FIC: I, robot. Part 3 – Visual Recognition

Onwards…

The next few days passed much as they all had recently, the new routine of juggling school with looking after Dawn and trying to keep her home, and herself, together. She missed her mom so much that sometimes the feeling was overwhelming and she would simply sit, rocking herself gently, staring into space, struggling to fight off a growing feeling of panic. But never in front of Dawn. In front of Dawn she was big-sister-in-charge, competent Buffy coping with it all, holding her little sister when she cried, keeping the familiar routines, keeping it together. But in truth, nothing seemed familiar anymore, and holding together a pretence of normality was desperately hard work. Everything was different, except for one thing. Amongst all the change, slaying was her one unchanging certainty. So, despite everything, she clung to patrolling alone, to the quiet of the night that gave her a chance to think, the all-encompassing adrenalin rush of the fight that released the buried tensions of the day.

There looked to be plenty of opportunities for tension releasing that night. She’d barely been in the cemetery for more than a few minutes when she came across a raucous band of vampires, clearly setting out for a night on the prowl. She counted eight – none of them familiar, either as vampires or former townsfolk. Out-of-towners then. There were times when she had to wonder where they all came from and why…

“Hey, guys! Were y’all going? Is there a party somewhere?” Buffy stepped out in front of the gang, smiling brightly.

“Yeah, that’s right.” the biggest and ugliest of them snarled. “An’ you’re the party snacks, darlin’.”

“You think?” Buffy shook her head. “Nah. I’m more in the way of a party games organiser.” The vampire moved closer, slipped into game face and bared his fangs. She slid the stake from her pocket. “And I think first off, we’ll go for a little game of… pin the stake on the vampire.” One slick move and the stunned-looking vampire crumbled to dust. Buffy smiled apologetically at the others. “Oops.”

The remaining group took a step backwards and watched her warily. “Ah, c’mon! No-one else wanna play? What kind of a party is this?”

“Gonna be your wake, slayer.” A tall, well-muscled vamp stepped forward. He gestured towards her, and spoke to the others. “What you waiting for? There’s eight of us…”

“Seven,” a slightly nervous voice piped up behind him.

“Seven.” The new ringleader growled. “Whatever. I think we’re still more than a match for a little bitty bottle blonde bimbo.”

“Bottle blonde?” Buffy frowned at him. “Oh, I’m so not gonna give you any party favours.”

The vampires seemed to have decided the odds might just be on their side, and gathered around her threateningly, watching their – now she looked closer – very well muscled and fit- (for a dead guy) looking spokesman. “Teach me to moan about the lack of a challenge…” Buffy muttered to herself as they launched their attack.

It was all going well until the heel broke off her boot. She’d already dusted three of them, and was just about to pull off a really neat high kick and double stake when the traitorous heel dumped her ungraciously at the big guy’s feet. He was on her before she had the chance to recover, and although that wasn’t necessarily a problem, the other three vampires, emboldened by her predicament, were closing in. Resolutely ignoring the encroaching vampires, Buffy concentrated on freeing herself from the embrace of their ringleader. Big he may have been, but bright… not so much. A moments feigned surrender and he slackened his grip, bending his face toward her neck. She took an immense amount of pleasure in jabbing her elbow into that face, knocking his head backwards. A right hook to the jaw knocked him off her and into a crumpled heap and she was on her feet ready to face the other three vampires, who were… gone.

She blinked. Nothing but silence and the familiar smell of vampire dust drifting in the cool night air. Rather a lot of vampire dust. She looked around cautiously. She was still getting the vampire tingle, and she was darn sure knew the cause. “Spike?” she called softly. “Spike? You there?”

The silence stretched on uninterrupted. The big vampire began to moan and stir, and Buffy staked him absentmindedly, frowning into the darkness. This was getting weird. It was seriously unlike Spike not to put in an appearance and crow over helping her out, not to try and turn some advantage from the deed. Come to think about it, this wasn’t the first time opponents had just disappeared silently into the night when her back had been turned. But if it was Spike, then why so secretive? She hadn’t seen him since… since… she bit her lip at the memory… since the night she’d told him she never wanted to see him again. Oh. He’d helped her out of a sticky situation – literally – with a Khaval demon and she’d told him… She groaned. Well, it had been a bad time! The Khaval demon had slimed her and it was in her hair and all over her face and he laughed and she’d got angry and said that she could do without having him around on top of everything else she had to deal with and it would be a whole lot easier for her if he just left her alone and then he’d gone all quiet and then… and then he went… And since when did Spike ever do what she asked?

“Spike?” she called into the night. “Spike… look… I’m sorry? OK? You wanna come out now? Spike?” Still nothing. Buffy felt like stamping her foot in frustration. “Stubborn vampire,” she muttered under her breath. For a moment she considered going in search of her secret side-kick, but she had Spike matched in the stubborn department. Resolutely turning her back on the cemetery, she headed back into town.

The streets were midweek quiet, even at this relatively early hour. She considered going home, but Willow and Tara would just feel they had to stay and keep her company, and Buffy decided on balance that an evening watching them swapping lovey-dovey glances was kind of more than she could stomach right now. No, she’d give them a couple of hours, then head on back. Meantime… She looked around for inspiration, and sighed. There was always the Magic Box and a head start on tomorrow’s research. And she had a sneaking suspicion she’d guessed where Giles had hidden the chocolate cookies.

******

The Spikebot stood quietly in the corner of the training room, a cable linking him to Willow’s laptop sitting on the table at his side. Buffy peered myopically at the screen and decided she hadn’t the first idea what the stream of numbers and commands meant. She pressed the ‘on’ button on her remote control hopefully, but the red light told her Spikebot wasn’t ready to play.

She wandered back into the shop, searched half-heartedly and unsuccessfully for Giles’ new secret chocolate stash, then gave up and sat down at the table, resolved to do the research thing. The pile of books looked even larger and dustier than it had earlier in the day. Buffy pouted and opened the first one resignedly. She was faced with a densely worded page, liberally sprinkled with incomprehensible Latin, and not one single illustration to relieve the monotony. She suddenly remembered just how much she hated researching.

She closed the book, folded her arms over it and rested her chin on her hands. The Magic Box was silent, save for the odd shufflings and chinkings that seemed to come from some of the displays. The few lights she’d turned on casting mysterious and atmospheric shadows over the shelves and displays. The contents of a few of the jars glowed softly in delicate shades of putrid green and slime brown. One large jar of something violently orange seethed gently as if alive, which for all she knew it may have been; another of shiny grey fluid put up small, rainbow-hued bubbles that sparkled prettily and burst with a gentle ‘pop’ as they reached the surface. Next to it, the newt’s eyes glared balefully at her from inside their glass prison. Someone had carefully arranged the mummy’s hand so that it was currently giving the patent Spike two-finger salute to anyone who cared to look, Buffy noticed. Despite herself she smiled. She really needed to have a word with Dawn. She yawned. It was warm and comfortingly familiar here. Weird, yes, but warm all the same. Buffy felt strangely and contentedly alone. Her friends were trying so hard to help – Giles, ever watchful, ever attentive; Willow and Tara sweet and caring, following her every move with worried, anxious eyes; Xander keen to help even if he wasn’t sure how; all of them so desperate to be there for her that sometimes… sometimes… it was all too much. She had no space anymore – no chance to step back from the responsibility thrust upon her and just be alone with herself. She loved her friends – really she did – but the constant watching was cloying, suffocating. She felt herself thinking of a night on the back porch, and a quieter companionship from the most unexpected of quarters. She felt her eyes getting heavy. Having the Spikebot around made her realise something – in a strange sort of way, and probably a way she’d rather not analyse, she missed Spike. The ‘bot looked like Spike, and superficially at least acted like Spike. But superficial it was. The others seemed to think it was a perfect copy – a major improvement in Xander’s eyes – but it wasn’t Spike. She missed the snark and the battle of wills, and the annoying way he was so often right, and the sudden flashes of compassion and vulnerability in those impossibly blue eyes that were so at odds with the front he presented to the world, and the way he understood her and the way he sometimes missed by a mile, and… well, he had that sort of sexiness that went beyond just being easy on the eye… She yawned and shook her head. How weird was her life? As her eyes closed and she slipped towards sleep, her last conscious thought was “Wait. Did I just think ‘sexy’…?”

******

A hand on her shoulder woke her from a dream of fire and loss, a confused sense of lurking evil and an encroaching horde. Startled from sleep and momentarily confused by the afterimages of her dream, she was on her feet in an instant, instinct taking over, flooring her would-be assailant in a single, fluid move, pinning him to the floor. As her brain cleared she found herself glaring down at the back of a familiar head. Damn! She’d forgotten she’d turned him on. Flat on his face on the floor, the Spikebot struggled to free himself from her armlock. “Hey!” He twisted onto his back, pulling his arm away from her, and tried to push her away, fighting against her grip. “Get off!”

“Stop! Will you…ouch! Stop!” She pushed him hard back against the floor, and sat on him to hold him down. “What are you doing? You’re not supposed to attack me unless I tell you to!”

“I’m not what? Since when? Where the bloody hell did that one come from?”

“You do not initiate attacks unless I give the command, remember?” Buffy sat up straddling the bot’s hips and fumbled in her pocket for her control pad. “And now the command word isn’t working. I so gotta get Will to check your programming,” she muttered under her breath.

“Pro… What…? Are you drunk?”

“Am I…? Oh, shut up!” She gave a small grunt of triumph and pulled out the cellphone controller. “Honestly, fuzzy logic or not, Will has to put a stop to this.” She aimed the phone and pressed shut down. Nothing. He was still glowering up at her. She pressed the button again.

“Are you completely out of your tree? Who the fuck are you trying to call?” The angry blue eyes continued to glare up at her; the angry blue eyes that now she came to look properly… Oh, no. She winced. Please, no. Actually, now she thought about it – she wriggled her hips experimentally – there was definitely a bulge where no bulge should be…

“What are you doing here?” She leapt to her feet. “I thought you’d left town! Where have you been? And why was your door…?” Buffy paused. The anger in the blue eyes had been replaced by something that was beginning to look suspiciously like smugness. “Not that I care,” she added quickly.

“Missed me, slayer?” Spike picked himself up, shrugged his duster straight and gave her the tongue-against-teeth leer that the ‘bot had never quite perfected. “Not been around much. Been busy, is all. Doin’…” he gestured vaguely “…stuff.”

“What, like breaking and entering?” Attack, she decided, was probably the best form of embarrassment-hiding defence. “You broke in!”

“Didn’t break anythin’. You leave to door open, pet, you gotta expect customers. S’a shop after all.” He slid something into the pocket of his duster surreptitiously.

“What have you got there?”

“Nothin’.”

“Give!”

“Make me.” Again the leer.

“Spike.” Buffy was in no mood for another scuffle.

He sighed, rummaged in his pocket and held out his hand. Resting on his palm was a delicate necklace, a perfect moonstone framed in silver.

“Oh, pretty!” Despite herself Buffy smiled.

“Thought you’d like it. You’ve been lookin’ a bit down lately, an’… Well, I thought I might just, you know…” He shrugged and held it out to her, smiling shyly. “Peace offerin’. Here. S’yours.”

“It’s… Thank you… I…” She reached out to touch the gleaming stone. “No! Wait!” She shook her head and snatched back her hand. “You stole that!”

“Stole…? Oh, and what? You’re shocked and disappointed?” He snorted. “It’s what we evil sorts do, yeah? Look you don’t want it, know a bird who will.” He turned and strode off across the Magic Box, muttering to himself.

“Spike!” Buffy called after him, resisting the urge to add What bird? You have a bird?

Spike raised an arm in mock salute. “See you around, slayer.” He reached out to open the shop door only to have his exit blocked by the entrance of a surprised-looking Xander.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going, mechanoid man?” Xander folded his arms and frowned at Spike. “Since when did you get to wander the streets?”

“Xander, it’s not…” Buffy paused. How to explain without giving the game away to an increasingly angry Spike.

“You just get your robotic ass back in there.” Xander pointed towards the back of the shop.

“Get my…?” Spike stared at him in disbelief and shook his head. “Is everyone here completely mad?” He made to pass by Xander. “Outta my way, monkey boy, or I’ll just have to thump you.”

“Oh, yeah? Oh, I’m sooo scared.” Xander smiled mockingly

“Xander…” Buffy began again. “Spike…”

“It’s alright, Buffy, leave it to me. Must be a little blip in the program…” Xander moved closer to Spike and glared into his eyes.

“Program? What’s with the all the program bollocks? Whatever the pair of you are on, you’ve clearly not got a head for it.” Spike and Xander were now virtually eyeball to eyeball and engaged in an intensive glare-match.

“Xander…” Buffy made one last attempt to distract them from what seemed to be shaping up to be inevitable pain for both antagonists.

“I’m dealing.” Xander didn’t remove his glare from Spike’s.

Buffy sighed. Macho posturing, much? She leaned back against the counter, folded her arms and waited. “OK. Don’t say I didn’t try and warn you…”

“Now.” Spike’s voice was low and dangerous enough to make Buffy wince, despite the fact it left Xander apparently unmoved. “Move.”

“Make me.” Xander grinned savagely. “Oh, sorry, you can’t.”

Fist met nose with a soggy crunch that left both men reeling – Xander sprawled on the floor, hand pressed to his bleeding face, and gazed up in shock at Spike, who had his hands pressed to his temples as the chip wrecked its vengeance.

“He hit me!” Xander looked over at Buffy in bewilderment.

“Well, yes.” Buffy raised an eyebrow. “Spike would, wouldn’t he?”

“But… he…can’t…” The penny finally dropped and Xander looked back up at Spike. “Oh.”

Spike shrugged away the last remnants of chip-induced pain and glared down at Xander. “Oh, but I can. Hurts like hell, of course, but times like this it’s bloody worth it.” He took one last angry look at Buffy. “You are both completely barking,” he growled as he turned and disappeared into the night.

“You could have warned me it wasn’t the ‘bot!” Xander dabbed ineffectively at his nose with his sleeve.

“You can’t tell?” Buffy shook her head and walked around the counter, searching for tissues to stem the bleeding. “Well, I kinda tried, but short of letting the cat outta the bag about our mechanical friend next door, which somehow I think …” She paused. Sitting next to the till was a small pile of worn ten dollar bills. No way would Anya have left money lying around… She reached out and touched them gently.

“What was he doing here, anyway?” Xander picked himself carefully, wincing as he touched his bruised and bleeding nose.

Buffy picked up the notes and looked at the open doorway thoughtfully. “Shopping,” she said softly.

Part 4

 

Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/38524.html