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05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
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Authors Chapter Notes:
A new fic being written for my joint community seven_seasons with spikeslovebite.

He’d thought it was high bloody time they’d gone somewhere he wanted to for a change. Prague was a pretty place, filled to the brim with lots of throats and pumping hearts. Trust Dru to get all finicky and intuitive about the place. She couldn’t just come straight out and say she didn’t want to go. No. She had to make a song and dance of it. ‘If we go I’ll die, my Spike.’ It pissed him off how she’d use that brand of bollocks every time it was his choice where they went.

And where did they end up? The sodding Hellmouth, of all places. The one in California—a town that could better pass for a set out of Hollywood’s tackiest horror stories without any trouble at all. And as luck would have it, it was inhabited by a Slayer. Spike hadn’t decided if he wanted to face this one yet, being that he was still stewing in his anger and getting more pissed by the minute as soon as he felt the strain of family bonds. Felt the expectation of buckling under to his elders even though he’d been top dog in his own pen for the past century.

He should have known the moment Dru started acting battier than usual that something more than her imminent dusting was up. Trust her to bring them right back to the Poof and his Barbie Girl.

Well, bugger ‘em. He wasn’t budging from his stool till this weaselly looking human had managed to get him good and sloshed. And maybe not even then.

“Oi. Barkeep. More blood, more booze. An’ if you got anything by way of entertainment, pass that along too.”

The little twitchy guy got twitchier, his eyes darting to the back of the bar and back sideways to his bleach and leather patron before diving under the bar. Spike could sense what the little human barkeep was frightened of facing, and to tell the truth, he wasn’t up for this kind of confrontation yet either. He’d only been on this Godforsaken cesspit of hell for less than a night. If he could hold out for another century it would still be too soon to face his past.

The stinky scent of Angelus was blocking his sinuses pretty quick, and instead of turning and facing the elder of his once very close clan, he swept out of the bar with a swish of his leather jacket. Not like the ugly bastard had seen him in a while and knew exactly how he looked. And it wasn’t like he’d ever cared to be anything to Spike but a mean selfish son of a bitch. And when you factored Darla into the equation—as he suddenly had to do when he caught sight of her up ahead—that description wasn’t so far from the pail.

Well, this little trip was turning out to be all sorts of fun—for those that actually got a kick out of the old family reunions. He hated to think what other surprises Dru had in store for him. He was feeling pretty close to packing up the Desoto and squealing his way out of there—leaving Dru to fend with good old daddy now that she’d finally found him. Really didn’t do a bloke’s ego great walloping bags of good to know the chit you’d spent over a century following and loving had led you on a wild goose chase in search of her sire.

Well bugger that. He was sick of being Love’s Bitch. He was sick of being the one who came second, or third—or if he even rated a thought. He’d known from the week he’d been turned that as much of a destiny he might have attributed to Dru, Angelus buried deep between her thighs had altered his perception a little. Still, he’d been a blind fool, and deliriously happy when Darla had had a turn and turfed the overblown forehead out of the nest and cackled that he’d failed to fly.

Spike couldn’t get over the fact that the great Neanderthal could walk—and without dragging his knuckles on the ground. He never could get why the women fell head over tit for the big poof. Sure, he had the looks, and girls loved a bit of mystery, but surely that staid routine got old? Where was the fun? The excitement? Where was the bloody guts and glory that made unlife worth living?

Spike couldn’t stand the mystery. The waiting would have driven him barmy, always needing to jump right into the fray and quench his thirst for being in it. A part of it. And he didn’t mean the ‘it’ that Dru kept dragging him into. Still, Angelus had been out on his own for a century by now. Was still kicking along and seemed to be doing okay, if not actually flourishing. And whatever the Poof could do, Spike could do better.

Yeah, that’s the spirit! Spike grinned and decided to follow the tarted up matriarch on her little wander, almost flinching when they came to the door of a club that had thumping great crowds of teenyboppers. It was humiliating—even if she was there for the food. Place was likely to have a bar, though, and he was more inclined toward the booze than the gullible necks that swam around in his vision. So, passing through the door, Spike made his way through throngs of hot sweating bodies and found himself right back where he was recently interrupted. On a barstool with a bottle of Jack sitting patiently in front of him.

He couldn’t even be bothered looking around at the free range, more than satisfied to ignore everything for the night—the blood, his fangs—in favour of the sweet seduction of his booze. He loved the burn as it flowed down his throat. There was nothing like it, and over a century of getting his fill hadn’t altered the thrill at all. It was more than his friend—sometimes the only comfort he could get while Dru was off sharing it out for all and sundry. Yeah, he might be a faithful type—even now couldn’t bring himself to cheat in the way she did—but he was feeling pretty close to done sitting back and watching while she made him look more and more a fool in their world.

Despite knowing he’d unwittingly stumbled into a slayer playground, he hadn’t expected to feel the little buzz through his body indicating that she was here. Behind him somewhere in the throng. Self-preservation made him swivel suddenly, seeking out the killer of his kind. He might never have picked her out but for the obvious. Middle-aged bloke in tweed around a teenage Caligirl—blond, tanned and high with the bopperish. Yep, Watcher. God they were so bloody predictable.

He watched them up high on the balcony, watched the old lecher circle behind her, whisper in her ear and her eyes scanning the mob below her. A quirky finger point and she’d located her first demon, though Spike could immediately tell it wasn’t through any sense handed down slayer to slayer. Vamp hearing at it’s best and he knew it was the clothes that gave the git away, and when the Slayer tore down the stairs in hot pursuit, Spike felt strangely inclined to follow.

It was an enlightening travel. Keeping to the shadows, black duster swishing comfortably around his legs, Spike dogged her every step. That he was acting all cloak and dagger didn’t bother him a bit, even when he became aware that he himself was being followed by Darla and her catch of the night. In fact, it all just added to the excitement and he felt the thrill of the pursuit for the first time in ages.

He saw two humans escape from a crypt before the Slayer dived in, marching in on the impulse of Darla and then Luke’s booming self-important masculinity. Spike almost giggled at the situation and the over-confident way the idiots had no clue who they were fighting, but he seized the opportunity of getting near the kiddies, wondering exactly what he was going to do. Not like he’d had a plan when he’d chased after the Slayer’s scent. With a bit of luck, things might pan out the better for him without one.

“Hello there. Didn’t your mother ever tell you it was bad to wander off with strangers? And in cemeteries too?” he tsked at them, watching with a reverent fascination as the boy leaked blood from the vein at his throat and the girl startled and clung tighter to the weaker one. Another stood by them, brave and sure despite the scared pounding of his heart and Spike could tell that this one knew the scariness of the night, even if the discovery had been too recent. He knew and understood more by the way he eyed Spike back, making the blond both intrigued and disappointed that he couldn’t indulge in a little show and really bring them out of their safe delusional little world.

“She told us about scary monsters. We were just too stupid to believe.”

Oh yeah, this one had guts, and Spike felt oddly impressed. Enough to decide to leave this group alone, particularly if they belonged in the Slayer’s every day world. And as he made the decision, Darla and her groupie in the dated togs were back, sniffing and salivating over the spilt blood.

“Spike, what perfect timing,” Darla almost growled around her fangs, her gruesome smile ruining the prettiness of her face.

“How right you are,” he drawled, feeling once again the irritation and anger that had driven his sullen passage through the country to this hole of a town, Dru whining all the way by his side. One look sideways at the alarm the brunette boy was displaying and Spike had his plan—well, somewhat of one. He was going to liberate this trio from Darla and her boy—deprive old Batface of his welcome sacrifice into the here and now. Would bloody teach the lot of them for thinking they could force his hand at everything. With a bit of luck Dru would cop a bit of a burst over it all, but not before Spike made his merry way on out of the place.

With a renewed cockiness in his step, he moved just enough to flank the trio, showing his intent to take Darla’s claim of a meal on his own terms. “This lot’s off the menu,” he proclaimed confidently, feeling quite pleased at the easing of the stronger boy’s heartbeat.

Darla actually shook her head in shock, stepping up to look at him closely and finding as usual she didn’t like what she saw.

“For crying out loud, do you have a soul too?”

Well, that came out of the bloody blue. The concept actually left Spike speechless, and his mouth flapped open and closed twice before he thought of an answer.

“Too? I thought I was the only one.” Sodding hell! He suddenly felt like he had no clue what he was doing, and who ever heard of a vampire with a soul anyway? But it was the perfect cover, and as he felt the tingle of the Slayer’s approach at his back—his unprotected back—he felt like it was the solution and a completely unique way of getting into the Slayer’s good books.

What the hell. He could think on his feet. He could show that he cared—showing he had soul should be a piece of cake. For a few days at least. Until he had the Slayer exactly where he could snack on her.

“There’s vampires with soul’s now? Who ever saw that coming?” Her perky bewildered voice behind him actually hit something soft inside him and he thought—without his usual menace—that he’s struck gold on this idea to whittle away her normal defences.

Spike turned and got his first good look at her—blonde with green eyes and a slightly panting body, emphasising the more than cute little package. Oh yeah, getting close to this one wouldn’t prove much of a hardship at all.

“No one’s ever seen me coming, Goldielocks.” Feeling himself pumped with more balls than sense, Spike reached out and took her hand, marvelling for the briefest second the softness of her skin and the heat of her touch before tugging her behind him and into the group of her friends.

“On your bike now, luv. You’ve got no chance of winning here.” Spike watched in amusement; Darla looked confused.

She took one impulsive step, as if to attack, then grabbed hold of her hungry companion with the fashion-reject shirt and ran, vamp speed having them out of sight in minutes.

“Whoa,” Buffy panted, impressed. “You’re much more with the helpful than creepy stalker guy.”

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