Chapter 5: Spike

Don’t look at me like that.

Don’t. There’s just some things you have to do, even if you don’t know why or what for. This was one of those things. I’m not going soft.

But I’m still feeling the mellow acquiescence of last night’s détente, so I pop ’round to her diner. I’m wary as I seat myself, in case she’s remembered what the pointy sticks are for, but she just gives me a meaningful look and disappears into the kitchen. I notice her movements are a little stiff, and her face is bruised from our fight, but I can’t quite bring myself to feel bad about it.

When she finally comes over to my table, she’s carrying a tray of food. She sets down a plate in front of me with the rarest steak I’ve ever seen, a baked potato, and – bless her heart – cole slaw instead of lima beans. She’s got a platter for herself, too, a sandwich and chips – sorry, fries – and sits down to eat with me.

There’s an older bird at the counter, another waitress who has her watchful eye trained on me, an expression of disapproval on her face. Slayer sees my glance and leans across the table to whisper confidentially, “They think you’re my boyfriend.” She gives the distrustful waitress a wavering smile. “And that you beat me.”

I can't avoid the smirk. “Well, they’re half right.” She smiles at me in return.

“Thanks,” I say, gesturing to the food. “How’re you –”

She cuts me off. “I don't want to talk about it.”

We eat in silence for a while, but I guess she changes her mind about not wanting to talk about it, because she says, “I still miss him.”

It’s so quiet I might not have heard it at all if I hadn’t been a vampire, and for a moment I wonder if maybe she didn’t mean to say it out loud. “What?”

“I still miss him,” she says again. “You probably think it’s crazy, after what he did, but I can’t help it.”

“It’s not crazy,” I tell her. “Listen…” She looks up from her plate. “You should go home.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“For God’s sake, Slayer, stop living the bloody Lifetime movie already and go back to your mum.”

She flinches as if I’ve hurt her. “It’s not like that. It’s not as simple as –”

“No.” I reach into my pocket and pull out the ticket I bought before coming here. “You're getting on that bus and going back to Sunnydale where you belong.”

She looks almost touched by the gesture, but still she refuses. “Spike, no, I –”

“Listen to me!” I say. “You have any idea what you'd have to look forward to if you stayed here? Living in a slum, taking orders from tossbags who treat you like a piece of meat, this cesspool of poverty and mediocrity? You’re a slayer, a goddamned hero. You don’t belong here. This place’ll chew you up and spit you out. Is this really the life you want?”

“You’re just saying that to make me go,” she sniffs.

“I'm saying it because it's true.” Speechifying over, I recline back in the booth and look at her.

“Yeah. You make it sound so easy, like all I have to do is hop on a bus and the Sunnydale welcoming committee will be waiting to say, ‘Hey, here’s your old life back.’”

It’s not that easy, I know that. Her old life is gone forever. This thing has rocked her to the core, shaken the very foundations of everything she thought she knew about herself. Nothing will ever be the same again.

“If you don’t go back, you'll regret it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life.”

After a moment, she says, “I don’t know what I’d be going back to. I don’t even know if I can be the Slayer anymore. What kind of slayer falls in love with a vampire? What kind of slayer puts the people she cares for in danger?”

I shrug. “Okay, so you’re not a very good slayer.” She kicks my shin under the table. “Ow. But it's not really a choice. You are the Slayer. And I'm not talking about duty or destiny or any of that rot. I'm talking about you. It's in you. It’s not something you can run away from.”

She looks at me sullenly. “I can’t believe I’m taking advice from a vampire on how to be the Slayer,” she mutters, but she knows I’m right. She knew it when she ran Angel through with a sword. That's what made it so hard. Even though she loved him, she couldn’t stop being the Slayer. She couldn’t fight it then, and she can’t fight it now. Doesn’t stop her from trying, though.

I don’t press the issue after that, and we stick to witty banter for the rest of the meal. Stay away from all the hard topics. Never thought I’d be having heart-to-hearts with anyone, let alone a slayer.

“Louis,” I say, doing my best Bogart impression – which, admittedly, isn’t very good – “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

She stares at me, and for a moment I wonder if she even has any idea what I’m talking about. Slayer doesn’t seem to be the type for black and white movies. Probably never even seen anything made before she was born. Then she laughs.

“You’re insane, you know that, right?”

When I chuckle at that, she adds, “I’m serious. You and Dru make a great pair with the his-and-hers psychological problems.”

My jaw drops. “His-and-hers… I don’t have any psych– I’m a psychopath, but I don’t have a problem with that.”

She’s speechless at first, then her face softens and she says, “You know the next time I see you, I’m gonna have to kill you, right?”

“Oh, yeah, pet. Definitely,” I reply. “Same here.”

*****

It’s been two days since I’ve seen her. I’ve been over to the diner, but she hasn’t shown up to work. I don’t go in, just hang around the outside, sneaking glances in the windows. I think I know what’s happened, and I think I’m happy; but just to be sure, I stop by her place.

Just as I suspected, the apartment's vacant. There's a note, folded in half and taped to the door. I read it and smile.

And just like that, it's over. No threats, no promises, no goodbyes. No seething hatred, but no love lost, either. I'm not sure what I'll do the next time I see her, if we'll fight, if I'll kill her. Maybe she'll kill me.

Maybe we'll never see each other again. I figure there's a new Slayer all chosen by now, since Dru killed that other one back in May. Maybe I'll go find her, see if she measures up to the other three I’ve fought. I’m pretty sure there’s one Slayer I’ll never see the equal of, but for now, I’m content to let her be.

I light up a cigarette and check out the bar next to her building, which looks like a real dive. Sit myself down next to a rough-looking brunette. She’s pretty, after I suck down a bourbon or two, and she hardly screams when I sink my teeth into her throat out in the alley. She collapses against me, her arms still wrapped around my neck from that last deadly kiss. Her blood pulses through me, making me warm, making me hard, sating the primal urges my body and my demon long for.

Just as her heart skips that first beat, I glance up at the apartment building and my eyes focus on the window that belonged to the Slayer.

The girl’s limp now, her heartbeat stilled. Her lips are parted slightly, in shock I suppose, and I close my mouth around them, sliding my tongue, slick with blood, over her unresponsive one. Breaking the kiss, I give the window a wry grin and say, “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.”