Disclaimer: I am merely playing with characters created by others. I claim no ownership of them.



Chapter 3 – Strange Confessions



“So, here’s the thing,” Buffy started after they’d walked a block in companionable silence. “The Hellmouth has been really, really quiet these past couple of weeks. Barely any vamps, no demons, no unexplained bizarre occurrences...it’s seriously giving me the wig.”


She paused at that and carefully considered what to say next. Spike was mercifully silent as she gathered her thoughts.


She cleared her throat. “And I know I shouldn’t feel this way because, hey, I’m all on the side of good, here. Really, no evil monsters lurking in my town is all positive. It’s just that...and I hate admitting this...I feel kinda...I don’t know...useless. Do you know what I mean?”


“I think I know a thing or two abou’ feelin’ useless, Slayer,” Spike replied ruefully.


“Yeah, I know. And I’m not bringing it up just to rub it in, I swear,” Buffy reassured him.


And then she spared a thought for the ‘why’ of it. Why was she reassuring Spike that she hadn’t meant to point out his inadequacies? It’s not like she actually cared if she hurt his feelings.


“’s ok, pet. Go on, what makes you feel useless?” he prodded.


“It’s just...and I’m not sure how to explain this, or even if it makes much sense, but I feel like the part of me that’s the Slayer is, I don’t know, like always ready for a fight, kinda poised for attack, if you know what I mean. And it’s like the more time goes by without me releasing the built up energy, the more anxious I become,” she explained.


“Sounds to me like you jus’ need to exhaust yourself,” Spike pointed out. He bumped her gently with his shoulder, indicating that they should turn right onto Mayberry Street.


“Where are you going?” Buffy couldn’t resist asking. She’d given up on her initial destination of the Bronze about ten minutes of conversation ago, so she didn’t really care where they ended up, but she still wanted to be on her guard, just in case. She’d learned a long time ago not to get complacent in Spike’s company, and even though they were currently having a normal, non-fighty discussion, she didn’t trust him not to lead her into a situation she’d regret.


Although, with all the action Sunnydale was showing her so far this summer, at most they’d run into a catfight in front of the Espresso Pump.


Spike shrugged at her question. “No particular destination in mind. Is there somewhere you gotta be? Hot date with the soldier?”


“No, nowhere to be. I thought I’d maybe head to the Bronze, see if Willow or Xander was there, but I don’t really feel like it anymore,” she admitted. And, thought it pained her to say it, “and Riley isn’t here; he went home for the summer.”


Spike snorted. “Wanker left you all alone in this town for a couple of months? He’s either really, really trustin’, or he’s takin’ you for granted. And stupid.”


“Hey!” Buffy pulled back and let a punch fly at his right shoulder. “That was totally uncalled for! And also, a really interesting case of the pot calling the kettle black. Isn’t your skank of an undead girlfriend currently discovering that romantic Parisian sunsets are no fun when you’re a big pile of dust?”


“Harmony is not my girlfriend!” Spike protested. “Yeah, I’ll admit that she’s a convenient shag, but she’s also a bleedin’ annonyin’ bitch. If she hadn’t buggered off to soddin’ France, odds are I would’ve offed her myself by now.”


“Charming.”


“’s true,” he insisted as he paused to light the cigarette he’d fished out of his duster’s pocket. “Biggest mistake of my unlife was gettin’ involved with the likes of her. She’s like a bloody leech.”


Buffy snorted. Vampire humor cracked her up. Spike’s tongue could be as lethal as his fangs used to be when he put his mind to it.


“But I guess soldier boy’s absence explains your ‘poor me, there’s nothing to kill’ pathetic act,” Spike surmised.


Buffy thought about that for a second. Despite Spike’s awful attempt at imitating her voice, she couldn’t for the life of her understand what he was referring to. So she decided on an eloquent “Huh?” as her reply.


“Your boy toy is out of town, therefore there’s no one to shag your frustrations right outta you,” Spike pointed out smugly. “Nothin’ says relaxation like a good, hard, satisfyin’ fuck.”


“Eww, crude much?” Buffy scrunched up her nose and pushed at his shoulder in an attempt to hide the blush that had crept up her neck at Spike’s raw words. Said in that voice. Coming for a man who, for all intents and purposes, was basically sex on legs. And did her mind really just go there? She suppressed a shiver.


“What, you’re a blushin’ virgin all of a sudden?” Spike taunted.


Ok, deflection time. “Oh, look, Revello Drive. Well, that’s my street. I won’t say that it was fun, but let’s definitely not do this again.”


“Slayer, wait! ‘m sorry, ok?” He grabbed her arm, effectively stopping her retreat.


“Let. Me. Go.” Buffy wrenched her arm out of his grasp and eyed him suspiciously. “Since when do you want to spend more time than absolutely necessary in my company? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. In fact, we’re barely acquaintances. And we hate each other.”


“With a bleedin’ passion, I know.”


“So, spill. Why are you acting all clingy? You’re creeping me out.”


Spike sighed, an indescribable look of, well, something, passing over his face before his expression hardened. “You know wha’? Forget it! I don’ need this shite, not tonight, and not from the likes of you.”


He whirled around in a blur of leather and stomped off.


Or at least he tried to, because this time it was her turn to grab his arm to stop him. He struggled briefly, then sighed and turned to face him, his face blank.


Now that she had him in her grasp, Buffy didn’t know why she hadn’t just let him go. As she had said, it wasn’t like they were friends and she could feel guilty about forcing him to turn away. But, for just a moment, he had looked so bereft that even if this was Spike, she couldn’t just have their evening together end on a sour note.


“Spike, what’s going on?” Buffy asked gently, striving to change the uncomfortable mood that had sprung up between them.


Another sigh, this time accompanied by a pained look and a hand running through his hair, mussing up his carefully gelled locks. He shuffled his feet a bit, clearly uncomfortable, before clearing his throat. “’m lonely,” he muttered, so softly she couldn’t be sure she’d heard him right.


That surprised her. “You’re lonely?” she parroted, hoping to prod him into elaborating.


It took him a minute, but he obliged. “Yeah, ‘m lonely. Since you, we, whatever, got rid of Adam, ‘ve been keepin’ to myself, jus’ sussin’ some things out, yeah? An’ now that ‘ve made some sense of what went down, well Harmony’s up and left, ‘m not welcome at any of my regular haunts, and there are barely any demons left in town to put together a half decent poker game down at Willy’s. There’s nothing to fight, no one to shag, an’ there’s only so much readin’ and drinkin’ a bloke can do before goin’ completely barmy!”


Wow. She’d had no idea he could feel this way. Or that he could read, apparently. Not that she cared, really, but loneliness was something she understood well. And beneath all his arrogant swagger and bluster, at the moment he wasn’t all that different from her.


She let go of his arm and stuffed both hands into the pockets of her pants, suddenly unsure of how to talk to him. With Spike, it was usually simple: trade quips and insults, threaten with bodily harm, and, if all else failed, wave a stake or two in his direction. Repeat as necessary. But now, with him being all honest and open and – surprise – vulnerable, she didn’t want to fall into their regular pattern. She kind of wanted to help.


Maybe. If he didn’t open his big mouth and make her rethink their whole ‘you don’t kill me and mine, I don’t stake you’ arrangement.


“Listen, I know what you’re going through,” she started.


“Shyeah, like you could,” Spike scoffed, stuffing his hands in his jean pockets, mirroring her stance.


Great, he was going to make this difficult. “Really, I do. Two years ago, after we defeated Acathla and I sent Angel to Hell, I ran away. To L.A. Didn’t tell anyone where I was going, not even Giles or my mom. And I spent months there, alone in a little apartment, not talking to anyone, just, well, existing I guess. It was the loneliest time of my life. So yeah, I kinda get how you feel. Just like you get how restless I am right now without something to kill.”


“Vamps and Slayers, pet. Opposites, but not that different,” Spike pointed out.


“Yeah, I guess, when you look at it that way. Or maybe it’s just you and me, who knows?”


His gaze dropped to his boots at that. “Maybe,” he admitted. “How about...” he trailed off.


“What?”


“Never mind, you’ll think it’s stupid,” he replied without looking up.


“Spike, spill,” she ordered. And then she couldn’t resist taunting him. She pulled out her stake and made sure he saw it before teasing, “Don’t make me stake it out of you.”


He gave her a weak smile at that. “What would think of us helpin’ each other out? We each got somethin’ the other wants, yeah?”


“And what, pray tell, would that be?” Buffy was intrigued despite herself. And suddenly irritated at the way her eyes lingered on his mouth as he said that last part. For despite all the crap he could spout at a moment’s notice, he really had the most luscious lips...


“You wan’ a fight, I wan’ company. We could spar a couple of times a week, that way we both win,” he suggested, distracting her from her oh-so-wrong lustful fantasies that really, she would swear came out of nowhere.


She dragged her eyes away from his mouth to meet his steady blue gaze and quirked an eyebrow. “Could you spar with me? Wouldn’t the chip go off?”


“I don’ know,” he admitted. “Prolly, but we could try with you attackin’ and me blockin’, or somethin’. We could meet at Restfield tomorrow night and give it a go,” he offered hopefully.


“But wouldn’t that defeat the purpose of me being the Slayer? You, the self-proclaimed, and I use this term loosely, ‘Big Bad’, would be getting an all-access pass to check out my moves?”


“Now, I’m not suggestin’ you get complacent about your Calling just to entertain me, ‘cause you know ‘m just goin’ to take advantage of it to do somethin’ evil,” he said, waggling his eyebrows. “But jus’ consider it, yeah? Might be I could show you a thing or two.”


“Yeah, right,” Buffy scoffed. But she was seriously considering taking him up on his offer. ‘Cause Riley was the only one of the Scoobies who could come close to providing any kind of challenge when she trained, and even he was no match for her, even when she was holding back. Oh right, and he was in fucking Iowa for the summer. But Spike, even hampered by the chip, was an incredibly strong opponent – and a real pleasure to fight. He was crafty, wily, graceful...his smaller stature worked in his favor, whereas Riley’s bulk was often his undoing, especially against her.


And Spike was gorgeous when he fought. Those intense eyes, whether human blue or vampire amber, the lean muscles showcased by tight cotton and denim, his smooth moves...


Which was majorly of the bad, because training, sparring, fighting, killing...well, they got her all worked up. Not a problem when she could release the sexual tension afterwards with Riley, but with Spike...


No, her mind was so not going there.


“I’ll think about it,” she finally blurted out. “It’s getting late, and I promised Mom I’d be home reasonably early tonight. How about we meet around ten tomorrow night in Restfield, near your crypt? I’ll let you know then if I think it’s a good idea.”


Spike cocked his scarred eyebrow. “That’s the only crumb ‘m gonna get tonight, luv?”


“Take it or leave it, Spike, I don’t care,” Buffy exclaimed, finally exasperated with him. “Ten. Tomorrow night. Wear something appropriate for an ass-kicking.”


“See you then, pet.” And with that and a sardonic wave, he was gone, leaving Buffy alone on the corner of her street, wondering what the hell she’d just gotten herself into.



TBC...