At First Glance


Spike sat in one of L.A.’s many dimly lit bars, nursing his third beer of the night. He scowled at the mirror over the bar, cursing the fact that he was already a little bit drunk.

His reflection scowled back.

Bloody Powers that Screw with Your Life, he mentally groused.

Not to be taken the wrong way, he wouldn’t give up saving Fred’s life for anything, but he had loved being a vampire. He hadn’t even really wanted the buggerin’ shanshu; it was mostly because Angel wanted it so badly, but now he was stuck with it and everything it included. He’d lost most of his strength, though he was still stronger than the average man his size. He didn’t have the blood lust or the sun allergy anymore but he’d gained all of the unpleasantness that accompanied being human as well as having to deal with the Brooding Avenger’s constant pouting over his great gleaming prophesy being snatched away.

Spike took another large swallow of his beer as a woman seated herself next to him, her lack of reflection putting him on alert.

“Come here often?” she asked and Spike nearly choked on the liquid.

His gaze flew to the mirror (still no reflection) then to the impossibility sitting next to him, smiling smugly.

“Buffy?” he asked, after his choking had subsided.

“In the flesh,” she said. “As you seem to be. Were you planning on telling me about that anytime soon?”

“Buffy?” he asked again as she claimed his glass and took a sip. “How? When?”

Then finally, “You’re a vampire.”

She nodded.

“Yep, happened last month on patrol and by a fledgling no less.”

She looked disgusted with herself, then shrugged.

“Oh, well,” she concluded then leveled him with a gaze he knew all too well.

“Looks like you’ve got some explaining to do yourself. Not only are you not dead but you’re also…not dead! Mind telling me just how that happened?”

And he did, from his rematerialization in Angel’s office to his recorporealization in the lobby to the day he saved Fred from the demon dust and suddenly felt his heart kick start him back into the land of aliveness. (He had to admit that he was pretty drunk by that point in his narration.) Buffy listened to it all in silence until he reached the end.

“And in all that time,” she finally began. “You don’t call, don’t write, not even a friggin’ e-mail!”

Her eyes flashed golden for a moment before she got herself under control.

“Why?”

She sounded hurt and Spike shrugged, not meeting her accusing gaze.

“Don’t know pet,” he muttered. “Seemed kind of anticlimactic, I guess. You knowing I went up in a blaze o’ glory then gettin’ a bloody phone call a month or so later; ‘Hey, I’m not dead, how’re things?”

He finished his beer, feeling her silence like a weight on his chest, wondering how long he could put off staggering to the loo. Bleeding human body functions.

“Do you like it?” Buffy asked, suddenly.

“What?”

“Being human,” she repeated. “Do you like it?”

He pretended to take time to contemplate her question for a moment before giving up all pretenses and burying his face in his hands.

“It’s bloody awful, luv. I haven’t been human for 130 friggin years an’ I hated it the first time around!”

She was silent again. Must be a new record, Spike thought and had to stifle a drunken giggle before he embarrassed himself.

“Well,” she said after several minutes. “If you really hate being human, I could…maybe…remedy it.”

He turned and looked at her full on for the first time since she had taken her seat, then leaned (toppled) forward and kissed the surprised slayer vampire full on the mouth.

“I bleedin’ love you, pet.”



Second Chances



Spike slowly opened his eyes. Being turned was no easier the second time, though he had to admit that the comfortable bed he rested on was a far cry from the pauper’s grave Dru had dumped him in his first go around. He turned to Buffy, who was curled on her side beside him, a lazy smile spreading across his face. He wanted to give her a proper wake up/thank you but the thirst burning in his throat demanded instant tending to. He nuzzled the creamy flesh of her neck and she opened her eyes, smiling at him sleepily as she remembered where she was, and then tilted her head, giving him access and permission which he took gladly.

Spike wanted to shout for joy as the familiar ridges formed on his forehead and his fangs elongated. He lapped at the spot and felt Buffy shiver in his arms before he eased his fangs into her flesh. He sipped at her exquisite sire blood, his master level control returning with little resistance, he noted, as he took just enough to take the edge off of his hunger. He was chipless and soulless and fully ready to take advantage of both of those facts just as soon as he gave his sire a proper thank you for saving him.

Spike entered Angel’s office at Wolfram & Hart, his usual swagger back in place, and dropped down in the chair usually reserved for clients, propping his booted feet up on Angel’s desk and waited for the Brooding Wonder to acknowledge him. Angel barely looked up from the paperwork he was going over.

“I’m busy, Spike,” the elder vampire said. “Annoy me later.”

Harmony entered the office; perky as ever. The steaming mug of blood she carried piquing his demon’s interest, Spike jumped up from his chair and grabbed the mug from her, resulting in an indignant “Hey!” before he shoved her out the door and shut it in her face. Angel watched the newly human pest retake the chair across from him, raising the mug to his lips.

“Give me my blood, Spike,” Angel demanded. “You know you don’t need it anymore.”

He extended a hand that Spike merely stared at, blue eyes twinkling.

“As a matter of fact,” the blonde replied, taking a large swallow of the blood. “I do.”

Angel watched his used-to-be grand-childe for the normal human reactions; the ‘ick’ face, the gagging, the inevitable reintroduction of his blood to the outside world … but none of it came. Spike only locked his lips and went back for seconds.

“So what happened?” Angel asked, leaning back in his chair and reaching for the stake he kept under his desk. “Did Dru come back and turn you again?”

Spike set the empty mug on the desk.

“Nope,” he said, standing. “Someone infinitely better.”

“And who, to you, is better than Drusilla?” Angel asked as the office door eased open.

“Me.”

The stake fell, unnoticed, to the floor.






Third Time’s the Charm



Buffy and Spike strolled through one of the seedier parts of L.A., the street lined with bars and strip clubs where a little more than dancing took place, as though it were a sunny day at the beach.

“God, Spike,” Buffy was saying. “Did you see the look on his face when I walked through that door?”

“Didn’t know a vamp could go pale ‘til tonight,” Spike replied. “Neat trick, if y’ask me.”

Buffy snickered, and then looked around with a huff.

“Jeez, where is everybody?”

“Probably inside, pet. ‘S a bit cold tonight,” he said, taking a cig from the pack he pulled from his pocket and lighting up.

Buffy pouted.

“But I’m hungry.”

“We could go inside,” Spike suggested, but Buffy shook her head.

“It’s too loud in these places. I feel like my head’s gonna explode.”

“You’ll get used to it eventually,” he told her, pulling her close.

She snuggled into his embrace and he moved in for a kiss when a scream broke through the night. Both blondes turned toward the sound, game faces slopping into place.

“Sounds like dinner,” Buffy said and gave Spike a quick kiss before pulling him into the shadows toward the sound.


The scantily-clad brunette woman struggled in the big vampire’s arms, only making him laugh as he leaned in for the kill.

“Hey!” Buffy called.

The vamp looked up, glaring at the small blonde with burning yellow eyes.

“Hands off the dancers.”

“Back off little girl,” he growled. “Unless you wanna be desert.”

The former Slayer grinned and stepped forward, letting the weak light reveal her vampiric features.

“Give her to me, and I’ll let you live,” she said, conversationally.

The large vampire laughed at her threat.

“Oh, yeah?” he asked. “You and what army, fledge?”

It was at that point that Spike tapped him on the shoulder and the vamp automatically turned only to receive a fist to the nose.

“That’s no way to talk to my mate, mate,” he growled as the other vamp staggered

Buffy rushed forward as he released the girl, pulling a stake form the sheath in the back of her pants.

“Run,” she told the stripper before joining Spike against the other male.

It was only after the big vamp lay in ashes at their feet that Buffy realized what she’d done.




Later, driving out of Los Angeles in a car Spike had hot wired, Buffy went over the fight in her mind.

“It was a fluke,” she said firmly.

Then a little less so, “Right?”

“Dunno, luv,” Spike told her. “Truth be told, I didn’t even think to stop her.”

He was silent for a moment.

“You have fed before now, right? You’ve been a vamp for a few weeks.”

Buffy stared out the window, infinitely glad that she could no longer blush, before replying.

“Well, there was a cat on the plane ride over ...”

She could feel his gaze on her.

“What? I wanted to get back to the states.”

“So you’ve only fed on animals?”

She nodded, refusing to look at him.

“Well, what about you?” she demanded. “Waiting for the guy to go into the restaurant before swiping his car?”

It was Spike’s turn to stare out the windshield.

“So we’re, what?” he asked at length. “A couple of evil, soulless ... do-gooders?”

Buffy sighed dejectedly.

“Looks like,” she said.

“Bugger.”