Buffy had set out for patrol early, not waiting for Spike to finish quizzing Tara for her Literature quiz.
She was impatient for violence. The tension of the last few days needed to be worked off.
She slayed on automatic, block, punch, kick, twist, stake. Should she tell Giles and the Scoobies about Dawn? What about her mother?
Joyce had been fine, energetic as usual and cooking up a storm for a gallery exhibit. But was she really O.K?
Another vampire, greasy and lost in a bygone era of rebellion-wear threw a punch. Block, kick, and twist.
Stake.
“Agh!” Buffy cried out in surprise. Her eyes met those of the vampire that had landed a lucky stab. Then he exploded into dust.
“Are you alright, love?” Spike supported her as she slumped down, still gripping the stake that protruded from her stomach.
Buffy leaned heavily against him, breathing hard.
* * *
Spike ended up carrying her home. He'd wanted to take her straight to the hospital, but Buffy insisted she wasn't going back there.
Tara and Willow fussed over her wound and cast numerous healing and purification spells. Buffy remained silent, gripping Spike's hand, until they had finished bandaging her up.
When they were left alone, Buffy spoke for the first time in more than an hour.
“There was nothing special about him.”
“What was that, pet?” Spike swept her hair out of her eyes.
“Why did he have such a great night? He was a fledge. He was a crappy, stuck in a time warp fledge. He could have killed me, Spike.”
“You were distracted. I told you to wait for me. You've been off your game since your mum's fall. I wouldn't dwell on it.” Spike began putting away the first aid kit.
“Yeah. I should have waited.” Buffy carefully lay back on the bed.
Spike slipped in beside her, “Everything's going to be fine, petal. You keep on at school for a bit and let me take care of patrol and such.”
Buffy sighed sleepily, “O.K. You think this whole thing with Dawn and the Hell god could just go away? Maybe she'll get bored and leave town.”
Spike smiled sadly against the skin of her neck, “Maybe, love. We can always hope.”
* * *
The Magic Box was open for business for the second day when Buffy came in. Giles was puttering about and Anya was at the register. Tara and Willow were working on order forms and Xander was putting up a shelf.
“Buffy, how is your mother?” Giles looked up from a scroll of Japanese characters.
“Fine, she went jogging with Mrs. MacGrady this morning. I know, my mother in spandex. Scary.” Buffy sat down at the large round table.
Giles came over to sit with her, “Spike mentioned you'd been injured last night, are you alright?”
“Yeah, a vamp got lucky. I got slow. A lot of ow.” Buffy picked at a loose splinter in the oak.
“Yes, he mentioned he would take patrol until you're less distracted.” Giles cleaned his glasses.
Buffy looked up, “I don't want to die.”
Giles stopped cleaning his glasses, “What?”
“I mean, Slayers don't live forever, I know. I'll be lucky to see twenty-five. But I want to live longer. That vamp last night, he got in. It was so close, Giles. If Spike hadn't gotten there when he did-“
Giles started cleaning his glasses again, “Buffy, Spike alluded to you being distracted and he was right.”
“But were all the Slayers that died before me just distracted? What made them lose? Is there anything in your books that just tells me that?”
“I don't imagine I'll find any play by plays of final battles, Buffy. Watchers, as a rule, don't write very much about the death of their Slayers.” Giles placed his glasses back on his face.
“So how do I find out how to- how to not make the mistakes they did? How do I know what went wrong?”
“Well, Buffy, as much as I hate to remind you, you are in a relationship with one of the most renowned 'what went wrongs'. Spike IS rather thoroughly documented as a Slayer of Slayers. He killed two, but he fought three others to a draw. I believe even you could be added to that list if we consider your first encounter with him.” Giles avoided her eyes and fiddled with a stack of books.
Buffy started at him for a few seconds, “You're right. If I need to know how Slayers die I have to go to the expert.”
* * *
Buffy stood on the beach watching Spike surf. A smile ghosted across her face despite the seriousness of the conversation they were about to have.
He looked born to do this. His flawless body leaning effortlessly at the swells and shifts the waves threw at him. His damp golden curls blew in the wind, he needed a haircut, she'd told him that just that morning.
When Spike spotted her he made a beeline for the shore.
Jogging up to her, Buffy got a lovely view of his sculpted body dripping wet, “Is everything O.K, pet?”
Buffy picked up his towel and started to dry him off, “ I need to ask you something.”
Spike grinned, submitting happily to her attentions, “Whatever it is, the answer's yes.”
Buffy smiled softly, “I knew you'd say that.” She blotted his hair, “I want you to tell me how you killed those Slayers.”
She felt him freeze, “W-what?” His voice was shocked and hollow.
“I want you to help me not make the same mistakes they made. Tell me how you killed them so no one will kill me the same way.”
* * *
The coffee shop was nearly empty, it was mid-morning on a weekday and even caffeine-starved college students were staying away.
Spike went to the counter and ordered two grande milk chocolate mochas with whip cream. Maybe chocolate would distract her from her questions.
He ordered half a dozen of the Espresso Pump's famous Marbelous cookies thinking along these lines.
Buffy looked determined, though, even when being handed her favourite substance, “Start from the beginning. Giles said the first one was in China in 1900.”
Spike took a long sip, “We'll have to go back a bit further than that, pet, if you really want to know the whole story.”
“I've got all day.”
* * *
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