Chapter 1
Buffy didn’t stay long in Dawn’s room. The holy man’s words had been a revelation… and had rocked her word. Yes, the key being made human and fitted into her life was enough to cause some serious wiggins. But, that wasn’t what had her out walking Sunnydale’s cemeteries long after her mother and sister went to bed.
She sniffed, wiping awkwardly at a tear that had finally managed to spill over onto her cheek. So caught up in the mess her life had become lately, Buffy didn’t sense the vampire slowly stalking her, and she started when it growled.
She would have been thrown to the ground if it had made contact, possibly had her neck bitten before she managed to get her wits about her. As it was, she was saved from her own carelessness. By Spike. The “out for a walk, bitch… you have stupid hair” Spike.
Buffy blinked owlishly as the blond proceeded to pulverize the fledgling now cowering on the ground.
~*~*~*~*~
Spike was tucked back into his customary spot on Revello Drive by the time the Slayer had returned from wherever it was that she’d been in such an all-fired hurry to get to earlier. He frowned at seeing the huge gash on her forehead, and even worse, the whipped manner that seemed to cling to her like a second skin. She’d gone up against something, something big, and looked like she’d barely managed to walk away from it.
He watched her slip inside her house and knew that in a few minutes the light in her bedroom would turn on. He pulled out one of his cigarettes and lit it while he waited for what was to come – the tantalizing view of the Slayer changing into her nightgown behind what she thought was the safety of her curtain. Little did she realize that the light beside her bed illuminated her silhouette.
The glimpse of her shadow was enough for him to take in and wank off to later. Especially given that Captain Cardboard was conspicuously absent tonight and he didn’t have to listen to their all-too-brief coupling.
He’d just lit his second cigarette when he heard her back door open and close. His brow knitted in consternation and he flicked his half-finished cigarette onto the ground, stomping it to dust as he moved away from the tree.
Where was the Slayer going now?
It wasn’t like her to venture out once she’d completed her patrol, not even for a nightcap with Soldier Boy, and his curiosity got the better of him.
Spike began to worry when, several times, he’d closed the distance between them enough for her to sense his presence – if not outright have her see him standing there behind her – but she’d been oblivious. Her shoulders were slumped, her head downcast, her mind clearly not on her surroundings.
He’d had to warn off several vamps, who’d thankfully taken one look at his “don’t mess with me, I’m the Big Bad” expression and had faded back into the shadows, looking for easier prey than an unsuspecting Slayer with a vampire for a bodyguard. They’d been smart. The one that was seconds away from catching the Slayer unawares obviously wasn’t.
A growl erupted from his throat as Spike launched himself at the vamp, catching him before he could touch what he secretly thought of as his girl. He didn’t spare the Slayer a glance as he lit into the fledgling after tackling it to the ground, punching it repeatedly in the face as he straddled his chest. In a blind fury, he didn’t feel the hand on his shoulder, or hear her voice at first.
“Just stake it already, Spike, I don’t think it’s moving.”
A stake appeared in front of his chest, and snarling, Spike snatched it out of her hand and plunged it into the vamp’s unbeating heart. Its dusting was anticlimactic, and he rose to his feet, anger at the Slayer’s inattention making him ready to take her on next.
“What the bloody hell was that, Slayer? A bleedin’ fledge almost had himself one good day. Where’s your mind that you didn’t recognize it, or any of the other four I managed to scare off before they could make a move?” he demanded.
Too much nervous energy to stand there unmoving and wait for her explanation, Spike began pacing back and forth in front of her, mumbling under his breath about Slayers and their penchant for death wishes. He didn’t see how her face crumpled, how she struggled to fight back her tears.
All he did see, once he happened to glance up, was her retreating figure moving deeper into the cemetery.
Jaw clenched, he started after her. His hand grasped her shoulder, and something should have told him right off that all was not right in the land of Buffy because she barely tried to shrug him off; any other time he would have been sent flying into the nearest tree – or headstone – for so bold a move.
“Wait just a bloody minute, Slayer,” he started.
“Leave me alone, Spike. I’m not in the mood. I… just go… please…” She really didn’t want to break down in front of him.
It was the please that did it for him. Not that he expected the Slayer to actually open up to him and explain the reason for her upset, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. He walked around to stand in front of her, biting his lip as he placed a hand beneath her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. Again she didn’t seem to protest, and he felt something clench in the region of his unbeating heart at the tears he saw brimming in her eyes.
“Buffy, what is it?”
Her name slipped out by accident, but she didn’t seem to notice. However, the tears she’d been trying valiantly to hold back, started anew. Next thing Spike knew, the Slayer was pressed against his chest, her arms clutching the back of his duster. It was like his dreams come to life, he couldn’t help but think, as his arms closed around her back and he held her while she cried. Rather than stand there, Spike gathered her up into his arms and walked over to one of the cemetery’s crypts. He sat down next to it, using the wall as a back rest, and easily settled the Slayer more securely on his lap.
He stroked her back and his chest rumbled with a soothing purr-like growl designed to offer comfort. Surprising, given that a week ago, he’d been seeking a means to remove his chip and have himself his own “one good day.”
A dream had taken care of that – turned him into the Slayer’s pet vamp. He should be glorying in her tears; instead, he was sitting there, holding her… and bloody well near purring.
Oh, how the Big Bad had fallen.
And hard.
Finally she seemed to wind down, and Spike knew the second she realized where she was, and who she was with. Her body grew stiff in his arms, and he didn’t have to look at her to sense the disgust that was sure to be making its way across her features.
“All better now, Slayer?” he asked before she could scramble off his lap.
Spike didn’t protest as she pulled away; though, when she only resettled herself at his side he couldn’t keep the surprised look off his face. She didn’t notice; she was staring straight ahead, refusing to look in his direction.
“Wanna talk about it?” His voice was low, soothing. Spike didn’t really think she would. Hell, he was surprised she’d not rushed off as if the hounds of Hell were baying at her feet. He could have been felled by a light breeze when she opened her mouth and words came tumbling out. Haltingly at first, then in a rush as she tried to get it out in the open.
His eyes widened at hearing that Dawn wasn’t the Slayer’s sister but was in fact a mystical key made flesh; he had distinct memories of the Bit that dated back to when he’d rolled into Sunnydale for the first time. He didn’t interrupt her though – keeping his thoughts to himself for the time being – not wanting to do anything that might get her to close up on him. Spike also learned of the thing – the woman – that had taken a chunk out of his Slayer, and he mentally cringed at the thought of something stronger than the Slayer being anywhere near the Hellmouth. But, it was neither of those two revelations that had Buffy sobbing like a little girl.
It was the fact that there was something wrong with her mother that had done her in.
The news rocked him as well. The Slayer’s mum was alright in his book. Anyone that could wield an axe before a master vampire and not flinch – no matter that the master vampire had been he – was someone to be reckoned with, and Spike could see where the Slayer got her courage from, if not her strength. Plus, Joyce always had a cuppa ready for him, right down to the tiny marshmallows he liked so well. To this day, the Slayer had no idea he still visited the woman, and had even before the chip; it was his and Joyce’s secret.
That something was causing the woman to have such debilitating headaches made him frown.
“Does your watcher know… about the Bit?” he asked when the Slayer finally fell silent.
“No. I can’t risk something happening to them. This woman… this thing… was adamant about getting her ‘key’ back.”
“Guess the ol’ sayin’ ‘ignorance is bliss’ is a good thing right now,” Spike mused. “And, not that ‘m not grateful for the vote of confidence, but why tell me?”
“I don’t know,” Buffy murmured. And, she didn’t. When she’d seen him earlier that night, she’d winded up punching him in the nose, before she’d stalked off in disgust. Maybe it was because he’d inadvertently saved her life that she’d broken down and confessed. And for some strange reason, she trusted him not to say anything. Mind-boggling, to say the least.
But, something in her gut told her that he’d keep her secrets. A thought she shied away from upon further inspection.
The pair lapsed into silence, both lost in their own thoughts.
It was the Slayer’s slowing heart rate that finally jarred Spike out of his silent contemplations and he stood and offered her a hand up.
“Come on, pet. It’s gettin’ late. Bes’ be gettin’ home.”
Her hand seemed to sear his palm as she slipped it into his. He tamped down his body’s instant response to her touch and drew her awkwardly to her feet.
They started walking towards the exit of the cemetery and by some unspoken command their hands fell away from each other. Their pace was unhurried, as if neither was quite ready for the night to be over.
For Buffy, it was a sudden revelation of the vampire beside her, like she was seeing him for the first time. Seeing the changes in him.
For Spike, he was happily basking in the glimpse of the softer side of the Slayer he’d seen tonight, and how they’d not once reverted to the snippiness that defined their “relationship” – he knew that with the dawning of a new day, it would be like the night never was.
~*~*~*~*~
Buffy arrived at the Magic Box just as it was opening. She had to let Giles know about the woman she had encountered last night. But under no circumstances was she going to let him know about Dawn.
Hopefully a bit of research would clue her in on what she was up against.
“Well, she’s strong… really strong. She barely even felt the blows I managed to land,” she replied in answer to his question.
Giles took in his Slayer’s appearance and winced. Her forehead was a motley shade of purple and green, and the gash must have been deep because it was barely healed over. And that was just the visible signs of her altercation, if her slight limp was discounted.
“Strong,” he confirmed, writing it down on a sheet of paper. “Anything else? What did she look like?”
“Like a skank ho with a bad perm. Her dress was so last year, but I have to give her props on her choice of shoes. Musta set her back a good bit. Jimmy Choo’s are not cheap!”
“Um… while I appreciate the… erm… fashion update, I was quite hoping for more in the way of physical attributes.”
“I dunno, Giles. Little taller than me. Dark hair. Nothing remarkable to look at. Reminded me of one of the Cordettes. She could have easily fit in to Cordy’s clique.”
Giles heaved a sigh, his thumb and forefinger rubbing wearily at the bridge of his nose. Finally, he removed his glasses and glanced up at his slayer.
“Look,” she told him, already recognizing the look on his face. “I didn’t really have time to get a good look at her. She was kicking my ass all over the warehouse. I barely had time to grab the priest and make a run for it out the window—”
The words were no sooner out of her mouth that she was silently cursing her slip of the tongue.
“Priest?”
“I didn’t mention the priest?” she asked, wincing at her watcher’s aggrieved expression. “Oops?”
“Oops? I fail to see how you could forget to mention some random priest in the retelling. What is going on, Buffy?”
“Look, I forgot, alright. I was a little busy dealing with the ass whooping I was on the receiving end of – and thanks for the watcherly concern, by the way – that I forgot to mention some priest that died moments after we crashed onto the ground. And, can I just say… ouch? He was not light, and the concrete did little to cushion my fall.”
“I’m sorry, Buffy. I’m not trying to trivialize your injuries… it’s just… did he happen to say anything? Give you a clue as to the woman’s identity.”
“Only that she’s looking for some key. And that I’m supposed to keep it safe, whatever it is.”
“And he didn’t mention—?”
“No! Like I said… he died. Apparently this woman… thing… whatever it is… enjoys her torture. And he looked like he’d been there for some time.”
Buffy stood, staring off into space, trying to remember their conversation.
“Beast!” she said suddenly.
“A beast?”
“No… not ‘a’ beast ‘the’ beast. Like a title.”
“Alright. I suppose that’s a start,” he replied, sounding anything but convinced. “I’ll begin researching. The others can help once they arrive. Why don’t you go home, get some rest? You look like hell, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“Thanks, Giles.”
Buffy left before Giles could determine if it was sincerity or sarcasm that tinged her parting comment, the sound of the bell above the door clanking loudly at her departure.
Want to leave a REVIEW?
