Chapter 3: The Vampire

You know, you try to help a bird out once in a while, and what do you get for your trouble? Not bloody much, I tell ya. ’S why I don’t believe in being nice. No good deed goes unpunished, right?

I mean, here I am, minding my own business, having a grand old time of things in L.A. Missing Dru a bit, yeah, but she’ll come back. She always does. She’ll have one of her fits – oh, she has marvelous fits, all screaming and crying and hair-pulling and throwing her dollies around – and she’ll storm off, swearing she never wants to see heads or tails of me ever again. But she always comes back, my girl does.

What? You thought we never had a row? Oh, we have our bust-ups, just like any other pair. Doesn’t mean we don’t love each other. Been together for a hundred years, me and Dru, and we’ve gone off each other now and again, but it’s always for just a bit, then we’re back at it, better than ever. She’s my queen.

So where was I? Right. Sticking my neck out for someone, and getting no thanks for it. Namely, the Slayer. She’s the reason Dru’s up and left me this time. Dru got herself all bent out of shape because I teamed up with the Slayer not too long ago to bring down Angelus. I say it was good strategy, real outside-the-box thinking. Dru called it betrayal. Come on, love, I’m a vampire. You think I give a whit about betrayal? I’m almost glad she’s gone off, now I don’t have to listen to her whinge about bloody Angel.

Only problem is, without Dru around, I get bored, y’see, and I go looking for trouble. Like helping out the Slayer. I didn’t mean to, just saw her there in that alley. So I helped her out a bit, seeing as how we had that truce and all, and besides, no fun killing her if she’s already dead.

So why’d I go to that diner where she works? I dunno, really. Just like a kid with a stick, I guess, poking at a snake in the grass, waiting for it to snap up and bite me. What can I say? I’m a thrill-seeker. I like danger, flirting with death. And what’s better than taunting the Slayer?

But there’s something different about her now. Something… sad. Like the fire’s gone out. And before I even realize I’m doing it, I start caring about her.

“What are you doing here?” I say, and there’s emotion in my voice, because I just can’t understand it. The Slayer doesn’t belong in some dingy, run-of-the-mill diner on the wrong side of the tracks, indistinguishable from any other runaway kid, lost in the shuffle of a vast, unfeeling, unforgiving city. It goes against everything I know and understand about slayers. They’re strong, they’re fierce, and they don’t quit. ’S why I put so much pride in killing ’em.

She doesn’t answer me, which makes me think it has something to do with Angel. That’s what made her shut down last night, too. Figures. It’s always about him. Story of my bloody unlife.

“Fine,” I say. I can understand when a person doesn’t want to talk. Some things you just need to keep to yourself. “No questions.”

She looks at me, all confused-like. “What?”

“About the past, about what either one of us is doing in L.A., about anything else we don’t want to talk about.”

I think it’s a pretty decent arrangement, but she jumps out of the booth like the damned thing’s caught fire. “We’re not talking about anything,” she says. “We don’t – we’re not friends.”

“Fine, have it your own bloody way, then,” I say. See what I mean? I put out a little kindness, show a little concern, and she throws it back in my face. Well, forget her. Truce is over, bitch.

My dinner’s overcooked, so I leave it – along with a hefty tip she so didn’t earn – and head out in search of real food. I prowl around a bit, nab a whore off a street corner, but she’s no trouble, and then the blood’s near bubbling in my veins and I need a decent spot of violence to settle me down.

I notice I’m near the Slayer’s fleapit of an apartment building and a grin creeps across my face. This is it. Tonight’s the night.

I’ve no idea what time it is, nor what time she gets off work, but I decide to wait around anyway. I’m antsy at first, dancing on the balls of my feet, kicking off the walls of the alley behind her building, throwing a practice punch or two. Then I’m really bored, and I’m starting to think she’s never coming home. I’m about to give up when I hear someone coming. A woman. It’s not her, probably a neighbor or something, putting out the trash. I figure she’ll do, and my teeth are buried in her neck before she has a chance to scream. She drops the trash can and it makes a noise I can’t avoid, but so what if someone comes? I’ll kill them, too.

She’s already limp in my arms, and her heart’s slowing down, getting irregular, but her blood’s sweet and goes down smooth. I sense someone coming around the corner, and then I smile because it’s her.

She makes me laugh at first, thinks I’m here to talk some more. “I came to finish this,” I tell her.

Her eyes narrow on me, and I can see she’s ready for it, too. She pulls out a stake. “Fine,” she says. “Let’s finish it.”

We dance around each other at first, slowly, taking it in, feeling things out. She moves first, anxious, impatient, and it’s a wide blow that’s easily deflected.

“Out of practice, love?”

She tries again, and this time she catches me on the chin. “It’s starting to come back to me.”

She sounds confident, but I can hear her heart racing like a steam train, and there’s real fear in her eyes when I lunge for her. I’m not going for the kill just yet, so I let her knock me aside. I roll with her punch, absorbing it, and then the heel of my boot connects with her temple. She stumbles but doesn’t fall, and recovers with a kick to my chest that sends me flying down the alley.

Whew. Knocked the wind out of me. But the adrenaline’s flowing and I’m back up in a flash. “Is that the best you’ve got? Truly pathetic, pet. Moping over your boyfriend has done nothing for your technique.”

Now we’re really going at it, matching blow for blow, slamming each other around, rough and dirty, just the way I like it. This is what I’ve been missing; it’s been too long since I really got into a scuffle, a knock-down, drag-out fight for your bloody life.

But I can’t help thinking something’s not right. It’s good, better than I’ve had in a long time, but it’s not her A-game. I remember the last time I saw her in action. The swordfight with Angelus, best I’d ever seen of her. God, when she was on, she moved with a speed and grace that was unequaled.

“You really are out of practice, aren’t you?” She doesn’t answer, just goes into a roundhouse kick, which I dodge. “I reckon those vamps last night were the first you’ve fought since you left Sunny-D.”

She’s not at her best and she knows it, too. She’s frustrated, her moves frantic and unfocused. She’s not even quipping like usual. I’m about to say something smartass, but I forget it as she throws an elbow in my face and the blood rushes through my nose. With a roar that’s about equal parts pain and pure ecstasy, I throw her into the fire escape, and the damned thing nearly comes crashing down on top of her.

“So, has it solved all your problems, pet? Running away? No need to face your friends with what you’ve done. Or your Watcher.” The fire escape’s swaying, hanging there by a few bolts, and she rips it right off the wall and swings it at me, her face a mask of wild desperation.

I go down with a stream of curses. Scrambling my way out of the fire escape, I break off a length of metal and wield it like a baseball bat, hitting her over and over, across her back and shoulders.

“Oh, if your Watcher could see you now. He’d be so proud.”

She curls in on herself at first, trying to shield herself from the blows, but then she bursts out of it and jerks the rod out of my hand, jabbing it into my chest, just below the collarbone on the right side.

“Go to hell,” she snarls.

I howl in pain and rip the bloody thing out. I’m about to go for the physical attack, but for once in my life I think before I act. Staring her right in the eye, I deliver my blow: “What, like Angel? Shall I give him a message for you?”

She freezes in shock, then slowly her face goes slack and the flush on her cheeks from all the exertion disappears, the color just draining away until she’s white as a sheet. I go at her again, and we trade a few more punches, but now she’s just brushing them aside without really going for it, y’know? And I get that feeling again, same as back at the diner, like the fire’s gone out of her.

I realize this is gonna be easy. After all that build-up the past year, all the trash-talking, the sparring we’ve done – all just foreplay for the grand event – it’s gonna be cake. I throw her to the ground, shove her face into the pavement, then stamp down on her spine. Give ’er a little taste of how it feels to have a bloody organ dropped on your back.

She cries out and rolls onto her side, but she doesn’t try to get up. She moans when I drag her up again, toss her against the wall. I lean in for the kill, can just about taste her blood on my lips…

“Bloody hell,” I mutter, pulling away and slipping out of my game face.

She’s about as stunned as I am. “What?”

“It’s no fun!” I sigh and kick at the ground. “Where’s the bloody challenge?”

“I’m not a challenge?” Her tone is dry, as though she’s trying to sound surprised and disappointed, but she’s too tired.

“Not in this state, you’re not. Oh, you fight a good round, but your heart’s not in it.” I run my appraising eyes over her. “Look at you. I could bite you, kill you right here, and you probably wouldn’t even try to stop me.”

I can tell her first instinct is to disagree with me, but as I watch, she blushes, slumps a little, and I know I’m right. “What’s the matter with you, Slayer?”

She throws her head back with an exasperated groan. “God, just kill me already! I’d rather you kill me than keep talking to me!”

I smile slightly. “Not tonight, pet.”