Cheetahs and Panthers Aren’t Meant To Be Friends
Spike threw the stake to the ground beside him and slowly turned around towards Buffy’s shadowed figure. ‘She’s shocked,’ he thought, sympathetically. It was clear she had never seen a vampire before and she must have been paralyzed with fear.
“What did you say?” she repeated, his words still ringing in her ears.
He wiped the dirt from his jeans. “I said I’m what they call the Slayer. Look, Summers, I know you ‘ave a lot of questions, an’ I want to explain, but Lord only knows how many other monsters are out here this late at—” Spike was cut off by a firm stake positioned to his chest.
‘Fuck,’ he thought. He hadn’t even seen her reach for the weapon she was so bloody quick!
“Tell me the truth,” she demanded, a dangerous edge to her voice. “Who the hell are you, and how do you know about me?”
He pushed her away from him, suddenly losing his temper. He was learning that he hated being on the other end of that stake—and she’d put him there quite enough times tonight. “I don’ know shit about you, Summers. An’ I don’ care to. If you didn’t notice, I was too busy saving your life.”
She pushed him back hard with a grunt. “I don’t have time for your games, Spike. How do you know about me? How do you know about the Slayer?” Her eyes were angry, yet uncertain, fearing the next words poised to escape his mouth.
His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. How the hell did she know about the Slayer? Did she know about him? The earnest tilt to her voice suddenly scared the hell out of him.
‘How do you know about me? How do you know about the Slayer?’ Her words reverberated back through his ears and an explosion of images and conversations throughout the past few days sped through his mind.
“I’m not scared. I see enough blood and death on a daily basis as it is.”
“They can’t be that evil. It’s not like they bite.”
"Just keep in mind that she's not your average girl."
“Looks like I have to kill you after all."
His head spun as he remembered Buffy’s late night outings, her uncanny speed and impossible strength, her telling him she’s not normal. All of those small details and slip-ups rapidly came together. And something in his bones, something in his gut—something he couldn’t quite explain—suggested the impossible, knocking him back.
‘Care to share why you were roaming the unsafe streets of Sunnydale?’ he’d asked her only the night before. ‘I’m beginning to think you’re either a superhero or a hooker.’ He’d only been joking then. But he was beginning to feel he’d been half right.
He didn’t answer her, just watched the fear in her eyes. He allowed her to grab his collar and pin him up against the brick wall. “Who are you?” she demanded, once more.
He waited a beat, before answering the only way he knew how: “In every generation, there is a Chosen One. He alone will stand against the vampires, the demons, an’ the forces of darkness,” he recited, although he had a feeling she knew the rest.
Her grip on his shirt faltered considerably. “She is the Slayer,” Buffy finished quietly. She looked into his eyes, finding only sincere confusion, disbelief, and truth. Finding only those same blue eyes she discovered to be so striking when he was being genuine. Buffy’s heart beat faster and she lost her breath as her world shook around her.
Could it be? Was Spike the Slayer? Then what was she? Who was she? No. It couldn’t be. He was lying, and she would find out why. And then she’d kill him.
She let go of his shirt, pushing him further into the wall. “Don’t you dare come after me.” With that firm warning, she left Spike in the alleyway, just the sound of his ragged breath and his heart thumping.
--
Giles could only count on one hand the number of times he’d been totally and utterly clueless on a matter. When faced with a cunning and mysterious demon, he could always consult his books. When dealing with Sunnydale High’s students, there was always faculty protocol. And when courting a woman…well, he’d been around long enough to know the ins and outs of that arena. But this…this he had no answers for.
He watched the two teenagers from the other side of the library as they eyed each other suspiciously from across the table. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say the two disliked each other more than they did the day they met. When Buffy told him last night that Spike had claimed to be the Slayer, he’d been rendered speechless. So he’d called a meeting today after classes. Needless to say, he was still speechless.
Wesley nudged him and whispered, “The Watcher’s handbook holds no mention of two Slayers. I must say, I’ve read the thing front to back multiple times. If I remember correctly, ‘In every generation there is a Chosen One.’ ‘One’ implies that there is only, well, ‘one.’ In addition, it affirms that the Chosen One must be of the female orientation. With the risk of sounding facetious, Spike is most definitely what one would call a male. The Watcher’s handbook is quite accurate in the laws of…” But Giles tuned out the Watcher-in-Training, pondering again, how to deal with the situation.
“Look at them doing the whole stare-down thing,” Xander pointed out, as they all watched them from across the room. “I’d bet that’s what it would look like if a panther and a cheetah met in the jungle.”
“That would never happen,” Oz said. “Panthers live in the forests. Cheetahs live in the grasslands.”
Willow nodded in confirmation.
Xander shook his head in defeat. He was sandwiched between a master of trivia and an all-out genius. And anyway, a panther-cheetah brawl sounded awesome.
“So what’s going to happen now, Giles?” Willow asked, not knowing if he could answer that. “Is Spike lying?” Giles sighed, and made his way over to the two scowling teens. They looked up at him hopefully, expecting answers.
“I’ve called the Watcher’s Council. There’s been no response.”
“Figures,” Spike muttered. The buggers still hadn’t returned his phone calls. “They’re bloody useless.”
“He’s right, they are useless,” Buffy agreed. Spike’s scarred eyebrow rose high on his forehead in surprise. Buffy never agreed with him. “If they were half as competent as they should be, they would have known that Spike is an imposter.”
Spike almost laughed. It was vintage Buffy Summers to throw him under the bus. “Imposter? You’re the imposter. You’re prob’ly not even a real blonde.”
She glared daggers at him. She was so too a real blonde! As far as he was concerned anyway. “Is your name really even William Calendar?” she retorted. “Giles, can’t we lock him up while we investigate?”
Giles put a thumb to his temple as the two began to bicker again. His head was beginning to throb in confusion and irritation.
“Spike, I’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.”
The cocky teen threw his combat-booted feet onto the table and crossed his arms. “Ask away.”
Before Giles could interrogate, the library doors burst open, revealing an out-of-breath Angel. “Did I miss anything?” he asked the group anxiously as he took a seat next to Buffy.
Spike sighed theatrically and turned to Giles. “Can you tell him to piss off?”
Giles put a hand on Spike’s shoulder. “He’s a friend.”
Angel smirked at the blonde teen. “I don’t know if he can call me a friend just yet, Giles.”
“Trust me, I most likely won’t ever.” Spike let out another exaggerated sigh. To tell the truth, he didn’t like the position he was in. It was difficult enough for him to have to prove himself to these wankers, but adding another wanker to the bunch (one he didn’t particularly care for) just made things worse.
Giles sighed, his headache threatening to get worse. “Spike, tell me about your Watcher. Did you have one?”
“Don’t all Slayers?” was his brisk reply. He sighed again. “His name was Sheldon Warrick. An’ he was a pain in the arse, Warrick was. I was his first Slayer, but he made it seem like he’d been training them for ages.”
Buffy rolled her eyes and crossed her arms dramatically. She really hoped Giles wouldn’t fall for Spike’s lame story. The idea of a second Slayer—a male Slayer at that!—was absolutely ridiculous!
“What happened to him?” Giles asked, racking his brain for a Sheldon Warrick but coming up with nothing.
Spike hesitated before answering, “He’s dead.”
“Sorry to hear that. As a Watcher, there’s always that risk of death.”
Spike smiled to himself nostalgically. “That’s something the ol’ bastard would’ve said.”
Buffy watched Spike as he remembered his old Watcher. She could almost believe him when his eyes softened like that. But quickly, his look of reminiscence disappeared, replaced by his persistent nonchalant expression.
“So what is the name of your new Watcher?” Giles continued.
Spike looked confused. “New Watcher?”
“Yes. The Watcher’s Council must have issued you a new guardian.”
Spike fidgeted uncomfortably. He hated when others knew things he didn’t. And right now, there was a lot he didn’t know. “Right. A new Watcher. Well it’s only been a month. The pillocks at the Council must’ve forgotten. You know how they can be. Forgetful an’ all that,” he finished lamely.
Angel and Buffy shared an amused look that said they didn’t believe him.
“A Slayer without a Watcher?” Angel inquired. “Doesn’t seem like much of a Slayer to me.”
Spike swung his feet off of the table and leaned forward. “If I ever lower my pride enough to ‘ave to prove anything to you, I’ll slit my wrists first.” He leaned back in his chair once again and trained his eyes on Buffy. “If anything, I should be asking you the questions Summers. For someone who claims to be the Chosen One, you sure as hell have a load of people in on your secret. A true Slayer keeps his secrets under wraps.”
Buffy, along with the rest of the occupants of the room, fidgeted guiltily. Spike was right. He smirked, relieved to know he’d finally gained the upper hand, even if only temporarily.
“How did your old Watcher die?” Wesley asked. “Perhaps we can understand the situation a bit more if we gain more information on his death.”
Spike hesitated again, still disoriented from learning that his English teacher was in on this. He didn’t know for sure if he could trust these people. He glanced over at Willow who was perched on top of the small island. She gave him an encouraging smile. Spike shook his head and silently laughed to himself. The only one who believed in him was a redheaded genius who would probably trust a con-artist given the chance.
He decided to take the leap. “One month before I left England I killed my Watcher,” he began.
--
Spike took a long drag of his cigarette as he watched the boys on the practice field race after the football. The gits were bloody slow as hell, he thought. If it’d been him out there, he’d show those benders a thing or two about how to play the game. But he had more pressing matters to attend to. He glanced at his watch. The school’s headmaster was expecting him in a few minutes. Probably to scold him for not taking care of his responsibilities.
Spike flicked the cigarette out of his mouth and made his way to the headmaster’s office.
“William,” the man greeted when the teen entered the room.
“Warrick,” Spike answered back, opting to stand rather than take a seat in front of his Watcher’s cherry oak desk. “I assume you called me in here to further suck the fun out of my social life.”
Warrick chuckled. “You and I both know you scoff at the idea of a social life,” he responded in that uptight way of his. “As much as you pretend to hate both me and your Slayer’s destiny, I know you need us both.” Despite his steady tone, today the older man’s graying hair looked even grayer. His fierce eyes looked significantly duller. His usually impeccable suit sported visible wrinkles. His steady hands shook slightly. And Spike saw it all.
“What’s going on, Warrick?” Spike wanted to know, concern suddenly marring his brow. Warrick did not look Spike in the eyes. He just reorganized a stack of papers on his desk. Spike knew something was wrong. Warrick never fidgeted like this. In fact, he never needed to reorganize a damn thing because he was so neat on the first try. This was a man who taught Spike the importance of detail. The small details could mean the difference between winning and losing. Succeeding and failing. Living and dying. For two long years Warrick had taught him everything. So it was hard to miss the details in the man’s odd mannerisms today.
“What do you most fear, Spike?” Warrick asked all of a sudden, still not looking the boy in the eyes.
Spike wasn’t expecting that question. “I don’t know. What does this ‘ave to do with anything?”
“You don’t know what you most fear. Then what do you most desire?”
Again, Warrick’s words confused him. In fact, they down right weirded him out. Was that really a question a man should be asking a young boy? He didn’t answer. He didn’t even know how to answer.
Warrick continued to fiddle with the papers on his desk, his hand now shaking visibly but his voice steady. “Drive to my home. In the desk of my study there will be a small red box. Take that box and run. No one else should get a hold of it. Hurry.”
Spike’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Warrick was never one to speak in codes. He spoke straight and to the point. But he didn’t have much time to ponder that as the window behind the Watcher exploded, spraying shards of glass all over the office. Spike quickly grabbed his Watcher as more glass shattered and several hooded figures forced themselves into the room.
“Leave me!” Warrick demanded as Spike dragged him into the school’s empty hallway. “You need to locate that box!”
“You knew they were coming didn’t you!” Spike accused, hearing the footsteps of the dozen demons behind them. They made it to the parking lot and quickly found Warrick’s car. Despite his reservations, Warrick took the driver’s seat and pulled out onto the road.
“What’s going on?” Spike demanded, in the passenger’s seat. The sky had grown dark and it looked like it was going to rain. “Who the bloody hell were those demons back there!” He looked behind him only to spot three of those hooded figures outside flying in pursuit of the car. Flying!
Spike’s heart thumped hard. He’d never seen Warrick this scared before. Hell, he’d never seen Warrick scared period! The vehicle lurched to the side with a screech as one of the figures let loose a silver blast from its hand.
“Bloody hell,” Warrick cursed as he swerved to the other side. “The prophecy is coming true.”
“What prophecy!” Spike yelled as another silver flare blasted off the mirror on his side of the car.
“He’s back. He’s coming for you and it’s not only for revenge. These are the years of the Slayer’s return. You. You need to find her or you have no chance of winning.” Warrick wasn’t making any sense.
Spike frantically looked behind him again and saw that the figures had disappeared. He sighed in relief and practically jumped out of the car when they reached Warrick’s two story Victorian home.
“Let’s get this box and get the bloody hell out of here!” yelled out Spike, who still didn’t understand what was going on. They reached his study and sure enough, the fire-red wooden box rested securely in the compartment in his desk.
“We must leave now,” said Warrick when the small container was tucked away safely in his grip. But when they turned to exit the study, three hooded figures stood in their way.
“Give us the sphere, Sheldon,” one of the demons demanded firmly, one grotesque hand outstretched. His voice filled the room with a deep, distorted baritone.
Warrick clutched the container closer to his chest. “Abbadon.” he gasped.
“So you’ve heard of me,” he answered with a dark laugh.
Spike took in the man’s demeanor. The dark blue hooded cloak concealed his face. But as disgusting as his hand looked, Spike guessed that the hidden face was only a blessing. His eyes zeroed in on the long sword hanging from the scabbard on the demon’s hip.
Abbadon’s two henchmen flew hauntingly toward the ceiling, their cloaks trailing gracefully behind them and stopping inches from Spike and Warrick’s heads. One of the figures released a powerful silver blast from his hand, whizzing by Spike’s ears and knocking the box out of Warrick’s hands. It hit the floor with a thud and rolled to a stop.
“Who knew it would be this easy to kill a Slayer and his Watcher?” Abbadon boasted. “It looks like the prophecy will come to fruition, won’t it Sheldon?”
Warrick eyed the cloaked man with disdain, his earlier fear dissipating into an indignation only he could feel in the present situation. “Believe me, the Perennial will see his second death.”
Listening with one ear, Spike fingered the lighter in his pocket as the two men spoke about things he couldn’t even begin to understand. He pulled the lighter out, flicked it on, and raised the flame to the trail of cloak dangling above him. The demon above him called out in agonizing pain as the flames rapidly ripped through his cloak and burned his already-disfigured skin. He dropped to the ground with another ear-shattering shriek, setting the curtains and surrounding furniture on fire.
In the confusion that ensued, Warrick grabbed the box from the ground while Spike launched a swift and forceful kick to Abbadon’s chest. But the demon didn’t flinch. He grabbed Spike by the neck and lifted him up.
“So you think a Slayer is any match for the Perennial’s men?” he taunted as Spike struggled against his grip. Spike’s face turned red as Abbadon’s hand closed tighter around him. If he didn’t get away now, he’d surely pass out, and not from the fire and smoke that was quickly filling his lungs. He remembered the sword on the other man’s right hip. Leveraging his weight with one hand, he grabbed the sword, pulled it out of its sheath, and plunged it into Abbadon’s leg.
In a pained scream, he dropped Spike to the ground, clutching his thigh. Spike scrambled to his feet and tossed the sword to his Watcher. Warrick began to lay into the last henchman, gracefully slicing out his legs from under him. Dark green blood splattered onto the burning walls. The Watcher began to cough as the smoke began to burn the insides of his chest, making his eyes tear up.
“Let’s go Warrick!” Spike shouted over the roaring flames that were beginning to make their way throughout the house. Warrick tossed Spike the box and the sword, trusting they would be safe in his hands. Spike caught the container, but the sword twirled ungracefully, slicing a deep gouge into his hand. “Shit,” he cursed, reaching to grab the weapon from the ground.
But the demon was faster. Abaddon snatched the sword from the floor and with a speed neither Spike nor Warrick had expected, spun with wicked grace, plunging the weapon into Warrick’s stomach.
Spike watched in paralyzed horror as his Watcher fell to his knees, the glowing sword lodged in his body.
Abaddon chuckled, still favoring his right thigh. “No one will be able to stop the Perennial. Not one Slayer. Not two Slayers. Not even one hundred Slayers. He will carry out the prophecy.” With that dark promise he blasted through the large window and into the rain.
Amidst the shattered glass and fire, Spike stood immobile in invisible cement, transfixed as blood spilled from his Watcher’s lips.
“Spike,” the old man called through a gargle of blood. “Help me.”
He snapped out of his paralysis and hurried to his Watcher’s side. He grabbed the intricate handle of the sword. “This is gonna hurt like fucking hell, Warrick. Just breathe.” Spike yanked the weapon out of his belly with the sickening sound of tearing insides.
The man fell into Spike’s arms, his breath coming out in uneven gusts.
Spike’s head swiveled frantically, his eyes searching for something to stop the bleeding. But he knew there was just too much blood.
“There’s not much time,” Warrick’s voice warned weakly. “Take the sphere and go.”
Spike shook his head. “Even on the verge of dying you still find the heart to boss me ‘round, you ol’ bastard.”
Warrick’s chuckle was barely audible. “William. Be strong enough to face what you most fear, and even stronger to face what you most desire. In the end, you’ll find that they are the same.”
His breathing died out then.
Spike couldn’t feel the flames as they continued to eat through his surroundings. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up. Tears traced silently down his cheeks as he surveyed the lifeless body of his Watcher.
He allowed himself one full minute of grieving before he picked up the box containing the sphere. As a last second thought, he also grabbed the sword and exited the house, forcing himself not to look back lest he lose his resolve.
He would wait outside in the rain until the police and fire trucks arrived. He took a puff of his cigarette and eyed the red wooden box that Warrick had given his life for. He opened it, revealing a small crystal sphere. After a few seconds of examining it with his eyes, he finally held the sphere in his palms. The crystal began to hum and turn bright red. A strange feeling of bliss poured over his body, filling him from the blondes of his hairs to the very tips of his toes. Despite the night’s occurrences, he suddenly felt a fullness that he’d never experienced in his life. Spike closed his eyes and breathed in the crisp night air that seemed to warm the very insides of his lungs. He wanted to feel this way forever.
The thought scared the hell out him.
He quickly placed the sphere back in the box and watched it change from red to clear again. The blissful feeling left his body. He breathed heavily and decided right then to destroy the crystal. If those hooded demons wanted it so badly, he needed to get rid of it. He took one last look at the box and launched it into the burning house. He could hear it burst into a hundred pieces.
Spike took another drag of his cigarette.
--
“There are many times I think of ways I could’ve saved him. If I’d’ve caught the sword. If I’d’ve protected him better. That sort of thing eats at you. It makes you feel responsible. An’ I do feel responsible for his death most times.”
Buffy felt an acute sense of pain in her heart as Spike finished telling his story. She touched her hand to her chest and took a deep breath to ease the unusually expanding pain. For a brief second of insanity, she wanted to comfort him and tell him it wasn’t his fault.
Giles removed his glasses again, wiping them uselessly on his dress shirt. Like the rest of the room, he remained fixed in a stunned silence. Everyone had moved closer to the table now, captured by the young teen’s words.
“That must have been what I saw in my vision,” Angel pieced together. “Spike outside of the burning building, the blood, the sphere. All of it.”
Spike’s agitated eyes landed on Angel. “Perhaps you should do a bit more investigating of your visions before spreading rumors that I’m a demon. I mean, a bloody demon!” he huffed incredulously at the thought.
Buffy felt Angel flinch next to her. And it wasn’t because of Spike’s anger, but his words that hit too close to home.
“I still haven’t received an apology for Buffy trying to kill me, which, I must stress, was never a possibility due to my stealth. I don’ wanna brag but I am quite the stealthy Slayer.”
“Didn’t seem like it last night,” Buffy retorted.
“Give me another try and you’ll see how stealthy I can be, luv.”
Xander coughed. “We are still talking about fighting right? Otherwise, I think the rest of us should leave you two alone.”
Giles placed his glasses on the table in front of him. “Well, there are obviously a few issues we must address. The first one being the issue of yours and Buffy’s positions as Slayers. My goodness, I can’t believe I’m even saying that.”
Buffy’s eyes caught Spike’s own in uncharacteristic hesitancy. It was the first time anyone in the room had verbally acknowledged that there might actually be more than one Slayer.
“Two Slayers,” Oz mused. “Huh.”
Xander patted Spike on the back. “Welcome to the Hellmouth, my friend.”
Spike looked up at the other boy, not sure if he was in a forgiving mood. Xander had treated him quite shabbily the day before. “Hellmouth?”
“It’s an area dense in supernatural and demony activity,” answered Willow. “Sunnydale sits right on top of one. But we’re only one of many.”
“So I must’ve lived on one of those Hell-mouthy things in England then?”
Willow nodded. “It’s possible.”
“Since Spike claims to no longer have a Watcher, it will be difficult to discern whether or not his story is true,” said Giles. “Our only option is to contact the Watcher’s Council. In the meantime, we will conduct our own research. Willow and Wesley, I’d like you to take the lead on this.” The two nodded in affirmation.
“Spike, how much do you know about this prophecy? About this Abbadon character and The Perennial?”
Spike uncrossed his arms and frowned with uncertainty. He felt insulted having to prove himself, but decided he’d cooperate until he didn’t feel like it anymore. “Jus’ everything I told you. Most of it sounded like rubbish. I couldn’t figure out what Warrick was saying. Something ‘bout the year of the Slayer. The Perennial’s revenge. Finding a girl.” he shook his head in frustration. It all made little sense to him.
“The Perennial,” Angel said slowly. “Is that a person? A group of people? An event?”
“Whatever it is, it’s chock-full of not good,” Xander said. “Spike, your Watcher said something about The Perennial’s second death?”
“Yes,” Spike answered. “Which means it must’ve had a first death. Believe me, I’ve gone over this in my head a thousand times and I still can’t come up with anything worth holdin’ on to.”
“And who could it possibly want revenge from?” Angel wondered. “Revenge for what?”
“Finding a girl,” Buffy recalled. “Giles, do you think the ‘girl’ is referring to me?”
Spike rolled his eyes dramatically. “Not everything is about you Summers…but yes, it probably has something to do with you,” he added.
Buffy wished she were close enough to kick him under the table.
“If this prophecy mentions the Slayer and a girl, could it possibly explain why there are two Slayers?” Willow wondered.
“That’s still not confirmed,” Buffy said stubbornly. “I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves here. There’s only one Slayer. And she’s usually a ‘she.’ Spike is a ‘he.’ Not a ‘she.’ He must be under a spell. Maybe he just thinks he’s the Slayer.”
Spike looked up at the ceiling, annoyed by her rationalizations. “Good luck with that theory, Bets.”
“I’m just saying, I think we need to know a bit more about you before we honor you with the Slayer title.”
“Oi! No one needs t’ honor me with anythin’!” he exclaimed, his accent growing deeper in offense. “I’ve told you everything. I still don’t know sod all about the lot of you. For all I know, you’re all monsters waiting to kill me in my sleep.”
Buffy smiled saccharinely. “If we wanted to kill you Spike, we’d do it while you were awake.”
“Good. At least then, I’d get in a few good licks before my wrongful death.” He sighed exasperatedly. “Can I go now? I need to be home before the streetlights come on.”
“Yes, Spike,” Giles said. “We will all meet again tomorrow after school to discuss more details of that night.”
“Sounds like fun.” Spike gladly left his chair and made his way toward the library doors.
“One more thing,” Wesley called out before Spike made his exit. “Whatever happened to the sphere?”
Spike hesitated before answering, “I told you. I destroyed it. I figured they wanted it so badly, I had to get rid of it.”
“Well, that will make it a bit more difficult for research purposes. Is there anyone else we can talk to? Someone who knows a bit more about your old Watcher? Those who attended his funeral?”
Spike faltered again. But it was so slight that Buffy couldn’t tell if anyone else had noticed. “There was no funeral. They never found the body.” Buffy once again felt that odd pain grow deep in her chest.
Wesley nodded apologetically.
“Anything else, oh persistent ones?” When no one answered, Spike saluted and turned to leave. Buffy watched him finally go, feeling a strange pull to the boy who just walked outside of those doors.
“Everyone go home and get some rest,” Giles told the room. “We’ll begin researching tomorrow. Oz, it’s a full moon tonight.”
Oz nodded. “I’m cage bound.”
As everyone packed up to leave, Angel placed a soft hand on Buffy’s shoulder. “We’ll figure out what’s really going on. I’m not sure how much we can trust Spike. He may be hiding some things.”
Buffy only half heard him, her eyes fixed on the doors Spike had just disappeared through and her chest burning with that dull ache. She turned around to face Angel and plastered a large smile on her face. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to walk home alone. Too much has happened since yesterday, and I need some time to think.”
He smiled back at her and stroked her hair. “I’m here if you need me.”
She didn’t answer, just walked brusquely out of the library doors.
Angel dropped his arm to his side, suddenly feeling as if today would mark an unexpected shift in his relationship with Buffy. He just needed more time.
--
“Now who’s following whom?” Spike said into the setting sun.
“How did you know I was there?” Buffy asked, her voice bouncing softly off the back of Spike’s worn leather jacket.
“I’m the Slayer, remember? I hear everything.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Spike chuckled when she fell into step beside him. “No you won’t Summers. If you saw it, you’d still fight it.”
“I’m the Slayer, remember?” she tossed back at him. “Fighting is in my nature.”
“That’s why I can’t hate you as much as I want to.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes, both aware of their ambivalent feelings for one another but too mentally drained to fight their pull towards each other. Although the revelation should have been mind boggling—and it was—it also filled them both with a strange sense of peace that couldn’t be achieved with a room full of curious friends. Their contemplative silence was filled with an agreement of a temporary truce.
“Your boyfriend really fancies me,” Spike said sarcastically. “He was sending me hot glances. I couldn’t tell if he wanted to fight me or shag me.”
“He’s not my boyfriend and he doesn’t want to shag you.”
“What’s the deal with him then? He doesn’t trust me? He’s the demon.”
“Half demon,” she corrected. “He has those visions.”
“I know. I was the victim of one of ‘those visions.’ Y’know, you’re little Sunnydale Posse forced a lot out of me today. I think it’s only fair that I know a bit ‘bout you all.” She mulled over his request for a few silent moments and decided it wasn’t so unreasonable. She told herself she was so far deep tonight, she might as well go all in.
“Well, as I was saying before your lips got a huge case of the ‘talking again’ syndrome, Angel has those visions. He can’t control them. They’re very painful.” Spike watched her eyes grow soft as she talked about Angel. Her eyes never looked that way when she was talking about him! You’d think after antagonizing her for the past few days, she’d at least hold some sort of soft spot for him! It took a lot to impress girls these days, even the ones you couldn’t stand.
She continued, “But his visions have helped us hunt down demons before. Doyle, his brother, has visions of the future variety. And Anyanka can see the feelings of the present.”
Spike tucked his hands in his jeans and thought back to the day at the beach. He damn sure hoped Anya hadn’t picked up on his lusty feelings towards Buffy. And if she did, could she blame him? He was a guy for Pete’s sake!
“What a talented family,” he remarked dryly. “What happens when their parents birth another sibling? The Powers That Be didn’t think about that, did they?” he joked. “So is that the reason you an’ Mr. Big-Arse-Forehead aren’t dating? ‘Causes he’s a demon?”
Buffy waited a moment before answering. “I don’t care that he’s a demon.”
‘She doesn’t mind that he’s a demon, ’ Spike thought. ‘But does he?’ Although Spike was curious as all hell, he’d never reveal that by asking further questions about her and her gelled-up beau. He had way too much pride for that. “I’m sure Angel and Anya aren’t the only odd ones in your bunch. Now that I think about it, Xander is a bit off.”
She shook her head. “Xander lives in normal-teenage-boy land. Now Willow…she’s another story.”
“What, she’s a child prodigy? A Pulitzer Prize winner? A debate champion?”
“A witch.”
“Which what?”
“She’s a witch.”
Spike laughed unbelievingly. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Summers. Our redheaded, sweet-tempered Willow flies brooms and does the whole double double toil and trouble routine?”
Buffy made a face at Spike’s antiquated imagery. “I think you need to lay off the watching of the Hocus Pocus. And that’s nothing, Her boyfriend is a werewolf.” She looked over to catch his reaction. She waited for Spike to tell her werewolves were dangerous, the same way that Xander and Angel had told her before.
But Spike couldn’t even be surprised anymore. He looked up at the full moon. “Oz is a bloody werewolf then. If I’da known Red liked bad boys, I’d’ve tried a go with her. She’s a cutie.”
Buffy smiled to herself and shook her head. Leave it to Spike to think with his raging hormones.
“You lot are quite the Scooby Gang aren’t you? So our English teacher. What about him?”
“He’s a Watcher-in-Training. He’s shadowed Giles for the past year, learning the ins and outs of Watcherdom.”
“Great, two Watchers on my arse. It was bad enough dealing with just Warrick.”
But he said it with a sad smile in his eyes, not that he was even aware. She watched him silently, wondering if he truly was the.. a Slayer. Spike, who made his mark by aggravating the people around him. Spike, who fell asleep through his last few classes. Spike, whose conscience told him it was fine to jump into girls’ room windows without their permission. Spike, who was rash, unreliable, vulgar, and addicted to cigarettes. Was he really what she was?
“I’m sorry about your Watcher,” she offered.
“That was over a month ago. I’m over it now.” But the furrow in his brow told a different story.
“It’s surreal, the idea that there might be a Slayer besides me. I can’t even wrap my head around it.”
“You scared, Summers?”
“Scared of what?”
“Scared that you’re not special anymore? Scared that you might be part of a Chosen Two instead of the Chosen One?” She didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure what her answer even was. But he was right about one thing; she was scared.
Spike smiled to himself and decided to lighten the mood. “If it makes you feel any better pet, this changes my whole perspective on things. I never realized girls could be so strong. I thought they worked best in the kitchen.”
She punched him hard in the arm, understanding him well enough to know he was joking, and grateful that he’d changed the subject.
“Oi Summers! You hit like a guy!” he exclaimed, rubbing his arm painfully.
“Serves you right, you pig.” She looked forward, allowing a smile to pass her lips, and taking his breath away. As much as he hated to admit it, Buffy was damn beautiful. It was all he could do not to grab her by the hand, push her up against the nearest tree, and kiss her the way that poofter Angel wouldn’t dare to.
“Well Summers, something tells me we’ll be working together really soon.”
“I’ll try to avoid it at any cost.”
“Liar.”
The sun finished setting and the streetlights came on as they strolled onto Rovello Drive. It was an unusually cool night, reminding them that summer was ending and fall was taking its place. Spike peeked over at her, satisfied that her skirt fell below her knees and her tight-fitting white sweater covered up the length of her arms. Yes, he knew she could take care of herself, but a little back up never hurt anyone.
Buffy discreetly looked over at Spike, taking in his confident walk and arrogant swagger. It was the first quiet moment in which she’d observed him without a cigarette in his mouth. He seemed to be contemplating something.
“This is my stop,” Spike said once they reached his house. “I’m surprised I got here in one piece. Last time we were out this late you tried to kill me.” He began to head onto the porch and into the house but was stopped by Buffy’s voice.
“I’m sorry about the way I acted last night. When I tried to kill you. And I know people don’t usually have to apologize for things like that but with me, it comes with the territory.”
Spike turned around to look at her. There was Buffy all alone in the full moonlight, trying to apologize for something he didn’t think he’d ever get an apology for. She looked so lonely, extending her unspoken truce, and in the process, admitting that he was a Slayer.
“I don’t know how to deal with this. And I can’t promise you I’ll ever learn how. I’m used to being the only One. I’m used to being alone.” He felt it in his chest. Her loneliness. It ached somewhere in his heart and burned through his shirt. He put a hand to his chest to stop the sudden pain. She looked like she wanted to say more. But she turned around and left before he could answer her.
The poet in him wanted to shout out to her that with him, she’d never have to feel so lonely again. He stopped himself. Tomorrow he’d feel different.
The pain faded. He sighed and entered the house, climbing the stairs to his room. After a long shower, he got dressed and glanced over at Buffy’s window. The lights were off. He switched off his own and climbed into bed, but couldn’t go to sleep after ten minutes of rolling around.
He got up and did some pushups to get the loose energy out of his system. A few minutes of that didn’t help. He took a deep breath and looked over at his study, then moved towards it and pulled out a drawer. He stared at the small, red wooden box sitting in the compartment. Hesitantly, he reached out for it, grabbing it with both hands so it didn’t fall.
Spike opened the box, revealing the sphere. He hadn’t touched it since the night Warrick died because he was right scared of the thing. He examined the crystal ball and slowly took it from its resting place in the box. Quickly, he felt his body warm up the same way it did that night. His body burned with desire, pulsating with a bliss he’d felt only once before. With a strength he didn’t know he possessed, he dropped the humming sphere back in its box. The ball, which had begun to burn red, turned clear again.
Spike breathed heavily and tucked the box back into its compartment. That was a powerful sphere and he would find out what it was. He wasn’t sure if he trusted Buffy and the rest of them enough to tell them he hadn’t actually destroyed it. If Warrick died protecting it, he’d sure as hell make sure it stayed safe.
He climbed back into bed, not realizing he’d missed Buffy’s green eyes shining from the bright red crystal ball.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
It's been a while guys. Forgive me! On a happy note, this one's super long!
Chapter End Notes:
Everyone is getting to know a little bit more about each other now. It seems that every time Spike and Buffy get closer to one another, something happens to pull them apart. This revelation is definitely going to have them getting, and possibly staying, close to each other just for the sake of teamwork and survival. And although this is starting to seem more like a thriller kind of fic, please believe it’s still a Rrrroomance. Hehe.
Thanks all for continuing to read this story. What did you think of this chapter? A lot happened, and there’s a lot we still don’t know. Your input (yes, yours) is greatly appreciated!
Thanks all for continuing to read this story. What did you think of this chapter? A lot happened, and there’s a lot we still don’t know. Your input (yes, yours) is greatly appreciated!