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Kallysten
Disclaimer : Of course they belong to someone else, I just play with them sometimes.
Distribution : Sure, just tell me where. When the story is finished, I will
post it on my website at http://www.geocities.com/kallysten_fr/
Feedback : Anything but flames kallysten_fr@yahoo.com
Story notes : This is a sequel to my story His Childe. If you haven't read it,
I strongly suggest you stop right here and go read it first, some things in
here will make more sense if you do.
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Immobilizing the Slayer against the wall of a mausoleum, Spike shifted into game face just inches from her widening eyes. The furious beating of her heart, her shallow breathing, the faint scent of fear that emanated from her was intoxicating. And, weirdly enough, almost sickening.
“Lesson the first,” he growled, flashing his fangs. “Never get so familiar with a demon that you forget what he is.”
* * * * *
Right after the meeting, Spike drove the residents and guests of 1630 Revello Drive back home. In the car, his Slayer mentioned she wanted to patrol, but by the time they had arrived home he had managed to convince her otherwise, though it wasn’t that easily done with all the passengers of the car politely pretending not to eavesdrop on the exchange. For some reason, he didn’t want them to know about Drusilla, and Buffy seemed to share his wish. She still looked tired, and he wanted her to have at least one more full night of rest before getting back to slaying. She finally agreed, on the condition that he would do a quick sweep, which suited him just fine. That never-ending meeting had made him antsy, and he would gladly kill something, anything at all, to get rid of his excess of energy. He wasn’t one for detailed planning, never had been, for the simple reason that his plans had the slight tendency of turning out for the worse, especially if he spent too much time on them.
Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who needed some exercise before bed. As he walked through his first cemetery of the night, he stumbled upon Manon. They frowned at each other, both surprised by the unexpected encounter.
“Trying to get yourself killed by patrolling alone, gamine?”
She shrugged before walking away, her eyes darting around, obviously in search of prey. Automatically, he fell into step with her, as he used to do when meeting the patrolling Slayer, before she became his.
“I’ve been doing it almost since the first night,” she replied with a hint of pride. “And as you can see I’m still alive, vieillard. Just doing my job.”
He let the name pass without comment. Old man. That was just payback for him calling her kid.
“If you see it as a job, you won’t stay alive long.”
“Well, my chances of getting as old as Buffy are not that good to begin with, are they?” she commented almost casually. “Andrea said she was one of the oldest Slayers ever. Until you killed her.”
He should have been used to it by now, but it was always a blow to be reminded that he had killed his Slayer. He didn’t mind hearing that he had turned her, but ‘killed’ was just so cold. So far from the point, too.
He realized something suddenly. There had been no anger, no wariness in her voice. And she wasn’t paying much attention to him at all as they walked, not keeping an eye on him anymore as she had done so far every night they patrolled. He should have been happy about it, after all he and Buffy had been repeatedly telling the girl that she risked nothing from him. But for some reason, it bothered him.
“You’re not afraid of me any longer,” he stated, puzzled.
A faintly smug smile came to her lips.
“Well, you’re not dangerous to humans, are you? Just to demons.”
Maybe it was the smile. Maybe it was the frustration of not having found one single vamp to dust yet. Maybe it was the tone of her voice, too confident, that screamed ‘tamed animal’. Maybe it was the sadness turned into anger he had repressed since Drusilla’s death, finally coming to the surface. Whatever the reason, something in him snapped.
Before she had a chance to react, he had grabbed her, pinned her to a wall and shifted into game face.
“Lesson the first. Never get so familiar with a demon that you forget what he is.”
Having made his point, he abruptly let go of her and took a step back, slipping into his human visage again.
“Buffy made that mistake twice,” he said coldly. “First time, she unleashed a demon that tortured and killed her friends before trying to end the world. Second time, she was turned. If you want to live, remember that even a seemingly tamed wolf can bite, for no other reason than that he wants to.”
Very slowly, she nodded, and the caution was back in her eyes. She wouldn’t forget.
“I don’t see why you care,” she said almost defiantly. “But since you do, anything else I should know?”
Spike grinned at how fast she had put aside her fear. He thought about her question for an instant. Who was he, to give advice to a Slayer? But he might as well continue what he had started.
“Friends, family,” he said more calmly. “You were commenting on how long Buffy has been a Slayer. They are the explanation. Not just because they help her, but also because they are her reason to keep fighting. If you have nothing, no one connecting you to the world you’re supposed to protect, sooner or later you find yourself with a death wish. And there will never be a lack of candidates to grant that wish to you.”
Again, she nodded.
“You should go home,” he added, a bit tiredly. “Watcher-girl will worry.”
And he cared because..? God, he was growing soft in his old age. First giving hints to the girl about surviving, now worrying that she might get in trouble. What next?
“She never knows,” Manon replied with a grin.
Quiet now, they started walking toward the cemetery’s exit. Now, though, there was a sense of readiness coming from the kid, and Spike guessed that if he tried to attack her again she would be able to defend herself, or at least she would try. It was a good thing, but, at the same time, he was a bit sad. He had been enjoying their growing comfortable companionship.
“It’s going to sound strange right after I warned you about trusting any demon, but I wouldn’t hurt you.”
They had reached the street at last. She paused, looked up at him, and smiled, an almost childlike smile.
“Je sais,” she said simply as she turned and left him standing there.
He shook his head and sighed as he watched her go, chastising himself for feeling better that a kid – a Slayer - told him she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. Growing soft? He was already a bleeding nancy boy, yes.
* * * * *
Funny how quickly one could fall back into old habits. For Angel, being in Sunnydale seemed to bring out two. Patrolling, and brooding.
The first he did without thinking, letting his instincts take over. Hunt vamps, sneak up on them, dust with minimal fight, and move on to find the next.
The second was just the opposite. Too much thinking. All he should have been thinking about was that he would soon be human. That should have made him happy enough to forget everything else. Forget this stupid jealousy that Spike would share his reward. Forget this heart wrenching certitude that a human-again Buffy would not return to him. Forget the day that had never happened, both of them together and human. Forget that, if he survived this apocalypse, he would go home to LA human, yes, but alone.
Lost in his thoughts as he was, Angel was mildly surprised to walk up on his Childe. Surprised, also, that he was alone.
“What are you doing here?” he asked the blonde.
“Same thing as you, I suppose.”
He watched Spike light a cigarette and take a long drag. The last member of his vampire family. Except for his Grand Childe. They both would be human with him. And neither wanted to have much to do with him anymore.
“Where is Buffy?”
A hint of gold, gone as quickly as it had appeared, in these midnight blue eyes that were scrutinizing him while trying to pretend they weren’t.
“Home. Resting.”
Angel nodded, wincing inwardly. He had had an all too clear view of Buffy’s scarred front. He remembered having been in her place under Drusilla’s ministrations. He also had memories of inflicting the same kind of torture. Drusilla was a quick study. Had been. He also remembered having been in Spike’s place, or almost. He had killed his Sire. Killed the woman who had offered him eternity. For Buffy.
Just a woman, barely more than a girl, not even a quarter of a century old. Certainly, there were women more beautiful than her. Smarter. Sexier. So how had she made two Master vampires that between them had seen almost 400 years pass throw everything away for her, forget that she was the natural enemy of their kind, become her allies in her fight? Just a woman. Just a Slayer. And so much more. Which was why it was so hard to let go of her. And yet he was aware he would have to, eventually.
“You’re brooding, Peaches,” Spike snickered, pulling Angel out of his thoughts.
They were still facing each other, but the youngest of the pair had already finished his cigarette. He flicked it to the ground, stepping on it before turning away and resuming his patrol. Angel caught up with him easily, though he couldn’t have explained why. For a long while, they were silent, dusting a few vamps, each acting as if the other wasn’t there. It was Angel who finally broke the silence.
“Does it still hurt?” he asked quietly.
“Does what hurt?” Spike replied, his voice carrying annoyance.
“Drusilla.”
The sharp intake of breath taken by the blonde was answer enough, and Angel, for a reason he couldn’t have explained, wished Spike had not needed to go through that. No one deserved to go through such a thing.
“You don’t get to talk about her,” Spike hissed. “At least I didn’t torture her or set her on fire.”
Angel flinched at the words as much as he would have at a physical blow. Point taken. Again, for a little while, the silence, so unusual from Spike. And, just as uncharacteristically, it was Angel who tried to initiate another conversation.
“So, what are your plans when you become human again?”
There was a slight hesitation in Spike’s stride, and if Angel hadn’t been looking for it, he might not have noticed.
“Survive an apocalypse,” Spike growled. “And keep Buffy away from you. That’s the extent of my planning so far.”
“I wouldn’t…” Angel started, then immediately stopped.
Yes, he would, and Spike knew it. He would try to get her back if he thought he had half a chance. And trying to deny it would only antagonize Spike, because he would never believe otherwise. So he changed the subject.
“You’re lucky,” he said. “You won’t be torn before your soul and your demon. It shouldn’t be too…”
He stopped again, this time because Spike wasn’t walking by his side anymore. He turned around, wondering what he could have said this time to anger his glowering Childe.
“You think I’m lucky?” Spike spat. “You think I want to be human? Are you completely daft? You’re the one who dreams of it. I don’t. Vampire. That’s what I am. That’s all I want to be. For you it has become a shame, for me it was always a gift. Can’t you understand that?”
The proverbial light bulb was suddenly turned on in Angel’s mind. That was it. The missing piece of the puzzle that was Spike. A gift. That was the reason for his hostility. Did he really think Angel regretted giving that life to him? Did he believe himself an unwanted child? An unwanted Childe?
Angel wanted to tell him that, no, he didn’t regret. Had never regretted. Despite everything. But already Spike was striding away, angrily, once again. Angel just let him go, watching his proud and stiff back, wondering if any words would ever be enough to fix whatever was broken between them. Everything that concerned Spike was just so complicated. Truthfully, he didn’t regret having sired him. Even if the blonde was insufferable. Even if he had always been as much a nuisance as a help. Even if he had turned Buffy and taken her from him. Even if Angel had been on the brink of staking him more times than he cared to remember. Even if he was insanely jealous of his Childe, for all the wrong reasons. Even if he hated him with all his heart, just as he knew Spike hated him. He didn’t regret, because, from both sides, it wasn’t just hate, however hard they tried to pretend.
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