Author's Note: This was my first attempt
at FanFic, in fact it was the first time I'd written anything
in about fifteen years. When it was posted originally it was completely unbeta-ed, but I and t_geyer, my beta of the past four years, are going to try to touch it up a little now that some kind person has nominated it at one of the award sites... Hopefully, we'll get it finished before the judges get to it. Chapter 2
"Yes, that's right, everything is in place
here." There was a brief pause as the man waited for a response from the person on the other end of the line.
"Yes, Willy's. The barman put me in touch
with the right people, well when I say people, I
am using it in the loosest sense of the word. They'll be
around when they need to be." He sipped some of the overpriced mineral water from the mini-bar in his hotel room.
"Yes," he admitted, "quite the experience, but I think
I'll be glad to get back to business as normal. Okay, so
I'll stay in town tonight and get the first flight tomorrow,
and I'll be back in the office Friday."
The lawyer replaced the phone. Home office
was pleased with him. Everything was going to plan. This
was his ticket to a partnership. He had proven that he could
cope with the things in that bar and come out unscathed,
not to mention under budget on the expenses. He could cope
with anything the partners cared to throw at him.
Spike's drinking spree had ground to a
temporary halt. This was largely or rather totally due
to the fact that he had run out of alcohol about ten minutes
ago. He'd hit that mellow stage of inebriation
where he wasn't quite sure whether the trip to Liquor World
was more trouble than it was worth, so he decided to light
up another cigarette whilst he mulled it over. That was
the simple decision he had to make.
He weighed the pros and cons. There was another hour or so before
the sun hit tolerable levels and travelling under cover was
definitely too much effort in his present condition. If
he still wanted a drink by the time the sun went down, then
the shopping trip was on, otherwise... Sod it, he'd probably
still have to go to get some more booze just to make sure
he had some in. It could be a rough week.
Spike leaned back against the tree. His
metabolism had already burned off all the alcohol he'd drunk
this afternoon, but he took a quick nip from his flask just
often enough to ensure he was never stone cold sober. His
eyes drifted shut and he forced tense shoulder muscles to
relax. All afternoon his thoughts had gone round in circles.
Drinking, shopping, patrolling even, nothing stopped the
circular train of thought.
He really wanted to tell Buffy about this
afternoon. Not to ask for help, because there wasn't any way she could help. He wanted to tell her because he wanted to be honest
with her, but if he told her what was going on she was bound
to interfere. So, by telling her, he would be endangering
his charges rather than protecting them and that would mean
that he'd broken the contract, wouldn't it? And if he broke
the contract then Buffy, Dawn and Tara would die.
But if he didn't tell her and she found
out anyway, she would never believe why he'd done it. The lawyer
had the contract. He had no proof. Was it too much to hope
that she might trust him? Probably. Hmph! Definitely. Would
she be disappointed? Maybe.
Some days, Spike knew that her
taunts about him being evil were mostly to reinforce her
denial of her feelings for him. He knew that on an instinctive
level, she thought that he'd changed. He knew that if she
really deep down believed all the things she said then she
would never have continued the affair. She did care, maybe
it wasn't love - not yet, a little voice in his head echoed
their conversation of a few weeks before - but he had to
believe on some level she cared. Bizarre to think that he
had a better opinion of her morals than she did. Of course,
there were other days when every insult was another knife through his heart
and he knew that she believed every word that came from that
oh-so-kissable mouth.
Of course, the reverse of the argument where
she believed he'd changed went like this. She decides that
he hasn't changed, then bye-bye Spikey. One way or another.
So don't tell her. Can't tell her. She mustn't ever know.
She mustn't ever know... but, God, he wished
he could tell her.
And so back to the beginning of the argument.
Surely she should be getting back soon.
She hadn't been patrolling. She wasn't at the Bronze. She
wasn't in the sitting room, and there wasn't a light on
in her room, so she had to be at that bloody job of hers.
He could wait. He still had half a flask and a full packet
of cigarettes. Sooner or later she'd be back.
Five cigarette butts later, he heard her
footfalls on the walkway, and caught a whiff of her latest
perfume, animal fat with just the faintest almost undetectable
hint of that morning's vanilla body spray. He was returning
the flask to his pocket after one last swig when he heard
her joyful greeting.
"Oh, for Pete's sake. Spike?"
Spike straightened and walked around the
tree he'd been leaning against. "Ah. It's a fair cop. You
caught me, Slayer. However..." He grinned wickedly, blue eyes
glittering with a combination of little boy mischief and
manly desire. "...In all honesty, we do have to say that
one doesn't count. After all, I wasn't exactly hiding."
He could tell she was tired and more than
a little down after a day of drudgery but he could also
tell that she wanted him every bit as badly as he wanted
her. It might take a bit of persuasion, but tonight, at
least for a while, he would be able to pretend she was his.
Spike decided to make another pass through
the cemeteries on his way back to the crypt. There were
times, like tonight, when he just couldn't stay away from
Buffy any longer, but these stolen moments came with a price.
Frantic fumbles in the bushes only appeased his baser appetites
and only for the briefest of times, leaving him tense and
frustrated, hence the late night patrol.
In a lot of ways, he would almost rather
things were back the way they were before Sweet and his
musical extravaganza hit town. Back then, they had almost
been friends for a while. He could have been there for her.
They could have sat on the back porch and she would have
let off steam about her crap job. Maybe he might even have
made her smile. They might still have been sitting there
together hours from now. That was worth so much more to
him than all the sexual escapades. Well, he'd burned those
bridges with his little song. Now he had to play the game
with the cards he had left. He fed the fires of her passion
and hoped it would turn to love before the flames consumed
them both.
They had gone from being friends to being
sexual partners. Sometimes he thought it was too much to
hope that they would ever be lovers, that she would make
him welcome in her home, in her life and in her heart. He
couldn't even talk to anyone about it. When she died, he
hadn't had to hide his feelings. Most of the time he didn't
talk about it. He was more about being there for Dawn, but
when he did want to talk, Bit was there for him and so was
Tara. In some ways his pain now was greater than before
and his feeling of isolation drove him further into the
shadows.
He'd told her that night on the balcony
of the Bronze, that she belonged in the shadows with him,
but he'd been wrong. Sometimes his demon did the talking
for him instead of the man she made him aspire to be. Yeah,
she needed someone who could understand her dark side, accept
it as part of her and not judge her for it... Hell, he even
loved her for it. She needed that, but she belonged in the
light. If he dragged her into the darkness he had to accept
that she would never again be the girl he fell in love with.
He had to hope that he had enough love to bring all three
of them, her, him and his demon, into the light.
The big problem with that was that it didn't
seem to matter what he did, however much he had changed,
no-one accepted him for who he was now. If Spike did good,
it was because the chip made him good, or worse because he was doing
it to get into Buffy's knickers, just so he could indulge his perverted
obsession. It could never be love - he didn't have a soul
- he couldn't love anyone. If Spike did bad that was because
he was an evil soulless demon. People he would give his
life to protect lived in fear of the day the chip would
malfunction, not realising that it had never kept them safe.
It would be just as easy for him to call in the Order of
Taraka now as it had been years before. The chip stopped him
feeding, but that was about it. Maybe, some day, someone other
than Dawn would realise that.
Bloody hell! If he didn't watch it, he'd
be getting as broody as the Great Poof! Spike rested against
a nearby monument to light another cigarette and take another
swig from the flask, finally emptying it. Sighing heavily,
he stood once more and, forgetting the idea of further patrolling,
he quickened his pace towards his crypt.
As he made his way up the gentle slope
that marked the end of his walk home, he became aware of
something out of place. He slowed, trying to work out what
was amiss. Then, he realised. The outer door was ajar. Momentarily
it crossed his mind that whilst he'd detoured around half
a dozen cemeteries, Buffy had come straight here and was
waiting inside for him to return but that was too much
to hope for. She only came to him when her desire overcame
her will. He prepared himself for a fight, wishing he had
something more than a stake in his pocket.
He moved silently up to the wall of the
crypt, putting his ear to the wall, trying to hear who or
what was waiting inside. What he heard made him more bemused
than anything else. Who on earth would invite themselves
into a vampire's home and then go to sleep while they were
waiting for him? But, still, he heard snoring. He edged around
the door as quietly as he could, just in case there was
more than one intruder in his home.
"Willy?" Spike took a leaf from the Slayer's
book and threw one of the larger unlit candles at the form
asleep in his armchair. Spike watched as the former bartender
jerked awake. He knew that in the dimly lit tomb he could
at least see better than the man and he intended to use
that to his best advantage. He lit a cigarette, knowing
the play of light and shadow the action created would work
to dramatic effect.
"I didn't know that I'd sent out any invitations,
Willy."
"Spike, no, well, you didn't."
Spike cut him off before he got any further.
"So why would you be here? I hope you've got a good reason,
Willy?" Give someone a century to practise and to a coward
like Willy the threat will sound convincing even if he knows
you can't back it up.
"Well, I th-thought someone better stay
to tell you that your other visitor had been. I'm just a
messenger. The delivery's downstairs." He rose from the
chair and edged past Spike to the door and out.
Spike didn't move, making Willy's exit somewhat
awkward, but neither did he prevent him leaving. After all,
what could he do? He could hold him, stop him leaving, but
Willy was just a body for hire and he'd lay odds of a hundred
to one that the same lawyer who had visited him had hired Willy. He had
nothing to gain from keeping him there. He couldn't even beat
any information out of him.
Willy smiled in satisfaction as he left
the crypt. Some people had it coming to them, and he'd been
there to see it. He remembered how Spike had made him grab
a deliberately dropped bill from the sewer water years before.
Yeah some people thought they were so great but sooner or
later they got their comeuppance.
Spike forced himself to stay still until
he finished the cigarette. He lit his paraffin lamp and
moved down to the lower crypt to survey the damage. It couldn't
be too bad, could it? Anything that would fit through the
entrance couldn't lay more than a couple of medium sized
eggs, or maybe a lot of small ones... So how was it that his
bedroom looked like a leftover set from Aliens? |
