Disclaimers at the end.
****
There she is. About fucking time. I swear this little bit is more bother than other two combined. Eager as that bloody Energizer critter. As soon as sun goes she's out there, staking like there's no tomorrow.
Bint.
Give a bloke some time, crying out loud. I can't very fucking well sit here during the day and wait for you. You know? What with all the combusting and all.
Ock. Another one like her and I'm giving up the fags. Nearly gave meself a stroke, running from the crypt. That's right, there's the good Slayer. Say good night to Mum. Yeah. Lemme catch my breath... And none of yesterday's shennanigans either. I was only late for a bleedin' minute or two and she's pulled the bloody disappearing act!
Everyone knows you start patrol with the cemetery! But nooooo. Not her. She has to make me prance all over the fucking city looking for her. Bitch.
All right, enough with the hugging shit already. Yeah, yeah. "Oh she's my darling daughter and she's off to fight terrible evil. To risk her life and limb in defence of truth and justice and apple pie. And them li'l marshmallows. Oh, woe is me. What if she doesn't come back. Ai ai ai." Heartbreaking. Got it. Move on.
Damn, she looks good. The hair even. Although if she's up to showing a little leg, I ain't gonna complain, either. Hm. I wonder if she looks good in a sunlight... Nah. Probably ugly as sin. Of course I like sin.
Finally! There we go. Oh, bloody hell... What the holy fuck is she doing? She's skipping. I don't believe this. You don't bloody skip if you are a bloody Slayer! There is no bloody skipping in Slayering! Skipping - No-No! Horrible beatings and bloody slaughter - yes-yes!
I don't believe this, I don't friggin' believe this. She must be on drugs. Great. Wasn't for bad luck, I'd have shit all luck. A hopped up Slayer. I should go sit on a stake and put an end to this. This ain't no life for a self respecting demon.
And we are moving again... At a RESPECTABLE pace.
.....
.....
.....
I swear to God, if you turn on that bloody Walkman contraption I'll end you with my bare hands, right here, right now, out of principle.
She did. She's gonna save the world and listen to Brittany Sprears at the same time.
Why. Me.
Hmm. That wasn't horrible. Nice form with the backflip too. Watch the baseball bat now... Ooh, that had to hurt. And... ow. Niiiiice. Oooooh, no. No-no-no. Oh, I can't believe she staked him there. That's just mean! Just kill the guy, don't be putting sharp objects... ohh. That's sick. That's just sick. Ai.
Oh, hey! We decided to remember that we're lugging a whole mess of death and carnage on our back. Oh, look! A crossbow. What do you know. Christmas came early this year.
Yes. Yes. Hit him with the tire iron. Yes. Because we all know how very effective that's against vampires. Little moron.
Ah. Here comes the cavalry. I was starting to wonder.
Damn. The Watcher is looking half-dead. What in the hell did they let him out of the house for... Well at least Nibblet isn't here. And there is my mate The Dipstick and the squeeze. Yeah, hey Xander. Yeah, there is a good boy - look right at me and... nothing. Nice to know I can count on your incompetence, when all else fails.
Dammit. Witches.
That's gonna be tricky if they decide to go all night... Bloody hell, where is she off to now? Oh, nooo. I don't wanna.. Those blokes had axes last time. And it hurt!
So of course we _must_ go there.
Of course.
I hate my life.
Bloody hell. Blody fiery hell. Bloody, fiery, stinkin' no-'Passions'-running Hell!
Hell!
And fuck!
And... shite!
And... whatever! I am not happy! This vexes me!
Would you just look what they did to my coat... wankers. Soddin' wankers.
This is a collectible, Goddamit! You don't a genuine, off-the-dead-slayer leather with a bloomin' meat cleaver!
I'll be back for you, shiteyes.
And would you look at that... Easy for her. Gonna go to the mall tomorrow, buy a whole new mess of these ugly-ass American clothes. Not exactly a cornucopia of Gaps for the fashionable vampire on the go, is there?
Shite.
All right, now what... All right. Finally. Thank you, Will. Cemetery is easy, they should handle that just fine. Hm. And I am betting that's the last leg of the patrol. So that gives me just enough time... And she should be good and exhausted by then. Damn, I'm smart.
Well, I shall be bidding you adieu now.
And again with the running.
I. Hate. To. Run.
Ugh.
Where the hell.. I know I put it here. I distinctly remember... Oh!. Here we go, then.
And the tripod. Bollocks. Don't even want to think about that part. I swear it's getting worse with every time. All right. So let's see... yeah, that should do it.
Oh Jesus Christ, would you look at this... Hands are shaking like I'm a bloody Parkinson's victim. That's just great. William the Bloody. Spike. Look at me now. That's a whole load of pathetic. Afraid of a little pain so bad, can't keep hands straight. Bloody shame is what this is.
Getting as bad as Peaches. Next thing you know I'll be running around LA in a pimpmobile acting the poof, saving damsels.
See, you never hear about him saving some wino hag. Nooooo. It's always some beneficiary of the plastic surgery advances. And he's the soulful hero. Go figure.
Here we go. Took them less than I thought. Bollocks.
Well at least the git is gone and he took the Watcher with 'im. Damn. I was hoping the witches would bail too. Damn. Hmmm... Hm.
Ah, screw it. I'm not waiting again.
C'mon. Nice and easy... Right down the street... Yeah...
What the... I am sweating. How the... Fuck it. Fuck this town. Creepy hellhole. Sunny-bloody-hell.
I should just get my car, get my stuff and get back to New York. Nice peaceful city. Always a dinner waiting for you too. Hardly any Slayers at all around.
But no. Because see, that would be smart.
Well, bollocks to this. So I'm sweating. I'll wipe it off. So my hands are a bit shaky. So what. Just line it up gently.... get the rhythm. Been a while since I did it this way. No worries. Just like riding a bicycle. Get the bead right there. Yeah.
No! No touching the trigger. Not yet. I touch that sucker and I am going to be yapping in pain way too early. No, get the target first... Nothing fancy. No headshots... There we go. A beauty. Black jacket, white shirt - couldn't have done better if she was wearing a bloody 'shoot me' sign.
Well. Time.
Ease the hand gently, down the wooden handle... and here it comes. The slow murmur that's going to swell into the roaring pain and then into the high pitched, red hot, brain piercing scream of agony. Aw, hell.
This is gonna hurt.
Even as I sharply jerk on the trigger and the howling pain throws me clear across the room, I can feel it. I can feel the shot going wide.
Shite.
And then I hurt too much to think anything at all.
Oh flippin' wonderful. This is just getting better and better.
Some days the things just won't go right if you pay 'em.
Well at least I winged her. Badly enough to warrant the hospital.
Which is good AND bad... oh, hell, my head hurts. One of these days, it's going to be too much. And I'll do the stinking surgery on my head, myself. With an axe.
I'm betting, I'll heal. Or not. Either way, no more chips. So - win-win.
And then I'm gonna take that axe and track down those soldier boys who played me like a fucking coke machine. Putting chips in people's heads... Just you wait. One of these days...
Bloody hell, I need a drink.
What was I thinking there... oh, yeah. Hospital. One - I can get in. If she would have been well enough to go to ground at her flat, no way I could get to her. Two - ... how in the holy hell am I getting in there without getting skewered by the damn Slayerettes? Sod this for a penny. They're probably camped out there. Sure as fate.
Bloody hell, I need a drink.
There they are. One, two, three... Aw, hell. Hey, Nibblet. All right. Lemme think. Lemme think for a minute. Hm, smell... Aaaah. I got her in the lung. I can smell it on Willow. Mmm... rich, slightly harsh scent. I can almost see it - the bullet impacting, the shocked look on her face, the thick, rich beautiful spurt of telltale black liquid fountaining, coating both witches...
AH! Damn chip!
Think. Must think.
Walk. Must walk.
One and two. One and Two. One foot in front of the other. Where the fuck did the wall go?! Oh. All right. Breath. My head... Fuck that. Ignore that. One and two. One and two. I think I'm going to fall down now... No. Bad plan.
No. I'm flippin' William the Bloody. The Terror and Scourge of Europe. I'm Spike. I'm the Slayer's Slayer. I'm doing this, I'm... I'm... falling?
Shite.
Ow.
Crawl. Must crawl.
Through.
Must be a quiet night. Practically empty... Well, note to self: pat self on the back for memorizing the hospital floor plans way back when.
Can't believe they didn't notice me crawling even. Oh man... How am I gonna do this.. Knocking that doctor prick out damn well near put me out for good. How the hell am I gonna do this.
Well. I am thinking first step is to stand up. Yeah, That's a good plan. I still got it.
Ow. Oh... ow.
Ok. Step two. Stand up.
Yeah. That's the ticket. yeah... Ok, I am tilting. Not good. Where is that soddin' wall?! Oh. Hullo.
Ow.
Well, this is fun.
Must remember to do this again never.
Ohhh...
Oh. There we are.
"Hullo, luv. Miss me?"
The Slayer stirs weekly, the blonde hair wet and messy, her face pale with a blue tinge. The eyelashes flutter hesitatingly and her fingers twitch, sending faint tremors through the IV. Another effort and finally her eyes open, unfocused and bleary.
A moment passes in utter silence until her vision stops swimming and the uncertain blot before her coalesces into the familiar figure. The small involuntary gasp is muted almost immediately as she tries to assess the situation. Her breath quickens and the throbbing of her heart seems thunderous in the murky quiet of the room. After a moment it seems the hopelessness of her situation sinks in, and almost surreally a single tear slides down the bloody cheek. And then the pale, too pale, fingers flick slightly to break the IV line.
Ann Marie Goddard gasps again, and words tumble out almost against her control, still unbelieving, almost shocked, the blue eyes turning again at the silent figure above her, a paradoxically betrayed look flooding them.
"But... but.. I'm the Slayer..."
Spike trembled slightly and almost negligently shrugged off the white coat. As the material floated softly to strike the floor, eerily alike the burial shroud, the vampire looked at the prone body of a fifteen year old girl on the bed. Brushing the errant lock of hair out of the unseeing eyes with surprising tenderness, he sighs and turns around. The white lines about his lips become more prominent as he determinedly makes his way. Hunched figure, hugging the wall for support disappears noiselessly. Almost noiselessly.
"Not my Slayer, pet."
A regretful and heartrendingly sad the whisper disappears as thin wisp of smoke, swallowed by the heavy silence of the room.
Yeah. Another notch. That's three in a month. You keep 'em coming, Nazarene or whoever you're up there.. You keep 'em coming. None of them are real. None. If they are real, then she is really gone.
And that ain't flying.
You keep 'em coming.
I'll be keeping my Slayer alive.
Disclaimers: Every concept and character mentioned above belongs to Joss Wheadon. The plot is set post-"Gift." Feedback and flames are welcome.
****
There she is. About fucking time. I swear this little bit is more bother than other two combined. Eager as that bloody Energizer critter. As soon as sun goes she's out there, staking like there's no tomorrow.
Bint.
Give a bloke some time, crying out loud. I can't very fucking well sit here during the day and wait for you. You know? What with all the combusting and all.
Ock. Another one like her and I'm giving up the fags. Nearly gave meself a stroke, running from the crypt. That's right, there's the good Slayer. Say good night to Mum. Yeah. Lemme catch my breath... And none of yesterday's shennanigans either. I was only late for a bleedin' minute or two and she's pulled the bloody disappearing act!
Everyone knows you start patrol with the cemetery! But nooooo. Not her. She has to make me prance all over the fucking city looking for her. Bitch.
All right, enough with the hugging shit already. Yeah, yeah. "Oh she's my darling daughter and she's off to fight terrible evil. To risk her life and limb in defence of truth and justice and apple pie. And them li'l marshmallows. Oh, woe is me. What if she doesn't come back. Ai ai ai." Heartbreaking. Got it. Move on.
Damn, she looks good. The hair even. Although if she's up to showing a little leg, I ain't gonna complain, either. Hm. I wonder if she looks good in a sunlight... Nah. Probably ugly as sin. Of course I like sin.
Finally! There we go. Oh, bloody hell... What the holy fuck is she doing? She's skipping. I don't believe this. You don't bloody skip if you are a bloody Slayer! There is no bloody skipping in Slayering! Skipping - No-No! Horrible beatings and bloody slaughter - yes-yes!
I don't believe this, I don't friggin' believe this. She must be on drugs. Great. Wasn't for bad luck, I'd have shit all luck. A hopped up Slayer. I should go sit on a stake and put an end to this. This ain't no life for a self respecting demon.
And we are moving again... At a RESPECTABLE pace.
.....
.....
.....
I swear to God, if you turn on that bloody Walkman contraption I'll end you with my bare hands, right here, right now, out of principle.
She did. She's gonna save the world and listen to Brittany Sprears at the same time.
Why. Me.
Hmm. That wasn't horrible. Nice form with the backflip too. Watch the baseball bat now... Ooh, that had to hurt. And... ow. Niiiiice. Oooooh, no. No-no-no. Oh, I can't believe she staked him there. That's just mean! Just kill the guy, don't be putting sharp objects... ohh. That's sick. That's just sick. Ai.
Oh, hey! We decided to remember that we're lugging a whole mess of death and carnage on our back. Oh, look! A crossbow. What do you know. Christmas came early this year.
Yes. Yes. Hit him with the tire iron. Yes. Because we all know how very effective that's against vampires. Little moron.
Ah. Here comes the cavalry. I was starting to wonder.
Damn. The Watcher is looking half-dead. What in the hell did they let him out of the house for... Well at least Nibblet isn't here. And there is my mate The Dipstick and the squeeze. Yeah, hey Xander. Yeah, there is a good boy - look right at me and... nothing. Nice to know I can count on your incompetence, when all else fails.
Dammit. Witches.
That's gonna be tricky if they decide to go all night... Bloody hell, where is she off to now? Oh, nooo. I don't wanna.. Those blokes had axes last time. And it hurt!
So of course we _must_ go there.
Of course.
I hate my life.
Bloody hell. Blody fiery hell. Bloody, fiery, stinkin' no-'Passions'-running Hell!
Hell!
And fuck!
And... shite!
And... whatever! I am not happy! This vexes me!
Would you just look what they did to my coat... wankers. Soddin' wankers.
This is a collectible, Goddamit! You don't a genuine, off-the-dead-slayer leather with a bloomin' meat cleaver!
I'll be back for you, shiteyes.
And would you look at that... Easy for her. Gonna go to the mall tomorrow, buy a whole new mess of these ugly-ass American clothes. Not exactly a cornucopia of Gaps for the fashionable vampire on the go, is there?
Shite.
All right, now what... All right. Finally. Thank you, Will. Cemetery is easy, they should handle that just fine. Hm. And I am betting that's the last leg of the patrol. So that gives me just enough time... And she should be good and exhausted by then. Damn, I'm smart.
Well, I shall be bidding you adieu now.
And again with the running.
I. Hate. To. Run.
Ugh.
Where the hell.. I know I put it here. I distinctly remember... Oh!. Here we go, then.
And the tripod. Bollocks. Don't even want to think about that part. I swear it's getting worse with every time. All right. So let's see... yeah, that should do it.
Oh Jesus Christ, would you look at this... Hands are shaking like I'm a bloody Parkinson's victim. That's just great. William the Bloody. Spike. Look at me now. That's a whole load of pathetic. Afraid of a little pain so bad, can't keep hands straight. Bloody shame is what this is.
Getting as bad as Peaches. Next thing you know I'll be running around LA in a pimpmobile acting the poof, saving damsels.
See, you never hear about him saving some wino hag. Nooooo. It's always some beneficiary of the plastic surgery advances. And he's the soulful hero. Go figure.
Here we go. Took them less than I thought. Bollocks.
Well at least the git is gone and he took the Watcher with 'im. Damn. I was hoping the witches would bail too. Damn. Hmmm... Hm.
Ah, screw it. I'm not waiting again.
C'mon. Nice and easy... Right down the street... Yeah...
What the... I am sweating. How the... Fuck it. Fuck this town. Creepy hellhole. Sunny-bloody-hell.
I should just get my car, get my stuff and get back to New York. Nice peaceful city. Always a dinner waiting for you too. Hardly any Slayers at all around.
But no. Because see, that would be smart.
Well, bollocks to this. So I'm sweating. I'll wipe it off. So my hands are a bit shaky. So what. Just line it up gently.... get the rhythm. Been a while since I did it this way. No worries. Just like riding a bicycle. Get the bead right there. Yeah.
No! No touching the trigger. Not yet. I touch that sucker and I am going to be yapping in pain way too early. No, get the target first... Nothing fancy. No headshots... There we go. A beauty. Black jacket, white shirt - couldn't have done better if she was wearing a bloody 'shoot me' sign.
Well. Time.
Ease the hand gently, down the wooden handle... and here it comes. The slow murmur that's going to swell into the roaring pain and then into the high pitched, red hot, brain piercing scream of agony. Aw, hell.
This is gonna hurt.
Even as I sharply jerk on the trigger and the howling pain throws me clear across the room, I can feel it. I can feel the shot going wide.
Shite.
And then I hurt too much to think anything at all.
Oh flippin' wonderful. This is just getting better and better.
Some days the things just won't go right if you pay 'em.
Well at least I winged her. Badly enough to warrant the hospital.
Which is good AND bad... oh, hell, my head hurts. One of these days, it's going to be too much. And I'll do the stinking surgery on my head, myself. With an axe.
I'm betting, I'll heal. Or not. Either way, no more chips. So - win-win.
And then I'm gonna take that axe and track down those soldier boys who played me like a fucking coke machine. Putting chips in people's heads... Just you wait. One of these days...
Bloody hell, I need a drink.
What was I thinking there... oh, yeah. Hospital. One - I can get in. If she would have been well enough to go to ground at her flat, no way I could get to her. Two - ... how in the holy hell am I getting in there without getting skewered by the damn Slayerettes? Sod this for a penny. They're probably camped out there. Sure as fate.
Bloody hell, I need a drink.
There they are. One, two, three... Aw, hell. Hey, Nibblet. All right. Lemme think. Lemme think for a minute. Hm, smell... Aaaah. I got her in the lung. I can smell it on Willow. Mmm... rich, slightly harsh scent. I can almost see it - the bullet impacting, the shocked look on her face, the thick, rich beautiful spurt of telltale black liquid fountaining, coating both witches...
AH! Damn chip!
Think. Must think.
Walk. Must walk.
One and two. One and Two. One foot in front of the other. Where the fuck did the wall go?! Oh. All right. Breath. My head... Fuck that. Ignore that. One and two. One and two. I think I'm going to fall down now... No. Bad plan.
No. I'm flippin' William the Bloody. The Terror and Scourge of Europe. I'm Spike. I'm the Slayer's Slayer. I'm doing this, I'm... I'm... falling?
Shite.
Ow.
Crawl. Must crawl.
Through.
Must be a quiet night. Practically empty... Well, note to self: pat self on the back for memorizing the hospital floor plans way back when.
Can't believe they didn't notice me crawling even. Oh man... How am I gonna do this.. Knocking that doctor prick out damn well near put me out for good. How the hell am I gonna do this.
Well. I am thinking first step is to stand up. Yeah, That's a good plan. I still got it.
Ow. Oh... ow.
Ok. Step two. Stand up.
Yeah. That's the ticket. yeah... Ok, I am tilting. Not good. Where is that soddin' wall?! Oh. Hullo.
Ow.
Well, this is fun.
Must remember to do this again never.
Ohhh...
Oh. There we are.
"Hullo, luv. Miss me?"
The Slayer stirs weekly, the blonde hair wet and messy, her face pale with a blue tinge. The eyelashes flutter hesitatingly and her fingers twitch, sending faint tremors through the IV. Another effort and finally her eyes open, unfocused and bleary.
A moment passes in utter silence until her vision stops swimming and the uncertain blot before her coalesces into the familiar figure. The small involuntary gasp is muted almost immediately as she tries to assess the situation. Her breath quickens and the throbbing of her heart seems thunderous in the murky quiet of the room. After a moment it seems the hopelessness of her situation sinks in, and almost surreally a single tear slides down the bloody cheek. And then the pale, too pale, fingers flick slightly to break the IV line.
Ann Marie Goddard gasps again, and words tumble out almost against her control, still unbelieving, almost shocked, the blue eyes turning again at the silent figure above her, a paradoxically betrayed look flooding them.
"But... but.. I'm the Slayer..."
Spike trembled slightly and almost negligently shrugged off the white coat. As the material floated softly to strike the floor, eerily alike the burial shroud, the vampire looked at the prone body of a fifteen year old girl on the bed. Brushing the errant lock of hair out of the unseeing eyes with surprising tenderness, he sighs and turns around. The white lines about his lips become more prominent as he determinedly makes his way. Hunched figure, hugging the wall for support disappears noiselessly. Almost noiselessly.
"Not my Slayer, pet."
A regretful and heartrendingly sad the whisper disappears as thin wisp of smoke, swallowed by the heavy silence of the room.
Yeah. Another notch. That's three in a month. You keep 'em coming, Nazarene or whoever you're up there.. You keep 'em coming. None of them are real. None. If they are real, then she is really gone.
And that ain't flying.
You keep 'em coming.
I'll be keeping my Slayer alive.
Disclaimers: Every concept and character mentioned above belongs to Joss Wheadon. The plot is set post-"Gift." Feedback and flames are welcome.