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*Squishy hugs* to Megan for the beta!

Thank you to: zanthinegirl, Karyn, eve, kim, Spikes Slayer2, Cherie, maryperk, alexpallex, redwulf50, jl1980, Verda, vladt, golddrake, Esther, mamadd, Jessica, Elizabeth Anne Summers, Lou, Joan and harvestmoon for the wonderful reviews!

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Deliverance
By angelic_amy


Chapter 3: Despondent


“Table six are still waitin’ for their chow. Hurry it up Anne, or it’s comin’ outta yer paycheque.”

Buffy tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and grabbed the dishes from underneath the heat lamps. She hissed in pain when the hot plates began to burn her fingertips. Even though she’d been working in the diner for over a month now, Buffy still sometimes forgot to protect her hand with a cloth when carrying heated plates. Too late to turn back now, the greasies directed her way from the cook and the waiting diners was incentive enough to endure the sting.

Pasting an apologetic half-smile on her face, she placed the meals on the table and moved away before anything else could be asked of her.

Instead of helping Candy—the other waitress on duty—with her section as she normally did, Buffy disappeared into the kitchen and made her way toward the staff sink. Knowing she only had a few minutes before she’d be called onto the floor again, she turned on the taps and ran cold water over her hands.

“Anne, clean up in your section,” the cook bellowed.

With a sigh, Buffy dried her hands off and returned to work.

~*~*~

For hours Spike paced the sewer systems of downtown LA, like a lion caged at the zoo. The urge to be out, to roam free, to be the very cause of death, destruction and chaos was a need that simmered all day long. For that was what confined him. Daylight. The sun mocked him, shone its bright blinding light down upon the robotic mirror-imaged synthetic inhabitants of the wretched city.

His own description of the wannabe stars and singers was enough to turn his own stomach.

Nothing was pure in this place. Everything was tainted. Injected, snorted, swallowed, sliced or pumped—the whole town was as fake as one of Darla’s insipid smiles.

Everything that is, except for her.

The Slayer.

Spike suppressed a groan of frustration.

If it weren’t for spying the pint-sized warrior in that alleyway last night, LA would’ve been old news, dust on his tires as his car squealed out of Plastic City. And his crown jewels would’ve been spared an assault. And for what reason was he so viciously attacked? Innuendo. A few suggestive comments and a thrust of his hips was apparently all it took to warrant grievous bodily harm at the hands—or more specifically knee—of the slayer. Didn’t seem fair.

What had happened to common courtesy? A man’s dangly bits used to be off limits, a low blow metaphorically speaking. A line had been crossed and Spike was going to make sure the one responsible paid for her mistake.

“Bitch will get what’s comin’ to her.”

A pleasing image formed in his mind, making a smile curl his lips. The slayer in his arms, limp and pathetic and beaten, fear in her eyes and her blood on his lips and tongue.

The fantasy was enough to reignite his hunger.

Buffy Summers would rue the day she met Spike.

~*~*~

“And get us ‘nother mug o’ coffee, darlin’.”

With a nod, Buffy slipped her order pad into the pocket of her apron and turned to fill the request. The slap of meaty fingers on her backside as she moved was enough to quicken her pace, a grimace of disgust manifesting physically and causing her to shudder with revulsion. If she didn’t need this job for the measly amount of money it paid—money that kept a roof over her head—Buffy would’ve responded somehow.

What great pleasure she would take in putting the greasy patron in his place. A glare with enough fire to make a Fyral demon cower in fear should do the trick. Followed by a string of curse words she had picked up from the colourful nightlife she’d encountered during her former days as the Slayer. Then, to just tie things off neatly, she’d tear the disgusting man’s arms from his sockets and beat him senseless with the appendages so he’d never be able to belittle another waitress again.

Buffy blinked.

Wow, that imagery was really satisfying, in a scary bring out your inner sociopath sort of way.

The aforementioned mug of caffeine was poured into a fresh mug, so that she could deliver it and leave before the sleaze had an opportunity to go with the grabby again. A trick she’d picked up from one of her former co-workers—the closest she’d had to a friend since she’d left Sunnydale.

Of course, now thinking of the former possible would-be friend reminded her of the actual ones she’d left behind. Even if she’d been feeling the teeniest amount of happiness at all, the guilt of her sudden departure from her friends, her family, and her calling would’ve been more than enough to drown it. Since happiness and Buffy could no longer even be considered acquaintances, it wasn’t an issue.

Knowing that her life no longer included any sort of fun or friendship—and likely never would again—was really depressing.

A huh-humph from across the diner shook her from the momentary daze she’d been lost to and Buffy obediently trotted over to the table and delivered the coffee.

She hadn’t even the will to secretly spit in the drink.

A few weeks ago this would’ve reduced her to tears. Not anymore. Buffy was cried out and done caring. In a twisted sort of way she was almost thankful for the inappropriate contact on her person. It put her in her place; reminded her of what she’d lost and would be without from now on. Fun, happiness, friends, love: these things that she’d taken for granted before...they belonged to people that were not of the Buffy shape.

With a sigh, she returned to work.

~*~*~

In the shadows, he waited. And watched. He seethed with unbridled anger for her past transgressions, yet was eager with anticipation for what tonight’s encounter promised.

The thorn was going to be plucked.

But first she had to be found.

Spike knew she worked at a diner; the uniform gave that away. It was hard to miss, the attire so completely different to what she normally wore on patrol. Having only ever seen her in street clothes, the contrast was obvious. Who’d have thought he’d discover a latent appreciation for the skintight leather trousers she used to wear? Not that the shortened length of the waitressing outfit didn’t have its perks. Spike wasn’t blind; the feisty blonde was easy on the eyes. Since the chance meeting last night allowed him more flesh to flesh contact with a female than he’d been afforded since that blasted organ had dropped on his head many months ago, he’d been mentally appreciating the carnal appeal of the Slayer more and more.

Why she was working here and not back in Sunnyhell with her chums had crossed his mind once. You can’t exactly live on fumes in LA and she doesn’t look the type to fall to the streets, but that still didn’t explain her change of residence. It was a thought he pushed out of his mind immediately, he had much more important things to think about. Like imagining what she was wearing beneath that skimpy uniform.

Over the course of the many hours trapped underground, imagining all the nasty little things he could do with that body had proved to be a frustrating if enticing way of passing the time. It also changed the intended outcome of the evening’s mission.

This was a capture, not a kill.

Locating the exact diner the Slayer worked at had been harder than he’d first anticipated. Though he’d never admit it aloud, she wasn’t stupid. There was no way she would be working too great a distance from where she lived, especially as if she travelled to and from her place of employment on foot.

So that meant checking the diners in the immediate area where he’d encountered her last night. A five block radius should have done the trick. Spike had expected four, five, ten diners’ maximum in that area.

Twenty-five later, he finally found her.

Now he waited. Killing time like he once planned killing her. Spike bounced on the balls of his feet. Fidgeted with his lighter. Ate a drunk, then finished off the corpse’s bottle of whiskey. Cigarette butts littered the ground like confetti as a result of his chain smoking. He surprised himself with his own patience—something he was not commonly known for. In the past, it was his inability to wait that had foiled his plans. So as much as it annoyed him—knowing he could easily walk into that diner and slaughter all the humans before stealing his prize—Spike remained still. Like a spider preparing to ensnare its prey. A predator was what he was, and predators studied their soon-to-be victims. It’s what he’d done when he and Dru had first arrived in Sunnydale. Thoughts of his former beloved soured his mood somewhat, increasing his desire to possess the Slayer, in every sense of the word.

Drusilla was gone to him the moment she’d regained consciousness, the night he made the pact with the Slayer to take down Angelus. She’d awoken with a start, shrieking and wailing like a banshee for her lost sire. Apparently the Slayer had killed him and in that moment, Spike vowed never to underestimate her again. When he’d played the supportive lover card, she’d gone ballistic. Grasped the steering wheel of the Desoto and wrenched with all her might.

When they were driving at over sixty miles an hour.

Spike’s baby, his pride and joy, his beloved car, flipped and rolled a half dozen times before coming to a complete halt on its roof. Drusilla was thrown through the windscreen and immediately knocked unconscious again. She eventually came to and when she did, she didn’t even spare her partner of the last hundred years a thought—even though he pleaded with her—as she took off into the fleeting night. Spike was trapped inside the vehicle, pinned amongst the wreckage. There he remained for hours, the promise of sunrise and the death it would bring him the only guarantee. Countless times he cursed himself for taking a back road instead of the freeway.

If it weren’t for that passing motorist and his tasty family, Spike’s un-life would’ve been cut short.

That likely tragedy would have meant some other vampire could have likely stolen his bragging rights of bagging the Slayer-cum-waitress. And that wouldn’t do.

She untied her apron and he grinned like a Cheshire.

Time to play.

~*~*~

The back door to the diner shut with a loud clang, breaking the creepy silence of the alleyway, but Buffy barely even noticed it. Like every other night, she was just relieved to be out of there. Away from the sleazy guys who grabbed at her behind as she walked by their tables. Crap money, horrible treatment from customers and staff alike—it was a wonder she hadn’t cracked and done something. Like hitting someone.

You could always quit, but then you’d have no rent money, no food, would get kicked out onto the street and is it really that bad? A job’s a job, right?

It was a nightly routine, trying to convince herself not to give in. Never surrender… that motto was famous for a reason, right?

A blast of cool air hit Buffy right in the chest and immediately went through her thin cotton uniform, eliciting a shiver as gooseflesh rose on her arms and her nipples peaked. That was when she realised she’d left her jacked at the diner. She contemplated turning around to retrieve the extra layer, and then decided against it. If she went back, they’d probably just find something else for her to do and then she’d never get any rest. Buffy folded her arms over her chest in a feeble attempt to stave off the chill, even though it provided protection from the cold. All she wanted to do was return to the shoebox for a sleep—one that was long and uninterrupted by dreams of her former life. She didn’t think it was so much to ask, not that she believed she’d be granted her wish.

A familiar shiver ran up her spine.

Buffy knew who it was, could feel his eyes upon her as she walked. But she didn’t stop. Stopping would lead to a confrontation and she really didn’t want to get into anything right now. She wasn’t in the mood for this. Wasn’t in the mood for anything, really. Life without Angel, without her friends, without her mom, it didn’t seem worth living.

“Ssslaayerrr.”

That’s not Spike!

Buffy spun around…

…to find at least a dozen vampires closing in on her.

Oh crap…

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A/N: And that’s chapter three! Hope you liked.

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