Finding Spike, Part 2

Title: Finding Spike
Author: Sandy S.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I own nothing. All belongs to Joss.
Summary: Set in season five of AtS. What if Buffy met up with Spike after “The Girl in Question”?
Dedication: For dear –tiana–! Happy birthday, sweetie!
Thanks to the wonderful sharelle and myfeetshowit for reading over part 2 and making suggestions! :o)

Finding Spike, Part 2

This part’s a little clearer because I was actually physically there for most of it. That always helps.

Seeing Spike was like… not like seeing Angel. Like I told Willow once, when I’m around Angel… Let’s just say I hitch a ride on the pain train, and I can’t seem to get off. Everyone and everything else in the room just seems to be sucked away into some gravity-filled black hole, and it’s just Angel and me. It’s not very good for looking ahead to the future or for being aware of what’s going on around me.

With Spike, it’s always been different. He’s always brought me out of the pain, so I can be fully me… so I can be aware of the world and what I need to do.

You don’t know how much I missed that in the year we were apart.

So, anyway. . .

* * *

The hallway to the apartment door was riddled with blocks of late evening sunlight, yet another obstacle in his day of obstacles. Spike grumbled to himself as he slid along the wall around each ray. Guess Buffy’s father didn’t care to invest in vampire-safe-sun-proof glass.

Spike’s stomach churned a bit, and he instinctively brought his hand to his abdomen. He wasn’t sure if he was feeling this way because he’d never met Buffy’s father or because he would shortly be seeing Buffy.

After much maneuvering, he made it the mostly shady door and raised a hand to knock. The apartment door swung open, and a man with a weary expression and tousled hair shoved past Spike, dragging a suitcase behind him. Forehead creasing in confusion, Spike stared after the man, catching a whiff of his scent. Obviously. . .

“You’re Buffy’s father. . .”

“Yeah, I am,” the man said without bothering to stop.

“I’m looking for Buffy,” Spike raised his voice after him. “Hank,” he tacked onto the end for good measure.

Hank did a partial pivot and regarded him almost indifferently. “You’re Spike.”

Spike maintained an open expression. “Right. Did Buffy. . . ?”

“She mentioned you were coming over.”

“She did?” This bit of information rattled Spike.

“Yeah. I’m going to take care of a few things at the office. You can stay.” He gestured toward the door. “There’s blood in the fridge.”

“Blood?”

Hank was nonplussed. “Vampire, right? Buffy picked you some up last night when she arrived.”

Spike watched Hank disappear around the corner. Since when did Buffy’s father know she was a Vampire Slayer? Glancing back at the cracked door, Spike wondered if Hank’s words were enough of an invitation for him to enter the apartment or if he’d have to wait in the increasingly sun-filled foyer.

Before he could decide, Hank poked his head back around the corner. “Almost forgot. You’re invited into my home. Just don’t go poking through my daughter’s things. I expect you to behave like a gentleman in my house. Got it?”

Spike almost snorted at Hank’s attempt at being the protective father, but he decided he’d rather have Hank leave than stay and play watchdog. “Got it.”

“Oh,” Hank waved a finger at Spike’s Doc Martens, “and wipe that stuff off your shoes before you track it all over my carpets.”

Spike glanced down at his goo-coated feet and gave Buffy’s father an honest nod. “Right.”

Once Buffy’s father was gone, Spike took a deep breath of unnecessary air and held it. Fingers tingling, he held up his hand and pushed against the field he could almost sense hovering over the threshold.

Arms suddenly surrounded his waist from behind and a powerful force sent him plummeting forward, the little remaining air rushing out of his useless lungs as the apartment floor rushed up at him.

“Presto! No barrier,” came a familiar voice. “Guess Dad’s invite worked.”

Spike gathered his wits enough to turn over, keeping the body at his back atop him. There she settled, slender legs splayed about his hips and tiny hands perched on his abdomen. Her hair was still golden and long; stray bits of sunlight glowed from between the curls that tumbled over her shoulders. Her green eyes were dark in the shadows of the apartment entryway.

“Buffy,” he whispered. As a man dying of thirst who came across an oasis, he reached up and caressed her soft cheek.

She leaned into his cool touch and then turned back to touch him in the same way, whispering back, “Hey. You’re still you. I was worried.”

He laughed, and she drank in the sight of him. . . platinum curls partially freed of the gel he used and cheekbones still defined and proud. His body was solid beneath her. No trace of ash or burns or scars marred him just as Andrew had told her.

Spike knew that he had questions but at the moment, he couldn’t remember one of them. . . except, “So. . . you tell Angel ‘hello’ with a kiss and tell me by knocking me over?”

She smiled but ducked her head a little. “It’s been awhile. I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about. . .”

Something in Spike came back down to reality. “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. You’re dating the Immortal.”

“*Was* dating. As in formerly. And it really wasn’t. . . well.” Buffy socked him in the arm.

“Ow!” Spike rubbed his stinging muscle. “What was that for?”

Her eyes flashed. “For coming to Rome and not telling me you were there. For not telling me you were alive in the first place.”

“We were there on a mission.” A mission he’d rather forget. It consisted of too much running around and not accomplishing anything except almost getting blown to bits in an effort to do things the bloody “Italian way.”

The corner of Buffy’s mouth lifted. She was enjoying this entirely too much. She’d missed the easy banter between them. “And yet you came by my apartment how many times?”

Spike stared at the sofa in the living room. It was a nice sofa. . . black leather. “A. . . few times.”

An eyebrow lifted. “Andrew lost count.”

“Andrew isn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed.”

“Exactly.”

Spike squirmed a bit under her. “Still, you were dating the Immortal, pet. As he may have told you, Angel and I, we aren’t exactly on his favorites list. And well, we thought you were in trouble and just didn’t realize what you’d gotten yourself into.”

“You mean, you were jealous.”

“No, I. . .”

“You were. And so was Angel. I don’t know what it is about vampires. Maybe it’s ‘cause of the whole immortality thing. Makes you have this warped sense of time and loyalty complete with a heavy side of jealousy. It’s something that most humans don’t seem to get. . . given that we live such short lives. Things are more transitory.”

“The Immortal is older than me and Angel.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “And believe me, he was the jealous type. It wasn’t the healthy kind of jealousy either.”

“Then, why’d you keep dating him?”

Buffy leaned forward then, pinning Spike’s arms to the ground and holding his gaze. “Have you ever thought that I knew what the Immortal was all about? That I was trying to infiltrate his operation? What better way to do that than pretend to be attracted to him.”

Spike was doubtful. He knew how handsome the Immortal was. “You weren’t attracted to him? And the snuggling on the sofa and the nights out dancing. . .”

Donning a dreamy expression, Buffy looked off to one side. “He did have a pretty perfect body.” She fixed her eyes back on his. “It’s just when he opened his mouth. . .” She shook her head.

Spike grinned. “He’s bloody annoying when he talks.”

“Got that right. You don’t know how many conversations I tried to have with him. He always seemed to direct it back around to himself, which was all fine for Slayer sleuthing but not so fun for building a faux relationship.”

Spike was thoughtful. “And Andrew’s part in all of this?”

“After the Immortal burned down the place where Andrew was living, he bought him off with beautiful girls. Andrew actually thought the Immortal was an okay guy.”

“I knew there was something a bit off about those pretty birds hanging all over him.” Spike paused. “So, what are you doing here. . . with me. . . now?”

Buffy sat back and swung her leg over Spike’s abdomen. She hopped up and offered Spike a hand up. “Better come in and shut the door. Neighbors might see and that might get a little awkward if they told my dad when he came back from his business trip.”

Spike was caught off guard by the sudden shift and watched Buffy close and lock her father’s front door. Spike had forgotten how small she was. She’d seemed larger than life in his memories. She probably always would.

He followed her into the kitchen and leaned against the kitchen island. Buffy took some pig’s blood out of the refrigerator and poured it into a mug. She filled another cup with water and shoved them both into the microwave, pushing a few buttons and starting the machine. Then, she headed for the cabinet.

Spike made a decision. Something was weighing heavily on Buffy’s mind. . . something that had made her fly halfway around the world to talk with him. Spike had discovered that with Buffy, sometimes he had to let her come out with it in her own time. So, he interrupted her long silence with a less direct question, “How long has your dad known about the slaying?”

Taking a package of cookies from the shelf, Buffy brought them over to the island and began wrestling with the unopened bag. “He’s known for about a year. Dawn and I decided after Sunnydale cratered in on itself that it was a waste of time for us to keep him in the dark any longer. Life’s too short, and she and I needed to be able to travel and not be tied down in L.A., which he would have wanted us to do.”

Spike took her offered cookie and pulled out a stool to sit upon. “So, you filled him in?”

She nodded, swallowing a bite. “On everything.” She retrieved the mugs from the microwave and passed him his, taking a seat across from him.

“I take it he took it pretty well.”

Buffy shrugged and slipped a tea bag into the hot water. “As well as could be expected. He already had a bit of a clue from Mom. She left him a letter as part of a will she drew up when she got sick. He just didn’t receive it until I gave it to him. It took a while, but now he’s mostly okay with it, and he’s been trying to be more understanding of the situation with Dawn and me.”

Spike took a sip of the blood; it was the perfect temperature. “Does he know that Dawn is. . .”

Buffy almost choked on her tea. “No! He doesn’t. I don’t want him to freak out anymore than he has to.”

“But he knew I was a vampire, and he was expecting me. . . today,” Spike nudged.

“Uh huh.” Buffy knew what he was doing, and she marveled at his sensitivity with her. He always knew exactly how to get her to talk.

So, the topic was coming back around to the same question more quickly than Spike thought it would. “How did you know I would come?”

“I sent the message to you and Angel. . . told Wesley to talk with you both. I knew you’d come find me, or at least, I hoped you would.” Spike didn’t respond, so she continued, “And I knew Angel wouldn’t.”

Spike frowned. She was right. “What do you mean Angel wouldn’t?”

“Angel needs help, and I need your help to help him.”

“Well, I always knew there was something off in that noggin of his, but that’s no reason to. . .”

“Willow sensed something. She said that Angel was being tempted by the forces of evil more strongly than when he first made the deal with Wolfram and Hart and that he was on the brink of destroying everything and everyone he cares about here in L.A.. . . if not in the world.” Buffy leaned forward, cupping her mug in both hands. “She even had some kind of vision that he’s even having nightmares about signing away some sort of contract or prophecy or something and jumping through fire.”

“Red’s a powerful one all right.” Spike frowned. “Her premonitions, or whatever you call them, are *that* specific? That’s better than Dru.”

“Have you noticed anything different about him?” Buffy studied him intently.

Spike blinked. Whenever they focused on each other’s exes, he always sensed an underlying tension between them as if they had inner two-year-olds that wanted to fight as they had under Willow’s “I will it so” spell so many years ago. He took a deep breath and stifled his urge to stomp out of the room. “Well, Angel’s been very focused on his work, wanting to ‘change evil from within’ or some such crap. And he’s been very cranky since Fred’s essence was shredded by some ancient god.”

“That’s what has me worried.”

Spike cocked his head to one side. “That Fred passed? The ancient god?”

“No, the thing about work.”

“It’s complete malarkey.”

Buffy nodded, eyes sparkling. She loved when they hit a rhythm like this. “The thing about working from within to change evil. Complete malarkey.”

Spike felt himself soften to her. “What do you want me to do about it, pet?”

His eyes were so clear and earnest when he looked at her. Her heart stirred with a feeling that was old but not forgotten. “Watch him for me. And,” she pulled a cell phone out of her pocket, “call me when anything out of the ordinary happens.”

Buffy slid the phone across the countertop, her fingertips grazing Spike’s as he accepted the means of communication. . . communication that had been disrupted for far too long.

“Don’t you have your own stuff to worry about over in Rome? I can handle things over here.”

Buffy ignored Spike’s dismissal, “Phone’s pre-programmed with my number and an international calling plan. Andrew made sure of it. It was the least he could do after he royally screwed up. And yes, I know you can handle things here. I just wanted you to know that I knew what was up and that I had your back. . . the way you’ve always had mine.”

“Thanks, love.”

She grinned. “You’re welcome.”

Bouncing off the stool, Buffy grabbed the mostly untouched drinks and put them in the sink. Spike followed her into the living room. She grabbed a black bag from behind the sofa. Tugging the bag open, she brandished a stake.

“Care to go for a patrol for old times sake?” She inclined her head toward the window. “’Cause it’s dark out, and I heard that you’ve been out running your own Slayer gig in this deadbeat town.”

Spike handily caught the bit of wood. “I got a reputation among the Slayer crowd here in L.A. then? The little girls been talking about me?”

Buffy rolled her eyes at him as she stocked her pockets with a vial of holy water and an extra stake. “Hardly. Andrew told me that you turned all Platinum Avenger. Made the news and everything.”

“Someone’s gotta save the locals from the nasties. Angel and his crew are obviously not doing it and won’t be doing it anytime soon.”

She pointed the tip of the stake at his nose. “Exactly why we need to keep an eye on them.” She stowed the bag. “The Slayers here are good, but I need the inside scoop.”

“You’re just using me as usual, then, eh, pet?” Spike teased, only half in jest. “You know I can’t resist you, so you tricked me into coming here to tempt me into helping you spy on your ex. Then, when you’re done with me, I suppose you’ll be headed back to Rome, and I’ll be left high and dry.”

Buffy crossed her arms. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged and was honest, “Just means I know where I rate in Buffy’s little black book. I’m filed under ‘D’ for doormat. You can sugarcoat your ‘need’ for my help all you like, but when it all boils down, it’s all about Angel. Just as for me, it’s always about y. . .”

Spike didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence because Buffy blazed the five feet up to him, grabbed him by the shirt, twisted her fist, and dragged him down to her level. Green crashed into blue, and before he realized what was happening, she was kissing him, hard and long and full of a passion he’d thought long lost as a consequence of his own actions and the passing of time. Her grip relaxed when he responded in kind, allowing him to pull her close and deepen the kiss, slipping cool lips over her warm ones. Arms sliding around his shoulders, she felt him run his fingers up the curve of her spine, forcing the air in her lungs to rise up out of her in a gasp of pleasure.

Spike drew back and smiled at her. “What was that for?”

Buffy bit her lip and regarded him shyly. “More than ‘hello.’ You think that after all we’ve been through, I moved on in a year?”

He smirked. “Maybe?”

“In Buffy’s little black book, you’re not filed under ‘D.’ Maybe ‘P’ for pigheaded or ‘I’ for idiotic or ‘A’ for annoying but definitely not ‘D’ for doormat.”

“As long as we’re playing librarian. . .”

Buffy wrinkled her nose in disgust. Library was forever associated with Giles and non-sexy things like tweed. “Ewww. Why?”

He knew exactly what she was talking about. Taking a risk, he kissed the tip of her nose. “Because you do that. ‘P’ for. . .”

“Patrol,” she interrupted. “Patrol with me. And then. . .” She untangled herself from his arms, scooped up the stake she’d dropped, and backed toward the front door, fingertips lingering against his palm, energy still crackling in her muscles from their kiss.

Before he could follow, he had to ask, “And then?”

“And then, stay the night. Dad’s gone, and I want to hear about you. What you’ve been through in the last. . .” she tapped at her watch, “year.”

“Stay the night?” Spike was dumbfounded. “And after that?”

Buffy gave him a coy smile. “You’ll see. C’mon! Show me around your stomping ground. I could use a good slay before bedtime.”

With that, she disappeared down the hallway. Smiling, he cocked his head to one side, hesitating only a moment before hurrying after her. He never thought this moment would come. . . slaying with Buffy again. He’d burned to a crisp in the Hellmouth and never expected to be corporeal again after coming back all ghostly, but he’d discovered that no one was really dead in this world and that unexpected things often happened.

“Spike? You coming?” Buffy called from down the hall.

Picking up his own stake and hurrying after her, he remembered a tidbit that she’d thrown out offhand. “Hey! I made the news?”

TBC…

 

Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/59572.html