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Chapter 1.
To the casual observer, Spike was swaggering through the cemetery, chin raised high in defiance, stride confidently slow.
If the casual observer could sniff Spike’s breath, however, he or she might rethink that first impression. Spike wasn’t swaggering; he was staggering due to the bottles of alcohol he’d imbibed at Willie’s. His chin was lifted because he got dizzy when he looked at the ground, and his stride was slow because–well–that was the best course for staying upright. He had to keep going if he was to get inside before dawn. Step after step, he trudged forward, the overgrown grass clinging to his boots as if part of a conspiracy to make him meet the sunrise.
Because, of course, Spike was a vampire. A powerful one, from an old line. A vampire that inspired fear, and awe–
He stumbled, pirouetted around himself–in a manly way–and found his footing again.
It had been a cool, starry night, the kind he’d once written poems about. He hadn’t even noticed. All he’d cared about at dusk had been getting to the nearest demon-friendly bar, and all that was on his mind now was not to fall on his face before reaching his bed. His empty, lonely bed.
His sigh of relief when he finally reached the entrance of his crypt sounded like a gunshot to his ears and he winced, his hands seeking out the door. He pushed the scarred surface so hard, he almost toppled forward when the thing swung open, but managed to find his footing long enough to drag his Doc Martens inside. He had to pause at the sarcophagus and wait until his head stopped spinning before he could continue towards the lower level. The ladder proved to be a challenge–especially when he completely bypassed it to land on his ass.
Cursing a blue streak, he sat up and–not bothering to stand–pulled himself to the foot of his King-sized bed. His back against it, he did exactly what he’d hoped alcohol would help him avoid. He thought of Drusilla.
Drusilla of the raven locks and baby blue eyes that turned almost silver when she was cross with him. Drusilla, with the alabaster skin and slim figure, with the cherry red lips and firm breasts. His wicked plum. The woman of his dreams. His savior. She’d taken him from a dreary, meaningless life, and turned him into an immortal, a creature of the night, with superhuman abilities. And then she’d broken him.
Drusilla, who had no faithful bone in her body.
Drusilla the Bitch.
Sliding his hand in his back pocket took a while, but it was worth the effort, as he finally fished out his crumbled packet of Marlboros and his lighter. Only two fags were left in the packet; he’d have to move to get his carton from under the bed. Drat. He refused to think about that. Or about the sheen of dirt that was covering his floor and was going to be a bitch to get out of his black jeans. Or about how his sheets needed changing. He was evil and he liked living like a pig. He didn’t have to answer to anyone.
Only, his mum’s voice in his head was saying that wasn’t the man she’d brought up. She’d raised a proper gentleman. He chuckled–the sound dry–and lit his next to last cigarette. A proper gentleman who snacked on people, taking their lives away. Pulling a deep drag, he promised his dead mother he’d do his chores as soon as he hurt just a bit less. As soon as his dead heart didn’t feel like it’d been ripped out of his chest. As soon as he could inhale without fearing that, when the air left his body, his self control would desert him and he’d burst into tears. His eyes focused on the swirling smoke, rising from the tip of his cancer-stick to get lost in the gloomy darkness of his surroundings. He wanted to be like the smoke, be able to linger or blow away at will.
The woman who had sired him–the woman whom he’d loved with all he was and all he had–saw him as nothing more than a nice distraction. He’d been nothing more to her than one of her dollies; a life sized one who could plow into her when she felt like it, and stand aside the rest of the time, watching quietly as she gave herself away to any and all who asked for it.
He’d always known she was promiscuous, of course. He’d seen her precious Daddy fuck her time and time again, had been there when she’d picked up handsome young men and fulfilled all their sexual fantasies before sucking them dry. He’d just convinced himself that was the vampire way. After all, the other two vampires he knew well were exactly the same, and they were a perfectly happy–if really twisted–couple. Dru still loved him, he’d kept repeating in his head. She was just fooling around.
Finding her with that chaos demon, twenty six days earlier–and how pathetic was he for counting the days they’d been apart?–had been harsh, but he’d still have forgiven her if she hadn’t reacted the way she had.
Instead of cooing and telling him not to worry, that he was her prince, the one she’d always go back to, she’d yelled at him to leave her alone. She’d said things that had hurt–that had cut to the bone–and in the end she’d said turning him had been a mistake.
Just like that, she’d pulled the world right out from under him. Not only had she discarded everything they’d had, every moment they’d shared, she’d discarded his whole existence. He’d stormed out of there like the Devil himself was after him, gotten in his DeSoto and driven to wherever the road would take him.
The road had taken him to Sunnydale, with its Hellmouth, and ditzy blondes, and easy dinners, but feeding–killing–wasn’t as fun without his dark beauty. Nothing was.
Wiping his nose furiously on the back of the hand holding his cigarette, he corrected himself. Not his dark beauty. Not his anything.
Drusilla the Bitch.
Drusilla who would never again be his bitch. The tears in his eyes had to be because of the smoke.
He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep, but when he opened his eyes again there was someone in the crypt with him, and the cigarette butt was smoldering through his jeans on his thigh. Batting at it frantically, he tried to concentrate on the sounds coming from above.
~~~~~*~~~~~
Buffy had been warned to be very careful upon entering people’s homes. She’d been instructed to be very quiet, not move anything, and mind her step because sometimes floorboards creaked. She’d done pretty well in her Entering workshops and hadn’t expected her first assignment to give her any trouble.
Still, that was a bit too easy.
The door to the place had been open, as if in invitation. With a pout, she put her nifty lock-picking gadget back in her cargo pants’ pocket. She’d been itching to use it on a real lock, damn it! Her hand flew to her mouth, even though she hadn’t said the actual Forbidden Words out loud, and she sent a mental apology to the Powers That Be. Inching inside slowly, she stopped and looked at the compass secured on her wrist like a watch. It pointed straight ahead.
It was a good thing goggles had been incorporated into the standard mission attire the past few years, or she wouldn’t be able to see past her nose in the pitch black interior of the building. As it was, what she saw wasn’t exactly homey. A stone… crater, of some sort, was in the middle of the room, and on her left stood one of those iceboxes she’d seen in books. To her right, there was a couch lying on its back, as if someone had jumped off it fast enough to send it flying backwards, a coffee table with only three legs balancing haphazardly in front of it. The place seemed abandoned, but that couldn’t be the case. Her target was there, and was probably the sort to wreak havoc when unsupervised. Confirming that she was alone in the room, she took another step.
Something crunched under the sole of her boot and she grimaced. A glance indicated the floor was covered with dirt and bits of broken glass, which would make the Don’t Leave Any Footprints rule kind of hard to follow. Oh, well! She’d improvise on the way out. What was important for the time being was completing her task.
Treading even lighter, she moved forward, all the way to a hole in the ground. The chamber she needed to find was down there, of that she was sure. Closing her eyes, she mentally replayed the pointers she’d been given. Go in, complete the exchange, and get out. There was the nagging feeling that she was forgetting something, but she couldn’t be. That was all.
She was ready for what she was about to do. She’d been born into it, had practiced and studied for it. She was prepared.
With a deep breath, she leaned forward, happy to see the stairs.
And she took them down.
To her destiny.
~~~~~*~~~~~
He was in no condition for a fight–that much he knew. Still, if he leaned against the wall just right–arms crossed–and put on his vampire face, he could be mighty intimidating, if he did say so himself. And he wasn’t really worried. The footsteps he’d heard had been light, so it meant someone small. He could handle it.
His money was on a coed scanning the place for pulling a prank on her friends, or maybe to come back later with her boyfriend for some nookie. Either way, whoever was there was probably more the equivalent of a pizza delivery than a predator to his kind. After all, his kind had no predators.
Now the hard part would be to stand long enough to move to the wall…
~~~~~*~~~~~
The first step made a squeaking sound the moment she shifted her weight to it. Maybe she should have used the other way to go down, but she’d been warned about unnecessary use of her skills, and she was sure Riley wouldn’t be convinced they’d been necessary at that point.
Meh. Riley. Just because he’d been doing that job forever, he thought he knew everything. She rolled her eyes. If it had been up to him, she wouldn’t even be there. She’d be locked inside and lectured day and night. When she’d managed to collect what she was after and take it to him, she’d finally get her full time license. Face twisted in disgust, she held on to the makeshift railing as she jumped to the floor.
It was so not fair that she hadn’t gotten her license already, by the way. Riley insisted she wasn’t cut out to be a field agent, even though her whole family was consisted of agents. She’d pouted, stomped her foot and whined for years before he’d given her a chance. And that chance was tonight. Rubbing her palms clean on her jacket, she blew a lock of stray hair out of her eyes.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the target looking at her from the side of the chamber until he–he was a he, the info was in his case file–coughed.
“You’re awake!” He was awake… what did the handbook say about that? “Oh… Poo!” Shaking her head, she desperately sought her pockets for what she should use in such an occasion. Only, she should have used it sooner. Lint, cookie… She wanted to smack her forehead, but both her hands were busy. Lock picker, money… That was what she’d forgotten. You never enter the chamber in field uniform.
Finally, she found the pouch.
~~~~~*~~~~~
Spike didn’t know who the person in front of him was, but the black combat outfit ruled out the coed prediction. Still, it was a woman, and he knew how to handle them–mostly.
“Hello, cutie,” he said to her, having no clue whether she really was cute behind that thing that looked like a diver’s mask. Careful not to be too far from the wall at any time, he shuffled closer to her. “Whatcha lookin’ for there?”
Her hand suddenly came up. Afraid she might be wielding a weapon, he took a step back, but fortunately, she was just holding a small leather sachet, which she raised over her head. His fingers accidentally found the switch for the bare light bulb he’d installed and turned it on, showering the room with cold light.
Glittery dust sprinkled all over her, and suddenly, she changed. He couldn’t tell how the transformation happened, and it wasn’t all at once, either. It was like every particle of her morphed until their sum was someone completely different. He didn’t know if her facial features altered at all as the goggles simply vanished, but her uniform had shrunk, flared, and changed color.
He blinked. Was it possible he’d drunk absinth and didn’t remember it? There, in front of him, stood a… fairy. Unless winged blondes in pastel could belong to another category of mythical creatures.
The fairy smiled. “It’s past your bed time, little boy. You should be asleep,” she said sweetly.
And maybe he was asleep.
A dream would explain the blonde in front of him, calling him a boy. Her hair was flowing past her shoulders, strewn with flowers of all colors–and thinking they smelled like sunshine wasn’t manly, so he wasn’t thinking that, no sir. She was wearing a pink bodice and tutu that reminded him of cotton candy, and vine leaves covered her feet. A dream would also be the only logical explanation for the veil thin wings that flapped behind her back until she rose off the ground and started hovering closer to him. It was a very detailed dream, he thought vaguely, noticing the tiny little whirlwinds of dust her wings sent dancing around.
She was close enough for him to see her eyes as her smile reached them, and they matched the color of the leaves. “What are you?” he asked, voice low, as if not to wake himself up. For a figment of his imagination, the girl had pretty shapely legs, and perky–though small–breasts could be seen through the thin fabric, so he was in no hurry to be rid of her.
The blonde frowned, her eyes narrowing in confusion. “I’m a Tooth Fairy, silly.” Turning her face upwards, she asked, “Don’t parents teach kids anything these days?”
Grinning, he allowed himself to slip back into his human face. “And, pray tell, why are you here?”
Her whole face was saying duh, as she replied in a soothing voice, “For your left canine, of course.”
Tbc.
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