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Author's Chapter Notes:
Joss is Boss, I am not Joss.
Takes place in Season 2
Chapter 2

Buffy - LA

"Alone at last. Now, before I get started, I have questions. Who helped you kill my mother?"

"No one."

Buffy tutted and shook her head. "Lies? Could my Sire be lying? Let's find out."

She still held him in front of her. Slowly she slid one hand down his chest, below his until her hand rested over his crotch. Sweetly, she whispered in his ear. "Who helped you kill my mother?"

"N-no one." She laughed softly. Gently, her hand flexed and then squeezed.

"Oh Lothos…tsk tsk…didn't your mother teach you about lying?"

"I'm not lying." She squeezed harder and his voice rose "Please...stop...I'm telling the truth."

"Not yet, but you will." She promised "But I am not finished…"She continued to squeeze and his cries became screams.

After a few minutes, she let go and he sobbed in relief. She looked at him, disgusted with herself. How could this pathetic excuse for a vampire have gotten the best of a Slayer?

"Who helped you kill my mother?" She leaned toward him as he hoarsely whispered.

"Gorch…brothers."

Six months later...

Leaving LA had been a spur of the moment decision, prompted by sheer boredom.

She rode into town on the seat of a blood red Dukati that she appropriated after dinner. The bike's previous owner – a spoiled trust fund baby who had no appreciation for the gorgeous machine or the ability to control the power that purred from its engine – had provided dinner in the form of his jugular vein. She had learned that blood was tolerable depending on the human she drank from. She enjoyed blood like she would have enjoyed a roast beef dinner...feeling full and somewhat satisfied. She wouldn't compare it to sweet, silky flavor of chocolate (mmmm chocolate), but it did the trick.

She left him in the alley behind the latest trendy LA nightspot, slipping the keys to the motorcycle (along with a couple of hundred from his wallet) from his pants pocket as his body slid lifelessly away from hers. He wouldn't miss it (or the money) she thought to herself as she straddled the powerful machine, practically purring with anticipation as the engine sparked to life.

She didn't think about where she was going. She left LA and followed the highway north, just enjoying the blackness of the moonlit night until the fuel light appeared and she was reminded that she would need gas if she wanted to keep going. She took the next exit toward a town named Sunnydale.

She had enough gas to take a turn through town and set off the "slayer" tinglies that indicated there was something unique about this sleepy little California town. Yeah – she had some slayer abilities that seemed to have stayed with her, even though she was now one of the evil things she used to hunt down. She was stronger than the average vampire, and always knew where the vamps gathered. No vampire in her unlife had the ability to sneak up on her or to even kill her. They had tried though. Guys - alive and undead - just couldn't stand a strong, empowered female.

As if it were a magnet, the warehouse pulled her toward it as it seemed to pulse with vampire energy. This was good - she felt like stirring up a little trouble. If she was lucky, someone might start a fight.

She heard them talking as she walked through the door, the sound of the new boots (Buffy was never one to let a perfectly great pair of shoes stay on a dead body – especially if they were her size) on the concrete floor echoed around her announcing her arrival. Some of the vampires on the fringes of the group turned their heads to stare curiously at her small 5'1 frame, their eyes sweeping up and down her leather clad legs and silky top, her short black leather jacket hanging off her shoulder and down her back from the tip of her forefinger.

She ignored them, instead her gaze drawn to the figures that all the vampires (the ones who hadn't yet noticed her arrival) focused on. She listened to their conversation as she circled the outer fringes of the group. They were talking about the Master; something about the title teased the corners of her memory. Didn't Angelus tell her something about the Master once?

"The Master is dead. Someone has to take his place." One of the vampires was saying.

Oh yes. He was one of Angelus' grand sires, the head of an ancient vampire lineage called the Order of Aura - or something like that. (Buffy had never cared enough to learn its proper name.)

"As long as that- that boy is still alive, whoever takes his place will be sharing his grave." Buffy smirked at the fear she heard in the vampire's voice. What was so fearsome that had a vampire shaking in his (old, clumpy and - eww - brown) boots? Some vamps had no fashion sense.

"Then let the soul who kills him wear his mantle." This was the first vampire again.

A young child-like vampire spoke up. "Can you do it?"

"Yes. This weekend, the night of St. Vigeous, our power shall be at its peak. When I kill him, it'll be the greatest event since the crucifixion. And I should know. I was there."

At this, Buffy let out a peal of laughter, unable to hold back her amusement any longer, drawing the attention of every vampire in the room.

"You were there?" Her laughter turned to chuckles. "Oh, please! If every vampire who said he was at the crucifixion was actually there, it would have been like Live-Aid. I should know, my Mom was there and she made me relive it by watching an old videotaping." A few vampires looked her way and Buffy shrugged. "Some mothers ground their children; some torture them with 80's music."

The first vampire growled at her. "I oughta rip your throat out."

Buffy's eyes flicked over him and sighed. Typical. "You could try. But I guess it is only fair to warn you – you're gonna fail."

She turned her back on him and strolled away, not hiding her smirk, which only grew wider when he growled and rushed toward her back. She swung her fist up without even looking, hit him in the face and knocked him down and out. Slayer Fists of Fury, for the win she thought. Then, she sighed.

"So, who do you kill for fun around here?" she asked, already bored with the lack of challenge.

The small vampire spoke again. "Who are you?" he asked.

Something clicked in Buffy's mind as she recalled Angelus rant about the Master.

Angelus had a tendency to pontificate in a way that used to drive her into a coma. Who could blame a girl for finding an escape by doing some mental shoe shopping while the guy had droned on and on (and on…) However, it seemed that at some point she must have been listening to one of Angelus' tiresome tirades. Who woulda thunk it?

"I'm Buffy." She grinned a little too widely, waiting for someone to make a wisecrack about her name and then pointed at the vampire child. "You're that Anointed guy. I heard about you. You've got pest-control problems? That's a bad piece of luck." She let out a little snort. "Do you know what I find works real good with pests? Killing them."

A few of the vampires looked uncomfortable. One spoke up in a whiny, defensive voice. "It's not as easy as you think. This one is different. He is stronger than any human, quicker too." Other vampires nodded.

The anointed one stepped forward, the vampires before him parting like he was Moses and they were a sea of blood. This little guy was the BMOC around these parts. Interesting. When he stood before her, she looked down at him and resisted the urge to pat him on his head.

"Can you?" He asked in his innocent, child-like voice.

Buffy shrugged, she had nothing better to do. "Consider it done." This could be useful, she thought, her mind already spinning with ways to turn this situation to her advantage.

Despite the numerous invitations she received from vamps, Buffy had no desire to stay the day at the factory. Instead, she found temporary shelter in an abandoned house. Maybe it was leftover from her Slayer days – vampires had been her enemy after all- but being around a large crowd of vampires kept her on edge and felt unnatural.

She slept better when she was alone. Even when she was with Angelus, she never spent the day. She always left the bed and had found shelter elsewhere before the first rays of light crept over the horizon. Abandoned homes were convenient. All of the comforts of a home (if you didn't mind the rats and roaches and lack of electricity) and no invitation required. After six months, the teenager inside still screamed "Eww Gross!" but the vampire inside only cared about protection from the sun and solitude.

She paid no attention to the main and upper levels, she wasn't staying long. Instead, she went down to the basement and was pleasantly surprised to find it still furnished like a rec room, complete with a lumpy couch and a (somewhat) empty entertainment unit. The sight of the couch brought a small smile to her face; better a lumpy couch to lie on than the hard floor. Buffy lay down and looked up at the ceiling and thought about the last six months.

After learning the names of her mother's killers, she asked Lothos the name of the biggest bad-ass in LA. He told her about Angelus. Lothos hadn't given her much information on the whereabouts of the Gorch Brothers but Buffy figured that Angelus would be the kind of vamp who kept an eye on the competition. She would have bet money on Angelus knowing the whereabouts of the Brothers Gorch.

Yeah - she would have lost. What a disappointment Angelus had turned out to be.

Oh, he was pretty. His looks were appealing, she admitted, all dark and brood-y and she had definitely enjoyed his body. But, damn, that guy could talk for hours about all kinds of crap. It was annoying, really. As for the Brothers Gorch, he was as helpful as a Fyarl Demon during mediation. He had no interest in summoning the Gorch Brothers - apparently something that only a Master Vampire could do. The Gorch Brothers' reputation was such that they could afford to be exclusive.

She put up with Angelus' obnoxious condescension (he tried to give her lessons in fighting) until she got fed up. When she left, he was currently obsessed with his latest victim - a girl named Sister Sunshine-and clearly thought Buffy was going to be his eager accomplice as he lived out his twisted fantasies. She was appalled when he laid out his plans for the 14 year old girl. Mental torture and rape did not appeal to Buffy in any way. Evil she might be; pervert she was not.

She spent a frustrating couple of months trying to find out more about the Gorch's, but came up with nothing but dead ends on the pair of serial killers turned vampires. She tried to adopt a "wait and see" attitude, but that only lasted 2 days. Waiting was boring and made her fidget-y.

Then she saw the Dukati.

The Dukati was a breathtaking piece of work. She wanted it the way she had wanted a pair of Jimmy Choo's the week before.

The moment she laid eyes on the sleek machine, her human memories washed over her: she and Ford sprawled on the floor of her living room- he was pouring over the newest motorcycle mag and she was flipping through the latest Cosmo; Ford, giddy with excitement as he was presented with a 10 yr old Ninja for his 16th birthday; and the weekend where he took her to the desert and taught her how to ride a motorcycle by herself. Ford would have drooled over this machine, she thought wistfully. If only he could have held on a few more months...

"You like what you see? I know I do." Hearing the male's voice, Buffy pushed aside her painful memories.

A man, in his early 20's, was walking out the nightclub toward her, his eyes traveling up and down her body.

"Is it yours?" Buffy's fingers caressed the soft leather seats of the M600.

"Just got her today, I haven't even got the tag yet." Buffy smiled at the stranger, who clearly thought he was the epitome of every female fantasy. Slowly she licked her lips and glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes. Dinner time.

Spike looked at Principal Snyder and wondered, for the umpteenth time, what he had done to make the Principal hate him so much. At least, this time, Spike was not alone. Out of the corner of his eye he eyed the sullen brunette in the hot seat beside him. Snyder sat behind his desk and made no attempt to hide his contempt for them both. His most recent tirade involved trying to decide who was the most troublesome of the pair. Sheila, it seemed, tried to stab her horticulture teacher with a trowel. Unfazed by Snyder's litany of her crimes, Sheila just smirked, winked at Spike and corrected Snyder - she used pruning shears, not a trowel. Snyder bristled and then focused on Spike.

"On the other hand, at least Sheila didn't burn down a chem lab."

Bullocks! Spike wondered how the Principal could know about that. Spike said nothing.

Snyder put his palms on his desk and leaned forward. "I can't prove that you were involved, but I know you were there. That type of incident has Spike Pratt written all over it."

Ah. So the wanker knew nothing for certain. Spike leaned back in his chair as Snyder listed their various crimes of class cutting and fighting. They were both heading toward being expelled, the principal promised, unless they wanted to redeem themselves by partnering up to become the Food and Decoration committee for the upcoming Parent-Teacher night.

When Snyder excused them, Spike tried to talk to Sheila about how they should divide up the work as she just rolled her eyes. Abruptly, she pressed him up against the wall of the hallway, one hand on the sleeve of his jacket and the other hand slid up and down his denim-clad leg.

"You got weed?" she breathed, her mouth inches from his.

Surprised, Spike could only stare. Weed?

Seeing his look, she rolled her eyes one last time and walked away. Apparently, she saw someone better.

"Hey Meatpie!" she called. She jogged up to a guy and Spike heard her ask "You got weed?"

"I always got weed for you, baby." was the response and the pair walked off. Bloody Hell he thought, certain that Sheila would be useless and absent during the preparations for parent-teacher night. He looked at his watch and quickly walked toward the library.

His uncle was shelving books when Spike walked in. Willow and Xander looked up from one of the large round tables, homework spread around them. Spike nodded at his friends as he shed his jacket. Xander looked at Spike and raised an eyebrow in inquiry. Spike shrugged.

"That bad, huh?" Willow asked. She was sitting in front of a stack of books, 3 of which were spread open on the table in front of her.

"The bloody git has had it for me since the first day of school. It was a matter of time before he found yet another way to torture me." He walked into the cage and rummaged in the black duffel bag.

"And this week's form of torture would include...?" Xander prompted.

"Food and Decoration committee for Parent Teacher night." Satisfied, he had a clean set of clothes, Spike picked up the duffel bag.

"That's vile and despicable - even for a principal!" Xander claimed. Spike snorted.

"Be right back, mates." Spike walked to the restroom to get changed and returned a few minutes later wearing a pair of black sweatpants and a black wife beater, ready to get to work. Since Sunnydale rested on the Hellmouth, the town was a magnet for all things magical and mystical. Sunnydale needed a protector. His uncle had told him that there should have been a Slayer here in Sunnydale, but fate had different plans.

Sunnydale didn't have a Slayer. Sunnydale had Spike.

If this was better or worse, Spike didn't know.

The music pulsed and throbbed, Buffy could feel its vibrations as she strolled up to the door of the club. Not much town, but one hell of a club she thought as she scanned the posters that papered the outer walls of The Bronze. How a club in a small California town was able to draw such a variety of musicians was a mystery to her. My gain she thought as she watched a group of teenagers enter the club. She was just a few steps behind them.

One of the vampires at the warehouse had offered to meet her here to point out the pest that was putting a dent in the local vampire population. She declined. She bought a drink and found a small table in a dark corner and sat down, scanning the crowd for some sign that would tell her more about the kid who had vampires running scared. From her seat, she had a clear view of the entryway and dance floor as she slowly sipped her Jack and Ginger-ale.

Occasionally, her eyes paused on the crowd of people on the dance floor and an almost wistful expression crossed her face briefly and then disappeared. She watched impassively as three vampires took their intended prey outside, ignoring her desire to intercede. It was not her concern anymore, she reminded herself as her eyes followed them out the door. Her reminder did nothing to prevent her hand automatically reaching to her side for the weapon that was no longer holstered at her side. Old instincts die hard.

When the waitress walked by, she tapped her glass and was rewarded a few minutes later when a fresh glass replaced her empty one.

The door to the club opened and it seemed as if something in the air shifted. Her eyes darted toward the entrance and studied the trio of teens at the door. They all appeared younger than her (real) age of 18. After a brief inspection, she dismissed the red-headed girl and the dark haired guy. Instead, she focused intently on the third member of the party.

Hair so white, it could only have come from a drug store bottle, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass and eyes so blue...for a moment she held her breath before exhaling softly, scoffing at herself. Sometimes, she forgot that she no longer required air. Sometimes she forgot that she was no longer just a girl.

The small group walked to a nearby table and she used her enhanced senses to shamefully eavesdrop on their conversation, easily picking out their voices over the music and conversations that carried on around her.

They talked about school - classes they were taking, upcoming exams and a mutual dislike for "Snyder". A year ago, she could have had the same conversation with her circle of friends. (With Ford.) She learned the red-head was named Willow; the dark haired boy was Xander. He was called Spike.

The music changed and the teens grinned as they exchanged glances with each other. They jumped up and made their way onto the crowded dance floor. As if she was tethered to Spike, Buffy rose as well. She stayed on the outer fringes of the crowd of people that surrounded the dance floor. Willow weaved around the two males, eyes closed and a smile on her face. Spike watched her with an affectionate smile on his face, often positioning his body in front of a boisterous dancer or when someone lost their balance. The other boy- Xander, she remembered - bobbed and swayed in a rhythm that must have been in his head as it was at odds with the beat of the music.

Spike wore black denim pants and a tight black short sleeved t-shirt that hugged his torso. She took a moment of feminine appreciation as her gaze lingered on the lean muscles of his arms as he moved with a grace and fluidity that surprised her. Could she use him? She decided she needed to see him in action first.

His eyes were open and alert, in constant observation of the crowd around him. His eyes found a target and she watched him change into a predator. He signaled his companions and Xander threw him a questioning glance. He inclined his head toward the exit and Xander raised his eyebrows. Spike shook his head and exited the dance floor. Xander resumed dancing but took over the role of protector for the oblivious dancing Willow. Buffy noted that Xander's eyes seemed to follow the red - head with eyes that indicated something more than brotherly affection.

Turning away from the dance floor, she followed Spike, her predatory instincts coming to the forefront as she stalked him while he stalked his target. As he neared the exit, she scanned the club and noted a large window near the ceiling of the club. With a burst of speed, she raced up the stairs to the upper levels of the club and then jumped to the catwalks that ran beneath the ceiling. Silently, she slipped out through the window and landed softly in the shadows of the alley.

Outside, the vampire was attempting to drain a girl in the alley behind the club. Spike put one hand on the vamp's shoulder and pulled from the terrified girl. Tears streaming down her face, the girl stumbled back into the club.

Buffy watched as Spike fought the vampire. Each attack from the vamp was easily blocked and deflected. His blue eyes sparkled with an enjoyment that dimmed once he staked the vamp. The fight had ended as soon as it had begun. Buffy remembered that feeling well - when the desire to fight and pummel overshadowed the satisfaction when a vampire was staked and the fight ended. He brushed the dust from his hands and leaned against the side of the building, his left hand rooted around in the front pocket of his jeans. He slid a cigarette from the pack he pulled out.

"You get your eyes full?" he asked as he flicked his lighter and inhaled on the cigarette to light it.

Strange. How could he know she was there? Even other vamps had a difficult time sensing her presence if she didn't want them to do so. She shifted into the light, but made no comment, watching his face and posture as he watched hers.

Something unidentifiable crossed his face and his brow furrowed slightly. She waited, curious to see what his next move was.

He inhaled deeply on the cigarette, his posture deceptively relaxed. Tilting her head, she listened to the blood pumping through his veins and the increased tempo of his heartbeat.

If she had a heartbeat, she was almost certain the tempo would match his.

The wind blew softly and his scent drifted toward her. Her body reacted instantly - gut clenching with feminine desire. Her eyes widened.

Impossible, she thought. Stop it, Buffy. Focus.

She could feel his blue eyes inspecting her from head to toe as he finished his cigarette in silence, flicking it to the ground when it was done.

"Right. Time to die." he said.

She laughed. "Oh I am not so sure. I saw you fight and I think you might survive." She quipped, deliberately misinterpreting his statement.

A flash of irritation crossed his face and all casual pretense evaporated. He shifted into battle stance.

"I didn't mean me, I meant you." he grumbled. Once again she laughed, amused further when he scowled.

"You're confident." she stated, scraping her fingernails lightly against the rough surface of the brick wall as she walked toward him. She caught his scent again as she drew closer. Delicious. What is it about this guy? she wondered. Just for fun, she exaggerated the sway of her hips slightly as she walked.

"It's a fact," he stated simply as his eyes lingered briefly on her hips.

Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, she struck out hard and fast with her right hand. He reacted a split second too late and her backhand connected to his face.

"Let's test that theory." she said.

He stumbled back slightly before he recovered and was in defensive mode once more. As a Slayer, she had enough power in her backhand to bring most creatures to their knees. Combined with her vampire strength, he should have been sent crashing into the wall. A trickle of blood ran down his nose. Raising his hand, he swiped the blood with his thumb. For a moment, she paused dumbly when he smeared the red liquid slightly. That smell...

Noting her distraction, he attacked. She blocked and deflected as each blow was dealt. Other than her first initial blow, she made no other move to attack.

It took him a few minutes to realize that his attacks were not causing any real damage. Who is this ...thing? His attacks slowed and the grin on his face faded, replaced by a scowl.

"You're not even trying." he accused her.

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Why would I do that? I'm learning so much about you while you've learned nothing about me. And, now I have you right where I want you." Her lips curved and she inclined her head, indicating something behind him.

She had back-stepped and danced her way so his back was now to the wall.

"You hit hard - I'll be bruised for the next few hours - but you telegraph your moves." His brow furrowed and she continued. Time to goad him a little. "Taking you out would be easy. I would let you do all of the work and then enjoy a nice snack while I am at it."

Self consciously, Spike raised a hand to his nose and brushed his fingers across the blood that had clotted and was beginning to dry under his nose. Her green eyes flashed golden as they followed the movement of his hand.

He hit her with a right cross and looked satisfied when she stumbled sideways. The gold in her eyes became more pronounced and, with a snarl, her game-face appeared - fangs and all. Then she shook her head and the sound of her laughter echoed around the alley. She arched backwards until her hands touched the ground. When her feet left the ground, her ankles locked like a vice around his hips and as she flipped backwards, she pulled him through the air with her until he was laying on his back as she straddled him as one hand pinned his wrists above his head.

"You have promise." she couldn't help the reluctant admiration slipping into her voice. She leaned forward until her mouth was near his ear.

"You need to train a little harder if you are going to be ready." she whispered.

"Ready for what?" He asked, his voice low and strained. She pulled back and noted that his eyes were trained on the thin material of her shirt as it stretched across her breasts. She chuckled softly and pulled his arms further up over his head as he lay on the ground. He groaned softly.

Her eyes went to the trickle of blood that trailed from his nose. Unable to help herself, she leaned forward and flicked the tip of her tongue against his face, then pressed her lips gently against the wound.

"Mmmmm" she drew the sound out softly as she savored the taste. "Better than chocolate" she sighed.

She tightened her thighs and he groaned again. She pulled back and blinked at the mixture of horror, disgust and arousal in his eyes. Stop it Buffy. she told herself. Stick to the plan, no distractions.

"I have a tip for you." Quickly, she stood up and looked down at his prone body. "In LA, there is a girl who needs your help. She goes by the name of Sister Sunshine. You should rescue her - before it's too late." Confusion, followed by distrust crossed his face.

Then she was gone.





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