Sequel - kinda - to Lie to Them. Set during the summer between season 2 and 3
More Lies
She had spilled a cup of coffee – accidentally, of course – on an
obnoxious pig, and now Buffy could feel Mitch’s eyes following her
around the room, making sure she wasn’t causing any more trouble. She
knew he was watching her, and it made her stand up a little straighter,
smile a bit more brightly as she served one customer after the other.
Two more hours until four am and her shift ended. She could do it. She
had to do it. Her rent was due in three days; she couldn’t afford to
lose this job on her first night, not when it had been the only place
willing to give her a chance despite her inexperience and lack of
proper ID.
The door opened behind her, bringing in a rush of what passed for fresh
air in this town and a tingle down her spine. Ignoring the tingle as
she had done since arriving in LA, she turned to the new customer,
ready to lead him to a seat and take her umpteenth order of the night.
She crossed his gaze, blue eyes widening in surprise as did her own,
and froze for a second before remembering Mitch. Forcing a cold smile
to her lips, she acted as if it were just anyone in front of her, not a
vampire answering to the name of Spike.
“Isn’t the world a small thing,” he chuckled as he followed her; she
could feel a bead of cold sweat running down her back at the idea that
he was so close that he could strike before she would even know it.
“Would never have thought of finding you here, Slayer. Not exactly your
style, is…”
“You must be mistaking me for someone else, sir,” she cut in as she
showed him a seat and the menu. “I’ll be back in a minute to take your
order.”
She hurried away before he could add anything and kept herself busy,
bringing water to an old lady, the check to a couple, cleaning the
counter. Eventually though, she had to return to Spike, and keep acting
as if the last time she had seen him wasn’t still replaying in her mind
with all its grim details. No sword, no statue, no vampire with a soul
here. Just hell and a customer to serve.
She could see the questions on his face as he ordered a coffee and a
piece of cake, but he didn’t ask anything. His eyes were on her as she
walked away, she was sure of it, observing, calculating, waiting,
without doubt, for the best time to make his move and attack her. Just
her luck. He had to show up on her first night at her new job and ruin
everything, didn’t he?
She almost felt like hanging up her apron and quitting before she could
be fired – or killed. But that would have meant confronting Mitch, and
she was a bit too tired for that. So, she simply kept working, keeping
an eye on Spike, getting increasingly tense every time their eyes met
across the room. He managed to leave while she was busy in the kitchen,
and when she went to clear his table she found a crisp twenty-dollar
bill to cover his six dollars check. Some part of her knew, too
clearly, how he had probably acquired that money. Throat tight and eyes
burning with unshed tears, she pocketed the tip. Two weeks worth of
groceries if she was careful, she couldn’t not take it.
Refusing to wonder where he was now and whether someone would die by
night’s end because she hadn’t made a gesture to slay him, she let her
body follow the automated moves she had learned so quickly, glancing
every now and then to the clock and its too slowly moving hands. Then
she caught a glimpse of blonde hair through the window, and she
suddenly wasn’t in such a hurry to leave anymore.
For almost an hour, Spike had watched her. His bad coffee and stale
piece of cake already long gone, he hadn’t returned to the night and
its potential prey, choosing instead to try to figure out a riddle.
He couldn’t have said why exactly he had entered that dinner. It wasn’t
as if he was hungry for the kind of food served there. But something
had drawn him, and in hindsight it was clear that it was her. He would
never have thought he’d find the Slayer in LA, let alone serving the
night shift in a dingy little dinner on the not so pretty side of town.
He had supposed that she had won the fight, since the world hadn’t been
drawn into Hell, but he hadn’t expected to come across her like this.
Hadn’t expected that desperate look in her eyes or her refusal to
acknowledge who she was either.
In need of cigarettes, he left the dinner to get a pack, but soon he
was back, and a quick look inside through the window showed that she
was still there. He pondered getting back in, or simply leaving, but he
was too intrigued to let go of her so quickly. That and the prospect of
getting back to a still angry Drusilla wasn’t all that attractive. He
had thought that staying a few days in Los Angeles would cheer her up
and make her forget about Angelus and Spike’s part in his demise, but
her reproaches were still acid blows, as were the dark looks she cast
upon him.
He had smoked half his pack before the Slayer finally walked out of the
dinner. Her gaze found him right away, leaning against a wall a few
yards down; it wasn’t as if he had been hiding. She kept eye contact
with him for a few seconds, and again he could only see the death in
her eyes. He thought she was going to come to him for a dance, but
instead she turned her back on him and walked away.
Within seconds, he had caught up with her.
“Dangerous thing,” he commented, “turning your back on your enemies.”
She didn’t reply or look at him, simply kept walking, looking straight ahead.
He continued to walk alongside her, watching her sideways, wondering why she was acting like this. And even more, why he was
acting like this. She was a Slayer, whether she admitted it or not, and
he was the Slayer of Slayers. Two under his belt already, and a third
one only a break of a neck away. But he wasn’t reaching out, be it with
hands or fangs. He wasn’t killing her, and he certainly should have.
Bring her body to Dru, make it an offering of reconciliation. Yet, he
still wasn’t doing it.
What he was doing, instead, was think back on that alcohol-laced kiss
that they had shared a few months back. Their first truce, which had
only lasted for a few hours, and that had made it easier for him to go
back to her months later and offer his help against Angelus. A kiss so
warm it had seared him, branded him. Drusilla had tasted the Slayer on
his lips, that night, and if she had said nothing she had made sure in
the most pleasurable ways that Spike would not want to stray again
anytime soon.
Maybe… Maybe if he kissed the Slayer again, if he tasted of her as he
returned to Dru, the same thing would happen again? Maybe his dark
beauty would realize that nothing mattered more than them being
together? Maybe…
Maybe he just wanted to kiss her again, feel her warmth, her breath, her strength. Maybe Dru was just an excuse.
A shiver greeted his hand on her shoulder before she shrugged it off.
He reached out again for her, and this time she allowed the contact and
stopped walking, surprising him when she turned to him. Her eyes were
shiny, too much so, and he could almost taste the rising tears in the
air.
“What are you waiting for?” she asked, her voice blank but slightly wavering. “Just do it.”
He blinked, tilted his head as once more he tried to solve the puzzle
that she presented. But if she was asking for it, who was he to refuse?
Her eyes fluttered closed when he leaned over, and she arched her neck
ever so slightly, unmistakably offering it to him. He froze as he
understood her words, understood how far gone she was. He would never
have thought he would see this Slayer with such a strong death wish.
Cupping her chin lightly, he tilted her face up toward him and covered
her lips with his. He felt her shock when he did, and he expected her
to pull away, but she remained immobile except for her trembling. He
teased at the seam of her lips with his tongue before pushing in and
caressing her tongue, expecting her to reply in kind, as she had that
first time what seemed like centuries ago, but she remained
unresponsive.
He broke the kiss, dropped his hands from her shoulder and face, and
she remained there, eyes closed but tears seeping from underneath her
eyelids. Part of him wanted to comfort her, and that frightened him
more than she ever had.
“Go home, Slayer,” he said harshly. “Go home before…”
Before what? Before he killed her? Or before he kissed her again? He couldn’t have said which he meant.
Her eyes opened at last and she blinked several times, freeing more
tears, before her gaze locked with his. There was something there that
had been absent earlier, something burning and alive. Spike watched her
take a few steps backwards before she finally turned and started to
run. He followed her with his eyes until she disappeared, his trembling
hands pulling out the cigarette pack and lighting one.
“Next time, Slayer,” he murmured into the night. “Next time, no more
truce, no more games. Next time it’s you and me, and only one of us
standing at the end.”
Somehow though, he almost wished he’d never see her again.
The characters and names used in these stories do not
belong to me. All copyrights remain with Fox and Mutant Enemy. No
profit is made from this fanfiction.
