Author: Rabid Squirrel
Title: "Murphy's Law"
Disclaimer: If I actually owned BTVS, would I bother to write fanfiction? Seriously, Buffy and co. are owned by Joss Whedon, Kazui Productions, 20th Century Fox, and UPN, sick bastards all of them.
Summary: Follow-up to the travesty that was season 6. Answers questions such as: Why Spike is able to hit Buffy; why did Xander really leave Anya at the alter; where does Whistler get his wardrobe; and just what really is in a hot dog. (Just kidding about the hot dog – nobody knows what they hell they put in those)
Spoilers: Thru season 6, though my selective memory allows me to edit out or rewrite certain unsavory aspects. Also, this may be a crossover at some point, though I make no guarantees.
Rating: R, for violence, strong language, sexual content, and the untimely demise of cute little puppies and bunny rabbits.
Dedication: To all B/Xers, who know that B/S is simply that - BS.
Note 1: This fic will be primarily action/drama oriented, with just a smidgeon of social introspection thrown in for flavor. Will also at least hint at being a B/X and/or X/W shipper. I don't write romance folks, so probably no smut (well, not much), unless the Gods intervene, at which point I'm powerless to resist. Also, I'm a fanfic virgin…so please be gentle!
Note 2: To any B/S fans who may endeavor to read this story: Fully expect Spike to die a painful death. Let's face it, he stopped being even mildly cool after season 4, and I fully intend to put him out of his misery and into the nearest ashtray.
Note 3: I apologize for any abuse of the Latin language. I haven't used it since high school, most of which I spent in a drunken stupor.
Note 4: All text appearing in italics reflects a character's thoughts.
Feedback: Thanks to those who have provided feedback. I'll remember you when I'm rich and famous – or blame you when I'm destitute and obscure, which is infinitely more likely. As always, constructive criticism and positive feedback are welcome. I also accept flames; I use them to light my cigarettes. Chapter 2 Early the next morning Somewhere along the African West CoastThe images flashed before his eyes, a thousand dead faces, each one of them wrought by his own hand. He didn't remember their names, had never known them in fact. They were unimportant in any case. Those people were merely food to him, just a few of the billions of "happy meals on legs" that inhabited this world. They were beneath him. They were cattle.
But that wasn't the truth, not all of it anyway. Feeding for him was more than just basic sustenance. The ecstasy of the kill was an aphrodisiac to his kind, a narcotic for the undead. Like any other junkie, Spike had been mortified at the thought of quitting cold turkey. Unfortunately for him, he hadn't had any say in the matter. Ever since those initiative bastards had chipped him, he had been unable to kill humans, let alone harm them. He didn't miss the kill per se; it was the orgasmic rush that came along with the killing. It was the God-like power of feeling the life drain from the body, savoring the bitter ambrosia as it streamed down his throat. And now it was all gone, and it wasn't right.
First Angelus; Now me. If there is a God, Spike reckoned, the git has a bloody sick sense of humor. It wasn't enough that he had the V-chip from hell jammed in his skull. No, Fate had to go and give him a goddamned two-for-one deal, and now he had a fucking soul to boot. Some vampire I am. I guess the saying was right after all, he mused, she really is a fickle bitch. S'all right though, Spike consoled himself, lighting up yet another cigarette, inhaling deeply of the harmless carcinogens. Looks like I got the last laugh for once.
To be honest, he had thought it would be worse. Though it had been a century, he still remembered with remarkable clarity how it had been for Angelus. The demon within him cowed, Angelus had lost all heart for the kill. He'd become a whipping boy for the other side. That won't happen to me, Spike reassured himself. Not to this demon. I'm not about to be anybody's bitch.
True, having his soul restored had come as bit of a shock. The initial pain had been intense, far worse than anything Spike had previously experienced. That was saying a lot. Angelus had been one sadistic son-of-a-bitch in his day, and was not remiss in meting out punishment when his childe stepped out of line. That kind of pain paled in comparison to having your soul involuntarily returned. Present pain aside, though, the rest wasn't so bad. Sure, he now had the stench of a soul about him, but he was already an outcast in the demon community, so his new social status was irrelevant. What had surprised him the most was the degree of guilt he felt in regard to his past activities: He felt none. Nothing. No guilt. No remorse. Nothing. Oh, the soul was there all right, packed away neatly somewhere inside his reanimated British corpse. But it didn't bother him. He wouldn't sulk and brood like that nancy-boy Angelus. And he sure as hell wouldn't take up the fight for the forces of good, at least not from here on out. He had his own agenda now, his own crusade, and saving the world wasn't in his mission statement
It's a funny thing, the vampire reflected, walking aimlessly down the darkened beach, fumbling in his pocket for yet another cigarette. Humans like to see things in black and white. Makes them feel better about the world, gives it some semblance of order. The philosophy was simple enough: if you had a soul, you were good. If you didn't, you were bad. That's just how it was.. But Spike new better. Having a soul doesn't preclude one from being evil. Hitler had a soul. Stalin had a soul. Hell, even Martha Stewart has a soul – well, the bint probably does. The point is, humans had the potential to be every bit as evil as the worst demon. They just had to find a way to circumvent the moral consciousness that comes part and parcel with the soul. And if a pathetic human wanker could do it, then surely so could he.
That's not to say that he was willing to let bygones be bygones. He had a score to settle with that traitorous demon for what he did. Giving me a soul. Who does that stupid bastard think he is? There was a price to be paid in blood for that particular transgression, and Spike intended to collect in full. But not before I settle a few other scores. Spike smiled at that thought. Plotting his revenge always made him feel better, especially when it involved death and suffering, which it always did. It had been a long time since his days in Rome, but the Latin came to him like it was only yesterday: Morituri non cognant, he thought to himself. Those about to die – just don't know it.
Sunnydale California
August 24, 2002Revenge was the furthest thing from her mind on this archetypal California morning. The sun was shining. The birds were chirping. And it was a whole new ballgame for one Elizabeth Anne Summers. Call it an epiphany, call it a moment of clarity: Call it what you will, she had come to a sudden realization during the events of the previous month. She no longer wanted to crawl into her grave and die. She had a purpose in this world; she had a mission, and she had a family who loved her.
It was like a huge weight had been lifted. All of the emotional baggage she had carried around since her resurrection was gone. She didn't harbor any resentment toward her friends for bringing her back. Perhaps their motives had been selfish, maybe they were shortsighted in their actions, but what they did, they did out of love. She wanted to be a part of their lives again, and god-willing, she would be.
Looking at the clock, Buffy realized she had only gotten four hours of sleep, yet she felt more refreshed than ever. As they had every night since the battle with Willow, she and Dawn had talked until the wee hours of the morning, discussing everything and nothing at the same time. They talked about their hopes, their dreams, which boy Dawn was currently obsessing over (his name was Ethan), and the best flavor of Haagen-Dazs ice cream to drown your sorrows with. They had even broached the painful issues; nothing was held back. They discussed Spike's attempted rape of Buffy, their current financial woes, Willow's state of mind, and, last-but-not-least, Buffy's relationship with Xander.
Xander. He was the big question mark. A big, bold-type question mark. They hadn't yet talked about her affair with Spike. The timing was never right, and so it remained the proverbial elephant in the room. They couldn't ignore it, yet nobody really wanted to talk about it, least of all Buffy. Sooner or later, though, they would have to address it. Buffy could understand Xander's anger. Previously, she had attributed Xander's hatred of Angel to jealousy. But now she realized that Xander's hatred of Angel, and now Spike, was more than just that green eyed monster rearing its ugly head. It was something more, something that went far deeper. Xander's introduction to her world had come at a high cost. He had to kill his best friend. He had to drive a stake through Jesse's heart. She knew he had blamed himself for Jesse's death. Maybe that's why he was always risking his life to protect his friends. He couldn't bear losing another friend, not if he could do something about it.
There was even more to it than that, though. Somewhere inside of her, Buffy knew that he still harbored feelings for her. She couldn't imagine how he must of felt. Seeing Anya with Spike watching as the woman he loved gave herself to a soulless creature, committing the most heinous act of bestiality he could imagine, right before his eyes. Buffy's betrayal of his trust was even worse. She had been there before, and hadn't learned her lesson the first time around. Xander's words had come back to haunt her: "I guess a guy's got to be dead to make time with you." Perhaps there was some truth to it. Buffy still hadn't come to terms with her tryst with Spike, and she didn't expect that Xander would either anytime soon. Spike was dead; he was a monster, she realized. She had almost allowed herself to forget it. After all, he had done some good. He protected Dawn with his life, and had accompanied Buffy on patrol numerous times, providing information and backup when it was desperately needed. But he wasn't a man. He wasn't one of them. Spike wouldn't hesitate to kill either Willow or Xander if given half the chance. It was his nature. She knew that. She also knew that he had tried to rape her in her own home. And that, more than anything else he had done, was unforgivable.
It had been difficult to make Dawn understand at first. She didn't want to believe Buffy, but deep down she knew Buffy would no longer lie to her, not after everything they had been through together. Dawn missed Spike, that much was obvious. She spent a great deal of time hanging around with Clem at Spike's crypt, waiting for the bleached-blonde vampire to return, to explain himself. Buffy didn't approve of this of course, but she knew that: 1) Neither hell nor high water would keep Dawn from going, and 2) Spike wouldn't hurt Dawn, even if he wanted to hurt Buffy. It hadn't helped matters that Xander wasn't around much either. He still couldn't stand to look at Buffy, and his absence was impacting Dawn as well. Buffy knew that Dawn needed a male presence in her life, and with Giles planning to leave once Willow was better, Buffy knew that things were only going to get more difficult.
Baby steps, Buffy thought to herself. Baby Steps. She knew that she had to take things one step at a time, lest she become overwhelmed. Right now, restoring her family had primacy of place in her life. Everything else would have to take a back seat.
She and Dawn were going over to Xander's this afternoon to visit Willow. Since Willow's return from the dark side, she had lived with Xander, rarely leaving his side. Buffy felt a little put-off at first, but soon realized that Willow needed to be with her oldest friend. She needed Xander to heal. For the past month, Buffy and Dawn had spent as much time with her as possible, visiting her daily, assuring her that all was forgiven, and trying to help the recovering Wicca get on with her life. Their extended family was still estranged, but Buffy fully intended to make things right again.
Pulling on a pair of khaki shorts and a tank top, Buffy proceeded to make her way into the hallway and down the stairs. She grimaced as her enhanced sense of smell detected what could only be the result of Dawn's feeble attempt at breakfast. Chocolate pancakes again? God, was I like that at 16? Was I ever like that? She loved Dawn, but she'd be damned if she ever understood all of her sister's little idiosyncrasies. Chuckling to herself, she walked into the kitchen to assess the damage. "Hey sis, taking it out on our breakfast again?"
Dawn turned away from the stove, an expression of mock guilt plastered across her face. "They were shifty-eyed pancakes. I swear, they were evil, shifty-eyed pancakes, intent on taking over the world, so I had to do it. Really, it was either them or me."
"As long as it was in the line of duty," Buffy replied, somehow keeping a straight face. "How did the eggs make out?" Perhaps there was still some hope for breakfast.
"I think they were in cahoots with the pancakes. I'm sorry, I know much you liked them." This time the guilty look on Dawn's face was at least partially sincere. "Maybe we should sound the retreat and regroup at Waffle House?"
Buffy considered their options….for all of two seconds. "Waffle House it is. Why don't you bury the remains of the evil breakfast foods while I find some shoes."
"Deal….. hey, wait a second," Dawn whined, "how come when you kill the evil things, everyone else has to bury them, but when I kill something, It's my problem?"
"Because," Buffy yelled back, already halfway up the stairs, "I am the chosen one, and you are a mystical ball of breakfast burning energy." She paused at the top of the steps. "Don't complain Dawn. At least your corpses fit nicely into the garbage disposal."
Dawn couldn't argue with Buffy logic. She dumped the remains of breakfast into the sink and switched on the disposal. Another enemy vanquished from the Hellmouth. She rinsed the skillet in the sink, placing it into the dishwasher just as Buffy came bounding down the stairs. "You wanna drive Dawn?"
"Of course I want to," Dawn said, snatching the keys from the hook beside the door, "I risk my life enough the way it is. Why tempt fate by letting you drive?" She ignored the face Buffy made at her, jogging out the front door, her sister right behind her. Dawn jumped into the driver's side of the Jeep Cherokee, pausing only to check her appearance in the vanity mirror. Buffy climbed into the passenger side and made a point of fastening her seatbelt. Dawn turned the key in the ignition, and the engine sputtered to life on the third try. "I think this is the Jeep's way of telling us it's time for a new car."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "I think our savings account would disagree with you. Which reminds me, swing by the ATM. I don't have enough cash for breakfast."
Dawn backed the SUV out of the driveway, put it in drive, and quickly took off down Revello Drive. She made a smooth turn onto Euclid, slowing only slightly as she pulled into the bank parking lot and into the ATM lane.
"You know Dawn, that little pedal next to the gas pedal? It's called a brake. You might try using it sometime." Buffy was having visions of otherworldly insurance premiums. Not a pleasant sight.
"Careful sis," Dawn remarked, "you're starting to show your age." The sixteen year-old NASCAR wannabe brought the jeep to an abrupt halt, and slid Buffy's ATM card into the slot. She punched in the PIN, and hit the fast cash button. After an interminable wait, she eagerly snatched the cash as the machine spit it out, and grabbed the receipt and ATM card. Dawn handed the cash and card to Buffy, glancing quickly at the receipt. Her draw dropped when she remaining balance. "Buffy, how much cash did you say we had in checking?"
"About fifteen hundred. Why, is the balance showing something else?"
"Yeah, unless they changed the whole numerical system and didn't tell us. I don't think fifteen-hundred is a seven digit number."
To be continued…..
Thus ends chapter 2. Again, thanks to the few who have read and reviewed my humble attempt at fanfiction. I appreciate the feedback. Please keep it coming, and let me know how I'm doing.
Also, I'm not sure where I'm going with this story, so please be patient with me. This will likely be a novel length story, and I'm working 10-12 hr days, so I have little time to write. The progress is agonizingly slow. It never ceases to amaze me how prolific some writers are. That's it for now. Chapter 3 should be out (hopefully) sometime this weekend.
'till next time,
Rabid Squirrel