Disclaimer:
The story's mine - the characters aren't.
Don't sue me. Please.
Spoilers:
None. Glory is
mentioned...but only in passing.
Distribution:
Isabelle's CarnalSins, Trish's Heat.Desire., eventually Kelly's and My
NoBarrier. Anyone else, sure -
definitely, but please ask first and let me know where it's going so I can be
humbled by your kindness. Thanks.
Summery:
Set ten years in the future. It's
a special night for a Slayer and a vampire.
A yearly event, so to speak. Buffy
is in for the fight of her life...again. B/S
because if not, what's the point?
Rated:
NC-17
Notes:
I want to thank everyone out there who told me I could write more than
just Eternity. I guess now we'll
just have to see, won't we?
Dedications:
This one is totally, thoroughly, for Queenie.
Enjoy, luv.
Special Thanks To: Kelly, because you're the reason for all of it. Helen, my long lost twin separated at birth (*eg*). Isabelle, a staunch supporter, sounding board, and true friend. Trish, without you I'd be dreaming up stories in my head, too afraid to put them out there. And to OGD and everyone kind enough to leave me amazing reviews. Truly, you are the inspiration.
The Anniversary
Part One
A
petite blonde woman stepped elegantly from her Mercedes sports coupe after
screeching rather inelegantly to a halt in the driveway of her home.
Her shoulder-length hair was pulled back demurely in a beautiful,
antique, cloisonné hair clasp and she was clothed expensively in navy Armani
slacks and a cream-colored silk blouse. Moving
with fluid grace, she removed her leather portfolio from the tiny space behind
the driver's seat and closed the door, hitting the button on her key ring to
lock the car behind her.
At
the sound of the locks being engaged, the woman spun around and moved hastily up
the walkway of the house on Revello Drive.
A quick glance at the slender, gold-banded, Rolex watch at her wrist had
her cursing softly under her breath.
She
was running late.
Fitting
the house key into the lock on the front door, the psychologist mumbled
unintelligibly under her breath. Had
any of her patients heard her, troubled teens all of them, they would have
thought she'd finally gone around the bend.
Half
of them were convinced she was already. She
was certainly the oddest mental health professional they'd ever seen before, and
they'd all seen many.
Most
of the teens had often questioned just how broad a term 'professional' was when
referring to the rather unorthodox methods this petite woman used in dealing
with them. But they could never
argue with one very important detail. Her
methods worked.
Ms.
Summers was a woman on a mission when it came to kids who had nowhere else to
turn. Kids just steps away from
either killing or being killed. How
did she do it? Well, when the
'Untouchables' - as the worst of the worst were called before falling under the
guidance of the small woman - first came to her office, an office set up more
like a workout room than an actual office despite the very beautiful, large, oak
desk in one corner, she was always dressed not as she was now, but in ragged
sweatpants and a tee shirt that had seen better days.
And
when those sullen, angry kids were sent to her for their refusal to abide by
anyone's rules but their own, the first thing she did was fight them.
And win.
No
one could ever say that she hurt anything more than their pride, she never hit
them, and in truth, after winning on the mats, Ms. Summers spent endless hours
using a combination of physical training and the more accepted psychological
regimen to bring her kids around. And
each and every one of them had turned their lives around with remarkable speed.
She hadn't lost one yet.
But
if any of them heard their beloved counselor ranting about the rigidity of
vampire schedules and the inflexibility of one particular, bleach-blonde, fanged
fiend as she let herself into her home, they would have thought that the
thirty-one year old had taken one too many blows to the head in that odd office
of hers.
For
Buffy, it was just another day on the job - and not the one that her kids had
affectionately labeled 'The Torture Trail'.
Knowing
there would be no one home to hear her, she didn't bother calling out a greeting
in the house that she'd lived in for the past sixteen years.
She just tossed her portfolio down on the floor next to the door and
started stripping out of her delicate blouse even as she rushed up the stairs to
the master bedroom.
In
less than fifteen minutes, a new Buffy record if she did say so herself, a
totally different person descended those same stairs.
This
person was clad in tight fitting, black leather pants and a close-cropped,
matching black leather jacket over a white tank top that molded to her body like
a second skin. Her hair was no
longer pulled back; it fanned her face and bushed her shoulders in soft waves.
In her hand, not a portfolio, but a sharp wooden stake.
The professionally modest makeup she had been wearing had given way to
dramatic black eyeliner and glossy red lipstick.
Gone was the respected counselor and in her place was a startlingly young
looking Slayer.
And
she was prepared for the fight of her life.
If
she hurried, she'd make it to the cemetery on time and her opponent wouldn't
need to know that she'd fallen behind today.
One less thing for him to taunt her with as they battled to the end.
Not
bothering to drive, she locked the front door behind her and ran down the
streets of Sunnydale on her way to the cemetery. It was a well-worn path, one she'd taken more times than she
could count in her lengthy sojourn as the Vampire Slayer, but this time was
different. This was a battle that
she knew was coming, had prepared for, had always prepared for.
Tonight
was Buffy's anniversary, her tenth anniversary. And soon she would be fighting for her life against the same
vampire she fought on this one day each and every year for the past ten.
Spike.
Buffy
grinned as she ran, not afraid of the battle that was coming, but thrilled by
it. Her blood heated as she used
the short jog to warm up, to limber muscles that had never really gotten the
chance to tighten between working with her kids and her patrolling duties.
And
as she ran, her memories pulled her back in time to the first.
She thought back on that first fight.
The fight that had started this all.
The fight that set Buffy on a path vastly different than she'd ever
thought she would have, mostly because she'd never truly believed she'd be alive
to see this much of her life stretch out behind her.
But
because of the war that had been waged ten years ago, she had.
And there was never a day in her life that she didn't thank whatever,
whoever, was responsible for making it possible for her.
For making it possible for Spike. For
leading the vampire down the path necessary for getting that government chip
deactivated.
Buffy
knew that if he hadn't, if the chip had never been shut down in vampire's brain,
then Spike would never have attacked her that night so long ago and she would
never have accepted that true change was possible for a vampire without a soul.
She would have missed out on a decade of love and companionship and life.
~*~*~*~*~*~
At
twenty-one, Buffy's life had settled into as much of a routine as was possible
for a young woman who fought demons and Hell God's as an interestingly dangerous
hobby. She had put the Glory
incident behind her, all of the Scooby gang had, and she'd picked up her life
with a sister that she loved more than anything, friends she'd die to protect,
and a vampire she'd finally accepted as a friend.
Everything
had been going along fine, or so she'd thought. Dawn was doing well in school, Giles was helping with many of
the details of managing their household, and when he was unavailable, or the
shop was taking up too much of his time to be around as much as he'd like, Spike
was always there. Always there.
He'd become almost an institution.
Dawn
cared for him, and her friends finally stopped worrying that he had some
nefarious ulterior motive in being nice to the Summers girls.
Buffy, well, to Buffy he was just Spike.
Dependable. Trustworthy. A friend.
She
hadn't had the foggiest idea how stupid she'd been in relegating him to such a
bland category until he disappeared one night.
He
had told Dawn he'd stop by for one of their bi-weekly self-defense training
sessions. It would have been
something Buffy felt responsible for, teaching Dawn how to protect herself from
Sunnydale's nasties, but Spike had offered, and Buffy was on overload at the
time, with a full course load at school and with raising an almost sixteen year
old hormone bomb. She'd been
grateful to her friend for the help.
But
he didn't show that night.
Nor
did he come by the next night, or the night after that. And Buffy's temper had flared to outrageous proportions with
each day he was missing in action. She
cursed the day she'd ever met him, she was furious that he'd disappointed Dawn,
that he'd blown the trust that had grown grudgingly between them.
For
eight long days, no one wanted to be on her bad side - which was the only side
she had at that point. Even her
friends started to feel the Slayer's temper.
It
was finally Xander that made her realize that it wasn't anger she was feeling,
it wasn't hatred of the vampire as she'd so loudly and repeatedly proclaimed
over and over since he vanished. It
was fear.
And
when she could finally admit to herself that she was terrified that something
bad had happened to him, she could finally go and try to do something about it.
She started looking for him.
That's
when it happened.
Just
outside of his crypt that night, as she was getting ready to slam her way inside
to look around for possible clues to his whereabouts, that familiar accented
voice spun her around in her tracks.
"Slayer!
Just the girl I was looking for. And
how're you tonight, luv?"
When
she saw him step out of the shadows of a tree off to her left, her heart skipped
a beat in her chest. Clothed in his
normal wear, black tee, black jeans, black boots, long black leather jacket, he
looked just like he always had...except for one small thing.
He was in full game face. It
had been so long since Buffy had seen him with the bumpy forehead and fangs that
it almost didn't register.
"Spike,
where the hell have you been? I...Dawn's
been worried about you! You told
her you were going to help her learn some new moves last we- "
"Shut
your yap, Slayer. What is it about
you, anyway? Do you just like the
sound of your own voice so much that you can't help but drone on endlessly like
that? No bloody wonder you can't
keep a man."
Ten
years later, Buffy still remembered how his words had hurt her feelings.
"What...Spike,
are you drunk?" She hadn't
wanted him to know how this new - well not new, exactly, more like a return of
the old - Spike bothered her.
"Yup,
I do believe so. Drunk, Slayer.
Though not on spirits, mind. Power.
Pure power, luv."
The
vampire had stalked over to her, stepping fluidly and purposefully forward.
There was an animalistic feline grace in his movements.
When
he was mere inches from the tiny girl in front of him, he smiled, and his demon
gold eyes bored into her with cold ruthlessness. "You see, pet, there's been a change in my life of late.
That lovely little chip I've been burdened with for so long?
Well...lets just say I don't think the little plastic bugger will be
comin' between us any longer."
Buffy
stared up into those eyes and felt fear pool in her stomach and grip her heart
in its bony grasp. Her worst fears
had just been realized. Spike had
been de-chipped. Her friend, the
person she'd come to rely on for the past several months, was gone.
Something
in her broke a little when she realized that she'd been right all that time ago
- in a warehouse one night before thinggs had taken such an awful turn in her
life.
He
really was just like a serial killer in prison.
Except
now, somehow, he'd gotten paroled.
She
had pushed away the sorrow and anguish. She
had known that this day would come, after all.
There had never been any doubt in Buffy's mind that, one day, Spike would
get that chip out...or disabled...and they would finally have to finish that
dance they'd started so long ago. She
just never thought it would come so soon.
Glaring
up at him with all the hostility her Slayer side could muster, she said icily,
"So, I finally get to kill you."
Leaning
over, whispering in her ear, he made sure to force a bit of air from his dead
lungs to stir the wisps of hair at her neck.
"Oh, you get to try, pet. You
do get to try."
That
was all the warning she was given, Spike used his crowding position as leverage
and grabbed her by the shoulders. His
hands bit painfully into her skin before he picked her up and threw her bodily
back into the stone wall of his crypt.
Surprised
at the suddenness of the attack, Buffy didn't rebound until he'd stepped forward
and slammed his left fist into her face. She could see that there were no longer any ill effects at
hurting humans and she allowed the Slayer in her to take over completely.
She didn't even bother with the witty puns that were normally her
trademark. If the Big Bad was set
to kill her, she wasn't going to be able to spare a thought for being amusing.
Buffy
spun and brought her outstretched arm around to collide painfully - for him -
into the side of his head.
Stepping
back at the blow, Spike felt the spinning roundhouse kick that followed the
punch without actually seeing it coming. He
shook his head to clear it and growled low in his throat.
The
bloodlust that Buffy saw spring to his golden eyes turned her stomach.
When he just leered at her, she knew this was one fight that was long
from over.
"That's
right, Slayer! That's the tune I
like to dance to! Let's go then,
pet. I don't think you're bleedin'
quite enough for my taste - so to speak."
"Bring
it on, Spike. You think you can
take me? Bring it on."
There
was nothing left in her but the Slayer, and this fight was going to be to the
death of one of them. She knew it.
She accepted it. Her heart broke because of it.
Spike
lunged at her and she brought up her fist to meet him.
Pivoting after the blow landed, she grabbed him by his jacket and used
his momentum and her strength to shove him, head first, into the crypt wall.
Spike
dropped like stone but he didn't stay down, he rolled out of the way of an
incoming kick aimed at his ribs and leapt to his feet in time to block a
vicious-looking uppercut. Grabbing
the incoming fist, he yanked the Slayer forward and head-butted her hard.
Staggered
by the blow, Buffy paused for a brief moment then dropped into a cartwheel and
brought one booted foot down on the top of Spike's head.
It
didn't matter, no matter what she did, the vampire kept coming.
They
fought hard. It was bloody, it was
painful, and it was long. Both took
injuries that would have landed either of them in the hospital if they'd been
human, or just human. Buffy even
managed to stake Spike at one point, but a quick twist of his body as the blow
landed had prevented it from being a dusty ending.
For
almost thirty minutes they fought, tooth and nail, to stay alive.
But the Slayer was weakening. She
was tiring. And she couldn't believe that Spike just kept coming at her.
She'd hit, kicked, thrown, and even staked him - but he just kept coming.
That was when she admitted to herself that she may just be in real
trouble.
And
she knew real fear.
But
then Spike slipped up. He made a
mistake and the Slayer in her saw it. He
had thrown a punch that she ducked under, but this time he didn't do such a good
job keeping his balance. She saw
the tilt of his body and used it, kicking out the knee of his left leg, the leg
that was supporting all of his weight.
Spike
crumbled to his knees, bellowing in pain and rage and Buffy didn't waste any
time in spinning around with a kick that sent him flying backwards.
He lay for a minute, flat on his back, and for the first time he didn't
rise.
Power
and victory coursed through the Slayer's veins and she stalked to where his body
had fallen. Straddling his hips,
she sat on his stomach and grinned coldly down into his bruised face.
Her stake jabbed him in the chest, directly over his dead heart.
"You
should have known, Spike. You can't
beat me. You finally bit off more
than you can chew."
Buffy
could never actually say she remembered what happened next.
One minute she was preparing to send Spike on his way to a dusty hell,
the next his hand had shot out, grabbed her wrist tightly - pulling the stake
away from his chest - and he'd rolled his body out from underneath her.
Before
she could blink, it was she that was lying with her back on the ground, it was
she who felt the pressing weight of an enemy on her chest, and it was she who
was about to be killed.
Buffy
stared up into the gleaming eyes of a killer and shuddered.
She knew that he'd played her. He
was waiting for her to do just what she did.
And now she was going to die for it.
Spike
grinned at her realization that it was over.
She lost. "Always been
your problem, Slayer. Overconfidence.
One day it just may get you killed."
She
was furious in her defeat, and not willing to go calmly into the long, cold
night.
"Shut
up, Spike. You won.
Congratulations. Why don't you just finish it so I don't have to look at you
any more. Looks like you get to
have that one good day, after all."
He
stared at her, the fire in her eyes. He
may have won, but she was in no way defeated.
Spike
bared his long canines at her and lunged for her throat.
And
licked the salty wetness of her sweat that had formed there.
Buffy's
eyes, eyes that had squeezed tightly closed of their own volition in preparation
of the coming bite, flew wide when she felt only the cool wetness of his tongue
against her heated flesh.
When
Spike raised his head from her neck, he shook off his demon visage and stared
down into the wide, confused eyes of the woman he loved.
Gone was the monster, there was nothing but the man shining brightly in
twin pools of blue and he smiled at her slightly.
"Don't
think you heard me, luv. I said,
'One day it just may get you killed.' Didn't
say anythin' about that day bein' today."
Buffy
didn't understand. She sputtered at
him in confusion.
"Wh-what?
Spike? What the hell...get
off me!"
"Oh, I don't think so, Buffy. Not just yet, anyway. One, I happen to like this particular position, what with finally bein' between your legs and what all, and two...well..." his amused and sarcastic expression faded away and he stared down at her with all seriousness, "this is the only way I know that you'll really listen to what I have to say."