Nothing Between Us (Part 2)
Dare H.
*Of all the fucking people in this world,* Spike thought when he saw her
through the pool hall's tinted windows. It didn't surprise him...very few
things surprised him after two hundred years. Actually, it made some sense-
fate, or destiny, or whatever the hell you called it always seemed to enjoy
toying with him.Through the panes, she had looked the same as ever. Blonde,
youthful, with a body that made him think dirty thoughts whenever she was
around, even if she was the Slayer.
He didn't stop to go in; he couldn't just pick a fight with her in the
middle of a public place. But he had barely walked half a block before the
strange feelings that were coursing through his veins made him stop and turn
around, heading back to the pool hall. Back to the Slayer.
He saw her, her back to him as she leaned over to make a shot. She was
dressed simply, none of those fancy clothes she used to wear when he'd last
seen her- *Eight, nine years is it?* She was wearing tight black jeans and a
simple white cotton shirt, but still managed to look good. He opened the
door and went in, not knowing what impulse caused him to move over to her.
As she lined up her shot, he just couldn't resist reaching out to take her
by surprise.
Spike wrapped his arms around her tiny waist, hugging her to him. He was
kind of disappointed when she didn't struggle. Didn't react. So he tightened
his grip, breathing in the delicious smell of her skin as he whispered
against her neck, "Hello, cutie."
As his words of long ago echoed in her ears, he felt the tension in her body
increase. Taking an arm off her, he took the pool cue out of her grip- those
things were deadly to his kind, after all. He'd seen a few friendly rounds
between vamps turn ugly in his lifetime.
She used his lessened grip to her advantage, turning around so that she was
resting against the pool table, her lower body pressed against his. Spike
grinned. A hazy, drunken memory came to him of that time in her kitchen,
only now it was she who was helpless.
"Spike," she said, and he couldn't tell if it was a greeting, a threat, or
both.
"Slayer," he replied with a slight nod of his head. Looking at her face, at
the green eyes that always pierced him more than a stake ever could, he
again marvelled at how she hadn't seemed to change. He hair was shoulder
length, with no bangs, her skin as smooth and tight and golden as ever. Her
eyes were darker though, weary almost, but still retained some of the
twinkle that had always been in them.
"Not anymore," she finally said. She looked at him hard, taking in the
chiseled cheekbones, the blue eyes. He looked different, more handsome than
she remembered him to be. Perhaps time had faded the memory...perhaps her
feelings for Angel had affected her judgement. Her eyes roved over his body,
taking in the familiar duster, and the not so familiar clothes. Black pants
had replaced the jeans, and he wore a shirt that was a darker red,
unbuttoned near the top with no t-shirt underneath to hide the skin of his
chest. She guessed that it was a way of changing without changing too much.
He arched his eyebrow up, and for the first time she noticed that he hadn't
taken his arm off her waist. His fingers idly stroked her lower back, and
she wondered if he was doing it to throw her off guard, or if he even
realized he was doing it at all.
"And what exactly do you mean by that, Slayer?"
"I mean that I'm not a Slayer. Not anymore." She sighed, and twisted to get
out of his arms. He held her tight, and she gave up, looking him straight in
the eye.
"Explain."
She sighed again, not wanting to go into it, but the look in his eyes made
her gather up the strength. "When I turned twenty-one, the Watcher's Council
decided to retire me....bastards. They made up some crappy excuse like I had
earned my right to live a normal life, but it was just a way to rid
themselves of me- a Slayer who didn't follow their damn Handbook. Not like I
ever got a copy of the stupid thing."
Spike cocked his head to the side, intrigued. "Go on."
"Well aren't we talkative tonight," she said sarcastically. But she did
continue her story- sometimes, it felt good to let it out. "I was 'insolent'
and 'uncontrollable,' more interested in 'saving the lives of friends than
of the world,' yadda yadda yadda. Plus, that whole double Slayer deal really
gave them the hives. I swear, I've never seen people so wrapped up in
'tradition.' You'd think they'd appreciate two Slayers to make the world a
safer place, but no, it doesn't fit with 'tradition.' So that's it. They
retired me."
*Well this is just bloody interesting,* Spike thought. "So you're no longer
a Slayer?"
"To them I'm not. In my heart I'll always be. And sometimes I do fight the
occasional baddies, but it pisses them off. They've got eyes everywhere.
Besides, I still fight evil- just a different type of evil."
"And what evil would that be, luv?"
"Humans do more harm to each other than demons and vamps ever will." She
smiled, a brief memory of Career Day all those years ago surfacing in her
mind. "I'm a cop."
Spike snorted. She smacked him not so lightly on his chest. "What's wrong
with that?" she protested. "The freaky Career Day people thought I was good
for it."
"Nothing, nothing," he quickly assured her. "So if I kill you, does it count
as bagging a Slayer?" he asked lightly.
She shook her head and smiled. "No, which I guess is bad for you, and bad
for me. Cause if you fought me, I'd have to kick your ass, and then some
pompous British guys would show up at my door and lecture me. It's a
lose-lose situation."
"So, we aren't in kill mode?"
Buffy nodded. "There's nothing between us anymore, Spike."
Neither of them knew what to do or say next. If no fight was ensuing, then
there was no reason to stay. He knew he should leave, unwrap his arm from
her waist where it felt quite comfortable and disappear into the night. She
knew she should tell him to go. But instead, they stood in awkward silence.
Buffy dropped her gaze from his eyes, looking instead at the open shirt. At
the corded muscles of his neck, noticing how pale and smooth they were. It
was then that she saw a thin band of leather rope around his neck, a tiny
ring strung on it. Unthinking, she reached up and held it between her
fingers, looking at the small red stone set in silver.
"It was Dru's," he said quietly, his voice laced with barely supressed pain.
"I always wondered what happened between you guys." She felt her cheeks turn
red the moment she said the words. *Great. Why'd I go and tell him that I
actually thought about him as if he were my friend or something. Stupid,
Buffy, very stupid.*
"Nothing happened," he answered, his tone somber and his words clipped. "It
never got better. We were together, but it wasn't the same. She just got
bloody crazier, and I just got angrier- at her, at Angelus, at myself, and
at you for not keeping your bloody legs closed in the first place. About
three years ago, I woke up one night and she was gone. The minion I had on
watch said she ignored his pleas and strolled into the fucking garden...into
the fucking sunlight. I ripped his throat out, y'know, but nothing made it
feel better. Nothing I did made it feel better."
In that moment, she felt sorry for him. Every trace of demon seemed to
disappear, replaced with a frailty and fragility that she'd thought only
humans capable of. She found his hand, squeezing it with her own. "I'm
sorry," she said, hoping he knew she was sincere.
He shrugged, brushing the pain away as he always did, looking for words but
not finding any. He noticed the guy behind the bar closing up, and glanced
at the clock on the wall. A few minutes to three.
"It's closing time, pet." He moved away from her and instantly missed the
feel of her body against his. He put the cue stick away, and was surprised
when she slipped her warm hand in his. Together, they headed out the door,
Buffy waving goodbye to the man. He waved back and called out, "See ya
later, Buf."
Spike took a mental note of that- apparently she was a regular. As they
stepped out onto the street, he looked at her. "Are we going somewhere?" he
asked, his usual cockiness coming back.
"I guess." She shrugged, not quite knowing what she was doing but feeling
excited anyhow. It seemed like forever since she'd last done something
implusive, something wacky. Besides, she liked talking to Spike. For being a
soulless, undead bad guy, he seemed to understand her pretty well.
There was a Denny's up ahead on the corner, always open 24-7. But the people
there knew her too, her and her fellow cops often heading over for a bite
after their shifts. She didn't want to openly talk about anything where it
could be overheard. "My place is just a few blocks away. We can talk...if
you want to, that is."
Spike tried to look indifferent, but she could see the excitement coming
through. "Only if you want to, pet."
She rolled her eyes. "Come on," she ordered, walking away. She heard his
footsteps behind her as he jogged to catch up, then felt his cool fingers
twine with hers as he held her hand.
*Oh, yeah,* she thought, *the wackiness has certainly ensued.*
-more to come-
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