RATING: TV-14 (the f-word once)
THANKS: to Rebe for coming up with possible names to Spike and Buffy's band. And for understanding me when I say
Ted Turner is God! It's all a conspiracy! :)
******
I...I'm a humble guy
No, really I try
You know it's hard sometimes
You...
Yeah, you're messed up too!
Come on, come on,
Be good to me
-U2, "Holy Joe" (Garage Mix)
**Miami**
It had been easy to track her down. Vampires tend to get a bit jumpy when the Slayer comes to town. The weaker ones, that is. Not I. I just followed their fear, and found her here on the beach. She was living in an apartment, not bad work considering she's only seventeen. She would sleep during the day, and do her Slay-thing at night. Miami was full of opportunities. Nearly every newborn vampire comes through Miami at one point; blame it on those Anne Rice stories again. Always talking about the dark mysteries, the warm nights, the exotic people to feed on...
Not that I read them, of course.
Eventually they realize that the vampire night-life isn't all its cracked up to be and leave. Find their way to exciting locales like Sunnyhell where the real action is. If they don't get killed first, of course.
I have watched Buffy for nearly a week now. I had driven to L.A. the day after Dru...the day after I left Sunnyhell and hopped on the first evening flight to Miami.
Now, as I see her come out of the tacky art-deco doorway to her apartment, I feel that I have to make my move tonight. Her senses are very sharp, but I can still avoid them. I follow her until she gets to the street, where she can't really make a scene.
"So, luv," I call out cheerily, catching up to her and throwing my arm around her shoulder. "You've missed a lot of band practice! And we still need a name you know...I was thinking something along the line of 'Blood Spattered Pavement.'
She freezes, then turns into me, her arms encircling my waist. Before I recover from the shock at this warm greeting, I feel the sharp point of a stake on my chest. To the casual observer, it looks like she's hugging me, not about to kill me. Clever girl.
"No good?" I remark casually. "How about 'Wood and Teeth' then...I'm the Teeth, you're the Wood...fairly simple, isn't it?"
"Give it up, Spike," she hisses and her voice is dead, weary. She has aged so much on the inside in the little while since the whole Acathla thing that her young outward appearance gets me off guard.
As I am sure it has done to many a vampire here in Miami.
"What do you want?" she asks, and the stake digs deeper into my flesh.
"I just want to bloody talk!" I tell her, tired of putting up this happy-Spike charade.
She pulls the stake away and takes a small step back, scrutinizing me. Looking me over to see if I have any evil, devious, dastardly Spike-plans. I shrug my shoulders, holding my hands up. "That's all I'm here for, Slayer. Honestly."
Her face relaxes slightly. "Did anyone ever tell you that the Billy Idol look went out in the 80s?" she asks, and I know it is her way of accepting me.
"It's coming back again," I banter. "Retro; you know how fashion goes." To my great suprise, this actually gets a small smile out of her. Just one side of her mouth going up a fraction, but I see it.
"Talk," she orders.
"So how'd you end up all the way out here in Miami? Aren't you a little too young to go on vacation without your Mummy?" I ask, hoping to avoid telling her about Dru as long as possible.
She glares at me, knowing full well that I'm avoiding something. But once again, to my surprise, she lets it slide. "I was in L.A. for about a day. Some vampire dropped her purse while I was fighting her. There was a plane ticket in it for a night flight out to Miami. So here I am."
"And the apartment? I can't imagine you having a job. No wait! Don't tell me: you've become a stripper!"
She glares daggers at me. "A vamp's. I made him give me his keys before I staked him."
"Well that's no bloody good!" I tell her. "Who knows how many vamp friends of his he had invited in?"
She narrows her eyes. "Since when do you care?"
I search my mind for a way to cover that little slip-up. "Well," I finally say, "If anyone kills you, I want it to be me."
"Touching, Spike. You're a regular Hallmark Card."
Dammit, it's obvious she sees through that lame excuse. "What happened with Angel?" I need to know this, need to know if what Dru was saying was true. I need to know if Angel is in Hell.
Her face clouds over; something awful has happened to her. I shake off some strange, psychotic feeling I get to comfort her. It's *my* pain we're here to deal with. But then the strength returns and her face is steel. "Why? Why do you need to know about Angel?"
She's so bloody paranoid she could be an extra on the X-Files. "Dru says she can feel him there. In Hell. She has this crazy notion to bring him back. Which is obviously something that I don't particularly find too exciting," I say in a rush, not looking at her face. The last thing I need from some teenager is "I told you so."
"So," I continue, "I figure that since you're the Slayer and for some inane reason you're always trying to fight evil, I thought you should know so you can help me stop her. Neither of us want Angelus back." I snarl his name. I force my eyes to look into hers. I swear, if she even *starts* with the I- told-you-so I'll kill her, whether I need her help or not.
But she's not even looking at me. I don't think she is even looking at anything. Her eyes are unfocused, her mind obviously somewhere else.
"Slayer?" She makes no acknowledgement, no reply. "Buffy," I say again, hoping the use of her name will get her attention, and touch her on the shoulder. She slowly sinks down to sit on the steps of an apartment complex entrance. I follow her.
There's a long moment of silence. I stop looking at her and watch the cars and people pass by. There's a drag queen restaurant across the street, with people standing outside the windows, trying to get a glimpse. A queen dances over to the window and taunts them. But then the Slayer begins speaking, softly, stealing my attention away from the show. "It's not going to work."
I make a sort of hmph-ing noise. "And just who are you? The supreme expert on spells?" I say bitterly.
She finally looks at me and nails me with a piercing glare. "Chill. I'm not insulting your girlfriend's spell castingness. If she does succeed in bringing him back, it isn't going to matter. At least not to her, and not to you."
"Why not?" I ask, and the eagerness in my voice is all too obvious. I notice that the corner of her mouth is rising up slightly. Great. I know that look. She's going to tease me again.
"First, tell me why you need my help. Why don't you just stop Dru yourself?" It's not a question, it's a mockery. She knows bloody well why.
"No."
"Fine. Then stop her yourself." She gets up, but before she can walk away, I grab her and pull her back. I know she would have no qualms about leaving me to suffer alone. And I really do, though I hate to admit it, need her help.
"Slayer, you know I can't..." I roll my eyes. Damn, but she is insufferable. I speak the next words extremely fast, hoping that she'll miss them. "I can't stop Dru because I'm weak and pathetic when it comes to her and I don't have the strength to do it and I need your help, there! Is that what you want to hear?"
"No," she says, and my eyes widen.
"Then why the hell did you make me say that?" I am outraged. That was the most I have told anyone about how I feel in a very, very long time.
"Because that's what I want *you* to hear. You'll never be able to break her hold on you until you admit the truth to yourself."
I want to hurt her for making me do that. "As if you're one to speak. I wouldn't exactly say you and Angel had a great relationship."
"Shut up, Spike. Just...don't go there, okay?" It's a threat, but its also a plea. Her voice is cold, but has an undercurrent of raw hurt.
I sigh. "I'm sorry." She looks at me with surprise. "Yes, pet, you heard me correctly. I, Spike, actually said that I am sorry." I make a grand flourish with my arm like some kind of Shakespeare character.
"Apology accepted," she says softly.
Silence has its say for a while, before I bring us back to the reason I am here. "Why won't Dru be able to bring Angelus back?"
She tucks an errant strand of blonde hair behind her ear, but doesn't say anything. Her eyebrows are knit together, and I can tell she is thinking. I let her be quiet for a while until I can't take it anymore. I have to do something to get her to talk to me. The strand falls loose again and on some crazy impulse I reach over and smooth it back. She tenses up like an animal ready to strike.
"Your roots are showing, by the way," I tell her.
Another one of those piercing glares is hurtled my way. Followed by a small smirk. She's so extreme; so hot and cold. "So are yours," she says.
I run a hand through my white hair. "Sorry. Can't see myself in mirrors so I usually have Dru tell me when it's time."
"Then you must have been have been away from her for awhile," she notices.
I nod. "Since the night we left Sunnyhell while you were still fighting Angelus." God, why did I tell her that? She shouldn't know that Dru...
Never mind. It's probably obvious to everyone. It's probably been obvious to everyone much longer than it has been to me. How could I be such a fool? I kick at a crumpled can on the sidewalk and curse. Rooting around in the pocket of my jacket, I find a cigarette that has seen better days. I put it in my mouth and light it, trying to find some incredible interest in this action so that I don't have to think about what is bothering me.
Suddenly it is yanked from my mouth and I watch as Buffy executes the poor thing, grinding it like a roach into the sidewalk with her boot. I look at her in indignation.
"Those things are killers," she explains passively.
"It doesn't bloody well matter to me, though, does it?" I chide. The nerve of that girl! And it was my last one too.
"It matters to me, you idiot."
I sigh in exasperation. Females! "Look, Slayer, as much as I'd like this banter to go on forever, I need your help."
"Fine, Spike. I'll tell you." She takes a deep breath. "I want you to know that nobody knows this...not any of my friends, not Giles, *nobody*."
I nod. I can empathize. I sure as hell didn't want to tell her about Dru, and it's quite obvious she does not want to tell me about Angel.
"I was fighting Angelus. I was about to kill him when...when Angel's soul returned." I sit, not quite understanding. Why would she send *her* Angel to hell?
But then I remember the prophecy. And I know just why she looks the way she does, why her weariness and despair is so evident on her face and in her body language. She had to close the portal...
"You had to send *Angel*, not Angelus, to Hell to close the portal and keep this world from going down, right?" Oh, this is exciting. Angelus is gone again. Which means that Dru has no choice but to stay with me.
And oh yeah. It must be real hard on the Slayer, considering she had to send her beloved-but-burdened-with-a-soul boyfriend to Hell.
She nods and turns her head farther from me, but not before I notice the single tear sliding down her cheek.
"Don't look so blue, luv! If we let Dru go ahead with it, then she'll bring back your Angel and you two can be a regular Disney movie, 'together forever' and all that rot."
Buffy ignores me. Bloody hell, I guess that means I have to be caring now. I roll my eyes. "It must have been hard for you to send him to Hell," I say, automated and emotionless.
Her hand is on my throat, clenching hard. There's no real danger, since I don't breathe, but it is nonetheless a physical threat. "What the *fuck* would you know about it being 'hard'?" she hisses. Her hand gets tighter. "How would you feel? Go ahead, bastard, and put yourself in that position! See Dru looking at you, see her doing everything you tell her to because she trusts you...see the trust in her eyes turn to shock as you run a sword through her and send her to Hell!"
She lets go of my throat. "You try betraying the one you love," she says in a lower, hoarser tone.
For a while, neither of us speak. And then, "I'm sorry."
Was that me who said that? Am I showing compassion and caring? Oh god.
But it was me. And I was honest and truthful when I said that. I really am sorry. Because I can see the torrid picture her words painted, and I know that I could never do that to Dru.
"I'm sorry," I repeat, more for my sake than hers. To make sure she understands that I really mean it.
"So," she says, her tone one of dismissal. An attempt to shake off the bad feelings. "Where do we go from here?"
"Back to good ole' Sunnyhell, I guess." I shrug. "We let Dru bring Angel back; he goes with you, she goes with me. We leave town and let the two of you have your fun. I'm happy, you're happy. One fish two fish, red fish blue fish and all that shit."
"That's bullshit and you know it, Spike."
"I'm serious, luv. We'll leave town. You know I don't care about destroying the world and all that other nonsense. I just care about me and Dru being happy."
"That's the bullshit, Spike! Can't you see? I told you before, Dru is a ho. She doesn't *love* you; she's just using you. When she was sick she *couldn't* leave. Now she's got her strength back...her power. She can think, if you can call her looneyness thinking, for herself. She doesn't need you anymore. You're baggage, Spike, that's all you are."
"Buffy, for chrissakes, not now."
"Yes, now! Because you need to do this for yourself, Spike. Vamp or not, you are still someone with feelings. You're gonna get hurt." She grabs my sleeve, forcing me to face her. "Listen to me Spike. She will hurt you. And I can't let you get hurt; god only knows what kind of trouble you would stir up."
I sigh. "Buffy, you're seventeen. I've loved her for over *a hundred* years. Can you even comprehend the vastness of that! Could you wake up and notice your arms missing and go 'Oh darn...I should just get over it and move on'?"
Her hand is on my face, cradling it like a mother does to a child who can't understand something that is painfully obvious. And for some odd reason, I don't care about her patronizing me. "Spike, you're a fool. Why do you want her if she doesn't want you?"
The question burns into me, a sharp stab of reality that makes me think. Why? *Is* there a reason? How can I fully express what drives me to love her in mere words. It would take a lifetime, and I still wouldn't be able to do it.
But somehow, I manage to get it all out in one simple sentence.
"Because I'm the fool she used to dance with in the moonlight."
I remember that moment now. The way her face looked; the way her eyes shone only for me. The light that was mine; the light that has now died out. It's warmth gone, leaving me cold and alone.
Maybe...maybe what she is saying is true. There's a strange sensation in my eyes and I have to blink to keep the wetness from falling. Not again. I swore to myself never again.
I stand up brusquely in an effort to hide my face from her. I can feel the stare of her eyes on the back of my head. "I'll go get us plane tickets for tomorrow night. We'll leave here, and go back to Sunnydale," I say over my shoulder.
I adjust my leather coat, trying not to look as though it's torturing me in this sweltering heat, and walk off, not waiting for a reply.
"Spike?" she calls after me.
I turn around. "What is it now, luv?" I ask, feigning irritation.
She shakes her head. " 'Wood and Teeth'- it's horrible. Sounds like George Washington's dentures."
I pause for a moment. As trivial as it seems, this is actually a seal to our agreement. Our friendsh- my mind won't finish the word. Could it be that? I don't know. But I do know that she is saying that it's okay. That she understands. So I flash her my best grin, which I must say is quite stunning, shrug my shoulders, and take the plunge. "Then 'Blood Spattered Pavement' it is."