“What’s wrong, love?” A voice spoke
softly from the darkness. He had watched her for a few moments, knowing
he should leave her in peace, not intrude, however her palpable sadness
was too much for him. He couldn’t bear to see her in pain of any
sort without trying somehow to fix it.
“Nothing, Spike. It doesn’t matter.” Buffy dashed away the tears and drew a deep breath to calm herself. How long had he been there? How long had he been watching her cry like a baby? She turned to him as he stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight, concern etched on his expressive face. What was it with her and vampires? She was the Slayer, so a certain amount of contact with vampires was to be expected, contact of the dusty kind, that is. However these two vampires, one with a soul—her boyfriend, well maybe, the jury was still out on that! And this other one, the one without a soul, the one who until only a few short months ago was her mortal enemy and now he was what? A friend? A confidant? A fighting companion? All she knew was there was an easy companionship to the way Spike fell into step next to her. To her left, as always; allowing the greatest benefit if they were attacked, he being left handed and she right they could cover a complete 360 degrees. They had fought together so many times now, it felt natural, both knowing the other’s capabilities and as such each able was to get on with their own job without the distraction of worrying about the other. There was fluidity to the way they fought, like two dancers in a complex ballet each knowing their own part and knowing that their partner would be there to catch them when the music dictated. “Got somethin’ planned for tonight, pet?” he enquired with a slight tilt of his head. She looked gorgeous, surely she was not this dressed up for a night’s slaying? He knew she always looked good on patrol, that was a huge part of the Slayer image. But this was a little more dressy than normal, and she looked adorable. He ached to wrap her in his arms and let her know just how beautiful she was. “Hmmm?” She broke out of her deliberation and looked at him. “No, not really. Just wandering, I guess. See what shows up.” “Somethin I’d like to show you, Slayer. Back in my crypt.” He seemed a little on edge tonight, what was with that? Spike could be a bundle of energy, like a small explosion sometimes, but he was never edgy or nervous. “Your crypt, huh? Not sure that is an overly wise place for me to be? You know, into the den and all that.” He moved in a blur of motion, full vampire speed, his arm banded around her and as he pulled her back into his chest his mouth descended to her neck. “If I wanted you dead Slayer, you’d be dead,” he murmured and planted a soft kiss on her neck to prove his point before letting go. She spun, fury burning in her eyes, only to be confronted with his easy smiling face, no smirk, no sadistic satisfaction, just laughing blue eyes and a tender smile. He dipped his head. “Sorry, love. Just wanted to prove my point. No harm meant. Though you know I shouldn’t have been able to do that, right? You’re off your game tonight, pet. Mustn’t be allowed to happen.” His eyes were laughing no longer; instead they had darkened with worry. “I could so have taken you then, Spike.” She glared at him, daring him to disagree. “Course you could, kitten,” he agreed, his voice only slightly disbelieving. “So, you gonna come see or not?” His question was only a little less than a challenge. “Ok, I guess” she agreed with a sigh. What harm could it do? Whatever it was that this enigma of a vampire wanted to show her, her night couldn’t get any worse, could it? They walked together across the graveyard towards Spike’s crypt, it was a quiet night and the moon shone almost full out of a clear, bright sky. The vampire shone in the moonlight silver-blonde hair, pale skin and black leather equally as vivid in the brightness of the night. She glanced sideways at him; he is so graceful she noticed not for the first time, like a cat. Not your domestic kitty, but a big cat, a panther or a lynx; lithe, predatory and deadly. He is so different to Angel, she thought. Where the dark haired vampire was strong and powerful in an imposing kind of way, Spike’s was a lean strength, sleek and sinewy; definitely graceful she thought again. If Spike was a cat, Angel was a bear; muscular, ominous and commanding. Angel had a presence that dwarfed most of those around him. He took charge, was always first into the fray. When they fought together he protected her, he took the strongest and the best opponent for himself and kept an eye on her the whole time they fought in case she needed assistance. Angel made her feel safe. Spike made her feel… what? Powerful? Competent? Without thought Spike opened the door to the crypt and held it open for her to enter; she didn’t question this, thought little of it in fact. It was just Spike, most probably a left over from his human days when men were expected to be gentlemen. If she allowed herself to think about it she would have found it amusing really, the way he would open doors or allow her to precede him through a gate; gentlemanly manners. Yet he had no hesitation at all about punching her in the face when they sparred, he swore unabashedly in front of her and on more than a few occasions she had noticed his eyes roaming freely and appreciatively over her body. It was just one more example of the contradiction that was Spike. Inside the crypt candles burned; dozens of them of differing sizes and shapes. “Get you anything, Slayer?” he enquired, not that he had a lot to offer but he did keep some small bottles of coke in the fridge for those times he actually felt like mixing his alcohol with something. Not that those times were a regular occurrence, hence the coke was mostly unopened. He removed one now offering it to her. Buffy took it with a mumbled “thanks”. “Umm, make yourself at home,” he offered. “Be right back.” He headed down the ladder to the lower level as Buffy looked around the upper level, her coke remaining unopened in her hand. It was not at all what she had expected, towards the back, past the sarcophagus’ a tv stood in one corner with a couple of slightly tatty black leather armchairs positioned in front of it on a red Persian style rug. The small fridge from which Spike had taken her drink sat in the left corner. Window sills and wall niches housed the candles. She lent against a sarcophagus and watched as a blonde head re-emerged through the hole leading to the lower level of the crypt. Spike reappeared holding a brown-paper wrapped package. He started towards her apprehension written all over him, from the trepidation on his face to his hesitant almost jerky movement. “I know it’s still a few days away; but figured you’d be doin’ things with your family or your pals on the day. So I wanted to give this to you tonight,” he murmured, his eyes downcast, his body language screaming his urge to flee as he handed the package to Buffy. “Spike? Wha… you got me a birthday present?” Buffy was stunned. She removed the paper wrapping to reveal a black scabbard and harness, a black leather handle protruded from the scabbard, she drew it to reveal the most beautiful sword she had ever seen. It was only two and a half foot long, with a string of runes running down the centre, it was simplistic in design yet at the same time it was stunning. It dazzled in the candlelight. She wielded it and found its balance and weight perfect. The warrior in her revelled in its exquisite beauty; it was hers, this she knew, her hand and arm told her that, no one would wield this weapon as well as she. She looked up, her eyes filling with tears for the second time that night, unlike the last ones these were tears of happiness and delight. “Spike, you shouldn’t have. This, it’s too much. I mean, it is beautiful, and I love it, but too much. It must have cost a fortune. I can’t… can’t accept it, Spike. You shouldn’t spend your...” “Buffy,” Spike cut her off. “It’s not too
much. I want you to have it… as long as you like it, that is?
I had it made for you, for your height and fighting style. Know a
guy, demon, best swordsmith there is. He owed me a couple of favours
so I called them in, that’s all. Found a picture in a book,
just like this one only 6ft long, big medieval thing, had him copy
it but with you in mind. Harness sits on your back so you can reach
behind and draw it, that way it doesn’t get in your way when
you’re fighting.” His eyes sought hers out imploringly.
“Do you like it, love? I mean you don’t have to
say you do if you don’t.” |