[Reviews - 55]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 6438 times

- Text Size +




Author's Chapter Notes:
Another WIP. :) Cross your fingers for me and I'll try to finish this one. Expect Chapter 2 in one week.
Chapter 1

She was alone in the dark. Her boots dangled idly, inches above the uneven ground as she sat on an aging headstone. The sight of her brought Spike to a complete halt once he emerged from his crypt. His mind started to race, bombarded with questions. What was she doing in his cemetery? Was she waiting for him? For someone else? Did she need help? Would she even accept his help if he offered it?

Swearing, Spike slipped behind the nearest tree. He hated hiding, but he wanted to take advantage of his good fortune. It wasn’t everyday that he stumbled across a Slayer in his backyard. His eyes hungrily studied her body from head to toe. She was beautiful, sitting peacefully under the clear starry sky. Her hair was perfect, her coat perfectly hugged her curves, and her trendy jeans—although he couldn’t make them out clearly, Spike knew they were a perfect fit.

His imagination ran wild as he stood, paralyzed and unable to tare his gaze away. He thought about approaching her, about charming her with some witty comment. He considered sneaking up behind her and giving her a good scare. Once pulling her hair and calling her names came to mind, Spike chuckled quietly, perversely amused by the lengths he’d go just to be near her, just to get her attention.

“Spike, could you be anymore of a bloody lovesick fool?” he wondered out loud. Disgusted with himself, he turned on his heel. He left his crypt behind, determined not to waste another thought on the Slayer or her insufferable perfection.

As he traveled through the cemetery, he became aware of footsteps close behind him. For a passing moment, his dead heart tightened, intrigued by the notion of the Slayer at his heels. However, the steps were far too heavy. His follower was too loud to be Buffy, and he definitely wasn’t graceful enough to be likened to a Slayer on the prowl. And apparently, he was in need of an entourage. One set of footsteps became two, and soon, Spike was certain of a faint third. They were a persistent group; Spike wasn’t able to lose them. He led them on a twisting and turning path, around mausoleums, through thick trees, and intentionally into a dead end.

“I don’t know about you lot,” he began, staring ahead at the tall stonewall that fenced in the cemetery. “But I’m growing tired of this cat-and-mouse game. I say,” he made a cool and collected one-hundred and eighty degree spin, “we move to the part where I--.”

Before he could finish, a fist collided with the side of his jaw. “Alright,” he said, shaking off the blow, “you all want less talk and more action, I can appreciate that.”

He easily ducked and dodged the men’s frantic kicks and punches. He snickered at the weak, lousy competition until his foot landed in the stomach of the first man. Then there was nothing but pain. He couldn’t enjoy the man’s look of surprise as he flew through the air and collided with the side of a mausoleum. Spike could only grab his head as he collapsed onto the ground.
***

It was the last place she wanted to be—sitting, twiddling her thumbs as she waited outside of Spike’s crypt. She had other things to do, and other places to be, but Buffy couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to go down.

Over the past few days she had heard pieces of rumors. Nothing had made much sense, but Spike’s name had been mentioned more than once. And when Spike was causing trouble, Buffy found herself involved—whether she wanted to be or not.

Although she’d rather die than admit it, Buffy felt responsible for the annoying vampire. He was one of her oldest enemies and often the biggest pain in her ass, but he was fairly harmless and she couldn’t justify killing the guy. He made stupid and sometimes dangerous mistakes—he drank too much, he smoked too much, and he made too many deals with the wrong people—but he wasn’t hurting anyone. He couldn’t hurt anyone—not humans anyway; the chip in his head made sure of that.

And it was nice sometimes to have him around. It was another fact that Buffy hated to admit, but he was…useful. It was much more convenient for Buffy to beat information out of him than it was for her to travel from sleazy bar to sleazy bar.

He was a good fighter too. Since they had been occasionally working side-by-side, Buffy found herself silently admiring his strength, speed, and impulsive behavior. He was fighting for the wrong reasons—purely for the sake of a good fight—but in the end, genuine good came from his actions, and Buffy couldn’t deny that. Deep down, she knew he wasn’t a complete lost cause.

So once she overheard a couple of goons bragging about how Spike was going to pay on Tuesday night, it was a great deal of curiosity and a tiny—just the tiniest—bit of concern that brought her to the cemetery. If he needed help, she might offer him a hand, but that wouldn’t happen until after she knew the facts. If he deserved “to pay” for his latest stupid mistake, then Buffy was fully prepared to sit back and enjoy the show.

But nothing was happening. Over an hour had passed, and the cemetery was still quiet, Spike hadn’t even left his crypt, there wasn’t a single goon in sight, and Buffy was getting impatient. She fought back the desire to leave Spike to fend for himself three separate times before he finally appeared, wearing his usual all-black attire. Buffy tried not to look in his direction, but from the corner of her eye she watched as he noticed her, and he stumbled, nearly tripping over his own two feet.

“Moron,” she snickered under her breath. Her amusement grew once he attempted to shield his body behind a tree as he peeped. She tried her best to remain casual and seemingly unaware of his presence, but it was difficult. She could feel his eyes as they raked over her from head to toe. It made her uncomfortable, it elevated her heartbeat slightly, and it made her entire body…buzz?

Before she could analyze her condition, Spike was on the move. And he was moving fast, stomping his way through the wooded area. By the time Buffy got to her feet, she caught only a glimpse of his long coat as it floated out of sight. Not entirely eager to come face-to-face with the vampire, she waited a full minute before following him deeper into the cemetery. While keeping her pace brisk, she searched between the trees for Spike’s always-noticeable head of bleached blond hair. She assumed that he was on his way toward downtown Sunnydale. She really couldn’t think of anywhere else worth going on a late Tuesday night. She was nearly out of the cemetery once she heard Spike let out a growl. Or did it sound more like a sob? Regardless of what the noise was, it was coming from Spike and it was coming from behind her, from a corner that she had passed by not long ago.

“He’s walking in circles?” she mumbled, finding his course of travel unsettling. He was trying to throw someone off his trail. And Buffy knew there was a very large chance of that someone being her. He could be playing a game, or setting some kind of trap, or—she froze, hearing him cry out again—he could be in real trouble.

“He’ll pay on Tuesday,” she reminded herself with a sigh before taking off in a run.

“Hey!” she called out, seeing at least three figures. One man was holding Spike down to the ground, while the other hit him again and again. A sour taste flooded Buffy’s mouth, realizing that he wasn’t fighting back. Spike wasn’t trying to defend himself.

“Hey,” she repeated, standing between the two goons once it became apparent that she was being ignored. “What’s going on? What—” she faltered, finally getting a better look at Spike’s bruised and bleeding face. “God…what did he do?” she finished softly. “Spike?”

He didn’t respond, but the goons did. Although her eyes refused to leave Spike’s crumpled form, she knew that she was now the center of attention.

“You know this guy?” one of them demanded.

Buffy didn’t hear a word. Her elbows shot out, plunging into two flabby stomachs at the same time. One man fell, and the other was soon to follow. Both were left gasping for air.

“Humans, Spike? You ran out of your own kind to annoy, so now you’re pissing off humans?”

Spike didn’t say a word. He made no sign that he knew that Buffy was there, that she was with him and coming to his rescue.

“You so owe me,” she whispered while pulling an unconscious Spike to his feet.
***





You must login (register) to review.