sevendeadlyfun (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sevendeadlyfun) wrote2007-11-22 11:59 pm
sevendeadlyfun) wrote2007-11-22 11:59 pm
Entry tags:
Improvising Atonement, 1/?
Pairing: None for now (Spike, Buffy, Willow, Xander, Giles)
Rating: NC-17 overall
Summary: A vampire with a soul is determined to help The Slayer. Can a demon ever atone?
A/N: Much thanks tonoandwhere who graciously volunteered to beta this crazy experiment! Some dialogue taken from BtVS S1 episode "Welcome to The Hellmouth". Just as small warning: This will not be an episode by episode re-write. As this progresses (which it hopefully will), things will drift further and further away from canon. So, if you absolutely luff canon, this AU will eventually irritate the bejeebers out of you.
She was so young. He’d forgotten how young they were, the Slayers. Tiny girls with extraordinary power, but so incredibly young. This one looked like she’d just given up bedtime stories and nightly tuck-ins.
She was running now. Good girl, Spike thought. Knows to choose her battleground. That was something, at least. He followed her into the alleyway, nostrils flaring slightly to catch her scent.
Walking slowly, he flicked his eyes skyward and saw her, perfectly balanced on the beam above him. Give her this round, this one time. She’s earned it, after all. He crept forward, exaggerating his cautious movements. He felt the kick and rolled forward, landing easily on his back.
“Nice work, luv,” Spike smiled up at her.
“Why are you following me,” she countered, eyes narrowed and fists clenched.
“Don’t worry,” he said gently. “I don’t bite.”
She eased back, body still tense and ready. He frowned slightly, getting to his feet. She believed him and that was both gratifying and bloody irritating. No Slayer should let down her guard against anyone she hadn’t seen in sunlight. This one was unprepared, unready, and damn lucky she wasn’t dead.
“Little girl like you should be home with her Mum, snug and safe,” he told her casually, watching her face closely. Her hesitation to strike bothered him and he waited to see what other weaknesses she’d reveal.
“What do you want,” she shot back and he could see her vibrating, shifting her weight forward in preparation for the fight she thought was coming.
“Same thing any bloke wants,” he smirked. “A cold beer, a sweet kiss and a lot less dead weight in the world.”
She stared at him, her face a mixture of irritation and fear. Poor little girl, all chosen and nowhere to run. Her fists dropped, and she began to move past him.
“You know, I don’t have time for this,” she groused. “I’m supposed to be winning friends and influencing people, not trading one-liners with a Billy Idol wanna-be. Just leave me alone.”
Spike sighed, shoulders slumping forward. Vampires couldn’t get headaches, but he thought he might just feel one coming on. A Slayer who couldn’t get in the game was just not an option.
“Too late for that, “ he told her quietly. “This is the Mouth of Hell, luv. No time to play reindeer games. You’ve got to be ready.”
He slid his hand into the pocket of his duster and pulled out the slim jewelry box. Time had worn the velvet in places and he could still smell his mother’s perfume, a faint lingering reminder of just how much he had to atone for. He tossed her the box, his blue eyes shooting cold sparks. She caught it, but didn’t open it. A heavy silence fell over the alleyway, and when she finally spoke, it was almost a surprise.
“Enlighten me. What do I need to be ready for?”
“For The Harvest,” he told her.
“Who are you?” Her voice shook and her confusion was almost heartwrenching. Oh luv, Spike thought sorrowfully, we’re in for worlds of hurt before it’s all said and done. Don’t waste it on this, on me.
“Let’s just say I’m a friend,” he said, sliding past her and into the shadows.
“Yeah, well maybe I don’t want a friend.” There was a tremor underneath all that bravado, and he applauded her brass. Ours is but to do and die and this one would make a fine Slayer one day, ready to face the world with nothing but her courage. If she lived that long.
“I never said I was your friend, did I?” Spike asked, before he moved away. He wouldn’t go far though. He’d watch out for her, this little girl Slayer with her tough attitude and her child’s face. Plenty of time to hunt before the night was over.
She opened the jewelry box, pulling out the small gold crucifix, and he closed his eyes against the surge of memories that threatened to overwhelm him. He had played with that cross as a child, twirling it through his fingers as he sat on his mother’s knee. He had removed it from his mother’s cold dead body so it wouldn’t burn her when she rose.
The Slayer put it in her pocket before striding off, towards the lights and the music and the living children she was born to protect. Spike ran his fingers idly over the unhealed burns on his palm. There was no god that listened to the prayers of the damned, but he said them just the same.
By the time he’d caught up with her, she was sitting with another girl at the bar. He moved off towards the stairs, taking them two at a time. The catwalk overlooked the whole rotten place, his best bet for keeping an eye on the Slayer. Likely she’d chat, dance, find some hulking boy to snog and that would be that.
If wishes were bloody horses, he snorted to himself. Slayers didn’t need to go looking for trouble. It always managed to find them.
He situated himself in a dark corner and scanned the room. Already, he spotted a few bits of “deadweight” he’d have to take care of before the night was out. Training his eyes on the Slayer, he almost shrank back as her eyes locked with his. Then he realized she wasn’t looking at him, but a man near him.
“Oh un-bloody-believable,” he groaned quietly. “Her Watcher’s here.”
He listened intently as her Watcher lectured her, nodding vigorously. So, Little Miss Tiny wasn’t interested in her calling. First time for everything, he supposed, but he’d never heard of a Slayer who didn’t want to play.
“The Harvest?” The Watcher asked her. “Who told you this?”
“This…guy,” she hedged. “Electric blonde, skinny pretty boy with an irritating attitude? I figured you two were buds, what with the whole British thing and all.”
“No,” The Watcher said. “The whole British thing, as you put it, notwithstanding, I have no idea who you’re talking about. Did he say anything else?”
“Something about the Mouth of Hell,” she snapped. “I really didn’t like him, okay?”
Spike looked heavenward and rolled his eyes. Not exactly ready to start up a fan club for you either, he snarked back silently.
The Slayer and her Watcher were arguing now, and Spike stopped listening. His eyes wandered over the crowd, and his mind drifted. Time was, this crowd would have been his playground. Before the curse, he’d have had one of these tarts pressed up against wall, cock and fangs buried deep inside her. Now, he just wanted to get out, get away from the noise and the press of bodies.
He looked up in time to see the Slayer running down the stairs. He moved to follow, but the press of people trapped him. Spike snarled, fighting against the tide of bodies down the stairs. He made it outside, looking around desperately. Damn Slayers! Always rescue first, plan second.
He scented the air, catching a strong scent of fear. It wasn’t her fear, though. The scent was musky, sweet and male. As he ran, the scent grew stronger and he fought against the low twist in his belly. The man, whoever he was, was horribly afraid.
Running through the cemetery, Spike heard the low growls. Changing direction, he followed the sounds of the frenzied vampires. The mingled smells of fear and arousal slicked his tongue, and he fought against the urge to gag.
“Well, well, well,” he chortled, rubbing his hands together. “Awfully cheeky of you to have a party and not invite me.”
The three children caught in the circle of vampires stared at him with rabbit scared eyes. The tallest one was bleeding, his blood trickling tantalizingly down his neck. Behind them, Spike saw a familiar face.
“You,” she growled, her golden eyes flashing with rage. “You dare show your face here? Now?”
“Run,” he called out to children, and dove in, fists flying.
Chapter 2
Rating: NC-17 overall
Summary: A vampire with a soul is determined to help The Slayer. Can a demon ever atone?
A/N: Much thanks to
noandwhere who graciously volunteered to beta this crazy experiment! Some dialogue taken from BtVS S1 episode "Welcome to The Hellmouth". Just as small warning: This will not be an episode by episode re-write. As this progresses (which it hopefully will), things will drift further and further away from canon. So, if you absolutely luff canon, this AU will eventually irritate the bejeebers out of you.She was so young. He’d forgotten how young they were, the Slayers. Tiny girls with extraordinary power, but so incredibly young. This one looked like she’d just given up bedtime stories and nightly tuck-ins.
She was running now. Good girl, Spike thought. Knows to choose her battleground. That was something, at least. He followed her into the alleyway, nostrils flaring slightly to catch her scent.
Walking slowly, he flicked his eyes skyward and saw her, perfectly balanced on the beam above him. Give her this round, this one time. She’s earned it, after all. He crept forward, exaggerating his cautious movements. He felt the kick and rolled forward, landing easily on his back.
“Nice work, luv,” Spike smiled up at her.
“Why are you following me,” she countered, eyes narrowed and fists clenched.
“Don’t worry,” he said gently. “I don’t bite.”
She eased back, body still tense and ready. He frowned slightly, getting to his feet. She believed him and that was both gratifying and bloody irritating. No Slayer should let down her guard against anyone she hadn’t seen in sunlight. This one was unprepared, unready, and damn lucky she wasn’t dead.
“Little girl like you should be home with her Mum, snug and safe,” he told her casually, watching her face closely. Her hesitation to strike bothered him and he waited to see what other weaknesses she’d reveal.
“What do you want,” she shot back and he could see her vibrating, shifting her weight forward in preparation for the fight she thought was coming.
“Same thing any bloke wants,” he smirked. “A cold beer, a sweet kiss and a lot less dead weight in the world.”
She stared at him, her face a mixture of irritation and fear. Poor little girl, all chosen and nowhere to run. Her fists dropped, and she began to move past him.
“You know, I don’t have time for this,” she groused. “I’m supposed to be winning friends and influencing people, not trading one-liners with a Billy Idol wanna-be. Just leave me alone.”
Spike sighed, shoulders slumping forward. Vampires couldn’t get headaches, but he thought he might just feel one coming on. A Slayer who couldn’t get in the game was just not an option.
“Too late for that, “ he told her quietly. “This is the Mouth of Hell, luv. No time to play reindeer games. You’ve got to be ready.”
He slid his hand into the pocket of his duster and pulled out the slim jewelry box. Time had worn the velvet in places and he could still smell his mother’s perfume, a faint lingering reminder of just how much he had to atone for. He tossed her the box, his blue eyes shooting cold sparks. She caught it, but didn’t open it. A heavy silence fell over the alleyway, and when she finally spoke, it was almost a surprise.
“Enlighten me. What do I need to be ready for?”
“For The Harvest,” he told her.
“Who are you?” Her voice shook and her confusion was almost heartwrenching. Oh luv, Spike thought sorrowfully, we’re in for worlds of hurt before it’s all said and done. Don’t waste it on this, on me.
“Let’s just say I’m a friend,” he said, sliding past her and into the shadows.
“Yeah, well maybe I don’t want a friend.” There was a tremor underneath all that bravado, and he applauded her brass. Ours is but to do and die and this one would make a fine Slayer one day, ready to face the world with nothing but her courage. If she lived that long.
“I never said I was your friend, did I?” Spike asked, before he moved away. He wouldn’t go far though. He’d watch out for her, this little girl Slayer with her tough attitude and her child’s face. Plenty of time to hunt before the night was over.
She opened the jewelry box, pulling out the small gold crucifix, and he closed his eyes against the surge of memories that threatened to overwhelm him. He had played with that cross as a child, twirling it through his fingers as he sat on his mother’s knee. He had removed it from his mother’s cold dead body so it wouldn’t burn her when she rose.
The Slayer put it in her pocket before striding off, towards the lights and the music and the living children she was born to protect. Spike ran his fingers idly over the unhealed burns on his palm. There was no god that listened to the prayers of the damned, but he said them just the same.
By the time he’d caught up with her, she was sitting with another girl at the bar. He moved off towards the stairs, taking them two at a time. The catwalk overlooked the whole rotten place, his best bet for keeping an eye on the Slayer. Likely she’d chat, dance, find some hulking boy to snog and that would be that.
If wishes were bloody horses, he snorted to himself. Slayers didn’t need to go looking for trouble. It always managed to find them.
He situated himself in a dark corner and scanned the room. Already, he spotted a few bits of “deadweight” he’d have to take care of before the night was out. Training his eyes on the Slayer, he almost shrank back as her eyes locked with his. Then he realized she wasn’t looking at him, but a man near him.
“Oh un-bloody-believable,” he groaned quietly. “Her Watcher’s here.”
He listened intently as her Watcher lectured her, nodding vigorously. So, Little Miss Tiny wasn’t interested in her calling. First time for everything, he supposed, but he’d never heard of a Slayer who didn’t want to play.
“The Harvest?” The Watcher asked her. “Who told you this?”
“This…guy,” she hedged. “Electric blonde, skinny pretty boy with an irritating attitude? I figured you two were buds, what with the whole British thing and all.”
“No,” The Watcher said. “The whole British thing, as you put it, notwithstanding, I have no idea who you’re talking about. Did he say anything else?”
“Something about the Mouth of Hell,” she snapped. “I really didn’t like him, okay?”
Spike looked heavenward and rolled his eyes. Not exactly ready to start up a fan club for you either, he snarked back silently.
The Slayer and her Watcher were arguing now, and Spike stopped listening. His eyes wandered over the crowd, and his mind drifted. Time was, this crowd would have been his playground. Before the curse, he’d have had one of these tarts pressed up against wall, cock and fangs buried deep inside her. Now, he just wanted to get out, get away from the noise and the press of bodies.
He looked up in time to see the Slayer running down the stairs. He moved to follow, but the press of people trapped him. Spike snarled, fighting against the tide of bodies down the stairs. He made it outside, looking around desperately. Damn Slayers! Always rescue first, plan second.
He scented the air, catching a strong scent of fear. It wasn’t her fear, though. The scent was musky, sweet and male. As he ran, the scent grew stronger and he fought against the low twist in his belly. The man, whoever he was, was horribly afraid.
Running through the cemetery, Spike heard the low growls. Changing direction, he followed the sounds of the frenzied vampires. The mingled smells of fear and arousal slicked his tongue, and he fought against the urge to gag.
“Well, well, well,” he chortled, rubbing his hands together. “Awfully cheeky of you to have a party and not invite me.”
The three children caught in the circle of vampires stared at him with rabbit scared eyes. The tallest one was bleeding, his blood trickling tantalizingly down his neck. Behind them, Spike saw a familiar face.
“You,” she growled, her golden eyes flashing with rage. “You dare show your face here? Now?”
“Run,” he called out to children, and dove in, fists flying.
Chapter 2