Strawberry Fields

Author: Ameeya Hawke
Rating: NC-17
Timeline: S.2, I Only Have Eyes For You. Veers drastically from canon.
Summary: Spike blanks out while searching for the Slayer, and finds himself in a magic-induced liplock. In the heat of confusion, he offers Buffy a truce, and throws a series of events in motion that will change both their lives forever.
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em; I'm just playing. Please oh please, do not sue me.

Author's Notes: Another update! From me!!! I know, I’m surprised, too!

Well, not really. If I don’t let myself get distracted with silly things like school and responsibility and/or write other fics, I actually do get things done. Heehee.

I might’ve mentioned this in a previous author’s note, but even though I do rely on AtS characters in this story, no knowledge of the AtS plotline is necessary. If it’s easier to consider Fred and, as you’ll soon note, Gunn as original characters, feel free. Since this story starts before the AtS plotline began, I intend to treat them as though they have never before been “on screen.”

My thanks to Tami, EB, Mari, and Megan for looking over this for me. *smoochies*

Chapter 21


A thousand terrible images flashed through Buffy’s head as her suddenly rejuvenated body sprinted across an endless stretch of pavement. Visions of Fred on the ground. Fred in pain. Fred holding her bleeding stomach. Fred’s wide, brown eyes finding hers, wordlessly demanding how such a thing could happen. How, after all the kindness she’d shown a stranger in the past day, she could be repaid like this.

“Fred!”

A scream directed her feet. Buffy took a sharp turn to the right and found herself lost in another shadowy alley, chasing phantoms.

“Fred! Fred!”

There was a flurry of movement and she was suddenly road-blocked by a human wall. A gang of ten or so, dressed in street clothes barricaded her pathway, staring at her with intent which couldn’t be mistaken. Buffy jerked to a sudden halt, her chest heaving, her eyes stretching wide with confusion.

It took several minutes to register that she was on the business end of several crossbows. These kids wielded crossbows. There was something very much of the wrong here.

“Okay,” she said slowly, her lungs fighting for air. “You got my attention. Either you’re here to help, or you’re keeping me from my friend. What’s the what?”

“The girl’s ours, vampire,” one of the kids spat, hoisting his crossbow higher to make sure it was seen. “She’s safe; can’t say the same for you.”

Buffy’s brows hit her hairline. “Okay, what?”

“We saw you,” another voice supplied. “Can’t do much in this part of town we won’t see.”

“You saw me, what?” she retorted. “Dusting vamps? Yeah. That’s kind of what I do. Fred’s with me—and as comforting as those weapons might be, I promise she’ll be safer with the Slayer at her side.”

The first guy spoke again, the crossbow shifting slightly in his arms. “The Slayer?” he repeated. “What’s that? Some kinda demon?”

Buffy stared at him blankly. “Okay, how is it that the people on the hellmouth are more in the know than you? Are you telling me I actually needed to move to a big city to have a secret identity?” Her hands found her hips, her head tilting. “Superman was right all along. Who knew?”

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“Where’s Fred?” she countered, her eyes blazing dangerously. “I need to see she’s okay. And believe me, if you don’t cooperate, you’ll see how very ineffective those weapons are in the face of a pissed-off slayer.”

The two apparent ringleaders exchanged a telling glance.

“We could stay here and chat this out until the sun comes up and then you can see how very much I don’t dust,” Buffy offered happily. “Just let me see my friend unless you want to see some violence.”

There was nothing for a few seconds. They simply stared at each other.

“It’s all right, Briggs,” a voice said from the left. Buffy whirled around—someone was emerging from a patch of shadows. Another kid, though kid was becoming a relative term in her mind. He was early twenties, perhaps, judging by looks alone. His skin was dark, his eyes heavy, carrying the weight of having grown up much too quickly—a feeling Buffy knew intimately. She knew without being told; she was looking at the actual leader. His authority couldn’t be denied. Without a word being uttered, the rest of the gang were immediately put at ease.

“She ain’t no vamp,” the newcomer said.

Buffy nodded shakily. “Just now catching on, are you?”

“We were tailing those two you and your boy took out.”

“Tailing? In a big, silent way?”

“We’re good at keepin’ invisible if we want. Find it’s easier to kill vamps if we’re stealthy.” He held her gaze a minute longer before turning to address the one he’d called Briggs. “Go get the girl.”

Briggs wasn’t as easily convinced. “We don’t know jack about this, Gunn.”

“We know this chick ain’t no vamp,” came the retort. “Go get the girl.”

There was a long pause before anyone moved. Briggs didn’t draw his guarded eyes away from the Slayer until it was physically impossible to keep staring at her. Then he was gone, and despite herself, Buffy found her shoulders slumping with relief and a sigh rolling off her lips. Briggs might not be the leader, but somehow she didn’t think he discriminated against whom he killed as long as the vamp toll was higher at the end of the day.

People like that terrified her. While she hadn’t run into any vigilante vamp-hunters in the first year of her Calling, Merrick had warned her that certain areas of Los Angeles were riddled with displaced teens who took matters of supernatural law into their own hands. They weren’t to be trusted, for they trusted no one but themselves. Outsiders, even if the outsiders fought on the side of good, were only given slight favor above the society which had so often spat in their faces. She wasn’t supposed to interfere with their operation; there was no talking them down or enlightening them with reason and knowledge. She was going to do her duty, and wish the best for everyone else.

“Sorry ‘bout Briggs,” the other guy—Gunn—said, stepping forward. “We don’t see moves like yours that aren’t a vamp’s or a demon’s. But I saw it. You fought them.”

“Yeah,” Buffy agreed shortly. “I fought them. And funny thing, I didn’t see you at all.”

“Told you. We ain’t seen unless we wanna be seen. We were tailin’ those vamps. I was about to send two of mine in as bait, then you and the girl came along.”

She nodded, her eyes narrowing. “So you decided to use us.”

“We would’ve helped if help was needed. You had it under control.” Gunn motioned to the remaining vigilantes, and in one stroke they all lowered their weapons. They operated seamlessly; a machine which knew how to effectively use its parts.

“You grabbed Fred, then?”

“Fred the girl?”

She nodded.

“Girl was freaked,” Gunn confirmed. “Screamin’ things about vamps. She said you were doubled over in pain, so when we saw you tossing the vamps around like dolls…” He trailed off with a frown, his brown eyes growing wide as though only then realizing something wasn’t right. “Where is he?”

“Where’s who?” she asked quickly, her tone laced with faux-innocence.

“Your boy. The one you macked on before remembering there were demons in the alley.”

Buffy stiffened, every nerve in her body gearing toward the offense. Her racing mind attempted to recount the last few minutes—what had happened before she took off after Fred—and she couldn’t remember if Spike had gone into game face or not. She hadn’t noticed; she hadn’t cared. She’d just been relieved to see him. More than relieved—had she not regained her emotions, she would have thrown herself at his feet and begged him never to leave her again.

Then there was the revelation. The cause of her pain. The reason she’d felt, for the past few days, she was being gutted from the inside out. Like someone was dicing her up. Felt the need for him beyond anything she’d ever known. They were linked by blood. The night in the hotel—the night which had forever changed her life—had indeed forever changed her life. She’d thought just having him inside her was an awakening. Turned out the fangs he’d buried in her throat and the words he’d whispered meant more than fleeting, sexual possession. She should have known; with vamps, it was always biting and blood and if it wasn’t for food, there had to be a different reason Spike had staked his claim on her.

He’d claimed her, and not only had she accepted, she’d claimed him right back.

Buffy cleared her throat. “He’s not here.”

Even as she spoke the words, she knew she was lying. Spike wouldn’t leave her. Not now.

Not with this thing between them.

This was, of course, confirmed the next second. She felt him before she heard him—felt him before the telling hiss of a match lighting filled the alley. The warm glow of a cigarette burned in the shadows. She didn’t know how long he’d been there; her nerves were still flamed from having touched him. Having kissed him. Having been near him at all. Everything was on overdrive.

“Almost right, pet,” Spike drawled, blowing out a cool stream of smoke. “Don’ think I’d let you run off an’ have all the fun, do you?”

Gunn started in surprise, and he didn’t look like a guy easily taken by surprise.

“What the fuck?” came from the crowd.

“Man, this night is fuckin’ crazy,” affirmed another.

Spike’s brows arched appraisingly as he strolled out of the shadows, situating himself firmly at Buffy’s side. The unspoken implication both warmed and irritated her. He was staking his territory—he was making it known that any quarrel they had with her, they had with him, as well. And while she appreciated the support, there was nothing here she couldn’t handle.

Especially with her body still buzzing from what had happened earlier. What she’d learned.

Gunn shot a warning glance to Buffy. “This your boy?”

She blinked. “I thought you saw him.”

“Thought I saw a lot. Can’t be too careful, can we?” He inhaled sharply and stepped forward, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “Where’d he come from?”

Spike took his cigarette between his index and middle finger, rocking slightly on his heels, as he sized the other man up. “You think your lot’s the only ones good at slinkin’ in the shadows, mate?” he asked. “Don’t feature letting my girl outta my sight too long. Rough neighborhood, an’ all that.”

“Think we both know she can handle herself.”

“Mhmmm,” Spike purred, taking another hit of nicotine. “With lots of li’l boys runnin’ around with crossbows an’ knives, thinkin’ she’s a demon?”

Apparently, the idiot vampire had never taken the course in not pissing off people with pointy weapons. “Little what?” an angry voice demanded. “Does he know who the fuck we are?”

“I don’t think he cares,” Gunn answered, not taking his eyes off the Brit. “So, what’s the story? You one, too?”

“Depends,” Spike replied coolly. “One what?”

But Buffy knew exactly what Gunn meant, and she wasn’t about to let Spike dig himself an early grave. Not only would it be redundant, it was her job. If anyone got staking-Spike privilege, it was her. She was his mate, after all.

“He is,” she confirmed with a nod. “He’s a slayer, too.”

She wisely ignored the half-shocked, half-amused look she earned with that particular lie. Meeting Spike’s eyes now would be very much of the bad. She just hoped he got over it fast enough to make the transition from vampire-to-slayer believable. If Gunn hadn’t seen Spike’s bumpies, they had every shot of getting out of this unscathed.

Especially since the gang seemed to have no knowledge whatsoever about slayers. If they could pass off the notion that slayers were chosen haphazardly by the PTB, Spike’s super-strength wouldn’t be nearly as difficult to explain.

To her relief, Spike didn’t rebuke the notion or openly question where she got off spreading things like that around. Instead, he offered a swift nod and said, “Yeah. That’s right. I’m a slayer. Buffy an’ me, we’re the slayers. The two in LA, or what all. We were jus’ having a moment when those nasty, evil, disgusting buggers decided to interrupt.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. Lay it on thick much?

“—they came after us with their fangs, ‘cause that’s what vamps do, y’know, an’—”

“Spike!” She elbowed him swiftly and flashed Gunn an apologetic smile. “He—umm. Gets a little…excited when we talk about the…the killing of…evil things.”

“’S my bread an’ butter,” Spike agreed, his fingers absently caressing his ribs. “Bloody hell, Slayer, you forget your strength sometimes.”

Gunn’s eyes narrowed warily, and though it was more than obvious he was growing more uncomfortable with this by the second, he seemed strangely willing to let it slide. “So,” he said. “What’s the deal with slayers?”

“Yeah,” came a voice of unrest from the crowd. Several kids had raised their weapons again. “If you two ain’t demons—”

“We’re Chosen warriors,” Spike said proudly, puffing out his chest and tossing an arm around Buffy’s shoulder. “Me an’ my girl here. Chosen two. Selected by the wankers upstairs to even out the cosmic odds. Demon fighters with demon strength, an’ all that.”

“It’s a thing,” Buffy said quickly, relieved beyond nothing else when Briggs stepped back into the alley by way of an open warehouse door, dragging Fred by the arm.

And suddenly there was an out. She had what she wanted. She had Fred.

They had to get out of here before Spike said something notably unsoulful and got them all in even more trouble.

“Oh thank God,” she breathed, tearing from her vampire’s side. “Fred!”

The brunette’s eyes filled with tears the second they met hers, relief flooding her face. “Buffy!” she gasped, jerking free of Briggs’s hold to meet her halfway. And before she could blink, Buffy found herself with an armful of Fred, who trembled and clung to her as though they’d been separated for years. “I’m so sorry,” the girl swore. “I tried to explain. I tried to tell them you weren’t a vampire, but—”

“Buffy a vampire?” Spike drawled, snickering. “There’s a pretty thought.”

The comment earned an awkward pause and several chary glances.

“And by pretty,” he continued, “I mean…nasty an’ evil an’ not at all good, ‘cause then I’d have to kill her, an’—”

“How are you?” Fred demanded, releasing Buffy from her bear hug long enough to visually verify she wasn’t bleeding out of every pore or about to collapse on the pavement. “I didn’t wanna run. I didn’t—”

“I told you to run,” Buffy reminded her softly. “You did the right thing.”

“But you were hurt. You were—”

She shook her head. “It’s cool. I’m good now.”

“Gunn,” Briggs said suddenly, “who the fuck is that?”

Buffy whirled around, her instincts flaring. Spike stood more than ten feet away. If the gang was growing suspicious, they needed to make a quick exit. Quick meaning now. She had Fred; she didn’t exactly want to stick around and make conversation with a bunch of street-fighters who didn’t know vamps from non-vamps, ambiguities aside. It took Briggs’s voice to remind her he was the one she didn’t trust.

Well, the one she didn’t trust the most.

“A slayer,” Gunn replied, his voice weighted with misgiving. “Like the girl.”

“Two slayers?”

“Apparently.”

Then Gunn turned back to Buffy, his eyes sharp and, for the first time, she became acutely aware of how intelligent he was. No matter the language he used or the group with which he ran, this man was not to be underestimated. He was sharp. He was suspicious. And for whatever reason, he was providing her an out. She knew it before he spoke. She knew what he was going to say.

And every inch of her filled with gratitude.

“So the two of you are slayers,” he said slowly, nodding to Spike. “Think you can handle yourselves? Me and mine got more sweeps to do. People who aren’t slayers.”

“Vamps to kill,” Spike agreed eagerly, his eyes bright.

Buffy groaned inwardly. There was no way he was going to get over this I’m-the-slayer thing.

Gunn tossed the vampire another glance, thickened with even more suspicion. “Right,” he said. “So take the girl and get gone. And some advice? Not the best area to be makin’ out, even if you two are slayers.” He turned sharply to his gang and jerked his chin up. “Let’s roll.”

“Whoa, wait,” Briggs protested. “We gonna let ‘em go?”

“Not the enemy, bro,” Gunn replied. “We’re all on the same side, here.”

“And we’re gone,” Buffy agreed, grabbing Fred’s wrist. “We’re all kinds of gone.”

Briggs stared at her for a hard minute. “Right. Whatever. Don’t let us catch you down here again.”

“Oi! The Slayer’s gotta go where she—we—”

Buffy rolled her eyes and seized Spike by the scruff of the neck with her other hand. “Don’t worry,” she shouted over her shoulder, dragging her people along with her. “I think this town is sufficiently big enough for the…all of us.”

“Rough-housing, pet?” her vampire purred, wrenching free the second they turned a corner.

“That’s the last time you get to be a slayer,” Buffy muttered.

“I take it I missed something?” Fred asked meekly.

“Oh, so much.” Buffy sighed, reluctantly releasing the brunette’s wrist. “Fred, Spike,” she said, then returned in kind. “Spike, Fred. Fred’s my friend. She let me stay at her place. And Spike’s my…”

Spike swallowed audibly when she didn’t complete the thought and shot her a speculative glance, but neither broke stride.

Spike’s my…

Well, wasn’t that the question of the hour?

“Pleased to meet you,” Fred said quickly. “Can we do this somewhere that’s not outside? I think I’ve had my share of vampires tonight.”

A small smile tugged on Spike’s lips, but thankfully, he didn’t comment.

Instead, he laced his fingers through Buffy’s, his palm against hers. He took her hand with such soft simplicity.

And without warning, the walls in Buffy’s mind collapsed. Her heart flipped and the whole of her trembled. He could reduce her to nothing more than trembling female nerves with one little gesture. One little gesture which somehow meant the world.

I think I’ve had my share, too.

Not that it mattered; it didn’t, and she didn’t mean it anyway. Spike very clearly wasn’t going anywhere.

She’d have to kick his ass if he disappeared.

Especially now.

Not that he needed to know that.

Though something in his smile told her he already did.


TBC
 
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