Saturday week 7
What the hell was his problem? It’d been nearly a week since Buffy was in the hospital, since he’d won their little game of poker and not once, not once did he so much as even look her way. The first couple days she was relieved and thought nothing of it. After all, they were in phase three of their training and the Drill Sergeants had everyone super busy, getting them qualified with their weapons, taking their final physical fitness test, in essence, all their ‘End Of Cycle Tests’ before Warrior Week began.
They were on the obstacle course this morning, one last chance for a practice run through each station before being tested in pairs and where was he... standing near a picnic table almost three hundred yards behind the recruits, casually smoking a cigarette while talking with Sergeant McDonald.
He’d had plenty of opportunities to mess with her, make her do whatever he wanted and what had he done? Nothing. Abso-fuckin-lutely nothing. She should have been doing the snoopy dance, but instead she was furious. He’d been nothing shy of evil to her since day one and now... what? She suddenly wasn’t good enough anymore? He was treating her as if she didn’t exist. He didn’t look at her, didn’t come near her, it was as if his every move was purposefully calculated to avoid her at all costs. She was ready, had been ready for him. Bring it on, anything and everything he wished to unleash on her, she would show him, make it look like a walk in the park.
“What’s wrong?” Willow was concerned. She’d spent enough time being Buffy’s friend to know her moods and when Sergeant Speichart finally backed away from torturing her, Buffy became agitated instead of happy about it.
“That!” She pointed in Spike’s direction. “The man lived to torment me daily and now that I’m strong enough to take his shit... nothing. He won’t even look at me sideways, Willow. What gives with that?”
“Uhmm, not to sound all with the cliché’s here but, don’tcha kinda think that maybe you’re, uhmm, kicking a gift horse in the mouth?” Buffy looked at her as if she were insane. “I mean all the Drill Sergeants have backed off from harassing anyone unless they deserve it. He’s probably just doing the same.”
“No. There’s something wrong with him.” There had to be.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Graduation was approaching fast, but not fast enough for Spike. Buffy still haunted his every waking fantasy whether he was here at work or home. After she was released from the hospital and he finished his shift, his first stop before going to his apartment had been to a drugstore to purchase his first pack of condoms in what felt like years. He put two in his wallet and two in the glove compartment of his car, determined to shag the next willing women that came his way, except Lilah of course. He was sure when he did, it would flush his mind of her image, help him to get over his infatuation and move on... though it had yet to happen.
That wasn’t the only thing stressing him lately, however. After next week, he would only be working two more days and then he was finished being a Drill Sergeant. He needed at least three days off to out-process his company, the post and take care of some personal business before making one last walk-about his office then head out of state for good. Although he was looking forward to leaving, if he didn’t find some time soon to make up a proper schedule, Buffy might not have the protection she needed from Gunn, Finn and Oz against Lindsey. He wouldn’t put it past the worm to try something so close to the time the recruits were to leaving. In fact, it seemed like the perfect time, thus, the stress.
They were under the pavilion, having a smoke together. Lindsey sat on top of a picnic table while Spike stood, one foot planted on the bench, leaning his elbow on his raised knee, tilting his head down to take long drags off his cigarette. He was doing his best to act interested in whatever Lindsey was currently talking about but underneath he loathed being near him, having to watch him. He looked up to see Gunn walking in their direction to join them.
“You know those things will kill you, right?” He stood behind Lindsey so the east wind carried the smoke away from him and chuckled when Spike looked over Lindsey’s shoulder to flip him the bird. “Well men, we’ve done it again. Took a bunch of kids and turned them into soldiers.” He pointed off towards their own platoon as they took turns scaling the high wooden wall. “They’re doing an outstanding job.”
“That they are.” Lindsey took a drag off his cigarette and kept his eyes fixed on the recruits.
Spike was paying no attention to the idle chatter when he noticed Buffy was next in line. Everything was as it should be, just like it was right now at this very moment. Her, following orders and doing what she had to. Him, as far away from her as humanly possible.
“I gotta hand it to ya, Spike. You did a real nice job on her.”
“`Scuse me?” He looked over at Lindsey, back to Buffy and back to Lindsey again. He was watching Buffy like a predator as she began her ascent of the wall.
“Summers.” He took one last drag and crushed the cigarette out on the table top, exhaling the smoke through his nose before speaking again. “That diet you put her on? She filled out reeeeal nice.” He smiled as he watched her bottom wiggle while she maneuvered herself into position.
Gunn’s gaze snapped to Spike’s. He could smell something was about to happen and a huge part of him wanted it too. Lindsey had been nothing but a thorn in their side, having to baby-sit him over these last few weeks. Keeping his eyes on Spike, he asked, “Filled out?”
“Just look at her. Oh yeah... gonna tear that ass up.”
Lindsey never saw it coming. One moment he was talking and the next he heard a growl right before he was knocked to the ground, getting the shit beat out of him.
There was no thinking involved on Spike’s part. The object of his infatuation was being threatened and his gut instinct was to eliminate that threat. Launching himself at the other man, he tackled him to the ground and with lightening speed, set about pounding into him. In full protective mode, he held nothing back as he dealt blow after blow in rapid succession along with a string of curses from between gritted teeth.
Gunn knew, Gunn saw, Gunn didn’t give a shit. With a satisfied smirk on his face, he remained cool and casual about the whole thing. Backing up against a wooden beam, he leaned against it, crossed his arms and preferred to watch rather than interfere. Lindsey would lose and Spike wouldn’t have a scratch on him, he’d bet his paycheck on it. What he couldn’t bet on was what, or rather who exactly brought this on. Was it the mention of Buffy herself or could Lindsey have said any of the other female’s names and Spike would have reacted the same? The fact Spike was ignoring her altogether these days raised his suspicions again over how he felt about her. He’d never question his friend about it though, he knew Spike well enough to know that even if it were the case, that he had some secret crush, he’d never do anything even mildly inappropriate to a female, especially one directly under his care.
It wasn’t until Lindsey’s blood began to spill that Gunn worried Spike was taking it too far. He’d seen him in a fit of rage plenty of times. Hell, they’d been in more than one bar fight together, pre-Fred years of course, but this attack seemed particularly vicious, like it was personal. He looked over at his platoon and noticed everyone’s attention was now drawn in the direction of the warring Drill Sergeants.
“Spike! Spike, man, stop. He’s had enough and people are watching! SPIKE!” Apparently he’d have to interfere, Spike looked like he was enjoying himself too much, still punching away, shouting obscenities, insults and threats at the top of his lungs.
All he saw was red, both in his mind and on Lindsey’s face. He felt Gunn dragging him off the bloodied Drill Sergeant’s body and shouted one last warning before storming off. “Buffy is mine... stay the bloody hell away from her.”
Those closest to the pavilion saw what happened, heard every word... including Buffy. Willow and Xander stared at her in shock, their faces full of questions and confusion. Like she had the answer? She was just as bewildered as to what she’d witnessed as they were. With wide eyes, all she could do was shrug her shoulders and watch as Spike walked past them towards the parking lot to his car, she guessed, nostrils flaring.
“What are you lookin’ at?” He barked. “Get back to trainin’.” He watched everyone scramble away to do as they were told, all except Buffy. “Did I stutter, Summers?” She jumped a mile then turned away from him. His hands shook, heart beating furiously, mind still so preoccupied with jealousy that he never even realized just what it was that he’d said, that he’d used her first name or that he’d referenced her like a personal possession.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Friday week 8
This week they’d been ‘camping’ and oh, what fun it was... not! Buffy’s pitiful excuse for a bed back at the barracks suddenly looked like a ‘Posturepedic’ compared to sleeping on the cold ground under a lean-to tent, when she actually had a chance to sleep. Baby wipes replaced showers, porta-potties instead of toilets and she now thought highly of the chow hall food after being substituted for MREs, meals ready to eat. Either a person liked them or hated them. It didn’t matter what kind it was, everything was vacuum packed, needed water to take shape, look like food and be edible, contained two thousand calories total, leaving one constipated as hell. With three of these bad boys a day, she certainly wasn’t going to lose any weight. At least they were allowed to wear make-up now. Look out Maybelline, the Army’s own personal line of foundation comes in a trio of stunning shades... olive drab, muted soot and shit brown, apply all three and blend for that NATO-camo look every girl wants.
Their days were filled with tactical field exercises, being tested on their performance of all kinds of ‘war-like’ activities. They ‘ambushed’ each other in their respective platoons, used strictly hand signals to maneuver through the forest, threw colored smoke bombs to move ‘under cover’ or went for complete concealment by adding twigs and brush to their helmets, laying prone in wait, silent and unmoving for any unsuspecting enemies. Certain scenarios had them using hand-held radios to communicate with headquarters, a compass with a set of coordinates and a topographical map to rendezvous at specific locations. Other times they were ordered to find the ‘wounded’, soldiers who were selected at random with tags attached to their uniforms indicating their battle injuries, patch them up properly for transport to a field hospital all under the watchful eye of a Drill Sergeant. And let’s not forget the fun of hearing that single word of warning, ‘incoming’. The Drill Sergeants found it most amusing to periodically throw a tear gas canister in their midst, forcing them to swiftly don their chemical gear or suffer the snotty, puking consequences.
If they weren’t worn out from the daytime activities, there were exercises all through the night as well. They had a schedule for night patrol to secure the perimeters of their encampment, using code words or phrases if another soldier was caught trying to cross their border. If they didn’t speak the correct password, they were to capture and subdue through, simulated, force then detain them for interrogation. Then there was the fun from having a night infiltration mission of an enemy camp, pitting platoon against platoon with the reward of an extra MRE, which stimulated everyone’s motivation yet no one’s bowels.
On that Friday’s evening, they were faced with the most intense exercise of them all; one that scared the shit out of everyone despite the MREs acting as a butt plug. Dressed in full battle gear with their rifles slung over their backs, everyone began low crawling under barbed concertina wire while bullets flew over their heads in this simulated ‘live-fire’ exercise. Explosions from smoke grenades going off to their sides, flashes of red light whizzing overhead from the tracer rounds fired, telling Buffy just how low to the ground these weapons were actually being fired. Basically, if she stood up, she’d be dead. If anything made her understood how all her cumulative training impacted her performance on how to cope and stay alive during a real war situation, it was right here and now.
The exhilarating finish to this exciting week was a brisk, scenic stroll back to the barracks, if you consider a forced-paced, non-stop 15k road march with thirty extra pounds to everyone’s back and some blisters for good measure on one’s feet to be every vacationer here at Ft Lemonworth’s dream.
Spike had been there every day, every step of the way, looking as sexy as he could be and still ignoring her. She fantasized about walking up to him to demand an explanation for the rudest behavior he’d subjected her to yet. Just who did he think he was? It was his job to make her life hell and his performance had been stellar up until roughly two weeks ago. Was he slipping? Going soft on her? Something wasn’t right and if she had the time and opportunity, she’d chase him down, no, fuck that, she’d pin him down, force him to fess-up while she held his wrists over his head, straddled his lean torso, rub herself over his hard... huh?
“Summers!” Gunn spoke louder this time.
“Yes, Sergeant.”
He’d called her name five times. The fact that she’d been staring at Spike now raised questions in his mind about her attitude towards his friend. Was she attracted to him? Was he attracted to her? It just couldn’t be. Okay maybe, perhaps, it wasn’t entirely impossible that under completely different circumstances sure, they’d make a great couple, that is, if they could keep from killing one another during the courting process. Matter of fact, the more he thought about it, the more suspicious he became, particularly after what Spike had told Lindsey... ‘Buffy is mine...’ He supposed it didn’t matter even if they did fancy each other, Spike was leaving soon and they’d never see one another again.
He snickered as he thought back to Lindsey standing up, ready to report Spike and cause him all kinds of trouble. That was never going to happen, not after he dropped the name of the informant who would testify to his past ‘special relationships’ that had him transferred here in the first place. It was gratifying to finally tell the sleaze ball just what a piece of shit he really was and how the rest of the cadre was tired of having him under constant surveillance. Yup, that shut him up... permanently.
“Summers, I want you to take the rear of formation and help the slackers catch up.”
“Yes, Sergeant.” Erghh. It seemed her body was so well conditioned that she was constantly singled out to help those that were slower. Oh well, at least she wouldn’t have to look at him anymore.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tuesday week 9
Everyone could breathe; relax a little now that training was over. Graduation week was filled with tedious tasks such as getting those gorgeous green polyester uniforms and shiny black shoes together for the final ceremony on Sunday. It wasn’t that Buffy hated the uniform, she just felt it was more like a Monet... looks good from a distance but once you get close, it’s all messed up and incredibly scratchy. She sat there in the common room; thinking about what school would be like when she got there next week, twiddling her thumbs while various names were called out for mail. Then he showed up and took over for Sergeant Gunn, annoying her with that-that... accent a-and that deep, soothing rumble to his voice that felt like velvet every time it flowed into her ears.
Spike took the stack of letters from Gunn, telling the soldiers he hoped they’d informed their mommies and daddies to stop writing soon because they weren’t going to be here to get it past this week. He walked around and handed the soldiers their correspondence rather than flinging it at them since it was his last day.
“Baldwin. Rosenburg...”
He still wouldn’t acknowledge her and she felt like a ghost. She sat right next to Willow when he handed her letter over and his eyes never even left the bundle in his hand. She was fuming. She just didn’t get it. He was supposed to thrash her, drag her through the mud, whatever he wanted and-and, arghh!!! He wouldn’t look at her, made her feel as if she was so far beneath him he didn’t have a single word to say to her, bad or good.
Summers. He froze. She had a letter, and not from her mum or li’l sis. Larger than life on the front of the envelope was Angel’s name. He couldn’t believe it. The wanker was trying to get back with her. With one microscopic heart drawn over the ‘i’ in Liam, he knew without a doubt this jackass, that didn’t deserve a woman as good as Buffy, was going to undo all his efforts at getting her over that hill of heartbreak in her life. He looked up and noticed everyone staring at him; he’d been silent for several long seconds while deep in thought. He couldn’t throw it away; he had to give it to her.
“Summers.”
From her favorite corner roost, she waited for him to walk over but he just stood there and held it out, obviously waiting for her to come to him. Great, he hates me so much that he doesn’t even want to hand me my mail. She hid her irritation, stood up and walked towards him. As she held out her hand, he placed one end of the envelope in hers but held on when she tried to take it. She looked up and his gaze instantly locked with hers, catching her off guard. Not only was he looking directly into her eyes, but he was definitely trying to communicate something to her. For the first time, his baby blues were soft and full of some message she was unable to read.
He let go of the letter but held her eyes with his until she broke contact by glancing down at the envelope. She read the front then looked up at him once more. Hopefully she understood now what he was trying to say that he couldn’t out loud.
He got his answer two seconds later when she held it up in front of her, tore the entire thing in two and handed it back to him, a defiant, stubborn pout forming on her lips as if saying, ‘screw him’. He watched her prance away and didn’t bother to hide his smile this time when she sat down and eyed him again. ‘Tha’s my girl’. True, he couldn’t have her, but Angel definitely didn’t deserve her. Hopefully she would find someone someday who would be good to her, treat her better than Angel had, better than Cecily or Dru had treated him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sunday, week 9, graduation day
Graduation was over and everyone was busy with family and friends. Not Buffy. Her parents couldn’t make it but she didn’t let it bother her, she was glad to just have these nine weeks over with. She hadn’t seen Spike since Tuesday and wondered every day where he was. Not because she cared or anything, just that she would have loved to finally ask him what his major malfunction was. Whatever! Good riddance, she was free. Free of this place and free of him forever.
“Sergeant Gunn?” She tapped him on the shoulder.
“Summers, how are you? Where’s your family?” She looked sad.
“They weren’t able to come, but that’s why I wanted to ask you something.”
“Sure. Fire away.”
“Since everyone is busy visiting here, I was wondering if it would be okay if I went back to the barracks and just lay down to rest?” He frowned at her and she prepared herself for him to say no.
“I really shouldn’t because there’s no one there right now, BUT...” He smiled. “I trust you won’t go AWOL on me and I think you’ve more than earned yourself a nap. Go on, get out of here.”
“Thank you, thank you sooooo much, Serg...” he cut her off.
“Don’t thank me, thank your recruiter. Now get.”
She chuckled and left the parade field to walk the three blocks back to the barracks alone. Just the thought of being alone for the first time since she arrived was going to be heaven.
She got to her room and had to unpack her PT shorts and shirt so she could change into something more comfortable before lying down. Everyone had their civilian and Army things packed up and ready to leave today for their next destination... school. The charter bus that was taking Willow, her and everyone else that was going to become a medical specialist to school wouldn’t be here until evening. She’d at least have a couple hours rest before needing to get up and get moving, and she planned on sleeping hard. Her bunk was devoid of any sheets and blankets because they had to turn them in to the quarter master that morning. She was so tired it made no difference as she sat down, listening to the familiar creak she’d grown accustomed to for the last time. Stretching out on her back, her eyes closed, preparing for sleep when a noise caught her attention.
Spike came in when he knew everyone would be at graduation. He wasn’t one for goodbyes, hated them even though it was the Army way of life, people always coming and going in between duty stations like a revolving door. Sighing, he took off his BDU top and settled it on the back of the chair and laid the black duffle bag he’d brought with him on top of the desk. He set about collecting his personal belongings that still remained; a few plaques, a coffee mug, odds and ends mostly.
Clang. He accidentally knocked his car keys off the desk.
When he bent over to retrieve them, he felt a strong sense of déjà vu; he wasn’t alone. Someone was watching him. Closing his eyes and inhaling as he stood, he didn’t need to turn around; the smell of vanilla in the air told him exactly who was standing behind him... Buffy! He continued packing, keeping his back to her.
Tbc............
A/N: This chapter was originally longer but I had to break it up due to overall size limitations, sorry - and for the cliffie as well - being kinda evil here, giggles. Next chapter... you guessed it, things heat up as Buffy gets her opportunity to give Spike a piece of her mind.