Spike hung back to watch the Slayer as she approached the middle of the cemetery. He was careful to stay outside of Buffy’s tingle-sensing range and sheltered from view by some convenient foliage. He observed as she walked with purpose through the first few rows of tombstones only to slow her pace dramatically, looking around with slightly narrowing eyes. “Come out, come out wherever you are little vampires,” she chanted quietly to herself. “I’ve got a very nice pointy stake just waiting to make your acquaintance.”
Spike couldn’t help chuckling to himself thinking, “Bint really is one of a kind isn’t she?”
Buffy pivoted quickly to her right, hiding her stake behind her back as she turned. “Oh, hi there big fella,’” she said to a large fledgling vampire who was laboriously emerging from a fresh grave. “I so hoped I would run into someone just like you tonight in the scary, dark cemetery.”
The newly risen vampire squinted at her in confusion, but his hunger overwhelmed his caution, and he tried to lunge at her. Buffy feinted easily to one side, still keeping her stake out of sight. “Hey, I know we’re going to be great friends,” she pouted. “But I think you should hold off on the grabbing until we’ve gotten to know each other a little bit better.”
The vampire ignored her comment and lurched forward once more. Buffy swung her leg around in a wide arch, knocking him to the ground where she planted her foot on his throat. Spike admired the move from his observation spot, noticing with appreciation how her leather pants and knit top hugged every curve.
“I don’t think you heard me,” she said, her patience strained. “I was hoping for a little foreplay. Nothing fancy, you know, I don’t expect you to take me out to dinner, or bring flowers, or candy or anything like that. I was just hoping for a few rounds of fist and fang.”
Buffy sighed, “This sad excuse for a performance just doesn’t do anything for me. And to think, I thought you might be the one.” She brought the stake from behind her back and just a split second after he realized that his very short unlife was about to be over, Buffy thrust the stake into the vampire’s heart. Dust fell on her boots and clung unattractively to her leather pants.
“One great thing about these pants,” she said to the dusty remains, “you just brush right off.”
As Buffy turned away from the pile of dust, ready to resume her patrol, Spike beat a speedy retreat toward his crypt. Nearing his lair, he jumped up onto a tomb and stretched out, propped against a pair of cement cherubs. By the time Buffy came around the corner, following her Slayer senses to the one remaining source of tingles, he looked like he had never moved, the picture of relaxation, an open book in his hands.
“Hey, look at the bookworm. This makes twice in one day, Spike. You sure read a lot.”
“Have a bit of time to kill, don’t I, Slayer, and I haven’t much in the way of company these days.”
“No? What ever happened to Harmony?”
“Well, first off, that’s over. And, second, I think it would be stretching the definition beyond recognition to call Harm’ company. She’s a bit more like leaving the telly on for background noise.”
Spike almost missed the trace of relief reflected in Buffy’s expression upon hearing that Harmony was out of the picture. But he didn’t get a chance to dwell on it because he noticed that she was still holding a stake in her hand.
“Hey, Slayer, I’m not going to try anything. I couldn’t hurt you if I wanted to. So, once again, you can put away that stake.”
Buffy looked at the stake for a beat and then at Spike. “You’re never going to believe this.”
Spike’s brows perked up expectantly. “Try me Slayer, I’ve been around for quite a while, you might be surprised what I could believe.”
Buffy’s expression changed as she tried to decide if she should confide in Spike. Finally, she took the plunge. “Sometimes I wish you didn’t have the chip so I could fight you again. I miss brawling with someone who has the first clue how to fight.”
“That’s right flattering, Slayer,” Spike replied genuinely touched. “I’d have to agree that our battles were usually quite satisfying.” ‘Or nearly so,’ he thought, ‘I’d get so hard fighting you I’d be afraid I might tear a hole in my trousers.’
Buffy sighed and sat down on a nearby tombstone. “It’s just not the same.”
“What’s not the same, love?”
“Slaying, I used to be able to go out most nights and get into a couple of good fights. Now it’s nothing but fledglings. It’s too easy.”
Spike smiled a wicked, knowing grin. “You’ve got needs, Slayer,” he began. “Needs, I might add, that aren’t being met.”
Buffy put her head in her hands. “Why am I even talking to you? You are the very last person-like thing I should be talking to.”
“Face it, Slayer,” Spike jumped down from his perch to stand directly in front of Buffy. “You talk to me because I’m the only one who understands. I get you like nobody else.” His voice was angry when he’d begun, but he couldn’t ignore the Slayer’s defeated posture. Against the whole nature of his demon being, his voice softened to a tone that was more about comfort than challenge. “Now that I’m chipped, I can only get my spot of violence fighting other demons. It’s better than nothing, but you can believe me when I tell you that it is not the same.” The touch of sadness she heard in his voice made Buffy look up, finding his eyes on hers. “I miss it too,” he admitted, very softly.
Buffy stared at him, her mouth opening and closing in a fair imitation of a fish as she tried to come up with a response. He was right and she knew it. She also knew, even though he couldn’t quite bring himself to say it, that he missed fighting her most of all. It was all just too weird.
Seeing her so nonplussed, Spike felt guilty. He realized that meeting his own needs for violence had left little for the Slayer to slay. He understood too well how it felt to be unable to scratch that particular itch, wanting to kill something and not being able to. And while he still didn’t comprehend why, he’d stopped pretending that he didn’t care. Buffy was frustrated and he didn’t like it.
“I suppose verbal sparring wouldn’t help?” he asked, just the hint of a smile curving his lips. “I could call you names; insult your taste in clothes. Maybe you could toss a few barbs my way?”
The tension that had been building between them broke when Buffy had to laugh, “No, I don’t think that would work. Don’t get me wrong, the snarky comments can add a lot to a fight. But without the punching and the kicking and intent to harm, I don’t think they can really hold up on their own.”
“Never mind then,” Spike said. “It was just a thought.” He started to move away. By now he’d completely forgotten his plan to demand compensation for his tutoring services.
Tbc….