The echoes of Spike’s raucous laughter rang into the night. Bent double, with hands on his knees, the vampire fought to drag deep lungfuls of unnecessary air into his shuddering body. It’d been a bloody fantastic day all round, and tonight’s patrol—having barely covered half of Shady Hill cemetery—was shaping up to be one for the record books.
“Go ahead. Laugh it up, why don’t you?” Buffy sat in a bedraggled heap on the ground, glaring daggers at the highly amused vampire. She teased an unidentifiable sticky mass from her hair and grimaced at the colourful array of iridescent demon guts that saturated her clothing. “At least someone’s enjoying themself!”
“Hey now,” Spike replied, failing miserably at controlling his sniggers. “To be fair, pet, I did tell you not to attack it. G’runacks are ugly buggers I’ll grant you, but they’re completely harmless unless provoked.”
“Excuse me?” One eyebrow arched in disbelief. “That walking slime factory was all with the growly screechiness. If anyone was provoked it was me!”
Snickering, Spike searched the pockets of his beloved duster and retrieved his packet of cigarettes, lighting up in the vain hopes of regaining some composure. “That was a sneeze, love... not a declaration of war.”
Buffy huffed indignantly and folded her arms. “Well how was I supposed to know it had a cold?” Her mouth formed a practiced pout as she refocused her attention on the secondary source of her irritation. “Anyway, I didn’t see you running to my rescue.”
Unsurprisingly, Spike’s eyes were riveted on the temptation that was Buffy’s bottom lip. “I was distracted,” he said, hurriedly thinking of a way to get back into his Slayer’s good books—and reacquainted with the delights said lip had to offer. “Knew you could handle yourself, didn’ I? An’ judgin’ by the evidence I was correct.”
“Yeah, right,” Buffy muttered. “You could have warned me these Gunk things have a tendency to explode. That little titbit might’ve come in useful before I ruined an entire outfit. How was I supposed to—” She frowned. “Distracted by what?”
Rolling his eyes, Spike ignored her deliberate mispronunciation of the ill-fated demon. “By you, of course.” He sent her a flirtatious wink. “You’re bloody glorious when you fight, love. A real work of art. Add in the fact my coat is covered in your scent an’ well...” He chuckled. “You’re lookin’ at one very happy vamp.”
Buffy sighed and raised a gloopy hand into the air, watching as the viscous fluid slid between her fingers and landed on the moonlit grass below. “Remind me again why I put up with you,” she said, as her lips surrendered to a reluctant smile. “I must be as demented as you are.”
“No arguments here.” Spike grinned and stepped forward. “I’m sorry love, but even you’ve gotta admit you look a right state.”
Wow, what a charmer.
Unimpressed, Buffy raised an eyebrow and scowled. “Just what every girl likes to hear,” she said. “And only last night you were telling me I was beautiful no matter what!”
“Well, yeah,” Spike drawled, as his eyes lit up in devilish delight. “But mascara an’ tears are one thing, kitten. Snot and demon guts are somethin’ else entirely.” Chuckling, he darted to the side, narrowly avoiding an airborne clump of recently deceased G’runack. “Oi!” he cried, warily toeing the suspicious looking appendage with his boot. “Watch the leather! I just cleaned this coat.”
Buffy offered him a saccharine smile as she wiped her palms clean on the damp grass. “But you'd look so pretty,” she said in a sing-song voice. “There’s nothing like a man covered in glittery entrails to get a girl all hot and bothered.”
Affronted, Spike huffed in disgust. “Vamps don't bloody well sparkle,” he muttered, taking Buffy’s outstretched hands and pulling her to her feet. “What do I look like? Soddin’ Tinkerbell?”
Buffy wrinkled her nose as if seriously mulling it over. “You’re right. I can’t really picture you with wings. You’re more like Peter Pan,” she replied, grinning widely. “The boy who never grew up.”
Smirking, Spike ran his tongue over his top teeth. “I’m far from a boy, love.”
“And don’t I know it.” Buffy frowned and looked down at her G’runack covered outfit. The foul smelling substance was starting to harden, and she didn’t even want to think about what was dripping down her neck. “It’s still early,” she said. “I can’t blow off the slayage again, but there’s no way I can patrol like this. I look like a disco ball—not so big with the stealthy over here.”
“You could shower at my crypt,” Spike suggested hopefully, as images of a wet, naked slayer assaulted his mind’s eye. Smirking, he raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side. “Ask me nicely an’ I’ll even scrub your back for you... make sure you’re squeaky clean an’ all that.”
“Tempting,” Buffy replied with a matching grin. “But this top is a goner. I think a complete wardrobe change is a must.”
With a sigh, Spike tugged on her hand and headed towards the cemetery gates. “Come on then,” he said. “Sooner we get to your place, the sooner we can get back to pummelin’ the nasties.”
He wanted to suggest loaning her one of his shirts. However, if Buffy was set on patrolling, then persuading her to strip off in his crypt was probably not conducive to her plan. A mental image of his girl wearing nothing but a black tee was enough to send Spike’s borrowed blood rushing southward, and ignoring his burgeoning erection, the vampire’s mind drifted to thoughts of a more domestic nature as they headed towards Revello Drive.
Evidently, patrolling was messy business, but personal hygiene aside, Spike intended for Buffy’s presence at his crypt to become a regular fixture. He was going to have to clear some space, maybe find her a drawer for some clothes, and stock up on the human-friendly food. Spike had noticed the rounded curves of his dreams were somewhat lacking since Buffy’s return, and the fierce growl of her stomach was an alarmingly frequent occurrence. He was certain she wasn’t taking care of herself, which, whilst understandable given the circumstances, couldn’t be allowed to continue.
Not on my watch, he thought. I’ll be buggered if I’m gonna let my girl waste away. Gotta help her through it. Get her fit an’ healthy again.
The openness they had embraced since just last night would certainly make his task easier. Spike was determined to help Buffy in whatever way he could; even if it was something as mundane as making sure she ate right. Granted, his knowledge of catering to the culinary needs of human females was somewhat limited to BBQ wings, pizza, and the occasional doughnut, but he could learn. He’d keep it simple, nothing too adventurous at first—bread, milk, fruit, veggies—items that would stay fresh in his fridge. Chocolate. All women liked chocolate, right? Times hadn’t changed that much since his youth.
It was whilst debating the benefits of Persian rugs—carpeting not being a standard feature in most crypts—and the likelihood of diverting a hot water supply to his shower, that Spike realised what he was doing. The idea of a cosy little crypt for two brought a smile to his lips, but was it even possible? Could it work? Would Buffy be willing to take that daunting step? Shaking his head, Spike broke from his reverie and glanced around to gain his bearings, noting to his astonishment that they’d already reached Buffy’s front lawn.
The house was shrouded in darkness, and the Slayer glanced indecisively between the porch and the tree standing tall and proud beside her bedroom window. She was relieved that everything seemed quiet, but she wouldn’t put it past her friends to be waiting inside regardless. Despite her words to the contrary, Buffy didn’t really believe it was over. If they were inside, Willow and Xander would try again. She was sure of it. And as painful as any confrontation might be, it was a comfort to know Dawn wouldn’t play witness to the potential dispute.
“You alright, kitten?” Buffy had fallen eerily still, and an anxious look marred her features. Stepping closer, Spike rubbed his thumb along her furrowed brow, causing the muscles to relax under his gentle touch. “What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” he asked, cupping her cheek.
Comforted by the gesture, Buffy sighed and nuzzled into his palm. “I just don’t want to walk in on another intervention,” she said, meeting his eyes. “This morning was bad enough. I don’t think I can handle another one so soon.”
A low growl rumbled through the vampire’s chest as his protective instincts rushed to the forefront. “Let ‘em try.” His voice was a deadly whisper as he dropped a kiss to her forehead. “I doubt either Red or Harris’ will have the stones to run their mouths off again... not with me here, at least.” He scanned their surroundings. For once, Xander’s truck was nowhere to be seen, and a quick glance towards the house revealed no obvious signs of activity. “I tell you what,” Spike said as he pulled back to look at her. “How’s about you put those years of sneakin’ around to good use, yeah? We’ll scoot through the window an’ your chums’ll be none the wiser. You can wash up; change into somethin’ short an’ flimsy—”
“Spike—”
“Fine,” he amended off her admonishing look, “practical an’ borin’... Then we’ll leave. No harm, no foul.” He paused, thoughtfully. “You know, that’s twice in twenty-four hours I’ve suggested that. A bloke might start to think you’re tryin’ to seduce him with costume changes and the lure of naked slayer flesh.”
Buffy laughed, her eyes dancing in wry amusement. “Somehow, Spike, I doubt you’d take much seducing.”
“Oi!” His hands fell to her waist, deftly avoiding the clump of solidified demon guts that refused to relinquish its hold on Buffy’s top. “Are you callin’ me easy?”
Her hands came to rest against his chest, before slowly tracing a path to his waistband. “Maybe we’ll find out later,” Buffy replied, brushing a barely-there kiss across his lips. With practised ease, she darted up the tree, and poked her head out the window. “I owe you one, remember?”
“Actually, you owe me two,” Spike muttered, grasping a sturdy branch and hauling himself upwards. Gracefully, the vampire scaled the tree and followed her into the bedroom. “But who’s countin’?”
With a sly grin and an armful of fresh clothes, Buffy headed for the bathroom. “Good things come to those who wait,” she said, closing the door with a cheeky wink.
Within seconds the sound of running water filtered through to the bedroom, and Spike took the opportunity to savour his first sanctioned visit to Buffy’s inner sanctum, completely oblivious to the freshly lit candles that flickered in the room below.
Determinedly, the young wiccan circled the living room, her mind focused solely on the task as she left a trail of softly glowing candles in her wake. Xander had told her to wait—that they needed Buffy’s permission before performing the spell—but seriously... Why bother? It was just a basic incantation. She could probably perform it blindfolded with one hand tied behind her back. Simply put, it was your everyday fact-finding mission. No big deal.
Willow knew her oldest friend was prone to over-reacting, and the sight of Buffy and Spike’s passionate lip-lock had bought him a one-way ticket on the crazy train. Obviously he wasn’t thinking clearly or he would have seen the merit of her plan. She was only trying to help. Under normal circumstances, Tara could have performed a comprehensive aura reading and saved her the trouble—but Tara wasn’t here, was she? So really, what choice did she have?
The circle of candles shone brightly, and Willow ignored the twisting sensation in her gut at the thought of her estranged girlfriend. Bringing the match to her lips, she extinguished the flame then placed the blackened remnants in a tarnished silver dish. She would use this opportunity to prove her magicy competence, and by tomorrow morning everything would be back to normal.
Nothing can go wrong, Willow thought as she crouched by the cupboard. I’m just going to check for residual energies. Kinda like a mystical x-ray, Buffy will never even know, so what’s the harm in trying?
Her resolve stronger than ever, the witch retrieved an inconspicuous looking rucksack from the bottom shelf and moved to sit on the couch. Hurriedly unzipping the bag, Willow reached in and began to assemble the necessary ingredients on the coffee table. She removed a bag of pungent herbs, several feathers, and a vial of black powder, then rummaged through an array of crystals until she found a small scarlet-tinted gem.
Undoubtedly, Buffy was having a tough time of late, and it would be unfair to burden her further by mentioning the spell—if you could even call it that. In truth, it was more of a chant. Merely some fancy words and a few candles. One way or another, Willow would have definitive proof. If there was an outside source affecting her friend then she would discover its origins. And if not, if Buffy truly was of the influence-free persuasion, then she’d never be any the wiser, right?
In her haste to get started, Willow carelessly returned the spare stones to her pack, never noticing the amber-like gem that fell to the floor and bounced beneath the table.
Everything will be back to normal soon. Just wait and see.
With a confident air, Willow crossed the room and selected the leather-bound volume from the bookshelf. She traced her fingers over the embossed lettering before reaching into her pocket and retrieving the final ingredient—a silver necklace from the Slayer’s jewellery box.
[Reviews - 82]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | 
Chapter or Story
Has been viewed 3952 times
- Text Size +
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story - Text Size +
Author's Chapter Notes:
Umm, if you're a Twilight fan I'll apologise now...
Chapter End Notes:
A/N Well, come on. We all knew Willow was going to try something didn’t we? *Hands out cookies to the good guessers* This chapter is dedicated to Dragonflylady. The only woman I know that can bring a shop to a standstill in order to take photos of giant, sparkly glitterballs – and not of the Cullen variety. *Mwah*