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West of the Moon, East of the Sun by KnifeEdge
 
Chapter 16: Cold Snap
 
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Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all recognizable characters, locations, and dialogue belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the various writers. Show writers and any other quoted authors have been credited in individual chapters. I'm making no money from this—it is purely in the name of fun.

Credits: More original stuff.

Betaed by Phuriedae

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Chapter 16

Cold Snap


"Spike wants to be useful? How...," Giles frowns as he polishes his glasses.

"Bizarre?" I suggest.

"Quite," he says. "I had suggested to him... well, it was quite some time ago, not long after he'd gotten the chip, as a matter of fact, that h-he might have some higher purpose. Perhaps a chance to be something more than just a ...vampire."

"Spike?"

"Yes, well, it seemed a good suggestion at the time. However, he was rather emphatic about his antipathy." Giles pauses as he rearranges books on the shelf. You can take the librarian out of the library, but you can't.. well... "He has helped a bit, recently. When he brought me the Mara demon—"

"What? I thought Riley brought it over for you to look at?" I'm surprised. Riley never said anything about not taking it over, and I'd just assumed when Giles talked about it that he had.

"No, Spike brought it by. Barged right in and dropped it on my couch, as a matter of fact," he said. "H-he was quite insistent about knowing what it was, too. I paid him, then he became angry and left."

Huh.

"He got angry that you paid him?"

"What?" Giles looks up, his eyes a little blurred like they get when he's particularly deep in thought. "Oh, no. I'm not certain why he was angry, exactly."

"VMS," I say with a shrug.

"Pardon?"

"Like... you know, PMS, only for Vampires? He's always moody." Giles looks like he's going to choke.

"Ah, well, yes... I-I just wonder if, as volatile as he is, if he might not be more of a liability than... asset."

He's got a point. And this is Spike we're talking about.

"In addition," he goes on, "there's the matter of the chip. Even if it is... er... modifying his behavior, should it ever stop working there's no guarantee that he might not revert to form. It's much like putting a mass murderer in jail, I would think. I'm not sure that he could be... rehabilitated to such an extent that it would overcome his natural instincts and urges. He is a predator, Buffy."

"I know," I say. "A really annoying predator. Like a hyena—only you know, not, because I so don't need another hyena pack on my hands. But what if Tara and M—what if she's right? What if he is changing?"

"I'm not sure we can take that chance, Buffy," Giles says. "Perhaps, in time, if he proves himself..."

"Yeah. Although, some extra muscle now and then might not be so bad," I point out.

He gives me a searching look. "Use your best judgment, Buffy. Just don't forget that, at heart, Spike is a killer. More importantly, he's a killer with a taste for Slayers."

"Oh, believe me," I say, thinking of the conversation I had with Spike at the Bronze a few months back, and the look on his face when he described killing that Chinese Slayer. "Got that message loud and clear."

***


With Christmas over and no major demon activity happening, the days sort of start to blend together. During the day I run errands for mom, get ready for school to start, and train at the Magic Box. At night, Mr. Gordo and I spar. It's the day before New Years Eve when it suddenly hits me: Riley's not coming back.

I'm sitting in the Magic Box, chatting with Willow and Xander, about to go in the back room to workout... and suddenly I know.

"Oh," I say, staring at the hand wraps I'm holding loosely. "Oh."

"What oh?" Willow asks, looking concerned.

"Oh," I say again, because, really what do you say when you realize something like that? "He's... he's gone, isn't he?"

And then there are tears.

Riley’s gone. We’ll never spar again, or go dancing at the Bronze. He’ll never meet up with me to go patrolling. He won’t be waiting for me when I get home, or stopping by the Magic Box to see if I want to hang out. And, so, yeah, maybe we hadn’t done a lot of that stuff in a while and maybe when we did it wasn’t always that great, but... he was still here. I wasn’t alone.

And tomorrow night is New Years Eve and they say that the person you’re with on New Years is the person you’re going to be with for the rest of the year, right? Only Riley’s not here, and he’s not gonna be here. I’m going to be alone, just like I always am.

Willow hugs me and Xander looks uncomfortable in that I-don't-know-what-to-do-with-a-crying-Buffy way.

"It'll be okay," Willow says. "You...you'll see. Maybe... maybe he'll really miss it here and want to come back. You've just..." She looks at Xander helplessly.

"Give it time, Buff," he says. "I know it hurts but..."

He doesn't say what we're both thinking. He doesn’t say that Riley’s not coming back, that I blew it. We don't talk about that night in the warehouse. He doesn't say that I didn't love Riley enough to keep him, and I don't say that he's right.

Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt, though.

***


New Years is pretty awful in that fifth-wheel kinda way. The Bronze is packed, and my friends are having a blast dancing. Xander dances with me a couple of times, though I can tell he’s only doing it because Anya let him. I end up leaving before midnight, telling the others that I need some fresh air. I think they know that I’m thinking of Riley, because they don’t argue.

The walk home is cold, and my eyes water the whole way.

When I get in, Mom’s asleep already. Her medicine tends to make her tired easily. I think about staying up and watching the ball drop in Times Square on TV, but in the end I give up and go to bed.

Mr. Gordo is waiting for me. We spar, and for awhile, everything is okay.

***


The cold snap we're under is looking more and more like it's going to stick around. At night, on patrol, I have to bundle up more than usual. The vampires, of course, don't really care about the cold, though most of the demons don't seem to like it any more than I do. Mostly I catch them when they're trying to start fires in trash cans to keep warm. I can't really blame them. At about one in the morning a trash can fire sounds like a really good idea.

Mom waits up most nights with hot chocolate at the ready for when I get in. You know, there's something to be said for still living at home.

“How was patrol?” she asks me one night, while I’m trying to thaw my fingers around my mug.

“Boring,” I say. “Cold. Even the vampires are smart enough not to come out in this weather.”

“Couldn’t you take the night off?” she asks. “I’m sure Mr. Giles wouldn’t mind, since it’s so cold.”

“No such luck. Did you know that there were three Slayers in Siberia? Before thermal underwear?” I ask, swirling my mug a little and watching the foam on it twist into weird patterns.

She laughs, then studies me over the rim of her own mug. “You miss Riley,” she says, after a minute. Maybe moms have x-ray vision. Or mind reading powers.

“I just... I know it used to annoy me, having to watch out for him on patrol, but...I miss the company,” I say. “Is that wrong?”

“No,” she says. “It’s just human.” She sighs, then smiles. "You ready for school to start next week?"

Oh. Yay. Subject change.

"I never thought I'd say this, but... bring on the books," I say. "Willow, Tara, and I went and picked up our textbooks today. Oh! And I got color coordinated notebooks." And I’m not going to think about the fact that I met Riley in the bookstore and almost killed him when I dropped a pile of Psych books on his head.

Well, I’m not going to think about it much.

Maybe that was a bad omen.

"Scholarly fashion never goes out of style," she says. "I'm so sorry you had to miss so much school last semester, honey."

"Not me," I say, and mean it. "I would have spent all my class time worrying. I'm glad I stayed home with you. Besides, it was nice having Mom-Buffy-Bonding Time."

"Still," she says, "you must be excited about your new classes."

"Yep. I'm re-taking history from last semester. I never figured I'd be into all those dates and names but its kinda fascinating. And I've got this history of art course with Tara. Oh, and poetry."

"Poetry, Buffy?" She looks surprised.

"I happen to like poetry,” I tell her. “It's kinda romantic. And short. I like short, romantic things."

***


"Spike, what are you doing?" I ask the next night when I find him on patrol.

"Patrolling," he says, not even bothering to look at me.

"Since when does patrolling mean sitting on top of a crypt and scribbling in some old book?" His head comes up quick and his eyes narrow.

"This old thing?" he says, holding it up.

I roll my eyes. "Never mind," I tell him. "Probably your Evil To Do list or something."

"Not exactly," he says, swinging his legs over the edge of the mausoleum and jumping down lightly beside me. "Want a peek?"

"At something of yours? Never," I tell him. ‘Cause looking at Spike’s stuff is totally out of the question.

And I’m so not thinking about his abs. That would be wrong.

He's scowling at me now, back in full Bad Ass mode. Thank God.

"One of these days, Slayer, you're gonna open up your eyes and see what's right in front of your face.”

"Vampire," I tell him.

"What?"

"Vampire," I say again, pulling out my stake.

He takes a wild step back to get out of arms’ reach and runs right into the vampire that was rushing up behind him.

"See?" I tell him, shoving him out of the way and punching the new guy. The vampire goes flying back, then bounces to its feet. It rushes at me again, and I kick it, just as Spike pops back up. He spins it around and punches it a couple of times, then pushes it towards me. I stake it as it comes my way and watch as it crumbles to dust.

Spike snorts and kicks the grass where it landed. "Stupid git," he says.

"Huh?" Shouldn't he be like, sympathetic toward his dead... relation?

"Fledges don't have the brains they were born with," he says. "Should've been able to sense me halfway across the bleedin' graveyard. 'Course, they'll always come after you, what with that lovely heartbeat of yours, but he should've at least hesitated."

"What? To see if you were going to eat me?" Ewwwwwww.

"Well, yeah," he says. "You don't go chasing after someone else's steak if they're about to eat it, do you?"

"So... what? Vampires have... table manners?"

He smirks. "Not baby vamps," he says. "They're sort of like baby humans. For the first twenty or thirty years they'll stick just about anything in their mouths to see what tastes good. Probably explains why Willy's doing such a boomin' business with exotic animal blood. Otter blood, by the way... disgusting. Tastes like fish." He makes a face.

"Spike..."

"Yeah?"

"This conversation is disgusting."

"Oh," he frowns. "Sorry. Just passing the time, Slayer." He falls in on my left as I start to walk away. I almost tell him to leave, but being annoyed with him sort of takes my mind off the fact that I'm freezing. And how pathetic is it that I’d rather be annoyed with Spike than cold and alone out here?

"How's your mum?" he asks.

I glance at him, surprised. "Good," I tell him. "She gets tired a lot, but not as much anymore. She's getting better."

He nods. "Glad to hear it," he says. "Wasn't right, her being sick." He sounds ... sincere, and it’s wigging me out.

"Why are we talking?" I ask.

"Better than shivering," he says.

"I didn't think vampires felt the cold," I say, confused.

"I can feel it. Just .... doesn't mean anything. Your nose is red, Slayer," he says with a grin. "And your teeth are chattering loud enough to wake the dead. Ought to be inside, night like this."

"Tell that to the other vampires," I grouch. "I've got three suspicious newbies to check out before I can go thaw."

"That new plot over in Shady Rest—Martin something-or-other—on your list?"

"Yeah," I ask suspiciously.

"Then you've only got two. I dusted him on my way back here," he says, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets and hunting up his lighter and a pack of cigarettes.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

He stops and gives me a narrow-eyed look. The flame from the Zippo lights up his face for a moment, then he exhales a stream of smoke.

"You don't," he says, finally. "But there's a bloody big hole in the ground where he clawed his way up, and a fine coating of new-fallen dust on the grass. If you want to get out your magnifying glass, Nancy Drew, go ahead and check up on it. It's your tail that's gonna freeze, not mine."

I decide I'm better off not responding to that. With a huff of breath that's almost as white as his cigarette smoke, I turn and keep going. Moving is good. Standing is bad. Standing makes Buffy toes into tiny toe-sicles. If this weather keeps up, I'm gonna need snow boots.

Maybe I'll skip Shady Rest tonight.

I finally find the new plot and sit down on a headstone to wait. The cold seeps through the stone and then through my pants, but maybe if I sit here long enough it’ll warm up. It’s a pretty night, if I can ignore the wind and the way it makes my eyes water and my nose want to run.

Glamorous, slaying is not.

Spike wanders over and studies the loose dirt and sod over the grave. Clearly bored, he bounces up and down on it a couple of times, packing the sod down tighter. I could send him away, I guess, but being out here alone sort of sucks.

"Don't think this one's coming up," he tells me after awhile. Actually I agree—no non-Spike tingles—but I'm curious as to why he thinks so.

"Maybe he's just a late riser," I say, even though I want to be right. Really, staying still is just making me shiver harder.

"Nothing moving down there," he says. "And it just smells like cold dead human."

"Ewww."

He shrugs. "Third time's the charm, right, Goldilocks? Let's go see if grave number three is just right."

***


Grave number three belongs to a big, beefy vampire who must've been a biker in life, because he's definitely still ready for a brawl. He's at least twice Spike's size (and three times mine), with a beard halfway to his belt even though someone dressed him up in his best cheap suit before burying him.

"Miss the old days," Spike comments as he punches the guy in the gut then ducks one of the vamp's meaty fists. "Used to shave corpses before burying them."

"Is that why most vamps don't have beards?" I ask, coming up beside him and aiming a high kick into Biker Vamp's solar plexus.

"Well, that, and they don't always grow back. If you've got one, you hold on to it, but most of us don't bother," he ducks again, then grabs one of Biker Vamp's big arms and twists it up behind his back. The vampire roars and swings around, flinging Spike off of him, before turning back to me.

"Somebody should have shaved ZZ Top here," I say, rolling out of his way. "That beard's pretty ratty. Who knows what's living in it? Can vampires get lice?" Suddenly I’m really glad I’m wearing a hat.

"Don't think so," Spike says with a frown, picking himself up. "Nothing for them to eat."

"I'm standing right here, you assholes," the vampire complains.

"Not anymore." I kick him hard, sending him reeling back. "Shave and a hair cut," I sing, punching him on each note.

"Two bits," Spike finishes, coming up behind Skanky and staking him through the back with the stake I dropped earlier.

"I thought it was 'shampoo'," I say, as the dust settles between us.

"Only if you're not a purist," he says with a smirk.

"Oh, like you're one to talk," I say, taking the stake and tucking it into my coat.

"Oi, English here. Least I don't butcher the language."

"Is 'oi' even a word?"

We bicker all the way back to Revello Drive, and it's not ‘til Spike wanders off that I even register the fact that I'm still cold.

***


There are moments when I miss Riley so much it's a physical ache. I try not to pass his apartment any more than I have to. I know if I look in the windows it'll be empty and cold. What few things he had he took with him, and the landlord claimed the rest. I don't even have much to remember him by, just a t-shirt he left at my place once and the few small things he gave me. I take his photos down from my bedroom mirror. They go in my keepsake box, beside Angel's ring and the other little things I've collected over the years that meant something.

There are moments when I cry, but less and less it's for the loss of Riley and more the loss of our relationship. When Angel left it was like he took a part of me with him. Riley... it's like he took away a possibility.

"Is that callous?" I ask Mr. Gordo one night when trying to explain it.

He just grunts, which I've come to figure out means that he doesn't have a yes or no answer.

"No fair," I say. "You're supposed to say 'no' and make me feel better."

Only I know he wouldn't do that. Or I don't think he would. For a vampire he's pretty honest.

My friends step around the subject as much as possible, not wanting to upset me. When we do talk about it it's in general terms. 'How are you doing?' type stuff.

Maybe men are overrated. Or maybe, you know, being the Slayer, I'm just not meant to have one. There's a depressing thought. I considered going through the Watcher's diaries again, looking for information on other Slayers and their personal relationships, but I've got a feeling I know what they'll say.

One girl in all the world.

One girl.

Not one girl and her boyfriend. Not one girl and her husband.

Heck, I'm lucky I get away with having friends.

...

Maybe I should be a nun.






 
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