After pocketing the tax form, Spike took a deep breath, inhaling Buffy’s faint scent. For several moments, he stood still, eyes closed, as he tried to memorize the combined fragrances that filled his nostrils: vanilla, berry and just the tiniest bit of arousal. This utterly unique set of smells had such mnemonic power that it was as if he could still see her staring like a doe caught in headlights, her green eyes flecked with gold. The memory of her pulse going wild when he’d touched her hand made him start to shake his head. It was slow at first, but then the motion accelerated until he looked like he was trying to wake up from a bad dream.
“What in bloody hell just happened?” he thought. “I was minding my own business, when in she barges and there was some crying and now I’m to be her poetry tutor? Who does she think she is -- the bossy bint? I’ll be buggered if she thinks I’m going to tutor her for nothing. I need to track her down and settle on some terms before tomorrow.”
Armed with a plausible reason for wanting to see the Slayer before their appointment the next day, Spike left the library the way he’d come, through the sewers, taking the volume of poetry with him. As he made his way back to his crypt to wait for nightfall, it was not lost on Spike that borrowing the book from the library - without actually checking it out - was the evilest thing he’d managed to do in some time.
***
The sun had only just slipped beneath the horizon when Spike popped his head out of his crypt to scan for signs of life. It had been several very long hours since the Slayer had sprinted out of the library, leaving him in a state of confusion. He’d tried to distract himself by watching his favorite soap opera, Passions. But the moment it ended he was up again, pacing the crypt, painfully aware that sunset was still hours away.
Spike had shadowed the Slayer long enough to know that she would make at least a perfunctory sweep of Restfield Cemetery at some point during her patrol. Although she never encountered more than one or two fledgling vampires, that was enough to warrant a stop during her nightly rounds. This was no accident. Spike was careful to take care of any truly nasty characters but always saved one or two newbies for when the Slayer swung by. He may not have been willing to admit it, but he didn’t want her to stop visiting his neighborhood for lack of action.
Now that night had finally fallen, Spike took his vigil outside. He’d smoked half a pack of cigarettes and practically worn a path in the turf before he realized that he wasn’t the picture of nonchalance that he hoped to present when the Slayer arrived.
“It’s not like I don’t have better things to do than hang around waiting for Her Majesty the Slayer to make an appearance,” he huffed, ducking into his crypt to look for a diversion.
***
Buffy shot out of Sunnydale Library as though she was being pursued by the Biggest Big Bad demon yet. She didn’t stop, or even slow down, until she was home. Once in the house, Buffy bounded upstairs to her room where she grabbed several piles of dirty clothes before plunging into the basement to start a load of laundry. She then charged back upstairs to the kitchen and used every available pot to make a huge pan of macaroni and cheese. After eating dinner with Dawn and Joyce, Buffy cleaned up the kitchen, started another load of wash and then jumped in the shower. When she returned downstairs, meticulously made-up and dressed in black leather pants with a lacy knit top, she looked out the window, noted that it was still light out and immediately picked a fight with Dawn about who had used the last of her shampoo.
"Geez, Buffy, who put the bee up your butt?" Dawn asked. "I've never see you like this. So I washed my hair. What's the big deal? Mom has a bottle of shampoo in her bathroom. We can use that until somebody goes to the store. And, hey, why are you so dressed-up? Do you have a date with Riley?"
Buffy's expression went from anger to panic "NO! I mean, yes. I mean, what day is it?"
"It's Thursday," Dawn replied. "It's been Thursday, like, all day. Where have you been?"
Buffy's eyes got big. "Oh shit! I mean, shoot. I completely forgot that Riley is supposed to be taking me to some fraternity thing."
Dawn grinned, "So, then who are you going out with?"
Buffy blanched under her blusher. "No one, I'm not going out with anyone. I'm just going on patrol!"
"Yeah, like you dress like that to dust vamps! You can tell me you know. I don't like Riley that much. Of course, I could use it to blackmail you...
Before Dawn could refine the terms of her potential extortion, the phone rang. Buffy jumped at the chance to escape her sister's disturbing line of questioning and ran to answer. "Hello. Oh, hi Riley… Yeah… Oh, alright. That's okay. No, really, it's cool… I totally understand. You know, duty calls and all that… Yeah, okay. Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow… Bye."
Buffy returned the phone to its cradle and turned to Dawn, smiling. "I guess I don't have that date after all.” Then her expression turned serious. “Which is good because, you know, I want to get out there early and get my slaying over with so I can come home and study."
“So, are you going to change your outfit?” Dawn asked with mock innocence.
****
Never a patient man, Spike was about to completely lose his cool. He’d played a dozen games of solitaire, chipped most of the lacquer off his nails, and practiced all his favorite card tricks. And still no sign of Buffy.
Fresh out of fags, he was about to slip into his crypt for another pack when he caught the unmistakable scent of the Slayer. “Well it’s about bloody time,” he grumbled as he carefully arranged himself to look as relaxed and indifferent as possible. After several minutes he realized that she was actually patrolling for vamps and roused himself to see if he could catch a free show.
Before coming to Restfield, Buffy had visited all of the other Sunnydale cemeteries. The whole time she’d run into only a handful of fledglings, none of whom required her to work up the slightest sweat before their dust sifted down into the grass. After the events of the day, coupled with the considerable effort it took to deny the real reason she had set out on patrol only minutes after sunset dressed to kill -- in the metaphorical sense -- and wearing her good boots, Buffy was definitely in the mood for a fight.
Tbc…