"Hold on!" Spike yelled to whoever it was who was banging on his crypt's door. "In a minute." He muted his tv and opened the door, not really paying attention and BAM! found himself quickly on his ass.
As Spike eased himself to his feet he was confronted by an enraged Angel, ready to go another round with his jaw.
"Spike, you bastard, I should kill you where you stand!"
Wanker was bloody pissed.
"Hold up, mate." Already crouched in a defensive posture, Spike was quick to attempt to weasel out of this fight. "I know we both know what this is 'bout, right, and I'm saying that I did what I had to do. And in my heart, which I know none of you think I have, I know I did right."
"You. Did. Right?" So much for defensive posturing and diffusing the situation. Spike found himself flung from the collar of his black t-shirt through the air. "How would you know about right? All you've ever done is try to hurt people. You dare try to masqurade this as righteous?"
"I have to, O' Souled One. Or 'ave you forgotten?" Spike tapped the side of his head. "As much as I'd like to do the old evil bit, I can't any more than you can grow a sense of humour."
I'm a masochist, Spike decided as he received a boot to the head. He picked himself up from the smashed remains of his easy chair and removed the sharp plastic shard from his leg. He cracked his jaw back into alignment and rubbed his nose. And bled slowly on the floor, but that was another matter.
"You should have let her die," said Angel. "All you've done is stolen away from her any chance of being at peace. She'll never be able to accept herself as... as this demon bastardization." Angel looked like he was about to break. Spike would have been happy with himself if Angel wasn't striking a chord with him. Damned goody-two-shoes. "You do realize," Angel nearly whispered now, "that eventually she won't be able to stop herself. She'll go evil and we'll have to kill her."
"The thought had crossed my mind," Spike replied, "except for the having to kill her part." He gestured at Angel's brooding expression. "Evil, remember?" he said, pointing to himself. "I have no problem with the inevitability of her going all Scourge of Europe. In fact, I'm rather looking forward to it."
"And you'd let her become what she hates?"
"I did't let her. She let herself. You know as well as I do that it takes two to tango."
If looks could kill Spike would be dead right now, with the way Angel was staring at him. Although technically...
"Just what do you mean by that." Not a question. A statement.
"She already did," Spike replied, confidently.
"What?"
"Hate herself." Spike checked the wound in his leg. The blood was already clotted. "She already hated herself." Angel's fingers were at his throat before he knew it. Spike felt the back of his head bang roughly against the stone wall. "After Willow brought her back she felt empty and scared. She was pissed at the gang and unable to cope with all the shite she had to deal with." Angel looked like he began to realize the true complexity of the problem and let Spike down to his feet. "Which was why she started sleeping with me."
It's times like these when socialized health care seems like a good idea. And having fun at the Great Pouf's expense doesn't.
Spike spat the blood out of his esophagus.
"See what I mean?" He tried to crawl to all fours. "The sweet innocent girl you knew was gone long before she got to me. She's been asking for this for a while, she has." Spike tried to smile. The laboured grin was quickly wiped off his face by the hard kick to the ribs he received.
"You are a selfish bastard, Spike. You could have let her just be at peace again."
From his prone position on the cold slab of stone, lying in his own still blood, Spike could only laugh yet again.
"And just the answer we'd expect from Broody Boy, who can't wait to get her out of his unlife, as fast as he possibly can, time and time again. Unlike some people, I want her in mine."
"I don't have time for your petty games. I have to get back to Buffy." Angel turned away from him and headed toward the door.
Spike, in the meantime, dragged himself to where his tv remote now lay amongst the wreckage of his chair. He turned up the volume.
Just as Angel was reaching for the door Spike called out over the noise. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."
Without looking back Angel just said "Why?"
"Sunrise. Four minutes ago."
Angel cautiously opened the door a crack. As promised, early morning orange light cut a sharp beam into the corner. The door was hastily closed.
"Looks like we're stuck together, mate." Spike grinned devilishly when Angel finally met his eyes again. "D'you like Passions?"
That's two straight days of missed classes, thought Willow forelornly to herself while staring blankly at the tv. She wondered what they were doing today in psych, not really worrying since she could easily get the notes off one of the other four hundred people in the lecture, or she could just magically conjure up the exam answers at the end of the year. She really didn't care anymore.
Willow clicked the remote absent mindedly. She must have missed when tv got so bad. Too much time spent away from it's warming glow, what with school and the fighting evil and preventing the end of the world and all. And the sex. And then the lack of sex, and the moping and whining about said same. Lousy magic. Lousy supernatural, err supernature?... Period. All this was too complicated. Not the right word, but she didn't want to think about the word "heartbreaking" right now. Also very bad for the academics, especially in the handful of courses where they take attendance. Hard to be there at class when you're busy trying to keep your formerly alive best friend from letting loose the evil incarnate within. Not too easy to get a doctor's note for that either.
She heard thumping coming up the stairs. That would be Buffy, braving the first floor windows in the mid afternoon, probably restless from her nap in the basement. Willow couldn't sleep at all, and she had been up for twenty-seven consecutive hours.
Willow heard Buffy's footsteps change pitch - she had reached the carpetted floor and was walking to the couch behind Willow. Still, Willow did not want to turn her head to look at her.
"Hey," came Buffy's raspy hello.
"Hey," Willow replied, still fixated on the tv, though she really wasn't paying attention to what was on.
"Where's Angel?"
"He had to go talk to some people and got stuck when the sun came up."
"Oh," Buffy sounded disappointed. "Do you know where and who?"
Lie. "No, he didn't say on the phone." Spike, likely not the best of influences right now. Or ever. But especially now.
"'Kay." She could hear Buffy shuffle her feet behind her, not really knowing what to do next. She went back and forth a couple of times before settling on the kitchen.
"Did you sleep?" Willow asked for some reason, though she wasn't really sure why. Awful question. Something like her mom would ask on the rare occasions they still talked, always over the phone.
Refrigerator opened. Then closed. "Not really. Don't know how to be tired in the daytime. Basement's kind of not sleep inducing." She sat down beside Willow. "But it's clammy and refreshingly cool down there. I never noticed that before." Willow noticed that Buffy looked thoughtful, and even a little more relaxed than lately. Out of the corner of her eye that was. She still wasn't looking directly at her. She was scared at what she would see.
They sat like that for minutes not saying anything, staring blankly at some lame game show. Or at least, Willow was staring at the tv. As she became aware of the lack of heat coming from Buffy and subconsciously drifted closer to her body so her brain could reassure itself that there actually was a room temperature person watching tv next to her, she realized that Buffy was staring down into her hands. She was holding a blood bag, the kind you see in hospitals. It was one of the things that Angel had brought from his personal supplies in Los Angeles. Sort of a care package.
Buffy must have noticed her looking at the blood bag. "I'm waiting for it to get to warm," she said.
Willow and Buffy looked at each other for the first time that day.
"Food just doesn't do it for me anymore."
"Why the warming?"
"Trying to procrastinate."
Still, Willow noted sadly, as much as she didn't like it, Buffy drank with long teeth bared.
"I'm going on patrol!" Buffy yelled to everyone and no one in particular. She was dressed up in her all black slaying outfit, complete with little black cap. No one would notice anything wrong if they weren't looking for it. She looked like the Buffy of old, all confident and full of pep. Who am I trying to fool? She felt as different from that Buffy as her appearance matched said same. What kind of a slayer could she be as a demon? Someone should be hunting her down and dusting her, not the other way around.
NO! Bad thoughts, bad thoughts! She should be thinking positive, slayery thoughts instead of worry and moping and standing here in behind the door for way too long...
"Buffy, I don't think that's a good idea."
Crap.
Angel had returned shortly after sundown. His knuckles looked a little worse for wear. They were heavily scratched and were full of broken blood vessels beneath the thick callous. He must use them a lot during his everyday life, and moreso today. He didn't tell her where he had been. He even evaded her when she asked. No one would tell her. They were all keeping things hidden from her, or just Angel was. Either way it hurt. It didn't matter though. She knew exactly what he'd been doing. She could smell it. The scent of Spike's blood was all over his hands, alcohol and smoke from his clothes. Fifteen hours worth.
"Yeah, Buff. If word gets out that you're different things could get worse in a hurry," Xander pointed out with unusual insight. "We could get an influx of demons of the riotty sort."
"Guys, stop," Buffy said in frustration. "I'm going. It's something I need to do. And," with emphasis, "No big bads are going to figure it out and live to tell the tale. Now, if you'll excuse me."
Buffy remembered to slam the door on the way out.
"Good luck," offered Willow to the closed door.
"I'm worried," she said a few seconds later. "Buff's not been acting herself recently. She could do something... traumatic."
Understatement. More like 'Apocalypse Now'ish, with less napalm but the same amount of gruesome human guts all over the place. And less Martin Sheen.
"Ya think?" said Xander, his sarcasm biting from his tongue even as he tried to bite it down. "We can't just let her go off on her own like that."
Angel spoke up as they all expected. "I'll follow her." He walked over to the window and peered through the blinds. Willow could see from where she stood behind him that Buffy was still visible but disappearing quickly into the darkness.
"You guys stay here. Have things nice for her for when she comes back. I'll make sure she doesn't get into any trouble."
And he was gone. Willow could have sworn she heard an echo in her head before the door closed. His whisper - "if I can."
From the shadows he watched her, her tiny dark form flitting in and out between the tombstones and the osuaries. It had been years since he'd done this - just watched her hunt. It had always been hunting, even though it was called patrol, with her seeking and destroying her prey. Those many years ago he had enjoyed watching her. She moved so well. Tonight there was no grace, no meandering detours to the dark corners where the young often chose to hide in wait. There was no enjoyment in watching her deliberately march toward the first childe she saw of the night. Angel's muscles tensed immediately, ready to vault into the frey at a moment's notice. Without hesitation she plunged her stake directly into her heart. There was a hiss of surprise and pain from the victim, then nothing but the sound of dust blowing in the cool breeze of night.
He relaxed, a sigh falling from his lips. Closed his eyes. The first test was passed, but he only grew more anxious. That wasn't normal Buffy slaying behaviour. She usually liked to give them a chance.
When Angel's eyes opened again he realized he had been lost in thought for longer than he intended. Buffy was gone. He strained his ears and heard someone walking up ahead. He leapt to the roof of a small crypt for a higher vantage point. There, across the field was the source of the noise. Short, dressed all in black, blond.
It was Spike.
He was looking deep into the field ahead. There was Buffy, standing still above a freshly dug grave with flowers and a wreath. She was waiting. It wouldn't be long.
Angel crouched on his roof and turned his attention back to Spike. What sick plan did he have in store for everyone? He refused to believe that Spike honestly cared for Buffy's well-being. Alterior motive? Without a doubt.
Spike was leaning now against a tree, cigarette in hand. He took a deep drag, turned his head, then blew the smoke in Angel's direction. So, Spike knew he was there all along. The British vampire gave him a wink. Angel could only reply by turning away in disgust. He went back to watching Buffy.
Spike did not.
Angel tried to ignore him.
The ground parted in the distance, the vampire took in his first sight with his new eyes and returned to the dirt he came from. Buffy went on her way. Behind her, two ancient vampires followed.
Following along the trees on the west side of the field, Angel could see Spike mirror his movements on the east side. Spike gave him a smirk. Angel thought ruefully that Spike shouldn't be the one smirking, seeing as he still wore the cuts and bruises of the beating Angel had delivered to him.
Angel stopped in his tracks and turned to face Spike. Spike too stopped. What a bastard. Even with the troubling issues he still finds the time to play childish little games. Angel motioned for Spike to come to him. Instead Spike just did a little wave and started walking again.
Wait. Angel smelled something. Slightly festered undead flesh. Spike must have noticed it too. They both bolted into the trees to either side of Buffy.
Buffy, for her part looked unflustered as a pack of vampires emerged from a crypt. There must have been at least a dozen. Angel didn't have the time to count for as soon as they appeared Buffy set on them with blinding speed. Within seconds the first handful of them had become dust.
He had to stop himself from joining in. The odds were stacked heavily against Buffy, though she didn't seem to notice, throwing herself into the fray with what he would describe as reckless abandon.
Buffy leapt with a roundhouse kick to the head of the large vampire that emerged last from the crypt. His head snapped back and he fell with force to the ground. With stakes in both hands she launched into a backflip, staking two as they rushed her from either side. The one that hoped to surprise her upon her landing was surprised instead with a headbutt to his nose. As he staggered back, the slayer used him as a pommel horse to rebound back into the air to catch her next attacker in the neck with her boot. The woman crashed upon the large vampire who was still struggling to regain his footing.
A punch aimed at Buffy's head was caught by the slayer. She snapped his arm like a twig. The vampire screamed in pain before it was relieved by the stake to his heart.
Buffy was tackled from behind while she finished off the next vampire. The two tumbled in the grass. The attacking vampire suddenly went limp in front of Angel's eyes. His head napped up, mouth agape. He was thrown through the air and landed with a thud several yards away. Motionless, the still blood was dripping from the long double gash across his neck.
The Slayer hissed in rage. The remaining seven vampires all took a step back at the sight in front of them. The Slayer was a vampire, blood dripping from her teeth, smeared on her chin. She attacked them.
The vampire in 80's clothes brought his arms up to block the incoming blow. The stake punctured the bones in his forearm and struck deep into his chest. He gasped but it had missed his heart. He was still in trouble though, with his arm pinned to his chest and a furious Vampire Slayer still clutching the wood. He flailed with his legs to get her off of him. 80's vamp showed visable relief as his six remaining friends all jumped Buffy at once. His relief turned to horror as she swung her other stake in an arc, slitting the throats of three of the attackers. They fell to their knees grasping their collars as the blood poured out. Their comrades lept over their supine bodies and swung at Buffy. She let go of the 80's vamp and let him fall to the earth. A neck was quickly snapped and the vampire turned to dust in Buffy's hands. The other two unscathed vampires each found an elbow in their faces. As the shorter of the two staggered back, she received a hard kick to the chest and went tumbling into a tree, crumbling to dust over a low branch. Her friend lived only two seconds more before her head was severed by the Slayer's bare hands.
80's vamp struggled to reach some sort of one armed defensive posture. Instead he settled for shrinking away as Buffy approached him. He could do nothing as the Slayer grabbed the stake still lodged in his chest and tore it through his body, splitting his ribcage wide open. He dissolved around her hand.
The wounded remnants of the gang had their heads torn from their bodies, their suffering ended in an equally brutal manner.
Holy Shit! Angel thought. What he just witnessed wasn't possible. A gang of vampires demolished by one Slayer in only seconds.
Buffy's vampire features slowly receded. She wiped the cold blood from her mouth with the back of her hand and continued on her way.
Angel continued to stand there shocked. Power like that couldn't help but be corrupted. He had to get back. But first he looked over to where Spike had been standing. He was gone.
"Giles!" Angel practically yelled into the phone. "We could be in trouble." The idiocy of what he just said was pointed out to him by the Englishman on the other end. They were already in trouble before. "She's stronger. I think she's gained vampire strength, speed, and senses on top of her Slayer powers." Giles said "my God," from his end. Angel couldn't help but agree. "Yes, I'm sure. I just saw her obliterate a whole gang of vampires by herself in no time flat. At least ten, looked like more. I think she'll realize how powerful she is and use it for the wrong ends. I'm saying that because she didn't look like herself when she did it." Giles was a little confused. "No, she looked like Buffy, but she didn't act like her, she was cold and detached, then she vamped out and went animalistic on them. You don't understand, Giles. She tore their heads off with her bare hands. Yes, I agree that's out of the ordinary." Giles was upset. "Yes, I know you don't want to see her like this, but we need you here. Please. When?" Angel heard the doorknob start to turn. "Giles, she's back. I've got to go." He slammed down the receiver.
"Buffy, how'd it go?"
"Fine."
Angel couldn't help but notice that she had cleaned herself up a bit. Xander, Willow, and Dawn were still up too. He didn't think they realized that just a few short minutes ago there was blood running down her chin.
He stood silently on top of the department store, watching her every move. It was the next night, and while the day had gone roughly, with irritatingly few developments, this evening had been boring. Buffy had left for patrol without argument; Willow, Xander, and Dawn had just watched her go. Angel took that as a bad sign. Pessimism was healthy when optimism might get you killed.
It was quiet. Too quiet. Buffy was slinking through the dark alleys in Sunnydale's decrepit downtown core. It was usually a region of gathering for the vampire gangs as they moved to and fro from their nocturnal hunting grounds: the blackened parks and city streets teeming with the destitute and lost. So far, however, the gangs were gone, not even stragglers and outcasts. Even the hobos and drunks were giving them a wide bearth. Angel cynically wondered whether this was a supernatural safety mechanism for all living and undead things to avoid the Slayer in her current condition. He knew that she was at her grumpiest now (and he'd seen her during that time of the month).
He hadn't even caught a glimpse of Spike yet. That was odd and it made him worry. What was the little bastard scheming? It wasn't simple caring like he so adamently insisted, or else he would be here with her at night. Knowing Spike, he had been using Buffy all this time, waiting for just this opportunity to bring together all his plans for worldwide mayhem and destruction and-
Wait, there he is now.
"Where is eveyone?" she mumbled to herself, skulking among the garbage in the streets. She had encountered many rats, one stray dog, a couple of alley cats and an overweight raccoon, but not one entity with an IQ over 30. Buffy so desperately needed to kill something big, grasp it's neck between her hands and squeeze with a twist to hear the crack of bone snapping, the meaty squish of neck muscles tearing apart and the blood pouring out of fresh wounds. But it wouldn't be fun with a cute little mammal.
Good God, she had to get these thoughts out of her head. The unprovoked violence was there, circling in her brain like, bad analogy coming up, sex in Xander's imagination. It was getting harder and harder to keep it reigned in. She felt like she was ready to snap on the only people who she would probably regret killing in the morning. Her senses had been going off for a while. There was definitely vampire action in the area, just not wanting to be found, the bastards. She was about ready to pop. If she didn't kill something soon she would...
Oh, there's one. No that's Spike. "Shit," Buffy mumbled under her breath. She did not want to deal with him now. And for sure he'd want to talk or fuck or something. But he didn't move. All he did was point in a direction, or toward the old buildings in that general area. Despite herself she started heading toward them.
It was an abandoned metal works, not a very big one. The windows were boarded over, the masonry was crumbling. Buffy warily took in the scenery. She could feel something up ahead, but the alley was a dead-end and empty. However the sidewalk was well worn, the gravel spread away from the door. It was not as abandoned as she first thought. So Spike was leading her to prey. How nice of him.
When she broke the doorlock and went inside she was disappointed. Only two scraggly little vampires, neither looked particularly well fed - thin and in tattered clothes. She realized that even the undead had class struggles and discrimination. It was sad. Might as well put them out of their misery.
"Who are you?" one of them asked, startled.
The other was a bit more rational. "Doesn't matter though," he added. "You'll be dead soon." He sauntered over to her, a confidence in his step that belied his beliguered appearance.
"Already am," Buffy replied. The two other vampires stopped in their tracks. Buffy decided to play a little game. She walked up to them and started caressing their arms to show them that she too was room temperature. She put on her best Sultry Sue impression and practically moaned out the words to them. "Where does a girl gotta go for some fine cuisine?"
"Oh, ah, well," the littler vampire stuttered. He didn't seem that useful.
"Some of the bigger gangs have been causing trouble to heard the homeless toward central park. It's sort of a buffet smorgasborge that they're doing to ease tensions and whatever between some of the rival gangs." This other guy really liked to talk the talk. "They figured it was a good time with the Slayer virtually out of the picture."
"They?" she asked.
"We weren't invited," said the little guy. He was getting more and more pathetic by the minute.
Buffy went around to hang off the other from behind. "I'm new to town. What's the deal with the Slayer?"
He swallowed. Buffy could feel his adam's apple through his skin. "She usually kills vampires when they shake the boat and organize larger feasts, but we've noticed she's not been around so much. It used to be that a bunch of us would disappear every night but now it's less every other night and much more erratic. Someone told me she died, but she still seems here to me, just not so much."
"Thank you," Buffy said seductively. Then she grabbed them both by the neck and smashed their skulls together. She ripped their throats open and drank their still, cold blood before they dissolved and blew away in the wind. It took the edge off.
Now it was time for the hunting to start in earnest.
Angel watched her exit the warehouse. She was bloodied but looked uninjured. It was typical of the way she killed now, he thought with grief. She was enjoying the violence, much like he had before the curse, or like Faith had before she begged him for death. Angel really wanted to see what Buffy had left behind, if anything, but she wasn't giving him the luxury of time. Already she was running away at full speed toward the downtown core. He took off at a gallop to chase her down, but to no avail. She was getting away. Damn, should have brought my car. Not that he would have ever thought he would need it to follow someone on foot. At the limit of his eyesight he saw her leap with ease over a high security fence and land, her running stride unbroken, on the other side. A minute later he reached the same fence and leapt, but not high enough. His boot caught in the barbed-wire coil along the top and he tumbled to the asphalt, only his vampire acrobatic skills keeping him upright on landing. Around the corner he had seen her disappear he now saw nothing. He sniffed for her scent, but now, no longer released with intensity by her body heat, it was difficult to pick out. Tilting his head to the air he walked slowly in the direction he hoped she had gone...
Central park. It was a nice night. Crickets chirped. The nocturnal birds gave the occasional hoot. The air was filled with the smells of cheap whiskey, cigarettes, and, to the nose of a vampire, the stench of human sweat. It was a nice night indeed. The lowly urchins of Sunnydale had conglomerated here, the park safe in recent weeks, to sleep or drink or fuck away the night. Not the choice meat of society; the group was comprised of the homeless, the destitute, alcoholics and whores. Not that it mattered, as long as none of them had anything too harsh in their systems. Sometimes quanity was better than quality. And it was unlikely that any of these people have had any dental surgery in the past 72 hours.
To Deynhardt it was like one of those all you can eat buffets that had started popping up before he became a vampire. Occasionally you just wanted to eat yourself lethargic, undo your belt and waddle off home. Tonight was a night for vampire gluttony, a deadly sin not so much when you were already dead, and did lots of sinning anyway.
He reached into his pocket for a couple of smokes. Took one and gave it to Joe. Joe brought his lighter to the butt but it wouldn't spark.
"Fuck, man, I need my smoke before food." Deynhardt hit Joe over the head. Joe growled, momentarily shifting into game-face before receding back to his human facade.
"Wait," a gleam of mischief in his yellow eyes. "I have a fun way to start this off."
Deynhardt followed Joe as he approached a wino in the park. He was dressed in barely more than rags as he stuffed crumpled newspapers underneath the well-worn blanket that was draped over the park bench. In his mouth the man happily smoked away at a pipe.
"Hey, man, you got a light?" Joe asked the hobo.
The man jumped, startled by their silent approach before his bleary eyes slowly focussed on the two vampires. "Eh? Oh, yeah." He scratched his filthy head. "I think I might be able to help you with that." He turned back to his makeshift bedding and produced a little Bic lighter. The two vampires light their cigarettes, basking in the warm, orange glow.
"Thanks," said Joe, a few seconds after taking a toke. "Now do you have anything for us to eat?"
"Ha!" the old man coughed before returning his attention to his pipe and bench. "I don't have any food for me. No way I have food for you."
"I think you do," replied Joe, wicked smile suddenly transforming into fangs.
The old hobo stared in shock, before stumbling backward over his bench. Deynhardt now smelled another powerful scent: the smell of fear. He too changed into game-face, salivating over the meal.
Suddenly Joe burst into a cloud of dust before his eyes.
"Slayer!" he yelled, and tried to run back to where his gang was toying with some hookers and their pimp. The slayer instantly grabbed him by his hair as he fled, his feet flying out underneath him. Deynhardt landed with a thud on the ground. There were no warm hands holding him down, just cold, dead ones pressing against his shoulders. In his dazed and pained state he heard a hiss, and locked eyes with his assailant's. The young girl wore cold, yellow eyes.
She was a tornado of destruction, fighting with a vigor and excitement she had never felt in all her life. Three vampires lunged at her in a coordinated attack. With one quick swing of her arm the knife she wielded sliced through each of their necks. The dust cloud felt like a gentle sand-storm on the beach while you played away from the surf. Sand was never this much fun.
Buffy slung her stake into her belt. That would be too easy, she thought, and too simple a death for these vermin. She gouged the intestines out of one vampire to her right. It wouldn't kill him, but it would certainly cause him pain. Putting people to death by draining their blood certainly deserved being put in agony and suffering, not to mention a big squidgy mess over your shoes. Speaking of shoes, as that unfortunate vampire ran (trying to gather up his internal organs as he fled), Buffy planted her boot firmly into the torso of another. It crashed violently into a tree and slumped to it's knees. Before it had the chance to regain its footing, the Slayer's other boot slammed into its neck, crushing it against the trunk. She ground her foot into it's spine until she heard the telltale snap of bones coming apart. The vampire disintigrated around her.
That had been twenty on the night for her so far. Five had run away as soon as they realized that their friends were being ripped apart limb from limb. Buffy wondered why more of them weren't smarter and ran on sight. No matter though, she thought with a sigh of contentment. She could still sense them with her gut and smell their fear with her newly upgraded vampire nose. They would be hers in mere moments. Why had she thought vampirism so bad at first? There were so many neato advantages, which she was coming to enjoy immensely.
She tracked down two running back to Restfield Cemetary. They were startled and cried out when she landed from the air, dropping down in front of them from the tower by the gates.
"Naughty boys," she teased, as the two scared vampires backed away from her deliberately slow advance. "You made me run. What's the matter?" Buffy played with them, as she pointed a taloned finger into each of their chests. "Don't you like me?"
Those two were so sweet, she thought. She left them on top of a mausoleum with their limbs broken and unable to move. They begged her to kill them. She would comply. Sunrise was in four hours.
She tracked the last one who had eluded her to an alley back where she started. She was starting to feel a little disappointed, actually. There had been enough screaming and yelling to send all the vampires and demons in the area into hiding, or generally away from downtown. The endorphin rush was great, but coming down from the rush is a major drag.
There he was, with a young woman, probably a prostitute if the clothing was any indication, struggling in his grasp. The vampire was grinding into her and the prosititute squirmed in his clutches as he teased her neck with his fangs.
"Hey there, big boy," she said coyly. "How about a threeso-" A galvanized steel pipe smashed into her face. Dammit, she was too busy thinking about the rest of the night she didn't realize that this one might have other friends.
"Alright," she said as she lifted herself up from the ground, "that was just kinky." Her face changed to match theirs. "I hope you like pain." He swung the pipe at her head again. She easily caught it with one hand and tore it away from his grip with a flick of her wrist. Then she drove it through his skull. With a jerk she twisted with all her fury and ripped his head from his body, the torso slumping to the ground as it fell into dust.
The other vampire abandoned his prey in the corner and charged at Buffy. She caught him under the chin before he could take a swing at her. She tore his head off.
The prosititute was staring at her attacker as he disintegrated before her, the fearsome looking tiny blonde approaching her slowly in the haze.
"What? What just happened? Am I dreaming?" the waifish girl asked. She reached out with her poorly manicured hands and wrapped them around Buffy's waist. "Thank you!" she breathed with her voice husky from the tension.
Buffy could smell the prostitute's sweat all around her. It was heavy with body-spray and marijuana smoke. It was sex mixed with munchies and tantilizingly appetizing.
"The pleasure was mine," Buffy smiled, ear to ear, her fangs still protruding from her mouth. She leaned in, as if to kiss the girl, who's head was also dropping toward Buffy. Instead Buffy sank her teeth into her neck. She craved the release and relished the salty metal taste of the warm blood.
The prostitute gave a small shriek when the fangs penetrated her skin. Soon it died to a whimper. Then stopped altogether.
Spike found her a few hours later. She was sitting human faced in the alley with blood dribbling down her chin. He first saw her sitting against the brick wall, arms wrapped around her knees, unmoving, a distant gaze focusing in on something far away. Dust and weapons were scattered on the pavement underneath her. A dead girl was lying prone beside Buffy.
"You've finally learned, haven't you, Luv," Spike said as he sat down beside Buffy. "What it's like to live in my world, the one that bumps in the night, that breathes the fear of those ignorant fools who choose not to understand." Buffy didn't say anything to him, didn't move. She just sat there staring blankly at the opposite wall. He looked at her closely. No attempt had been made to remove the blood from her lips and face. The trail of crimson was dry but uncracked and gleaming bright in the light from the yellow streetlamp.
"You enjoyed it as I have. The killing, the fear in their eyes, the agony. It's what we are, Buffy. Our purpose. Our raison d'etre. Now it's yours too."
"It's not."
He was surpised when she answered him. When he looked over at her he wasn't sure she had. She was still sitting there, exactly as she had before, eyes as distant as ever. But the blood on her chin had crumbled and fallen away.
"You're right," Spike said, with astonishment in his voice. It just hit him. "You are unique. Special. You can do anything you want to do."
"And, and... I'm going to do good with this. Yes I am," she said in return, voice rising along with her head.
"No."
"No?"
"You are demon. You, as I am, are evil. No matter how much we fight it we'll never be anything other than that."
She moved toward him. "I can't accept that."
"Why do you think you could never love me? Even when you knew that I loved you. Why do you think your friends leave you like this? Even when they know you want their help and such. Look at yourself, Buffy. You've feasted and enjoyed it."
She hit him. Honest to goodness, she just hit him. One instant she was still and aloof and the next Spike found himself on his ass and ten feet away.
"Bastard!" she spat. "I hate you! I hate you!" She grabbed him by his collar and slammed him against the brick wall. "Because of you I drank that girl dry and I liked it. I like human blood."
In spite of himself Spike found himself smiling. "That's because you're a vampire. You're evil. You like being evil. You need to be evil. Inside, deep inside, you know that. You need to be like me, like I was. Be evil with me, Buffy. For me. We could be wicked, you and I."
"What are you trying to do to me?" she yelled at him. Tears were welling up in her eyes as she hit him. She hit him again and again, each blow harder than the one that fell before. He felt his ribs break each time she yelled at him. Then it stopped. He knew that five more seconds and he would have died. But she stopped. She just stopped.
"Go," she said. She released his neck and dropped him to the ground. Spike's legs couldn't support him and he crumpled. As he tried to regain his strength Buffy turned and walked away.
"Buffy?" he called out after her, but she didn't reply.
The sun was making it's appearance when Spike finally crawled to a manhole cover and disappeared into the sewers.
It was late when Buffy returned home. Willow was asleep on the couch with Xander where they had unsuccessfully waited for Buffy's return. She let them sleep and went to the kitchen. There was a message on the answering machine. She pushed the button.
"Buffy, it's Lorraine from the DoubleMeat Palace. I'm sorry, but we can't tolerate this kind of behaviour and poor attendance anymore. You're fired." The machine beeped to signal the end of the message.
Well, that's it then. She can't go back.