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Never Ever Tell by Lilachigh
 
Chp 8 - 11
 
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Never Ever Tell by Lilachigh

Meeting 8 Moving On

The Greyhound bus dropped her off a couple of blocks from the huge old hotel. She’d heard this was where he was living in Los Angeles. It was a far cry from Sunnydale. Buffy didn’t know why she’d come. They were finished. Angel had walked away without a backward glance.

She was due to start at college soon. She should have been at home, packing, organising, gossiping to Willow, spending time with her mother before the big goodbye-I’m-leaving-home bit happened.

But she needed - what? To talk to him? What good was that going to do? She was ashamed of herself for saying she was heading out to patrol and getting on a bus for Los Angeles instead. But she was so angry that he hadn’t tried to fight harder for their future.

She’d had no chance to tell him how she felt. It was all bottled up inside her and only came out in the mad killing sprees she’d been on every evening this summer.

No, she didn’t want to talk, she just needed to see how his life was without her. She knew he’d be desperately unhappy. And that hurt her, too.

Spike leapt across the shadowy rooftops towards the hotel. Posh sort of place his grandsire was living in. Made a dirty crypt seem very second rate. But of course that was what always happened, wasn’t it? Had been happening for years. One of them got all the goodies; the girl and the easy living - even a rotten soul.

And he got - a crypt, a mad girlfriend who dumped him and a sex crazy newbie vamp who was surprised when a jewelled cross stolen from her supper burnt her skin. So why was he here? To talk? What would he say? Hey, Peaches, I’m family. Why didn’t you ask me to join your poncy detective gang?

OK, Spike thought with a flash of honesty, I wouldn’t soddin’ well join his groupies if you paid me in free blood for centuries, but...

It would have been nice to be asked. Just once. To sense that you belonged. God, how he hated him!

Buffy had stared at the front entrance of the hotel and knew she couldn’t knock and go in, unannounced. She didn’t want Angel to know she was there. She swung herself up the side of the building, climbing from ledge to ledge, found a window half open and squeezed inside.

Spike reached the roof the hotel, forced open the door to the service steps and silently strode down a long corridor towards the main stairway. He was getting irritated with himself now, spoiling for a fight, wanting to feel his fists crash into Liam’s stupid fat face.

Hidden behind a pillar, Buffy stared down into the great hall beneath her. There he was, sitting, talking to someone still hidden by the pillar. He looked - well, actually he looked fine!

No great sadness and heartache here, then. He was smiling and, even as she watched, the person he was talking to stood up and crossed to his side. Angel looked up at her and laughed. It was Cordelia.

In that split second Buffy grew up. Later she even thought she remembered a sort of click in her head when she switched from love-sick teenager to clear-eyed adult.

It didn’t prevent the tears from running down her face, but they were washing away betrayal and could do her no harm.

Spike smelt the tears before he saw her. Later he thought that was weird. Slayer blood he could understand, but he had smelt her crying.

In fact, in the dark of the following night, inside his head, the part of him called William escaped captivity and began to write a dreadful poem called Tears of a Slayer until Spike overpowered him and locked him back in his cage.

He could see Buffy now, staring down into the hall, gazing at Angel probably. Spike couldn’t have cared less. He knew if he wanted to live she mustn’t see him here. But he was too late; she turned, looked at him, her big green eyes wet with hurt.

But oddly, she didn’t go for her stake. Didn’t spit out sarcastic words or even punch him in the face. She just looked at him, as if she was somehow disappointed.

Suddenly, even though she was the Slayer and so he loathed her, it was desperately important that she didn’t think he lived here, that she knew he wasn’t part of this poxy set-up. And he could cheerfully have killed Liam for doing this to her.

“Come to fight him,” he blurted out.

For a second, a strange relief crossed her face, then she shrugged and he realised a woman was looking at him tonight, not a girl.

“Move on, Spike,” she said quietly. “Just - move on.”



Meeting 9 “Don’t Touch!”

“Will, hi!”

“Buffy? Where are you? I’ve been waiting ages.”

“Giles had to pack up some of Wesley’s books and send them back to England. But he’s sprained his wrist and gone to hospital to get it strapped up - Giles, not Wesley so I’m doing it for him.” Buffy tucked the phone under her chin and dropped another couple of dusty tomes into a box. ”Î’ll be there in half an hour.”

“OK. See you then.”

Buffy hung up and wiped her hands down her jeans. How did books get so dirty? “Maybe there’re dust demons that drift around in the air until they find a nice home on old leather covers,” she muttered.

“No such things as dust demons, Slayers,” a voice behind her said.

Buffy spun round, her hand going for the stake stuck in her waistband. Then she hesitated. Leaning against the wall was Spike. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The blond vampire raised an eyebrow. “Language, Slayer! If I told you Rupert had offered to lend me a book, would you believe me?”

Buffy looked at him in scorn. “I’m not that stupid, Spike. Giles wouldn’t give you the time of day, let alone one of his books. You’re stealing something, aren’t you? Right, clear out, before he comes home.”

Spike reached out with a dusty boot and kicked over a pile of books. “These belong to that poncy Wyndham Price?”

Buffy was getting cross. “I won’t tell you again. I don’t know why I’m letting you stand there alive.”

“Dead already, sweetheart. Very dead. Remember?”

Buffy smacked his hand away as he reached for a big red covered book on the table. “Don’t call me sweetheart. And don’t touch that!”

She grabbed at his hand as he tried to pick up the book again. Their fingers tangled together. His were cool and she flinched and, angry with herself for being so indecisive, she pulled out a stake and lunged at him as he grabbed the book out of her grasp.

Spike swayed away, smiling and prowled round Giles’ room. “Oh, you want to fight, Slayer? That’ll be fun. Hey, last time I saw you, you were drooling over Peaches up in L.A. How is the love of your life? Oh, yes, busy with his new friends and the beautiful Miss Chase! You really do have rotten taste in men, Slayer.”

Buffy felt the colour drain from her cheeks. “Spike, just put the book down and go. I’m not joking anymore. You’re dust if you don’t. I mean it.”

Spike eased towards the door, prudently putting the table between him and the very pissed off Slayer. She was reacting exactly as he’d thought she would. He could have fought her, but somehow he knew the time wasn’t right for that yet. Much more fun to have a Slayer around he could annoy, especially as Liam had left town for good.

He stared at her now; blonde hair tumbled round her cheeks, green eyes blazing, her body tense. She wasn’t his type, of course, he liked his women dark haired and pale skinned. But even so, he had to admit she was hot and he wouldn’t ever kick her out of his bed if she -

He ducked as a bottle flew through the air, just missing his head. It crashed on the floor and the smell of good whisky crept through the room.

Spike flinched. “Bloody hell, Slayer. What a waste of Scotch!” he yelled. “Now, now, no need to get upset with me just because your boyfriend’s gone off with another girl. Perhaps she’s better in bed than you. Did you ever think of that? Oh now, bed’s a bad subject where Peaches is concerned, isn’t it?”

“Get out, Spike!” Her voice quivered with anguish. What was it about this vamp that he always seemed to know the right buttons to push to make her heart ache?

He backed further towards the door, feeling for the handle as she advanced towards him. He knew he’d pushed her as far as he dared. He grinned and flung the red book back at her, making her catch it in mid air.

Triumphantly, she clutched it to her chest as he slid out into the dark, not seeing that he’d hidden another, older, book in his duster pocket . The book he’d guessed Wyndham Price would have, the one he’d been seeking which would give him some vital information regarding the whereabouts a certain gem that was destined to change his unlife for ever.



Meeting 10

A Genuine Guy

Spike watched Harmony vanish into the dark and turned back to the party. Load of wankers the lot of them, he thought disdainfully. He stood in a dark corner and lit a cigarette. He could see the Slayer across the room, dancing with a dark haired guy. He heard someone shout “Parker!”. Spike filed the name away. Lunch, or perhaps a nice late supper.
He didn’t know why he’d come back or why it annoyed him so much to watch the Slayer dancing with this boy. His hands were all over her and for a second Spike slipped into game face before remembering he was out in public.
But it had been enough for Buffy. He saw her head jerk, her body still for an instant, then she was staring around the room, searching, her vampire radar on full alert. Within seconds she’d found him, and with a swift apology to her partner, she hurried across the room to join him in the shadowy corner.
“Spike, what the hell are you doing back here? Don’t tell me Harmony’s dumped you already?”
“Very funny, Slayer. Oh, I’m laughing so hard it hurts. At least Harm’s a genuine idiot. Not like your friend Parker over there.”
“Parker, what do you mean, not genuine?”
“Can smell a fraud a mile away, sweetheart.”
“Don’t ever call me that again. And he is so genuine. He’s a really nice, caring, thoughtful guy. And hey, human. Has a reflection and everything, so there.”
Spike fought to keep a straight face; he forgot sometimes how very young she still was. “Sleeping with him then are you, pet?”
“What? No, not that it’s any of your business.”
“Are you going to sleep with him?” Spike heard himself saying. He was puzzled. He didn’t understand why the Slayer’s sex life should concern him. She’d been deflowered by Peaches, so no virgin in front of him. And yet - she was. That was the odd thing. Whatever she and Liam had done, it had hardly touched the surface of her sensuality. That he knew.
She’d been hurt by Liam, but then he had that talent with women. Spike often envied Angelus. He himself always seemed to be on the receiving end when break ups occurred. What was the old saying, one who kisses and one who turns the cheek.
And he could sense that that hurt had damaged the Slayer’s ability to judge men correctly - otherwise, let’s face it, she would have killed him ages ago.
Buffy had gone very red in the face. “Spike, I have no intention of standing here discussing my sex life with an evil, dead creature. If you’re not gone in a minute, you’re ashes. And that’s a fact.”
Spike shrugged and turned away. “Just don’t do it, Slayer. He isn’t worth it,” he muttered and strode out. God how he wanted to find this Gem of Amara. If he had it, he would be invincible, walk in the sunlight, be different. Deadly, yes, but - he wondered what Buffy would say if he couldn’t be killed.
Buffy watched the black leather coat vanish once more and turned back to Parker. She stared into his dark, soulful eyes. Of course he was genuine. He was a nice boy. A very nice boy. Spike was so wrong.
And how dare he comment on her love life. Just because his was rubbish. Well, she’d show him. If Parker asked - well, suggested - well, he was a very nice boy and she liked him a lot. She’d show William the Bloody she had extremely good choice in men!








Meeting 11 Nicshe Body

“Shumwhere over the rainbow, bluebidsh fly - hic! No, why should they be blue birds? Don’t like men. Hate Parker. Shumwhere over the rainbow lit’le pinkbirdsh fly - whoops!”

Buffy came crashing off the top the tombstone she’d been balancing on and lay giggling on the grass. “Thash a long way down. Lit’le pinkbird didn’t fly - she fell, over and over and over and over and — ”

A shadowy figure stepped out from behind the stone wall of a nearby crypt and stared in disbelief. “Slayer?”

“Thash me! Hello, Shpike. Have you got any beer? I’m a little pink bird and I drink beer.”

“You’re tipsy, no scrub that, Slayer, you’re bleeding sloshed, drunk, arse-faced blotto.”
The vampire’s voice rose in complete astonishment. Of all the things he’d expected to see tonight, a very drunk Slayer was not even number one thousand on his list.

All his instincts roared into life. She was there in front of him, drunk, incapable and completely harmless. He doubted she could even hold a stake, let alone wield one in his direction. He prowled forward, his senses alert in case it was some sort of trap and the other idiots were lurking around to jump on him.

Buffy jumped up and danced around, waving her hands in front of her, fists clenched like a boxer. “Ooooh, are we going to fighsht, Shpike? Thish will be fun. Come on, fight like a man, oh, no, you’re not, are you. Whoops, shorry.”

She stopped weaving from one foot to the other and began to giggle. “Thatsh funny. You’re not a man. You’re dead.”

Spike slid swiftly behind her and caught her hands in his. “Shall I show you exactly what sort of man I am, Slayer?”

He jerked her hard against him and going into game face, bent his head through the blonde curls to the soft skin at the side of her neck. His teeth had hardly grazed the surface when a sound penetrated the kill lust in his brain.

Buffy was giggling. “Shtop it. That tickles! You’re a bad, bad vampire, Shpike. I shall tell Giles.”

Spike hesitated, she was so drunk, this was like taking candy from a baby, but somehow that took some of the fun out of killing her. Then he hardened his unbeating heart and tried to force his fangs into her skin, but even as the rounded warmth of her arse pushed against him, he felt his game face fading as another part of his anatomy responded.

He shoved her away in horror and she rolled on the grass, still laughing.

Spike turned to go just as Buffy reached out, hooked one ankle round his leg and pulled him down on top of her. Taken by surprise, Spike found himself lying face to face with the tipsy girl, her breasts pushing against his chest, her legs spread under his. He tried to get off her but the strength in Slayer legs, even drunken ones, was too much for him as they clasped together round his waist.

“Slayer, what the hell are you doing?” Spike roared, trying his hardest to stop his lips touching hers.

“Nicshe and comfy down here, mmmmm, nicshe body to cuddle, cosshy, shoft grass, lilt’le pink bird going to shleep now...safe at last.....” Her head rolled to one side and she was gone.

Spike eased himself off her prone body and stared around, bewildered. He supposed he could just leave her there for a passing vamp to find. Make someone a nice bedtime snack. But then they’d boast about killing a Slayer and this one was his - sometime soon, but not tonight.

Cursing blackly under his breath, he picked her up, carried her swiftly through the darkened alleyways and left her on her front porch. “God, Slayer, bet you have the mother and father of all headaches when you come round,” Spike muttered and backed away into the shadows, heading for Willie’s Bar. It had been a most disturbing evening and he needed a strong drink - fast.

As his footsteps died away, two blurry green eyes opened and a small, secret smile crept across Buffy’s face. “Was safe,” she murmured, “and, wow, nicshe body!”

next meeting follows soon.









 
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