This was slower coming that I anticipated-- I just got back to school and I have the schedule from Sunnydale, so it may take me a while to add chapters. :( Sorry. If any of you are interested in beta-ing, which would be a huge help to me (I really needed some of that with this chapter), email me at I hope you enjoy, and thanks for the reviews!
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Eyes Without a Face
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Chapter 2
Buffy sighed as she let the door slam behind her, the tinkle of a bell drowned out by the banging of wood against wood. She'd been to five demon hang-outs in London and still hadn't heard any news about the vamps that had attacked her sister. Stopping outside of a café, the Slayer collapsed onto a bench and gave her aching feet a rest—four-inch heels really weren't ideal for a day of demon hunting, something she'd tried to tell herself for the past ten years.
Well, the blonde thought wryly, it was closer to fifteen years now that she'd been the Slayer—although in more recent years the Slayer wasn't exactly the best choice of words. The girls at her (for lack of a better term, said Giles) school were doing quite well; six years after the fight at Sunnydale, and they were still arriving everyday, although not in fear for their lives as the Potentials had been so long ago.
Buffy let out another sigh and stood, wincing as she put weight upon her tender toes once more. Most of the Slayers who had been there in Sunnydale had chosen to live normal lives, but a few stayed behind to help Buffy run her school. She was grateful for the help, as it was more than stressful dealing with angsty teens (with their young, graceful bodies and un-aching feet, Buffy thought enviously), but Kennedy and Rona didn't seem to be as counted upon as she was, especially when it came to duties that no one particularly liked.
Like finding easy prey for the new Slayers to kill, Buffy thought to herself, rolling her eyes and nearly about to call it quits when she heard her name called out from behind her. The voice registered in her memory and her mouth flew open in shock as she whirled to face someone she hadn't seen in six years.
"Clem!" she squealed excitedly, forgetting her part of 'calm-and-mature-woman' the moment the girlish squeak escaped from her mouth. "How have you been?"
"I've been great!" the demon remarked happily, hugging his old friend enthusiastically and patting her back. "How're the little Slayers doing?"
"Sometimes it seems like they're the Big Bad," Buffy joked, her face pulled into a huge smile. It had been so long since she'd seen the friendly demon, and his presence, although surprising, was entirely welcome. "Why're you in town, Clem?"
"Ah, just traveling—with the Hellmouth in Cleveland and all, I was heading that way from France. You know, they have amazing kitten poker championships there!"
Buffy arched a brow but refrained from saying anything rude. Clem had always been one of the good guys—not just of demons, but of guys in general. It was comforting to know that they still existed—although whether they were free from debilitating skin conditions, of the human or demon kind, was rather debatable.
Clem looked at his watch in the middle of a tirade about unfair French judges and gave a sudden start. "Gosh, Buffy, I'm sorry to leave you like this but I've got to run off." When Buffy nodded her understanding, an idea occurred to the demon, and he quickly asked, "Do you think we can meet up later, before I head off to the States?"
The blonde's smile brightened again as she said, "Definitely! I want to make with the reminiscing. Where do you want to meet?"
The two agreed to be at a nearby bar later that night, then went their separate ways, the Slayer heading home for a well-earned siesta, Clem heading the opposite direction to a nearby cemetery. He walked along the grassy, headstone-lined path until he reached a rather run-down crypt and knocked politely on the door.
He was greeted with a very disheveled and very drunk Spike.
The second the two demon pals locked eyes, Spike threw his arms into the air (the half-full bottle in his hands going flying) and pulled Clem into a crushing bear hug. "Clemmy, m'boy, it's been too long!" Spike yelled gleefully, his words slurred and slow. "What're you doin' in London?" The vampire pulled away and pounded the other demon's back jovially, the action almost causing him to fall over.
"Spike, let's sit down," Clem said soothingly, leading him over to a lumpy couch in the corner and letting the inebriated vampire collapse onto it. "I was passing through London from the poker champs and couldn't resist on dropping in on you, buddy!"
"Awww, you're so sweet Clemmy," Spike said, his eyes glazed over with drunken happiness. Clem shook his head at the vampire, knowing that he had been pining for the Slayer for the past six years and was too (for lack of a better word) noble to seek her out. Today, however, he would make things right.
"Spike," he began in a business-like tone, "Clean up. You and I are going out for a night on the town!"
Several hours later, the two demons began to head for a nearby demon bar, Spike sobered up but obviously still bothered by something. Clem knew Spike only drank that much when he was pining for the Slayer, and since it had been years since he'd seen his friend in that condition, he knew something must have recently sent those feelings to the surface again.
As they walked through a dark, empty alley, Clem began to think about how the past six years must have been for his friend. Spike was never really alone like he was now, and while Clem had made efforts to visit him as often as possible, their lives were separate now. Sunnydale had been great—it had fulfilled not only their demonic desires, but gave them simply a place to be who they were. Even with the newly active Hellmouth in Cleveland, the pull wasn't nearly as strong as it had been in Sunnydale. Lately, Clem realized, it seemed as if the whole world was in a daze, and for someone like Spike, he knew the feeling would only add to his obvious loneliness.
At the abrupt sound of speaking, clinking glasses, and music, Clem broke from his reverie and realized that they were standing in the doorway of the bar. "You comin', mate?" Spike questioned, giving his friend an odd look.
"Yeah, of course!" Clem's demeanor brightened considerably as the two entered the dimly lit room and settled themselves onto a pair of stools. After tonight, a slice of the contentment the vampire once knew would be returned to him.
They chatted for a few minutes about kitten poker before Clem looked at his watch and jumped to his feet. It was two minutes until Buffy was to arrive, and he thought it best not to be there to disrupt the potentially emotional moment that was bound to occur. "Somethin' wrong, Clem?" Spike asked, giving his fellow demon a second strange look.
"B-Bathroom," he stuttered, developing a pained look on his face and clutching his midsection. "Something went down funny in the second stomach—I'll be back in a minute!" As he spoke, his voice went up several octaves, and by the time he was finished with his feeble lie, he sounded rather more like Britney Spears than the demon he was.
Luckily, the alcohol Spike had consumed made him more suggestible to weakly-planned lies. "Take your time, mate," he said, downing shot and pouring himself another.
Breathing a sigh of relief, the demon made his way to the back of the room, heading down a hall and exiting out the back door. He stood in the alley near the entrance, waiting there until, after only a few minutes, he saw the petite blonde walking quickly down the sidewalk. Slipping further back into the shadows, he was unnoticed as Buffy opened he door to the bar and stepped inside.
Clem smiled; his plan had worked perfectly.
Spike sipped a drink unenthusiastically, rather uninterested in the public setting but not impatient to leave. He would be bored if he was alone in his crypt or if he was with friends "out on the town." Ever since the Slayer had been dropped back into his life once again, just as unattainable as always, the will to live that had taken him so long to acquire after Los Angeles had completely faded away.
As he swallowed the remaining contents of the smudged glass and set it back on the table to refill it, the tinkle of a bell announced the opening of a door—and a scent hit him so hard that he wheeled to his feet uncontrollably.
Standing in the doorway not five feet away from him was the object of his torment, the woman who had plagued his thoughts for a dozen years. Buffy's mouth dropped open, the door swinging shut behind her unnoticed as her hazel eyes locked with the sapphire gaze of the vampire before her. The look on his face was that of complete disbelief and the Slayer was sure her own mirrored his. Drawing in an unnecessary breath, Spike tried to speak but could find no words for the moment.
It ended soon enough. Before either of them managed to utter a single word, Buffy fell to the floor in a dead faint.
