“Alright,” Buffy said through gritted teeth. “We've been standing in this line for ten minutes and I have yet to see something vaguely evil. When exactly is this demon of yours going to show?"
“Don't know if he is,” Spike said, shuffling forward in line. “Just said I can smell one.”
“And I believe this because of your stunning track record of forthrightness,” she replied, voice heavy with self-mockery as they trudged ahead.
“Believe me or not,” he shrugged, “You'll be able to see the whole carnival from up here. You're bound to spot something.”
“Hopefully my sanity,” she groused, as they plodded onto the metal platform. She clenched her teeth and tried not to dwell on the ill-gotten tickets he handed to the operator before tucking the cash back into his pocket.
Buffy plopped into the waiting bucket and Spike dove in with a self-satisfied grin. She glared daggers at him while the attendant pushed the metal bar across their laps.
“There is no demon, is there?” she said, eyes narrowed to little slits in his direction.
“And this surprises you?” he said, tearing open his newly purchased cotton candy while the cart lurched backwards, leaving their feet dangling off the back of the platform. The night was turning cooler by the moment, and being encased in this metal box wasn't exactly helping to warm her up. As they paused to load more passengers, Buffy watched the teeming midway with a pang of guilt. The kind of pang that stabbed repeatedly as the Psycho theme song played in the background.
“Wow,” she said, lifting her eyebrows thoughtfully. “And here I thought the Big Bad was something to be concerned with. What's your next plan? Repeating everything I say? Flicking me with a rubber band?”
Spike leaned towards her leaving precious few inches between them. So few, in fact, that she could smell him, old leather, new tobacco and just a hint of powdered sugar. The powdered sugar was new, but the rest of it brought back memories of Willow's spell that she really wished she could forget.
“When I get this problem sorted I'm going to drain you until you shrivel like a raisin.”
Buffy sneered, “I have a great solution to your problem! It involves your severed head, want me to demonstrate?”
After a scathing look, he finally shrugged and leaned back in the seat, plucking a piece of cotton candy out of the bag. “Blather on, little girl. I still got my way.”
“There needs to be a stronger word than hate,” she groused as the wheel started to gain speed.
“There's always abhor,” he offered, tipping the cotton candy bag at her. She absently plucked a piece from inside, then realized exactly who had been holding it and grimaced at the pink fluff. With a shudder, she chucked it over the side and crossed her arms as they took their first spin at full speed.
“What kind of evil plan is this, anyway?”
“No kind,” he said, still pulling the last bit of his most recent bite in with his tongue. Something in her lower belly twitched again at the appearance of that part of his body. Probably the something that remembered exactly what his tongue was capable of. She shoved the memory into the valley of things never to be thought about again.
“Then why are you up here on a Ferris wheel eating cotton candy like a normal person? Don't you have creepy lurking to do or my death to plot or something?”
“Could be plotting your death right now,” he said, shoving another wad into his mouth.
She tilted her head at him accusingly and he rolled his eyes with a growl, “Fine! I'm not currently plotting your sodding demise!” He tied a knot in his bag and shook his head, “God, Slayer, don't you ever take a break?”
“Right,” she drawled sarcastically, “The Slayer takes a break.” Guilt crept up her spine as she realized she was kind of doing that. Right now. Suddenly the spinning of the ride was making her a lot queasy. She saw Spike's lips curl in a knowing smile, but he didn't speak.
“Now, Slayer,” he chided, “everyone has downtime. I'm as evil as they come, but I still occasionally get a little tired of the death and mayhem and think, maybe I'll just watch a bit of Passions or check out the new releases at Virgin Records.”
“Reason nine hundred and sixty-four why you are neither good nor the Chosen One.”
And some Chosen One she was. She could picture the headlines now. Hundreds die in carnival massacre. Meanwhile, Slayer rides the Ferris wheel with vampire.
“You never take a break,” he challenged, his dark brow arched pointedly.
“ This is not a break,” she insisted venomously, “A vile alternate universe where I ended up sitting less than three feet away from you, yes. But it is not a break.”
She noticed him nod briefly out of the corner of her eyes, his lips quirking.
“What?” she asked brusquely.
“Oh, nothing,” he sing-songed, clearly indicating otherwise. God she had never hated anything or anyone the way she hated him. The minute they touched solid ground again, he was stake fodder. Spike faced her suddenly, all pursed lips and feigned innocence, “Say, don't you carry around one of those little mobile phones?”
“Why?” she said, eyes narrowing to slits of expectant fury.
“Just thought I should call the old Watcher to check in. Let him know that while I did mention your grave responsibilities to the safety of this fine city, in your infinite wisdom, you decided we should go for a ride on the old spinny wheel.”
“I am going to kill you so very much,” she said.
“Now you're talking,” Spike said with a chuckle, “Music to my ears.”
“There won't even be dust left to brush off the cart when the ride's over,” she growled.
Resolutely, she changed her focus to the carnival beyond them. Her hair floated up in the wind, bits of it getting stuck in her lip-gloss, while the squeals and laughter of the passengers fell all around her. It had been a long time since she'd felt these sensations. The pit of her stomach balled up tight when they sailed over the crest again and again.
Spike leaned back and stretched his arms out on either side of the metal bench. She scooted even further forward, appalled by the mere possibility of brushing against him.
“The first one was amazing,” he said, and when she turned to offer an entirely perplexed expression, he clarified, “First Ferris wheel.”
She turned back, hoping he'd take the hint and shut up. Fat chance.
“Chicago World's Fair,” he elaborated, “1893, I think. Fifty cents was the admission price and riding the wheel cost you another fifty.”
The comforting hum of the motor sang all around them and Buffy really tried to focus on that instead of his voice.
“This thing's like a miniature,” he muttered, “The first one had these big wooden boxes, all cushy seats and paneled wood interiors. Every one of those cars held as many people as this whole wheel. It was slower, though. Must have lasted half an hour. Good thing we had an early dinner.”
Buffy turned to offer an irritable glance, but his focus seemed to be somewhere else. His gaze abruptly flicked to her, just long enough for her to be reminded of just how blue his eyes were. Okay, yuck. As if her knowledge bank wasn't already tragically creepy, it was just perfect that Spike's eye color got to be included.
“Didn't matter, though,” he said, “It was brilliant, all the exhibitions shrinking away, the world itself fading into the distance as we climbed higher. You could see everything from up there, the buildings and tents, people like little ants trailing up and down the roads. The magic of it was undeniable. There hadn't ever been anything like it.”
After a long pause, he concluded softly, “Still isn't.” He leveled her with an even stare then, his head tilted thoughtfully.
The staring contest was making her feel even edgier. Something about this was playing out like an old movie that she really didn't want to watch. Buffy shivered and closed her eyes for a moment. Forcing a nasty tone, she tossed out, “It's just a stupid ride. I don't even know why I'm here.”
“I'll show you,” he said, and before she could blink, before she could even take a breath, long, cool fingers covered her eyes. She could smell the sticky sweetness of cotton candy and feel the pressure of his arms on either side of her. It hadn't been so long since she'd last felt his embrace, a tiny voice reminded her. Hadn't been too long since she'd liked it, either, an even smaller voice added.
She balled her fists for attack, but he released her, uncovering her eyes just as they crested the top of the wheel and coasted over, her stomach cart wheeling in turn.
“See?” he breathed, voice a low rumble near her ear, “Even you can see the magic in it, yeah?”
He was right. She hated him for it, but he was right. The whole world seemed to be dancing. Blinking lights and blaring music. Teenage boys throwing darts with their dates waiting hopefully behind them. Little girls linking hands and skipping along with sugar-buzzed smiles. People everywhere, laughing, eating….living. Buffy exhaled slowly and her body relaxed, her shoulders bumping against his arm.
“I love carnivals,” he said quietly, as they swept back up the wheel yet again, the momentum rocking their cart repeatedly. “Love the way they make the world look.”
Suddenly aggravated with him, she bristled and pulled away from his arm. Which, gross! Arm of Spike! And how dare he spew all this stuff about magic and beauty.
Yeah, how dare he see it better than you, right, Buff?
“You're a vampire,” she snapped, “You aren't a part of this world.”
“Neither are you,” he replied easily, “Difference is, I still know how to love it.”
***
The wheel continued its rotation while Spike seethed about his poncey little tirade. ‘The magic of it was undeniable.' Where the hell had that come from? He could damn near feel those wired spectacles perched on his nose once more. Bleeding William.
And of course, leave it to the Slayer to get her knickers in a twist about his place in the world, or rather, his lack thereof. God, she was irritating. The wheel started to slow and he glanced over at her out of the corner of his eye.
She smelled good, though. Like honeysuckle with a hint of lemonade.
Tasted good too.
Spike bit his tongue lightly and stared out over the slightly thinning crowd of the carnival. He really didn't need any more reminders of Red's spell. Magic always made that sort of thing amazing. Hell, she could have kissed like Angelus and his knees would have buckled.
“Step up!” the carnie barked as he yanked the bar clear of their laps. Buffy nearly launched out of the seat, stumbling down the metal steps with her hands brushing her clothes frantically.
Spike ambled out of the cart more slowly, lighting a cigarette while she fussed with her hair and shirt, acting like she'd been caught snogging behind the bleachers at school. And he'd know, because the last time he'd witnessed this reaction, he'd actually done something to cause it. The memory caused his lips to twitch in amusement.
Then again, maybe tonight wasn't so different. Her eyes had done that fluttery bit right in the middle of his bloody speech. And all the snide comments in the world weren't going to cover up the way she held her breath for a few seconds when he looked at her.
“Alright, just stay within five feet and I won't dust you…” she said, marching primly towards the crowd, “…yet. I need to figure out what the hell to do with you.”
“Don't think so,” he said, staying put and enjoying his nicotine.
She stopped abruptly, that pert little ass of hers tightening as her heels clicked together. She spun like a drill sergeant, arms crossed over her chest. “So, you'd rather get the dusty part over with now? Here works for me. No need for anyone to sweep up.”
“Try it,” he scoffed, then strolled off in search of a rubbish bin and an opportunity for cash. He ended up near a boisterous hawker, daring the crowd to try a contraption called the Slammer Hammer. He pitched the remnants of his cotton candy and donned a shit-eating grin when he glanced back to see her marching after him.
“And if I did try it,” she replied, as if he'd never walked away. “You'd stop me…” she paused to tilt her head thoughtfully, “…with a really firm talking-to?”
“We've covered this,” he said with an unconcerned wave. “But you do love to carry on about that power of yours, don't you? Gives you a rush, admit it.”
He watched her lips thin and two spots of red appear on her cheeks as the righteous fury brewed in her tiny body. She was entertaining, at the least. A burst of laughter ready on his lips, he considered the delicious opportunity lurking just beside them.
“Unlike you, I don't enjoy my freakish abilities, Spike. I deal with them.”
“Right, and I don't care for A positive.”
Her face scrunched into something even more hostile, but before she could retort, he pitched his cigarette and pulled her over to the Slammer Hammer. Since he was forced to deal with her, he might as well profit from it.
“What in the hell are you doing?” Buffy shrieked, but Spike ignored her, stopping in front of the heckler and tugging his reluctant companion into a sideways embrace.
“Ready to test your stuff, shorty?” the operator jibed.
“Nah, I was thinking more along the lines of the little lady,” Spike replied.
Buffy squirmed against his side, then went entirely still, repeating sourly, “Little lady?”
The carnie moved his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other and rubbed the sunburned triangle of skin peeking through the open collar of his shirt. He took a good minute looking her up and down, settling a couple of times on the cotton stretched across her breasts. “This is more a man's game, sweet thing.”
Buffy gasped and Spike suppressed a laugh, but the guy continued, offering her a lewd smile. “I'm not sure a pretty little girl like you could even lift the hammer.”
She glowered and Spike squeezed her again, planting a noisy kiss on the top of her head, “Oh, I don't know. This one's a right firecracker, if you get my drift.”
“It's your dollar,” the carnie shrugged and Spike grinned back at him, ignoring Buffy's sneaker as it stomped onto his foot. He loosened his grip marginally on her waist.
“Sweetums,” he sing-songed to her, “I don't think he believes you're strong enough.”
“I'm about to make a very dusty point that will prove him wrong,” she gritted out.
Her elbow jammed into his ribs and he grunted quietly as he heard something crack. Tipping his head sideways, he continued, “Mate, what do you say you and I make a little wager on my girl? Under the table?”
With a cocky and yellowed grin, the carnie crossed his arms. “I'm listening.”
“I'll bet you fifty bucks the girl can not only lift the hammer, but she can ding a bell.”
“Come on, she's a hot little thing, but unless she's hiding a bundle of grapes in that skirt, she's not going to ding a damned bell.”
“Alright, ewww!” she sputtered, “And she is right here! And would be really happy if you'd stop talking about her in third person, thanks!”
“Relax, honey,” the carnie said, “Your fella and I are just having a little conversation.”
Buffy gasped and opened her mouth, but Spike interrupted.
“Fifty bucks,” he pushed again and the carnie sucked his toothpick, his eyes lingering once more on her chest.
“You're on,” he said, “Figure it'll be worth the risk just to watch her bend over to pick it up.”
Spike couldn't suppress the smirk that curled his lips when the Slayer growled and abruptly hefted the hammer in one hand without so much as a curtsey. She proceeded to slam it down on the pad with a delicious crack. The bells rang up like a music scale, the final mark gonging with startling authority.
Spike grinned when he noticed the sizable fresh dent in the side of the bell. When he returned his attention to Buffy, she was spinning the hammer like a baton. She dropped it into the gobsmacked hawker's hands and dusted her palms off.
“Okay, that was almost as fun as hitting him with the hammer,” she said, marching off just a little ways, as if the guy's blinking and gaping was bothersome.
“Indeed it was,” Spike agreed as she disappeared, then cocked his head at the heckler. “Time to pay up.”
With wide eyes still fixed on the Slayer, who was now a few yards away and checking her nails, he counted out the fifty dollars. “That ain't natural,” he muttered, “But with an ass like that she could have me in all kinds of unnatural... ”
“One more word and I'll teach you all about unnatural,” Spike warned, letting his eyes shift yellow just long enough to make his point. He shook his demon visage back before it fully emerged, and stalked away, counting the money the carnie had thrust at him. Better to keep his mind on the cash and off his little outburst.
He caught up with the Slayer tucking a tube of fruity lip balm into the pocket of her denim skirt.
“Here's your cut,” he said, offering her a folded stack of cash as he fell in step beside her.
“My cut?” she said, stopping and pursing those pink glossy lips, “I don't think so. Gambling isn't legal in these parts, King Con.”
“No blood, no foul,” he shrugged, “And where's your sense of girl power or what not? You can't tell me you didn't get off on putting him in his place.”
“I have girl power aplenty,” Buffy said, perching her hands on her slim hips and tilting her head in consideration. Finally, she snatched the money and tucked it into her pocket.
“Fine, I didn't hate it,” she begrudgingly admitted. “But he was begging for it! I don't get some sick kick out of my calling Spike, no matter what you think.”
“Right,” he drawled sarcastically, “Because you'd give it all up in a minute for a normal life, wouldn't you?”
“Yes!”
“Face it, those Slayer perks are a part of you. You need them like I need blood.”
“ You don't know anything about what I need.”
“Singing a different tune not too long ago, weren't you luv?” he asked, curling his tongue behind his teeth.
Her expression iced over as she stepped closer. “The only reason you are not the chorus of a very popular Freddie Mercury song right now is because Giles thinks you might be useful.”
“The only reason you'd even have a chance is because of my problem.”
“Shyeah! I could so kick your ass!” she said, eyes bright and ego jumping.
“You really think so, don't you?” he teased.
“Facts are funny things. I tend to believe them.”
“Okay, tough girl,” he challenged, crossing his arms over his chest. “What makes you think you can take me? Slayer strength versus bonafide demon. What makes you better?”
“Oh, I don't know.” she said, “Oh, right! Everything.”
”Prove it,” he said.
“Fine,” she barked stepping over to a deserted eating area, a few sticky tables and folding chairs scattered around for the patrons. She pulled her stake from her skirt and spun it in her fingers. “Come and get it.”
Now, maybe it was the sugar talking, or the stretch of abstinence that being the Watcher's house pet earned him, but something about those four little words coming out of her mouth sent an electric jolt through him. Spike pressed his lips together and moved beneath the awning stretched over the tables.
“You at full strength and me with a sodding migraine the first time I pull your hair?”
“Works for me,” she said with a perky smile.
“Course it does,” he said, hooking his thumbs in his pockets. “It's the only way you'd win, but it still wouldn't prove anything.”
Her lips thinned and her expression pinched up in contemplation. Finally, she rammed her stake back into the waistband of her skirt and yanked out a chair near him.
“Alright, sit down.”
He did, watching her with interest as she sat across from him and put her arm up on the table, palm extended. “Okay, death breath,” she said, wiggling her fingers at him.
“Let's go.”
“You want to arm wrestle me.” He said it. Asking seemed a mute point.
She wiggled her fingers again and tilted her head. “It proves who's stronger, doesn't it? What's the matter? Chicken?”
Arching a brow dryly, he tugged off his duster and set his arm on the table. “Running out of that wit of yours, I see.”
Before she could respond, he snatched her hand and met her eyes when he heard her heart rate skip. He gave a quick tug to make sure his skull wasn't going to start hammering. Satisfied, he focused again on her heartbeat, which was back to normal. As was her grip. Her jaw clenched and her brow creased as they began to wrestle in earnest.
He could say a lot of nasty things about this girl. Hell, he could probably write a bestseller for the vampire community at large. But damned if she didn't blow his mind with the magnitude of power stored in that hot little body of hers.
Spike shook his head in amusement as she grunted and pushed hard, gaining ground. With a groan of his own, he pushed back, his eyes locked to her throat as he pulled her arm back to center and then slightly towards his side.
He could see her pulse hammering away in her neck. Just watching her skin jump and dance in the rhythm was enough to keep him gaining ground. A little further and he'd have her. She was breaking a sweat, clearly putting everything she had into besting him. And bloody hell if that extra heat and pounding heart didn't make his mouth water.
“Unnnh”
Stunned by the throaty noise that had just passed from her lips, Spike's eyes jerked to her face. Suddenly, everything was moving very slowly. She caught her bottom lip with her teeth and sucked in a tight breath that left him panting and reminded him he needed to kill the little witch later. Because that sound and that little lip nibble were all too familiar. The last time he'd been privy to either, he had Buffy in his lap and a Watcher yapping until she'd reluctantly wiggled away.
She opened her mouth and touched the same spot she'd bitten with the tip of her tongue, watching him intently. Never one for playing by the rules, Spike's cock jumped with interest. Concentration diverted, his grip faltered for a millisecond. It was enough. Buffy smiled smugly and slammed his hand into the table just as he realized he'd been had.
Still breathing hard and squelching impulses that really didn't fit the old arch enemy relationship, he sat in silence as she jerked away from him, hopping up with a smug grin.
“You cheated,” he rumbled huskily as he watched her hands brush down the front of her pink shirt. Ballsy move. Could have guessed a lot of ways the Slayer might have played dirty, but this was a kind of dirty he'd never pegged her for.
A vixen's smile graced her features. “What is it that you said? No blood, no foul, right?”
Before he could answer, she spun towards the midway, leaving him stunned at the table.
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