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Title: Roundabout Author: Devil Piglet Rating: R Disclaimer: All characters of ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ are used without permission. Author’s Notes: This is set post-‘Hell’s Bells’, and while it overlaps some themes of ‘Normal Again’, for my purposes, the events in that episode haven’t occurred. Feedback: This is my first story posted to fanfiction.net. I’d appreciate reviews: devilpiglet@yahoo.com. *************************************** Part 7: Gridlock The dream again. Peace. They reclined on the bed together, she and this boy-man who looked like Spike, was Spike, and yet was not. William. Buffy looked around lazily. Cracked stone walls, a generous coating of dust on every surface. A few scattered, empty bottles. “Still with the crypt? You know,” she said, “maybe next time we meet it could be at the beach or something.” He laughed softly. To her mind’s eye he appeared identical to Spike. But the man before her now was serene, content. And that made all the difference in the world. “Believe it or not,” he told her, “you picked this place.” Buffy sat up and took another look around. “I did?” Figured. “She’s getting stronger,” Buffy informed William. “I think she’s gotten rid of me for good.” “Do you?” he asked. “Or is that what she’s telling you?” Hard to answer. “I can’t come up for air,” Buffy persisted. William tsk-tsked and began to straighten the mussed bedcovers. He surveyed her with an expression that she had seen Spike wear many times, the one that said, Use your head, Slayer. “You wanted Spike to protect Dawn. Is that right?” he asked. “Duh. He’s the only one --” William stopped her with a wave of his hand. “Yes, Spike is able to protect Dawn. So are countless demons.” She stared at him. “What, I’m just going to hand her over to some random freak-monster? He adores Dawn.” He just looked at her, waiting. Buffy bit off another snarky comment and figured, what the hell. She’d go along for the ride. Spike cared about Dawn. Spike had rebuffed the other, really not-so-pleasant Buffy, so that he could save her sister. And now that we were on the subject, how about the way he had watched over Dawn all summer, while the late Buffy Summers was doing her part for the ecology of Sunnylawn Cemetery? He could have just left. It would have been easier for him. Buffy sighed inwardly. BadBrain was back. The realization of Spike’s actions was not a new one. It had hovered there since she’d returned from the Great Beyond, but she’d ignored it in favor of other realizations about Spike. Like his magic fingers, and how his words during their lovemaking sent her over an edge she didn’t know she had. Buffy pulled her what was left of her mind firmly out of the gutter. “I get it. Spike’s done some good lately. Look, if this is about him changing for me –“ William’s teeth clacked together audibly. “I’m hardly here to plead his case. I could go on for hours on the shortcomings of our Spike. This is about you, Buffy. Forget about whether you’ve changed him or not. The fact remains, he is what he is. A soulless demon who demonstrates love and compassion.” William leaned in close, blue eyes intense and forceful. “If good can survive in him, Buffy, why can’t it in you?” *************************************** Spike hated L.A. He stared at the car in front of him, a forest-green SUV with a license plate holder that read HAPPINESS IS…BEING BRITTANY’S MOMMY. Next to him, Dawn studied the map. “Where’s the turnoff?” “Get in the right lane.” “I am in the right lane. That’ll take us to the 110 North.” “That’s not right. We’ll end up in Pasadena.” “What, then?” Friday afternoon. His skin was itching, the way it did when he was up and about in the daylight. The sun beat down on the car mercilessly and he had to continually fight the urge to pull over and park beneath an overpass until dusk fell. Next to him a car horn blasted, followed by an angry shout. Spike shut his eyes briefly. They’d been sitting in traffic for an hour and a half, and in that time had traveled perhaps four miles. That was an estimation, of course; Buffy had accidentally kicked out the odometer during one of their more frantic front-seat encounters. I’ll bring you back. The real you. I won’t let you down this time. I promise you, Buffy. Dawn’s voice broke his reverie. “We need a Thomas Guide. This thing isn’t any good.” “Don’t tell me you don’t know how to read a map.” “I do! But something’s spilled on this one. Something gross and sticky.” Spike quickly snatched the map out of Dawn’s hands, then relaxed. “It’s just beer.” “Hmm…gross? Check. Sticky? Check.” “Excuse me, Your Keyness. Not all of us –“ “There! Turn! Turn!” Dawn pointed frantically at an off-ramp. Giving directions, she thought resentfully, was not easy when she had to do it through a three-by-five inch clear spot she’d scrubbed out of the black gunk covering the windshield. “Grand Avenue.” Spike swore. The DeSoto swerved. The guy in the Boxster he cut off gestured wildly. A moment later they were off the freeway, cruising through downtown Los Angeles. “Fifth Street, and then another right on Figueroa,” Dawn supplied. At least, Spike thought with relief, Angelus and his cadre were gone. They’d disappeared after Buffy had descended, and with what Spike could admit was rather uncharacteristic eagerness on the part of his Sire. He’d expected him to brood, look for opportunities at martyrdom, and generally bust Spike’s ass. Of course, what with the new developments there and all, he supposed Angel might finally have decided someone else was more important than his own eternal and vocal suffering. Spike looked at Dawn, who was busy scratching away at the windows. Maybe he could relate to Soul-boy, after all. Maybe. “Here.” He tossed a manila folder across the front seat. “Look in there and see if our papers in order. Giles isn’t my first choice when it comes to falsifying documents.” He heard Dawn rifle through the sheaf, and then a sharp burst of laughter. The sound was so foreign to their life now that he stared at her, perplexed. She just laughed harder. “What? What is it?” She shook her head. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel he leaned over and retrieved the IDs from her. Then he erupted. “Son of a bitch! I’ll kill him. Oh, I’ll snack on his intestines. I’ll carve out his eyeballs with a soup ladle. He’ll beg me to finish him off! I – owwwww…” He clutched his head and then pointed accusingly at Dawn. “You! Stop laughing! Or you’re next!” “Whatever, Chip.” She dissolved into giggles again. Spike banged his head against the steering wheel. *************************************** Buffy sat in a comfortably overstuffed leather chair, waving off an assistant who silently offered her a cup of tea. The aide melted into the background of the mahogany-paneled office. Across from her, Rodger Kehoe smiled. “I must say, you’ve surpassed even my expectations,” he said admiringly. “I wasn’t quite sure how you’d take to all this.” Buffy sat back, studying her recently-manicured nails. No more dishpan hands, she thought smugly. “Are you kidding? This is the first time somebody’s paid me to kill demons. Better hours than I had as a Slayer, that’s for sure. And the benefits can’t be beat.” “I’m glad you’re finding everything satisfactory. And, that other problem…?” “The old, unimproved Buffy? She hasn’t made an appearance. Guess she finally took the hint.” “Excellent. You know,” Kehoe leaned in, “the time will come when you’ll be asked to kill humans as well. Do you think you can do that?” Buffy giggled. “Ask my friends if they think I’m capable. Look, you keep keeping me in the style to which I’m going to become accustomed, and I’ll kill Pokemon for you.” Kehoe looked at her blankly. Buffy rolled her eyes. “I’m yours, okay?” Until something better comes along. His face smoothed out again. “I knew I had happened upon an excellent plan when I chose you, Buffy. A human is hardly a threat to the…elements in my line of work. No one ever suspects how powerful you really are. Which makes you the perfect enforcer.” Blah, blah, blah, Buffy thought. Yes, you’re a genius. Can I kill something now? *************************************** Chip and Danielle Williams watched as the parking attendant stared dubiously at the DeSoto with its blacked-out windows, then at the keys in his hand, then at Chip. Chip growled. The attendant hastily got in the car and drove off. “Valet parking,” Dawn marveled. “This is so cool.” The Westin Bonaventure was a massive complex, four glass towers housing over a thousand rooms. It had, among other amenities, a Krispy Kreme Donut stand and a revolving restaurant. Spike’s newly minted ‘sister’ somehow got him to promise to take her to both. Checking in was a swift and relatively painless process, and in a few minutes they were each holding a glossy keycard to a suite on the thirty-second floor of the East Tower. “I’m keeping this,” Dawn said, waving it in his face, and he shrugged. “You keep lots of stuff, Miss Sticky Fingers,” he answered. “Speaking of, how come I had to do all this stealing on this trip?” Dawn sniffed as they walked to the elevator bank. “I don’t do that anymore,” she told him airily. “Convenient, that.” Inside the steel-and-glass elevator chamber, Spike closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. He could fall asleep right here, he thought, with the soft soothing whoosh of the rushing air around them, the cool metal against his skin… Dawn tugged on the duster. “We’re here.” He followed her onto their floor. It was worth staying awake, he decided, just to see the look on her face when she entered their suite. Her eyes went impossibly wide, and she bounded from room to room, inspecting. “You should see the bathroom!” she crowed. “Jacuzzi, hello…” He shut the door behind him and locked it, then picked up her bag from where she had unceremoniously dropped it at his feet. He wasn’t in the mood to fully appreciate her exuberance, but he’d store the memory up for a later time. And at least Phase One of his latest genius plan had worked: she was impressed enough with the accomodations that, God willing, she wouldn’t whinge too much if he left her to her own devices here tonight. He wandered into the master bedroom and glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table. Two hours until sundown. He still had no idea what he was going to do with – or to – Buffy once they were face to face. He should really spend this time elaborating on Phase Two of his plan, which currently consisted of: Find Buffy, Make Her Not Insane Anymore. Or, he could enjoy what could very well be his last few hours among the land of the living and undead. Dawn came out of the bathroom, clutching the courtesy shampoo with a rapt expression on her face. “Wake me when ‘Simpsons’ comes on,” Spike mumbled, and pulled the pillow over his head. Part 8: Busy Child| HOME | WHAT'S NEW | ABOUT | FANFICTION | BLOG | LINKS | VERBIS | NOMINATIONS | |