spike drew back his head and gave him an odd, pointed look.
"Oh, n-no offense," the girl stammered, "but you give him hives."
Spike bit the inside of his cheek, and took a few deceptively careless steps towards them through the fog, feeling immense satisfaction when the pair skittered back away from him.
"So…Buffy of the big casabas. We are talkin' about the same bint, here, aren't we?" he asked. He let his eyes trail contemptuously over the boy. "Or maybe you've just never seen what 'big' really is. No room for comparison, eh?"
The girl looked at him in confusion while the boy turned bright red, looking all affronted.
"Hey!"
Spike gave a shrug and started back on his way.
"Hey, you! Where do you think you're going? What'd you do with Buffy?"
"She went back to her bleedin' watcher," he tossed carelessly over his shoulder.
"An' if you're smart, you'll run for home right now, and don't stop for nothin' along the way. There's worse things than me out huntin' tonight…"
Xander and Willow watched after the vampire until he disappeared, and then looked at each other.
Willow rubbed her arms as if she were cold and took a quick look around.
"What are we gonna' do now?"
Xander swallowed as he heard what sounded like a shuffling step in the near distance. All manner of zombie and other horror flick scenes began flashing through his mind's eye. He took Willow's hand and quickly led her out of the cemetery.
"Xander?"
He smiled nervously at her.
"Willow?"
"What?"
"Walk me home?"
Buffy almost ran into Giles on her way back into the hospital.
The watcher almost dragged her back out of the place, muttering on about the police, and her still being wanted, and how she'd apparently escaped 'custody'. He didn't even give her a chance to speak before he bundled her up in his tweed jacket and pushed her into the passenger side of his unbelievably ancient foreign car…which was how they'd ended up here, at his newly acquired apartment located in an adobe building not far from the high school.
It was obvious he hadn't been there long – dozens of boxes and crates stood stacked along the walls, and his furniture was still covered in plastic.
Buffy was bored, roaming the place, looking through his empty fridge as he rummaged around, his glasses hanging off the end of his nose, his hair sticking up all over from where he'd run his fingers through it.
"Spike – that's a little unorthodox, isn't it? Maybe he went by another name in times past?"
"William the Bloody," Buffy said, peeking hopefully into a squeaking cupboard.
Nothin' but dust.
"Buffy, if you are hungry, I'm sorry. There isn't anything in the house except for tea."
What a shocker…
Giles abruptly stilled and looked at her very slowly over the tops of his glasses. "William the Bloody? Wait, I know that…"
Buffy rolled her eyes as he blinked twice and delved into his boxes of books again. He was talking more to himself than her, now. "Great, can I go, now?"
That made him look up again in a hurry. "No, wait! Where – just where do you think you can possibly go besides here? Surely you do not intend on staying with this creature? This vampire, Buffy…he's bad for you."
Buffy made a face.
Spike was just plain bad, period.
He was obnoxious, and rude, and evil.
He was also, bizarrely, the most important thing in her life now…but she'd be the first to admit that dealing with Spike made her feel like a baby-sitter dealing with the neighbor-kid from Hell.
"I…don't know where I'm staying. I've got things to do, though, and you know it better than anyone. Look, I'll lay low until you get me cleared with the police, alright?"
"Buffy, you are better than this. You must come to live with me. You are my responsibility now. I cannot allow this vampire to corrupt the strength and purity of your heart."
"He's not 'corrupting' anything, Giles! He's training me!"
"In case you have forgotten, that is my job!"
"Fine!" Buffy said in exasperation. "Why don't you both train me?"
"Why I…I have never heard anything so insulting in my entire life. Me, work beside a-a vampire? The very idea is nothing less than preposterous!"
"Giles? Can ya' get any more stuffy?"
"Buffy, you are not thinking clearly," Giles sputtered. "You surely don't believe that this vampire is willingly going to switch allegiances – "
"Take it or leave it. Think about it this way, Giles. Spike knows all about this Master guy and the others. He knows how they work, can find out what they're planning. It'll be like having your own personal spy!" Buffy knew she was laying it on way too thick – Spike would kill her if he knew what she was saying.
She looked at Giles hopefully. It seemed like he was on the verge of caving…
"I cannot believe I am agreeing to this, but it seems as if I have no other alternative at the moment, so…fine. If itwill keep you from running off again. I will train you, but not alongside this 'Spike'. You will continue this way on the condition that you meet with me every evening before patrol – "
"You do mean hunting vampires by this, right?"
" – and check in with me daily by telephone. I will see that you are given one."
"It's cell phone, Giles. Great, now all we have to do is make sure you learn how to use one," Buffy said cheerily. "This is gonna' work out great! You can teach me how to fight in a Slayer-ly tradition, and Spike can teach me all the dirty stuff."
"Buffy!"
"And I so didn't mean that last part the way it sounded," she tacked on hastily.
Giles didn't look comforted.
"In the meantime, I must insist that you at least think about returning to school."
"No way. I am not going back. Especially not there. Not to a new school."
"Buffy, you won't be alone there, remember? I will be there, working in my guise as the librarian, and so will Xander and Willow. If it's friends you're worried about – "
"I'm not worried about friends, Giles. It's the non-friendly ones I'm thinking about. In L.A. I had to fight to stay popular, just to be able to happily exist, and it was an everyday thing. I don't want to go back to someplace where I'll have to start all over again."
"Just what do you intend to do all day, then? ""Time hangs when one has nothing to do,"" Giles quoted sagely.
"I like hanging," Buffy protested loudly. "I like it! That's what teenagers are supposed to do, Giles! Hang!"
The watcher only sighed and shook his head. "This is not how things were to turn out. Clearly, you do not comprehend how perilous your situation now is."
Buffy gave him a thin smile. She looked down, fiddling with the tie of the red shirt she wore. Spike hadn't asked for his shirt back after all. What did that mean?
"Oh, I comprehend. I get the feeling you're right. Things definitely weren't supposed to turn out like this. Somehow…I think this way is gonna' hurt a lot more."
Continued in Chapter Eight – Coming Soon!
NEXT:
Cordelia finished looking Spike over with her mercenary gaze, and flicked her eyes back to Buffy.
"He's not my usual type, but he's promising. It's been a slow summer. Willow said you live with him?" The other girl looked at her with speculation.
"I – er, just in a…temporary capacity. A really temporary capacity."
"Hm. Yeah. Well, I gotta' ask. What's it like to be alone in a dark room with him?" Cordelia purred.
Buffy winced at her memories.
"Believe me, you don't wanna' know," she settled for saying dryly.
"He is older than you, isn't he?"
You have no idea…
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