banner by kazzy_cee
Savannah, Betrayed
"So you do know I'm a vampire, right?" Spike was nodding off. He was across the room from her highness since she didn't want him too close. Even if the silly bint couldn't remember him, she was her usual snuggly self.
"Yeah. So?"
That made him blink awake. "So if you can't remember me, how do you know I'm good?" Ha! Take that, slayer!
"What does that matter?" She frowned, rubbing her tummy again. So much of her focus was on her body now. She constantly shaped her flat tummy with her fingers and he wondered if being The Slayer, she could hear the heart beat of her own fetus, as he could. She smelled ripe to him as well, ripe and female and... grrrr.
He was getting a woody from thinking about eating her out. Probably best not to think about it.
"Well, I could eat sweet blond girlie for breakfast."
"No, you wouldn't," her voice was weary.
He almost mentioned the chip, and how it hadn't worked ever since he'd been in the caves, but if she didn't know him, then would she remember that? "My head might split open from more strangeness, but why not?"
"How can you not know that?"
"How can you not know me?"
"Are we going to argue again about how I should know you? Because I don't." She rolled her eyes.
"So you say." He wanted to pout about it, but she was glaring at him, making him feel childish.
"Whatever. You talk a lot."
He decided to let that one pass since he was trying to figure out what was happening. "Didn't you feel anything when you saw me? Some kind of... recognition."
She pressed her lips together, remembering that tingle of danger down her spine, but she wasn't going to share that with him, or the way she was feeling it now. Even when she was sleeping, she sensed how she was the focus of his attention. It was... unsettling.
"Okay, let me spell it out for you since you don't seem too bright," she said, ignoring how he opened his mouth to argue with her. "Pure demons don't like half breeds much, so they usually enslave your kind. Vampires work with us now to survive on the Grass. Most of the ones I know are escaped slaves from the Scourge."
"The Scourge... I've heard of that. It's bad."
"Well... duh."
"Fighting like this?" Spike decided to rattle her since she was pissing him off. "Gets me hard." He rubbed a hand over the long, bent shape under his jeans and smirked when she couldn't help but look.
"You're disgusting! I'm... pregnant."
"Yeah, but you are one hot mama, slayer."
Her answer was a thrown pillow.
.........
Oz knew what he had to do.
It was dark now, and because he was so out of shape they'd had to stop for the night. Xander had gone out to scout around.
Oz was shivering because they couldn't risk a fire.
He looked over the ridge and could see the silhouette of black buildings against the lighter sky line. From one of them, lights moved, and he caught the faint sounds of voices.
Demons.
It was the burned out shell of a town, attacked by demons five years ago. Now demons lived in there, coming out of hiding from abandoned homes to hunt anything that got close.
Oz closed his eyes, trying not to imagine that every silken sound of the moving grass was stealthy footsteps of some thing coming to take him away. Lock him in a cage. Drag him out and tear inside him--
Xander came back, and Oz saw coolness in his soft brown eye when he looked at Oz. Oz wasn't sure how, but somehow he'd screwed up and now Xander suspected something.
He rubbed his face. He felt as worn as a dirty crease in old paper.
He ached for a friend.
For a fragile few hours, Xander had been one, but now it was over.
"I'm hungry," he asked softly, his throat tight.
"Oh, man, I'm sorry!" There was an instant apology in Xander's eye. "I'll dig in my supplies."
Oz waited until Xander was bent over his bag before he brought the big rock in his fist crashing down on the back of Xander's skull.
...........
Spike relaxed against the side of the cabin where Buffy was sleeping. He couldn't sleep, so he'd taken a moment to himself.
He couldn't make sense of things, and he was also feeling guilty for being so... pushy after what he'd done to her. Even though she didn't remember. He closed his eyes, wondering if that was better or worse. If she remembered, she'd hate him like he hated himself, but if she didn't know what he'd tried to do... was that better or worse?
He couldn't decide.
Wished he had a cigarette to figure on it.
"Spike?"
"Ahhh!" He jumped as a cloaked figure loomed near. "Who are you?"
A skeletal hand clasped a gnarled walking stick. Spike couldn't catch a scent. It was like the figure was nothing but air. He couldn't smell it or hear a heartbeat, which was why it had managed to sneak up on him.
It wasn't alive.
"I've come to give you these." A couple of leather and silver bands were held out by one hand that looked like flesh saran-wrapped over bone.
"Uh, lovely." Spike made no move to touch the offering. "How'd you know my name? No one here seems to?"
"That doesn't matter!" said the impatient voice. "It's not like you're clever enough to figure things out, now is it? Or maybe I should draw a picture for you."
Spike grabbed the mysterious figure's hood, which he almost expected his hand to go through, as it would a ghost, and shoved it back, revealing a ravaged face with one hazel eye glaring at him, affronted, while the other was an opaque milky color. A scar ran through that ruined eye, bisecting one tufted eye brow and continuing down a weathered cheek.
"Giles?"
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