Fic: Touching the Fire, Chapter 6
Spike's home. Things can't be as grim as they have been. Can they?
When your ex-lover is spread over a cross, his white flesh gleaming in the moonlight and smoke starting to curl up from the points where his chest and face touch the thing, it is not very sensible to stand and stare.
For a moment or two, though, that was all Buffy was capable of doing, tears tracking down her cheeks and her heart beating impossibly loud in the absolute silence of the nave. The figure slumped in front of her made no noise, not even a grunt of pain, as he clung to the one object in the place that could harm him. What did he mean, pleading for rest? What did he expect her to do?
What he expected was probably something brutal, physical, involving throwing punches or possibly his body. Buffy swallowed, hard. When had she ever given him reason to expect anything else?
She took extra care to be gentle as she moved towards him and pulled on his shoulders. Even so, he flinched, and for a moment seemed to grip the wooden cross harder, as if it provided the support he needed rather than the agony he must be feeling.
“Spike,” quiet but firm. “Spike, you must let go. I can help you, if you let me.” A pause. “Will you let me? Please?”
He turned his head sharply at that word. She hadn’t used it to him very often, had she?
“Come on, now. This place is cold.”
A broken laugh. “Not exactly chilly where I’m standing, pet. And, vampire. Don’t feel the cold. Didn’t you know?”
She cursed herself internally. Stupid, stupid thing to say. “No, but I’m cold. And…” how to persuade him? “I don’t wanna leave you here.”
That did get his interest. With visible effort he pushed away from the cross and half-turned to face her. She gasped at the raw, red burns across his chest, arms and lower face. He flinched again.
“Sorry. Should have clothes on. Mustn’t upset the girl. Mustn’t be threatening to her.”
The pathetic, burnt creature before her, pearl skin still gleaming, was no kind of threat. But, hey, if that’s what it takes.
“Spike, you frighten me like that. Come away? Please?”
That word again. But he needed to hear it, needed to sense some sort of connection. He tottered in her direction, a few steps, before slumping against a pew and descending to the slabbed floor. He cowered, clutching his arms round his chest, as if to conceal it, and bowing his head. She heard a choking sob.
Buffy’s first thought was to cover that chill, effulgent body. He might not feel the cold, but she did, and it somehow made looking at him unclothed more painful. He had been holding that weird, bright blue sweater when she had entered; it had to be somewhere near. She scouted round the area in back, where there was no seating, and found it heaped near the wall, where he must have flung it behind him. Scooping it up, she returned to his side and knelt down.
“Here, Spike. Put this on. We need to get those burns cleaned up, but you should cover them now.”
“No, no need for cleanup. Need the burns. Remind me what I am. Remind me what I did. What I wanted to do.”
“That’s the past, Spike. You aren’t the same man now, are you?”
“Still me. Still the man who… Who could have… Who wanted to… NO!” He howled at the icon painting on the wall. “Is this what you wanted? Not able any more. Just knowing me, seeing into me?”
Buffy realised he was unlikely to be able to clothe himself. Holding the neck of the sweater wide open she leaned forward, ready to pull it over his head. As she did so the cross she wore swung forward and brushed against his cheek. His scream of pain was instant and high-pitched.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you!”
An oddly lucid grin. “Can’t help but do that, love. Though on the hurting me stakes I beat you hollow. Know how to do that now. The spark does it all for me.”
Growling at herself, Buffy flung the chain’s pendant behind her neck, so it couldn’t touch him again. He stayed still, an obedient child, until she’d pulled the neck down, then allowed her to pull first one, then the other arm through a sleeve. She held out her hands and grasped his and half-stood.
“Time to move on out of here, Spike. Come with me.”
He was docile now, silent where he had been gabbling, blank-faced where the agony had been. Gently, she led him out of the little building.
Revello was not far away, but it took some time to get there. He switched mode and mood frequently on their route, at times babbling about beetles and grass huts, at others grimly silent, at others sobbing steadily, the tears making his face shine in the street light. It was perhaps half an hour before she arrived home, opened the door and towed him inside.
A year ago he had tended her broken hands, she remembered suddenly, sitting opposite to her in almost the same place. He had been gentle, caring solicitous then. Now it had to be her turn.
There was a gasp from the doorway. Dawn. “What happened? Buffy, what did you do to him?”
No longer a child, really, Dawn had grown up a lot over the past year. Her readiness to blame her big sister hadn’t changed much.
“I did nothing, Dawn. He’s done this to himself. Be an angel, will you, and fetch the medical supplies?” Spike flinched again. Obviously the A-word had better be avoided still. Perhaps especially if Spike really had done what he’d told her about in the church. Two souled vampires in the world. Somehow that had to mean extra complications.
When Dawn returned, she helped Buffy remove the blue sweater, eyes wide at the sight of the scorch marks. Then an idea came to her and she ran upstairs, leaving the pair alone.
A vampire might not need to be cleaned up, if he never got infections, and would recover on his own given time. In an abstract sort of way Buffy knew this, but she needed to clean him up, needed the water to be warm and the disinfectant to be rinsed away and replaced with soothing creams. She could see the pain in his face, however hard he tried to restrain it, and she needed to see that gentled away. Later there might be time to consider why it mattered to her. If she couldn’t procrastinate it away.
Dawn came back with an armful of textiles. First she settled a blanket round his shoulders, then shook out a huge, baggy military sweater. She looked at Buffy with embarrassment. “Riley left this behind when he went away, back when he first left. I sorta kept hold of it because I missed him back then, and it’s good to hug. It might be more comfortable for Spike than that tight blue thing? And there’s a t-shirt too, a baggy one I used to sleep in - I’m thinking it might fit, more or less? It’s black, too, and that is so much more Spike’s colour.”
His head jerked up as she spoke. Real fear filled his face. “Black is no good. Bad Man wore black. Bad Man did bad things in black.”
“You always wear black, Spike. It suits you. We like to see you in it. Don’t we, Buffy?” Dawn had grasped his problem quicker than her sister. How had that happened? “Come on, Spike. Let me help you put it on? Please?”
Fear and longing fought across his features, then he lifted his arms in mute acceptance. Both young woman worked to pull the faded shirt over his head and thread his arms through the sleeves, then followed with the heavy sweater which threatened to swamp the drained-looking vampire. Riley had been so big. Spike, not so much.
“What do we do with him now, Buffy?” her sister asked. “Where has he been staying? Not still in the school, surely?”
“School. Yes, school. Underground, where I belong. Other corpses there, other creatures that go bump, other nasties. Just like me. Yes, right. Go back there. ”
“That’s the last place he should be,” Buffy decided. “Look, Dawn. Would you be able to stay here with him while I run and check out his old place? I can see if Clem is still there. Perhaps he’ll take care of him for a little. “
“Good idea. Familiar things around him could be soothing as well. You go.”
As Buffy stood to leave, Spike started to moan, quietly at first, then louder. His hands clawed at the air between him and Buffy, eyes full of desperation. She sighed. “Dawn, I think I may need to stay here to keep him quiet. Could you call Xander and ask him if he’ll go with you to the crypt? It’s dark, but I think we need to do it soon. I’m not crazy about you going alone, not in Sunnydale streets now crazy season seems to be opening up again.”
Dawn nodded and left the room. Moments later the front door slammed.
“What the? Dawn!” Buffy shouted crossly. No way had there been time to get Xander over to Revello. Stupid girl thought she was way too grown-up to need her hand holding. In Sunnydale nobody was ever old enough to go to night-time graveyards alone.
Spike struggled to his feet. “Not good, pet. Not good at all. Gotta go find the Bit. Both gotta go, right?” He actually looked saner than he had since he’d entered her house offering to help. Perhaps helping was the thing that made him Mr Sanity Man? Buffy stowed the thought for later consideration.
“Come on, then, Spike. You promised to keep her safe, remember? Let’s go.”
Dawn strode along the sidewalk. It was really late, but she wasn’t scared, no sir. The Slayer’s sister knew what might be out there, and she was fearless in the face of any threat. Totally fearless.
A grinding sound made her jump. Then a figure twice her size, with horns on its head and - euw - elbows, dropped from a tree as she passed it, landing right in front of her. A sort of shimmering red, it was abundantly, embarrassingly male. Dawn fixed her gaze on its right shoulder and stopped walking.
“Mmmmm. Nice little bite. What do we have here?” The voice was loud, deep and muffled at once, so that making the words out was hard. Like, really hard. Asking for a repeat wasn’t likely to get her far. She stepped backwards softly, till she felt the rough bark of the tree behind her back.
The creature took a single stride and she could feel the heat of its breath as it stared down at her. “Now, now little mouthful. No need to step away from me. At least, there’s no point.”
Dawn gulped. She had been so stupid. Buffy told her to get Xander. Why hadn’t she listened? Not that Xander would have made that much of a difference confronted by this monster. His mouth opened, wider than any jaw should be able to, revealing more and more teeth, shining a sickly greenish-white. Another gulp.
The horned arms straightened, the huge fists opening to grip Dawn’s shoulders. This close she could see the skin was a mass of iridescent red scales, overlapping each other to create what looked exactly like armour. No point in kicking it or trying to punch it, then.
The cruel smile widened and the thing leant in towards her. Then it stopped, the smile replaced by an expression of surprise. It looked down at its chest. Dawn looked in the same direction, no longer transfixed by its expression. Had that horn-thing been sticking out of its chest before? Was that a truly gross implication she was seeing?
No. She let out a huge breath as the creature slumped, held up by what she could now see was a pike or pole of some sort. Sidestepping, she looked behind. Oh thank God. It was Buffy there. Right next to her another figure, in a ridiculously baggy sweater which so didn’t suit him. They held the other end of the pole. A pool cue? How had they got that so quickly?
As soon as Dawn was out of the way Spike’s face changed and he growled. A real growl, not some pussycat purr. He leapt onto the demon’s back and gripped its head, his left forearm holding just beneath its horns, while the right hand grabbed the back of the head. A vicious twist and it was over. A mountain of scaly demon-flesh subsided to the ground and Dawn, shaky and ashamed, ran into Buffy’s waiting arms.
“Dawn, Dawn, Dawn. What did I tell you? Never go out alone at night. This town is never as safe as it looks.”
“I’m sorry, Buffy,” Dawn was sobbing outright now. “I just didn’t think. Spike needed help, and I…”
Spike’s voice, calm, totally controlled, broke into her speech, “Bit. Don’t. Just don’t do that again, eh? I’m not worth it.” He raised his hand to quieten her automatic denial. “Nothing is, pet. Think what it would do to Sis here if one of those beasties got you. I’m fine now. Look. My place? Just up that hill there. You girls stay and watch me go in if you like, but I think you need to go straight home then.”
Buffy nodded slowly. For a loony he was speaking a lot of sense. “OK. But we will watch you from here. Right, Dawn?”
Dawn, feeling distinctly less than her nearly sixteen years, nodded dumbly. Spike nodded in return, turned from them and strode into the graveyard and up the slight rise. The girls watched as they had promised, until he was inside, then headed for home.
Spike was much less comfortable and confident than he’d let the girls believe, but shoved hard on the door till it gave way. Once in he stopped short and stared.
A round table, of the dining variety, and four straight-back chairs occupied the space beside the sarcophagus, and covered the trap leading to the lower level. Seated on the chairs were Clem, two other demons almost as baggy-skinned as he was, and a grumpy-looking vampire, fangs and forehead lumps in evidence. Cards were strewn on the table and they seemed intent on their game. A covered basket stood on the floor, from which a faint mewing could be heard.
Clem looked up, then jumped up. “Spike, pal! How great to see you. You know Lance and Walt, don’t you?” He pointed at the demons who looked vaguely familiar. “This is Jim. He’s new to town since you went. He’s a great partner in the game.”
Spike nodded, but was very still, as still as only the undead could be. His focus was entirely on the other vampire. “Jim, eh? Where did you arrive from? And how come the Slayer and her pals haven’t sorted you out yet”
“Slayer?” Jim looked alarmed and scowled at Clem. “You told me the Slayer here died! Some geek shot her!”
“Temporary, mate. Always is with that one.” Spike’s smile was colder than the room. “Make a difference, does it? I’d hop along, then, if I were you.” The other vampire started to scrabble his things together. “Nuh-uh. Leave the kit. Just be grateful you’ve had a warning and time to clear out.” He stood aside, and Jim, expression like a rabbit in headlights, pushed past, out of the door and was gone.
Clem coughed. “So, Spike. You back here to live? Not that you’re not welcome. It’s your place after all. Me and my pals, just crypt-sitting, you know. Always ready to oblige if that’s what you need.” The flabby-skinned demon scooped up a handful of playing tokens. “Here, take these. Willy accepts them these days. Or kittens? Lovely juicy kittens. A whole basketful of them if you need them.”
Spike relaxed and shook his head. “Nah. I’m back home, but I stashed my stuff elsewhere. You and your gang - this place is yours if you want it. I have to get my things, and I’ll just hang out there. Be seeing you.”
He tipped the stunned trio a cheerful thumbs-up and sloped out. His things were safely stowed indeed. And he had to get them. He needed to chat to a certain pink pig before making his mind up what to do next. The basement called.
On Elysian Fields the story has reached Chapter 9, with another on the way by the end of the week.
When your ex-lover is spread over a cross, his white flesh gleaming in the moonlight and smoke starting to curl up from the points where his chest and face touch the thing, it is not very sensible to stand and stare.
For a moment or two, though, that was all Buffy was capable of doing, tears tracking down her cheeks and her heart beating impossibly loud in the absolute silence of the nave. The figure slumped in front of her made no noise, not even a grunt of pain, as he clung to the one object in the place that could harm him. What did he mean, pleading for rest? What did he expect her to do?
What he expected was probably something brutal, physical, involving throwing punches or possibly his body. Buffy swallowed, hard. When had she ever given him reason to expect anything else?
She took extra care to be gentle as she moved towards him and pulled on his shoulders. Even so, he flinched, and for a moment seemed to grip the wooden cross harder, as if it provided the support he needed rather than the agony he must be feeling.
“Spike,” quiet but firm. “Spike, you must let go. I can help you, if you let me.” A pause. “Will you let me? Please?”
He turned his head sharply at that word. She hadn’t used it to him very often, had she?
“Come on, now. This place is cold.”
A broken laugh. “Not exactly chilly where I’m standing, pet. And, vampire. Don’t feel the cold. Didn’t you know?”
She cursed herself internally. Stupid, stupid thing to say. “No, but I’m cold. And…” how to persuade him? “I don’t wanna leave you here.”
That did get his interest. With visible effort he pushed away from the cross and half-turned to face her. She gasped at the raw, red burns across his chest, arms and lower face. He flinched again.
“Sorry. Should have clothes on. Mustn’t upset the girl. Mustn’t be threatening to her.”
The pathetic, burnt creature before her, pearl skin still gleaming, was no kind of threat. But, hey, if that’s what it takes.
“Spike, you frighten me like that. Come away? Please?”
That word again. But he needed to hear it, needed to sense some sort of connection. He tottered in her direction, a few steps, before slumping against a pew and descending to the slabbed floor. He cowered, clutching his arms round his chest, as if to conceal it, and bowing his head. She heard a choking sob.
Buffy’s first thought was to cover that chill, effulgent body. He might not feel the cold, but she did, and it somehow made looking at him unclothed more painful. He had been holding that weird, bright blue sweater when she had entered; it had to be somewhere near. She scouted round the area in back, where there was no seating, and found it heaped near the wall, where he must have flung it behind him. Scooping it up, she returned to his side and knelt down.
“Here, Spike. Put this on. We need to get those burns cleaned up, but you should cover them now.”
“No, no need for cleanup. Need the burns. Remind me what I am. Remind me what I did. What I wanted to do.”
“That’s the past, Spike. You aren’t the same man now, are you?”
“Still me. Still the man who… Who could have… Who wanted to… NO!” He howled at the icon painting on the wall. “Is this what you wanted? Not able any more. Just knowing me, seeing into me?”
Buffy realised he was unlikely to be able to clothe himself. Holding the neck of the sweater wide open she leaned forward, ready to pull it over his head. As she did so the cross she wore swung forward and brushed against his cheek. His scream of pain was instant and high-pitched.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you!”
An oddly lucid grin. “Can’t help but do that, love. Though on the hurting me stakes I beat you hollow. Know how to do that now. The spark does it all for me.”
Growling at herself, Buffy flung the chain’s pendant behind her neck, so it couldn’t touch him again. He stayed still, an obedient child, until she’d pulled the neck down, then allowed her to pull first one, then the other arm through a sleeve. She held out her hands and grasped his and half-stood.
“Time to move on out of here, Spike. Come with me.”
He was docile now, silent where he had been gabbling, blank-faced where the agony had been. Gently, she led him out of the little building.
Revello was not far away, but it took some time to get there. He switched mode and mood frequently on their route, at times babbling about beetles and grass huts, at others grimly silent, at others sobbing steadily, the tears making his face shine in the street light. It was perhaps half an hour before she arrived home, opened the door and towed him inside.
A year ago he had tended her broken hands, she remembered suddenly, sitting opposite to her in almost the same place. He had been gentle, caring solicitous then. Now it had to be her turn.
There was a gasp from the doorway. Dawn. “What happened? Buffy, what did you do to him?”
No longer a child, really, Dawn had grown up a lot over the past year. Her readiness to blame her big sister hadn’t changed much.
“I did nothing, Dawn. He’s done this to himself. Be an angel, will you, and fetch the medical supplies?” Spike flinched again. Obviously the A-word had better be avoided still. Perhaps especially if Spike really had done what he’d told her about in the church. Two souled vampires in the world. Somehow that had to mean extra complications.
When Dawn returned, she helped Buffy remove the blue sweater, eyes wide at the sight of the scorch marks. Then an idea came to her and she ran upstairs, leaving the pair alone.
A vampire might not need to be cleaned up, if he never got infections, and would recover on his own given time. In an abstract sort of way Buffy knew this, but she needed to clean him up, needed the water to be warm and the disinfectant to be rinsed away and replaced with soothing creams. She could see the pain in his face, however hard he tried to restrain it, and she needed to see that gentled away. Later there might be time to consider why it mattered to her. If she couldn’t procrastinate it away.
Dawn came back with an armful of textiles. First she settled a blanket round his shoulders, then shook out a huge, baggy military sweater. She looked at Buffy with embarrassment. “Riley left this behind when he went away, back when he first left. I sorta kept hold of it because I missed him back then, and it’s good to hug. It might be more comfortable for Spike than that tight blue thing? And there’s a t-shirt too, a baggy one I used to sleep in - I’m thinking it might fit, more or less? It’s black, too, and that is so much more Spike’s colour.”
His head jerked up as she spoke. Real fear filled his face. “Black is no good. Bad Man wore black. Bad Man did bad things in black.”
“You always wear black, Spike. It suits you. We like to see you in it. Don’t we, Buffy?” Dawn had grasped his problem quicker than her sister. How had that happened? “Come on, Spike. Let me help you put it on? Please?”
Fear and longing fought across his features, then he lifted his arms in mute acceptance. Both young woman worked to pull the faded shirt over his head and thread his arms through the sleeves, then followed with the heavy sweater which threatened to swamp the drained-looking vampire. Riley had been so big. Spike, not so much.
“What do we do with him now, Buffy?” her sister asked. “Where has he been staying? Not still in the school, surely?”
“School. Yes, school. Underground, where I belong. Other corpses there, other creatures that go bump, other nasties. Just like me. Yes, right. Go back there. ”
“That’s the last place he should be,” Buffy decided. “Look, Dawn. Would you be able to stay here with him while I run and check out his old place? I can see if Clem is still there. Perhaps he’ll take care of him for a little. “
“Good idea. Familiar things around him could be soothing as well. You go.”
As Buffy stood to leave, Spike started to moan, quietly at first, then louder. His hands clawed at the air between him and Buffy, eyes full of desperation. She sighed. “Dawn, I think I may need to stay here to keep him quiet. Could you call Xander and ask him if he’ll go with you to the crypt? It’s dark, but I think we need to do it soon. I’m not crazy about you going alone, not in Sunnydale streets now crazy season seems to be opening up again.”
Dawn nodded and left the room. Moments later the front door slammed.
“What the? Dawn!” Buffy shouted crossly. No way had there been time to get Xander over to Revello. Stupid girl thought she was way too grown-up to need her hand holding. In Sunnydale nobody was ever old enough to go to night-time graveyards alone.
Spike struggled to his feet. “Not good, pet. Not good at all. Gotta go find the Bit. Both gotta go, right?” He actually looked saner than he had since he’d entered her house offering to help. Perhaps helping was the thing that made him Mr Sanity Man? Buffy stowed the thought for later consideration.
“Come on, then, Spike. You promised to keep her safe, remember? Let’s go.”
Dawn strode along the sidewalk. It was really late, but she wasn’t scared, no sir. The Slayer’s sister knew what might be out there, and she was fearless in the face of any threat. Totally fearless.
A grinding sound made her jump. Then a figure twice her size, with horns on its head and - euw - elbows, dropped from a tree as she passed it, landing right in front of her. A sort of shimmering red, it was abundantly, embarrassingly male. Dawn fixed her gaze on its right shoulder and stopped walking.
“Mmmmm. Nice little bite. What do we have here?” The voice was loud, deep and muffled at once, so that making the words out was hard. Like, really hard. Asking for a repeat wasn’t likely to get her far. She stepped backwards softly, till she felt the rough bark of the tree behind her back.
The creature took a single stride and she could feel the heat of its breath as it stared down at her. “Now, now little mouthful. No need to step away from me. At least, there’s no point.”
Dawn gulped. She had been so stupid. Buffy told her to get Xander. Why hadn’t she listened? Not that Xander would have made that much of a difference confronted by this monster. His mouth opened, wider than any jaw should be able to, revealing more and more teeth, shining a sickly greenish-white. Another gulp.
The horned arms straightened, the huge fists opening to grip Dawn’s shoulders. This close she could see the skin was a mass of iridescent red scales, overlapping each other to create what looked exactly like armour. No point in kicking it or trying to punch it, then.
The cruel smile widened and the thing leant in towards her. Then it stopped, the smile replaced by an expression of surprise. It looked down at its chest. Dawn looked in the same direction, no longer transfixed by its expression. Had that horn-thing been sticking out of its chest before? Was that a truly gross implication she was seeing?
No. She let out a huge breath as the creature slumped, held up by what she could now see was a pike or pole of some sort. Sidestepping, she looked behind. Oh thank God. It was Buffy there. Right next to her another figure, in a ridiculously baggy sweater which so didn’t suit him. They held the other end of the pole. A pool cue? How had they got that so quickly?
As soon as Dawn was out of the way Spike’s face changed and he growled. A real growl, not some pussycat purr. He leapt onto the demon’s back and gripped its head, his left forearm holding just beneath its horns, while the right hand grabbed the back of the head. A vicious twist and it was over. A mountain of scaly demon-flesh subsided to the ground and Dawn, shaky and ashamed, ran into Buffy’s waiting arms.
“Dawn, Dawn, Dawn. What did I tell you? Never go out alone at night. This town is never as safe as it looks.”
“I’m sorry, Buffy,” Dawn was sobbing outright now. “I just didn’t think. Spike needed help, and I…”
Spike’s voice, calm, totally controlled, broke into her speech, “Bit. Don’t. Just don’t do that again, eh? I’m not worth it.” He raised his hand to quieten her automatic denial. “Nothing is, pet. Think what it would do to Sis here if one of those beasties got you. I’m fine now. Look. My place? Just up that hill there. You girls stay and watch me go in if you like, but I think you need to go straight home then.”
Buffy nodded slowly. For a loony he was speaking a lot of sense. “OK. But we will watch you from here. Right, Dawn?”
Dawn, feeling distinctly less than her nearly sixteen years, nodded dumbly. Spike nodded in return, turned from them and strode into the graveyard and up the slight rise. The girls watched as they had promised, until he was inside, then headed for home.
Spike was much less comfortable and confident than he’d let the girls believe, but shoved hard on the door till it gave way. Once in he stopped short and stared.
A round table, of the dining variety, and four straight-back chairs occupied the space beside the sarcophagus, and covered the trap leading to the lower level. Seated on the chairs were Clem, two other demons almost as baggy-skinned as he was, and a grumpy-looking vampire, fangs and forehead lumps in evidence. Cards were strewn on the table and they seemed intent on their game. A covered basket stood on the floor, from which a faint mewing could be heard.
Clem looked up, then jumped up. “Spike, pal! How great to see you. You know Lance and Walt, don’t you?” He pointed at the demons who looked vaguely familiar. “This is Jim. He’s new to town since you went. He’s a great partner in the game.”
Spike nodded, but was very still, as still as only the undead could be. His focus was entirely on the other vampire. “Jim, eh? Where did you arrive from? And how come the Slayer and her pals haven’t sorted you out yet”
“Slayer?” Jim looked alarmed and scowled at Clem. “You told me the Slayer here died! Some geek shot her!”
“Temporary, mate. Always is with that one.” Spike’s smile was colder than the room. “Make a difference, does it? I’d hop along, then, if I were you.” The other vampire started to scrabble his things together. “Nuh-uh. Leave the kit. Just be grateful you’ve had a warning and time to clear out.” He stood aside, and Jim, expression like a rabbit in headlights, pushed past, out of the door and was gone.
Clem coughed. “So, Spike. You back here to live? Not that you’re not welcome. It’s your place after all. Me and my pals, just crypt-sitting, you know. Always ready to oblige if that’s what you need.” The flabby-skinned demon scooped up a handful of playing tokens. “Here, take these. Willy accepts them these days. Or kittens? Lovely juicy kittens. A whole basketful of them if you need them.”
Spike relaxed and shook his head. “Nah. I’m back home, but I stashed my stuff elsewhere. You and your gang - this place is yours if you want it. I have to get my things, and I’ll just hang out there. Be seeing you.”
He tipped the stunned trio a cheerful thumbs-up and sloped out. His things were safely stowed indeed. And he had to get them. He needed to chat to a certain pink pig before making his mind up what to do next. The basement called.
On Elysian Fields the story has reached Chapter 9, with another on the way by the end of the week.