A clash of steel on steel rang down the alley. Spike tilted his
head, listening. He contemplated the bag of Chinese food in his
hand, then the noise. The food. The noise. And he gave a gigantic
sigh.
Unusual,
but not unheard of, there was sword fighting in the streets of LA.
Granted, he and his merry band of not-friends were usually the ones
doing the clashing, but still. Could be nothing.
He
lit a cigarette, breathing deep. He looked up and down the street,
noting the absence of cars before darting down between the dumpsters.
Then again, could be something. Right then.
He
was new to this hero-in-the-night gig. More Angel’s scene,
but since he was the one the Powers tapped this time around, damned
if he wasn’t going to make a go of it. That Doyle fellow was
rather convincing with the visions and all that rot, and it actually
felt…good to help. Help and not be ridiculed like those Scoobies
used to do. Never good enough, not even with a soul. He stifled
another self pitying sigh and tried to look on the bright side of
dark-avenging: the clanging might be some damsel in distress and
whatnot. Gotta love those damsels, fools the lot of them.
The
sounds of fighting echoed around him, bouncing off the concrete
and metal of the alley, and he paused for a moment to take another
deep drag before flicking the butt off into the refuse pile. He
strutted around an abandoned car, leaping lightly over a tipped
trash can. The vampire wrinkled
his nose; no matter how long humans were on this rock, they never
managed to make their rubbish to smell better. Maybe he should have
science-girl look into it. Fred was into that sort of thing, more
or less.
“Right
then, which one of you damsels need helllll-ooo,” his clever
quips died on his lips when he got a look at the fight. Somehow,
‘Dark avenger come to kick your sorry demon ass,’ didn’t
seem to apply to two very human men going at it with swords.
Interesting.
Not
your usual Los Angeles nightlife—way too heartbeaty. Spike
debated a moment before pulling up a cinder block and having a seat.
“Oi,
you boys have a license to do this?”
No
answer, though the larger, sweatier, hairier one grunted. Hard to
say who needed saving—no one was wearing a nametag that said
‘Hi, I’m demonic, please slay me!’ Spike tskd
and lit another cigarette. It was times like these he actually missed
the Scoobies. Annoying little gits, most of them,
but sometimes…well, they were company.
He
could leave, he supposed, let these two duke it out. Spike wasn’t
confident that playing nanny to a bunch of frustrated humans was
in Doyle’s job description, and he was sure there’d
been no vision about this little…interlude. The men continued
their dance, the littler one having better form, but not quite the
strength. Spike found himself critiquing their technique before
rolling his eyes. “This is really sad, boys. Couldn’t
find a date? Better to beat up on each other? A bit of pent up inappropriate
feelings?”
Still
no reaction. This whole watch-and-scorn wasn’t nearly so much
fun without the kids around. If he concentrated hard enough, he
could imagine them there around him. Xander was sitting on the bench
seat of the abandoned car, munching happily on an Italian sub wearing
an atrocious Hawaiian shirt. He waved the sandwich around a bit,
“You know, Deadboy Junior, this hero thing’s not really
you. You’re more the suck-em and leave-em type.”
“Xander!
That’s not fair. He’s done lots of good.” Willow
appeared to his left, slurping a mocha frappachino through a straw.
She scrunched her nose. “Well, some good. Goodish.”
She sighed, rolling her eyes when Xander started laughing.
With
a start, Spike was surprised to see Buffy leaning up against the
wall. “I dunno, guys, he might figure it out. He did come
through in the end.”
He straightened up, flexing his shoulders subconsciously. It was
one thing to conjure up the wonder twins. Another thing altogether
to get the blonde goddess herself. After all this time away, the
sheer image of her was enough to stop his heart. Well, if his beat,
anyway.
Xander
munched another bite, talking with his mouth full, “Gotta
give him points, though. How many other undead creatures with souls
would be out doing whatever it is he’s doing?”
“Hey!
I’m helping the helpless here!” Spike interjected, narrowly
missing a sword swipe that went a little too close to his beloved
duster. “Oi, watch the leather, punk!” The hairy one
snarled, looking a little less human and a bit more Conan the Barbarian.
Spike huffed, “A bit touchy, ain’t ya.”
“Ewww,
smelly. You know, Spike, if you’re helping the helpless, can’t
you choose a cute one, or at least a non-stinky one?” Buffy
waved her hand in front of her nose. Spike’s lips quirked
up into a smile. She was so very Buffy just then, this figment of
his imagination.
“Don’t
choose ‘em, love, just save ‘em.” He ducked again,
tripping over a jumble of bottles. “But these two don’t
really look like they need it. Big with the male bonding, my guess.”
It
was the little one that spoke this time, rolling his words with
an impressive Scottish accent, “If you aren’t going
to help me kill him, then please fuck off. We don’t need the
commentary.”
“Fussy
aren’t they. You know, I miss the good old days where the
demons just quipped and sliced.” Willow tapped her fingers
on her lip, leaning on Xander’s shoulder. He bobbed his head
up and down in agreement.
“Life
got harder when the bad guys stopped being evil and got a bit greyer,
or, you know, friend shaped.”
“Way
to bring down the mood Xander. We’re past all that now.”
Buffy watched ambivalently as a swipe went right through her chest.
“Good thing I’m not really here, that would have hurt.
Not to mention ruining a perfectly in-fashion Bébé
top. I spent good money for this.”
Willow
nodded, a flush still on her cheeks, “Darn toot’n.”
The
vampire couldn’t help the chuckle that rumbled from his chest.
It felt so good, the casual commentary, the camaraderie. He had
to face facts. He was a complete pansy- he missed them all. Missed
Xander’s awkward off-color humor, Willow’s self-deprecation,
Buffy’s sheer magnetism cloaking a warm heart.
He
was so wrapped in his thoughts that a grunt behind him took him
by surprise. He looked over his shoulder in time to see the smaller
man slice the head off the larger one, his unattached skull rolling
across the alley.
“Hey,
now that’s just not nice at all,” Spike started, but
snapped his mouth shut at what happened next. Blue lights started
under the slain man’s skin, dancing lightening around the
enclosed space. The Scottish fellow dropped to his knees, sword
discarded, holding tight to the ground.
The
arcs of electricity soon spread, and Spike was hard pressed to keep
out of the way. One by one the, Scoobies faded until only Buffy
was left, watching him with compassion. She smiled faintly, giving
him a nod and a wave before she too disappeared in a lightening
struck haze.
Spike’s
jaw was on his chest, ash drifting around his fingers from the abandoned
smoke. His imagination was definitely running away with him. First,
imaginary friends then this lightning show. Definitely not on the
docket for the day.
The
man opened his eyes, whole body tense. He moved as if to grab his
sword again, but Spike held up his hand.
“Look,
mate, I’ve had a really bizarre couple of weeks. Like, cosmically
demented. I just had a conversation with people I’ve not seen
for months that don’t really exist then watched you chop the
head off of old Stinky here complete with laser light show.”
The
man watched him warily, drawing himself up to his feet. “What
do you want from me,” he murmured.
Spike
thought for a moment, wondering just what he did want. He wanted
his unlife back, he wanted a purpose, he wanted fucking respect
from Angel and his merry band of poofters, and most of all, “I
want a drink.”
The
man blinked and Spike stuck out his hand, “I’m Spike.
I think I could do with a pint or twelve. You up for it?”
“Connor
MacLeod.” He shook his head, “And why not? Drink it
is.”
Spike
beamed, wrapping his arm loosely around the man’s shoulders.
“I know this great little dive, not far from here. And if
we’re lucky, it’s Karaoke night!”
The
vampire lit up again, duster swinging with each step. It was a weird,
weird night. But one thing was for certain, this was absolutely,
positively, the last time he let Harmony fix his blood before leaving
work. Otter, his ass.
~Fin~
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