A/N Slight delay on this one, even April, miracle worker that she is can't proof a file I don't send her. Still I got it to her eventually andhe presto it was done. Hugs and kisses therefore go to the lovely April.
.............................................
He drops the cold body to the floor with a satisfied, "Ah," rolling his shoulders in pleasure. He can feel them watching him, just like they've been watching his every move since they got here. Guess they're smart enough not to trust him after all. He gives the body a light kick and wanders off into the night.
They follow, of course, so the strong compulsion to vomit will just have to wait. God, that was disgusting. Nothing quite as nauseating as drinking blood from another vampire. Still, he had to do something; the demons weren't gonna buy that he just didn't feel like feeding. So he'd picked her up in the bar, hoped the demons wouldn't know the difference, and drained the vile, congealing blood from her body. Yuck. It was making his stomach churn, but what choice did he have? Start leaving dead bodies all over Sunnyhell and the bloody slayer would definitely be staking first and asking questions later.
And he needs her asking questions. He needs her listening. She's smart, she'll get it. The high cemetery wall provides an ideal vantage point from which to watch her when she gets here, and she'll be here all right. She's got a new baddy to fight, after all. He just hopes she'll realise it isn't him before she drives one of her pointy wooden things through his chest.
He has info for her, too, having done a bit of sneaking when he got back to the abandoned warehouse that the demons had claimed for their base. Found a hidden alcove behind the Mistress' curtained chamber from which he could just make out the voices inside.
Something about the hellmouth, that's what he'd heard. That and some ritual. Didn't take a genius to work out what they were up to. Same old story. Just another bunch of wannabes thinking to unleash hell on earth. Tossers. Didn't they get that they'd be swept aside with everything else on the miserable sodding planet?
He's had to deviate from his original plan—the nice tidy one where he'd convince them to take him rather than a unstoppable slayer killer to Sunnydale, then give them the slip, give Buffy the heads up, and get the hell outta Dodge before she and the super friends introduced him to Mr Pointy.
Hadn't been that simple, though, had it? There'd been that bloody kid, reminding him of his little bit. Damn thing couldn't have had brown eyes. Oh no. So now he's gotta look out for Biscuit, make sure she didn't end up demon dinner. And the bitch - no way he'd refer to her as "The Mistress" not even in his head - had to have a small army of followers, and if Buffy were going to stand a chance, she'd need all the info he could get.
"Well, well." He drops down in to her path and grins salaciously, eyes trailing a lusty path over her body. "Looky who showed up." He touches his tongue to his lips and smirks at the anger in her eyes. "Miss me?"
She's not in the mood to play, it seems, because she's suddenly on the attack. And she's glorious. God, he'd almost forgotten. It's been so long since he's seen her like this—so ablaze with life—and he can tell, even now through the swirling thunderstorm of her anger, that she is healed, that her soul has finally caught up with her body and come back to life.
Later, when the sun is high in the sky, his dogged mind will refuse sleep in favour of replaying that thought: she is healed. He was gone and she healed. But now is not the time; he has things to tell her and a demonstration for the less-than-stealthy minion that believes itself hidden in the bushes. And it'll have to be a hell of a show after what he'd overheard earlier.
"Mistress." It had been Renon's voice. "The vampire, this Spike, I fear he may not be able to contain the Slayer. She is far stronger than we first believed, too strong by far for a single vampire."
"Has he fought her then?" her lilting other-worldly voice had asked, and he'd had the strangest feeling of de ja vu, just a niggle in the back of his mind that warned him that he knew a power like this. A power that was ancient and destructive, something to be feared.
"No, mistress, he avoids confrontation. I believe he fears her."
"No matter. I still have it within my power to summon Slavrok." And he didn't doubt it—not for a second—that she could easily unleash that mythical scourge of slayers on his own chosen one. "You will have him followed tonight, and if he does not hurt her and hurt her well, then we will look to the alternatives."
His blood had run cold at the implication. The alternative: the Slayer Eater. No way in hell he'd let them loose that thing on Buffy, even if it meant he had to hurt her himself. So here he was trading vicious blows, quid pro quo with a woman he'd willingly die to protect. And all the while these same words a running mantra in his mind. "So sorry, love. So sorry."
It strikes her as he deftly side steps her ragged punch and uses her own momentum to propel her head first in to the cemetery wall that maybe she has underestimated him. The others had wanted to come with her on patrol. Xander, especially, had resisted her going alone, but she'd steamrolled them. "Guys, it's just Spike. Not like I haven't kicked his ass a million times." She'd tossed her hair, let that slayer confidence shine through, and they'd conceded the argument.
Just Spike, she thinks ruefully as his heavy booted foot comes down hard on the small of her back, knocking her face first into the gravel path. Just Spike who's spent most of the last five years watching her fight. Spike who's always watched her so much more closely than she ever watched him, who knows her every strength and weakness, who knows she drops her right shoulder when she gets tired. Who knows she favours her right hand and her left foot and is always open under her left arm when she spins.
She drags herself up and turns to face him, her back protesting painfully at the movement. He's leaning against an old yew tree, already half way through a cigarette. "Having fun, slayer?" he asks conversationally, then chuckles at her angry glare.
"Oh, don't be that way." He play-acts a pout, but his eyes are anything but soft. "Me and you always have fun."
She doesn't want to respond, but she's a wily enough fighter to know not to attack while her back's still shooting agony up and down her spine. Keep him talking for a few minutes, then she'll be ready to go again. "I think you and I have very different definitions of fun."
He arches an eyebrow in cynical amusement. "Is that right? Don't you remember the high school—um, our first time?" His tongue curls behind his teeth. She used to find it sexy, in a creepy kinda way, but now it makes her want to pound her fists into his face and just keep hitting till she's driven all the innuendo out of him. She says nothing. The pain's fading already; just a few more minutes and she'll be ready to do just that.
He grins wickedly at her obvious disgust and continues almost conversationally. "Shame about the interruption. Whatever happened to old Valious anyway? You take his head of with that fire axe I saw you waving around?"
She's not listening. Let him talk in his riddles. Not like he ever made much sense, and her back feels much better and she hates him; she really, really does. With his hard, pretty eyes and his honey and poison voice. She hates that he can hurt her, hates that she's scared enough of him that she has to stand here and listen to his mind games.
"Buffy?" His voice drops to an uncertain whisper, and when her eyes settle on his face again it's a portrait of bemused love. Love that has been his oblation to her for so long, and the sudden lump in her throat has nothing to do with the fading pain in her spine. "Buffy, luv." He looks confused, lost, like Angel kneeling before Acathla's swirling portal. "Buffy, I…what's happening?"
Hope, wonderful, terrifying hope blossoms uncontrollably in her chest and she steps towards him, unthinking, unguarded. "Spike?" He swallows hard and shakes his head as if to clear it. Another step and she's so close to him she can taste the smoke of his forgotten cigarette and her hand is moving of its own accord, searching for his cheek.
"Spike." Her fingers settle on the cool familiar skin guiding his head so she can turn his face towards her and look into his fear filled eyes. "It's okay," she whispers, and her body is almost sagging with relief. He's here, he's not changed. It's okay.
His eyes flash suddenly and the realisation that she's been had hits her just before his forehead connects with the bridge of her nose. She doesn't need to hear the sickening crunch to know it's broken. Blood streams down over her mouth and her head spins as she staggers backwards. She needs a moment to regain her equilibrium, but she won't get it. Playtime is over, it seems, and his follow up is merciless - punch after punch sending her down, grasping desperately at the intangible threads of consciousness. She expects him to follow her down, go for the throat like all vamps do, but he's not about to make that mistake. He knows far too well that even now she's got an arsenal of moves to get out of that one. Instead, he opts for landing a hard kick in her side, making her curl up helplessly in the gravel.
Another follows, and another, until she's choking on her own blood and the pain is enough to make her retch. And when he stops, she's crying from more than the pain, because when he'd said her name in that treacle-soft voice of his, she'd been ready. Ready to forgive him, ready to let him back into her life. One soft word and all her caution had taken to the wind and she'd been ready to offer him things she's never offered before.
"Pathetic." There's a disappointed disgust in his voice that should make her angry but just makes her sob. "Poor little Slayer can't even manage one little vamp."
He pushes her hard with his foot, rolling her on to her back so she can look up at him through blood and tears. "You're not even worth finishing off." He squats down beside her and tenderly wipes the blood from her lips letting her harsh warm, breaths waft across his finger tips like a promise of life and he wants so badly to tell her he's sorry that he'd never hurt her if he had any choice.
"Don't try to find me." It’s a wonder he can keep his voice cool and even, can think straight over the internal chant of, "So sorry, love. So sorry." "Wouldn't be able to even if you searched all the days you spent sleeping."
His hand flutters over the bare skin of her shoulder, tracing letters of apology he knows she won't be able to decipher. "Gotta run, pet. Be seein' ya."
………………………………………………………….
"Our mistress is well pleased." It pisses him off. Really pisses off. Pompous, sycophantic git. Like he gives a fuck if the bitch mistress is doing an Irish jig and singing, "I'm H-A-P-P-Y."
"Smashing," he replies sarcastically. He doesn't want to deal with this ponce now; he just wants to curl up somewhere dark, preferably with a couple of bottles of Jack, and try and forget the image of his beautiful slayer beaten and bloody at his feet.
"She requests that you take charge of the child until sunrise." He turns, obviously expecting the vampire to follow.
"Do I look like the bloody nanny?" No need now for Spike to feign the sarcastic irritation, not when all he can see in his mind is Buffy's tear-filled eyes and bleeding lips, when all he can hear is her angry, betrayed sobbing.
"Our mistress' followers have other services to perform this night." The demon's tone is uncompromising. "You will watch the child, and if you do not…" He trails off at the look on the vampire's face, the one that tells him threats will not be well received. "And for your trouble, an extra two hundred dollars," he amends with a grimace of a smile and a slight bow.
Spike lets a lazily-raised eyebrow do the bargaining for him, and Renon concedes quickly enough. "In advance."
"Right ho." He claps once and gestures for the demon to lead the way.
"All you need do is ensure it does not escape," Renon tells him when they reach the locked room that houses the child's cage. "A waste of your talents, I'm sure." And with that he's gone, locking the door after him and leaving Spike to stare at the bundle of motionless rags in the corner of the cage.
"Hey there, Crinkle-Crunch.'' His voice is feather soft in the silent prison, drawing her out slowly from her filthy burrow of tattered blankets.
"Hello." It's little more than a squeak, but at least she doesn't seem afraid of him.
"Hello, pet." He sits down on the floor alongside her cage, his posture and expression deliberately unthreatening. "How you doing?"
Sitting up fully, she gives a determined nod of her head, childish features set in an expression of adult resolve. "I'm okay."
"Hang on." He gropes around in his pockets for the chips he bought at the bar. "You hungry then?"
She accepts the offering with a solemn nod. "Thank you."
"How long you been here?" His question draws her attention from her chips, and she swallows repeatedly, scrunching up her face and closing her eyes, until her mouth is empty.
"Don't know." Her little forehead creases in thought, and she's silent for a while before she manages to come up with an answer. "Ages."
His lips tug upward and she smiles cautiously back. "That long, hey?"
"Hm-hm." She takes another mouthful of chips and this time talks through them. "Why are you here? Why don't you run away?"
He feigns outrage. "What, and leave a little crumb like you here all on her lonesome? Not bloody likely."
She bites her lip with tiny gappy teeth and looks so uncertain—reminds him so much of that leggy blue eyed girl whose affection he has long since lost—that he finds himself groping for a way to reassure her. "Say, Shortbread, do you believe in super heroes?"
A moment's serious consideration and then she nods. "Yep."
"Right then." He lounges on his side one hand supporting his chin. "Get comfy and I'll tell you a story."
He watches as she makes a production of getting comfortable, eyes wide and expectant. Then he begins. "Right. This ain't just any story, you know. This is a true story about a girl, and not just any girl, either. This girl is so brave and strong, nothing can hurt her."
………………………………………..
The water pounds, hot and soothing, against her aching body, washing blood, tears and dirt from her face. She'll have to get an ice pack for her nose before she crawls into bed or it's gonna be like a balloon in the morning.
God, everything hurts. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have forgotten exactly what he is, exactly what he's capable of? She's never felt so foolish, with her ridiculous theories. She'd just wanted so badly to believe that one way or another he still had her back, that under the threats and taunting there was still just Spike looking out for her as always.
A wash of patheticness brings tears to her eyes, and she lays her head on her cool tiles. "Bastard," she breathes quietly against the wall. "Bastard."
……………………………………………………
A/N The biscuit is a great British tradition and a natural accompaniment of a nice cup of tea. Try not to confuse a biscuit with a cookie, although cookies (if not too soft and chewy) can be categorised loosely as biscuits. I believe in the states there is some kind of breakfast known as a biscuit. Do not be confused by this.
For anyone interested in the truth about biscuits, you will find information here
http://www.nicecupofteaandasitdown.com/biscuits/index.php3 and for detailed instructions to guide you through the healing and gratifying process of "Dunking" your biscuit, see this wonderfully informative guide:
http://www.biscuit.org.uk/dunk/index.html.
It is important to note, for the purposes of this story, that the British have honed the baking and eating of biscuits to such a fine art that there now exist literally thousands of types and brands of biscuits—whole supermarket isles are dedicated to the purveying of fine biscuits and they are enjoyed by everyone, from the dust man to the Queen and back again.
The many names that Spike will have for the child in this story will be based mainly on the great British biscuit in all its wondrous variety.
Thanks to all the lovely reviewers
Mg - Glad you like (and P and W too) Extra Bad big bad for you here, but have faith things'll work out.
Mari - Buffy a bit more than flustered this time. She'll be okay though I promise.
Pin - They are annoying, although bearing in mind he did try and rape buffy they might be the tiniest bit justified.
Cheers Steph, glad you like.
Jenny Mae - I'm afraid it's Spike, he has his reasons but it is him. Don't hate him for this he has a plan, as do I
Hey Beth (DreamGirl) - Course I remember sweetie, i remember all my darling reviewers.
CordyKitten - Didn't mean to confuse you babe, I'm sorry.
Naimh - Ah you wrote origins excellent stroy I keep missing updates and getting left behind. I see yo've upadted again, and a new story too, I'm off to read em now.
[Reviews - 57]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | 
Chapter or Story
Has been viewed 2110 times
- Text Size +
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story - Text Size +