When It Snows In Sunnydale by Sotia

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Chapter Notes: A huge thank you to my betas, Im_bloody_English and Dragonflylady, for being so awesome as to find time for me amidst their really busy RLs. Thank you Henrietta_Holden for the test read and suggestions. Thank you Blackoberst... for everything. I love you. Lots!
She was out of breath by the time she flung open the Mansion’s door. “Angel.”


Her first love was nowhere to be found. Death by sunrise, the First had said. Where could he be? She felt tinglies at the back of her neck and sighed with relief. She made it in time. Walking towards the doorway to the atrium, she saw the upwards leading steps and started running towards them. His signature felt stronger with each stride she took, and she ran faster towards the hills behind the mansion, past bushes with tangled branches that pawed at her jacket, hoping to get to him before death did.


She came to an abrupt halt when she saw the lone figure atop the hill. “What are you doing here? Where is Angel?”


Spike didn’t even turn to look at her. He’d had enough of hearing the brood-meister’s name. He’d had enough of women looking for his grandsire when he was the one that was there for them. Drusilla had kept asking for her daddy, accusing him of driving the older vampire away, calling him tainted, burned… and now this one. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his jaw and balled his fists. Maybe if he ignored her long enough she’d go away.


His stillness, his silence was creeping her out. Spike was ever-moving. Energy was always flowing from him, making it hard to look at him for long without feeling light-headed. And he wouldn’t stop talking; he’d say the weirdest things, and he’d be so astute in his observations that he’d make her hand itch to punch him in the nose. Now he just… stood there, shoulders hunched, and it was unnerving. “Spike,” she ground out, demanding his attention.


He was impressed. Even in her obviously distraught frame of mind she managed to pack so much disdain in one single word. If he were sober he might have come back at her with something witty, maybe something about sourpusses, but he’d done his best not to be sober, hoping the burning would hurt less. If the pain in his gut from Dru’s betrayal was any indication of alcohol’s pain-numbing qualities, he was in for a Hell of a morning. “Slayer.” He finally acknowledged her presence, still refusing to face her even though he could feel she’d come closer.


“Where is Angel?”


There was something in her voice… something he hadn’t associated with her, couldn’t associate with the girl who’d kicked his ass “ something he’d only admit when he was drunk. “Gone,” he replied.


He heard her whisper no, and turned to face her, ready to gloat at the news he was bearing, his misery temporarily forgotten in lieu of one last victory before he died. What he saw made him feel like a royal ass, and then twice that at the thought he felt bad for the bloody Slayer.


Only it was hard for him to make out the Slayer in the form of the young girl crumbled on the ground, shaking with sobs she stubbornly fought to contain.


He found himself kneeling next to her, patting her back. “There, there, now. I’m sure he’ll come back, Slayer.”


What was he talking about? Angel was gone, and he… How was Angel gone? The sun hadn’t risen yet. She turned confused eyes to him, cursing the tears that were blurring her vision to the point of making him appear concerned. “Come back?”


“Yeah. I mean, he did say it would be better if he stayed away from you. It’d keep you safe, see? But I’m sure he’ll come back. And hey, L.A. isn’t that far from here, right?” The loss he’d seen in her eyes had touched him. He knew what it felt like to be left behind, or kicked aside in his case, and couldn’t help but sympathize. Reaching into his duster’s pocket, he found his flask, uncapped it, and handed it to her.


“L.A.?” So she’d felt like her heart had been ripped in two because Angel wanted some space? She took a swig to clear her head and grimaced at the burn to her tongue and throat. “He’s gone to L.A.?” She couldn’t believe it. She had been so worried at the First’s words, had been so sure she was about to lose the love of her life forever, and he’d just skipped town. To keep her safe. Okay, that was infuriating.


She burst in laughter.


Spike was perplexed. He’d never claimed to understand women perfectly, even though his years with his wicked plum showed he had some insight to the female “ or lunatic “ psyche, but the Slayer’s reaction mystified him. A moment ago she’d looked so small, so helpless, and now she was laughing like there was no tomorrow.


“Are you daft, Slayer? Is this you, goin’ off your rocker?” She laughed harder and he got pissed off. It was like being with Dru all over again; being left in the dark on the good stuff. “The wanker. Left. You. He left you.”


“I thought he’d killed himself,” Buffy managed to spit out between cackles.


It was Spike’s turn to laugh.


“Off himself? Angel?” He was lucky he didn’t need to breathe, because he certainly couldn’t catch his breath if he tried. What Buffy said was so funny he even contemplated putting off his suicide for a day so he could spread the mirth.


He stopped laughing when her fist suddenly made contact with his nose.


“Oi! What was that for?” His hands flew to his face, trying to assess the damage.


“What’s the laughing for?” she countered, her back now ram-rod straight as she sat facing him, her eyes sparkling with annoyance. She took another, smaller sip of scotch, waiting for him to answer.


He shrugged. “The idea of the Poof offin’ himself.”


“Well, the punch was for finding that funny.” She shoved him and he rolled back, falling on his ass.


“Well, it was funny,” he replied indignantly before getting up in one fluid motion. “Right. Nice catchin’ up with you and all, now hand me my drink and toddle along.”


“Why?”


“Because I want my bloody peace of mind.”


Why was it funny? Angel would so kill himself to stop from hurting others.”


Spike snorted. He could feel sunrise approaching and wouldn’t for the un-life of him let Buffy be witness to his death, but he just had to set some things straight before leaving for the great beyond.


“Because his ego is too engorged and his balls too tiny to let him kill himself.” Seeing her arch a brow, he went on. “If it was him here waitin’ for the sun, he’d play the tortured soul.” His voice lowered an octave, became stuffy. “Oh, Buffy, let me do this. I’m a burden to you and I turn everything I touch into a giant dog turd. You’d beg him to come to safety with you.” He made his voice high pitched and went on. “No, Angel, my love. Don’t do this. The sun will burn your hair, after all the effort you put into it every morning. Consider the cost!” Resuming his normal voice, he concluded, “He’d be all ‘Oh, well, all right, but I’m only doing this for you’, and then the end credits would roll down, and maybe there’d even be some snow fallin’.”


“Snow? Here?” She could hardly hold back her giggles at his antics. Angel had run away from the only woman who could kick his ass, the only person who could keep him in check, for her own good. She should do something. She should go after him and change his mind. Or dust him. She should mourn being dumped. She should do something. Anything other than sit here, drinking and laughing. With Spike.


“Well, you’d have to have the Powers That Can’t Be Bothered To Make Sense approve of your love, and what better way to do so than to show both of you they’d save him anyway?” She had to laugh at that, right? And why did he care? Maybe he’d gone soft now that he was running out of time.


“Yeah, I guess that’d make sense.” She worried her lower lip with her teeth and made to get up. She didn’t even notice taking Spike’s proffered hand to steady herself.


“He’s beneath you, Slayer,” he said as soon as she was done brushing grass and dirt off her pants and jacket. “If you remember nothing else of me, remember I said that.”


His voice was entirely too serious, and she didn’t like it one bit. “What’s with the cryptic routine, Spike?”


“What’s with the third degree, Slayer? Aren’t you sleepy yet? Don’t you have things to do?” His face closed down again, his eyes cold as he asked, “Maybe run after your precious Angel?”


His change threw her. A moment ago he’d made her forget he was her sworn enemy, a demon whose only reason for being was to bug her to no end. Now he was back to being precisely that.


And he wanted her to go away.


Her eyes narrowing in suspicion, she asked, “Spike, what are you doing here?”


“Talkin’ to you, apparently.” He sneered.


“No, what. Are. You. Doing. Here? What happened to ‘I'll find her, wherever she is, tie her up, torture her until she likes me again’?”


“I’m doin’ just what Cavebrow wouldn’ ever do.”


“You want to commit… suicide?” The thought was preposterous. Spike was too vibrant, too… alive, though technically dead for many decades, to do something so stupid.


“And how is that your business?”


The way he cocked his head to the side, his scarred eyebrow shooting for the hairline was so irritating she had to clench her teeth not to punch him again. “Why would you do that?”


“Because I’ve got the balls your Angel’s lacking.” He felt all manly.


“Suicide doesn’t take balls, blondie. It’s the cowardliest thing there is.”


“Cowardliest? I see the American educational system has progressed.” He snatched his flask back and downed a healthy swig. “It’s not cowardly. I’m not a coward. I just have nothin’ to live for.”


She placed a hand on his shoulder, not knowing why she wanted to show him sympathy, and rationalizing that she owed him. “Dru?”


“Not comin’ back. Wouldn’ even go for the sympathy shag. Know how long I’ve been without?”


She slapped his back. Hard. “So you want to die, permanently, cuz Hoes-R-Us won’t put out? What are you? Sixteen?” She held up her index finger when he opened his mouth to protest. “Don’t make me drag you to my Mom to give you the ‘There’s-plenty-more-fish-in-the-sea’ speech.”


“Thing is, there isn’t. Nobody wants me. I seem too… broken.” He shuffled his feet, toeing the dirt as he came closer to her.


She gaped. Spike was a hottie, if one was objective, and she had enough alcohol in her to be just that. “Come on, Spike. You’re a real catch, vamp-wise. You should be getting some all the time. I mean, you’ve got the body, and the cheekbones, and the swagger, and your eyes…” He was in her face now, and those eyes were stealing the words out of her mouth. Hell, they were stealing the thoughts out of her head.


“What about my eyes?”


“They… they’re blue.”


“Uh-huh, so?” He licked his lips and she wanted to pinch herself to snap out of it, because her eyes were glued to his tongue, and she should be thinking about Angel, damn it!


“Blue is a cool colour,” she whispered.


He smiled, almost shyly, and asked, “So would the body, and the cheekbones, and the swagger, and the eyes get me some of you?”


“Sure.”


He jumped back as if she’d thrown holy water on him. He didn’t know if what shocked him was her answer, or how much he hoped it’d be true. “Really?”


“Really,” she said again. “When it snows in Sunnydale.”


“Right.” Now the bird was making fun of him. Would the bloody sun rise, already?


He pouted. The Big Bad pouted, and the scourge of the demon world, the Chosen One, the Warrior of Good wanted to kiss his pout away. Things couldn’t have been weirder.


Or maybe they could.


Buffy linked her arm through his. “Come on.”


“Not movin’. It’s minutes till sunup, you’re not puttin’ out, got nothin’ to do but stay here.”


“Don’t be a baby. We’re going to my place.”


He looked at her questioningly. “It’s not snowin’.”


“And thank God for that. I’ll make you some hot chocolate and we can commiserate over the vampires in our lives.” Turning serious for a moment she added, “No attacking my Mom or me while we’re there, though. Today is truce-day.”


He stuck out his tongue, and furrowed his eyebrow in thought. He tasted something in the air that made him smile once he realized what it was. “But if it snows?”


“Then I’m all yours.” And it wouldn’t even be her fault. It would be the Powers That Be, telling her hotties were hotties, whether they had a pulse or not.


His grin widened as he let her pull him down the hill.


Minutes later, the first snowflake landed on the tip of her nose.


“Oh, Slayer…”


~~~*~~~


Weatherman: Sunnydale residents shouldn't expect to see the sun at all today. That cold front isn't going anywhere. With temperatures in the high thirties, means you better bundle up if you're planning to go
outside and enjoy the change in the weather.
Chapter Endnotes: I really-really hope you liked, please let me know!!

There will most probably be a second part, as I'm finding the lack of smut weird :P No promises, though.

I will also be wrapping up Banana Guy this week - sniffle - but there will be no update other than the BG finale until sometime next week, as Andrei is flying over on the 12th (WOOT) and staying until the 17th.


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