Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or the franchise's characters, places, etc. I am not making a profit from this work other than the joy I take in writing it.
Previously: First it was ruining Spike's black on black and then it was scarring Buffy for life with images that would plague both her nightmares and fantasies. June is past and Buffy decides to get back by showing Spike that when you hijack the Slayer's webpage, the consequences will be severe – won't they?
MISTER JULY
"Dru, baby..." Spike murmured sleepily from his bedding atop his sarcophagus. "Meant nothing to me, see? Summers' head all stuffed just for you my Black Beauty."
It had been weeks since his prank on Buffy and so far she had showed no signs of retaliation. At first she had been angry but eventually they'd resumed their normal patrol pattern and were back to trading barbs and belittling one another like proper enemies. The previous night's patrol hadn't been too much fun for him, for some reason the slayer was going out of her way to drive him especially bonkers. It ended with yet another sore nose and hefty bar tab at Willy's. By the time he got home, Spike was barely conscious.
"What's this, Princess? You drew a bath for," Spike's eyes fluttered open and what he saw left him nearly speechless. "Me?"
His crypt was flooded with water.
What the hell?
Groggily blinking his eyes, he sat upright and looked around his crypt, trying to discern the source of the overflow. It wasn't so high yet, roughly six inches deep, and thankfully his television remained untouched. In fact its power cord and input cables had been disconnected and placed on top of the set, keeping them safely out of the water. Turning his head he saw that the same could also be said for his fridge. His crypt was flooded but his two biggest appliances were out of harm's way. It was almost as if-
"What the?"
A big yellow ducky pool float was floating nearby. He had never seen it before and certainly didn't have one in his home.
But then why would I?
"That bitch!"
A Few Weeks Ago...
"The vertigo is gonna grow," Spike hummed from atop his crypt. "Cause it's so dangerous... dangerous?"
Spike furrowed his brow as he rolled the lyrics over in his head. It was tricky getting down these newer songs, especially ones he had been listening to for less than a day. Still when he had been toying with Buffy's patrol tapes two days ago, fixing it with the audio from his sex tape, he'd found himself listening to a couple of her patrol tunes and a few had stuck. Snapping his fingers and slightly bobbing his head along to a beat only he could hear Spike grasped for the lyrics just beyond his reach as he patiently waited for the night's entertainment to arrive. Keeping an eye on Restfield Cemetery's entrance he knew it was only a matter of time until that bobble-head of blonde came stomping through the wrought iron gates.
"You'll have to sign a waiver," Spike continued and turned his attention away from the entrance to look up at the starry night sky when something flashed out of the corner of his eye. Snapping his head to the left his eyes shot wide just as a softball size rock crashed into his face, directly on his already aching nose. Caught completely unaware Spike lost his perch, slid, and fell the ten feet to the ground, shoulder first. Groaning in pain, he touched his fingers to his swelling nose and felt a trickle of cold dark blood beginning to drip.
"Let me guess," a particularly snide voice callously announced over the graveyard. Sure enough when Spike lifted his eyes he was greeted with the sight of aforementioned blonde bobble-head coming from the opposite direction of the cemetery entrance. "Fumigating your hole in the ground?"
Huh? She must've hopped the wall.
Spike broke into a chuckle when Buffy came to a stop next to him, looking at him expectantly.
"Can't help it if I think you're funny when you're mad," he shrugged helplessly.
"What?"
"Forget it," Spike shrugged and took his fingers from his nose to clean the blood away with his tongue. "Nice arm, luv."
"Did you just taste your own nose blood?"
"Yeah what of it?" Spike asked, indignantly. Off her look of disgust Spike rolled his eyes. "Well what the hell would you do if you bled hot fudge?"
"Gross, Spike!" Buffy looked to continue degrading him but frowned and looked quizzically down at his feet. "Are you wearing sneakers?"
"Yeah," Spike said blatantly and wiggled his bright yellow shoes at her.
"Why?" she pressed, still struck by the oddity of Spike wearing something other than his signature Doc Martens.
"Figured we'd be running circuits around Sunnyhell by now – only this time me the mouse and you the cat," Spike explained and then gave a furtive glance at the rock Buffy had smack him with – only it wasn't a rock. Squinting his eyes he recognized the outline of Buffy's cell phone, or rather the fake cell phone he'd swapped for hers when he'd stolen it. "Although, had I known you were planning on sniping me I would've worn a helmet. Swear, Summers, first kicks to the bits and now bleedin' phones to the conk? What's next?"
"First? You're a rat, Spike. Not a mouse. Two? Just be happy it's not wooden and pointy," Buffy taunted. "After what you pulled last night?"
"Last night or the night before?" Spike probed with a playful glimmer in his eyes.
"Both!" Buffy snapped. "And what did we agree on about Mister Gordo?"
"The stupid pig? He remains unbitten," Spike reminded and reached his hand into his duster to retrieve a familiar cell phone. "Misplace something?"
"Maybe your fingers," Buffy scowled and opened her hand for it.
"My fingers?" Spike repeated and tossed the phone perfectly into her awaiting hand.
"That is what I said," Buffy nodded and checked over her phone for any dents or scratches. "Since you have this habit of putting them in places where they don't belong."
"So you misplaced my fingers?" Spike questioned and leered her body seductively. "Not sure I followed you round that bend, are you suggestin' places where they shouldn't go or places you wish they would go?"
"You're a pig, Spike."
"If I am then you're the one who likes to watch the piggy play in the pen," Spike grinned mischievously.
"What-what? You watched me!" Buffy shrieked as another thought immediately occurred to her. "Were you taking photos?!"
"No and bloody 'ell do I wish now," Spike hooted.
"Then how did you know-?"
"I didn't," Spike said, his voice filled with evil mirth. "Except you just told me, Goldilocks."
"Oh God," Buffy groaned, once again mortified by evidence of Spike's uncanny intuition about all things slayer related.
"This night still going the way you pictured it, pet?" Spike teased.
"Might want to think about checking the knots on your sneakers," Buffy hinted. However it was an empty threat and they both knew it, no one would be doing any running that night. At least not from each other. "I suppose I should be thanking you."
At last the main event.
"That so?" Spike mused and used the wall of the mausoleum to help pull himself back to his feet.
"Oh, don't get me wrong! Every fiber in me wants to strangle you until your head pops off but you held back on the Smilebook thing. Your choice in weapon? You went with the mildest of the pictures you snapped. The others would have been a lot more damaging. My friends would've wigged."
"They would've," Spike nodded and then his eyes sharpened. "They still could."
"So that's it then?" Buffy concluded. "Long as I have pictures of you pink and shirtless you keep holding the ones from last night?"
"We can't kill each other," Spike reminded her. "Least this way we can keep each other honest. No go breaking our little rules we signed off on. The day you show up waving your white flag I'll turn over the rest of the polaroid shots I've taken."
"That is never going to happen," Buffy said stubbornly.
"Never is a long time, pet, and unless I'm off my mark, last night left you a li'l peaked? You sure you're up to handling what I have in store?" Spike jabbed.
"It's my turn now, Spike," Buffy replied and lowered her voice menacingly. "And after what you pulled? There won't be anything funny or playful about it. I'm going to make you pay, Spike. By the time I'm through, you'll be begging me to end it."
"Yeah?" Spike said and smiled knowingly. "That what you tell Cardboard every night you spread your knees and – OW! Again with the nose?"
"How is it not broken by now?" Buffy wondered after she recovered her ready stance from the quick bop she'd nailed him with. "You carry magical nasal spray around?"
"Interestin' notion," Spike considered and looked on as Buffy turned to continue on with her patrol. "Think I'll sit tonight out then."
"Make it the rest of the week," Buffy called back. "I still have nightmares starring your bony ass."
"Kitty liked it then did she?" Spike teased, letting his tongue out to slide across his lips.
"My account password?" Buffy demanded and looked back at him over her shoulder.
"Swinging Moose!"
"What?" Buffy said and stopped in her tracks, her face scrunched up in confusion. "Where did you get that from?"
"You know that one thing in my video – with the kitchen light?"
"How is that even possi – oh my God! You're so disgusting!" Buffy balked and hurried out of the cemetery to the sound of Spike's dying laughter chasing after her.
All too easy.
Spike chuckled and looked down at his sneakers with some disappointment. He had actually been looking forward to playing hide and go seek tonight. Turning his attention to the discarded cell phone, he picked it up and found it still functioning. He smiled at that, he really didn't want to have to go out and buy another one. He had already written down all of the names and numbers in Buffy's cell phone list and now he could spend the evening copying them over to this lovely piece of gadgetry she'd returned. Maybe when Finn got back he could sign soldier boy up to a few dozen callgirl agencies. Dozen or a hundred depending on how committed he would feel, come the time.
Present...
"Fairly certain this falls outside our bounds of reason clause," Spike muttered, his thoughts turning back to the rules they had agreed on ever since Buffy had started this war.
So be it. That barmy slayer wants to take it to the next level, then that'll be her failing.
"Oi, goin' to need one big mop to sort this pisser out," he said quietly. The quicker he started, the quicker he could focus his attentions elsewhere – like retaliation.
That's odd.
Spike turned his head and found his boots actually on top of the sarcophagus next to him. He could've sworn he'd pulled them off next to his chair, like most nights. Not about to question his good fortune Spike reached over and pulled one on and then the other. Not bothering to tie them Spike lifted his body up by the palms of his hands then rocked backwards before pushing himself off the sarcophagus and forward into the ankle deep water, it wasn't until his feet hit the water did he realize his mistake.
"Bloody 'ell!" Spike screamed in pain as boiling holy water erupted on both sides of his jean-clad trousers. Immediately he scrambled back to the safety of his bed. Crying in pain he looked down at his feet in panic. Thankfully his presence of mind to slip on his boots had spared his feet any serious harm. His ankles had taken some burns from the splash but nothing he couldn't overcome. Instead Spike took stock of his situation that left his eyes widening in horror as he began to fully comprehend exactly the predicament Buffy had left him in. "I'm gonna kill her," Spike growled as his eyes flashed amber in the darkness of his lair. "Tear out her spinal cord, drink from her brain stem, and throw a party with her lungs as balloons!"
In the meantime though, the vampire had other problems to deal with. Pivoting his head from one corner to the next Spike tried to figure out just how he was going to get out of this. All of his living quarter was flooded in holy water. His electrical appliances were in the clear but everything else would, like his clothes, become collateral damage. Granted most of his meager belongings were salvaged from Sunnydale's local dump but still, he put a lot of effort into making his home habitable. He had plans to expand it this summer, carving out a sub level below, but until this puddle was drained?
If that bint's mum wasn't such a right lady I'd do more than flood her house!
Wincing from his burns Spike examined one leg and then the other. His jeans and boots had shielded him from the brunt of the damage but he was still stranded. The pool floaty Buffy had left him, salt in an open wound, was far too small and would do him no good. Luckily the water wasn't deep enough to submerge the top step that led to the door of his crypt. If he could just make it there, then he would be home free – that was until he remembered that it was still in the middle of the afternoon with sunset hours away. Smart money was to wait until dark then make a move but Spike's temper and fear for his personal safety vetoed the notion as soon as it manifested. Instead, he gathered the blanket he had used for bedding atop of the sarcophagus' stone slab lid and prepared to make the dash from his crypt to his car. He'd have to leave his prized duster behind but once he reached the confines of his beloved DeSoto, he could grab a spare shirt.
Then he would pay a happy Fourth of July visit to a certain slayer. Warily eyeing the deceptively innocent-looking water, Spike's brain went into overdrive to plan a way out. If he moved quickly enough he could wall-run and jump off the side of the wall and land on the safety of the top step. Then it would be a matter of draping the blanket over him and stepping into the light of a deadly summer day.
What a wonderfully fatal plan, Spike.
Rolling his eyes and promising vengeance against all bitches named Buffy, Spike bundled his blanket and took a moment to steel his nerves. It wasn't impossible. He could do this. Sucking in the breath he didn't need, Spike braced himself for the worst and half jumped half ran up the wall to his right. As soon as he felt himself losing momentum Spike pushed off with his legs, cleared the deadly pond, and landed solidly on the top step. No worse for wear, Spike laughed at the slayer's feeble attempt of revenge. Later on he would head to Willy's and see about hiring a couple of demons immune to holy water to pump the water out.
Then, slayer, you are mine.
Reaching down he felt for the doorknob and moved to turn it only wrench his hand back and curse in pain.
"Bollocks!" Spike sneered as he examined his right palm, noticing the bright red burn that closely resembled the imprint of a crucifix had him groaning in frustration. Darting his head down he saw not one but three miniature crosses dangling from the knob. Running out of options Spike tightened his blanket around him and did a quick three count. On three he led with a mighty heave of his shoulder and checked the door open, breaking it free of its hinges beore stumbling outside into the bright sunlight. Despite the protection of the blanket, Spike still shrieked out in pain as the vampire rushed to the nearest offering of shade. Under the cover of a tree, his stormy blue eyes scanned in every which direction, searching for any other hint of a followup prank. By now it was very clear that neither he or Buffy would resort to something as simple as a one-trick revenge prank.
Still, after a full five minutes of scrying his surroundings, Spike found no further evidence of trickery and deemed himself safe, if only for the moment. Not to waste another second, he leap-frogged from cover to cover, inching closer and closer to the safety of his DeSoto. Rounding the corner of a clump of trees he was all but home when his eyes fell upon the car and what he saw made Spike's stomach drop.
No...
"Buffy loves Riley," Spike read behind clenched teeth as he took in the sight of his car's new custom paint job. "Pink again," he muttered. "Even the bloody tires!"
Snarling in disbelief Spike surveyed the car from his spot under the safety of mother nature's foliage. He could only see one side but that alone was bad enough.
"Xander says sucks to be you?" Spike squinted as he continued to read the sprawling lines of text Buffy had included. "The impotent one? Poor man's Angel!"
My crypt...
Spike set his jaw and rushed the last fifty feet to his car, throwing himself into the backseat.
My ride...
"Think yourself so clever, you bitch," Spike grumbled and sifted through his car's backlog of junk until he found his spare black tee. Smiling triumphantly he pulled it on then switched seats, climbing into the front. As he turned the ignition, Spike wasn't sure exactly what he would say when he saw her but he knew it would be to her regret. She had made her move and he had to admit, it was a very nice play. As always though, Buffy had underestimated Spike's resourcefulness and ability to think on his feet. Now it was her turn through the grinder and he would be nowhere near as gentle.
Just before he pulled out, Spike glanced on his dashboard and found a polaroid waiting for him. It must've been taken earlier that morning, while he was still passed out from last night's bender.
Oh no.
With his car's new custom paint job in the background, Buffy stood proudly in the foreground with his prized duster draped over her shoulders. Her pose was eerily similar to what he had done with Angel's coat which he'd found in her closet. Spike had been in such a hurry to get out he hadn't even bothered looking for the duster to take with him. Only now did he realize the awful truth., Alongside a lipstick kiss pressed on the lower right corner, Buffy had written across the photo in the same lipstick.
"Love the Leather! Buffy – XoXoXo"
"Like leather do yah?" Spike snarled in outrage and pressed down on the gas pedal. "Keep it. I'll get me a new duster – I'll bloody well tan it from your hide!"
"Buffy," Joyce's voice called out from the kitchen doorway, causing Buffy to pause in her kata. Looking to the back porch door she saw her mom poke her head out and smile. "How many ears of corn did you want?"
"Eh, maybe three?" Buffy decided. "Mom you really don't need to prepare it all yourself. I can wrap my training up later."
"What and miss out on the fireworks tonight? Nice try, young lady. Still, three ears?" her mother questioned.
"Slayer metabolism," Buffy shrugged helplessly. "What time do we need to leave for LA?"
"In a couple more hours," her mother answered. "So grab a shower after dinner and-" A great cacophony of beeping from a car horn, a very familiar car horn, from the front interrupted Joyce and drew both women's attention. "Now what in the world?" the older Summers wondered and left her spot on the back porch to see what the fuss was in the front.
"Hehe," Buffy giggled and returned to her workout. "Now I wonder who that could be," she grinned mischievously.
"Oh," Buffy heard her mother say from inside the house. "She's back here, Spike."
"Oi! Slayer!"
This is going to be good.
"Think you and I need to have a discussion 'bout our little bounds of reason – and your perpetual need to overstep it!"
"Come back later, Spike," Buffy singsonged. "Or never," she amended. "I'd be okay with never."
"Where's my leather?" Spike demanded from just inside the kitchen doorway, looking out at her across the yard as she stepped through the choreographed movements of the fight sequence. She had been working on it throughout the past hour, over a dozen times. While practicing the kata was good for muscle memory it was also important for balance and breathing. Alternating the tempo of the dance, her first four run-throughs began slowly – focusing on sticking every kick, every punch, every step and stance. Then it became about holding that composure but streamlining it. Making each move blend into the next. The key word was fluid while staying balanced and maintaining focus.
Sweat dribbled from her brow as she paced herself under the hot July sun. Gaining more confidence, she stepped up the pace. Instead of two steps forward and one step back Buffy only moved forward. The objective was to build up more and more. After the basics and graceful fluidity came power. No longer was it about going through the motions but ensuring that every strike, every block, every jump was focused with all of her strength behind it.
Buffy held her hands together the way she would grip a head and slammed them down onto her knee as she stepped through a simulated knee strike. Without stopping to regain her stance she moved forward. Her mind empty all Buffy heard was her breathing and the names of each move.
Downward striking block, move your hips – your whole body, to block the kick and capture mister evil vampire's leg.
Breathe in.
Pull the leg in, make mister vampire stumble, twist around and roundhouse kick with ball of the foot extended to the mister vampire's head...
Breathe out.
Turn and choke-block mister vampire number two's neck as he tries to bite me from behind. Focus grip on the neck and...
Breathe in.
And knee strike to the nose, downward elbow strike to the back of the head, and then a headlock – stake him...
Breathe out.
"My leather!"
Couldn't he have slept in just a little longer?
"Basement!" Buffy instructed to the overly anxious vampire.
"Buffy, did you assassinate Spike's car?" Joyce demanded.
So much for training.
"It's not like I popped his tires!" her daughter defended. "His TV and fridge are still good too. I made sure to unplug and store them safely before flooding his crypt. Nothing irreplaceable!"
"You flooded his crypt!"
Oops.
"Thank you again for dinner, Joyce," Spike said from underneath his blanket in the jeep's backseat.
"Oh of course, Spike," Buffy's mother said warmly from the front seat as she drove the three to the fireworks display in LA. "Although I've never seen a hamburger eaten that rare before."
"Eew," Buffy groaned in disgust.
"There was so much blood."
"Actually no," Spike replied. "Butcher's drain nearly all the blood when it comes to slaughter. What you have instead is water mixed with a protein called myoglobin. May appear as blood, but just a trick of the light."
"Still very raw," Joyce insisted. "Although, it wasn't as if Buffy's father never had a blue steak."
"The ones in Frankfurt are particularly euphoric," Spike mentioned.
"Can we please talk about something besides blood, sex, and food?"
"When was the last time you saw fireworks, Spike?" Joyce asked, placating her daughter's wishes.
"Thank you," Buffy exclaimed in relief.
"I caught a show down in Tijuana a couple nights after our drink together last year, Joyce," Spike answered.
"Our drink together?"
"You had drinks with my mother!" Buffy shrieked.
"Oh you mean the chocolate! You're talking about Buffy's senior year, before she blew up the high school?"
And there's a sentence every mother wishes she could say.
"And fine cuppa that was, Joyce," Spike smiled. "Loved those bitty marshmallows."
"Buffy, is everything okay?"
"My mother is talking to my mortal enemy about hot chocolate on the way to watch fireworks together," Buffy said detestably. "What part of this is okay?"
"How is Drusilla, Spike?"
"Oh God," Buffy muttered. "You had to ask."
"Well after I told yours where the Whel – er – Xander and Willow were I went back south. Got drunk in Mexico-way, sussed when I caught that show. And then-"
"And THEN," Buffy interrupted. "Sid here caught up with Nancy only for her to – big surprise – act like a total ho and jump some fungus thing."
"I thought it was a chaos demon?" Joyce frowned.
So many demons!
"No it was the chaos demon then the fungus demon," Buffy reminded cheerfully, clearly enjoying the chance to twist a knife into Spike by bringing up Drusilla's past transgressions.
"Actually no," Spike rebutted. "First it was Angel, and then then chaos and then-"
"Oh please!" Buffy huffed.
"Angel slept with Drusilla?" Joyce was shocked.
"No!" Buffy defended.
"Bloody right he did," Spike snapped. If she was going to make an effort to drag his love through the mud then Spike was going to make sure he took hers down with him. "I was stuck in a sodding wheelchair and the love of your life made every effort to stick it to the love of my life every chance he could get."
"Well this all sounds very complicated," Joyce remarked. "I'm glad Angel had the sense to finally leave you, Buffy."
"He wasn't Angel. He didn't have a soul, he was Angelus," Buffy said, excusing the other vampire for what seemed like the hundredth time.
"You mean like Spike?"
"Huh?"
"I am nothing like that poofter!" Spike declared.
"But you don't have a soul?" Joyce said, looking up into her rear view mirror to read Spike's expression only to see nothing but her backseat.
Right, vampire.
"Spike is nothing like Angel," Buffy announced determinedly.
"Thank you," Spike said, relieved that someone else got it.
"So he's like Angelus?"
"That's even worse!" Spike cried.
"Kind of," Buffy hedged.
"No, not kind of! None of," Spike argued. "I helped you put that tosser in the ground."
"I'm confused," Joyce sighed.
"Welcome to my world," Buffy muttered as her fingers rubbed her brow in aggravation.
"At least this way you still get to see the fireworks," Joyce said, deciding to try and cheer Spike up. "I had no idea you were looking so forward to them this year."
"It's just been so long," Spike said over dramatically much to Buffy's chagrin.
"Yeah right," Buffy growled. "Your car is perfectly functional. Just because it's pink doesn't mean it won't drive."
"Which Buffy will make every effort to paint back to it's previous coat," Joyce said, giving her daughter a look that spoke volumes on how this was not up for debate.
"Oh think nothing of it, Joyce," Spike said sweetly as he watched Buffy squirm in discomfort from her spot in the passenger seat. Then a lightbulb suddenly went off above Spike's head. "In fact I am more concerned with the renovations to my crypt I've been planning."
"Oh?" Joyce pondered.
"What?" Buffy said in disbelief.
"I've been meaning to add a second level. A sub level. Some room for a bed and other creature comforts," Spike explained.
"Well that sounds very ambitious," Joyce remarked.
"Indeed, Joyce," Spike nodded. "Was thinking about hiring some local boys out to help me clear way. Lot of manual work. Money's tight though."
"Oh! Well Buffy's been looking for something to occupy her time with," Joyce suggested helpfully.
"No," Buffy whispered in horror at the designs beginning to take shape.
"Really?" Spike drawled playfully, desperately trying to keep from snickering. "I never would have imagined."
"No friggin' way!" Buffy said heatedly, glaring stakes at Spike.
"Honestly, Buffy," Joyce admonished. "What else do you have to do? Besides it's only fair since you flooded his crypt."
"He broke our window!"
"Which he paid for," Joyce reminded and looked back at Spike. "Thank you by the way. I've been meaning to get that window replaced for some time now. Your money was more than generous."
"Think nothing of it, mum," Spike smiled charmingly.
"Don't call her mom!"
"When did you plan on beginning renovations?" Joyce asked, overruling her daughter's stalwart objections.
"Two days," Spike replied quickly, seizing the opportunity.
"No," Buffy repeated.
"Buffy will swing by Sunday night to help," Joyce decided and directed her daughter with a pointed look. "It is the least she can do after all," Joyce continued, not taking her eyes off of Buffy. "Even more so since you've been helping my daughter with her vampire slaying this summer."
"How did you know that?" Buffy gawked.
"I was concerned about you patrolling alone this summer and had a conversation with Mister Giles. He assured me that it was in Spike's interests to keep an eye out for you during your rounds," Joyce explained.
"He helps because he gets off on it!" Buffy wailed. "And hello? Training! Like I was doing only hours ago! Before Mister July here crashed the party."
"So what else have you been up to this summer, Spike?" Joyce asked, her mind made up on the matter.
"You might say I've been expanding my wardrobe," he said slyly.
"Oh, where do you shop?"
Buffy groaned.
"Oh! I forgot the wine coolers," Joyce exclaimed. Several roads leading into the Angeles National Forest were closed off to avoid congested holiday travel. While a bit off the beaten path, the national forest that overlooked the greater San Gabriel Valley offered a spectacular view of most of Western Los Angeles and to the Pacific Ocean beyond. While it was semi-secluded, it was still the summer holiday and there was a laundry load of other visitors jockeying for places to see the night's fireworks display, miles off in the distance.
"I'll go back for it mom," Buffy pleaded as much as offered.
Please! Anything to give me a break from him!
"Buffy, you and Spike are already carrying the blanket and folding chairs. Go on ahead, I'll meet up with you afterward."
"I don't know so much, Joyce," Spike replied, a surprising dissenter Buffy realized. Ever since he'd shown up at her house, he had gone out of his way to be a pain in her ass. First crashing their dinner and now their outing to LA to see the spectacular fireworks display. "It's crowdin' somethin' fierce an' my nose can better track my way back to you."
"Yes!" Buffy jumped, for once not grossed out that Spike could smell everything from her hair conditioner to – er?
Scratch that – always gross!
"Thank you, Spike, I appreciate the offer but I'd rather you use that nose to find us someplace nice and free from too many others. Besides," Joyce added and waved her cell phone at them. "I'll call Buffy's cell and she can direct me to you. Nice and easy. See you soon kids!"
"He's twice the age of you and me combined!" Buffy yelled after her mother's retreating back. When her mother only grew smaller in the distance Buffy turned her eyes back to her distasteful holiday companion, shaking her head ruefully. "You must be loving this."
"I'm like a fine wine, Slayer. Better with age," Spike teased and shifted his grip on the two chairs he was carrying. With a "come hither" wink he led Buffy further up the trail, passing by several other couples and families who had come to the overlook. The sun was setting but luckily for Spike there was enough shade from the surrounding forest that he could stick to indirect sunlight. Ever since the afternoon, the entire city sky had been exploding with every color imaginable and since then the city-wide display had only increased in its intensity.
The pair continued their trek in silence. They had gone a good half mile from where they parked their car and were in the thick of the festivities. Watching people laugh and enjoy time spent with family and friends left Buffy feeling hollow. She was thrilled to be here with her mom but she missed her friends. She missed Riley and wondered what he was doing right now. Apparently he saw the fireworks yesterday with his family and friends from his hometown. Old faces from Hemery filtered into her mind as she recalled the time before being called. Life was so much simpler and not for the first time she wondered where she would have ended up had destiny not come knocking.
Definitely wouldn't be strolling through the woods with the bane of my existence. What was I thinking of spending my summer like this?
"Penny for your thoughts, Slayer?" Spike questioned once they were past the majority of the crowd.
"Oh just the usual," Buffy chimed with false sweetness.
"Ah," Spike smirked. "Wishing you were with anyone but little old me?"
"Nothing about you is little, Spike," Buffy fired back. She managed three steps before stumbling as her brain fell into the gutter. "I can't believe I just said that."
"Well you would know," Spike reminded and once more Buffy's mind replayed the highlight reel from his tape.
"Seriously though," she said, still astonished. "How is that even possible? And your hands! Were they always that bendy?"
"All the better to crush your skull in," he quipped.
"Pretty sure that line line was left out of Riding Hood. Remember? It goes 'the better to know you?'"
"Hmm," Spike considered as they moved past a small clump of trees. "Well I do know you," he reiterated.
"Unfortunately," Buffy commented dryly. "Cracking my password and hijacking my webpage sealed away any remaining doubts."
"All the better to drain you dry," Spike tried again.
"Better," Buffy agreed.
There! Death threats and promises of violence. So much easier to deal with him like this.
"Have to lend yah some credit though. Props on the prank," Spike said suddenly, catching Buffy off guard. "Handed me my proper comeuppance what with the flooding then booby trapping my doorknob. Top it off with the horror you did to my wheels. Not bad."
So much for easier.
"You had it coming," Buffy said, thinking back on how he scarred her mind with sights and sounds of Spike naked-goodness.
Wait? Naked-goodness? No! No! Bad! Naked Spike equals disgusting-goodness! Er – disgusting! Disgusting undead and not in anyway good or yummy. Yummy? Stupid vampire. I hate you.
"Have I mentioned I hate you yet?" Buffy asked.
"You hate me and I hate you," Spike responded without hesitation as his eyes narrowed, at last spying what his nose had been seeking. "Over there," her nemesis gestured and Buffy's eyes focused on a small patch of open ground underneath a trio of conifers. Fireworks purchased from private vendors continued to shoot up into the open valley air stretching out several miles below them as the sun finally dipped below the ocean's horizon. After setting up their chairs the two enemies settled in to enjoy the night's wondrous display opening up before them.
It wasn't long before Spike was absorbed in the spectacle but for Buffy it wasn't as easy. She should have been grateful. Ever since his annoying presence had shown up hours ago all she had wanted was for him to shut his yammering mouth. It was one thing to be bantering with him back and forth during patrol or staking out a demon nest in his rolling disaster of a car. There was always a way out. She could always ditch him or make him drive her home. Her mom wasn't around. Without her there, Buffy didn't need to watch what she had to say or worry about Spike's evil charms working overtime on her mom, distracting her and making her forget what was really behind that pretty boy face of his. So then why was this silence so unbearable? She sighed and shook her head.
You know why, Summers. So just get it over with already.
"I hate you," she began slowly, choosing her words carefully.
"Established that already, pet. Doubled down with jokers wild."
"Shut up," Buffy grumbled and her brow furrowed in thought. "I'm trying to say something."
"My, my, that is a challenge," Spike jibed.
"If you're going to be a jerk then forget it!" Buffy spat, folded her arms, and returned her attention to the fireworks.
"Jeez, Summers," Spike snorted and lifted his hands up in surrender. "Hot n'cold you are. Ever consider your maybe you're bipolar?"
"Yes actually," Buffy smiled knowingly. "But given your tendencies to make impulsive decisions and unrealistic ideas about the future, I think you are way more manic-depressive than I could ever be." When she saw how his jaw had dropped and eyes go wide in surprise Buffy giggled, happy to beat Spike at his own game. At his continued speechlessness she decided to take pity on him. "I studied psychology; remember, blood-breath? When I was learning about mental disorders the first thing I would always do is match up symptoms to my own behaviors."
"Everybody does that," Spike said indifferently but at last closed his gaping mouth. "And I happen to be ADHD for you information, Slayer."
"An eternity of acting on impulse," Buffy thought aloud and tried to imagine what that was like. "Wow that would be paradise," she said sarcastically.
"I wouldn't get so high and mighty, Summers," Spike retorted. "You're hardly the picture of mental health yourself. Freud would love to get his scope down that noggin."
"Maybe," Buffy begrudgingly admitted. "But then I have an early expiration date," she deferred with a helpless shrug. "Therapy doesn't work when you're dead."
"Cocked up company you are tonight," Spike rolled his eyes and turned his head away from her for a moment.
"Huh?"
"What was it you were prattling on about?" Spike asked, whipping his head back around and looking at her with a quizzical tilt.
"Again with the huh?" Buffy said, looking at him in confusion.
"Earlier," Spike clarified. "The whole somethin' you needed to tell me 'bout."
"Oh," Buffy said and Spike saw her get that deep thinking look in her eyes again. "You know what? Forget it. It's nothing."
"Suits me, Slayer," Spike replied with a disinterested shrug. The two returned their attention to the fireworks. The main show that would take place over the distant beach had yet to begin but the neighborhood displays were still going strong. Spike's question hung heavy in the air as the silence drew on.
"I hate you," Buffy said, beginning the speech again. When Spike scoffed and opened his mouth Buffy gave him the look that promptly shut him up. "I hate you. I hate you so much, but sometimes you aren't all that bad."
"Wow," Spike drawled wryly once he picked up that that was the extent of her confession. "That was a mouthful. Been working on that speech long have you?"
"Well what did you expect, Spike? You tried to kill me how many times? Then when we had our truce you went ahead and sold us out to Adam-"
"Hey," Spike interrupted. "What can I say? The guy knows his audience. Promised me a blessed chipectomy . What would you be willing to do if you lost your powers?"
"I'm nineteen, Spike," Buffy said and looked to him expectantly. When he only continued to stare at her Buffy sighed and shook her head. "Some 'Slayer of Slayers' you are."
"Nineteen?" Spike frowned and gave her words further thought. Buffy watched as the gears churned inside his head and sure enough it came to him. "Council of wankers."
"That they are," Buffy affirmed.
"The Cruciamentum," Spike nodded and scratched the back of his neck. "Surprised they didn't ask me to do you in."
"Would you have?" Buffy asked, narrowing her eyes as she studied him closely. She watched him give it some thought, which all but answered her question. "Of course you would," she said with the utmost of scorn.
"What? And gift those gits a show?" Spike shook his head in disgust, drawing a surprised look from Buffy. "What?"
"So then, what was Halloween?" she challenged.
"Bloody 'ell, woman. Do you ever let go? If you recall, I was tryin' to save Dru's life? Getting you out of the way became a priority. How far would you go if it was Angel's life on the line?"
Hate it when he does that!
Of course Spike saw right through her and she saw him open that big annoying trap of his to take his shot – only he didn't. Buffy waited and then waited some more. He had her dead to rights but it sure seemed like he was taking his sweet time.
"Well?" she demanded.
"I think," Spike began and suddenly found his black painted fingernails very interesting. "Sometimes you aren't so bad."
"Oh," Buffy said quietly.
That was not expected.
"Yeah."
The two fell into another lapse of silence, only not nearly as uncomfortable as before. Each lost in their own thoughts, the quiet was broken only when Buffy's cell phone rang, her mother looking for them. It was dark and crowded so Spike left to go find her and then escorted her back. It was so natural that Buffy didn't comment or question his motives. When he returned, her mother's arm in his, there was no more talk about their past or their antagonistic relationship. Instead they broke into an almost pleasant conversation with Joyce mediating when needed.
When the show at last began the three looked on in peaceful silence and when it ended Spike had only one thing to say.
"Happy Fourth, Slayer."
Buffy couldn't help it, she smiled.
"You too, Vampire."
Maybe tonight wasn't so bad after all.
To Be Continued...
Appreciation: A big special thank you goes out to the story's beta, All4Spike. A talented writer in her own right please a big welcome for her and much appreciation for her assistance
-S