| On the Wrong Side of the Tracks by Megan |
| Chapter #1 - One |
 On The Wrong Side Of The Tracks by Megan Chapter One “Hey!” “Hey?” The simultaneous calls came from two different directions, but neither projected enough force of authority to halt the flurry of fists, the jumbled cries of pain and denial, the grunts of defeat and resignation. Finally, the cold hard reality of a cocked and prepared firearm pointing down in her face caused Buffy pause. As she looked up at the toffee skinned male police officer— her fist poised in mid-strike—the sound of heavy, urgent footsteps reached her numbed mind and she blinked. When she had seen Spike’s face earlier, open in his desperation to protect her and thus inspiring a belt down of major proportions, she’d lost control. She had not anticipated an audience—this side of town, open to the normal, human public, was a side she rarely saw at this time of night, except for the Bronze. But the very real presence of a police officer put her fists in sudden perspective and, embarrassed that she had been caught beating on someone - even if he was the evil undead—meant she was in for a barrel of difficult explanations. Ones she really wasn’t up for. Because she’d come to turn herself in. For murder. And Spike would not be standing in her way. Or, well, lying in her way, all bloodied and bruised and puffy…and…oh God…what had she been doing? “Holy mother of God, Buffy. What did you do?” Her body jerked back under the pointed focus of the gun’s muzzle, allowing her eyes to be pinned under the scrutiny of a very disturbed Xander. Best buddy Xander. Friend Xander that tore her out of heaven. With other bestest buddies. “You know this citizen?” the officer inquired, black fury hardening his impressive jaw. Violence was a definite high point in this locality, and he had been in the job just long enough that the unsolvable nature of crime in Sunnydale had not quite jaded him in the eyes of which wrong he could put handcuffs around. At Xander’s stunned nod, however, his laser-like attention searched the face of the female blond prostrate on the road. “And the victim?” His fists twitched around the handle of the revolver, knowing he needed to check for the status of the injured male—unmoving and dead looking— lying in the road, his face busted open like an over boiled hotdog. Black bruising and eye swelling causing his alarm with the situation to boost his already bouncing adrenaline. Xander stared at Spike, and gasped in shock at his first real clue of the damage his very own live heroine had inflicted first hand. “Yeah, he’s a friend,” he answered, momentarily stunned at the ease with which the claim had stumbled from his famous ‘put a foot in it’ Xander mouth. And for once, he examined the close truth of the statement. Right about now, he figured, the vampire needed someone to claim him. ‘Cause Buffy had sure as hell kicked him to the wind. And somewhere, right at the back of his mind, he had a bloodcurdling suspicion that the bleached pain in all their asses was just trying to stop Buffy from doing something monumentally stupid. Kind of what he had been about to do. Except he had no misconceptions that his cushy body would have put up with the wailing that Spike had just copped from Buffy. So for the moment, yeah. Friend. United allies in the ‘get Buffy home without a criminal record for murder’ club. Except, he would hopefully get home to Anya unbruised. Even if he did bring a house-guest with him. As he tried to suck in all the vital information about the situation, Xander swallowed hard. The Scoobies were rather unused to seeing the law in motion, having themselves existing on the periphery of a world where human justice rarely made an impact. This time, however, he wondered how the excuse of ‘but she’s just beating up on the undead, officer,’ was gonna fly. Taking in the expression of fury that added that touch of insanity to Xander’s night and his eyes fell once again in sickened compulsion to Spike’s knocked out form. That Buffy was beating helpless Spike into unconsciousness made something turn over in his stomach, something he had been ignoring for months now, ignoring since the tremendous success of bringing ‘Buffy from Heaven’ back to reside in hell. So, yeah. Spike was right. Magic had consequences. And big idiot Xander—just like big idiots Anya, Willow and Tara—forgot that Spike was over a century old and maybe could teach them something, if they ever got over being know-it-alls. Right now, Xander knew. And what Xander knew he didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to be in the front row of what was about to go down as a ‘not so shiny’ Buffyesque moment, her ‘too close’ scrape with the law. But, man! Spike was so thrashed. Again! He looked almost as bad as when Glory carved him up, and that hadn’t been personal. As full of faults as Spike was, he was devoted to Buffy and Dawn, and had been the glue that held the Scoobies together over the summer she was, well, gone for lack of a more honest description of where she’d been. He was still too raw to say it. But Spike, they didn’t acknowledge his contribution either, his glueyness of the bandaid variety, the keeping of Slayerness against the demon front. So friends—even if Xander wanted to deny it—Spike had more than earned it. And now he looked like pulp. And Buffy’s hands bled. Xander gulped hard and reality graded his acceptance with another shade of dark demon possessiveness. They all, each of the Scoobies, owned a little piece of Spike. Particularly demon Spike. He truly wanted to run away from this potential mess screaming—tell Dawn he was too late to stop Buffy from screwing up her life by turning herself in for murder. But it was getting close to morning, and Spike didn’t look like he was gonna get lucid any time soon. Friend. He had to get him out of the alley, out of the rising sun, and somehow manage to get back on track. Buffy. How the hell could he even look at her? She’d obviously lost it somewhere along her walk to the jailhouse. A quiet moan of pain and a voice, raspy and hoarse, brought all the players into sudden focus and Xander felt again on edge. He watched Buffy, defiant in her unwillingness to accept what she had just done to the guy who looked after her sister for months. Suddenly Xander felt sad. And tired. At his age, life shouldn’t be this hard. He had his fiancé, he had his Wicca friends, he had his superhero pal that he could quietly lust after in the dark, he even had his vampire villain and substitute dad, albeit absent. All this other stuff was just crap. This kind of stuff should have been Giles’s job. He was her Watcher, why wasn’t he here watching her fall apart? Why did he leave the job of keeping her hanging on to a bunch of inepts like himself and an overtly ‘in love’ vampire who didn’t know right from wrong? “Buffy?” And she startled. A crackling in the radio the cop wore shed some light on the situation, and a name was put to the body of her victim. Katrina. Except that seemed kind of familiar, and as that thought materialised, so did others. Scenes of the only Katrina she knew, the remarkable resemblance putting the perspective too close to her comprehension. Warren. She had been about to turn herself in because of Warren, and she’d beat Spike half to death. Un-death. Whatever, he asked for it. Asked her to put it on him. Her remorse was non-existent for the creature calling her name at her feet; her face hardened at the dope she had been to those three wimps. Slayer strength and purpose once again flowed through her and she was about to turn and stride away when she felt the gun’s muzzle—the one held by the cop she had forgotten about in her justifiable anger at the nerds—as it poked her in the back. “Lady, I think you need to turn back around. You aren’t going anywhere.” The cold certainty of the voice chilled her blood. Her first instinct was to knock the gun from his hands, but as she turned the gun didn’t waver. She looked into the face and suddenly a flash of Katrina took on his features and it was brought back to her that this man was human, and here she had no power. Her eyes fell in irritation to the blond bleeding in the road and she felt like staking him, even though a twinge was telling her she had no right to be angry with him. For once he was doing the right thing. But that made her even angrier and without thought she pulled her foot back and kicked him hard in the ribs. The cop was on her in seconds, much faster than she could ever remember a human moving. She had steel bracelets clapped around her wrists just as fast and finally it began to sink in what a human, and a cop no less, had seen her do. Suddenly her argument of ‘he’s an evil soulless vampire’ didn’t seem so reliable anymore, or even much of an excuse. The earlier fear of spending her life in prison for murder had abated with her epiphany of identification, but now a new fear took hold of her heart, and a glimmering of humanity crossed into her shiny eyes. Xander didn’t see it, but Spike, through his pain haze caught it and held onto it in hope. “You are under arrest for assault and battery, you have the right to remain sile…” “No!” Everything stopped as Spike pulled himself to his knees, hunched over and heaving while focused on the ground, swaying slightly. Xander rushed forward and reached out his hands in help, feeling a little burst of relief that Spike allowed him to try and felt all gushy warm as he recognised the glimmer of gratitude flashed his way. Standing tall was a bit of a problem, as really was standing at all, but Xander helped him stay on his feet, gave him that strength so he could concentrate on talking. The silence stretched uncomfortably, Spike seeming to need a few moments just to gain enough power in his vocal chords to spit out his wishes, and Xander found himself studying the cop. “What do you mean, no?” Okay, the cop was done waiting. He projected weariness, along with his anger and instinctively he knew if they could get this over quick then Xander could return Buffy home, drag Spike home with him, and maybe still not get a complete tongue lashing from Anya about racing again to Buffy’s side without real need. Even if this time she was so completely wrong. “I mean, no! Got a problem with the ears, mate? I’m not pressin’ charges, so there’s no point lockin’ her up. Let ‘er go.” Xander could see that Spike’s attention was completely isolated from Buffy, neither of them could bear to look at her just yet, the cop probably disgusted both at the brutality of the little blonde’s fists, and the weakness of the guy for putting up with it. If only he knew the truth. But Xander looked at her, and he felt alarmed that he was happy he saw tears in her eyes. Oh, not tears of relief…even he wasn’t feeling like she deserved those. Tears of awareness, tears of understanding that Spike had saved her ungrateful ass, again. All their ungrateful asses for keeping her safe. He wondered if they should start a tally, because even though they all denied it, Spike had saved them all an awful lot of times—a big bunch of times. Xander felt a strange mist of personal growth drift over him and he strengthened his arms around Spike in a show of manly solidarity. The cop seemed to falter, seemed really reluctant to let Buffy free of the cuffs. He decided to divert his attention instead. “Are you all right? Need to go to the hospital?” Xander could feel the tensing of Spike’s body as he felt his own muscles cramp from holding him upright. The more energy he expended, the more he knew Spike’s waned. Still, he was admiring the friendly control of the voice currently linked to him, and wondered where the vampire that had threatened them all four years earlier had disappeared to. Spike tilted his head and really looked at the human who was zealously protecting him and couldn’t help the little black cloud of doubt sweep him away, wondering if he would receive the same concern if the knowledge of what he was were revealed. The little devil perched near his ear was insistent that the answer would be ‘no’. But then the meaty arm of Xander was all that was keeping him on his feet—as opposed to the ground which is where Harris usually preferred to view him—and his normal assumptions suddenly felt a bit wonky. “Nah, just a bit bruised. No need for the medics.” He flicked his head to the side, indicating the restrained Buffy without looking at her, the hurt so palpable that even clueless Xander got a whiff of it. “You gonna let the chit go?” The cop blinked, checked Spike’s injuries over before clenching his jaw. “I really think you should reconsider pressing charges. What she just did to you is assault, and…” He turned his head, quietly taking in Buffy’s stubborn rigidity, engaging her steady stare before completing his thought, “I don’t care what she thinks you are, no one deserves to be flattened by anyone’s fists.” Xander could tell, in the moment Buffy’s eyes widened, that their innocent human act might have been a bit suspect. He guessed that the injuries that were more than noticeable on Spike’s rapidly blackening features were rather severe to come from a small scrap of a girl like Buffy. Still, he wasn’t so sure that their act was completely dead in the water just yet. Without taking his eyes from her, gun still raised against her movement, the cop waited. Then he lowered the barrel and contemplated her for an extra long second before finally allowing the question they had half-expected fall forth. “You’re her, aren’t you?” Buffy blinked uncertainly, consumed with the double whammy of getting almost arrested for beating up her boyfriend, and, well, beating up her boyfriend. Her green eyes, suddenly flooding with anguished realisation of what the night had consisted of for her, fell on the barely standing sight of Spike—head turned away in what could only be hurt and betrayal—and took in Xander. For whatever reason, she had blocked out that her friend was here, seeing her like this. He was comforting and helping Spike in the standing up and …huh? Her eyes went wide with confusion. “Xander, what are you doing?” For the first time ever she was stunned by the conflict of feeling in Xander’s simple expression. She could see the torment that helping his hated and sworn enemy was causing, conflicted with his general sense of fairness. And Buffy felt guilt, misunderstood guilt. “I don’t think any of my actions need explanations, Buffster.” He couldn’t look at her, couldn’t see that look of confusion, the distance that tainted all her correspondence with her friends these days. For some reason he felt loads more comfortable keeping Spike’s undead ass from slipping back to the road. “Officer?” he butted in. Really, things had to move on or Spike would turn into a nasty crispy critter right in front of the first diligent member of Sunnydale’s finest that he had ever met. “Really, we can take it from here. Can you take care of the cuffs and we’ll be on our way.” The officer of the law ignored him. “So, your name is Buffy. Buffy what?” Really, everything was getting out of hand, and if that didn’t prove to him the influence Giles had had on them all over the years, nothing would. “Look, can’t you just forget…” Xander started, only to be shot down with venomous opposition that shocked them all. “No, I really can’t.” They all turned to gape at the officer, mixed feelings highlighting their separate roles in tonight’s little drama. Sympathy stripped Xander’s voice of the strident and possibly desperate tinge it had started to evolve into, and concern took its place. “Look, I know this is your job, but it is really kind of urgent that we get Spike here home before the sun comes up.” His caring summonsed gasps of surprise and deflated shoulders of resignation. Watery blue eyes told Xander all that he had suspected for a long time, but was too cowardly to test. Spike’s gratitude wasn’t going to kill him. Xander still stood mortal, but maybe less of an insensitive ass. The fuzzy moment, though deeply moving to the men at least, obviously left Buffy on a new outer. She was always the inny of the group, and now Xander was pulling testosterone forces against her and she was understandably lost. But still cuffed. And waking to exactly what she had done to Spike. The monster persistently in her bed. The soulless evil that dragged her down. The one who could beat up on her but who hadn’t since that first night they had been together. The one who was immoral, murderous, hateful, had no feelings and couldn’t love…and the list got longer but less convincing as she ticked them off in her head. Less convincing with every bruise and split area of skin that she catalogued on his face. And her hands began to shake as she looked at the eyes that couldn’t bear to look at her. Beautiful ocean blue that seared her with the fire of his love every time she allowed herself to disappear within his touch; chocolate pools that held her above where she really was but lowered himself to offer her understanding and support even if he didn’t understand why she took it. And lastly, angry black orbs that wanted to lock her away and make her pay for taking her anger out on another. Perhaps unsurprisingly, those were the ones with the most impact, the ones that cut her to the quick and made her see what she had done. Not the ugliness that now marred Spike’s perfect skin, but the knowing that held all her truth in their reflection. She was being judged by humanity, and found seriously wanting. But wasn’t there something she had missed? Ah, the recognition, the curiosity she may once have revelled in. Now, she could tell it was tempered with distrust and steely resolve to punish. “Who her?” “I’ve heard talk…” he began, obviously not wanting her to feel like he cared that much who she was, what she was, and the next words proved it. “But I couldn’t give a flying fig who you are, lady. I saw you ruthlessly beat up a guy, who I am assuming is your man, for doing no more than trying to hold you back from entering the station. Now, my hands are tied about doing justice here, seeing as the fella doesn’t want to see you behind bars, but I’ll be damned if I’m just gonna walk. The three of you follow me. I’ll take you all home so I know where you all live, then later, after the white-haired dude gets hidden from the rays, we’re all gonna sit down and chat. No alternatives,” he snapped as both Buffy and Xander attempted to deny the possibility of that ever happening, both jaws snapping shut again in the wake of his hostility. “My patrol car is parked over here.” He waited for Xander to position his arms better for helping Spike walk—sharing the flinch Spike made when Buffy tried to close in and offer her help—then led the way to his car. He guided Buffy to the front with a firm hand around her upper arm, allowing for Xander to help Spike into the back amidst groans of agony, and he shot the female another glare of dislike. Muttered offers of an address had the car spin into motion and they were off to see where the next scene of the night was bound to take them. To be continued |