Title: Always in My Blood (1/1)
Season: 5 – but it’s totally whacked out non-canon
Disclaimer: None of it belongs to me, sadly. I just dabble. And drabble – which is coming next.
Summary: Before Spike realises why he’s so interested in Buffy and her comings and goings, he’s spending the evening sharing chocolate with her sister and her mum. Buffy arrives and is none too pleased – here’s what happens next.
Author’s Note: Thanks ever so to seductivembrace for her kind services in making Spike Spike and Buffy the Slayer – which was needed!
Thanks to enigmatic_blue for hosting once again this valuable service to Spuffy lovers everywhere. Where she finds the time to organise these things, I’ve no idea, but I’m delighted that she does. Apologies also for the slightly late posting. I’d explain why, but you’d be bored… I know I was… I hoped to have another ficlet finished, but no. I do have a drabble though – so I’ll post that next.
I figure it’ll be safe to call in on Joyce and the Bit for a little comfort chocolate without the Slayer crashing the party, without having to worry about her showing up. I’d caught sight of the great gorilla on his way to her dorm– not that I was stalking her, you understand. Just happened to be passing through…in broad and deadly daylight…miles outside town. Oh hell. So yeah, you caught me – I was stalking her. But just as prey, nothing else. Silly bint is falling down on her patrolling, is all, and I figure she needs reminding just what her Chosen gig is all about. When I saw soldier boy dragging his knuckles over to her place it kinda put the kybosh on my plan and I was feeling all angsty and in need of a cup o’ cheer.
It’s good chocolate, too. Joyce’s sprinkled chocolate shavings on top and I can’t even be arsed to growl when she ruffles my hair as she goes past. The Niblet thinks it’s bloody hilarious so I flash her some fang, for all the good it does. That girl should come with a health warning. She’s rolling her eyes and starting in on play-acting like she’s scared of the Big Bad. Couple of decades ago I would have eaten her for that. Sad bastard that I am now, I pounce on her and tickle her lanky limbs until she’s laughing and shrieking, tears running down her face.
Course, it has to be just as I have Dawn bent over the island screaming for me to let her go that the Slayer walks in, foul mood like a sentient being entering the room in front of her. Guess she’s just looking for an excuse to get her dainty mitts on me, ‘cause quick as a flash I’m the one pinned down with a stake pressing into my chest. Joyce and Dawn are tugging on her shoulders and babbling at her to let me go, but the Slayer is all out for carnage, I can see it in her eyes.
Can’t really blame her though. Not really. If I’d come in to find some bloke with his hands all over the Bit he’d be in pieces right now, headache or no headache. Figure I’ll just let go and see what happens. I let my arms drop to my sides and let the resignation I feel show on my face. If she stakes me – well, not much I can do about it to be honest, and maybe it’s only what I deserve. I steel myself to meet my maker, or my maker’s maker at least – but wait…she’s letting me go?
As I sit up I can see Dawn and Joyce over by the stove, holding onto each other with wide eyes. The Slayer’s nowhere to be seen and I figure she’s disappeared off to do damage to some unsuspecting fledglings. I jump a mile when she touches me on the shoulder from behind, fall off the damn counter and land in a heap on the floor, cussing up a storm that I regret as Joyce covers Dawn’s ears, but not before the cocky minx has soaked up enough bad language to shock her classmates for a month judging by the grin on her face.
“Sorry,” I mumble, and despite the glare, I can see that Joyce is relieved I’m still in one piece and not dusting up her floor. My heart jumps in my chest. For somebody to care enough about me to be bothered that I…well, I’m not used to it. I swallow a sob, soft-arsed bastard that I am, and lumber to my feet, setting my duster to rights and smoothing back my hair. By the time I turn to face the Slayer, my face is set to a snarl.
Her hands are on her hips, stake still gripped in her right hand and twitching to be used. Her eyes are deadly pools that promise pain, her entire mien threatening a dusty outcome. And just like that, I know I’ll be hers forever.
Oh, I know. Vampire. Slayer. What would she say? Un-mixy or some such nonsense word, I’m sure. But really – she’s just the yin to my yang, the white to my black, the cream in my coffee… okay, I’m getting distracted. What I’m trying to say is that the things she does, the people she loves, the way she protects them – that’s all me.
I’ve always been a sucker for those that are mine. Take Dru. She was a crazy bint, no doubt about it, did some terrible things to me, and with me, treated me worse than a dog. But she was my crazy bint. Vamps as a rule don’t hold with weakness, and there were many who thought I was bonkers for not ripping off her head when she got nobbled in Prague. But I couldn’t leave her to the mob. I loved her. Thought she was my world, would protect her to the end. And even Angelus – he was mine, and Darla. Hell, I’d struggle to be on the same continent as the two of them given a choice, but if they were threatened…
Blood’s a funny thing.
And it turns out that all the Summers’ girls were in mine.
I gasp as the knowledge races through me, take an involuntary step back causing the Slayer to roll her eyes at me and tut.
“Please! I didn’t even hardly touch you, you big baby.”
I open my mouth to retort, but nothing comes out, leaving me chewing on air like a landed fish. I’ve been dreaming about the Slayer, true enough, but I’ve put it down to curiosity about my mortal enemy and the twisted imagination of a vampire hell-bent on finding a new distraction. I haven’t considered that the Slayer and her mum and little sis are anything more than that, but here they are, seemingly central to my sorry existence. I shake myself, try to focus, but the nagging voice in my head is calling me a prissy loser and I panic, mumble ‘night’ to Joyce and Dawn and hurtle out the door. Thankfully, the sun has gone down low enough that I don’t have to make an undignified scramble back in for the blanket I’ve left on the kitchen floor in my haste to escape.
I run, no real destination in mind, but it doesn’t really surprise me that I end up in Restfield. It’s home, after all, the best the likes of me will get anyhow. I’m shivering. I need a drink.
I shoulder open the door to the crypt, and change into vamp face so that I can see better. What the fuck is going on with me?
I stumble over the debris on the floor as I head for the stash of booze I’ve hidden away in the corner. I’m crouched down, scrabbling behind the sarcophagus when I hear the door creak. I go deathly still, not hard as you’d imagine, and wait for whatever nasty is making its way onto my property. Whatever it is, it won’t be leaving.
A heartbeat; so not a vamp then. Stealthy, I’ll give it that. Familiar, somehow.
With a sinking heart I realise it’s the Slayer. Hasn’t made her usual entrance as the door is still attached to its hinges, and she seems to be simply standing still just inside the crypt and making no snarky remarks about evil things lurking in the dirt and the dark. It’s disconcerting and I huff, giving away my position crouching like a soft-arsed choirboy in the corner.
“Spike,” she says in an even tone. “I know you’re here. I just want to talk to you.”
Rumbled, I stand and stretch out my neck, cracking my knuckles as I stride towards the girl who has royally buggered up my life. I figured I’d be imposing, predatory like, but judging by the Slayer’s eye roll I haven’t quite pulled it off so I rein it back in. I swallow to steady my voice and pray it won’t come out in a squeak, destroying my swagger.
“What do you want, Slayer? Get on with the lecture and be on your merry way. Got things to do. Evil things.”
The bloody bitch giggles! Actually giggles, and bites her lip, clamping her hand over her mouth.
“Slayer.” I hope my voice is full of menace.
Apparently not. “There you are! Creepy much, slinking about in the dark? Ever heard of candles, Spike? Or like, an apartment or something other than a grave?”
Crazy. She’s driving me crazy.
“Vampire, love,” I spit out. “Or did you forget?” I race to within an inch of her body, delighting in the way her heart pounds even as I wish it was for a reason other than the nearness of a demon to her precious self.
When she speaks, her voice is steel. “I never forget that, Spike. Thought I’d made that clear.”
I clench my jaw and my fists. I hate to admit how much her words hurt me, but it’s there nonetheless. I like to think that if she knew the effect her words had on me she’d apologise, but that’s just a dream. I’ll always be just the demon to her.
“Yeah. You have. In spades. And I’m done.” Her brow furrows and I bite my lip to stop from apologising to her, which would completely destroy the pall of evil I’m going for. I brush past her and out of the door, hating the way that I wait for her to follow me, slowing my steps until I sense her behind me, then falling into a slow stride with her, glancing at her puzzled face once or twice and hating the silence.
It’s a shock when I feel her hand on my arm, pulling me to a halt as she moves in front of me and dips her head to look up at me. She makes sure our eyes meet before removing her hand and I mourn the loss of her heat. That small touch…
“What?” I snarl, to cover my confusion.
The Slayer shuffles her feet, looking… is that guilty? My eyes must be wide as saucers and I certainly can’t manage anything coherent. Thankfully, Buffy chooses to fill the silence before I can babble on and make a fool of myself. More of a fool of myself.
Okay. My world just went into freefall. Sorry?
“Sorry?” I mutter, and she must think it’s a plea for more rather than a startled statement because on she goes.
“For before. With Dawn.”
Her eyes, bloody hell, those eyes…
“Look. I’m not saying I’m giving you a free pass to laze about in my house and hang out with my mom and my sister because – evil – but I know you’d never hurt them.”
Yeah. Mouth open, nothing coming out. I’m never going to be able to speak again, obviously.
Thankfully, she continues talking. “And I know I overreacted, but I’ve had a bad night and I was kinda wanting to pick a fight, you know?”
Oh bugger. That’s definitely a pause for a reply. I manage a nod.
“So… you wanna patrol?”
Right. The world’s ending, must be. Not only is the Slayer apologising to me like I’m a real person, but she wants me to hang around and keep her company?
Ah, yeah. A response is needed. I clear my throat and give it a try. “If you want, pet.” Not too bad, a little high-pitched maybe. She seems satisfied though, handing me a few stakes and a bottle of holy water that I stash inside my duster. I should feel ashamed, but I’ve hung my hat on the white peg, no point pretending otherwise. If I’m going to be offing my kind, better to be armed and do it properly.
It’s quiet, nothing but a few fledges breaking through the soil, unfortunate enough to have their first meeting with their new world be their last. The poor sods are dispatched between the two of us, toying with them a little as we shove them over to each other like a game of tag. The slaying makes it easier between us, more natural like. It’s not like we haven’t done this before.
Somehow, though, tonight feels different.
We’ve done the rounds of the cemeteries now and all too soon we’re back at the entrance to Restfield, home sweet bloody home to yours truly. I’m expecting her to skedaddle any second, but she seems reluctant. Something’s going round in that noggin of hers and I’ve no idea what it is. Hopefully, her inclination to do me some damage has dissipated because I’m that confused I wouldn’t know what to do if she came at me with a stake. She’s been chattering away at me like we’re best buddies, telling me about what happened in class, Willow’s latest debacle in the magic world. We’ve giggled together. Slayer even went so far as to nudge at my shoulder when she teased me about my bloody hair. Fixated on it, she is for some reason.
But now there’s just the silence stretching out between us. I’m toeing the ground like a nervous suitor and she’s twirling a stake and avoiding looking at me; but she’s not moving away.
Something in me snaps. I watch my hand reach out towards hers and grab it, fondling her fingers and linking them with my own. Time’s stopped, and my feet shuffle forwards until we’re toe to toe, forehead to forehead and I’m grabbing her other hand, awkward around the stake she’s still gripping. I’m bloody breathing in synch with her, savouring the warmth of her exhalation as it mists my skin.
Beat after beat of her racing heart marks out the moment, and still we don’t move, don’t speak, the world going on around us unheeded. Eventually, I feel her draw in a breath and I know it’s over, whatever this is, and close my eyes.
“Spike,” she whispers, her voice full of questions she doesn’t know how to phrase, and I’m glad because I’ve no sodding answers for her. It just feels right, and I desperately hope that she feels something of what I’m feeling; it can’t just be me who knows that against all nature, this is where we belong. Shaking, I move even closer and shift so that I can place a soft kiss on her forehead. Her skin is warm, fragrant, and I commit it to memory, grasping at the sensation like a drowning man surfacing for air. I’ve no idea what I’m doing. I just don’t want to let her go.
Hours or minutes or seconds pass, I’ve no way of knowing, before she tugs at my hands to get loose. I toy with the idea of hanging on so that she can’t escape, but it’s a fleeting yearning that has no hope of working, so I loosen my hold on her fingers, regretting already the loss of her warrior’s frame against mine.
She surprises me; I expect a sucker punch to the nose, a kick in the ribs, hell – maybe even a dusty death, but she just takes a step back and stands in front of me, head bowed, panting, clearly undecided about something. I figure she’s wondering about what would be the most painful way to see an end to me, so what happens next is a total shock.
Swift – blink and you’d miss it – but a kiss, nonetheless. Before I can even realise that her lips are on mine she’s raced off into the night and I’m left standing at the cemetery gates with a head like cotton wool and a heart heavy with longing.
And a long night ahead of me wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do now.
Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/406503.html