Emmie (angearia) wrote,

FIC: Thought You Should Know - Chapter 35

Hey look!  It's Tuesday!  And I've got fic - lots of (hopefully) entertaining fic!

Title: Thought You Should Know - Chapter 35
Summary: Spike wrote a letter to Buffy before the final battle in Not Fade Away. What happens when Buffy finally discovers Spike is back from the great beyond?
Characters/Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Genre: Romance, Angst
Rating: R for Extreme Violence, Blood, Language and Adult Situations
Warnings: Spoilers for the end of Angel Season 5, After the Fall and up through Issue #23 of Buffy Season 8.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Just playing for fun.
A/N: Special thanks to sueworld2003 for the beautiful banner and to ladyofthelog for the lovely icon and her invaluable beta insights. Supreme, heartfelt gratitude to penny_lane_42 for the wonderful beta, her incredible enthusiasm that inspired me to push through and for just being inspiring in general.

Comics Background Info: This story loosely follows the comics canon but reading the comics is not necessary to understand the emotional heart of the story. A few points to note:

1) Buffy was never in Rome as shown in The Girl in Question, but rather leading a new Slayer organization of over 500 members in the fight against evil. The "Buffy" that Angel and Spike tried to visit in Rome was actually a decoy set-up by Andrew to protect the real Buffy and keep her true location a secret.

2) Out of the 1800 Slayers that were activated during Chosen and the 500 Slayers that have chosen to work with Buffy, a group of Slayers led by one Slayer named Simone have gone rogue and have been abusing their power a la Faith in Season 3. Want. Take. Have. In Issue #23, Buffy and Andrew go to Rome to try to gain intel on Simone and her gang, only to be forced into a standoff on the island Simone has taken over off the coast of Italy. Andrew's squad of Slayers ("Italy squad" as he calls them) come to their rescue, but Buffy fails to rein in Simone or remove her from power. Simone's violent acts have brought intense scrutiny on the Slayers from the world's media coverage.

3) Angel survived the battle in Not Fade Away and the events of After the Fall, but now everyone in LA knows Angel exists and is a vampire just as they know about the demons that walk the streets. He's become a citywide legend.

4) Vampires are the cool new thing thanks to a reality TV show starring Harmony in LA (Buffy Season 8 #21 Harmonic Divergence). A Slayer saw Harmony and how she would feed off her adoring, sycophantic entourage and decided she needed to be stopped. She attacked Harmony while they were filming, failed and was killed by her own stake. The attack was used to make Slayers into the enemy and show vampires as sympathetic victims.


Chapter 35

A quiet descended and they were the only two people in the world. They shared breath and stillness and a unity of self. But that closeness only made the divide pulling them apart cut like a knife.

What was that word her poetry professor had used to describe a pain so intense it eclipsed itself and bordered on pleasure?


She hated sublime so freakin’ much. Having love and pain all mixed up…

The marriage of heaven and hell in her heart. Just another cruel joke in the life of one Buffy Summers.

“I love you,” she whispered, leaning in close to him. Her hands ached to grip him, to hold him to her. “I don’t want to leave you behind. I can’t.”

“Don’t really have a choice. That’s always the way of it.” Spike brushed his knuckles across her cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ll always be with you. Inside.” He raised his hand to show her the blood staining his knuckles. “Guess it’s not so easy to wash off, eh?”

She rubbed at her cheek, gasping at the blood dripping from her hands. “Oh, god,” she moaned. “It won’t come off.”

“Hey,” he snapped, gripping her by the chin and forcing her to look at him. “This is what happens. You reap what you sow.”

“I- I - I didn’t mean to. I never wanted this to happen.”

He rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated huff. “No one wants this to happen. It just does. It’s your nature. I thought we’d already worked this out.” He swung his arm to point at the rolling hills behind him where the sun began to crest the horizon.

“Spike,” she gasped, grabbing him by the arm. “We have to get inside. The sun-”

“It’s alright.” He shook her off. “You need to see this. Need to see it in the light.”

The sun burned orange shadows, casting low lights over the hills. Darkness retreated as the sun’s glow illuminated the hills under a gray husk of fog.

Buffy squinted through the fog. “I don’t understand.”

“You still can’t see it, can you? Figures you’d be willfully blind to it. Stubborn to the last.”

He bent down, swiping his arms at the fog at their feet. The gray mist dispersed to reveal a round lump lying on the ground.

She knelt to examine the shape, waving away the fog. “What is it? Oh, oh god,” she cried, staring in horror at the glassy brown eyes resting atop exotic cheekbones, matted brown hair hanging limp around her face. Kennedy’s head was cut off at the neck.

Buffy fell back, landing on her elbows. She turned to the right and spied a dark shadow in the fog swimming above the long grass. The fog thinned to reveal a pair of broken glasses that lay lopsided on a face sporting a gash that cracked open the man’s skull at the temple.

“Giles,” she whimpered, watching the rising sun burn the fog away to reveal his broken body lying next to her in the damp grass.

“Buffy, come on now,” Spike said, holding his hand out to her. He grunted in annoyance when she failed to respond, grabbing her by the arm and jerking her upright.

She shook under his grip. “The sun. How can you…?”

“It’s not coming for me, love,” he answered, shaking his head. “Fog’s clearing out. A matter of minutes now. Maybe less.”

Her eyes felt so dry that they might crack. She stared at the bodies surrounding her. Dawn lay in a tangle of broken limbs four feet to her right. Xander was… oh, god. And Willow. And the Slayers. Everywhere. They were all dead.

“How did they find us? How did this happen? Oh, god.” The tears streamed down her face, mingling with the blood on her cheeks.

“Buffy, you know how this happened,” he growled. “You were there. Christ, you know.”

She shook her head, whipping it from side to side. He growled again and lunged forward to grab her hand and lift it up. Within her fist, the Scythe glinted in the muted light of the morning sun, the silver edge of the blade dripping blood. The hilt was slick with blood, the wooden stake stained a deep red.

“No,” she whispered, eyes wide with terror. Her hand shook underneath his grip.

Yes,” he insisted, shaking his head. “I didn’t think it would go down like that.”

“I- I killed them…? Oh, god,” she croaked.

Drive your cart and your plow over the bones of the dead, Professor Lillian intoned in his solemn, booming voice to the back row of the lecture hall in her mind.

“It all happened in an instant,” he mused, his voice gone distant and detached. “You made me promise and I…” He hung his head. “I failed you. Again. I’m sorry, love. Bloody good for nothing, I…”

The sun rose high in the sky, rocketing up to shine down its deadly rays on his head. She flinched at the glare, shutting her eyes against the too-bright light. The smell of burning flesh forced her eyes open and she gasped at the sight of his bright silhouette outlined by the sun’s rays. He was pale, porcelain fair, and his eyes were so blue in the light of day. He was beautiful. And he looked so… sad. Resigned.

“No,” she gasped, terrified for him. “Spike, the sun-”

“Forgive me, Buffy,” he whispered, sending her a mournful look. He cupped her cheek. “Rest in peace.”

Flaming raging fire and burning flesh – pain, yes, pain. Her numbness melted away under the realization that her limbs were igniting. She felt the pads of her fingertips dissolve into ash. She moaned for a brief moment then swallowed her fear.


Yes, please. Oh, yes, please, yes.

Only death could stop her now.

The fire spread through her, turning her skin to ash as the blaze ran deep into her core. She felt the flames lick at her heart. The intense burn melted her chest then burst, reverberating through her body in one great wave of ash.

She was no more. She was nothing.

Good. The world was safe now.

The world was safe from-



“Buffy!” Faith shook her, snapping Buffy’s head back against the headrest of her seat.

Heart racing, Buffy crossed her arms over her chest and hugged her hands under her elbows. She pushed herself back into the hard cushioning of the bus’ seat. The bus they’d commandeered from a ‘friend’ in a nearby village a few hours past dawn. Untraceable.

She spotted Willow sitting across the aisle with Kennedy at her side. Willow’s eyes were closed in a trance-like state. Not sleep, nope, ‘cause apparently the only person stupid enough to sleep was their quote unquote fearless leader. Anyways, yeah, definitely untraceable. Yay magic.

“Where are we?” Buffy asked in a hoarse voice, turning around to do a head count of the Slayers and wiccans sitting behind her.

Dawn lay against Xander’s shoulder three rows behind them, dead to the world. Asleep-dead, not dead-dead. God, the wrongness of epic proportions in her brain needed to stop. Everyone else was sitting in tense silence, sharing the occasional whisper before settling down in glum fear. She knew the feeling, she thought with a shiver. Wait, where was Lara?

Faith shrugged, drawing Buffy’s attention back to the front of the bus. “Halfway to Edinburgh. Giles said he knew a guy who might be able to help us lay low.” She nodded at him in the driver’s seat. “Way I figure, it’ll be easier to hide in a big city so...” She trailed off, slumping down into her seat and tossing a foot up on the back of the chair’s armrest in front of her.

“Yeah,” Buffy murmured, watching Kennedy hold Willow’s hands in her own. Transferring power. Sharing strength. “Easier to hide. Go us.”

Faith fidgeted with the bloodstained gash in her jeans, her expression blank.

“Are you okay?” Buffy asked with a frown. When Faith didn’t respond, she prodded her again, “Faith?”

“Huh?” Faith asked with a blink. “Oh. Yeah. Five by five.” She spit out a dry laugh. “Why wouldn’t I be? It’s not like I died or something.” Buffy looked at Faith with sympathy, causing her to curse, “Jeez, stop looking at me like that. I’m fine. So what’s the plan? Do we even have a plan or are we flying by the seat here? ‘Cause I wanna know if I get to improv – I don’t want you bitchin’ at me later for not following your lead.”

“Plan?” Buffy raised both eyebrows. “Uh, running away seems to be the plan. Laying low. Not dying.”

“So what? Killing the fuckers isn’t a run in our playbook?” Faith ripped at a shred in the leather of the seat in front of her. “Figures.”

“Yeah, definitely not part of the plan,” Buffy confirmed. Unfortunately. Or not. She couldn’t tell anymore. What she wanted and what she should do didn’t seem to line up so easily anymore.

“Nah. It’s good. We don’t make with the killing. Good call.” Faith scoffed. “It’s like a fucking riddle. How do you stop a murderer when you’re not allowed to fight back?” She punched at the back of the seat in front of her. “Did I ever tell you how much I hate those ass-brained riddles?”

“I’m not exactly a fan,” Buffy said with a dry, mockery of a smile.

“It’s like they’re rigged to make anyone who isn’t a genius feel stupid.” Faith squinted over at Willow. “Bet Red likes riddles.”

Willow’s eyes shot open. “Riddle what now?”

“It’s nothing,” Kennedy reassured her, glaring at Buffy and Willow. “I’m sure they didn’t mean to mess up your rhythm. I’ve got you, babe.”

Faith snorted. “Right, my bad. This is me shutting up so you can do your mojo.”

“Sorry, Wills,” Buffy said softly.

“No, it’s okay,” Willow answered with a wince. She rubbed at the tension in her temples. “I weaved some heavy magical blinders. A lot of false trails to put them off our scent. We should be clear now.”

“Should be?” Buffy echoed.

“Should ain’t good enough,” Faith retorted.

“Back off,” Kennedy snapped. “It’s not like anyone else has been lifting a finger to save our asses except Willow.”

“So riddle what now?” Willow changed the subject, squeezing Kennedy’s hand to quiet her.

“It’s the name of the game,” Faith answered. “How do you stop bloodhounds going for your throat when you’ve gotta pull your punches?”

“You get Dad’s hunting rifle and put the rabid dog down,” Kennedy replied with a superior rise of her eyebrow.

“No,” Buffy whispered so quietly it went unnoticed. No, can’t shoot the rabid dog. So what do you do?

“Hey! Maybe that’s what we should do,” Faith derided. “Call Ken’s daddy and file a complaint. Dear Mr. Richer Than God, please save us from the assholes trying to kill us deader than a chicken…”

“Oh yeah, great. That’s really helping a lot. Thanks,” Kennedy said, her voice dripping in sarcasm.

“Can we not do the fighting thing?” Willow asked, continuing to rub her temples.

“Aw, I’m sorry, babe,” Kennedy murmured, gently pushing Willow’s hands aside to rub away at the tension headache.

Faith sighed and turned back to Buffy to share an eye roll. “They’re so cute you could die, right?” Her eyes shuttered as soon as the words left her mouth. “Damn. Shit.”

“It’s okay,” Buffy whispered, dropping her gaze at the tormented look in Faith’s eyes.

She didn’t say the name. She wanted to say it, but she couldn’t. Not even in her own mind. She couldn’t even see her face. Or hear her voice. All she could feel was the blood gushing into her palms. She could still feel the moment when death took her away – took Simone away. And-

“What do you think your boyfriend’s doing now?” Faith asked, her voice too hoarse to pull off idle curiosity. She was choking back tears.

Had Buffy ever seen Faith cry? Did Faith even know how to cry?

“Sucks he got stuck playin’ house,” Faith continued. “He’s not bad to have around when the situation gets ugly.” Faith picked at her jeans again. “So what do you think loverboy’s up to?”


“It’s a soddin’ mess, that’s what. You sure you didn’t find any detergent or suds in the cupboards?” Spike asked, dunking his black t-shirt in the sink full of hot water. “These bloody blood stains aren’t comin’ out.”

“Uh, you do realize that hot water sets stains, right?” Connor noted, leaning up against the wall of the kitchenette behind Spike.

“And how the hell am I supposed to know that? Haven’t exactly made my way doing laundry for six pence the past hundred years, now have I? Ooooh, hot water sets stains, know-it-all twit,” he grumbled to himself, pulling the plug out of the sink and letting it drain before turning the cold faucet tap on.

“I heard that,” Connor snarked.

“I know,” Spike said, shooting him a dark look over his shoulder.

“Are you done with the Betty Homemaker routine? I thought we were gonna play Texas Hold’em.”

“Gotta get my kit in gear before we set out come sunset.” The tingle at the nape of his neck told him it was fast approaching. About bloody time. His cabin fever was fast mounting into homicidal fever. What did you call the urge to kill your vampire grandsire’s human son?

“What? The scent of blood driving you batty?”

“Are you trying to make me bite you?” Spike snarled, wringing his shirt so tight that all the cold water sprayed across the kitchen.

“Starved, huh? Gonna snack on the only person in the world who didn’t leave you all on your lonesome?”

“Right now, on my lonesome sounds like Allah’s heaven minus the seventy-two virgins,” Spike shot back, shaking his shirt in the air. He continued in a murmur, “Virgins never was my thing anyways…”

He held the shirt up, took its measure then eyed Connor’s smart mouth. No, the boy would get out of the makeshift gag in two seconds flat and then he’d be out one shirt. Bloody as it was, it was still all he had.

“What are you looking at?” Connor asked, squinting his eyes in suspicion.

“Nothing,” Spike dismissed his question, pulling his wet shirt over his head and slipping on his duster. “Come on. Sun’s down. And if you say one more word about that stupid Kindling thing, I will bite you.”

“Kindle. Kin-dle. It’s an electronic device that you read e-books on,” Connor explained, following Spike out the cabin door. “Jeez, live under a rock much?”

“What idiot came up with the idea to reinvent the book?” Spike said, his long strides eating up the terrain as they followed the path Willow had sent them, headed northeast towards Edinburgh. “It’s like reinventing the wheel. When you finally get it right, shut your trap and go home.”

“Next you’re gonna start bitching about the invention of horseless carriages, right? Dad said you’re from the Victorian period, so that means you rode around in some frou-frou carriage and had horses and whatnot. Did you leave calling cards when you visited people? Isn’t that kinda pansy-ish?”

“Are you nuts? Automotive innovation is the best thing to come out of the last century,” Spike retorted, ignoring the accusation of any pansy tendencies. Best keep that door firmly shut. The boy didn’t need his help with the verbal ammunition. “Speaking of pansies, you talked with your dear old dad of late?”

“Uh… yeah, sure.”

“Oh, really,” Spike paused, scenting a weakness, “And what’d he have to say?”

“Okay, so I haven’t talked to him,” Connor said, jerking his shoulder defensively.

“And why’s that?” Damn, that came out far more understanding than he’d intended. The boy was permanently kindling his soft spot. Grrargh – kindle. Sod it.

“Because maybe I’m tired of him telling me what he wants me to be. What he hopes I’ll become. Maybe I’m tired of being his redemption. It’s like I have to live my life to the fullest in his eyes or I’ve let him down. That’s just… too much pressure.” Connor shrugged. “So I thought it’d be fun hanging with you for a bit. Since you don’t have any ambitions and you don’t give a rat’s ass what I do. Takes the edge off.”

“Was that supposed to be a compliment?” Spike asked, face screwed up in confusion.

“I’m just saying you’re more fun than my dad. Less uptight.”

“Damn right I am. Your dad’s got a stick up his ass so big I’m surprised it hasn’t staked him in the heart and ended his self-flagellation.”

“That’s… the most disturbing thing you’ve ever said and I can’t get the image out of my head and my god make it stop,” Connor groaned.

Spike chuckled. “Poor boy. Is that all you can handle? If you needed the kid gloves, all you had to do was ask.” He chucked Connor on the shoulder. “With a pretty please and lavish praise for my superior talents as a snarker extraordinaire.”

Connor gave a full-body shudder. “Make. It. Stop.”

“Try imagining Angel in a tutu,” Spike suggested. “I find that’s a surefire mental bleaching of whatever’s niggling in the far reaches of your brain.”

“Oh god, that’s worse,” Connor groaned again, slumping against a tree.

A bullet ricocheted off the tree an inch above his head, the whistle in the air echoing even as bark shattered and fell into Connor’s scruffy hair.

“Down!” Spike shouted, grabbing Connor and diving into the brush.

“Great. I was hoping to get another crack at these guys,” Connor gritted out, rubbing his shoulder where the faint trace of his gunshot wound still tingled from the night before.

“Quiet,” Spike murmured, vamping out to scan the darkness for signs of movement. He tilted his head to the side to listen for movement. Finally, in a whisper, “There’s eight of ‘em flanking our position. I’ll take the four on the left-”

“And I’ve got the four on the right,” Connor finished, crawling through the brush with skillful stealth.

“Go get ‘em, Junior,” Spike murmured, slipping out of his coat to crawl through the brush without the noisy leather hindrance.

Spike crawled out twenty yards, circling back until he was behind two commandos slowly approaching the tree where he and Connor had stood only thirty seconds before. He rose behind them, a silent shadow, grabbed them by the necks and bashed their heads together. He grinned at the thumping of their skulls before they fell to the ground. The Three Stooges was classic for a reason.

The bullet whizzing past his ear wiped the grin off his face. He dropped to the ground, flat on his stomach, and slithered back into the brush. Sitting with his back up against a tree, he waited for the remaining two commandos to close in. The bastards were moving at a snail’s pace. He rolled his eyes and in looking up, noticed a branch that looked sturdy enough to hold him. And what do you know? It was. He licked his teeth in anticipation, tonguing the sharp edges of his fangs as he lay across the branch, a panther waiting to pounce.

Would Buffy object to a little harmless feeding? What if he didn’t kill ‘em, just made ‘em a bit woozy from blood loss?

Damn, he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten in over two days and the blood loss and exertion from the battle before topped off with the tease of Slayer blood nipping at his nose and…

Damn, he was starved.

He tensed when the commandos came into his line of sight.

Wait for it – wait for it – wait-


He dropped from above, knocking one commando down and using him as a jumping board to tackle the other one standing six feet to his left. He curbed the urge to snap the commando’s neck – easiest way to kill him – and instead tossed him headfirst into the other commando now kneeling on the ground and aiming his rifle at Spike.

He rushed over and kicked the rifle out of the commando’s grip, leaning down to serve two solid punches to both downed soldiers. God, he loved it when their eyes rolled up into the backs of their heads like that.

The rat-tat-tat of a rifle firing across the clearing cut short his gloating. The boy wasn’t immune to bullets like himself. Fuck it.

He arrived on the scene to find Connor running up a tree trunk to do a back flip and land behind the commando chasing him, kneeling down to kick the soldier’s legs out from under him and punch him in the jaw. The crack of bone snapping traveled across the clearing. Boy had broken the git’s jaw. Brilliant.

Two other commandos lay unconscious in the brush. Not bad, Junior.

Wait. Only three? There were fo-

The bullet hit him dead center in the back, knocking him to his knees from the pained shock of the blow. His first thought was relief that it hadn’t hit his spine. That’d have been too much damage to heal from quickly. He rolled on his back in time to the rat-tat-tat of the soldier’s rifle firing at Connor.

“Spike!” Connor shouted from behind a tree. “You okay?”

“Fuck yeah,” Spike snarled back, rolling behind a bush for cover. “Where is the bastard?”

A rat-tat-tat spray into the bush had Spike diving against the ground. He growled, fangs biting into his lips to distract from the shooting pain in his back.

A loud thump sounded and then footsteps approached the tree where Connor hid. Spike crawled closer to Connor’s position, catching his eye and nodding a warning. He held up his hand and then snapped it down, ordering a joint attack. Connor and Spike jumped from their hiding places, Spike in the lead, fists raised with deadly intent.

They stopped short at the sight of the young woman with purple hair and the tranquilizer gun in her hands.

“Hey, Lara,” Connor blurted out, dropping his fists to awkwardly stuff them into the pockets of his jeans. “What’s up?”

She raised an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

“Uh, yeah. How ya been?”

She rolled her eyes and turned to Spike. “The last guy’s at the base of the tree over there.” She nodded behind her. “He’d set himself up in the branches to try to snipe you guys out.” She shook the tranq gun. “I thought I’d lend a hand.”

Spike whistled. “Slayer savvy, aren’t you? And you ditched the main group why?”

Lara stared down at the ground, jerking a shoulder. “I figured you guys would get into trouble the second you stepped foot outside the cabin. So I rounded back and waited for trouble to find you.” She smirked. “It didn’t take long.”

“Where’d you get the toy surprise?” Spike asked, nodding at the tranq gun.

“I took it off one of the guys you downed,” Lara answered with a smile. “They’ve got all kinds of nifty gadgets.”

“I bet they do. Alright, round ‘em up and bring ‘em to the center of the clearing here,” Spike ordered, grabbing two commandos and dragging them to the designated spot. He nodded his approval when Lara dragged two commandos over to the circle and went back for two more without a complaint.

Spike began digging through the commandos’ gear, tossing out the plastic reinforced restraints he found to Connor. He set aside a bottle of kerosene and started stockpiling the rifles. He eyed the black shirt one of the smaller commandos was wearing, then started pulling it off him.

“What’re you doing?” Connor asked.

“Need a new shirt,” Spike grunted. He paused and shot Connor a slow grin. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“We strip ‘em naked and steal all their clothes?” Connor answered with a mischievous glint.

Spike didn’t answer. He just started stripping the commandos of their boots and tossing them into a pile behind him. Then he went for their pants.

Lara dragged the final commando into the middle of the clearing only to drop his legs and cover her eyes. “Why are the evil soldier guys naked? Why? Why why why?”

Spike and Connor shared a look and snorted, “Women,” before continuing to strip the soldiers down. Connor proceeded to use the plastic restraints to tie all the soldiers together by the wrists while Spike squeezed the bottles of kerosene he’d found on the pile of clothes.

“Oh my god!” Lara huffed, stomping over to the far edge of the clearing and jamming her fists against her hips. “You guys are insane.”

“Spike – catch,” Connor said with a gleeful smile, tossing Spike a container of black body paint the commandos used for camouflage.

“Now you’re getting it,” Spike grinned, opening the container and getting a dollop of paint on his forefinger. He lifted up the first commando’s head by the scalp and wrote ‘poofter’ on his forehead. The next commando was graced with the title of ‘pansy’. The one after that – ‘prick’. And then ‘prat’. And so on.

“What’s with all the pee words?” Connor asked.

“Mocking is an artform. Just ‘cause they can’t verbally spar with you doesn’t mean you get lazy with the insults.” Spike gave a lopsided grin. “Besides, a little alliteration goes a long way.”

“Oh,” Connor breathed. “I was just drawing raunchy pictures all over them.”

Spike eyed the NC-17 rated artwork, then gave a sage nod. “Yeah, that works, too.”

“Are you done yet?” Lara yelled from across the clearing.

Spike and Connor gathered up the gear they deemed useful – “Got the grenades?” “Got ‘em. Hey, you forgot your coat.” “Like I’d ever forget that.” – lit the kerosene-sodden pile – the fire from which Spike lit a cigarette – and strolled over to join Lara. She rolled her eyes and stomped off in the direction they’d been headed before the soldiers had interrupted.

Ten minutes later and a mile away, Lara snapped, “Was that really necessary?”

Connor shrugged and looked at Spike.

“Well, we couldn’t kill them, yeah? The least we could do was humiliate the bastards.”

Connor nodded. “What he said.”


“Buffy?” Faith snapped her fingers in front of Buffy’s face. “Earth to Buffy?”

“Wha huh?” Buffy answered with a blink.

“What do you think Spike is up to? Or don’t you want to talk about him?” Faith rolled her eyes. “Can’t share anything about your oh, so precious one and only? You never change, you know that.”

“No,” Buffy denied, eyes wide with exasperation. “I just have no idea.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Okay, fine. He’s probably bored out of his mind.” Buffy sighed. “And he’s driving Connor crazy. And smoking. A lot. He’s probably picked a fight or more like ten fights just to keep himself entertained. Throw in an immature prank and ten digs at Angel and that’s a full day for Spike.”

“What? No daring heroics?” Faith laughed.

“Not today. Spike only likes to appear heroic every other day at most. If he can go a week without having to play the hero or at least no one noticing him being all heroic…” Buffy shrugged. “He’s got a reputation to protect.”


Tags: fic, season 8, spuffy, thought you should know

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