Deep Purple
A/N This fic was written for the awmp
snark-a-thin and prompts by st. salieri.
Major major hugs and thanks to Holly for being a wonderful beta who
keeps me enthused and believing in myself, and Tami for helping me make
it through the day. You two have been invaluable these last two weeks
during some of the crap that has evolved in my life.
Part One
It wasn't often that she'd had Slayer dreams about fighting giant
wererabbits. Well, never before really, but even stranger was watching
Spike getting completely thrashed by them. They used their suddenly
feral paws to rip him apart, and Buffy was left going 'huh?' as they
eyed her hungrily. With a strange jerk of her body, she escaped back to
reality, leaving Spike beaten and...well, beaten.
But it wasn't like wererabbits were real, and giant ones Buffy was
willing to bet were even more sparse in the grand scheme of life and
fluffy bunnies. She'd have to ask Anya one day, when she thought about
it. Which could likely be never again.
Buffy yawned as she slowly opened her eyes to the darkness of her
bedroom. A frustrated check of the alarm clock elicited a gargled moan
as she realised she'd only been in bed for an hour. The recent absence
lately of the dreaded slayer dreams had been blissfully welcomed
without argument, but apparently, they were back now and Buffy felt
like she could scream. Even if they never usually were high in the
sense-making, at least they weren't usually totally
off-the-wall-ridiculous. And they never featured Spike in any way,
shape or form; there weren't enough ways to express how of the good
that fact had been.
Why in the world would Spike be featuring in her dreams? At least the
part about him getting beat up was somewhat accurate, and it was a
comforting thought. At least some dire situation like a fake engagement
wasn't on the horizon. Spike's ass being whooped by feral looking
rabbits on steroids was something even the Slayer could appreciate. So,
the Power's That Refused To Be Accurate were giving her flashy warnings
that in the near future, Spike was going to come out on the not-so-top
of a brush with scary rabbits. She so didn't care.
Although, come to think about it, she was more than a little irritated
that thoughts of Spike and his relevance to her dream-life was
depriving her of many zzz's.
Buffy sat up and glared at her pillow, where she saw a smirking
peroxided pest that she infinitely preferred to see battered and
bleeding, and was suddenly inspired to wallop her pillow to an inch of
its feathery stuffing. She would get some sleep tonight if it killed
her, and if the Power's saw fit to ruin it with another freaky dream,
Spike was going to pay. Laying her suddenly heavy head on the fluffy
goodness, Buffy closed her eyes and was snoring within minutes.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Every so often, Xander Harris dragged his girlfriend out into the
chilly Hellmouthy air and helped Buffy on patrol. It was dangerous,
foolhardy and stupid—three things Anya hadn't stopped repeating to him
since he'd forced her to start accompanying him—and yet he hardly
cared. Being beside Buffy while she decapitated people they'd gone to
school with, old teachers and even strangers, held all the appeal of a
Big Dipper at the carnival. Especially when he considered that most
vamps she slayed used to be people that, he imagined, had slighted him
in their life; that was, if they'd ever met him
It made him feel alive to see Buffy dust so much of the dead. Undead.
Whatever. He only wished she wasn't particular about who she bestowed
the pleasure. If she gave him the word, he'd make personally sure that
Spike found his own personal highway to Hell and didn't stop zooming
till he reached the end.
It seemed darker than usual as they walked toward the first cemetery.
Buffy had warned him that she had something to take care of and
wouldn't be able to patrol with them—going so far as to suggest they
stay in and...do what Anya liked to do when they stayed in. But Xander
had scoffed, roared his manliness while beating his chest all bruisy,
and then took Anya's arm like they were going out on a date. Which on
the mouth of Hell, so wasn't far from the main point.
He'd had high hopes for the night—even with the lack of Buffy's
presence. He was feeling good and sprightly right up until they'd
walked through the gates and saw the first vampire of the night, and
suddenly, he just knew his night was gonna suck. It didn't even matter
that the bizarre came along with the most annoying vamp ever.
Still, the view had him stopping abruptly and his belly rumbling
hungrily—which really wasn't that appropriate in the presence of the
enemy.
Spike was standing beside the most ginormous carrot Xander had ever
seen. His mouth was hanging open, his eyes disbelieving and his finger
pointing at the thing as soon as he recognised his company.
"It's a bloody giant carrot," he said, gaping in shock.
"Way to state the obvious, Fang Face." Xander contemplated the really
overgrown vegetable and dismissed the possibility that Spike had
planted it as some kind of joke. And he really hadn't been intending to
go with a pun that lame.
Still, that was one heck of a carrot.
"How d'you think it got here? Any giant gardeners you know out there,
Spike? Someone with some magic vege beans that tell too many mixed up
whacked out demon fairytales about salads?" Xander was smugly patting
himself on the back for that one, his satisfied smile only slipping
when Spike turned incredulous eyes on him.
"What are you talking about, you berk? It's a bleeding carrot—growing
in some pretty fertile soil if you take into account all the
decomposition and the like." He ignored the suddenly green faces
looking at him in horrified fascination. "You better tell the Slayer
'bout this. Girl's lettin' vegetables get out of control right in her
backyard. 'S not right." He glared at them for good measure, shoved his
hands in his pockets and spun on his heel, striding away with more
purpose than a useless vamp had any right to.
It was only after Spike had left that Xander wondered at Anya's
uncharacteristic silence through the whole exchange. Once upon a time,
she would have had the craziest things to say about something as
peculiar as a giant carrot in the middle of a busy graveyard, but it
seemed that his patient lessons on acclimatising to the Hellmouth were
taking effect. Progress that impressive should be rewarded, and seeing
as how Buffy wasn't planning to show anyway, Xander decided they should
ditch potentially nasty and violent demons and go hang out at the
Bronze instead.
"Hey Ahn, feel like shaking that booty? I'll make it worth your while,"
he hinted coyly as he took the first of many coercive steps away from
the giant carrot.
Anya looked at the massive orange overgrowth and shuddered before
quickly chasing after Xander. "Orgasms?" she asked hopefully, already
mapping out a thousand ways she could force Xander to make her forget
the hideous sight. Giant carrots looked like the perfect munchy for
giant rabbits and that was a thought far too terrifying for her to deal
with when she was all hyper and far from relaxed. Sex would do it. Sex
could get her into that zone where such things didn't scare her witless.
Xander was left staring as Anya blurred past him. Huh! She must
really hate patrol.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Absolutely nothing had gone right since Buffy had dragged Dawn out of
his crypt earlier in the night. He'd been feeling kind of
wanted—liked—with the Bit sitting and hanging on his every word. She
made him feel like something, helped him regain a little bit of his
bruised and battered ego by letting him recall the glory days of his
past with his lady love.
His previous lady love. Couldn't exactly call Dru that now, could he?
Not when the bint had gone to all the trouble of replacing him with the
stickiest, slimiest bugger he'd ever had the misfortune to meet. He'd
never been able to understand why they got the name of chaos demon. He
thought the nit's ancestors must have been pretty pretentious if they
thought the dripping slime from their antlers was gonna be the big
thing in chaos. Not that he hadn't achieve it in one of the longest,
most successful relationships in the history of demons. Wanker showed
up and Spike was booted out on his ass. At least he wasn't dust, even
if oftentimes he'd craved an end to it all.
But not now.
Now he had Buffy to think about. The most frustrating bitch he'd ever
clashed with was the one thing his heart wanted most to touch. Was
bloody inconvenient, but her family was all right. Pretty decent—well,
fantastic really. He loved Joyce—could never get enough of her hot
chocolate and wished he had that on tap nightly. And the littler
Summers was proving to be a right nice little treat, too. Not that he'd
ever consider eating her. She was too much fun, had balls the size of
the sun for him to even consider offing her whenever he wasn't a
useless gummy vampire again.
Still, the Slayer had snatched up the kid and he'd headed off for his
nightly wander and he was fast coming to the conclusion that the night
was bloody strange. And what was Harris and his bird doing out when it
wouldn't take more than a witless vamp to end them for good? Heh! That
possibility brought a smile to his lips. It almost immediately turned
into a frown the second he realised if the git was dead, the so would
be his financial backer.
"Balls!" Gritting his jaw, Spike continued on his aimless trek. The
night was relatively young, the Slayer was otherwise preoccupied...he
was
a vampire without aim or a sodding clue. He wasn't welcome anywhere he
could be bothered to go and that alone could really wear on a bloke's
confidence. At least he could still defend himself at Willie's and shut
up any bastard that dared question the validity of his presence, but
when the Slayer and her chums got mean, it was all he could do to bite
his tongue—not that he even managed that fast enough sometimes.
So it was that he was feeling a might bit touchy and more than a little
depressed when Buffy seemed to accidentally step into his path. She had
her arm raised, her fist gripping her stake like any good slayer should
and her downswing all sorts of dead on accurate if he'd had a lovely
big target painted over his chest. He just couldn't summon up the will
to care.
She looked suddenly nervous and her thrusting arm slowly dropped.
"Don't let me stop you, Slayer. Seems like something's got you all
worked up and you need to put a bloke down." His lips weren't in the
usual taunting, over-confident smirk. He was too tired to smirk, truth
be known, and too heartsick to exist. He felt like he'd rather just be
put out of his misery than pass through another lifetime knowing he'd
fallen for the wrong woman.
"I, um, thought you were a different vampire." She tried,
unsuccessfully, to repress the blush that spread across her cheeks at
seeing Spike. Dawn's most recent revelations—while Buffy hardly
considered them even slightly accurate—embarrassed her and she couldn't
get the images of her engagement to him and their many heated lip locks
out of her mind. It made her tummy twirl in objection, made her feel
twisted in knots and want to run away hard and fast so that the sight
of him would stop throwing her off.
"Why are you acting all bad moody for anyway? It's not my fault you
feel you have to take your little expeditions where I patrol. With a
stake." She couldn't help feeling resentful. She had all sorts of bad
blowing up in her face lately and any kind of complication from Spike's
strange corner of the world could very well contribute to her fast
track to the funny farm.
Spike's eyes flashed, honing in on that little bit of something he
seemingly needed to feel alive each night. "That's right, Slayer. I
forgot you owned the night. Silly me for not getting up like all good
citizens and go for a blazing walk in the sunlight. Tell you what, I
promise I'll give it a shot, but only if you're standing by with a hose
and a blanket to beat out the flames." He glared at her, his ire a damn
good disguise for how horny he got from trading barbs with her.
"How 'bout we try it now? You do the standing still and I'll just beat
you to death." Buffy smiled sweet and false as she stood, arms crossed
and her foot tapping delicately.
Spike looked her up and down and sneered. "I doubt you've got what it
takes. In fact, I doubt you've got it in you to take on that bloody
enormous carrot jutting out of the earth at Restfield. And it's a
vegetable." Spike snickered, suddenly getting his own joke. "Get it?
You wanted a victim that couldn't move. Maybe that one'll be more your
speed."
And before Buffy could think of a come back, Spike was ambling off,
hands in duster pockets and his lips pursed around a jaunty tune. Took
a truly gifted demon to make good use of the bizarre to make the Slayer
feel yay high.
Buffy watched his back as he disappeared into the night, dismay making
her grouchy. She wondered if she could test just how far she could
throw a stake and watch it hit its mark, and then felt slightly guilty
about the fact that Spike always seemed to be on the worst side of a
beating and here she was contemplating making him dust. Not that his
insane crush on her—if Dawn wasn't fabricating the terrifying prospect
all out of proportion—wasn't an automatic ticket to Deathsville in her
book. And after that comment that she needed things to be inanimate and
statuesque so she could actually take them out, she should pummel him
rotten.
With an irritated sense of thwarted achievement, Buffy spun on her
fashionable yet cheap and breakable heel, "crap!", bent down to
retrieve it and check the vicinity for peroxided perverts, and headed
for home.
"Giant werebunnies are too good for you, Spike." She took five awkward
steps and stopped. "And he mentioned carrots. Is he tapped into my
dreams now?" Buffy paused in her thoughts and her walk, then shook her
head. "No way. He's just terrifyingly coincidental."
She worked on banishing Spike and his strange musings all the way home.
Reaching the porch and opening the front door, it never once occurred
to her that she had succeeded in ridding her thoughts of him.
Spike simply didn't matter anymore tonight.