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Title: Wayward Author: Devil Piglet Rating: R/NC-17 Disclaimer: All characters of ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ are used without permission. Author’s Notes: Set very loosely after 'Get It Done.' Feedback: Reviews are welcome: devilpiglet@yahoo.com. *************************************** Part 4: So Young The Bitter End NightclubGreenwich Village, NY April 1977 “Would you loosen up?” Charlene shouted at her over the music. “How are we supposed to find you a man if you stand in the corner and glower all night?” I had a man, Nikki wanted to say. He’s dead. But she just shrugged. “Do your thing. I’ll be here.” Charlene, well on her way to being healthily lit, tittered and drifted towards the bar. Nikki examined her uninspiring drink, took a sip.She should be back at the apartment, talking strategy with her Watcher and pinning Robin’s latest drawings on the refrigerator. Gregory had encouraged her to go out, in that restrained British way of his – only fifteen years older than she, with a face that was still boyish although tempered by loss. When she left, he and Robin were immersed in Lincoln Logs. Did Gregory ever wish he could do this? Nikki wondered. The Bitter End wasn’t his style – he preferred sultry, smoky jazz – but surely he missed the personal life that had diminished when he became a Watcher, and evaporated utterly when he took his widowed Slayer and her child into his sedate bachelor’s home. I’m sorry, Greg, she thought. I’m sorry that I fell in love and failed my calling. I’m sorry I left Robin fatherless. I’m sorry you’ve sacrificed so much for a Slayer without a soul. Nikki rubbed the back of her neck and tried to banish the memories. She was restless tonight, senses on alert for no reason she could discern. Maybe she was just rusty at socializing. After all, she hadn’t gone out like this since Reese’s death. If he was here now, by her side, she’d be laughing like Charlene, gazing up at him adoringly like Charlene gazed at… Nikki focused on the scene at the bar. Charlene had sidled up to a pale, smirking punk with ridiculous hair and frigid, frigid eyes. Honestly, Char. How do you find them? As she watched, the punk gathered Charlene close, his hand wandering down to cup her ass. Charlene shrieked delightedly – silent to Nikki’s ears – and leaned in closer to him. He dropped his head to nuzzle the side of her neck. But even as he did it he glanced up, caught Nikki’s attention. He eyed her, lazily, seductively, while his lips grazed Charlene’s throat. Nikki grimaced. You’ve gotta be kidding me. She was about to look away in distate, when the punk’s face shifted. Brow furrowed monstrously, fangs elongating as they sank into Charlene's neck, pulling her tight as she started to squirm. “No!” Nikki cried, but her words were lost amid the thumping bass and roar of guitar. She dropped her drink, pushing forward into the throng of bodies. They moved aside, but languorously, bestowing dazed smiles and leers on her as she shoved past. The punk didn’t falter, didn’t flee. Instead he kept Charlene locked in that parody of a lover’s embrace as Nikki advanced. She already had her stake out, was vowing inside to end him but her heart ached when Charlene stopped struggling, slumped against her deadly paramour. Nikki had almost reached them when he pushed Charlene off of him, sent her body spinning to the ground. Still grinning, he beckoned to Nikki and then ran to the exit, where the other club patrons spilled out onto Bleecker Street. “Charlene…” she knelt at her friend’s still form. She screamed at the bartender to call an ambulance but God, that stillness…so unlike her dear girl. Too late. A final kiss to Char’s forehead, and she raced out the door. She scoured the streets for him all night, but he had vanished. Hate filled her heart, her thoughts until she felt as wretched as the demons she battled. When she got back to the apartment, Gregory was waiting up. He knew from her expression that there’d been trouble. “Sit,” he said, and she did numbly. He poured her a drink and hung up her coat while she haltingly told him of the night’s events. He didn’t say much – wasn’t a talker, Gregory, but that suited Nikki just fine. Especially these days. “I’ll look into it,” he told her when she rose from the kitchen table. He followed her to the little alcove that served as Robin’s room – it pained, every day, that she couldn’t give her son a proper home. A proper life. She gathered him up, a sleepy, sugary-smelling bundle, and carried him to her room. She curled up beside him while Gregory hesitated at the doorway, spared them a brief, sad smile. Then there was nothing but Nikki, and her son, and her dead. *************************************** Sweet whispers, accompanied by soft, cool bursts of air that dried the saltwater tracks on Nikki’s cheeks. “You’re saved now, don’t you see? Had me a bit worried but I knew you’d pull through, knew there had to be something…do you need more? I can get you more blood, as much as you want...” He held her, caressed her in her useless and broken and vile state. God, she was no better than him now. In a sudden move Nikki pushed him away, backing up until her scrambling fingers grasped the edge of the cot. His features were schooled in a mask of concern but she knew better. She knew. “Tell me what you did.” She spat the words out, as if she could spit the blood out along with them. He stared, blue eyes as innocent as a child’s. “What’s the matter? You’re well, strong again –“ “Tell me!” His pretense of caring fled. “Not a thing, love.” “Liar.” “No.” He sat opposite her, defiant now. Mocking her, no doubt. “You turned me. You killed me and you turned me.” He sneered at her. “When? In the subway? If that’s the case you were a bit slow out of the starting gate, I’d say.” “Some dark magic, then. You could do it.” He smiled. “I could, couldn’t I? Was never a quick study but I did this one spell once, to rejuvenate Dru – it was a masterpiece! ‘Course, Angel managed to live through it; the moron’s hardier than a sodding cockroach –" Nikki lifted the stake he had divested her of. “What did you do to me?” “Besides unknowingly donate my bloody – er, blood? You know what went down, not me. I was enjoying some long overdue shut-eye, and the next thing I know you’re hollering and re-acquainting me with your weapon of choice, there.” His voice gentled just a bit. “What happened after I put you to bed?” She drifted in and out of sleep, tormented by the urgent gnawing in her belly that was not hunger. Then her eyes flew open. That smell. Rich, heady, vibrant. She kicked off the sweat-dampened sheets and left the bed, prowled unerring toward sustenance. Life. Grabbed the mug with both hands, lifted it to her lips and drank greedily. Yes, yes, more… “Don’t remember.” “That so?” She exhaled shakily, tried to concentrate on the humming of her body. He hadn’t vamped her; she’d known that even as she accused him. She was alive. And she’d just discovered the cost. He stood up but made no move to approach her. His eyes, though – they followed her, ate her up as surely as if his fangs were fastened to her flesh. “It’s a miracle, you know,” he said. She was shocked by his abrupt, fervent tone. “Miracle? Are you out of your mind?” He seemed to falter at that, but went on. “Was afraid – afraid I was going to watch you die again.” *************************************** “I’m gonna love watching you die, cutie.” Nikki returned to the Village the next night, and the night after that, searching for the blond vampire. Hovered outside the club, took solitary strolls down alleyways, asked the bums and streetwalkers if they’d seen him. After a week she’d all but given up. It was cold, and she was wet, and already late to dinner with her father. He’d wanted to meet her at the staid and stuffy Montauk club in her old neighborhood but she’d begged off. So he’d agreed to wait for her after work. J. Francis Lowell, Professor Emeritus of Sociology and Statistical Analysis at Brooklyn College, stood up by his rebellious and seldom-seen daughter. Oh, she’d be hearing about this for months. Nikki hopped on the Number 6 train but found she couldn’t relax for the ride. That persistent prickling, the vague tension that made her look over her shoulder. It was then that she saw him. She’d just switched to the 5, impatient but unwilling to reach her destination. She walked the length of an empty car, trying to sort out her life in the raindrop-swirls that clung to her coat. He studied her from the next car over, then jerked the door open and stepped across. Crazy, she told herself, when she heard him laughing. His face, though sharp and elegant, reminded her of the rictus grin of a corpse. “May I have this dance?” Part 5: Got To Give It Up| HOME | WHAT'S NEW | ABOUT | FANFICTION | BLOG | LINKS | VERBIS | NOMINATIONS | |