V

A week and a half had gone by and Spike was nicely settled in a furnished basement apartment in Angel’s neighbourhood, as far from the Poof as possible. The place was nothing like his last flat in L.A. It was spacious for one, with an open rectangular plan, polished concrete floors, and smooth, white walls. At one end, there were sliding dividers of frosted glass to close off the bedroom, and a frosted glass-enclosed wet room in the corner. At the other end, a stainless steel kitchen which remained untouched, save for the fridge and one copper pot he used for warming blood. The central living space was furnished with a sofa of burnt-orange suede and two similar chairs in midnight blue - all facing a sleek, black Comptel 5, the latest digital home efficiency and recreation interface.

On the walls hung twelve large trompe l'oeil paintings - each depicting a window with the view of the neighbourhood one would see from its position, had the window been real. Viewed in succession, each represented a different time of day from sunrise to sunset.

They were Spike's favourite part of the flat.

He hadn't spent much time in the flat, though. With the Slayers staying out of Angel’s neighbourhood, Spike had free rein of the area without interference - except from Angel of course, who would ring every couple of days to check in. He’d had a brawl or two with demons that didn’t serve humans on the menu, and several battles to the death with ones that did. There was plenty of A neg and Jack on tap at a local demon bar, and spicy Buffalo wings at a joint not two blocks from his house. He'd also found a decent poker game by the end of his first week, and had made a small fortune in cash and Siamese - enough to lease a bike for the month.

You’d think a bloke would be happy and at peace with a set-up so sweet, but he wasn't. Wherever the city, whatever the set-up, he could never get rid of a gnawing sensation in his gut. Like a homeless man's hunger.

A feeling of emptiness.

He was fighting the good fight, silently protecting the citizens of the world, so it wasn’t as if he felt useless. His life had a sort of meaning. And he didn’t need credit from humans for saving their sorry arses every night, either. That was Angel’s kink.

He just didn’t want to be alone any longer.

The last few decades had easily been the loneliest of his existence. Spike had never been the brooding, loner type. As a man, he'd always had his mum. As a vampire for over a century, he'd had his Black Beauty to worship despite her insanity... and infidelity. When she'd left him in Brazil, he'd been lost in every possible way, so he'd gone back to the last place where he hadn’t been alone: Sunnydale.

Only a man so thoroughly emptied and rudderless would have stayed in that piece of shite town, allowing himself to be abused by the Whelp and scolded like a child by the Watcher on a regular basis. He was a Master Vamp, for christsakes. And then he'd fallen for the Slayer, and there'd been no going anywhere if she wasn’t going too. ‘Until death do us part’ anyway.

But even after he'd come back through the amulet, he'd had a gang – not his own gang exactly – but people he might have one day called mates.

Spike wasn’t ashamed to admit that he wanted friendship and love. He was ashamed that after two centuries of existence, he had never managed to get either.

It baffled him that Angel was so respected and liked. He was a royal bastard, had a truly sadistic demon, and even with a soul, was a self-righteous pillock. But he'd been given the respect of the Scoobies from day one, and had earned it back after torturing the Watcher, killing his bird and trying to murder them all. He'd gotten the respect and loyalty of the L.A. crew, even after he'd gone evil and back again. He had Dru’s undying devotion. He'd had Darla’s love even after he'd killed the bitch for Buffy. He had the trust of the L.A. Slayers now.

And Angel had Buffy.

Her heart anyway. No human git she might have married would have replaced Angel in her heart, just like no demon chit he may have shagged had replaced Buffy in his.

Spike had bedded quite a few women over the years. He might be dead, but his dick wasn’t. He usually preferred vamps over humans because he could let his demon out. Get a little rough. Have a bit of blood play. No one got hurt, and he wasn't tempted to drink deep.

But vamp women were cold. He didn’t burn when he touched them. Couldn’t hear the rush of their blood flowing to their cunnies. Couldn’t hear their heartbeats pounding in his ears as he pounded them into the ground.

Couldn't let them live if he caught them feeding afterwards.

Buffy had ruined him.

Spike thought on his situation for all of ten minutes before he decided that there was nothing about his mood that getting pissed wouldn’t fix. He was getting a bit stir crazy in his neighbourhood though, so he decided to find a decent pub in Venice Beach. Grabbing his latest duster, Spike left the apartment and jumped on his bike.

Parking his bike by the boardwalk, he wandered the surrounding streets for a while to get a feel for the place again. L.A. seemed to get pissed early, cause there were a hell of a lot of birds out in miniskirts, barely balancing on their pumps. He spotted one girl being dragged willingly into an alley by a bloke paler than he was, which was saying something. Bloody hell. A White Hat’s work was never done.

Following lazily behind the two, Spike entered the blind-ended alley about twenty feet behind them. The vamp had the girl pressed into a brick wall and was doing the sniff and nibble along her neck. He smiled sadly to himself. He had always liked the sniff and nibble.

“Mind if I join the party, mate?” Spike smirked.

“Fuck off you pervert!” The vamp shot back.

“Um, yeah! Oh my gosh. This is a private moment!” The girl added.

“Death always is,” Spike countered with growing irritation.

“Wha-?”

Before she could finish the word, the vamp was in game face and lunging towards her neck.

“Ahh! Hel-!”

Spike didn’t let her finish that word either. With dizzying speed, he grabbed the vamp by the neck and flung him across the narrow alley into the opposite wall - watching him slump to the ground like a sack of garbage.

He looked back at the whimpering chit. “Sober up and go home,” he chastised her. “And don’t follow blokes into dark alleys, you nit. No, on second thought, do whatever the hell you want, but at least know what you’re in for.”

The girl wasted no time in running away, leaving one broken pump behind.

Spike leisurely walked to where the vampire was rallying himself for a fight and couldn’t help but laugh out loud. It was so much funnier when the bloke actually thought he had a chance. Depressing, really, when he knew he didn’t.

Letting out his demon, Spike waited for the vamp to charge him, before tripping the vamp as he lunged, sending him flying to hit the first wall again.

“This is like vamp ping pong!” He cackled.

Enraged, the vamp approached more slowly this time, growling for good measure, and threw a right hook at Spike’s cheek. Spike wasn’t sure how much faster he had gotten over the years, but he marveled at the swing. It looked to be in slow motion. Cupping the vamp's fist with his left, he countered with the right heel of his palm, crushing the vamp’s nasal bones into the base of his brain. It may not kill a vamp, but it would render him bloody stupid for the rest of his life. The vamp screamed in pain, clutching the sides of his head with both hands.

“Sorry mate, let me do that for you.” Spike clutched the sides of the vamp’s head with both hands and twisted until he was dust.

Wiping his hands clean of dust and still in game face, Spike turned to find two Slayers blocking the exit to the alley. Bloody hell. Sometimes his unlife really sucked.

“Ladies, this really isn’t a good time for me,” he said wearily. There was no point in getting rid of his bumpies now that they’d seen them, but he shifted to his human face anyway.

"Well, we could always come back and stake you later, vampire, but we've got dinner reservations at nine."

So the red-headed one had a bit of spunk. Turning to the brunette, the red-head whispered, "Carla, I’ll take him head-on. You approach a second later from his blind side.”

“Are you fuckin’ serious?” He was too dismayed to laugh at their stupidity. “You do realize that vamps have superior hearing?”

The girls looked to each other, clearly embarrassed by their error.

Shaking his head and scratching at his temple, Spike thought about how best to get rid of the girls without hurting one of them.

“Alright. Carla, Ginger there had an alright plan. You can go with it, and get your arses handed to you, or you can show me your arses as you walk away now. Cause really, I'm not in the mood to hurt you at the moment. I don’t kill girls anymore, ladies. As a matter of fact, I don’t kill humans.”

“You think we’re stupid or something?” The red-head asked.

“Well, yeah.”

“Sal, something tells me we shouldn't mess with this one right now," Carla whispered, despite knowing Spike could hear. "Not without back-up, anyway."

“Are you kidding me, Carla? He’s one vamp! There’s two of us! Sonny would laugh at us for a month!”

“Alright, hold on there, Ginger. Carla’s right, and I’m betting Carla’s been a Slayer a bit longer than you, and will still be one when you’re in a bloody box, cause she's not nearly as dense."

The red-head looked at Carla then, as if considering the truth of his words.

Less irritated, Spike continued: "Look, you're Slayers. You’re not invincible. Just because you have a destiny or whatever, doesn’t mean you’re destined to win every fight." Pausing for effect, he continued in a quieter voice: "You’re gonna die ladies, and it’s not gonna happen because you’re weak. It’s gonna happen because you’re arrogant on the wrong bloody day.”

The girls looked at each other for several moments.

Spike sighed. "For the last bloody time, I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m not gonna hurt anybody – uh, any human body that is. I’m just out for a stroll and a drink."

Still no response from the two. Balls. Did he really have to go there?

"Fine. You don’t believe me? Ask Angel, then.”

“Angel?” Carla repeated.

“Yeah, you know ‘em, I’m sure. Everybody does." Media whore.

Carla nodded that they did.

“Yeah, well, we’re friends." That made him wince. "Uh, more like frenemies. Point being, we’re on the same side, which means I’m on yours.”

The girls relaxed their fighting stances and lowered their stakes, but didn't move from blocking the alley exit.

“Well ladies, it's been fun - considering nobody's ruptured a spleen - but I’ve got places to be. You’ve seen my face. Go ask Angel about me. If I’m lying, well, I’ll be around. Find me and we’ll dance. Maybe I’ll teach you a few moves.” Too impatient to wait for them to make up their minds, Spike walked straight towards them - eyes looking beyond them, shoulders and arms relaxed.

He was pleased to see them part to let him through.


* * *

Spike was on his fourth bourbon at a demon pub in Venice Beach, wondering if Angel would out him to the Slayers and what that would mean for his unlife, when he caught a conversation between two vamps at the end of the bar.

“Twenty G, man. For each girl you get. Unbelievable.”

“I don't get it. What’s so hard about snatching a girl?”

“I know! I guess the other vamps sent there weren’t up to it. Somethin’ about a Slayer being there.”

“Just one bitch?” the second asked. “Hell, L.A. is crawlin’ with them.”

“I know, right. But I’m hoping Marco and the fellas see the pointy end of a stick tonight, so me and Johnny can have a go. We could head to Santa Lucia tomorrow night, hit the local clubs, snatch three girls, drop 'em off at the house, get paid, and head to Vegas, baby!”

“Three girls. Man, that’s sixty thousand. Maybe you could cut me in. You could use the back-up if there’s a pretty tough Slayer there.”

“True. Twenty G is better than a stake. You’re in. Let’s just hope we’re needed. She only needs three more girls, and if Marco got the job done, no pay day.”

Spike had heard enough. That was the great thing about vamps – embarrassing too. They were the most indiscreet demons on the planet. So some demon woman was paying vamps to snatch girls. Might be for the sex trade. Ritual sacrifice, perhaps, but that typically called for just one. Whatever the fuck her plan was, it ended tonight.

Spike couldn’t remember ever having been to Santa Lucia. It was one of those sleepy towns not worth going to, but in between two that were, so you may have passed through it and forgot it just as quick. It was only about an hour’s drive north. If he left the bar now, he could be there in forty minutes at the speed he rode. Then he'd kill the demon bitch, steal the cash, save the girls, and head to Vegas, baby. A night in Vegas for some poker and R&R wasn’t a bad plan after all. Only one, lonely Slayer? He'd manage her like a hand job - eyes closed and one-fisted. He’d be back in L.A. the next night. A little mission of his own making was just what Spike needed to take his mind off waiting for the Dragvloks to make their move.

Maybe it would take his mind off how lonely he was too.

Take his mind off of her.


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Author's note: Reviews = manna. Please feed me.