Chapter 8 - Drunk or Sober



The Watcher’s Journal of Sir Arthur Gosnard-Tisklin.

Kirby Hall, November 16, 1900 – At the request of Earl M, I accompanied Lady Victorine on a visit to her cousins at Kirby Hall in Thrednoddle County. In spite of the relaxation to be afforded by a family visit, the Slayer is not speaking to me today, although she has returned to her duties after a lapse of several days. Her sullen, slovenly behavior towards the extermination of these evil creatures is beyond my capability to be astonished. Only last evening, she allowed a newly arisen vampire to escape, saying that he was too puny to bite anyone and not worth the trouble of chasing. She dubbed him a “blooming muck snipe.”

I informed her that I would recommend to the Council in the strongest terms possible that she be removed at once from her position as Slayer and that her powers be granted to another, more tractable, young lady. Her response cannot be repeated.

≈§ ≈ § ≈

Skelton on Ure, December 22, 1900 – Winter in the country is bitterly cold. Since Lady Victorine refuses to stir from her father’s hearth should she so much as see her breath, I have guarded the village cemetery for the past week. To my good fortune, and to that of the locals, there is very little vampire activity in this country place, but even so, there is more than Lady Victorine consents to handle.

I tremble to think what will happen to her when we travel to London for the season and the Council demands her services. I have held them off for four months, pleading the necessity of additional instruction, but I fear that my pleas will prove insufficient in future.


***

Spike elbowed his way into the crowd at the pub. The place was packed with college students, howling and jostling each other and shouting for Black Frost beer. He sniffed the air. Over the smoke, the sweat and the spilled beer, he smelled two day-old blood and the scent of an old girlfriend or two.

He saw Buffy’s former pet boyfriend, Parker, the jackass who’d poked her and dumped her. He was pulling the Sensitive Lad act on a new girl. What the hell was that guy thinking? A Slayer wasn’t something you just used and tossed; she was something you savored, you sipped, you appreciated like fine blood, whether you ended up killing her or loving her.

There was a new bartender at the pub, Bob the Warlock. Spike knocked over a couple of frat boys to get to the bar. “Give up warlocking and take up a new profession, mate? Bottle of scotch.”

The warlock muttered something nasty under his breath and handed Spike a bottle of scotch. “This damn bar was my brother-in-law’s idea. He’s dead and I’m stuck with it until I can find a buyer.”

“Dead, is he? Thought I smelled blood. Say, do you have any more of that beer your brother was making?”

Black Frost beer was incredibly popular. Bob had received many requests for it tonight. He couldn’t understand why a vampire would want any. Vamps were already Inhibition Unimpaired. They didn’t need any potion to liven things up.

“Out of the beer. Got a little of the potion left. You want some?” Bob brought a green plastic eyedropper bottle out from under the counter.

“Not for me. Buffy, my missus, will be around in a bit. So high, long blonde hair, cute little ass, bad temper. Give her a dose in whatever she’s drinking.”

The warlock shook the bottle back and forth while he considered whether he should help vampire scum mess around with the Slayer. Not a good proposition on its face. He’d have to get some sort of recompense for turning the girl into a Neanderthal for the night.

“I might, if you’ll do a favor for me.”

“What favor might that be?” Spike didn’t like doing favors for warlocks. Bob wasn’t a bad sort, but a warlock was a warlock. Not to be trusted.

“A vamp killed my brother-in-law. I don’t know who. Maybe you could take care of that for me?” He had a pretty good idea who killed Jack. It was that bitch, Rosamund. He could take her out himself, once their business was finished and he’d gotten paid, but he preferred someone like Spike to exact his revenge so he wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire of a vampire rumble. “There’s some money in it for you.”

From the smell of things, Spike had a pretty good idea who took out Bob’s brother-in-law. He hated to take out a hot vamp like her or her sister, but what had Rosamund done for him lately?

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Spike vamped out and chased away some college kids from his favorite table and opened his mind to summon his mate.

***

Clem was holding an ice pack to Willy’s neck when Buffy arrived. Since Clem had called her for help, she slipped in the back door to avoid disturbing Willy’s customers.

She knelt down beside Willy and examined his wound. Nasty, but not life threatening. “Guess I don’t have to beat you up to get info this time. What happened?”

“A vamp girl, Rosamund’s her name, came in here and beat me up and bit my neck, as you can see, and stole a gallon and a half of AB neg. Do you have any idea how expensive that stuff is? I only keep it for special customers.”

“What’s she look like?”

“You’d recognize her. She looks just like her twin sister, Sunday. You know, the one you dusted back in September.” Willy wiped the blood away from his neck.

Buffy remembered Sunday. She had her broken Class Protector Umbrella to remind her every day.

“There’s another one? What did she want all that blood for? Is she doing magicks?”

“I guess. She didn’t exactly mention her plans while she was ripping my throat out.”

“Quit whining. You’re throat is only mauled a little. I’ll take care of her. Doubt I’ll get your blood back, though.”

“That’s okay, Slayer. Oh, and Mazel Tov. Can I kiss the bride?” He wiggled his eyebrows and his fingers.

Buffy glared at Willy. Had Spike been in here bragging already? She was going to twist Spike’s arm off and fracture his skull with the bleeding stump as soon as Willow figured out how to break the claim.

She stood up and felt her mind blank out. A thought bubbled up in her brain along with a lurid image of her mate. Her mate doing things to her. Things she liked.

Come see me, pet. I’m waiting.

She shook off the image and headed for her mate after a short detour to her dorm room to change into something less Slayerish – a tight black mini-micro-skirt and a clingy red top which she did not at all put on because Spike liked red, and a pair of clever black leather half boots that laced up the back and featured five inch stiletto heels which she did not put on so that her mouth would be a lot closer to Spike’s mouth vertically speaking.

Buffy banged through the pub door and headed straight for him. Spike had returned right to the pub where she’d gotten drunk on magicked-up beer which turned her into a nymphosexy. He was probably planning to get her drunk on Cavewoman Beer again and take advantage of her. Well, that wasn’t about to happen. No Beer for Buffy.

This claim thing had certain benefits. She didn’t have to search for Spike, just walk until she caught up with him. It was better than vamp radar any day, and every bit as tingly, although not tingly just on the back of her neck. Tingly all over.

He was sitting in the pub in the same chair at the same table, getting drunk and smirking. She’d wipe that smirk off his face as soon as she figured out how to hit him without it backfiring and breaking her nose as well as his.

Spike leaned back in his chair and admired his new mate. She was a hot little piece and he didn’t mind much that she was the Slayer or that she had a bad temper. He flexed his fingers and gave Cutie’s sweet tits a mental massage. He giggled at the contortions on her face and the pissed off look she gave him when he stopped.

Buffy was making a bee line for Spike through the crowd when Parker jumped up from the table he was sharing with his conquest for this evening, Katie Loomis, and stepped in front of her.

“Buffy, wait. Did you get my message? I wanted to talk to you. About last night and how you saved me from that fire. It was really, I don’t know, heroic or something, and I wanted to thank you.”

While Parker was blabbing about thanking Buffy for saving him, Spike slipped up behind him and grabbed his shoulder and dug his fingers into the tender space under Parker’s clavicle bone until Parker yelped in pain.

“I’ll thank you not to bother my wife, wanker,” Spike said.

“Owww! Your wife? I didn’t have any idea. Buffy, why didn’t you tell me you were married?”

Buffy observed the painful grimace on Parker’s face as he writhed under Spike’s grip. Bad Buffy for enjoying the suffering of Parker.

“Gee, Parker, I had no idea you would be uptight about randiating with a married woman. But, now that you know, you’d better stay away from me. Spike is a jealous kind of guy. He might rip your head off if you came near me again. I wouldn’t want that to happen to a great guy like you.”

Parker crumpled to the floor, clutching his shoulder and whimpering in pain.

“Shall I kill him, sweet? He’s a poufter. Don’t know what you ever saw in him.”

Buffy almost had to think about that for a minute. Wicked Buffy. No, she couldn’t let Spike kill Parker for leading her on, pretending to like her when he only wanted to make with the groinage, dumping her, humiliating her and for generally being a big jerk. “Not this time, I guess. He’s not worth the trouble.”

Spike dropped Parker on the floor and returned to his table. He kicked out the chair next to him so she could sit down.

“How about a kiss for your loving husband, Slayer, after a hard night of work, not to mention protecting your somewhat tattered virtue?”

In the brighter light of the pub, Buffy could see that he’d been busy. Spike looked worse now that she could actually see him. His knuckles were bruised and busted up and he was healing the remains of a black eye and a clawed-up face. His nose looked pretty good. Her fist itched to pop that nose.

“You never worked a day in your useless existence.” She debated whether it was worth it to take a punch in the nose herself, in order to give him one.

Spike smiled. “Go ahead, luv. You’ll look cute with a broken nose. All the demons in town will think I gave it to you. Beating up my Slayer mate will enhance my already formidable reputation. How about a beer?”

She plopped down in the chair next to him. “Pig. Don’t think you’re going to get me drunk again and have your way with me.”

“Get you drunk? You were pissed to the eyeballs when you tromped in here last night. I had nothing to do with that. As to having my way, you were the one ripping her clothes off. I only took what was offered. Not that you weren’t well worth taking, no matter what Angelus said. Want a drink? Coke or something?”

Buffy seethed at the reminder of Angel’s evil behavior and the nasty things he’d said to her and about her. Spike really knew how to gouge her sore spots.

“Not taking a drink from you, Mr. I Only Took What Was Offered.” Creep. He took advantage of her slightly foggy condition and now wanted to blame the whole thing on her for taking her clothes off first.

Spike lit up a cigarette and refreshed his glass. He shoved some dollar bills in front of her. “Get yourself a drink if you don’t trust me.”

Buffy stared at the bills. Spike was buying her a drink?

“Why don’t I cut off your head with my Swiss Army Camouflage Camper Knife with the Seven Useful Attachments?”

She went to the bar and bought herself a coke with Spike’s money. She wasn’t having any more beer. Not when Spike was around to take advantage. Maybe not ever. A new bartender served it to her and collected the money. She planned to guard her coke carefully in case her new husband picked up some ideas about drugging her drink from the previous night’s events.

She drank half the coke before she sat back down. She placed her glass as far from Spike as possible so he wouldn’t be able to tamper with her drink.

“Don’t be so suspicious, my heart. I don’t have to drug you to get you to drop your knickers. I’ve claimed you, and you won’t be able to keep your hands off me for long.”

“You wish. I’m not here for that. I want to know what you’re up to. Why did you claim me?”

Spike slid his arm around her shoulders and drew her close so he could whisper in her ear. “You’re here because I called for you and you can’t resist me. Drink up and we’ll go back to my place and discuss it.” He licked her ear and sent her a wave of claimy sexiness that made her gasp.

She could feel his fingers stroking her thighs and inching higher, but he wasn’t touching her. This was so not fair. She moaned when the ghost fingers vanished.

He had a very nice voice, deep and sexy, and the whole accent thing. A girl could get confused listening to him.

“Quit. Wanna talk about the claim.” She meant to shove him away, but instead she grabbed the front of his shirt and plastered herself against his chest. Why did touching Spike feel so good? She should ask Willow sometime when he wasn’t around muddling her up brain. She drank the rest of her coke.

Spike signaled Bob to bring her another.

“Thirsty.” She drank the new glass of pop down and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Want to dance for me, Buffy? I like to watch you dance.” He ran his mental fingers just under the top edge of her blouse.

He’d never called her by her name before, had he? It was always SLAY-er, like SLAY-er was her name or something, or he called her Pet Or Luv Or Kitten Or Sweet Pea or all those cute names. Prolly called all his girlfriends those names. Except SLAY-er, of course.

“Bufffffffeeeeee.” She wanted him to say her name again. She shoved his arm. “Say Bufffffffeeeee.”

“Buffy?”

She smiled. She liked it when he said her name.

What was his real name? Not Schpike. Oh, yeah. “Willlllllllyam.” She was going to call him Willlllllllyam from now on, cuz it was a nice name and they were married.

She shook her head. No, that was wrong. She was not supposed to be married to Willlllllllyam, although she couldn’t remember why. She was having trouble thinking. Some more drink would help. She drank some more pop.

“Willlllllllyam?” She blinked her eyes. She found herself sitting in Willlllllllyam’s lap. How had that happened? She wiggled around. Mmmmm. Boy. Big Boy.

Spike puffed his cigarette and blew a smoke ring.

Buffy took the cigarette from his hand and took a puff. Somewhere in her brain the thought that fire was bad bubbled up and popped and disappeared. She coughed and took another puff.

“Fire.” Fire bad?

Spike took a sip of whiskey.

She took the glass from him and sniffed. She remembered something about Bad Drink. Smell okay. She took a sip. Good. She downed the glass.

He took the glass away. “Easy. Don’t want to have to carry you home like I did last night. Drink up.”

She drank the rest of her coke and touched her lips to his.

They made it all the way out to the alley behind the pub before Buffy pounced on Spike and shoved him against the building wall. She leaped into his arms and jerked down his zipper and took matters into her own hands.