full 3/4 1/2   skin light dark       
 
Deliverance by angelic_amy
 
Truce
 
<<     >>
 


*hugs* to Megan for betaing.

Thank you to: VICTORIA, Esther, Jessica, vladt, Deb, DreamsofSpike, Shanna, Spikes Slayer2, Pam S, Lou, Verda, nighshift, Kim and Elizabeth Anne Summers for the lovely reviews!

I know I've been a little slack with the updates lately, so if you want to kick my butt when I get behind join my updates list here: angelic_amy_fic.



Chapter 7: Truce


Sleep was near impossible. After leaving the message on Giles’ answering machine, all Buffy could think about was the possible heartache her action had caused. What if Giles and the others had begun to move on with their lives? What if they were getting used to her not being there, and now she’d gone along and ruined the peace by leaving an unwanted message on his machine? Buffy knew her thoughts were ridiculous. Despite the disappointment Giles obviously felt over her inability to defeat Angelus when she’d had the opportunity, she knew he hadn’t wanted her gone. Hadn’t wanted her to leave. No, it had been her mother who’d kicked her out of home.

An anguished sob tore from her lips.

She couldn’t keep doing this to herself, couldn’t keep re-living the past and wondering ‘what if’. Playing the blame game was not going to allow her to move on with her semblance of a life. She needed to clear her thoughts and focus on the good—however miniscule—that was still left.

Patrolling had always been the best way to clear her mind of erroneous thoughts in the past. And despite her earlier run in with the bleached annoyance and the gang of mystery vampires, Buffy decided that’s exactly what she’d do. The fresh air would do her good—the trick would be finding anything resembling fresh in LA.

She sighed.

Since the sandman obviously wasn’t about to pay her a visit anytime soon, even breathing in smoggy air was a better alternative than being locked inside with only her thoughts for company.

And who knows, she might even find a decent fight along the way.

Decided, Buffy threw back the covers and slipped out of bed.

She had an urge to punch something, and even if it took all night to accomplish, that’s exactly what she’d do.

~*~*~


Thirty minutes and four dead fledglings later Buffy was beginning to feel like something that vaguely resembled normal. It was a nice change from the suck-fest of the last… forever since leaving Sunnydale. Who’d have thought the reason for her banishment from home in the first place would be the one thing to offer her any sort of solace?

Stifling a yawn, Buffy resolved to head back to bed for some sleep. She’d lessened the vampire population of LA slightly, which in turn made the streets marginally safer. Job accomplished.

A familiar sting of guilt worked its way around her heart but she pushed it away. There would be no more looking back, no more regret—only the here and now. She was going to make the most of the cards fate had dealt her.

The chill of night was beginning to ease, signalling the coming of day. Her bed beckoned her and the thought of curling up among the blankets for the better part of the day was incredibly appealing. But daybreak also indicated the start of the working day, something she’d happily avoid if possible. Buffy screwed her nose up in disgust. The diner was barely tolerable on the best of days. Trying to pull a double shift on no sleep, she might as well sign her death sentence. Cranky Buffy and grabby-handed customers would not equal good.

Momentarily she toyed with the thought of calling in sick, and was seriously considering it when she saw a newspaper stand. There, printed in the corner of a newspaper, was her salvation. The date. It was her day off, the one and only she’d have to herself for the next ten or so days.

Bliss!

Determined to not waste another minute, she quickly made her way toward her apartment and the promised satisfaction of sleep.

~*~*~


Spike had lost count of how many bars he’d been thrown out of. This latest was the last in a long line of many. They were all the same, would serve him a couple drinks—despite his obvious inebriation—until something would get him tossed out on his ass. Mostly, his mouth. Spike would be the first to admit his foot was regularly acquainted with said orifice, but could you really blame a guy for inappropriate comments when a girl had just rejected him? And not just any girl, either; he’d been rejected by the girl… the Chosen One. With her golden hair and sparkling eyes, her scathing quips and kissable lips.

Buffy lips…

Spike roared in frustration, pissed off at the gentle turn of his thoughts, and smashed his fist into the nearest object. Which just happened to be a brick wall.

“Bloody, buggerin’ fuck!”

He danced—or rather swayed—about on the spot, shaking his hand in an attempt to restore it to its former pain free status. All he managed to accomplish was to splatter the blood from his knuckles all over his jeans. Lifting the injured hand to his lips, he suckled the wound until the seeping blood slowed and began to clot.

When exactly—during his innumerable alcohol beverages—he’d suddenly decided the slayer had kissable lips was beyond him. He didn’t want to kiss her; he wanted to kill her. That’s what vampires did to slayers, they killed them. He’d killed two already, a third should be a cinch.

The thought of said slayer lying dead at his feet sent a wave of nausea throughout him so swiftly he scrabbled for something to hold onto as he retched.

What the bleedin’ hell is wrong with me?

He was saved from more in depth contemplation of that thought when a very familiar scent caught his attention. Something specific, something innately…

“Buffy.”

Spike stumbled out of the alleyway, looking up one end of the street and scanning for the elusive blonde and then repeated the action the other way. Just when he thought he’d imagined it, he saw her. Head tucked down, arms around her waist, walking briskly down the street and away from him.

Spike growled. Consciously he knew she wasn’t intentionally turning her back on him, but in his intoxicated state all he cared about was the fact she was there and she wasn’t paying him due attention.

“Hey!” he shouted, stumbling off in her direction.

~*~*~


“Hey!”

A wave of familiarity rolled over Buffy as the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. There was only person with timing this bad.

“Not now, please not now,” she begged toward the heavens.

“Oi Slayer, ‘m talkin’ to you.”

Buffy grit her teeth as she turned around. “And I should care because?”

Spike growled in irritation. “I saved your bony ass in that alley, or has that experience been forgotten?”

“Saved me?” Buffy scoffed, folding her arms over her chest. “I was holding my own, thank you very much.”

Now it was Spike’s turn to scoff. “What was the grand plan, kitten? Mock them to death?” He was quite pleased with his ability to string along actual sentences despite his drunkenness. “You know, if you paid more attention to the actual fighting aspect of the tussle, and less to running your pretty little mouth off you’d—”

Buffy’s fist shot out and connected with Spike’s jaw. A string of curses left the vampire’s mouth but Buffy paid them no heed. “Shut them up? Get the upper hand? Get them to back the hell off unless they want a dusty ending,” she finished with a snarl.

“Like you could,” Spike sneered, leaning in close.

Buffy’s expression was one of distaste. “My god you stink!”

“Do not!”

“You reek of alcohol. What did you do, go swimming in a vat of beer?”

“’t’s none of your business.”

“Oh, right. So I’m expected to accept your little lecture on ‘how to win a fight’ from a guy who can barely stand straight?” She tilted her head to the side in mock thoughtfulness. “Spike, have you ever heard of this new fangled concept we humans like to call personal hygiene?

“Sorry love, lost me at ‘fang’.” Spike grinned.

“Whatever,” Buffy waved off. “You’re pathetic and not worth my time.”

I’m the one who’s pathetic?” Spike roared incredulously. “I’m not the one who hightailed it out of Sunnydale, abandoned her duties and ditched her friends when her honey-bear met the pointy end of a sword.”

Spike’s words had the desired effect, a pained gasp colouring the air.

“Did you make him beg before you ended his pitiful existence?” Spike taunted as he prowled closer to the currently immobilised and shaking slayer. “Did you shed a tear for your precious Angel before he was sucked into the bowels of hell?”

“You bastard.”

“Never claimed to be a nice man, love.”

“You’re not a man at all,” Buffy hissed angrily, intent on flaying him with her words just as he’d done to her. She wore her heart on her sleeve and it made her an easy target. From previous experience she knew Spike was cut from the same cloth. “You’re a sorry excuse for a vampire and I’ll bet you were just as pathetic before you were turned.”

Spike’s eyes blazed with fury. “Why you ungrateful little bitch. I should’ve left you to die.”

“When?” Buffy demanded. “You can’t mean back in Sunnydale, because we both know exactly how useless you were in that fight.” A pained expression flashed through her eyes, and Buffy drew on the anguish, strengthening herself. “You must mean in the alley.” She laughed, the tinkling of her mirth drenched in sarcasm.

“You didn’t save me from them. It wasn’t a good deed or an act of heroism. You ‘saved me’,” she mocked, rolling her eyes before continuing, “for purely selfish reasons.”

“Selfish?”

Another humourless laugh followed Buffy’s nod. “You just didn’t want your little prize claimed by another member of the fang gang. Cos you’re the big bad, right? I’m the slayer, your slayer. Your’s to kill, when… no if you ever get the guts to do it, that is.”

She was treading on thin ice without a care to the consequences. Because she knew she was right. How many times had they battled in the past? How many times had there been opportunities for Spike to finish her off? Several. Buffy was by no means the perfect slayer; she had faults, she was sloppy, she let emotion drive her instead of her training, and she dropped her guard countless times.

In fact, she’d pretty much handed herself up on a plate not four hours ago, and what had he done? He’d bitten her, yes. But it had not been the savage bite she’d been expecting. The pain had been almost non-existent, the reaction his bite had drawn from her something she was still mortified about and would deny, vehemently, if questioned. That was beside the point; the fact of the matter was, she’d given in. Buffy had delivered her neck to Spike. It may have been under the guise of an escape but for a moment there she’d toyed with the idea of letting go. For the briefest amount of time she’d reconciled herself to death and almost wished Spike would finish the job, end her pitiful existence.

What sort of vampire turns down that down?

A stupid one… her mind suggested, and she snorted her amusement.

“Right, Spike?” she taunted.

Little did Buffy know the effect her words were having on Spike. On one hand he wanted to tear her limb from limb for daring to question his reputation. On the other, his demon was rejoicing. She’d basically announced his ownership of her, and the rejection he’d felt earlier at her lack of response to his claim faded away.

Your slayer… claimed… yours…

“Mine,” he growled, his eyes trailed her neck before settling on her lips.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Get this into your thick, bleach-affected skull. I’m not yours, Spike. And I never will be.”

For a second there was nothing. Then a blink. A blink followed quickly by another, before his face contorted into pure unrestrained fury. She’d rejected him, I>again. His face shifted into vampire form without warning.

“I saved you!” he proclaimed furiously. “I backed you up when you had no one else to turn to. And this is how you repay me?”

“Who says I have a debt to pay?” Buffy retorted. “You’re just a vampire. The enemy. I don’t owe you anything.”

Spike roared in fury and rushed at her.

Prepared for his attack, Buffy stepped to the side at the last second, delivering a knock out kick to his head as he dove past.

Spike dropped to the ground, out cold.

“That was surprisingly easy,” she murmured, pushing away the hint of disappointment that arose.

He was down for the count, she could continue home without worrying if he’d follow her. In this moment she knew she could finish it. Just remove the stake from her pocket and be done with him. The thought of stabbing him the back, literally, while he was unconscious and unable to defend himself twisted her insides uncomfortably. She couldn’t do it. Maybe she could just leave him there, he’d wake up eventually and stumble off to wherever he was staying, right?

Buffy looked up at the horizon, the pink hues highlighting the pending sunrise. Now she was questioning herself again. Could she just leave him here? Just let the sun take care of what her cowardice could not? She sighed, a deep resigned sigh. Apparently not. Despite her protestations to the contrary he had helped her out. The likelihood of escaping that alleyway alive—without an intervention of some sort—would have been slim. He deserved better than this.

She’d stash him somewhere until he woke up and then stake him.

That thought made her feel marginally better.

Knowing she only had a little time before the choice would be taken from her hands Buffy resigned herself to her decision. Bending down she grabbed hold of Spike’s hands and began to drag him down the street toward her apartment, blocking out the multitude of reasons why she should not be doing this from invading her mind.

She would worry about second guessing herself much, much later, after some rest.

Until then Spike would have to deal with being tied up in her bathtub.





A/N: I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I'd love to hear your thoughts.

 
<<     >>