Written after The Killer In Me. An absolute piece of quick fluff because I miss fun, snarky, Spike. And I’m trying to understand why they’ve made him so boring. And of course I’m All. About. Spuffy.
“That’s a great impersonation of a rock you got going there, Spike,” she commented, pushing her hair out of her eyes.
Spike didn’t glance up. He just frowned at the TV. “What’s that here for?”
“Number 1 on my list of Harmless Things You Used to Like Doing… I brought wings and beer, too. Extra spicy, if I remember correctly.” She held up a brown paper bag and smiled. Spike glanced up at her then, and frowned. Then looked away.
“Don’t want to remember,” he mumbled.
“Come on. You can watch your soaps again. You can even stay chained up if you’d like. We’re accepting of all different lifestyle choices here at Casa Summers.” Buffy plugged the TV in and threw the remote to him, where it landed square on his chest then plopped into his lap. Spike didn’t move. Buffy sighed.
“You don’t understand,” Spike said, speaking slowly. “Everything I was before… it’s tied up with everything else. I used to love to kill. Then I’d watch TV. I’d go drinkin’… after stalking you. I’d make smart comments… after dreaming of turning you… killing you.”
“Ooooo… kay. Thanks for that melodramatic visual. Want a hot wing?”
“Goddammit, Buffy. It makes no sense for me to be here.” His voice, like his eyes, were dull.
“Lots of things don’t make sense. The number 1 show Overseas is Baywatch. Dawn was made out of my blood by a bunch of freaking monks. I should’ve killed you years ago, yada yada. Just go with me on this one.”
She handed Spike a beer.
Two hours later, Spike sat frowning at the TV set. Buffy sat next to him, finishing off the hot wings.
“See? Aren’t you glad to be souled, chipless, and TV savvy?”
Spike sighed dreamily, having just experienced his first Baywatch episode. “The beach… all those women… with their huge ti.. uh, chests bouncin’ about. Is that what it’s really like at a beach?”
Buffy shrugged, licking sauce off her finger. “Not any I’ve been to. Quite a few men with beer guts though. Something you’ll never worry about.”
“Aw, you’re not so bad yourself.”
“Despite my lack of huge t… I mean, chest?” she said sardonically.
“Despite that, yes,” Spike said quietly, smiling a little.
She grinned at him. She was sitting cross-legged on the cot and her knee was resting casually against his thigh. She suddenly needed a really big sip of beer.
“How are the headaches? Any aftereffects?” Buffy asked after she finished off the beer.
“Blissfully absent.” Spike watched her animated face, a small smile playing on his lips.
The house was quiet, the beers were gone. Dawn was researching, Giles was working with the SiTs at the training room of the Magic Shop, and Anya and Xander were helping Willow work on a new spell. Buffy was supposed to go patrolling but instead wanted to hang with Spike. She realized she did this a lot, tried to hang back when others needed to go.
Buffy sat up, smiling. “Hey, wanna go beat up a human and make sure the chip’s definitely out?”
Spike perked up at that. “Can we call Xander?”
“Spike…” Buffy warned.
“No, you weren’t.”
“No,” Spike agreed. “I wasn’t.”
Music blared from a bar as people stumbled out into the cool night.
“We’ve been patrolling for a while now. Let’s take a break.” Buffy gestured toward the bar they just passed.
“You’re turning into a raging alcoholic, Pet,” Spike observed.
“Um, excuse me, but two beers during Baywatch does not a drunkard make. Come on, Spike. It’s. A. Bar. You love bars.”
“Do, too. Quit lying.”
“I think we should head back,” he said. Buffy stared at him evenly, then headed into the bar.
“Hey!” he called. When she ignored him, he sighed, not wanting to go in there, not wanting to go anywhere he could potentially enjoy himself. What kind of penance was that?
A minute later, of course, he followed her in.
By the time he caught up with her, she was at the bar, trying to get a drink. It was a college bar on the outskirts of the campus and was filled with beefy frat boys. Spike took in the scene. The way some of these guys were staring at Buffy bothered him, even though he knew she could take care of herself.
“Hey,” he said when he finally reached her, touching her arm.
“See, I told you I was waiting for someone,” Buffy said to a Neanderthal in a faded J. Crew sweatshirt who had been trying to buy her a drink. The younger, much taller man looked over Buffy’s head at Spike. He sneered.
“You mean you’re with this guy? Dude, Billy Idol called, he wants his look back.”
“Remind me to dye my hair brown, Pet. I’m so sick of comments like that,” Spike said, not breaking eye contact with the boy. Buffy nodded pleasantly at him.
The younger man glanced over at Buffy. “Honey, you can do much better than that. Take me, for instance. I’m a hell of a dancer for a guy my size. Let me show you.”
“How about no?” Buffy said.
“Try and stop me,” he replied, grabbing her wrist. Spike waited for her to punch the git’s lights out. Instead she just struggled slightly.
“Please let go of me,” Buffy said, her voice sounding scared.
“After we dance,” said Frat Boy. He jerked her toward the dance floor, and she let out a yelp of pain. Buffy turned and looked at Spike helplessly, her eyes pleading with him to do something. After a second of pause, Spike moved with stunning speed and was standing before them, blocking their way to the tiny, crowded dance floor.
“She said let go,” Spike said softly, eyes cast downward, his hands clenched at his sides.
The college student, well over six-feet-tall, looked down at Spike. “Oh, this is sad. Really. Go pick on someone your own size. Like a 12-year-old, maybe.”
Buffy just stood there, still struggling weakly to free herself from his grasp.
Spike looked up at him them, and the young man froze, his cocky smile sliding from his face when he looked into Spike’s eyes. The eyes of a killer, after all.
“You shouldn’t have touched her,” Spike said pleasantly. Then he grinned.
And then he pounced. The first punch was so powerful the kid flew through the front window of the bar and onto a bench outside, shattering it into pieces. Spike leaped through the shards of glass and landed in front of him. He looked down at the stunned man, then grabbed him by the neck and pulled him up, high in the air, his feet dangling helplessly.
“You’re a very, very rude man,” Spike said cheerfully. “You play nice from now on, you hear me?”
“Yes,” the kid managed to choke out, eyes full of fear, fingers clawing at Spike’s strong grip. “Please.”
“Good lad.” Spike threw him to the side, watched him stumble and run away, then turned to seek her out. She stood in front of the bar, watching intensely. Spike felt like laughing.
Buffy suddenly turned when she heard a voice call out, “You broke my freaking window!! I’m calling the cops.”
Buffy walked over to Spike and raised her eyebrows. “That’s our exit cue.”
Spike nodded. She grabbed his arm and they fled.
“I think we’re safe now,” she said breathlessly when they had gotten far enough away. They had run down the street past an embankment and snuck into a grove of trees. Midnight closed around them, the darkness welcoming. Faint light from the moon shown down, turning her hair to silver.
“Is your arm okay, Pet?” Spike asked, concerned.
Buffy looked up at him, a strange smile tugging at her lips. “Gee. It sure is. I don’t know what happened back there! I just, suddenly, um… couldn’t…”
“You tricked me,” he interrupted flatly.
Buffy stared at him, then started to laugh.
“Thanks, though, Spike. I couldn’t have gotten out of that without you… Okay, maybe I could have. But come on, didn’t that feel good?” She was hopping up and down with excitement like a boxer after a winning match.
“You’re insane,” Spike said, turning away. Buffy followed him.
“Come on! Breaking public property, resisting arrest, fighting back… good times! I got to be the damsel in distress for once, instead of you! Tell me you don’t feel better.”
She was right. God, she was right. He swallowed hard, feeling the thrill of life, thrill of the fight, coursing through him. It was as though he had been submerged under water, trying to drown. And she kept pulling him back. And he did want to smash, want to laugh, want to fight, want to feel good, feel alive, all the things he really didn’t have the right to feel. And now he needed to get away from her.
“Spike, wait.” She grabbed his arm. “Don’t be mad. Hey, at least we know the chip is really and truly…”
“Shut up,” he said, and kissed her. This kiss was rough, cutting off words and thoughts. His lips bruised hers, and suddenly, as quickly as it started, he ended it. He pushed her away.
“There’s that, too,” he bit out, watching her flushed, shocked face. “That’s what I miss too. That’s what I want again. When I feel better. It’s all tied together, and if I give in to one thing… if I remember, or feel something, just a little, then I think of you and…”
“Shut up,” Buffy said. She grabbed him by the jacket, hauled off, and kissed him hard. She went to push him back against the tree but instead she tripped over a root and they went flying. Spike twisted to land first on the rough ground, breaking her fall.
“Ow,” he said.
“Sorry,” she whispered, staring down at him.
“Don’t be,” he whispered back.
This time, the kiss was gentle, exploring, tender, inquisitive, slow… one of the many variations Spike had dreamt about in recent weeks. But this, the real thing… outshone any dream, vivid as they were. The smell of her, the texture of her warm lips, the way she fit with him, interlocked like two puzzle pieces. His missing piece. His arms held her tight to him, his hands were in her hair, and the kiss went on.
Despite Buffy’s excellent cardiovascular condition, she unfortunately had to break the kiss after what felt like several minutes due to lack of oxygen. She gulped in air, still laying on top of Spike, then started laughing at his pouty expression.
“Don’t be annoyed. We can’t all have the luxury of not needing air. Woo. Was getting dizzy there.”
“That was just my exemplary kissing technique,” Spike said lazily, tucking a piece of her hair behind her adorable ear. She shook her head at him, studying his face while he studied hers.
“Now what?” Spike said, after a moment of companionable silence in which he mostly stared at her bruised, swollen, wholly delicious lips.
“Get naked?” she suggested hopefully.
“Not teasing,” she replied, matter-of-factly. She sat up and peeled off her jacket. Spike tried to form words but forgot how.
“This… us… is a horrible, horrible idea,” he said, still in too much shock to move.
“Probably,” Buffy agreed, nodding. She took off her big hoop earrings so they wouldn’t get caught in her turtleneck.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said, weakly, trying to hang on to reason while he watched her pull her sweater over her head.
“You don’t say. I thought someone had a gun to my head.” Her skin, bathed in moonlight, was the softest, loveliest thing he could ever remember seeing.
Spike cleared his throat, trying to look away. “You’ve proven your point, Slayer. I’m… I’m not going to mope about any more and I’ll try to perk up a little and is that a silk bra?”
“Yep. Help me take it off.”
“Right, then.” He did what she told him to. Her wish was always, always his command.