Chapter 4
With her feet up, the Christmas tree done and Spike disappearing into the night for what was probably another night of drunken brawls at Willy’s, Buffy had been feeling pretty good. That was until her mom had sat down next to her with her ‘Buffy Anne, you’re in trouble’ face on. It had all gone downhill from there with the speed of Xander devouring a bag of Cheetos.
“Ugh, and then she said, ‘maybe you should try to be nicer, Buffy’, as if I was the bad guy. So not the bad guy here. Kind of in the job description.” A punch. A grunt.
“What are you even talking about?” the vampire slurred through his fangs, ducking her swing.
“He’s totally evil, you know? He put salt in my coffee and laughed when the tree fell on me an—”
“A tree fell on you?” The vampire chortled, the laughter whooshing out when she kicked him in the gut so hard it sent him staggering back.
“And the worst part?” She whipped the stake from the inner pocket of her coat. “He’s a cheese-stealing, pillow-hogging, mother-charming pest hell bent on ruining my favourite holiday and now I’m not even allowed to hit him when he provokes me. How is that fair?”
Before the vampire could as much as shrug she plunged the stake into his chest. He looked down, surprised, as though he’d never even expected it to end this way. The stupid ones never did.
“I feel better now.”
“At least someone does.”
She jumped about a foot in the air and almost dropped her stake. Not her finest moment. “Oh God, are you doing this on purpose?”
There he was, leaning against a nearby tree, half of him submerged in shadows like the big vampire drama queen he was.
“Trust me, if I knew it was you scaring the squirrels off, I’d have given the place a wide berth.”
“Who else would it be, genius? You knew I was going patrolling.”
“Oh,” he said, blinked and shouldered off the tree, unsteady on his feet. Was he drunk? “Well, could have been any sort of nasty picking a fight. Figured I might as well get me some action.”
She sheathed the stake. Not like she could use it, no matter how tempting the idea was. “And you thought, what? You’d kill them to death with your booze breath?”
He not-quite-stumbled over to her, way too close for comfort, so close she almost went cross-eyed meeting his challenging gaze. “Bet your arse is sore from sitting on that high horse of yours all the time.”
“At least I have a… horse.” Great, I’m losing an argument to a tipsy Spike. I just can’t get a break.
“You know, you’d be a lot more fun to be around if you unclenched your tight arse every once in a while.” His breath smelled like smoke and whiskey, his eyelashes casting shadows in the hollows under his mocking eyes.
“I’m not here for your entertainment,” she said through gritted teeth, wondering why she didn’t just shove him off and flee, why there was a force of gravity dragging her closer into his orbit. “And stop talking about my ass!”
His hand jerked up before she could slap it away, sliding into her hair and wrapping it around his fist. “You drive me bonkers, Slayer. Can’t fucking get away from you.”
She dug her nails into his wrist, feeling off balance, a stuttered reply dying in her throat when she met his dark, narrowed eyes.
“Are you trying to ruin my unlife?” He loosened his hold, just enough to slide a cool palm down her fevered neck and rest over her hammering pulse point, fingertips curling into her nape.
“Me? You’re the one who’s always under my feet, Spike. It’s not like I can just up and leave. I’m stuck here. If you hate Sunnydale so much, why don’t you leave? Nobody’s stopping you.” This was surreal, flew right off the scale of weird and wrong and Hellmouth-y into a whole new category she wasn’t sure how to name. His thumb stroked over her artery and her fingers were still clamped around his wrist hard enough to feel the delicate bones creak in protest. Neither of them moved away.
“This chip—”
“Stop making excuses,” she felt her mouth move and heard her voice but wasn’t sure where this was coming from, why she was confronting him now when it would be so much easier to just let go and pretend there wasn’t some part of her hungry to see him unravel. “The Initiative isn’t even here anymore. No one here can help you get the chip out. What’s wrong with you? Why the hell do you just keep coming back?”
“Maybe I just like it here then. Demon, Hellmouth. Makes sense, being pulled in.”
It sounded like a lie and she wanted to push it and make him spill, but in the end decided she’d rather not know. “What you are is a masochist.”
“Got that right.” He chuckled, the sound of it reaching inside her, shifting everything around until she wasn’t even sure if it was her lungs drawing in the quick shallow breaths.
“Let go of me,” she said, a whisper of a threat that only made him smile, grip the back of her neck tighter and pull her forward, his forehead against hers in a bizarre parody of intimacy.
“I’m not the only one holding on.”
And God, he was right. Right and so, so close, a parasite leeching off her heat, the feeling of it new yet familiar, twisting in her stomach like eels. She closed her eyes, too nauseous to focus on his face, thinking, He’s drunk. What’s your excuse?
Her hand slipped down to his elbow, the other balling into a fist. Push him away, shove him down, pretend he could never have a hold over you.
He doesn’t. This is just… What is this?
“I want to kill you,” he said, almost gently, as though the words were coated with honey.
“Too bad you can’t.”
He tensed against her and she felt it so acutely that it reverberated through her bones. His chest rose and fell in a forgotten reflex, a puff of air a cool stroke over her lips. Why was he breathing?
She should have been paying attention, should have been on high alert because the world hadn’t narrowed down to just the two of them.
It hit her out of nowhere, energy slamming into her body with the force of a winter blizzard, like slimy dead hands stroking over her flesh until they turned greedy and raw, tearing her skin open and digging into vulnerable tendons. She was falling through the ground as if it had turned liquid, hurtling into nothingness, her every cell jerking as if electrocuted.
I got distracted and something got me. Can’t die, not so close before Christmas. Mom will kill me even deader.
And it felt a lot like that time she’d drowned in a puddle of dirty water, only this time she was alert enough to feel every twitch of pain.
They fell, clinging to each other, until at last, they hit the ground.
*******
His mind was fuzzy still, as if wrapped in cotton wool, muscles cramping in residual pain. Between the two of them, they should have seen it coming a mile away, an enemy sneaking up, zapping them and… wait.
It was cold. Colder than usual, the ground beneath his back frozen and covered in snow. Guess we’re not in Kansas anymore.
“What? How? What?” She was warm and on top of him, warm enough that he almost missed it when she rolled off, looking around with furrowed brows, gathering a fistful of snow to watch it melt in her palm. “If you did this, I’m staking you right now.”
“We’re not in Sunnyhell.”
“Oh, wow. Your powers of deduction are as great as ever.” Her face was a hard mask, but he knew better. Knew that inside she was just as confused and worried as he was.
“Suddenly I’m feeling a lot more sober.” He rose, and although his legs were still a touch on the wobbly side, his mind was sharp. He scanned the surroundings for anything other than gently falling snow and tall trees with intertwined branches thick enough to block out the starry sky. There was no one but them, the Slayer already up and keeping her distance.
“Good, because we need to find out where the hell we are and how to get back home.” She paused, eyes widening. “Unless we’re both dead and I’m in some kind frozen hell dimension.”
“Didn’t figure your sort could ever go to hell.” The snow crunched beneath his feet as they wordlessly started to walk, ears open for any signs of trouble.
“Well, you’re here, so it sure isn’t heaven.” She wrapped her arms around herself, dressed only in a thin coat.
“Fair enough.”
They trudged ahead in silence that was slowly starting to drive him mad. Not that he minded quiet, not most of the time. It was the tension snapping in the space between them, full of unspoken words, thoughts all tangled up in his brain that set his fangs on edge.
I can’t handle being near her.
What had he tried to achieve anyway? Getting all up in her face, touching her. Ever since he’d got chipped, everything had got twisted around. They were mortal enemies, they were supposed to be at each other’s throats, slashing and bashing, and he wanted to, so desperately it was like an itch beneath his skin. Only the more he scratched the worse it got, this urge to just push and push until she lost it, unleashed that fury and power in glorious Technicolour. He couldn’t do anything else, now could he? He’d been reduced to pulling her stupid fluffy hair instead of ripping it clean out of her scalp.
“I feel like we’re going in circles,” she said and although he’d never admit it, she’d startled him.
“Knew you’d be the first to speak.” Small victories and all. He had to take what he could.
“Are you five?”
He didn’t have to look to know she was looking down her nose at him, even though she was the shorter one. “All men are children at heart.”
“You’re not a man.”
He grinned slyly. “Got a few choice parts that suggest otherwise.”
“I hope they freeze off then.” She tripped over a fallen branch hidden beneath the snow and bumped into his side. He caught her elbow out of reflex then immediately let go before she could yank it out of his grip.
“Is this the infamous Slayer grace I’ve been hearing about?”
It was pitch dark and the wind was picking up. He could almost feel the goosebumps on her skin. Give her your coat, William, said the voice inside his head, suspiciously sounding like his mother. Sod that. Don’t owe her a thing. Not a knight in shining armour. Not for her, at least.
“In case you haven’t noticed, these shoes were hardly made for trekking through inches of snow. I can barely feel my feet.” She stopped suddenly, her breath fogging in the air, the tip of her runny nose red. “Oh God, what if they have to cut my toes off because of frostbite?”
“As long as they don’t cut off your feet. You don’t need toes anyway,” he said with a shrug, trying really hard to ignore the way her chin wobbled, the way she set her jaw in order to keep her teeth from chattering, to keep her composure. So bloody proud, wasn’t she? She’d rather freeze to death than ask for his help. Not that he would, mind.
I’m not giving the bitch my coat. I’m not.
Just because he couldn’t get hypothermia didn’t mean he didn’t feel the cold. The tiny pinpricks of it bit into his flesh and seeped into his bones, kind of like that one time when he’d woken up to Drusilla chewing on his forearm because she’d thought she was half dog.
The Slayer sniffed, her face turned away from him, her entire body wracked with shivers.
“Oh for fuck’s sake…” He pulled the coat off, immediately hit by a blast of cold as he swung it over her shoulders. “If you rip the leather on some bloody bush I’m cutting your feet off myself.”
“What are you—” She caught the lapels and pulled it closer around her automatically, even as she stared at him like a fish out of water. “Is this some kind of trick?”
“Yeah, it’s called ‘let’s keep my only ally from freezing to death’.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Yeah, you kind of do.” He buttoned up his red over-shirt and forged ahead. Not that it helped much. “We need each other if we’re going to get out of this mess. Strength in numbers, yeah?”
“Yes, okay. Fine.” She put her arms in the sleeves and tightened the coat around her frame. The hem dragged behind her like a black veil. “Truce?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he said as a way of reluctant agreement.
“I’m giving it back, though. Your coat. Right after I warm up a bit. In a minute.”
“Keep it or don’t, Slayer. No skin off my nose.”
They kept walking in silence for a few minutes, the moon over their heads the only source of light.
“What if we don’t find any shelter before the sun comes up?”
Or before your human sensibilities get the better of you, he thought. Only he knew something she didn’t, saw something she couldn’t. He should have probably told her there were faint footprints the snow hadn’t covered yet, a trail that only went one way; the way they’d come from. The owners though, they’d seemed to vanish into thin air. Just like we did.
“We will.”
“How do you know? It’s not like you have a magic ball thingy. And even if you did, I don’t think they work anyway.”
“Don’t need a sodding ball. I just… I have a gut feeling this is the right way.” If he told her, she’d immediately assume he was leading her into some kind of trap, even if it made no sense whatsoever. He wasn’t too keen on being a scapegoat.
“Oh no. I’m going to die. Again.”
“Got any weapons on you?”
She gave him a sideway glance, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why?”
“Look, it’s likely we got zapped here by a demon. If we’re in their home dimension, it’d be nice to have a nice shiny dagger at hand in case we run into trouble.”
She sighed. “I only have stakes.”
“Better than nothing, I suppose.” He noticed then; the trees were thinning out. “Come on, I think we’re close.”
“Close to what exactly?”
“Let’s find out.”
TBC
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I LOVE YOU GUYS TO BITS. Sorry for yelling, it was neccessary to get my point across. Happy holidays to all of you (lots and lots of love and hugs)!! And to those of you who don't celebrate, hope you have a lovely day. :)
Bless All4Spike for being the best beta ever. She rocks.
Bless All4Spike for being the best beta ever. She rocks.
Chapter End Notes:
All I want for Christmas is a review, even if you just tell me you liked the chapter (no, this isn't emotional blackmail, I don't know what you're talking about).