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Insight by cereza
 
Little Things and Nifty Tricks
 
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Disclaimer: Every character that has been taken from BtVS or AtS belongs to Joss Whedon. Every other character belongs to me.

A/N: I'd like to thank Fetching Mad Scientist, my lovely Beta. She's really doing a great job. If there's still anything wrong with this chapter, the blame's on me.

Thanks to all the wonderful readers, who reviewed. It makes me feel I'm doing something not only for myself.

***


Greenville, 2005

Jenna didn't hear him. It wasn't actually her fault, he was a vampire, however her slayerness obliged her to be cautious. On the other hand, try this cautiousness thing, when you've got a bleeding schoolmate on the couch.

"How is she?" Spike crossed the room in a few, long strides. Jenna was still pressing Carrie's temple, reducing the flow of blood from her wound. She thought it must look really ugly – Carrie's head all bloodied, the couch stained and Jenna's own hands red as well. Ugly or… Tasty? Hello, very dangerous vampire standing right there – who knew what he was thinking in that vampire head of his? Although she felt an urge to move away – to run away – as fast as possible, she remained motionless by Carrie's side. She was a slayer on duty; she couldn't just flee, leaving a defenceless girl without any help, if she needed any.

God knows why, but Carrie trusted this undead guy. He claimed to be fighting on the right side, and Jenna hadn't actually caught him as he was hurting anybody. So maybe she should just tell this voice in her head, that had been screaming all the time: “It's a trap!” to shut up and let her think clearly.

Silently, Jenna took her hand away, letting Spike see the cut himself. He touched it lightly and – what was absolutely gross – sniffed.

"You were right, it's rather deep," he stated with a worried look in his eyes. "But the blood's clean, so there will be no infection. Do you have the first-aid kit somewhere 'round here?"

"Uh, yeah," she handed Spike the box. He opened it and reached for a pack of clean bandages and a bottle of distilled water. "Good – but not what I was looking for." He got up, scanning the leaving room rapidly, obviously in search of something. And he found it – a small, wooden chest, hidden behind some books. Spike settled on the couch again and started to go through chest's content. When he didn’t get what he was looking for, he flipped it upside down – now Jenna could see what was inside: small, colourful bottles, packets of herbs she had never seen before, pieces of paper covered in strange looking words –

"Bring me a small metal bowl and a spoon from the kitchen table," Spike ordered and she immediately got up to… Wait a minute.

"Who died and made you the General?" Jenna complained, crossing arms on her chest and giving him an irritated glare.

"I," he answered without hesitating, "did both in my time. Do as I say. You'll show how independent you are after we patch my Sunbeam up."

Sunbeam – what a stupid nickname. Did evil things nickname anything? How lame was that? But despite her rebellious attitude, she had to agree with him – Carrie was now a priority.

'Uh… Am I agreeing with a vampire? The world is definitely doomed,' she thought, shaking her head.

When she brought him the needed utensils, he had already chosen a few packets. Having the tools, Spike started to prepare. The aroma of smashed and mixed herbs was quite strong. In a few minutes, she felt dizzy. Spike didn’t look too happy with the overwhelming sensation either – he kept grimacing and wrinkling his nose. Jenna could – if she wanted to, but she didn't – sympathize, 'cause she knew the burden of enhanced senses.

Finally, he put the mixture on Carrie's wound, bandaged her head and took her in his arms. "C'mon, we're takin' her upstairs. Open the door for me, Freckles."

"I have a name," she pointed out, annoyed. "Why you don't call people by their real names?"

Spike looked at her with amusement, "Real names, huh? For me they mean nothin'. They don't say a bloody thing 'bout you. 'Bout who you really are, and what makes you unique and special, and distinguishable. And most importantly, they don't say how I feel 'bout you."

She rolled her eyes, "Yeah, so you noticed I have freckles – how perceptive of you."

"I'm a guy full of surprises," he winked at her and made his way toward the stairs.

Jenna followed him, even warned about a hazardous bedroom entrance, and in the end helped him tuck the unconscious girl into her bed.

And then Carrie started talking.

"I'm fine," she whispered, slightly opening her eyes. "No, it's okay, it doesn’t hurt so much any more… Since I hardly feel my head. Spike, it's not your fault, stop blaming yourself… Yeah, I was lucky she happened to be there. I-I don't know, it's all blurred… I hope so. I just… I just have to close my eyes for a second and then… I'll tell you… Love you, too." And she fell asleep for good.

Jenna never thought something like that would happen to her. She never suspected that a few carelessly said words could change her point of view. Stubborn and proud of it – that was her motto. Maybe it was Carrie – maybe she put Jenna under some mojo. Maybe she was charmed all the time, forced to actually like this pink monkey despite herself. Somehow forced to care about her well-being and to feel protective of her, like a sister would. The real Jenna was not only stubborn and rude, she was always suspicious and distrusting everyone around, and would never even approach people she didn't want to have anything to do with. Not to mention coming into the belly of the beast, or in this case, a vampire's lair. She wouldn't talk with this thing like it was her friend. Uh-uh, not her. She wouldn't help him treat “Little Miss I Know What You Did Last Summer". No, sir.

No, sir… She wouldn’t help.

Why was she doing it? Why was she helping?

She couldn't help it – they didn't strike her as dangerous. No matter how hard she tried to remember that Spike represented everything she was destined to fight, she wasn't afraid of him. Just like Carrie said – Beware his stupid hair and British curses nobody understands. And then, of course, you can't pretend otherwise – you're already in our club. So that was it – they won her over. But if she wanted to be honest with herself – she didn't like doing that, but sometimes it was necessary – she would have to admit it’s the little things that tipped the scale: Spike's concern about Carrie and the way he treated her. Carrie's trustfulness, confidence and faith in him, in the vampire –

Yes, it was obvious to her now – in the vampire with a soul.

Jenna envied Carrie – she envied having someone who really cared for her. Who after one call, one stupid phone call, had left everything behind and run home to check on her, to help her… Jenna's own parents – real, human and very alive – hardly spoke to her. They were too busy fighting with each other to notice her. She existed only when she could provoke another argument – who was supposed to pick her up after school, who should have made a dinner for her – then, she was suddenly the most important person in the world. But only for a while.

Was she jealous of a dead man’s affection? Actually, yeah.

'Stop right now,' Jenna scolded herself, and tried to focus on what was happening here and now. Okay, so she believed them. She might even like them – but only a little. Boo-hoo, like it had changed anything. She wasn't getting soft. Jenna was still the Slayer… She would just pretend she didn't notice Spike's deadness and Carrie's freakiness. Letting them go wasn't the end of the world – was it?

Certain that Carrie was safe and asleep, the vampire turned his attention to Jenna. His pale face darkened. Taking an unneeded breath, he led her downstairs.

"I owe you," Spike stated quietly, when they were back in the living room. "You saved her life. And by doin' so, you saved yours truly as well," he smiled lightly.

"What do you care?" Jenna asked, in search of some kind of confirmation for her previous assumptions.

"I do. She's all I have. She's my," he laughed and shook his white head. "I know how it sounds, but she's my personal piece of light. She's a sun, that doesn't burn. She's my bloody salvation. Right now, I'm in your debt. You can ask for anythin' you want… Assumin' you want anythin' from an evil bloodsucker like me," he smirked.

Jenna looked at him, "I can arrange that."

"So? Wanna some help during the next patrol? Need an unattainable magical ingredient? – "

"I want answers. Who are you?"

"Already told ya. I'm just a vampire. William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers, Spike… Recently souled up and, as an acquaintance of mine once put it, ‘Playin' for the good guys now'."

"All right. And, who's Carrie?" She challenged.

Spike remained silent, looking away.

"Look, buddy, for the whole evening she kept answering questions I haven't actually asked. She started babbling about something that I have never told anyone about. Five minutes ago, she had a very long conversation with you, however you didn't say a word. And oh, yeah, she mentioned being a mind reader… She's a telepath, isn't she? How stupid do you think I am?"

Spike's eyes gleamed, "Really wanna know?"

Jenna didn't feel like joking from such a serious matter, "Stop making fun! She told me she had nearly died because of what she is, you idiot!"

"You think I don't know that?" he shouted at her, taking her by surprise. One moment he was kidding, and two seconds later he was yelling… Mentally unstable much? "You think I'm not worried? That I don't look for a better solution than hidin' in this soddin' hell hole? Newsflash, Freckles – all I think about is Carrie. All I think about is how I can't keep her bloody safe," he snarled.

The Slayer blinked, his words slowly sinking in, "What do you mean… H-hiding? Here? In Greenville?"

"I think you should go," Spike grabbed her arm and started to drag her toward the exit. "You already know too much. If this is too weird for you to handle – "

"I'm a slayer, for crying out loud!" Jenna struggled. "Weird is my middle name!"

Spike stopped abruptly, letting her go. He blinked a few times and touched his forehead. "Stop doin' that," he complained. "You know I bloody hate it."

"Well, it's your fault, you're the one who hurt my arm," Jenna told him accusingly.

"It's too dangerous. I'm not even sayin' that she may… You know. But there are many ways to make a person talk. Ugly ways, might I add."

And then Jenna understood, "Oh my God, you two can communicate like that?" She exclaimed in awe.

Spike looked at her, he seemed dizzy and confused, "Yeah, looks like this whole soddin' telepathy gig is a two-way street. And shouldn't you be asleep?" Again, not talking to Jenna. "Are you listening to me at all? No, it's not your life and it's not your call. You'll have a life and something to say when you're older. Fifty-three years older… Ow!" He grabbed his head.

"What was that?" Jenna asked curiously.

Spike sighed, "A mental equivalent of a kick in the ankle." He massaged his forehead, then shot her a wondering glare, "Is it true that you're, uh, watcher-less?"

"It's none of your business," she started defensively.

To her surprise, he winked at her. "Bloody annoyin', aren't they?"

"And useless. And treacherous," she added with a conspiratorial smile.

"Who's trainin' you, if you don't have a tweed guy of your own?"

"Jean Claude Van Damm, Steven Seagal, Jackie Chan… What?" She asked, seeing he was raising an eyebrow. "I don't need a teacher, I'm capable of learning myself. I watch films, I read books. I'm self-sufficient I’ll have you know – "

"Need a sparrin' partner?"

She stared at him agape. "What? You want me to spar… With you? With a vampire?"

Spike nodded, "Wouldn't be a first time I play the honourable role of a soddin' punchin' bag. And wouldn't be a first time I train with a slayer."

"I-I still don’t know if I trust you," she forced out. Truth be told, she did, she couldn't help it. Trust appeared to be something beyond her reasoning. It just kicked her in the ass, shut up the Voice of Suspicion, and said that Spike wouldn't hurt her.

That Spike was nothing like Rutheford.

"Well, that's not fair, is it?" he reasoned. "Since I have to trust you. You know about Carrie, you know that we're wanted. I actually should just take you out without a second glance," he admitted.

"And instead, you propose me a sparring session… How do I know it's not a trap?"

"Why would I waste my precious time on setting a bleedin' trap, if I could kill you here and now?"

"What's in it for you?"

"Like a bit of ol' rough 'n' tumble myself."

"Uh-huh, try again, pal."

Spike looked directly at her, his face very serious, "Told you I'm a white hat now. The goodness of my heart wouldn't let me leave you on your own, without any help. What's more… I knew a girl, once," he suddenly sounded very far away, even sentimental." We were even… friends, of some kind. She would never forgive me if I walked away from someone like you. And besides, Carrie likes you. Says you have fire and a spirit," the vampire smirked again. "Says you need us. She's never wrong, you know. Better to listen her, no matter how much we don’t like that she bosses us 'round like that."

"I-I have to think about it – "

"Good. Tomorrow, come here after school. We'll talk some more and then I'll show a few tricks that would surprise even ol' Jackie."

***


Los Angeles, 2006

Jenna hit the wall.

"Get up," Kennedy laughed, slowly approaching her. "The fight's not over. Thinking you're better, thinking we're beneath you… You know what you really are? A worthless piece of shit."

Jenna finally managed to stand up. Every single limb hurt, the pain was seering and overwhelming –

Kennedy attacked again, but Jenna dodged her incredibly fast series of kicks and punches. She didn't know how long they were playing like that – yes, playing was the most accurate word. Jenna acted carefully, probing her opponent and Kennedy knew that – with an unpleasant smile she was showing Jenna what she was capable of. And although most of her own throws were missing the target, Jenna's blows cut the thin air as well. Playing. That's what they were doing –

Jenna hit the wall once more.

How could she win? How could she even think of winning over Captain Kennedy Fitzgerald? Kennedy was stronger, faster, older and more experienced. And if what Cath told her was true, she survived the great Sunnydale Battle. And Jenna was a fourteen-year-old-girl, who knew nothing about the other slayers, about their methods and techniques.

"C'mon, you maggot, let's not prolong the inevitable," Captain challenged. "You can't run forever. Face it, girl – I'm not even a little tired. And you look… Actually, you look beat," she chuckled. "Okay, I don't know about you, but I'm done playing."

"Spike, I'm done playing," she complained after an hour of sparring. He kept throwing punches and she kept ducking – but they actually haven't managed to hit each other for more than a few times. "Let's fight for real."

"How do you know this isn’t a real fight?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, which, as she had learned after two months of knowing him, meant he was curious and amused at once.

"In a real fight, mostly I hit things," she rolled her eyes.

"You want to hit things, pet? Start a bar brawl."

"Ha ha. Very funny."

"I'm serious here. The real fight – not that I don't appreciate it, but it lacks style. It's all fists and fangs, the lowest instincts and brutal force. That's what you want to learn? You don't need a bloody teacher for that, just somethin' that will make you angry enough to set you loose," he snorted.

"But what we're doing – it's pointless!" Jenna exclaimed.

"And that's all your fault."

"Mine? I'm doing my best to beat you!" She felt offended.

"Exactly. All you can think 'bout is winning."

"You're the one who told me to 'sod the fair fight and win on any account'. I have to win, but I can't think about it? It doesn't make any sense," she complained.

"'Course it does," he shrugged in response. "While fighting, you switch off your mind and let the body take over. You stop thinking, 'cause planning slows you down. Some moves you have to learn by heart, some reactions have to be independent from your reasoning. Never play with your opponent like it's a game – games are always played on some terms and you can never know who set the rules. Don't fight, don’t think, don't play – just close your eyes – "

"And then what?"

"And then – dance."


Jenna opened her eyes. "Yeah, you're right," she said through gritted teeth and raised from the floor. "The game's over." To everyone's surprise, she grinned unpleasantly. "Let's dance."

Jenna lunged forward with new strength and a clear mind. She threw a powerful punch directed into her opponent's face, but in fact she was aiming for the stomach – using those two seconds that Kennedy needed to protect her head, Jenna kicked her in the guts. Captain stumbled backwards, but regained the balance and, enraged, struck back, however without previous confidence. Jenna avoided each blow with unbelievable speed and grace.

Not fighting, not thinking, not playing anymore – but dancing to the music only she could hear –

And then, she hit the wall for the third time.

Jenna hung over some bare, protruding from the wall pipe, probably a part of the old hydraulic system, clinging to it for dear life. Her body seemed weak and limp and it made her look like a whipped rag doll. It made her look beat.

Kennedy smiled triumphantly, "What's the matter, girl? Has the music stopped? Stand up and let's fight for real, slayer to slayer – "

She didn't finish. Something hit her hard, and unexpectedly, in the head, and then in the stomach, and as she bent to protect herself, she felt something strike her in the back, sending her to the floor. Barely able to move, Kennedy moaned in pain.

"Music's still on, can't you hear it?" Jenna asked her, still clenching the pipe she had pulled out from the installation a second earlier.

For a very long moment, everyone in the basement stood motionless, frozen, too shocked to do anything. But when this moment passed, thirty frightened, confused and pissed off slayers charged at Jenna.

***


A/N: Anybody noticed that Jenna did the similar thing Spike performed during parents' meeting in "School Hard"? I mean the ripping a weapon out of the wall trick. It was absolutely cool when he beat up Buffy with this wooden beam and since he was Jenna's teacher I made her think the same way. And okay, I wanted to bash Kennedy. She was unbearably bitchy in the previous chapter and she needed a lesson.

I also know that I've neglected the Buffy/Spike theme. That's because I've got caught up in my own trap – I've created two new characters with their own stories that needed to be told. Fortunately, the most important things are already behind us, so in the next chapter Spike and Buffy will finally have a little conversation… Don’t worry, I know what I'm writing – it's still a Spuffy story.
 
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