If there were a top ten list of recent suckage in the life of Buffy Summers, cleaning vampire dust out of her shoes had to rank pretty high. Possibly just beneath foregoing the newest Tom Cruise flick in favor of the fascinating study of the feeding habits of Turlock demons. Then there was finding out the cute, ordinary boy she was flirting with was more than meets the eye. Not as common as dust removal, but thanks to her recent spill-the-beans session with Riley, she'd realized that it was at the top of the chart.
Buffy snorted irritably, and kicked the trashcan she was strolling past. The receptacle flew to the building beside her, crumpling like a beer can against the bricks. She offered a sheepish frown at the damage and continued towards Shady Hill Cemetery.
“You just had to be some sort of top secret commando,” she muttered, envisioning Riley's face, as she rubbed her forearms and wished for once she'd sacrificed cuteness for warmth. “Because being an ordinary TA would be too much to ask for since I was considering dating you. In fact, color me surprised that you're human at all.”
Of course, she didn't say any of this to him when she had the chance. No, after they'd both laid out their entirely separate, yet equally bizarre, life missions she'd nodded sagely and put on the “let's take some time to think about it” brakes.
A rattle and crash behind her caused her to whirl, stake in hand and eager for battle. A streak of black fur, coupled with a sad meow, darted across the alley. Harrumphing her disappointment, she put her stake away.
“I thought the Hellmouth was supposed to spew out endless streams of things needing a good killing. Like Old Faithful…with less tourists.”
With a frustrated sigh, she resumed walking. Her cell phone rang and she pulled it from her skirt pocket, knowing instinctively that only one guy was likely to be on the other end of the line. One who was neither cute nor ordinary.
“Yeah?” she answered.
“Buffy, I'm glad I caught you,” Giles said, “Something's come up.”
“Something evil?” she guessed hopefully.
“To the marrow of his bones,” he confirmed, with that tone that indicated he was probably grumpily pinching the bridge of his nose. “It's Spike. I'm afraid he may be up to something.”
“Like what? Scowling? Making weird British insults? C'mon, Giles, it's not like he can do anything.”
“We can't be certain of that, Buffy,” Giles corrected, as she exited the alley, glancing both ways more in the vain hope of spotting a fledgling than actually anticipating a car on the quiet street. “He may not be able to bite anyone, but Spike has many connections in the vampire community, and he does have certain charms that may lure unsuspecting victims.”
“Oh yeah, he's a regular purple heart or green clover,” she said dryly, crossing the road. “Why the sudden concern? Don't we have real vampires to fight?”
“Yes, but tonight I have reason to be concerned,” he said, “I sent Spike to the market over two hours ago and he has yet to return.”
“You sent Spike to the grocery store?” she said, pausing briefly as a disturbing image of the vampire comparing the price of canned peaches sprung to mind. She shook it off with a curled lip and continued on her way. “Gee, Dad, did you remind him to bring the car back with a full tank of gas?”
“Yes, I suppose you think you're terribly amusing. If you must know, he is eating me out of house
and home and at the very least I felt it would be reasonable for him to pull his weight around here.”
“So, I should call up the local Safeway and recommend an armed guard for the produce section?”
An irritable huff, “If you would kindly let me finish I would explain that there is a carnival starting tonight. And since I remember Spike mumbling something about picking up candy floss, I think it's likely he'd attend.”
“Okay, so he's got an evil itch to ride the Scrambler,” she replied. “Which, granted, weird, but this is Spike.”
“Indeed it is, Buffy, and you seem to forget that he is a particularly sagacious predator. I've no doubt that he'd consider a throng of distracted fun-seekers a prime opportunity.”
“Someday I'll need to take classes on your speak,” she sighed, then stomped around the route to the cemetery, heading for the main drag. “But, fine. I'll go find the bleached idiot and bring him back to your place. I haven't seen a baddie all night anyway.”
A sigh came from the other end of the line, “In that event, it wouldn't be unwise to patrol the carnival. These events can be rife with evil.”
“My God, Giles, you're right,” Buffy mocked, “Cotton candy and kiddie roller coasters. Should we alert the media?”
“Traveling fairs can attract an unsavory lot. Coupled with a Hellmouth, I think a bit of caution is in order.” Giles' tone was thick with irritation and Buffy pulled a face, before responding.
“Right. Call me cautious girl,” she said. “I'll bring back your roomie as soon as I find him.”
“Do take your time,” Giles sighed, and she could hear the sound of scouring in the background. “It will take me a month to clean... my God!” he abruptly exclaimed, “What atrocity has he committed with that loaf of bread?!”
The line went dead and Buffy pulled the phone away to stare at it briefly before putting it away.
Five blocks and not a single slay later, she arrived at the fairgrounds. A cacophony of lights and noise assaulted her as she wandered into the midway. For those first few moments, it was hard not to be swept away. Hecklers assured her how easy the milk bottles would come down, just one, two, three, pretty girl. Ignoring them, her nose caught a mixture of smells redolent of seasons past. Fresh fries and funnel cakes, and the unmistakable sweetness of cotton candy.
She paused and examined the colorful offerings at a temporary-tattoo booth, watching with envy as a young couple picked out designs for each other. She found herself smiling as they pointed and laughed at the more obscene designs. Which of course was the perfect cue for her little tingle alarm to go off. Buffy narrowed her eyes and scanned the crowd. She made her way through the throng, searching for the vampire that she already knew was near.
It took all of two minutes to find the creature in question, skulking behind the garish glow of a candy apple stand. And naturally it had to be the single vampire in this wretched city that she couldn't kill. She crossed her arms, listening as he flirted with a giggling, obviously teenaged girl. From her hiccups and wobbly stance, Buffy guessed the carnival wasn't in the practice of carding their patrons.
“I'd love to get you a candy apple, pet, but I'm afraid I left my wallet at home.”
Yeah, his wallet is right there with his birth certificate, circa. Old-enough-that-maggots-don't- want-him.
Eyes rolling, Buffy snuck a little closer, getting ready to break up the party if he'd somehow managed to get his fangs up and working again.
“Oh, I have money!” the girl slurred, producing a wad of cash that might as well have been wrapped with a ‘rich daddy' ribbon. “Enough for us to have lots of fun.”
“True enough, but it'll go further for just one,” Spike purred, then abruptly morphed into game face and roared, “Now drop the dosh and run before I rip you in half and use your innards for floss!”
The girl let out a blood-curdling shriek that blended into every other thrill ride scream in the vicinity. She dropped the cash and fled, stumbling off the fairgrounds and falling over a flimsy barrier fence in the process.
“That's gonna leave a mark,” Spike laughed as his victim disappeared into the night, giving Buffy the perfect opportunity to sucker punch him in the kidney.
“Bloody hell!” he yelled at impact, clutching his back and turning, fangs still brandished. “You! Should have known.”
Buffy strolled forward casually and clocked him again, sending him wailing crankily into the concession booth's trailer hitch. “My thoughts exactly,” she agreed. “Now how about you tell me exactly what the hell you're doing here.”
“Helping little old ladies onto the merry go round,” he said snidely, wiping blood from his nose before he tried to move past her.
Buffy pulled back to punch him again. He ducked to the side, but she caught him by the ear. Twisting hard, she yanked him to his knees.
“You bloody bitch!” he screamed, “You're even worse than normal tonight, aren't you? Is this some Slayer charged version of PMS?”
“Shut. Up. Spike.” With each word, she kicked him in the gut, until he had doubled over onto the ground. “Now, why don't we talk about Giles' groceries?”
Clutching his stomach, he bellowed, “Well, I couldn't just run up to the local cash machine, could I? What is your problem tonight?”
“You want to know what my problem is?” she gritted out, a rush of angry heat running from her head to the soles of her feet. “You are my problem. Your kind is my problem. The entire sorry state of my life is my problem!”
Spike huddled to a crouching position and slipped back into his human guise, but she ignored him, pacing back and forth as her tirade continued. “I'm a cute girl, you know? I shouldn't be chasing some badly dressed, over-bleached piece of fangy Euro... ”
“Hey!” he defended, but she ignored him.
“ ...trash around a carnival on a Friday night!”
She spun, waving her hand at the lights and rides, “I should be at this carnival with a normal boy. Not a vampire or a sleazebag, and definitely not some sort of gun-toting commando fighting for the greater good. Just a guy! Someone who will win me a cute little pink bear and offer me his jacket when it gets cold!”
“But nooo…” She flipped her hair and redirected her fury at Spike. Her tirade instantly stalled into silence when she noticed he was now on his feet and intently sniffing the air. Oh, and totally not paying attention to her.
“Smell that, Slayer?” he said throatily, pushing past her with a wild look in his eyes.
She made a grab for him, but he darted past her and back into the thick of the crowd of the midway. With a furious growl, she stomped forward, following the distinct tingle of his presence as she pushed her way through the bodies.
A very morbid part of her was curious as to what had him so worked up. She really needed to find him so that she could dust him, and thus annihilate that icky curiosity forever. Just when she thought the search was in vain, she found him at the window of another food trailer.
“Gimme one of those blooming onions and a funnel cake and maybe some of those chips.”
Unbelievable.
The girl behind the counter smacked her gum and offered a confused glance at the menu.
“Fries, sorry,” he corrected with a shake of his head.
Buffy approached him and raked the stake in her palm surreptitiously down the back of his duster, quietly muttering. “I am going to kill you.”
He turned over the shoulder, looking her up and down with a disgusted sigh. “Oh, fine.” Into the food trailer, he called, “And give us a couple of lemonades, yeah?”
“We are not buddies, Spike,” she continued in a low voice. “We are not going to share some fries over a picnic table. As soon as you walk away from this innocent bystander, I'm going to put this stake in your heart and you're going to disappear.” When he didn't respond, she tapped the stake lightly between his shoulder blades. “Are you somehow missing the pointiness of this point?”
Spike gathered his food and both drinks and sauntered past her, sparing a nasty smirk as he headed into a shadowy grassy area behind the food trailers. Flabbergasted, Buffy tucked her stake away and stalked towards him, fury pulsing through every inch of her.
When she found him, he was sprawled on bench that was missing an arm, a couple of fries already wrangled from the cardboard container. He shoved them into his mouth and pulled his fingers out with a little flick of pink tongue that sent Buffy's stomach on a barrel roll. Okay, ew for the tongue and double ew for the belly flippage.
At her look, he scoffed. “You have some sort of potato aversion?”
“I have a you aversion,” she snapped.
He shrugged and snatched more fries, which was enough to send her over the edge. She wasn't going to sit around and watch him snack. She was going to kill him and he was going to like it. Or not, which would be just as good. Better, even.
“I've got news for you,” she said, grabbing him by the collar and hauling him off the bench. At his yelp of protest, she pulled harder and continued. “You're not going to live out this little carnival fantasy on my watch.”
“Carnival fantasy?” he said, jerking out of her grasp and fixing her with a lascivious smirk. “Well, Slayer, and here I thought your little ‘tumble on the muddy hill' ditty was go...”
She cut off his words with a fierce stranglehold, the crescents of her freshly polished nails pressing dangerously into his cool skin.
“I thought I told you to never speak of the spell again,” she gritted out.
“Oh, right,” he gurgled, jerking away and slumping onto the bench with a scowl. “I filed it away in my I-don't-give-a-shit-because-you-said-it box.”
Now seething, she crossed her arms and offered a saccharine laugh, “Oh, that's so cute coming from the vampire who, not seven days ago pledged his undying devotion to me. In three languages, I believe.”
“Four,” he said, then curling his tongue behind his teeth added wickedly, “You were a little too busy riding my hand when I was on the fourth one.”
Horrified, Buffy looked around. Spotting no one, thank God, in hearing range, she leaned in with an ominous expression. “The next time you bring that up, I will find a way to stake you with a French fry.”
“Killing me in my condition goes against your ethics,” he sniffed, plopping down on the bench and reaching for his food. “So, I can talk about whatever I want.”
“No, you can't.”
Spike cleared his throat and bellowed, “There's no need to be ashamed, Slayer! I have very talented fing...”
Buffy's fingers pressed into either side of his Adam's apple, strangling the last part of his word. “Ever heard one of these suckers crack?” she said, an eager glint in her eye. “Want to?”
Spike shook her off and reached again for his fries. “Oh, ease up, Slayer. Just let me eat my chips in peace and I'll leave your virtue unsullied. It's not like I'm gonna drink the fun-goers, now am I?”
Weighing her current options, Buffy clenched her fists and bit back her fury. Truth was she couldn't dust him here, even if Giles did approve. Too many kids to risk it.
“Eat fast,” she barked, crossing her arms in defeat and dropping to the opposite side of the bench. “We're leaving in five minutes. I need to patrol.”
“Then you help,” he said around a mouthful of fries as he shoved the food between them closer to her.
“I'm not eating food bought with your dirty stolen money,” she said, despite the pleading groan of her stomach.
“I'm feeding the Slayer with that money,” he reasoned. “Defender of good and justice and all that rot, yeah?”
Buffy stared at him like a diseased sewer rat. “Why are you here?”
He gestured at the midway beside them, “Oh, come on, Slayer, do you have any idea the kind of pure delicious evil lurking in this place? The kind of fun to be had?”
“What exactly do they do at carnivals in England? Sacrifice babies to the moon?”
He paused, cocking a dark brow at her, “When's the last time you felt safe around a carnie?” When she didn't answer, he nodded. “Exactly. Any place run by them has got to be saturated in wickedness. 'Sides, like I said, it's fun.”
“You're a vampire. Vampires and fun should not be mixy things.”
“This coming from a vampire slayer wearing sneakers with pink laces?”
“They match my t-shirt,” she defended. Finally unable to resist the delicious smell of the fries, she grabbed a few.
Oh God. They were good. Like died and gone to heaven, these-may-very-well-be-better-than-sex, good.
Half the carton, and a third of the lemonade later, Buffy looked up to see Spike starting in on the blooming onion. He offered her a thumbs-up and a chuckle.
“I'm still going to kill you in a minute,” she said, and she was. After she finished these fries. And maybe had a bite of that funnel cake.
“No, you're not,” he said, unconcerned.
Buffy dropped the fries and leveled him with a malicious stare. “You seem to be forgetting about the slayer part of my title.”
“You seem to be forgetting about my little condition,” he snorted, offering her the blooming onion.
She declined it with a haughty look and he shrugged. “Slayer, I've been trying to kill you for years, and I've learned a thing or two.”
“Oh, do share,” she sniffed, crossing her arms expectantly.
“You're never going to stake me when I can't fight back.”
Buffy gasped in outrage, “You are completely delusional!”
“Am I?”
“Yes! If Giles didn't want you kept around for information, I would stake you right here and now.”
Spike paused mid-chew. “No, you wouldn't.”
“Yes, I would!”
“No,” he said, putting down his plate and picking up the funnel cake. “You wouldn't. You are too good at being a Slayer to kill me.”
“That can't even make sense in your freakish mind.”
“It makes perfect sense,” he said, offering her the funnel cake. She took a piece. Damn him. “It's like hunting in a fenced yard. No thrill in it.”
Buffy feigned contemplation, “Let's see, seeing you disintegrate into a zillion pieces, knowing I'll never hear your annoying voice again, not even have to break a sweat to rid the world of you …gosh, it sounds pretty thrilling to me.”
“No, it doesn't. It sounds boring and you know it. If there's no real danger, there's no real point.”
Buffy snorted, but he continued, “Oh, come on. You live for a good fight, and not just because your bloody Watcher tells you to. You live for it because you are a Slayer . Ever stop to think about that word, pet? About what it really means? You were born to do this, you need it the way you need air, or nail polish for that matter.”
“Just because I was born for it doesn't mean I want it,” she snapped. “There's more to me than this stupid destiny.”
Blue eyes locked to hers. “Oh and you think you're the only Slayer who fits that bill?” He shook his head derisively. “And, like it or not, that destiny of yours still rules everything else.”
Buffy clenched her shaking fingers. “Even if it that were true, none of that has anything to do with me not staking you.”
“It has everything to do with me,” Spike argued, leaning forward, lips curled in a sanguine smile. “I'm the reason that part of you exists. I'm the reason you fight. The thing that gives you purpose, the yin to your bloody yang, the dark side to your Force. But when I can't fight back?” He paused to shake his head wryly, “Can't exactly be the best if you only manage to take me down at my worst.”
“I don't want to be the best,” she protested weakly. “I want to be normal.”
“Oh, I think you do,” he said with a sardonic chuckle. “You're just too daft to realize you can have both.”
“I'm the Slayer,” she said frostily. “Normal walked away from me the minute I wrapped my fingers around a stake.”
“Then maybe it's time for you to redefine normal.”
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