Chapter Five
Stalking silently through the night, a killer searched for his prey. Anger and hate raged through his body, fueling the need to kill. He had already taken a life this night. But the scene he had witnessed was forcing him to seek out another to punish. SHE was forcing it.
How could she? How could she touch herself, thinking of that. . .thing? That evil, soulless THING! He had no right to touch her, no right to be invading her mind, her thoughts. She was purity.
*How pure is she if she’s thinking about fucking Spike?* He whirled around as if the voice in his mind had come from behind him. Seeing nothing, he turned and started walking again. He passed the park were he had left his earlier masterpiece. Cops were milling around, bagging anything that could be used as evidence. An evil smile touched his face, knowing they wouldn’t find anything. He was thorough, and had left nothing behind.
It was unfortunate that she had been the one to find the body. He wasn’t ready for her to see. It would figure that Spike would be drawn to the scent of the blood. Guess with the chip in, he had to take human blood wherever he could find it.
Anger bubbled anew as he thought of the way the peroxided blonde had wormed his way into the Slayer’s life. Into her sisters confidence. So what if he had saved the younger Summers from the sharp end of a butcher’s knife. That didn’t change who he was. What he was. If this was allowed to continue, he would contaminate everything that was good in her. He was already affecting her body. What if her heart followed? This thought horrified him in ways that nothing ever had.
No, this had to be stopped. Now.
Turning onto the Main street in town, he glanced around, his darker self taking over and searching. There, just coming out of the movie theater. Young and fresh faced, blonde and petite. Yes, she would do nicely.
~*~*~
Spike shifted in his chair, flinging a leg over the arm in an attempt to get comfortable. He vaguely wondered why he just didn’t go down to bed. He was tired and cramped after spending the whole night under the tree in Buffy’s yard. Luckily, no sign of the owner of the elusive smell appeared. He puzzled over the oddity of the scent. It was human, but not. There was something altering it, almost as if the owner knew that he could be recognized by it.
Then there was the fact that he had smelled it at that lovely little display in the park, as well as outside the Slayer’s house. And the fact that the girl resembled the slayer, her body trussed up in the tools of her trade didn’t settle well with him at all. He’d have to talk to Buffy about it later, if she wasn’t back to wanting to stake him, that is.
A slow smile curved his lips as he thought of the scene in her kitchen. Grabbing his cigarettes, he shifted again, this time to alleviate the pressure that had swelled in his jeans. Pulling out the slim tube of tobacco, he lit it, inhaling deep. Leaning back, he closed his eyes and let his mind drift back over the events of the night before.
Finding that girl had not been on his list of fun things to do. Sure, he’d done his fair share of killing over the years. But nothing like that. That type of stuff was more Angelus’ style. Then the subsequent interview with the cops. Now there was torture for you.
Re-answering the same inane questions, over and over. Having the pillocks look at him like he had done the destruction to that girl. Buffy had kept a death grip on him the whole time they were being questioned. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought she was going to shatter. Luckily, being the Slayer helped her deal with a lot. It was the fact that it had been human that was throwing her.
Sure, he knew that she knew that humans could be evil. It just wasn’t something that she had to deal with. Her life revolved around demons, vampires, Hell mouths and prophecies. Things of nightmares. It was easy to forget that monsters could come neatly packaged with heartbeats, warm blood and souls.
Hence came his speech to her. It wasn’t that he was trying to get absolution for himself or any other demon. They were, what they were. But, it would do her good to remember that evil didn’t always come from a Hell dimension.
Of course, he thought with a smile, the argument hadn’t been all bad. He remembered the way her warm breast felt under his hand. The sound of her gasps in his ears. The sweet, tangy smell of her arousal tickling his nose. *Yeah, Slayer. Try to deny me now*
He took another drag, smoke curling around him as his mind happily merged memories of the night before and the day of Willow’s spell, right after he had gotten the bloody chip. A growl rumbled through his chest with the memory of her warm mouth and tongue sliding against his. The soft mewling sounds she’d made when he had teased her to the point of orgasm when the Watcher was fumbling around for more scotch. The sound of his name falling from her lips and through the open window when she had pleasured herself.
All of this combined together to make quite a lifelike fantasy in his head. He had just flung his cigarette across the crypt and had settled back to have some quality time with his hand, when a soft scratching pulled him back to reality. Scowling, he left the top button of his jeans undone as he got up to inspect the cause.
“Dammit, Sid. You certainly have crappy timing.” He said when he opened the door.
“Ruff.” was all he got in response.
“Well, come in then. Where ya been. Whoring it up again?” he asked the ratty, old, golden retriever as it entered. Careful to avoid the rays of the sun, he pushed the heavy door closed then turned to regard his guest. The dog was sitting next to his chair, head cocked to the side and tongue lolling out of his mouth as if smiling. His tail thumped lazily on the floor, raising decades worth of dust.
Smirking, Spike crossed to the animal and ruffled his scruffy head affectionately. The dog responded enthusiastically, his whole butt wagging.
“Ugly old thing.” Spike murmured. And he really was. His once glorious, golden coat was matted with dirt and who knew what else. A notch had been cut out of his left ear, a permanent reminder of the Cylok demon Spike had saved it from. He was missing most of his teeth, and those that were still there were worn down to nubs. He’d had a collar on that night, but the shape the dog was in had made it clear that he had been on his own for a while. So, when the animal had followed him home, not in the least fazed by the flash of fang and warning growl Spike had offered, the vampire had decided to keep an eye on him. Not that he was keeping the walking carpet as a pet, mind you. It just seemed a waste to save him from one demon, then leave him helpless for the next.
“Let’s see what we’ve got for supper, shall we?” Spike said, standing and walking to his makeshift kitchen area. Grabbing the jar of peanut butter off the top of the small fridge, and a jar of blood from the inside, he went back to the chair and flopped down. Opening the peanut butter, he set it on the floor in front of Sid, who happily began licking away. Smirking once more, Spike twisted the cap on his own jar and took a long drink, not even scowling at the taste of cold pig’s blood.
“Well, Sid. How was your night?” he asked the dog. When the only response he got was the steady swish of the dogs tongue against the jar, he shrugged a shoulder and reached for his cigarettes once more. “Right then. Let me tell you about mine.” Sitting back, he lit the fag and preceded to fill the dog in on the dead girl and the rather happy time with the Slayer.
~*~*~
Buffy groaned loudly as she twisted the key in the back door of the Magic Box. She was sooo tired. She tried cursing the vampire, but she knew he was only part of the reason that she didn’t sleep. Dreams of pale skin and white hair, interspersed with nightmare images of blood and death had combined to make sure that Buffy would be one cranky Slayer in the morning. But, she had gotten up and gone to work. Bills didn’t go away just because you didn’t get a good nights sleep.
Luckily, her boss had read in the paper that she had found the body, and had sent her home early. But, instead of heading home to get some well deserved rest, she was here, checking on the store and squeezing in a training session. Throwing her keys into her bag, and then tossing it aside, she moved to the tiny bathroom to change. A few minutes later she emerged, her sensible black slacks, peach sheath and black flats replaced with blue jogging pants, white sports bra, and white training shoes. She walked over to the supply closet and pulled out the tape to wrap her hands, and one of the scrunchies she kept there in case she forgot one at home.
She moved as if on auto pilot, twisting her hair around the scrunchie, then twining the tape around her hands. Her brain had been threatening to short circuit since she had stumbled out of bed, her dreams from the night before not giving her any relief in the day.
Spike and dead bodies. Those two should have gone hand in hand. But as she thought back now, she realized he had been just as upset by the scene as she. It was nothing in his face, or his words. It just seemed to emanate off of him.
Buffy moved to the middle of the mat, and began stretching her tired muscles. She had just leaned down and grabbed her ankle when she heard a loud crash from the front of the shop. She jumped, her heart slamming in her chest, but immediately set into Slayer mode. Grabbing a knife from the rack on the wall, she moved stealthily through the room to the door. Stepping carefully through it, she cast her eyes around, stretching her senses out to try to detect a presence.
A prickly feeling began on the back of her neck, and she spun around, dropping instinctively into a fighting stance. Seeing nothing, she turned to face the front of the store again. Her shoes made no sound on the tile as she rounded the stair case. Her fingers tightened on the knife, her eyes picked out the table and the counter. She walked all the way to the front door, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Sighing, she turned to head back to the training room, annoyed that now she was hearing things. But as she neared the table once more, she noticed what was sitting on top.
A book. Nothing unusual there. It was open. Again, not unusual. However, the long, rusty railroad spike impaled through the center was a touch on the odd side. Hell, it screamed ‘what the fuck?’
Buffy found herself saying just that as she walked over to it. She didn’t notice her hand trembling as she reached out and grabbed it, pulling it from the book. She didn’t hear her heart echoing in her ears when she dropped it to the floor with a clang. She didn’t realize it was fear that was turning her insides to ice while she extended her hands to grab the old volume. Somewhere in the back of her mind she thought that Giles was going to be pissed that somebody had ruined one of his precious books.
Her wide eyes skimmed over the text, recognition of the contents making her ill. On the pages in her hand, was the very detailed life of William the Bloody, a.k.a. Spike. Starting two days after he was turned, the heavy tome detailed each atrocity that had been accredited to him, and others that they weren’t sure of. Each page reminded her of why she should hate him. Each word made her stomach turn. She had never read this before, had never felt the need to. Giles had told her everything she needed to know. But seeing it in print, made it seem all the more real.
“Buffy?” Her scream echoed through the empty shop, her fingers tightening once more on the blade in her hand. Wide eyes scanned the dark until they settled on the familiar form that now seemed like a stranger. “Are you alright?” he asked, concern etched across his face. Her brittle laugh only caused his brows to draw tighter together, wondering if she’d finally gone round the bend. “Pet? What is it?”
“Just seems strange, that you of all people are concerned about me.” She said, holding the book out accusingly. He took it from her and scanned the words, a frown forming on his mouth.
“So, decided to do some light reading and give yourself plenty of ammunition, huh?”
“Don’t even, Spike. If you hadn’t of done any of those things, I wouldn’t have anything to read.” She countered, hugging her arms around herself. “All those people, Spike. And you don’t care about a single one of them, do you?” she asked Spike’s eyes drifted closed before he answered her.
“Not in the way that you think it should. I care because it hurts you. I care because sometimes I lie awake and think, what if one of those people had been like Nibblet. Or Red. Or Glinda. Or you.”
“I’m the Slayer.” she spat, unnoticed tears sliding down her cheeks.
“Yeah, and I’ve killed two.” He told her, his eyes turning cold for a brief instant. His entire face softened, before he spoke again. “ You being the Slayer has nothing to do with why I love you. In fact, it should be the biggest deterrent. It’s your strength, your wit. The way you smile. Your laugh, when you let yourself. The way you protect the ones you love. It’s everything about you. It’s who you would be without the super strength. The fact that you ARE the Slayer only makes those qualities stand out more.” He hazarded a step towards her, heartened when she didn’t shrink back or attack. “I love you despite you being the Slayer.”
“You can’t love. It’s the chip. . .”
“Fuck that, and you know it. You and the rest of the Scoobies can spin that tale a thousand different ways and it still doesn’t make rot. I was with Druscilla for almost all of my existence, and I can tell you that it wasn’t for her conversational skills. She made me the man I was, you made me the man I want to be.” Buffy was having a hard time thinking, she so wanted to believe him. But that oh so stubborn part of her just had to keep opening her mouth.
“You offered me up to her for a snack if I didn’t give you a chance. The chip is the only thing that has kept you from killing me, yourself. As soon as its out it’ll be bye bye love, hello lunchable.” she insisted.
“Ya know what, luv?” he bit out, his jaw clenched. “I didn’t want to tell you like this, but. . .Newsflash Slayer. The chips out, and I still love you.” He tensed, prepared for her to strike. His face was a tight mask of pride and challenge. “If you’re going to stake me, do it now, cause I won’t give you another chance. If you let me walk out of here, that proves that you feel something for me, and trust me just a little, at least.” Her face had paled, he could tell, even in the dim light from the lamps outside. Her eyes were swirling with a thousand different emotions at once. Fear not the least of them.
“Have you. . .” she started, her voice trembling. She couldn’t finish the question, but he got the idea.
“No, I haven’t. Haven’t even tried. That’s not why I got it out”
“Why. . ?” Her brain and mouth didn’t seem to be working together any more, and she couldn’t find the words she wanted.
“Because, as long as it was in, you would never believe that I had really changed. I’d still just be a serial killer in prison.” that statement brought other, even less pleasant memories to the forefront of her mind. Pushing them away, she concentrated on the problem at hand. Chipless Spike.
“How am I supposed to believe that you haven’t fed?” She felt like the room was closing in around her, and she was having trouble breathing.
“That’s something you’re going to have to figure out on your own, pet.” he told her sadly. He looked down at the book in his hand, and started flipping through pages. Finding what he wanted, he placed the book back on the table. “While you’re thinking about it, here’s another history lesson for you. Read about some of your precious Angels’ exploits. You’ll see that I was never even half the demon he was.” He then turned on his heel, preparing to leave.
“He has a soul.” Her soft words stilled him once more. Without turning back, he answered.
“Because of a curse. He changed because he had too. I changed because I wanted to. You decide which is better.” with that, he was gone in a swirl of black leather. Buffy stared after him for what seemed like forever. With a weary sigh, she finally sank bonelessly into the chair. A thought suddenly struck her, and she couldn’t believe she had overlooked it. Somebody had left that book for her to find. The stake through the center had been left there to get her attention. The question was, who? And why?
With a shake of her head, Buffy got up to walk back into the training room, grabbing the book on her way. She didn’t give herself time to think of why she was taking it. She just knew that it would somehow make her decision easier. Picking up her stuff, she flipped off the light and left out the back door, making sure it was locked. Turning down the street, she made her way home to another long, sleepless night.
~*~*~
Letting himself quietly out the backdoor of the Magic Box, the man shoved his hands deep in his pockets. A whistle blew from his lips and there was a skip in his step. His plan had worked. He had reminded her of Spike’s true nature. And now that the vampire was chipless, it would only be a matter of time before her Slayer instinct kicked in and she sent him to hell where he belonged.
He had heard every word from his position below the air conduit in the basement. The blonde was apparently too occupied to notice the scent of another person, as he made his way in and back out of the sewer entrance. It was a happy coincidence that Spike had shown up. It would have made him even happier if she had dusted him the second that the vampire had revealed that the chip was out. No matter, the truth was out. He had confidence that Buffy would take care of him. She was, first and foremost, the Vampire Slayer. Her obligation to the safety of the masses would take back burner to any fuzzy feelings she had been entertaining about him.
With a light heart, he hurried towards home. His guest would be wondering where he had gone. And he couldn’t let her wait forever.