This MorningBy Liz
He slipped another smoke from the foil and drew it to his lips. Pocketing the near-empty pack – practically full when he'd started this damned vigil – he tilted his head forward to light the cigarette with his worn zippo. The flame's light danced briefly across taut, porcelain features for a moment as he inhaled deeply. Not the same as breathing but soothing, nonetheless. There was a small, metallic clink as he snapped the lighter shut, slid it into the pocket of his duster, and exhaled. Smoke wafted up, snaking past the limbs of the tree and into the night air. He watched it billow and climb and disappear, and his eyes were drawn once again to the window above.
She was in there. With him. With that whipped farmboy she kept as her lapdog.
Throwing him quite the bone tonight, aren't you, Slayer?
The leash she kept Finn on was as clear as day: be a good boy, do as you're told, and you just might get a treat. How the hell does he stand it? Stupid question, of course. Truth be told, Spike understood perfectly well. Buffy Summers was fire. All cruelty and promise, with a soft pout and a personal relationship with death. She was danger and salvation, blonde and pink and too close to the darkness to ever be safe. The vampire knew he could drown in her, if only she'd let him. Just dive in deep and never want to come up for air. Not like he needed air anyway. Of course the boy was content to be her pet. But it must be maddening to be so close to her and not have her. Toy Soldier up there could hold her, trail kisses over her skin, part the Slayer's strong, smooth thighs and make love to her all night if he pleased. But even as she cried out his name and held him close, she would never let really let him in. Oh, she'd keep her pet close by in case she needed him - to run errands or to babysit the nibblet - but she would just as quickly banish him when his services were no longer required. And Finn would slink away like a good boy.
Slayer's every bit the bloody vampire I am. Only difference is, she can still make this boy bleed. Won't be too long, she'll have sucked him dry, and the poor sod will thank her for doing it.
But at least that poor sod could still touch her, could feel her warmth wrapped around him, even if only for a little while. Spike remembered the night he'd come to his senses on the cold, grey floor of a dusty crypt with the Slayer astride him. Those lithe, powerful hips ground insistent circles into him as they plundered each other's mouths, all tongues and passionate need. A moment before, he'd felt, what, love? Or some deluded facsimile of it, at any rate. But in that instant when his mind and body were his once again, he wanted to devour her completely. Hell, he'd always wanted to devour her, since the first night he'd seen her – tiny blonde thing rushing into an alley to save some girl from his designated patsy. She was so soft and fierce and vulnerable and full of life and clever and sensual and dangerous...
Too eager to see her again, he'd ignored the Annoying One and his holy feast of 'Saint Stupid Bleeding Vampire Who Was Dust Now' to seek her out. He told himself he just wanted to make her bleed, to break her as he had the other Slayers who'd thought they could best the Big Bad. But even poor, mad Dru had seen that what he'd really wanted was to slip past the Slayer's brave façade and feel her yield to him.
He'd crashed her little school party the next night to claim to her. To sink his teeth into the supple flesh at her throat. He'd thought he might let her drink of him as well, but he knew his love Drusilla would never abide it. Just as well – he was devoted to his dark goddess. And he hadn't wanted to love the Slayer, just to break her. Possess her. Then Angel had to ride in on his fucking white horse and make it known that she was already his. All that passion and fire in the girl, and she wanted to spend her days – or nights, anyway - with that tortured, sad puppy dog. She liked her puppies, this one. They made her feel safe and strong. What this girl needed was a wolf.
Then Spike had to go and fall in love with her himself. He could look down his nose at Riley all he wanted, but Finn was the one in her bed. At least his rival had that – while he had to settle for pilfering her laundry and listening in on their little trysts. He tried to imagine that those sighs were for him, that he was the one making the Slayer quiver and moan. Even from his post outside, he could hear her heart racing... blessing and a curse, that hearing of his. He heard her breath coming hot and shallow and the bed springs creaking as she bucked and writhed. And for just a moment, he could imagine he was there. With her. Inside her. Then she'd inevitably ruin it by calling out Riley's name and bring him crashing back to his spot under the tree.
Oh yeah, Spike. You're the Big Bad, all right.
He hated Finn. Hated him for being the one whose name Buffy cried out. Hated him for being a part of the sodding chip in his head. Hated him for his Clark bleeding Kent bashfulness and puppy dog eyes and the way he puffed his chest up because he, not Spike, was the one making love to her. Soon as the chip came out, Riley Finn would be the first to die. Horribly. With lots and lots of pain. And then, perhaps, just a bit more pain. Yeah, soldier boy up there would look pretty good without his kneecaps. And without quite so many fingers.
The sounds upstairs died down. Bedsprings rested mercifully, and heartbeats slowed again. Spike heard Buffy's breathing, warm and even – it sounded like she was already drifting off to sleep.
Not much for pillowtalk, these two.
Spike finished his cigarette and got ready to shove off, feeling mighty pleased that he'd been right, that Buffy still hadn't let Riley into her heart. Finn had professed his love over and over and brought her to screaming ecstasy, but she still didn't say those words that Spike knew Riley would have bled to hear.
Someone was up and about now, shuffling through the house. Probably Finn looking for a little post-coital snack. Hatred flared again as Spike's imagination treated him to the sight of Riley, boxers lazily retrieved, padding into the kitchen for a glass of wholesome All-American milk before slipping back under the covers with her.
Well and truly miserable again, Spike listened to Buffy's slow, even breathing for a few moments longer, then crushed his cigarette into the ground. He really didn't want to be around to hear the springs creak to announce the boy scout's return. So, of course, he was utterly floored when he saw Finn, fully clothed, leaving through the front door.
Captain America's got the Slayer upstairs, naked and waiting for him, and there's somewhere *else* he thinks he should be?!
What on this entire planet could possibly be so pressing that it could pull a fellow away from Buffy's bed? With a naked Buffy in it, no less! The very idea, frankly, boggled the mind. But Finn clearly had a place to be that wasn't upstairs with the girl he loved.
Spike hated to admit it, but Riley's love for the Slayer was painfully obvious. He'd been such the gung-ho soldier boy, following that bitch doctor's every order until Buffy turned up and opened his eyes. Sure, he'd fought it tooth and nail, but he trusted Buffy enough to let her show him what the real things were that went bump in the night. So he'd thrown away his career and along with it, any sense of purpose or direction to his life. Then he'd found a new one alongside Buffy. Finn's career was over, but he could still "be all he could be" in the Scooby Corps. For a while, at least. Until Buffy decided that he wasn't superhero enough for it anymore.
That one confused the hell out of Spike. Somehow Xander – bleeding Xander! – was butch enough to rate Scooby detail, but Riley, a guy with plenty of muscles, training and know-how, had to stay home and babysit. Still, anything that came between Finn and the Slayer was all right by Spike. Because Riley wasn't superhero enough for Buffy anymore either. No matter how much she'd bitched and moaned about wanting a nice, normal guy in her life, as soon as one showed up, she made it perfectly clear that "normal" wasn't gonna cut it. Which was just lovely, as far as Spike was concerned, and he took great delight in twisting that particular knife as often as possible. So yeah, Finn's career was gone, along with his future, and the girl he loved clearly didn't need him. All of which fairly sucked, Spike could grant, but Riley was still the one in Buffy's arms. More than enough reason for Spike to cordially wish him a painful and bloody death.
Except that right now, he was decidedly not in the Slayer's arms and was in fact headed very much away from them. Finn might not have much of a life to speak of anymore, but what Spike had just spent the better part of the evening listening to should have been enough to put the capper on anyone's day and leave him damned satisfied besides. Spike was also willing to wager that the Slayer could well and truly wear a guy out, so whatever Riley was up to, it had to be pretty damn important.
He watched Finn walk down the street until he'd almost disappeared from view. With a sigh of frustration and a muttered curse about idiots who left gorgeous morsels alone and naked, Spike set off in the opposite direction in search of a good fight. Maybe kill a few hapless demons of the big-but-stupid variety to quench the bitter taste the evening's exploits had left in his mouth. But he hadn't gone more than a few steps before curiosity outgrew his thirst for a good kill. Riley, just rounding the corner, would be easy enough to trail. So Spike set off in silent pursuit to find out just what was so bleeding crucial that it couldn't wait until morning.
Maybe if Spike was really lucky, Riley would wander down the wrong alley to meet a spectacular and gruesome death. Wouldn't be the same as doing it himself, of course, but it would certainly brighten up the evening. Maybe he could even pretend to try and save the guy – get in a good kill or two and win points with the Slayer for effort. She may not love Riley, but she tended to be pretty possessive of her toys, including the soldier boy there. Then again, Spike could always just lie and say he'd helped.
Warmed by the possibility, Spike fairly bounced along behind Riley, waiting to see what sort of trouble would perk up its pretty little head tonight.
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
Spike tailed Riley Finn from a discrete if not entirely stealthy distance, fighting the urge to whistle a jaunty tune at the prospect of trouble to be had. After all, nothing quite gives away a not-so-stealthy pursuit like the strains of "Copacabana". But despite Spike's less than subtle stalking, Riley seemed oblivious to anything but wherever he was headed. At one point, Spike actually managed to step on a twig - the biggest cliché in the whole "somebody's behind you" repertoire - and expected Finn to whirl around and sputter on yet again about how it was high time somebody put a stake through the vampire's heart. But Riley just trudged on, absent-mindedly scratching his arm, not paying his pursuer any mind.
Spike took a look around, trying to guess where they might be headed. It had been a while since he'd been down these particular streets, since the town's demon population had grown tired of his new zeal for killing them, but he did recall the area. There was an all-night liquor store around here that he'd been known to frequent, but he didn't figure Riley to be out at this time of night on a whiskey run. Further up the street was a house of some pretty well deserved ill-repute. Any kind of girl or boy you wanted, and all kinks were fair play. In fact, there was a tiny blonde thing working there – a big hit with the local vampire population – who did a hell of a "vanquished Slayer" number. Finn couldn't possibly be headed there, could he? Not after what Spike had spent the better part of this evening listening to outside of Buffy's window - Finn had to be spent after that! And if there was a man on this earth who could wear out the Slayer and still be up for more, Spike didn't want to know about it.
Just when Spike could swear they'd walked clear to the end of town, Riley seemed to find a patch of more town. Outskirts and all, away from Spike's stomping grounds, in an area Spike couldn't recall having had the pleasure of touring. Pleasure being a hell of a generous sentiment for what looked to be a collection of abandoned warehouses and run-down apartments. Finn chose a particularly shabby-looking building to duck into. The windows were boarded up tight – clearly, whomever he was meeting wasn't interested in prying eyes. Some sort of covert mission for his old soldier buddies? A noble and heroic suicide errand to whisk him away and out of the Slayer's life could be just what the doctor ordered. 'Bout time he got the message and cleared out anyway.
Then again… if Riley's here to meet his jarhead mates…
Spike tensed. Definitely time to go. He had no desire whatsoever to meet up with his former captors. He'd always loved a good brawl, but even chipless and fancy free, he'd have known better than to stick around to tangle with a fully armed covert ops team - especially one that knew exactly how dispatch a vampire, or might be extremely interested in getting back inside his skull for another poke around. He cast his eyes about furtively, but he didn't see anyone outside. And if there were a group of soldiers nearby, he'd have scented them by now. What he did smell, though, was blood. Lots of it. Blood flowed freely here, but what he didn't smell was death. People were bleeding, but they weren't dying. He crept closer to the building, the truth slowly dawning on him. The boarded up windows. Didn't just keep out prying eyes. Also pretty handy against sunlight…
This had to be the place.
Damn near every city he'd ever been to had one of these. A place for the like-minded to meet and greet, share their favourite hobby... that is, if the hobby in question is getting sucked on by vampires. He'd always found the idea intriguing – people dropping by, offering their necks, spilling their blood to feed you, then thanking you for the trouble. What a world!
Sure, he'd run into his share of twits with misguided dreams of lounging about on red velvet pillows, drinking absinthe while some cape-wearing Child Of The Night seduced them into immortality. But that particular cliché was almost as old as he was. These places weren't about sex and seduction. They were just about the fix. Vampires and junkies getting a hit of what they need.
It was easy to see what's in it for the vampires, of course. Free blood without all that time-consuming hunting. Not just for the lazy, though - a vamp gets injured or weak, it's nice to think there's a place to rest up and still get fed. Problem is, you stop hunting, you get dependent on the kindness of your food source. And there's never quite enough dropping by to really make you strong again. Leaves you with several options, and none of 'em very appealing. One, you can strike out on the streets again and give a go at catching enough prey to get your strength back. But those nice folks who let you bite 'em aren't around anymore, and the local packs and big bads aren't exactly looking to share the wealth. Two, you can try and find any old mates you used to run with, but if they didn't take care of you before, they're probably not interested in sharing their food while you work on gettin' all nice and sharp again. Which leaves option number three. You stay where you are, hoping the food comes back again tomorrow and getting weaker and weaker by the day.
Of course, the willing food supply is a pretty rare thing. Figure the number of folks who survive their first attack, and you've already got a damn small number to work from. Slim that down to the blighters who'd let themselves get bitten again, then down to those who will actually seek it out, and the few who remain are precious. Needed. Not for who they are… a hungry mouth doesn't give a damn for your sparkling conversation… but because you offer something they can't live without.
As threats to the general population go, these places don't rate too high. After all, you've got vampires off the streets, makin' a point of not killing their precious food source. Sure, accidents happen, but they're rare. And the vamp careless enough to drain their visitor is most likely thrown out to fend for himself, if not dusted outright. Bad for business and all that. Spike could wager it'd still chafe the Slayer's sense of self-righteous morality, though. If she had any idea such a place operated in Sunnydale, she'd probably be down here in a heartbeat to burn the place to the ground.
So what was Soldier Boy was doing here?
Finn had to know what he was walking into. He'd headed straight here, clearly intent on some purpose - you didn't march clear across town to just happen across Das Suckenhaus here. No, he'd known exactly where he was headed. Probably trying to prove something. Stake a few weak vampires and feel like a big manly man again. Show Buffy he can still tread where she does.
Sad, really – probably get himself killed on some kamikaze mission, just to show her he's still dangerous enough.
Spike sighed, rolling his eyes at Riley's desperate attempt to bring the Slayer an offering, a gift to prove his worth. Not that the thought of Finn going out in a blaze of glory bothered him much. In fact, with the threat of commandos no longer looming, the evening was definitely looking up once again. Spike set his shoulders and followed him in.
-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
What Spike found on the inside was probably the poorest excuse for a lair he'd ever set eyes on. Nothing wrong with the lived-in look, but this place was bordering on crackhouse chic. Rubbish on the floors, the odd graffiti tag, holes in just about any surface big enough to accommodate a boot or a fist. The only thing separating this flophouse from any run-of-the-mill rats' nest was the conspicuous absence of, well, rats.
He heard muffled voices, feet shambling around a hallway, and up the stairs a woman urged someone to "take some more... I can handle it..." Spike shook his head and felt a moment's jealousy for the vamp getting the free meal, but truth be told, he was gettin' fed plenty well by the fine folks of the Sunnydale Butchers' Cooperative. One thing he could thank his wanker of a sire for, at least - the local butchers and grocers were familiar with the blood-to-go takeout routine. Even with his chip, Spike figured he could still bite somebody who didn't mind it, but even if the chip didn't stop him, the Slayer would stake him in a second. Besides, some nasty demon that could actually put up a decent fight made a much more satisfying kill than any human ever did. Excepting Slayers, of course. But they were special.
Before Spike finished crossing the room, someone stepped towards him. Must be the proprietor of this fine establishment, Spike chuckled to himself, pondering whether to offer a few tips on housekeeping or just stake the tosser outright.
"You're not welcome here, Spike," the vampire challenged.
"I'll try and contain my disappointment, mate. Just passing through."
Spike moved to continue towards the stairs, but the other vampire blocked his path. "Leave, Spike. Now. Everybody knows you're hanging with the Slayer these days, and we don't want any trouble."
Spike grinned at the vampire in front of him, amused by his bravado. "I'd hate to think you're this rude to all your guests. Could be bad for business, you know."
"What do you know from etiquette, Spike? You kill your own kind and run with the enemy."
Spike's face shifted, and his eyes gleamed yellow. "That's right, mate. I do. And now I'm being polite and telling you to kindly back the hell out of my way before I clear myself a dusty path."
The weaker vampire rankled at the challenge, preparing to rush the cocky blond in front of him, but he didn't get any further than "prepare" before a left cross crushed his cheek and sent him to the floor. He looked up to see Spike leaning over him, a stake in his fist. "Perhaps you didn't quite hear me," Spike offered amicably. "You don't mind if I take a look around the place, do you?" He brought the stake down swiftly, then stood to shake off the dust as he turned back towards the stairs. "Didn't think so."
At the top of the steps, Spike cast about again in search of the Slayer's boyfriend. He hadn't been carrying anything that looked big enough to blow up the place, and there still wasn't any sign of his commando buddies. Not to mention, come to think of it, if he'd just been on some "crush, kill, destroy" mission, he'd have staked the bugger in the front room. All right, Finn. What's with the cloak-and-bleeding-dagger routine? Spike heard a sharp intake of breath from a room down the hall and moved towards the open door. What he saw inside was the most delightful, the most depressing thing he'd ever laid eyes on.
Riley Finn, the Slayer's lover, with his arm outstretched, telling the most malnourished vampire in California to bite harder.
It was one thing to see the Slayer's boytoy get himself ripped up by some pissed off demon, trying to prove he can still kick undead ass. Spike could enjoy that show and bid Finn a fond farewell. "Live by the sword" and all that. But seeing Finn slumped on some ratty chair, wincing and grieving while some bint worked his veins…
"I hate to break up this lovely scene, but I've got a question you might be able to answer for me."
Riley sat up, anger blazing in his eyes as the female vampire at his feet cowered against his legs. "Spike." Riley spat the name like a curse. "What the hell do you—"
"I'm wondering, Finn, exactly where this fits into the whole G.I Joe thing. I mean, I know you're not exactly the man you used to be, but you were, at some point, going to stake her, right? Or is this just a brilliant plot to subdue the vampires of Sunnydale by keeping them well-fed?"
"Fuck off, Spike. This doesn't concern you."
"No, I suppose it doesn't," Spike turned to leave, "but I'll wager the Slayer would find it damned intriguing."
Riley stood, hands clenched into fists as he glared at Spike, hatred and shame clearly etched across his face. The female disentangled herself from Riley's legs, regarding him with a new suspicion and fear, and squeaked "The Slayer? Wh-what does she—"
"Oh, Soldier Boy here didn't tell you?" Spike turned back to face them with feigned surprise. "That there's the Slayer's beau you were just suckin' on. What do you think, Finn? Should we introduce the ladies? Bet they'd have a lot to talk about, don't you?" He laughed as the panicked vampire stuttered and scurried her way past him and down the hall.
Riley yelled at vampire in the doorway, "Damnit, Spike, what the hell do you think you're doing here?!"
"Funny, mate, I was just going to ask you the same thing."
"I said it was none of your damn business!"
"Look, Finn. Either it's my business, or it's the Slayer's. Which way do you wanna play it?"
Riley paused, and an insult died on his lips. He started to slump back into the moth-eaten chair, but Spike urged him up again. "Don't get comfy, soldier, it's time to go. Once that frightened bint spreads the word the Slayer's boyfriend's upstairs, the rest'll want to make sure you can't rat them out to your girl, and this is one story I don't intend to miss. Your sordid tale can wait 'til we're outside." Spike stood to the side and waved with a mocking flourish. "After you."