Her mouth wouldn’t close. For some reason that she so wasn’t getting, she was catching flies with no hoping of putting an end to it.
“You did what?” She felt like screaming, pulling her hair out and then flopping on the floor, kicking and crying until the real Buffy stepped up and told her that she’d only been hallucinating her mother’s admission to inviting Spike to live with them.
It didn’t happen. Her mom stood resolutely in front of her, arms crossed and lips pursed.
“I know what you’re thinking, and the poor boy is traumatised. I think something hit him and he’s gone a little…” She stepped closer and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “…Strange in the head.”
There was nothing to say to that. God, she was speechless and now she was stuck living with a vampire in her basement. The world could be so cruel; Buffy felt like racing straight out there and slaying it. Huh! Teach the world to play such horrible cosmic jokes.
And no matter that her mother had whipped her comfortable, safe, vampire-free home out from under her, she still had a murderous vamp to hunt down. And Spike suddenly in her face.
“I can’t help it if some faceless force decided to use my place to store his carrots, can I?”
She could tell by the way he was glaring angrily at her that he was probably what he would describe as shirty, and even though Buffy couldn’t for the life of her work out what shirts had to do with being angry—or why he had any right to be angry at her in the first place—it seemed a pretty good word to describe him. He looked kinda…nice…not that Buffy would let herself be distracted by the fact he’d moved into her house.
“If I had any idea what you’re talking about, I’d still want to stake you.” Her hand closed tighter around her stake and she took a step into his personal space, internally freaking out that her heaving breaths brought her breasts into the slightest contact with his chest.
“You don’t have the stones.” His lips twitched as he watched her grapple for control.
“Oh you don’t want to see my stones,” Buffy threatened, still misunderstanding the phrase as she stomped her foot and attempted to move back without losing face.
“Buffy, I really don’t think this is the place for that kind of tone,” Joyce chastised, though inwardly, she enjoyed seeing her daughter wrong-footed on this kind of level. Spike brought something unique into their lives, and as much as the mother in her didn’t want to see the tension between the two blondes as anything but natural animosity, the knowledgeable woman could see the underlying sexual attraction they held for each other as clearly as the doll Buffy held limply in her hand. She wondered if some part of her had accepted the inevitable; if she’d actually taken a part in match-making the two, or if she’d actually been manipulated in some unseen way. That made no sense at all, but then, Joyce was left considering her own aversion to this partnership on anything but destroying evil and wondering when the world she lived in had ever made any sense at all. She felt tired, her head throbbing behind the bones of her skull. The pounding grew louder every second she tried to remain standing.
Feeling useless and weak, Joyce rubbed her forehead and swayed a little, making her way to the stairs before she could fully speak. “I’m feeling very tired. I think I’ll go to bed. ‘Night, you two. And remember, Buffy. No staking the houseguests.”
All the animosity fled in the face of her mother’s weakened stance and Buffy rushed to her side, helping her up the stairs slowly even as she threw a pointed glare at Spike over her shoulder.
He was just getting comfy in front of the telly when Buffy flounced back into the line of his vision.
“Dru’s in town. What do you know?” This was the Slayer before him, the concerned daughter obviously still at the side of her mother as the woman grasped for relief and sleep.
“Direct. To the point. Not a bloody thing. Now move.” He peered around her body to watch some ugly talk show host discuss even uglier politicians and laughed. It was apparently the wrong thing to do as he was soon screaming in pain from the vicious kick she aimed at his shin. He might think the little tart was the love of his life, but did she have to bruise him all the time? “Careful where you aim that foot, luv. One day you might not be so pleased with the bits you injure willy-nilly.”
He smirked at the high blush that spread across her cheeks and just for that he loved the tease. Loved the reaction he could get without hardly even trying.
Buffy contemplated him, all comfy and at home on her couch, and wondered if he would really rush back into the arms of the so-called love of his life. The thought that he might hurt, even though she couldn’t work out why. Still, what easier way was there to flush her out? Locate the easiest threat to eradicate and actually do it? The vision of a dusted Dru didn’t bring on any of those sinking-in-the-gut feelings that her dreams of Spike ashes had, and Buffy refused to dwell on the possible implications of that. What she needed to do right now was work out how much of a threat a chipped Spike could be if he reconnected with the crazy-ho that had slaughtered a whole train load of people. Really, she had no choice. Dru had to be eradicated and she had to find her as fast as she could, and no possibly in-crush Spike—or Spike mesmerised by his sire—could stand in her way.
“Get up. You’re gonna help me find Dru.” And she left him to get her coat, trying not to care how he’d react to those words.
“Not meaning to be arrogant, but if she’s here, she’s looking for me. Might be at my crypt waiting for me. Though how she’d get in…that’s the puzzle.”
Buffy rolled her eyes and walked out the door. “Yeah, ‘cause your carrot story really holds water.”
“It’s the bloody truth,” Spike spluttered. He found it embarrassing that he’d been kicked out of his crypt by a truckload of carotene—and he was the last bloke that needed to eat veggies to take care of his dimming eyesight. He wasn’t bleeding pansy-arse William with the specs of old. It was the least the bitch could do to believe him and stop going on about it.
“You wouldn’t know the truth if you tripped right over it…William.”
And that just ticked him right off. “I know your solider Joe couldn’t get it up after you patrolled. Boy was all threatened by your power. Put that in your pipe and— OW! What the fuck is your problem?” Blood poured from his nose and splattered onto his light grey tee, and Buffy was a little sorry for that because a change of clothing was possibly Spike’s way of trying to change overall, and that deserved points—but only a few small ones.
“Just how exactly do you know such intimate things about my love life?” She didn’t even wait for him to finish forming the first word before the obvious occurred to her. “Ewwwwww. I so should stake your evil ass. Stay. Away. From. My. Window. Get a new fixation, Bleach Boy.” Her eyes shot wide open at letting that out. Crap. Now he knew that she knew and there’d be nothing but sexual innuendo till the end of time, and that was the last thing she needed right now.
“Oh look, it’s your crypt,” she said with forced brightness, her finger pointing out the obvious.
“You definitely eat your carrots then.” Spike stomped past her and shoved hard on his front door, feeling not even the slightest amount of satisfaction that he bet the Slayer regularly did when it cracked hard against the inner wall. At least the bastards had left enough room for him to do that.
His eyes lit up to see the stacks of giant carrot bunches still exactly where he’d claimed them to be, and he stepped aside with a smirk of ‘I told you so, what are you gonna do about it now?’ proportions on his lips.
Buffy pushed past him and stood framed in the door, her mouth dropping open in amazement. “Holy crap. I thought you were just lying to get into my pants.” Again with the unguarded secret dropping. She was going to staple her lips closed.
Spike’s double-take wasn’t faked. He was truly amused as he tried to stare into eyes that suddenly couldn’t look into his, and grinned at the crimson taint to her cheeks. “Well, don’t think I needed a tall tale to work my way into there, pet. But whatever you fancy.” And he inched closer, making Buffy back against the doorframe in shock. Where did confident, oozing sexuality Spike come from?
He inhaled her and stiffened. Looking over his shoulder into the darker quarters of the crypt, he sensed something and hoped it wasn’t what commonsense told him it was.
“Who’s there?” He didn’t move away from Buffy, almost feeling like they’d made one tiny step toward something and he was desperate to protect whatever it was, even if it was undefined and never went anywhere else.
Her laughter wasn’t as sweet or as welcoming as it once might have been. Now he could feel the terrible implications of her evil and it sent chills up his spine. Since when did he put her in a separate basket and label it evil? He was evil. For God’s sake, he’d scared Dawn just the other night with his stories of stalking and murder.
“I feel like I should be laughing. I knew. Before you did. I knew you loved the Slayer. The pixies in my head whispered it to me.” Sad eyes contemplated the end of a century of love and delicious death, and then they fell on the Slayer and betrayal changed the loss to fury. “Bad slayer, taking what was never hers. You will be punished—and by what’s inside you.”
Buffy couldn’t help the dirty look at Spike as he held her still in the circle of his arms. “You listened to that kind of babble for a hundred years? What, were you insane?”
All he could do was shrug. There really were no words to describe his past and he was rather more interested in how his future was suddenly panning out. “Could say the same ‘bout your fixation with vampires who use too much hair gel, or human boys that like the bite. Lot’s of stones, pet, but which house do you think will shatter first?”
Being that he’d already suffered two of her hits tonight, he was rather surprised when she looked more apologetic than violent. He guessed she was saving it up for Dru. Speaking of which…
“What are you doing here, Dru?” He was impatient. Despite the fact that they were out and about because of Dru, he wanted to continue on with the moment she’d interrupted.
“I want us to be a family again, my William.”
Buffy watched in apprehension as Spike considered it, and worried if being stuck between his arms and the frame was a really bad place to be. But then he turned his eyes on her, and the softness of his expression almost made him look beautiful.
“Got a new family, Dru, even if only half of them but know it.”
How could he say such heart melty things when she didn’t even like him?
“Spike.” Buffy lifted a hand and caressed the leather at his arm, recoiling in shock when Dru leapt forward hissing and spitting.
“Hands off, little sunshine. He’s not for you. Such things are only for girls who are worthy. You’ve yet to prove yourself.” She turned away from Buffy and watched Spike, her eyes dark and calculating. “She will be the end of you if you stay here. Come with me, sweet Spike. Come back to Mummy and Daddy and let us hurt the little children again.”
“Okay, enough with the ewwww. Children? Because I’m really gonna stand by and let you go slaughter another ton of people.” Buffy ducked, and before Spike knew what she was doing, she’d kicked him forward and he was painfully kissing the wood that framed his front door.
The first crack was juicy, Dru ready and waiting to propel Buffy high in the air and almost headfirst into a carrot. Her face didn’t imprint, but her stake broke the skin. It was a horrible precursor to the main event, two women—one he’d once loved and another he loved now—fighting to the death in a field of produce that gave no leeway to their sloppy attacks. Before Spike knew what hit him, there was juliette everywhere he looked, carrot juice slippery under his shoes, and both girls were head to foot orange. He snorted at the chunks of vegetable in Buffy’s hair, the squishy bits plastered to her shirt.
“Keep that up, luv, and we’ll have enough to take back to your mum for salad.”
She shot him a filthy look, and that one diversion was all Dru needed to slip away to the tunnels. Buffy looked around the top layer of the crypt, not knowing of the secrets below, and huffed in irritation. “Where’d she go?” she pouted, her stake arm still poised and deadly.
“Guess she had to cut and run.” It was all he could take, and Spike erupted.
Buffy bit her lip against the giggle dying to get out. No way was she giving Spike the satisfaction. Instead, she stomped right by him, jerking to a halt when he grabbed her arm and plucked a chunk of carrot out of her hair.
“Can’t have the Slayer look like she lost to a salad.” And he shrugged off his new leather coat and draped it shyly over her shoulders.
Despite herself, Buffy was impressed. “Shiny!” she approved and together they turned for home.
Deep Purple by Peta
[Reviews - 55]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | 
Chapter or Story
Has been viewed 2610 times
- Text Size +
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story - Text Size +
Author's Chapter Notes:
I have three more chapters of this written, but I have officially gone into retirement. Which isn't to say I won't come back eventually, but for now I can't bear the pain of writing anymore. Thank you all for your support in the past.