Fic: Persephone - Chapter 10
Feb. 27th, 2008 12:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
botiasRating: Vampire slayage, some language, explicit sex
Timeline: Season 2
A/N: Thanks to the incomparable![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
beanbeans for betaing. All remaining errors are mine.
As you all know, this is a very serious fic intended to explore a younggirl's woman's awakening sexuality.
Thanks SO MUCH for all your comments and encouragement. Without them, the fic would have ended many chapters ago.
Prev parts here
The stake wobbled to a stop. Buffy gave it hard poke starting it spinning again. “He calls the cashier at the mini-mart 'love,'” she muttered.
“What did you say, Buffy?”
Buffy looked up with a start. Giles was standing at the other end of the table, glasses in hand. A quick glance around revealed that Willow was looking at her, concerned, and that Xander was looking—Xander was throwing peanuts into the air and catching them in his mouth.
`“We should give that voodoo ninny a—a shove!” Buffy said. “Right—out of town.” She winced inwardly. “And I'd better act fast while we still have some cheerleaders left.”
“Hear. Hear.” Xander said, slapping the table. “Though I have to say, the crutches do make it harder for them to run away.” He wagged his eyebrows at Willow who smiled and flicked a stray peanut at him. Xander scooped it up and tossed it into his mouth.
Giles was still looking at her.
A peanut flew across the table between them, breaking the moment. Giles frowned at Xander and Willow. “If you two are quite finished?”
Willow sat up very straight.
Giles looked at Buffy again. “And how do you propose we locate this 'ninny'?”
Buffy flushed.
“Well, the cheerleaders without injuries are our best bet, right?” Willow said, looking around. “I used to tutor Brittany. I could ask her.”
“Great idea, Willow,” Buffy said. She stood up and slung her bag over her shoulder. “Let me know as soon as you find out anything. I'll cut class if I have to.”
“Not gonna wait until sunset so dead boy can go along?”
Buffy froze in the middle of gathering up her books. “D-dead boy?”
Xander raised his eyebrows. “Mr. Last Names Are So Last Century?”
Buffy stared at him. Had Xander seen something?
Xander started to look confused. “Should I try hand signals or just start searching for the real Buffy?”
“Angel! Oh, he…” Buffy’s gaze skittered to Giles, then to Willow. She looked at Xander again, and said, “Angel left town. A few weeks ago.” Buffy smiled a good-bye and made her escape.
“Buffy, wait up.”
Buffy sighed inwardly, and slowed her steps.
Xander caught up to her, but didn’t say anything right away.
“No more Angel, huh?” he said finally.
“No.”
“Well, I’d say I was sorry, but… ”
“Yeah, I know,” she said wryly.
“OK, maybe I wasn’t Angel’s biggest fan, but look, I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you.”
Buffy looked over at him. He seemed to mean it. He really was a good guy. “Thanks, Xander,” she said. “I’m fine. Really.”
Xander met her gaze for a moment, and then he smiled and seemed to take her at her word. “Well, Angel did have the super strength… and with those teeth you’d never be without a can-opener in a survival situation. But we mortal guys do have our up-sides.”
Buffy couldn’t help smiling, “And those would be?”
“We’re much better for applying sunscreen to those hard to reach places. And when we bite your head off? Always just metaphorically.”
Buffy laughed even as her suspicion grew that she might be about to let him down gently. He really was sweet, but…
Xander shrugged. “And the not being a blood-thirsty slaughterer of innocents—really kind of hard to downplay.”
Buffy’s smile faltered.
When she was sure she had herself under control she glanced over at him, and was surprised to find that he wasn’t even looking at her.
“Hey, I’ll see you later. Be careful tonight, OK?” he said. Buffy nodded. She clutched her books to her chest as she watched Xander jog away.
She stared in surprise when she saw where he was going. Cordelia was at her locker, trying to juggle her books and pair of crutches. Xander shoved his hands into his pockets and said something to her. For a moment, Buffy was sure that Cordelia was going to tell him off. But, just then another cheerleader flounced by with a triumphant little wave.
Cordelia looked down, biting her lip. When she looked at Xander again her expression was rueful. Buffy saw her say something, and then Xander gathered up her books and put them under his arm.
Realizing that she was staring like a big weirdo, Buffy turned and kept walking.
Buffy frowned at the loopy writing on the fragrant square of pink notepaper in her hand. Was that a three or an eight? Brittany's sparkly aqua ink was really hard to read by the orange light of the street lamp. Her first attempt to decipher the address had ended with her getting thrown out of a Burger King across town. Buffy winced; she really hoped that wouldn’t get back to her mom somehow. At least she’d figured out her mistake before the cops showed up. This deserted storefront seemed like a more likely location for a 'voo-doo ninny' than a busy fast food joint. She stuffed the paper into her back pocket.
She looked at the door and then at the sky; the clouds had still been streaked with color when she’d started out, but now it was fully night.
She found herself wondering how long it had taken Spike to realize that she wasn’t going to show. It wasn’t like he had a phone so she could call him even if she had ever said she would meet him every night—which she hadn’t.
The dusty windows of the storefront were covered with butcher paper that had faced down a lot of sunny afternoons. In some places the tape had come loose, allowing the paper to curl away. Buffy shaded her eyes against the street lamp with one hand and peered inside. When her eyes adjusted, she saw a faint line of light in the back. She stepped back to kick open the door and then hesitated.
The cold brass knob turned easily in her hand. She stepped inside and immediately had a sense that the place was occupied.
That, and the dark, rich voice saying, “Welcome, child,” was a big tip-off.
“Come on inside, don't be shy.”
Picking her way carefully through the dark room, Buffy walked to the back of the empty store.
She wrinkled her nose as she lifted the thick curtain. The smell in the candlelit room was strong and close: earthy, and just rancid enough to make her breath catch a little in her throat. Ghostly movement caught her eye—white chickens in wooden crates were cackling and muttering. Almost every surface was covered with gleaming bottles of liquor.
In the center of it all sat a woman sat in a rocking chair with her hair bound up in an elaborate turban. Her face was smooth, but it looked too hard to be young, as did the bulky rather muscular shape of her torso in her dark, old-fashioned blouse. Her wide mouth was set in a firm line.
“What do you here, Slayer?”
“What happened to 'welcome'?” Buffy said as she stepped into the room.
A bleat called her attention to a small pen. “Wow. One-stop shopping for booze and farm animals.” Buffy shook her head and smiled with feigned sympathy. “The frat houses are going to miss you when you're gone.”
The woman smiled back, wide and equally insincere. “Come now, I'm not causing any trouble for you. Just a passel of foolish children getting what they askin' for.” She set the chair to rocking. “How 'bout a charm? On the house.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
“You must want for something, child, or the door wouldn't have opened for you.”
Buffy's smile disappeared. “I want you out of my town. Now.”
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Pushing out of her rocking chair hard enough to send it skidding back, the witch stood, looking as though she were facing Buffy in front of the saloon at high noon. Buffy raised her fists before realizing it was a silly thing to do. She was right, the witch didn't rush her or draw a six gun; she began to chant in a strong, carrying voice. The whites of the woman's eyes gleamed as she chanted; she opened her arms wide and stepped backward among the dusty shelves and boxes with their shining rows of bottles. Her dark, swaying skirts merged with the gloom.
Buffy wished she could believe that it was just a ‘going out of business’ spell. She hurried forward, her fists clenched… and faltered as something warm spattered across her face.
She didn't have time to investigate; she lunged toward the retreating witch. A bottle shattered by her head, as if struck by a bullet. Then another. And another. Buffy threw her arms over her stinging face and fell back, buffeted by the cacophony of breaking glass and the cries of the animals. She lowered her arms just in time to see the last of them crumple, felled by some unseen hand, their throats dark with blood.
In the sudden stillness, her breath coming fast and her cheek on fire, Buffy faced the silent, preening witch across the carnage. The reek of alcohol and fresh blood was almost overpowering.
They began as green points of light that looked as if they were a long way off. They made the room seem like an illusion, like one-way glass when someone on the other side turns on the lights.
Buffy wasn't exactly relieved when the lights that were too far away became nasty ghouls that were too close. They circled above her, shrieking, trailing green light like bright banners against the dark ceiling.
Buffy spun on her heel, glass crunching under her feet, instinctively trying to keep them all in sight. It was impossible. They looked like those deep-sea fish that were all head—and whose heads were all eyes and needle teeth.
They attacked together, diving at her with a high whine. She cried out as they flowed right through her fists, sank their teeth into her shoulder, right above her knee, into her forearm, everywhere. She jerked away, and the pain faded as she moved out of their incorporeal jaws.
They attacked again, filling Buffy's senses with pain and emerald light, leaving no wounds, just a terrible agonizing cold. There were so many. This was not good. She retreated again, but this time she stumbled and they were on her again, more quickly than before.
Over their excited cries, Buffy heard Spike's harsh shout. “Tell them to stop. Tell them now.”
Just the sound of his voice drove out some of the cold, even if she wasn't impressed by his helpful suggestion, but Buffy didn't have any better ideas. One of her arms was almost completely numb.
“STOP!” Her voice was harsh with rage and fear.
They did.
Buffy lowered her aching arms, blinking at the motionless spirits. Hearing a scuffling sound behind her, she spun around. Spike tightened his arm around the struggling voodoo queen’s throat, a puzzled scowl on his demonic face.
“Well, that works too,” he said.
Buffy turned her attention back to the spirits hovering around her, gruesome and silent. One by one, their round, glowing eyes blinked out briefly. Ghostly, clawed hands moved in a gesture of obeisance.
Buffy's mouth turned down with disgust.
“Leave,” she said, still shivering from the chill of their attack.
The spirits devolved to tiny points of green light, and then nothing remained but rust-colored afterimages. The room felt real again, not just something pasted over another reality. The smell was especially convincing.
She turned back to deal with the voodoo queen—just in time to see Spike snap her neck.
Buffy felt as though he’d stopped her own heart.
She faltered and took a step backward on uncertain legs. The practiced flourish of his pale hands, the satisfied twist of his lips... She felt a sick mix of horror and deja vu as her gaze followed the woman's body to the floor. She was certain she’d seen him kill someone just that way—or seen it in a dream. Buffy shook her head. Had she been warned? Been warned and just not wanted to remember?
“Oh my God. Spike—what did you—what are you—”
“What?”
“Spike. That was a person. You killed her.”
Spike scowled at the motionless body at his feet and then at her. “She tried to off you,” he said, stepping over the body. "Did you want me to give her a posy?”
His boots crunched in the broken glass as he walked toward her. He seemed to like the sound. He didn't stop until their bodies were nearly brushing. She stared up into the face that was becoming so familiar. His pale skin and demon eyes gleamed gold against the velvet darkness.
He patted his coat. “Fresh out of flowers, love,” he said.
Teeth bared, Buffy grabbed him by the lapels, and shoved him up against the wall. “I should stake you right now.”
Spike regained his human face with a lazy shake of his head. “Oh, come off it, Buffy,” he said, smiling down at her. “That witch's soul was a Blue Light Special long before you were born.”
“You didn't have to kill her. I would never have done that, what you just did.”
“That right?” he said, his voice soft. Spike's gaze dropped to her mouth. Buffy was suddenly aware that she was pressed to him, hard. She let him go and stepped back, her breath coming fast.
“What if she'd done for your little pals then, or your precious Watcher?”
“No! They know the risks. A-and they're in this fight because it means something; it's not just—Hatfields and McCoys Hellmouth style—”
Spike tipped his head a little to one side, his blue eyes bright and sharp. “What if she did for your mum?”
For a moment Buffy could only stare at him. She pressed her lips together and turned her head away, but it was too late.
“'S what I thought,” he said. His satisfied tone stung deeply. “It's alright, love—”
Buffy whipped her head around. “Don't you call me that! Don't ever call me that. Love is about caring a-and selflessness. It’s everything that’s good! You don't know what love is.”
He stared at her for a moment, then he scoffed, incredulous. “Love’s not a merit badge, Buffy. It just is. It's all that matters really.”
She must not have looked convinced.
Spike’s expression darkened and he pushed off the wall.
“Well, let me tell you something,” he said, “about your fantasy lover, the one that helps little old ladies cross the street.” His hand flashed out. Buffy flinched, but that didn’t stop him from plucking a wicked-looking piece of glass from her hair. She looked at it, suddenly very aware that she was liberally spattered with gore and covered in broken glass.
Spike let the blood-flecked shard tumble from his fingers. “You’d send him running,” he said.
“Angel was good. Angel loved me.”
Spike made a show of looking around.
“Well, I haven’t seen Dru outside your crypt with a boom box lately!”
“Dru loved me,” he said, unruffled. “She loved me because I was hers… and then I wasn’t anymore.” The sullen look that clouded his face said he was pretty sure whose fault that was.
Like it was her fault that it was her fault! Buffy felt like she had been handed a very short leash attached to a very bad doggy. “Well, I don’t love you. I don’t even like you,” she hissed.
For a second Spike blinked at her as though she had slapped him, then his expression hardened. “And what makes you think I care?” His lip curled. “I can’t help what I feel, doesn’t mean I want to understudy for the Backstreet Boys. What would I want with your puny little teeny-bopper love? Maybe when—”
Buffy was incensed. “My love is not puny. My love is the opposite of puny!”
Spike looked at her and gave a snort of laughter, and then another. She saw the flash of his teeth, the curve of his lashes as he looked down, shaking his head and laughing openly.
Buffy’s hands curled into fists. Head high, she turned on her heel to leave—and stopped as dark holes began to open across her vision.
Her legs felt awkward and heavy. She’d long since gotten used to the let-down that came after a fight, but this was much worse than usual. Tears stung her eyes, but didn’t fall. She had to get home before her mom did and get cleaned up, but another step might land her flat on her face. Not yet able to walk and too proud to do anything else, she could only stand there while her enemy’s—her lover’s—laughter burned in her ears.
Buffy suddenly saw an advantage to slaying by herself; there were no nasty, smirking, murderous jackasses to laugh at her when she was down.
She heard Spike coming closer, still snickering. When he came to a stop in front of her she made herself raise her head and look him in the eye, her face carefully impassive.
Her ‘oh, are you still here’ expression failed to put him off; if anything it seemed to do the opposite. His eyes narrowed, and he looked her up and down.
Buffy was good at hiding things. Her double life—or was it triple now?—sometimes made her wonder if she ever did anything else, but she couldn’t conceal the fine trembling of her muscles. In spite of her exhaustion she felt a dull resurgence of anger.
“Let’s get you home,” he said. He put a hand on her shoulder, heedless of the tiny glittering shards.
Buffy jerked away from his touch.
Spike heaved a theatrical sigh. Then he put his hands on his hips and looked at the floor, scuffing at the glass with one booted foot. After a moment he lifted his head and said, “So. How do you deal with evil humans then?”
It was Buffy’s turn to look down. She sniffed.
“Actually, their own evil always consumes them and saves me the trouble,” she admitted.
“Think of me as her evil deeds come home to roost. Come on.” Buffy put up only a token protest when he half-bullied, half-carried her out of the room.
By the time they got to her back porch he was carrying her. When she’d told him to put her down he’d shrugged. “Make me,” he’d said, sounding disgustingly cheerful.
She’d pinched his neck hard, but he’d only laughed. He’d probably liked it, the big perv.
Now she sat on the edge of her bed in her night clothes, her shower-damp hair pulled back from her face in a pony tail. She was bundled in her thickest quilt, and if she didn’t quite feel warm, she at least felt not-cold. Spike’s fingertips traced over her closed eyelids and over her cheek, and then along her hairline in what felt suspiciously like a caress. She could have checked for glass herself, just like she could have stripped off her ruined clothes and gotten into the shower on her own; it was just easier for the moment to let Spike have his way.
“I think I got the last,” he said.
She opened her eyes, and looked into the blue ones so close to her own.
“You were damned lucky, you know,” Spike frowned. “Those spirits are bad news.” Buffy didn’t say anything. That her calling was dangerous wasn’t exactly a late-breaking story. He sat down next to her on the bed and let himself fall back against the pillows, pulling her over on top of him.
Buffy tensed, especially when his hands burrowed under the quilt. He began to rub along her back, her shoulders, her arms. It felt good; the firm, insistent touch seemed to drive life and warmth back into her flesh. The way he was touching her was familiar, even possessive, but he didn’t seem to be going anywhere with it.
She relaxed, resting her good cheek against his chest and let everything go but the current moment. To be touched, to be held, was really amazing. She’d had more of both in the last few days than at any time she could remember. She wished absently that he were warm.
“You’re right,” he said, after his hands had been still for a while.
Buffy blinked her eyes open.
“If you loved someone… it would be something to see.”
Timeline: Season 2
A/N: Thanks to the incomparable
beanbeans for betaing. All remaining errors are mine.As you all know, this is a very serious fic intended to explore a young
Thanks SO MUCH for all your comments and encouragement. Without them, the fic would have ended many chapters ago.
Prev parts here
Chapter 10
The stake wobbled to a stop. Buffy gave it hard poke starting it spinning again. “He calls the cashier at the mini-mart 'love,'” she muttered.
“What did you say, Buffy?”
Buffy looked up with a start. Giles was standing at the other end of the table, glasses in hand. A quick glance around revealed that Willow was looking at her, concerned, and that Xander was looking—Xander was throwing peanuts into the air and catching them in his mouth.
`“We should give that voodoo ninny a—a shove!” Buffy said. “Right—out of town.” She winced inwardly. “And I'd better act fast while we still have some cheerleaders left.”
“Hear. Hear.” Xander said, slapping the table. “Though I have to say, the crutches do make it harder for them to run away.” He wagged his eyebrows at Willow who smiled and flicked a stray peanut at him. Xander scooped it up and tossed it into his mouth.
Giles was still looking at her.
A peanut flew across the table between them, breaking the moment. Giles frowned at Xander and Willow. “If you two are quite finished?”
Willow sat up very straight.
Giles looked at Buffy again. “And how do you propose we locate this 'ninny'?”
Buffy flushed.
“Well, the cheerleaders without injuries are our best bet, right?” Willow said, looking around. “I used to tutor Brittany. I could ask her.”
“Great idea, Willow,” Buffy said. She stood up and slung her bag over her shoulder. “Let me know as soon as you find out anything. I'll cut class if I have to.”
“Not gonna wait until sunset so dead boy can go along?”
Buffy froze in the middle of gathering up her books. “D-dead boy?”
Xander raised his eyebrows. “Mr. Last Names Are So Last Century?”
Buffy stared at him. Had Xander seen something?
Xander started to look confused. “Should I try hand signals or just start searching for the real Buffy?”
“Angel! Oh, he…” Buffy’s gaze skittered to Giles, then to Willow. She looked at Xander again, and said, “Angel left town. A few weeks ago.” Buffy smiled a good-bye and made her escape.
***
“Buffy, wait up.”
Buffy sighed inwardly, and slowed her steps.
Xander caught up to her, but didn’t say anything right away.
“No more Angel, huh?” he said finally.
“No.”
“Well, I’d say I was sorry, but… ”
“Yeah, I know,” she said wryly.
“OK, maybe I wasn’t Angel’s biggest fan, but look, I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you.”
Buffy looked over at him. He seemed to mean it. He really was a good guy. “Thanks, Xander,” she said. “I’m fine. Really.”
Xander met her gaze for a moment, and then he smiled and seemed to take her at her word. “Well, Angel did have the super strength… and with those teeth you’d never be without a can-opener in a survival situation. But we mortal guys do have our up-sides.”
Buffy couldn’t help smiling, “And those would be?”
“We’re much better for applying sunscreen to those hard to reach places. And when we bite your head off? Always just metaphorically.”
Buffy laughed even as her suspicion grew that she might be about to let him down gently. He really was sweet, but…
Xander shrugged. “And the not being a blood-thirsty slaughterer of innocents—really kind of hard to downplay.”
Buffy’s smile faltered.
When she was sure she had herself under control she glanced over at him, and was surprised to find that he wasn’t even looking at her.
“Hey, I’ll see you later. Be careful tonight, OK?” he said. Buffy nodded. She clutched her books to her chest as she watched Xander jog away.
She stared in surprise when she saw where he was going. Cordelia was at her locker, trying to juggle her books and pair of crutches. Xander shoved his hands into his pockets and said something to her. For a moment, Buffy was sure that Cordelia was going to tell him off. But, just then another cheerleader flounced by with a triumphant little wave.
Cordelia looked down, biting her lip. When she looked at Xander again her expression was rueful. Buffy saw her say something, and then Xander gathered up her books and put them under his arm.
Realizing that she was staring like a big weirdo, Buffy turned and kept walking.
***
Buffy frowned at the loopy writing on the fragrant square of pink notepaper in her hand. Was that a three or an eight? Brittany's sparkly aqua ink was really hard to read by the orange light of the street lamp. Her first attempt to decipher the address had ended with her getting thrown out of a Burger King across town. Buffy winced; she really hoped that wouldn’t get back to her mom somehow. At least she’d figured out her mistake before the cops showed up. This deserted storefront seemed like a more likely location for a 'voo-doo ninny' than a busy fast food joint. She stuffed the paper into her back pocket.
She looked at the door and then at the sky; the clouds had still been streaked with color when she’d started out, but now it was fully night.
She found herself wondering how long it had taken Spike to realize that she wasn’t going to show. It wasn’t like he had a phone so she could call him even if she had ever said she would meet him every night—which she hadn’t.
The dusty windows of the storefront were covered with butcher paper that had faced down a lot of sunny afternoons. In some places the tape had come loose, allowing the paper to curl away. Buffy shaded her eyes against the street lamp with one hand and peered inside. When her eyes adjusted, she saw a faint line of light in the back. She stepped back to kick open the door and then hesitated.
The cold brass knob turned easily in her hand. She stepped inside and immediately had a sense that the place was occupied.
That, and the dark, rich voice saying, “Welcome, child,” was a big tip-off.
“Come on inside, don't be shy.”
Picking her way carefully through the dark room, Buffy walked to the back of the empty store.
She wrinkled her nose as she lifted the thick curtain. The smell in the candlelit room was strong and close: earthy, and just rancid enough to make her breath catch a little in her throat. Ghostly movement caught her eye—white chickens in wooden crates were cackling and muttering. Almost every surface was covered with gleaming bottles of liquor.
In the center of it all sat a woman sat in a rocking chair with her hair bound up in an elaborate turban. Her face was smooth, but it looked too hard to be young, as did the bulky rather muscular shape of her torso in her dark, old-fashioned blouse. Her wide mouth was set in a firm line.
“What do you here, Slayer?”
“What happened to 'welcome'?” Buffy said as she stepped into the room.
A bleat called her attention to a small pen. “Wow. One-stop shopping for booze and farm animals.” Buffy shook her head and smiled with feigned sympathy. “The frat houses are going to miss you when you're gone.”
The woman smiled back, wide and equally insincere. “Come now, I'm not causing any trouble for you. Just a passel of foolish children getting what they askin' for.” She set the chair to rocking. “How 'bout a charm? On the house.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
“You must want for something, child, or the door wouldn't have opened for you.”
Buffy's smile disappeared. “I want you out of my town. Now.”
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Pushing out of her rocking chair hard enough to send it skidding back, the witch stood, looking as though she were facing Buffy in front of the saloon at high noon. Buffy raised her fists before realizing it was a silly thing to do. She was right, the witch didn't rush her or draw a six gun; she began to chant in a strong, carrying voice. The whites of the woman's eyes gleamed as she chanted; she opened her arms wide and stepped backward among the dusty shelves and boxes with their shining rows of bottles. Her dark, swaying skirts merged with the gloom.
Buffy wished she could believe that it was just a ‘going out of business’ spell. She hurried forward, her fists clenched… and faltered as something warm spattered across her face.
She didn't have time to investigate; she lunged toward the retreating witch. A bottle shattered by her head, as if struck by a bullet. Then another. And another. Buffy threw her arms over her stinging face and fell back, buffeted by the cacophony of breaking glass and the cries of the animals. She lowered her arms just in time to see the last of them crumple, felled by some unseen hand, their throats dark with blood.
In the sudden stillness, her breath coming fast and her cheek on fire, Buffy faced the silent, preening witch across the carnage. The reek of alcohol and fresh blood was almost overpowering.
They began as green points of light that looked as if they were a long way off. They made the room seem like an illusion, like one-way glass when someone on the other side turns on the lights.
Buffy wasn't exactly relieved when the lights that were too far away became nasty ghouls that were too close. They circled above her, shrieking, trailing green light like bright banners against the dark ceiling.
Buffy spun on her heel, glass crunching under her feet, instinctively trying to keep them all in sight. It was impossible. They looked like those deep-sea fish that were all head—and whose heads were all eyes and needle teeth.
They attacked together, diving at her with a high whine. She cried out as they flowed right through her fists, sank their teeth into her shoulder, right above her knee, into her forearm, everywhere. She jerked away, and the pain faded as she moved out of their incorporeal jaws.
They attacked again, filling Buffy's senses with pain and emerald light, leaving no wounds, just a terrible agonizing cold. There were so many. This was not good. She retreated again, but this time she stumbled and they were on her again, more quickly than before.
Over their excited cries, Buffy heard Spike's harsh shout. “Tell them to stop. Tell them now.”
Just the sound of his voice drove out some of the cold, even if she wasn't impressed by his helpful suggestion, but Buffy didn't have any better ideas. One of her arms was almost completely numb.
“STOP!” Her voice was harsh with rage and fear.
They did.
Buffy lowered her aching arms, blinking at the motionless spirits. Hearing a scuffling sound behind her, she spun around. Spike tightened his arm around the struggling voodoo queen’s throat, a puzzled scowl on his demonic face.
“Well, that works too,” he said.
Buffy turned her attention back to the spirits hovering around her, gruesome and silent. One by one, their round, glowing eyes blinked out briefly. Ghostly, clawed hands moved in a gesture of obeisance.
Buffy's mouth turned down with disgust.
“Leave,” she said, still shivering from the chill of their attack.
The spirits devolved to tiny points of green light, and then nothing remained but rust-colored afterimages. The room felt real again, not just something pasted over another reality. The smell was especially convincing.
She turned back to deal with the voodoo queen—just in time to see Spike snap her neck.
Buffy felt as though he’d stopped her own heart.
She faltered and took a step backward on uncertain legs. The practiced flourish of his pale hands, the satisfied twist of his lips... She felt a sick mix of horror and deja vu as her gaze followed the woman's body to the floor. She was certain she’d seen him kill someone just that way—or seen it in a dream. Buffy shook her head. Had she been warned? Been warned and just not wanted to remember?
“Oh my God. Spike—what did you—what are you—”
“What?”
“Spike. That was a person. You killed her.”
Spike scowled at the motionless body at his feet and then at her. “She tried to off you,” he said, stepping over the body. "Did you want me to give her a posy?”
His boots crunched in the broken glass as he walked toward her. He seemed to like the sound. He didn't stop until their bodies were nearly brushing. She stared up into the face that was becoming so familiar. His pale skin and demon eyes gleamed gold against the velvet darkness.
He patted his coat. “Fresh out of flowers, love,” he said.
Teeth bared, Buffy grabbed him by the lapels, and shoved him up against the wall. “I should stake you right now.”
Spike regained his human face with a lazy shake of his head. “Oh, come off it, Buffy,” he said, smiling down at her. “That witch's soul was a Blue Light Special long before you were born.”
“You didn't have to kill her. I would never have done that, what you just did.”
“That right?” he said, his voice soft. Spike's gaze dropped to her mouth. Buffy was suddenly aware that she was pressed to him, hard. She let him go and stepped back, her breath coming fast.
“What if she'd done for your little pals then, or your precious Watcher?”
“No! They know the risks. A-and they're in this fight because it means something; it's not just—Hatfields and McCoys Hellmouth style—”
Spike tipped his head a little to one side, his blue eyes bright and sharp. “What if she did for your mum?”
For a moment Buffy could only stare at him. She pressed her lips together and turned her head away, but it was too late.
“'S what I thought,” he said. His satisfied tone stung deeply. “It's alright, love—”
Buffy whipped her head around. “Don't you call me that! Don't ever call me that. Love is about caring a-and selflessness. It’s everything that’s good! You don't know what love is.”
He stared at her for a moment, then he scoffed, incredulous. “Love’s not a merit badge, Buffy. It just is. It's all that matters really.”
She must not have looked convinced.
Spike’s expression darkened and he pushed off the wall.
“Well, let me tell you something,” he said, “about your fantasy lover, the one that helps little old ladies cross the street.” His hand flashed out. Buffy flinched, but that didn’t stop him from plucking a wicked-looking piece of glass from her hair. She looked at it, suddenly very aware that she was liberally spattered with gore and covered in broken glass.
Spike let the blood-flecked shard tumble from his fingers. “You’d send him running,” he said.
“Angel was good. Angel loved me.”
Spike made a show of looking around.
“Well, I haven’t seen Dru outside your crypt with a boom box lately!”
“Dru loved me,” he said, unruffled. “She loved me because I was hers… and then I wasn’t anymore.” The sullen look that clouded his face said he was pretty sure whose fault that was.
Like it was her fault that it was her fault! Buffy felt like she had been handed a very short leash attached to a very bad doggy. “Well, I don’t love you. I don’t even like you,” she hissed.
For a second Spike blinked at her as though she had slapped him, then his expression hardened. “And what makes you think I care?” His lip curled. “I can’t help what I feel, doesn’t mean I want to understudy for the Backstreet Boys. What would I want with your puny little teeny-bopper love? Maybe when—”
Buffy was incensed. “My love is not puny. My love is the opposite of puny!”
Spike looked at her and gave a snort of laughter, and then another. She saw the flash of his teeth, the curve of his lashes as he looked down, shaking his head and laughing openly.
Buffy’s hands curled into fists. Head high, she turned on her heel to leave—and stopped as dark holes began to open across her vision.
Her legs felt awkward and heavy. She’d long since gotten used to the let-down that came after a fight, but this was much worse than usual. Tears stung her eyes, but didn’t fall. She had to get home before her mom did and get cleaned up, but another step might land her flat on her face. Not yet able to walk and too proud to do anything else, she could only stand there while her enemy’s—her lover’s—laughter burned in her ears.
Buffy suddenly saw an advantage to slaying by herself; there were no nasty, smirking, murderous jackasses to laugh at her when she was down.
She heard Spike coming closer, still snickering. When he came to a stop in front of her she made herself raise her head and look him in the eye, her face carefully impassive.
Her ‘oh, are you still here’ expression failed to put him off; if anything it seemed to do the opposite. His eyes narrowed, and he looked her up and down.
Buffy was good at hiding things. Her double life—or was it triple now?—sometimes made her wonder if she ever did anything else, but she couldn’t conceal the fine trembling of her muscles. In spite of her exhaustion she felt a dull resurgence of anger.
“Let’s get you home,” he said. He put a hand on her shoulder, heedless of the tiny glittering shards.
Buffy jerked away from his touch.
Spike heaved a theatrical sigh. Then he put his hands on his hips and looked at the floor, scuffing at the glass with one booted foot. After a moment he lifted his head and said, “So. How do you deal with evil humans then?”
It was Buffy’s turn to look down. She sniffed.
“Actually, their own evil always consumes them and saves me the trouble,” she admitted.
“Think of me as her evil deeds come home to roost. Come on.” Buffy put up only a token protest when he half-bullied, half-carried her out of the room.
***
By the time they got to her back porch he was carrying her. When she’d told him to put her down he’d shrugged. “Make me,” he’d said, sounding disgustingly cheerful.
She’d pinched his neck hard, but he’d only laughed. He’d probably liked it, the big perv.
Now she sat on the edge of her bed in her night clothes, her shower-damp hair pulled back from her face in a pony tail. She was bundled in her thickest quilt, and if she didn’t quite feel warm, she at least felt not-cold. Spike’s fingertips traced over her closed eyelids and over her cheek, and then along her hairline in what felt suspiciously like a caress. She could have checked for glass herself, just like she could have stripped off her ruined clothes and gotten into the shower on her own; it was just easier for the moment to let Spike have his way.
“I think I got the last,” he said.
She opened her eyes, and looked into the blue ones so close to her own.
“You were damned lucky, you know,” Spike frowned. “Those spirits are bad news.” Buffy didn’t say anything. That her calling was dangerous wasn’t exactly a late-breaking story. He sat down next to her on the bed and let himself fall back against the pillows, pulling her over on top of him.
Buffy tensed, especially when his hands burrowed under the quilt. He began to rub along her back, her shoulders, her arms. It felt good; the firm, insistent touch seemed to drive life and warmth back into her flesh. The way he was touching her was familiar, even possessive, but he didn’t seem to be going anywhere with it.
She relaxed, resting her good cheek against his chest and let everything go but the current moment. To be touched, to be held, was really amazing. She’d had more of both in the last few days than at any time she could remember. She wished absently that he were warm.
“You’re right,” he said, after his hands had been still for a while.
Buffy blinked her eyes open.
“If you loved someone… it would be something to see.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-02-27 09:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-27 10:00 pm (UTC)Kathleen
Brilliant!
Date: 2008-02-27 10:42 pm (UTC)But me no understand - "Buffy frowned at the loopy writing [I guess this is Willow or the other cheerleader?]. The sparkly aqua ink was really hard to read by orange light of the street lamp. Her first attempt to decipher it had gotten her thrown out of a Burger King across town. Buffy winced; she really hoped that wouldn’t get back to her mom somehow. At least she’d figured out her mistake (?)before the cops showed up. She stuffed the fragrant square of pink notepaper into her back pocket. " The whathow?
Re: Brilliant!
Date: 2008-02-27 10:51 pm (UTC)She misread the address the first time around and ended up at a Burger King. Her snooping got her thrown out. I could crispy up the language a bit. :)
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Date: 2008-02-27 10:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-27 10:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-27 11:01 pm (UTC)great 'thought' on spike's part!
no subject
Date: 2008-02-27 11:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-27 11:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-27 11:29 pm (UTC)He stared at her for a moment, then he scoffed, incredulous. “Love’s not some sort of merit badge, Buffy. It just is. It's all that matters really.”
“My love is not puny. My love is the opposite of puny!”
Interesting look at how different they view love. “If you loved someone… it would be something to see.” And yes, he's right about that one.
And hee! for the Say Anything reference.
no subject
Date: 2008-02-27 11:47 pm (UTC)i'm going to have to debate you on that point!
I think, while he would love manchester, etc... :D, he would, in many ways consider Buffy his sport. She's as impt to him as Manchester, or football in general...
He, our spikey, was KNOWN for loving deep... loving completely. So for him I think he might very well use that line... and be in awe of Buffy's hidden capacity to love.
Spike was a unique man... and an even more unique vampire.... brutal, intense, deep, passionate.... A knife lined in silver... mean and lethal, but oooohhhh so beautiful and sweet.
no subject
Date: 2008-02-28 12:04 am (UTC)I'll concede the point about whether it is OOC for Spike. I must of thought it was likely enough, if I had him do it. :) And yes, it was her passion and intensity that hooked him.
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Date: 2008-02-28 12:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-28 12:49 am (UTC)Oh yeah, Buffy and Spike are coming to each other from vastly different places. Though perhaps not as different as Buffy would like. If they weren't fighting, they'd probably just have sex all the time, and how boring is that?
no subject
Date: 2008-02-28 01:00 am (UTC)They do view love very differently I think. To Buffy love is the best part of human nature, to Spike it's more like a force of nature.
*happy sigh* at the Spuffy. I love it when Spike just thinks Buffy's the bomb. That's part of why I'm liking writing this with S2 Spike. He's so self-confident that pretty much nothing she says or does puts his nose out of joint for long. Important feature, as Buffy's not easy to love.
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Date: 2008-02-28 01:00 am (UTC)“I can’t help what I feel, doesn’t mean I want to understudy for the Backstreet Boys. What would I want with your puny little teeny-bopper love? Maybe when—”
Buffy was absolutely incensed. “My love is not puny. My love is the opposite of puny!”
This is just spot-on characterization. Hee!
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Date: 2008-02-28 01:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-28 01:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-28 01:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-28 01:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-28 01:52 am (UTC)Bwahaa! Somehow I don't think Dru's boombox would be blaring Peter Gabriel. Rasputina, maybe?
Good stuff here! (I too was a little confused about the note at the beginning, but no big.) Liked the Scooby action in the beginning, especially suspicious Giles. And I really enjoy the snappy banter between Spike and Buffy and what's beneath it.
Thanks for the updatey goodness.
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Date: 2008-02-28 02:15 am (UTC)Spike's experienced Dru. He has his own viewpoint.
Clever way they talk to each other.
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Date: 2008-02-28 02:56 am (UTC)Re: Brilliant!
Date: 2008-02-28 03:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-28 04:37 am (UTC)Mmm, Buffy and Spike are hashing things out in their own special way. Thanks and you're welcome. :) Have you had a chance to get any plants yet?