Adult-FanFiction.org : Buffy

Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground	By : cousinjean Category: AtS/BtVS Crossovers > Het - Male/Female > Buffy/Spike(William) > Buffy/Spike(William) Views: 2581 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS) or Angel, the Series (AtS); nor any of the characters from them. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Dead Leaves & the Dirty Ground

by cousinjean

Chapter Nine -- Surprise! You're Dead!

RATING: R
PREVIOUSLY: At some point in time after "Chosen," Spike Shanshued, Buffy moved back to L.A., and they got engaged. Then there was another apocalypse, which ended with all of demon-kind getting banished to a hell dimension and taking Buffy with them, and also with Angel getting his own Shanshu. Spike despaired until Lilah showed him a way to bring Buffy back, which involved using the Key. Spike and Dawn went through with the ritual and rescued Buffy, only to discover that she'd been turned into a vampire. Vamp-Buffy made off with Spike, then re-made him, then made out with him, among other progressively kinky things, before taking off with him to wreak their special brand of havoc across the state of California. Meanwhile, the left-over Scoobies mourned, Lilah got her naughty on and rekindled her affair with Wes, and Angel barked a lot of orders before setting out to hunt down Buffy & Spike.

A/N: Title courtesy of Faith No More and fenwic.

~*~

"Last box," said Xander, kicking the door
shut behind him.

"Thanks." Dawn pointed at the stack in the
living room. "Just put it with the rest."

As he moved to comply, Willow
emerged from the hall. "Okay. I cleared out half the medicine cabinet and
a drawer in the bathroom, and the hall closet is all yours." She padded
into the kitchen. "Are you guys thirsty?"

"Not right now."

"Or, how about hungry?"
She moved back to the end of the bar and regarded them both. "We could
order some takeout, go get some videos to watch after we get you unpacked. Oh! And then? We can all pile in my bed in our footie pajamas and see how long we can keep
each other from falling asleep. It'll be a
slumber party!"

Dawn and Xander exchanged glances and smiled.
"Alas," said Xander, "I forgot to bring my footie PJs. Anyway, I'll have to head back soon if I'm gonna be there to supervise the move tomorrow."

Dawn looked worried. "It's all going to the
hotel, right? Nothing's getting thrown out?"

"Right. There's plenty of
room, especially since Angel's not actually living there anymore. Fred said
there's no hurry. It can all sit there until you're ready to go through
it."

She nodded. "Tell her thank you for me."

"Sure."

"Well, fine," said Willow.
"No slumber party. But that's okay, 'cause Dawnie and I need to rest up to
go furniture shopping tomorrow."

"Willow,
I told you. My sleeping bag's fine. It'll be
just as comfortable as my dorm bed. You don't have to go to any extra trouble
for me."

"Oh, piffle!" Willow
waved a dismissive hand. "I've been meaning to go sofa shopping for weeks now, you're just finally getting me motivated. And I hear
they've made great strides in sleeper sofa
comfort since that one in Xander's old basement was made."

"They've made great strides in the space program since that sofa was made," said Xander.
"I hear they even sent a guy to the
moon."

"So, see? We can get you a bed and get me a new
living room in one fell swoop. We'll go to Ikea and stock up."

"Sure," said Dawn.

"Decorating this place can be our summer project.
Ooh, and we have to go sightseeing! Do you know I
haven't even been to Alcatraz yet?"

Dawn sighed. "Look, Willow,
I appreciate your letting me stay here. But it's not like before, you know.
You're not babysitting me, or playing foster mom or whatever. I'm an adult now.
You don't have to keep me cheered up."

"I know that," Willow
grumped. "But what about keeping me cheered up?"

"I'm just saying, it's okay.
Once I'm settled I'll get a summer job, and I'll help out with the rent. You
don't have to take care of me."

"Dawn, come on," said Xander. "Taking
care of each other, it's kinda what we do. Been that way for ten years,
there's no reason to stop now."

"Right. Sure." Dawn
nodded. "How about the fact that everyone who's ever really taken care of
me has ended up dead? Is that a good enough reason?"

Willow and Xander both blinked at her in surprise. "Dawnie,
no," said Willow, reaching out
toward her.

But Dawn backed away. "Think about it. First
the monks, then mom. Twice for Buffy. Even Tara. And now Spike…" Her face twisted up as she
fought tears.

Xander reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.
"Dawn, you know none of that was your fault."

She laughed at that. "Oh, come on, Xander. You
know at least three of those were directly because of me."

"Dawn," said Willow,
her voice hard, authoritative. "You didn't kill Spike."

"No. I just brought a vampire here so she could
do it." She batted angrily at a tear running down her cheek. "Look, I
don't mean to sound ungrateful. I appreciate everything you guys are doing for
me. But I think it's about time I started taking care of myself."
She turned around and grabbed a box off her pile. "I have to unpack,"
she muttered, heading down the hall.

When the bathroom door slammed, Xander and Willow
just stood there in silence, neither knowing what to say.

"Maybe I should stick around a while,"
Xander offered once he found his voice.

Willow
shook her head. "Dawn'll feel better knowing you're taking care of their
things."

"Yeah, but what about you?"

She gave him a wan smile. "I'll make it. We both
will." She sighed. "I shouldn't have pushed. It's only been a week.
She's still so raw."

"Tell me about it."

With a sigh, Willow
moved to wrap her arms around him. They held each other for a long while before
she asked, "We still get to take care of each other, right?"

"Willow,
we'll be ninety years old with adjacent rooms in the old folks' home and still
taking care of each other."

She leaned her head back and looked up at him. "Promise?" He simply smiled, and she closed
her eyes as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. Reluctantly, she pulled
away. "You should get going."

"Yeah." He fished his
keys out of his pocket. "Wanna walk me down?"

"Okay." She followed him out and down
the hallway to the elevator before asking, "So, have you heard anything
from Angel?"

"Nothing good," Xander said as he pushed the
call button. "Spike and Buffy have been cutting a pretty wide swath, but
they're staying one step ahead and leaving a lot of vamps in their wake. Wesley
said they almost caught up with them in the other day in Bakersfield,
but mostly he and Angel have been too busy cleaning up after them to figure out
their next move."

The elevator opened. Willow
furrowed her brow as she followed Xander in. "They're still heading
north?"

"That's the pattern."

"I wonder if they're coming here. Maybe if I keep doing demon locator spells I can track their movements and we can estimate when they'll get here, and be ready for them."

"Sounds like a plan. That way you can let me know
in time to get back up here. I don't want to leave you guys to face them
alone." They reached the lobby
and the doors opened. Willow
walked with Xander as far as the front doors. "I'll call when I get
to L.A.," he said, pulling her
into another hug. "See how you're both holding up."

"Thanks." She returned his squeeze. "Be
careful."

"Don't worry," he said. "You saw my
glove compartment. It's a mini vampire arsenal."

"Oh, good. I meant
driving, but that's good, too."

They both laughed, and exchanged waves as he walked
away. Willow stood in
the doorway and watched him climb into his truck and drive out of the parking
lot. She kept watching until she lost track of his taillights in the
traffic. Then she looked up at the darkening sky, and shuddered.

"Give me strength," she prayed to whatever
deity was paying attention. "Please, give us all strength."

***
"Where the hell did you guys bring
me?"
"Why d'you say it like that?"
He tore his eyes away from the squat,
windowless building to stare in disbelief at his friend's innocent face. Then burst out
laughing. "Keith, come on. This place is a dive!"
A hand clapped him on the shoulder. "Kinda the
point." Curtis inhaled deeply and let out a satisfied sigh. "Free pool, plenty of atmosphere, and the beer's as cheap as the women. What more
do you want from a celebratory night
out?"
"But I thought we were going to a
club. Remember clubs? Dancing, drinks, cute sorority
girls?"
"Who you have to
make conversation with and then worry about running into on campus." Keith shook his head. "Forget that.
Finals ate my brain. Tonight, I only want two things: getting loaded and getting laid. Besides," he pointed to their friend,
"Curtis is graduating. He gets to pick."
Curtis nodded definitively, as if that
settled it, then squared his shoulders and started for the entrance. Keith followed.
"I don't know,
guys. This looks like the sort of place where folks don't take kindly to
college boys."
The guys both turned to regard him. "Please
don't make me go all junior high schoolyard on your chickenshit ass,"
said Keith.
"Relax," said Curtis. "I've
been here before. These folks are nice enough if you show 'em respect and stay out of their way. And don't make
eye contact. And, y'know,
don't open your mouth."
At his worried look, they both laughed.
"I'm shittin'
you," said Curtis, reaching over to cuff him on the back of the head.
"You'll be fine. Anybody fucks with you, they gotta go through me. Now are you coming, or you
gonna stand there and guard that hog all
night?"
"Hog?" He turned to see a big, black motorcycle behind
him. Dangerous
bike. The kind dangerous
people rode. Of course, he knew that perfectly nice people were also into Harleys, but those people didn't usually hang out in poorly-lit bars way out in the sticks with names like "The Snake Hole." He
sighed. It wasn't that he couldn't handle himself in a fight. It was that he
might handle himself too well, and then he'd have to explain it to his
friends. How could he do that when he couldn't explain it to himself?
Keith and Curtis were already inside. With
a deep breath, he followed. Inside it didn't look so
bad. Dark, though. While his eyes adjusted he took in the smells. Alcohol and
cigarette smoke he'd expected, but there was something else. Sawdust? He looked down and scuffed his shoe in it to
confirm his guess. He wondered how they cleaned the floor with that stuff
there. Or maybe that was the point.
"Connor!" Curtis waved from the bar. "Over
here!"
Connor nodded an acknowledgement and took
in the rest of the bar as he went. The other patrons largely ignored him
as he looked around, except for a couple gnarly old men who gave him the
hairy eyeball over the rims of their beer mugs. They all sat on wooden benches
that ran alongside wooden tables—not a stitch of padding or upholstery
anywhere. What few decorations there were mostly consisted of furry and feathery dead things mounted
on plaques that made Connor's inner activist cringe.
At one end of the bar a door opened into a pool hall, where some guys in
lumberjack shirts had a game going.   At the other end, the hall to the bathrooms, a payphone, and a big, vintage
Wurlitzer that was currently playing Patsy Cline. A couple danced in one corner, both
dressed in so much leather that Connor figured they had to belong to
that bike outside. He also suspected that "dancing" was probably
a nice euphemism for what was going on underneath the long, black coat wrapped around
them.
They took no notice of him, or anything
else, which gave Connor license to stare longer than he'd intended. He couldn't
help it. The girl was so pretty—definitely the prettiest this place had
to offer. Skimpy leather outfit aside, she looked nice enough. But of course
she was totally into her partner, who looked anything but. Connor shook
his head. Why did girls like her always have to go for guys like that?  So unfair.
"…come to the party?"
someone was saying as a hand clamped on his shoulder.
Connor blinked up at Curtis.
"Huh?"
"Your feet made it inside, but
where's your head?"
"Sorry. I was just thinking."
Curtis glanced over at the couple and
smirked. "Yeah, I know what you were thinking. I thought you didn't
want to get your ass kicked tonight." He turned back to the bar and
gave a nod and a wave to the bartender, a cute brunette about their age.
"Better stick with Donna here. She gets off in twenty minutes, and she's
gonna call a couple of her friends."
"Cool." Connor smiled at Donna
as she brought over a couple of beers.
"Who's your friend?" she asked
Curtis.
"This is Connor."
"Hi!" she said, extending her
hand. "I'm Donna."
Connor shook her hand. "So I'm
told."
She flashed him a bright grin and turned
to Curtis. "He's cute. My friend's'll
like him." She slid the beers
in front of them. "Here. On the house."
"Thanks," said Connor, taking a
sip and hoping he didn't come across as too bashful. Then he frowned and looked
around. "Hey, where's Keith?"
"Bathroom," said Curtis.
"Said he was having—" he paused to make air quotes,
"— 'stomach issues'."
Donna grimaced. "Will he be okay for
later?"
"Sure he will. Just needs to get it
out of his system."
"Maybe one of us should go check on
him," said Connor.
"Naw, man. You know how neurotic he is about his
privacy."
"Okay!" said Donna. "I'll
just be down at that end, cleaning glasses. All alone, with
nobody to talk to." She let her gaze linger meaningfully on
Curtis as she walked away.
Curtis grinned and watched her go. Without
taking his eyes off her, he backhanded Connor on the chest. "Hang
tight, Buddy. Keith'll be out any minute." With that, he got
up to follow Donna.
Connor shook his head and took a drink of
his beer. The music stopped. Despite his better judgment, he stole a glance at
the couple in the corner in time to see them let go of each other. The guy
turned and headed for the bathroom as the girl smoothed her outfit and looked
around the room. Her gaze fell on Connor, who quickly turned his attention back
to his beer.
He was still busy contemplating the
contents of his mug when a feminine shape took the stool next to his,
brushing his
arm. Don't, he told himself. Don't look, don't talk, don't engage. She's with somebody and not interested.
"Are you gonna keep hogging those?"
Connor looked up at her in spite of
himself. "What?"
She pointed past him. "The
pretzels?"
"Oh." He slid the bowl in front
of her. "Sorry."
"Thanks." She smiled sweetly.
"I'm Buffy."
"Uh… hi. I'm Connor."
She picked up a pretzel and nibbled it,
then grimaced and dropped it on the counter. "Eugh. They're stale."
"Oh. Well, maybe they have
more." He started to wave at Donna,
but Buffy put her hand on his arm.
"It's okay. Not really what I'm
hungry for anyway."   Her hand lingered as she looked him up and down. "So, Connor. Why do I get the feeling you're not from
around here?"
His eyes shifted to the bathroom door as
he straightened in his seat and broke contact. "I'm from Santa
Clarita," he said, "but I go to Stanford."
"Stanford? What's your major?"
"Chemistry."
"Chemistry,
huh?" She smiled slyly and closed the distance
between them. Lowering her lids and
her voice she said, "I guess that makes you a pretty good judge."
He
caught himself leaning toward her and pulled back. "I saw you dancing with
that guy."
"I saw you seeing me." She
picked out a pretzel and brought it to her mouth, and watched him as she delicately licked the salt from it.
"Aren't you with him?"
"He's with me."
She shrugged. "It's a fine distinction."
"Yeah, but, he's not gonna come out
here and see us and fly into a jealous rage and try to kick my ass or
anything?"
Buffy frowned, a tiny line appearing
between her eyebrows. "Why should he? We're only talking."
He blinked at her, surprised and,
stupidly, a little disappointed. Way to read 'em, Connor. "Right.
Yeah, of course. I'd just hate for him to
misunderstand."
The bathroom door squeaked open then, and
they both looked
over to see the man in
question emerge. Connor wrinkled his
nose as the guy let out a loud belch, but Buffy remained unfazed as she beamed
a smile at him. He nodded in acknowledgment. Then
his eyes found Connor and narrowed. Connor froze—fight or flight?—then the guy just shrugged and went to sit at the other end of the bar.
Buffy turned back to Connor. "Don't
worry. Spike and I understand each other fine."
"Yeah. Cool." Connor vaguely registered the guy's name and how much that didn't comfort
him. But his gaze drifted back to the bathroom door as he remembered Keith.
"You know, my friend's not feeling well and he's been in there a long
time. I should probably go ch—"
"Ooh! Pool table's open!" She
grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the pool hall as the lumberjacks exited.
Inside, she let go and went to rack up the balls. "Grab us some cue
sticks. You want stripes or solids?"
"Lady's choice."
She tossed a smile over her shoulder, then
stood back and hung up the rack. "You break."
Connor smiled back. "Sure." He
was feeling better about her. She really did seem nice. And sweet. And whatever that Spike guy was to her, he didn't seem to have a
problem with them hanging out together. This night was turning out to have some
possibilities after all. He brushed past her and leaned over the table to line
up his shot. "So, where are you from?" he asked, glancing up at the
big mirror that lined the wall in front of him.  Seeing no sign of her, he
frowned and turned around.
"Hell," she answered, standing right next to him and keeping her eyes
on the balls.
Confused, Connor looked back at the
mirror. It displayed the entire room back to him, including himself.
Not
her, though.
He turned to her again, mouth open to ask how, or maybe why, but was met with a finger to his
lips. "Shhh. If you struggle it'll only
hurt more."
"Wh-what will?"
As if in answer, her face changed. It shifted and
melted and rearranged itself into a fanged monstrosity. His heart in his
throat, Connor backed away, mesmerized, trying to put a name to the
creature before him but rejecting the only one that came to mind as impossible.
But there it was.
A fucking vampire.
"It doesn't have to hurt at
all," she was saying as she moved slowly toward him. "I can make it
painless. I can even make it feel good."
She reached out and laid a palm on his
chest. The contact snapped him out of his shock and made it—her—all
too real. He reared his fist back and swung.
Buffy caught it like it was nothing as her
other hand slid up and wrapped around
his throat. "I warned you not to do that." She squeezed.
The pressure on his windpipe only pissed
Connor off. He swung with his left, catching her by surprise and knocking her
back.  He hit her again, a right hook that sent her up and flying. She came down hard
on the pool table, scattering the balls.
She lay there a moment, stunned. Connor stood
there gaping at her, not knowing what to do next; then he retrieved his cue stick and held it
ready like a baseball bat as she flipped onto her feet.
"Not really what I meant by 'you
break'."  She spun Her
foot caught him under the chin and knocked him into the billiard rack behind
him, bringing sticks and balls and chalk down on top of him with a loud crash.
***
Spike nursed his bourbon, trying to tune
out the bartender and her suitor and the single-entendre-laden chatter that
passed for flirtation with the kids these days. Trying not to think about how much the girl
reminded him of Dawn, and why that shouldn't matter, and how much he
wanted to put his fist through the boy's teeth and rip out his crass tongue on
her behalf. He wished Buffy would hurry up with her conquest. Just bloody eat
the boy and get it over with instead of this cat and mouse routine she'd become
fond of. The one in the loo
had taken him a minute, tops. Hers shouldn't take any longer.
It wasn't like her, toying with her prey
like that.  At least it
hadn't used to be. But then neither was this fun hobby of brutally killing humans that she'd picked up.
He supposed she might as well have fun with it—all the fun and joy in
violence and killing she'd never allowed herself as the Slayer. Still. That
wasn't the only thing about her that had changed.
But she was here, and she was his. As
long as that was true, he could live with anything else.
As he lifted his glass to take a sip, he
heard a ruckus in the other room and smiled.   So the boy was a fighter. Then he frowned, remembering
they were supposed to keep a low profile until they put more distance between
themselves and Angel. At least nobody else in the bar seemed to notice.
Until a crash got their
attention. The couple next to
him snapped their heads in that direction. "Connor?" said
the boy as he started that
way.
Spike reached out and snagged his collar.
"Don't go in there."
"My friend's in there."
The boy tried to keep going, then looked down at Spike's hand. "Let go of me, man."
"I said, don't go in
there."
The boy swatted his hand away and leaned over him in a manner Spike suspected was meant to
be threatening. "Why shouldn't I? And what're you gonna do about
it?"
"Curtis," said the barmaid, a
nervous tremor in her voice, "don't start anything in here."
Curtis looked from Spike to her and back
again. "I'm not," he said, backing away with his hands up, palms out.
"I'm just going to check on my friend."
Spike sighed, plunked his drink down, and stood up to face the boy.
"No, you're not."
"And why's that?"

"Because he's dead." Spike's fist struck
out. Curtis's head snapped back. He staggered a few steps, then
blinked at Spike, surprise showing in his eyes and blood gushing from his nose,
before his eyes rolled up in his head and he crumpled to the floor. "And
so are you."
Behind him the girl screamed, snaring the
attention of the rest of the patrons. Benches scraped against the floor
and tipped over as a dozen or so manly men jumped to their feet and zoned in on Spike. "So much for
low profile," he muttered, squaring off to face them. As he slid on his
game face, about a third of his contenders cut and ran, but the rest only
looked more determined and pissed off.
"Least this should be fun," he
said as they rushed him.
***
Connor shoved the rack and fallen
equipment off him and tried to focus, ignoring the pain in his head where
a ball and who knew what else had conked him.
She wasn't coming for him. Instead she
stood with her feet planted wide, hands behind her back, head cocked to one
side as she studied him. Her face looked normal again, and for a moment he
wondered if he'd been hallucinating.
"You're strong," she said.
"What are you?"
"I'm human. Which is obviously more than I can say for you."
She went on as if he hadn't spoken.
"You're not a vampire. You can't be demon. And somehow I doubt the
Powers That Be decided to jump start a new line with you."
"Lady, I don't know what you're
talking about." That's it, Connor. Keep her talking. His memory cycled back through all the horror movies he'd seen,
ticking off all the different things they claimed could kill vampires. He didn't have
any sunlight, silver or holy water handy. But he had wood all around.
Struggling to his feet, he picked up a couple of cue sticks and held them
before him in the shape of a cross.
She simply stared at him for a moment.
Then she snickered, covering
her mouth. "You've got to be kidding me."
Connor threw down one of the sticks and
cracked the other over his knee.
"Now that's more like it. Sure you
know what to do with those?"
"I'm thinking the pointy end goes in
the vampire."
"Wow. You really are smart."
She started to circle him. Out in the bar, somebody screamed. Connor chanced a
glimpse but could only see the lumberjacks jumping to their feet.  So he focused on the
vampire and tightened his grip on the broken cue.
She smiled. "This should be
fun." Then she hopped and
kicked one of the sticks out of his hand, cracking a couple of fingers in
the process.
Connor hollered in pain, but channeled it
into a battle cry as he raised the other stake and charged. She sidestepped him
and slammed her elbow into his back, knocking him down. He tucked into a roll and came back up on his
feet, winded but ready when she
lunged for him. His left connected with her nose and snapped her head back. Then he caught her in the jaw with his right, gritting
his teeth against the pain that screamed through his hand. He kept swinging, a
fury of face and body shots, driving her back, keeping her on the defensive. He had her backed up against the pool table
with nowhere to go. She was wearing down. He punched her again in the face, as
hard as he could. She wobbled, and he raised his stake. But as he brought it
down she twisted and he only grazed her arm.
"Oh, you are so lucky that
didn't damage the leather."  She grabbed the front of his shirt and flipped him over her head.  Connor landed on the pool table, the balls beneath him cracking a rib. He screamed.
Next thing he knew she was straddling him. Her face transformed again as
she dove for his throat. His good hand found the eight
ball and bashed it into her head.
As she reeled, he hit her again, and again, until he managed to kick her off of him and onto the floor.
In the other room he could hear
people—grown men—screaming. Still, he liked his chances out there
better than in here. He might be strong, but she obviously had more experience,
maybe even formal training. He was no match for her.
Struggling to his feet before she could
get to hers, Connor made a break for the door. As he reached it he saw
Spike appear on the other side. Then he saw Spike's fist coming at his
face.
And then he saw darkness.
***
Spike stared down at the unconscious boy. "Just took out a whole
room," he said, and
pointed. "How the bloody hell'd
this one give you so much
trouble?"
Buffy pouted and came toward him, rubbing her arm. "He's wicked strong," she said,
nudging the boy with her foot. "Like, Slayer strong."
"Huh." Spike studied him. "Seems human enough."
"I know. That's what's so weird about
it." She knelt beside the boy and reached out to trace a finger over his cheek.
"Does he look familiar to you?"
Spike shook his head. "Nope."
"But look at his mouth, and his
nose."
"Must just have
that kind of face."
"Maybe." Buffy sat for a long moment, watching the sleeping boy breathe. Then she shrugged. "Guess we've got plenty of
time to find out." She shifted into game face.
Spike grabbed her shoulder. "What, you're gonna turn him?"
"That was pretty much the plan."
"Not part of the plan you let me in
on. But then again, you haven't let me in on any of your plan, so why start
now?" He stood back, shoving his hands in his pockets.
Buffy looked up at him in irritation, but
her face melted back to human and sly seduction as she reached for his coat and
slowly dragged herself up his body. "Don't tell me you're jealous."
He raised an eyebrow. "Should I
be?"
"What do you think?" She kissed
him, slinking her arms around his neck and pulling him down, inviting him to
drown in her.
He declined the invitation.
"Angel's hot on our trail as it is, Love. He'll hear about this soon, if
he hasn't already, and be here in a heartbeat.  Last thing we need is to load ourselves down with
your new pet corpse."
Buffy's arms fell to her sides.
"He'll only be dead weight until he wakes up, and he could be useful.
Anyway, aren't you curious about him?"
"Really not."
"Why are you so afraid of Angel,
anyway?"
"Not Angel. His army."
"All the more
reason to have our own army."
"There's no room for him on the bike,
Pet."
"Then we'll get a car." She
knelt again as the boy let out a
soft moan. "Shhh," she told him. "I'm gonna make you a
general."
"Fine. Whatever. I'll just be
out here having a smoke if
you decide you can use me again." He turned away.
"Spike!"
Her tone stopped him, but he didn't turn
back.
"Don't you want things to be like
they were?"
He let the question sit there as he dug
out his cigarettes. Finally he said, "Between us? Don't think that's
possible."
"No. No,
we're better." She said it a little too forcefully. He wasn't sure which
of them she was trying to convince. "But I meant everything. The world. Didn't you have more fun before, in the demony version?"
He turned back to see her earnest face
looking up at him. He blew out a sigh. "Truth is, before the chip I didn't
give much thought to the rest of demon-kind. After, it was all about
killing 'em." He shook
his head. "One or two exceptions, but generally I didn't care. Still
don't.  I kinda like this 'you and me against the world' bit.
Leave enough vamps in our wake to throw off the hunters…"
"But open the world up to demons
again and we'll hardly be a blip on Angel's radar."
He tilted his head to regard her, as if
the new angle might help him see inside her head. "And how do you propose
to do that?"
"Same way you brought me back."
His eyes narrowed. "With
the Key."
"Why else did you think I let her
live?"
"I didn't. Just
thought the Bit knew her stuff." Off her look he said, "Well it's not like she didn't learn
from the best, is it?"
Her face softened, all patience
and affection, and he flashed back to
when they first started, when
he would've stormed Heaven or Hell just to make her proud of him. He couldn't
decide whether he missed those days. Or if they were really
over.
"We're going to need help getting her
from the others," she said. "It's time to stop siring and leaving and
to start taking on some minions." She thought about that, and
smiled. "I've never had actual minions before. That's kinda cool."
He smiled back at her. Couldn't help it. Her
sense of wonder was infectious. "Well, get on with it, then. Boy'll wake up soon, and the
faster we put some distance between us and this place the better."

~*~
- 9
- 10
- 11
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground

Dead Leaves & the Dirty Ground