The Leap To Sunnydale

By Meltha

The Summers' house, Sam was beginning to realize, was a very bizarre place in more ways than one. His current form meant that he really shouldn't be moving around on his own, so for now, until he came up with a better plan, he had to be content with staying in Buffy's room. Still, the shower was running and the door to the bedroom was shut, so he had the opportunity to look around for a few minutes at least.

He carefully hopped down onto the nightstand and then to the floor, figuring he'd be able to climb up the dust ruffle pretty fast if he heard someone coming. He learned quickly that while he still had all the range of motion of a normal human being, his small size was a big problem. He jogged across the carpet and nudged back the door of the closet, figuring that might be a good place to start to get some idea of Buffy's life. The clothes that were hanging far above his head offered very few possibilities for discovery, though, since he couldn't tell much except that her hemline tended to come in three lengths: short, extremely short, and one pair of overalls. However, sitting in the bottom was a large black bag, big enough to carry at least thirty of him in his present condition. He grabbed the zipper and pulled it back until he could wiggle his pink tushie inside to have a look around.

At first, he thought he'd simply stumbled on Buffy's gym bag. There was plenty of bottled water, in any case. On closer inspection, though, each plastic bottle was labeled "holy water." Judging by how the rest of the leap was going, Sam guessed this wasn't the name of the newest trendy gourmet beverage from L.A. Then there were the other contents. Wooden sticks? Hatchets? And... OW!

Sam pulled back quickly from the edge of a very sharp crossbow bolt that had cut his hand. It wasn't a deep cut, but there was some blood. A thought occurred to him, and he struggled back out of the bag and stepped in front of the closet mirror again. No doubt about it. Mr. Gordo's fore-hoof was leaking polyester. Well, the poor little guy had just been through the laundry. Any injuries were likely to be chalked up to that.

Sam heard the water stop running, and he ran back to the bed, pulling himself up the spread and resuming his previous position in no time flat. A few minutes later, Buffy, now dripping slightly, re-entered the room and sat down with a small sigh. He didn't know what it was, but something about her made him instantly feel sorry for her. A huge protective instinct washed over him, and the crazy idea that this was a residual bit of Mr. Gordo popped into his head. As she ran a comb through her hair, a knock came at the bedroom door.

"Yeah?"

"S'mee, pet," said the English voice from before. "Little Bit's off to sleep and Willow was breathing easy too when I went past her room. Let me in?"

Buffy's face looked even more weary than before for a moment, but she slumped her shoulders and opened the door, revealing the vampire from earlier, now leaning on one arm against the frame.

"Just to talk," she said firmly as she turned around.

"Yeah, Buffy," he said with a smile. "Because you've really been a big one for talking the last several times we've been alone. I believe last time the only coherent words you said were 'Switch places with me; this wall is bruising my back'."

She looked away uncomfortably. "Yeah, well, it was."

He stepped close to her, his hands resting softly, actually gently, Sam was surprised to see, on her shoulders.

"Want me to rub it for you, luv?" he asked quietly, and Sam suddenly wished he was elsewhere.

Buffy nodded automatically, then quickly shook her head. "I... I said for you not to call me that. Look, this is... my kid sister is two doors down. Spike, I can't do this here."

"Wasn't suggesting we get down and dirty in the middle of the hallway," he said as he let go of her and walked a few paces away. "Know you're ashamed to be seen with me as it is, but who's going to tell on us in here? Mr. Gordo?" he said, gesturing towards Sam, who was beginning to contemplate hiding under the bed at the nearest opportunity.

Buffy actually smiled for a moment, and Sam noticed that this Spike person's eyes became very full when that happened, as though it was a rare gift she was giving him. "I guess not, but, seriously, not here."

"Just a bit of snogging then?" Spike pouted.

"I don't think so," Buffy said as she turned away. No sooner had the blond man nearly gotten to the window then Buffy appeared to abruptly change her mind as she grabbed the back of his coat and, with a strength that shocked Sam completely, melded her mouth onto his, then threw him onto the bed forcefully.

And directly onto Dr. Samuel Beckett.

"Ooof!" he grunted as he was being squashed by the pair of them, but thankfully they didn't hear.

"Bu... Buff..." Spike was trying to say, but he didn't appear to have free movement of his lips at the moment. At length, he gasped and pulled his mouth away, panting. "Hold that thought, Slayer. This time, something's sticking me in the back."

A cool hand fished Sam out from under the suffocating folds of black leather, and his beady black eyes met a pair of blue ones.

"Sorry, little fella," Spike said with a wink, and Sam had to stop himself from immediately replying with a "that's okay."

Buffy, on the other hand, was frowning now and staring at the stuffed toy. Not saying anything at all, she grabbed him out of Spike's hand and examined his hoof, finding the small rip immediately. She sat up, moving away from Spike, and her expression changed to one of guilt, then, suddenly, anger.

"Look what you did!" she yelled at the now shell-shocked vampire. "You ripped him, you moron!"

"What?" he said, confused.

"No matter what you do, you just destroy everything, don't you?" she accused him.

"Hey, now," he said. "That's not my fault. And you'd better keep it down unless you want the whole house up and about."

"You're... you're just... just get the hell out of here!" she hissed at him.

Spike got to his feet, shaking his head at how quickly the events had changed, and shot Buffy an angry look. "You can't blame everything that happens on me, Buffy. I'm not your whipping boy, and I won't be treated like one. Maybe I'll just take your advice and get the hell out of here," he said perching on the windowsill. "For good."

He dropped out of sight a moment later, leaving a very emotionally distraught Buffy in the middle of the room, hugging the stuffed pig to her chest. Sam heard a deafening thud-thud-thud coming from her heart as she dropped back down on the bed and cried herself to sleep. Mr. Gordo doesn't exactly have an easy life, does he, Sam thought as he finally drifted off to sleep himself.

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