Chapter 46 - Assumptions

The secret to stealing blood—stealing anything, really—was to look like you weren’t. It was an obvious thing to say, but much harder to pull off.

But then, he’d had decades of practice.

Not at stealing blood, but stealing.

Spike leisurely stalked through the hallways of the hospital. He had no clue where he was going, but that wasn’t the point. He looked like he knew where he was going. He let his nose guide him, despite the fact that the whole hospital smelled of blood, even once you got past the ER. Blood and disease, and the chemicals to cover it up.

But what he wanted was fresh blood. It didn’t take him long to find it, though he had to wait a moment before he could slip into the room and load up his duster pockets.

He walked back the way he came.

Buffy’s blood could have lasted him from week to week, but he wanted something to take the edge off. This would last him for a while, would do for a nip here and there.

He’d also found the local demon bars and had gotten a shot a time or two. It had occurred to him, as he drank, that Buffy probably wouldn’t like the fact that he was drinking human blood that had come from who knows where, but he’d decided that what Buffy didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. The bar probably stole it just the same; it was too much effort to bleed someone.

At any rate, he could easily mix his own blood and booze at home.

It also occurred to him that Buffy wouldn’t like him taking blood from the hospital.

Buffy would have to deal.

-----

Over and over and over.

That’s what they were doing today—the same moves over and over and over.

After several spectacularly ineffective attacks on her part in the beginning, Spike had decided that she was going to do it until she got it right. He had then made her come at him in a particular way with no variation until she successfully beat him, and could do so repeatedly.

Then he would attack her in the same way until she stopped him.

Then they would move on.

Putting it all together, however, was a different story. Despite how well Buffy had been doing, when Spike declared a free-for-all using anything they’d done, she found herself coming up short more than half the time. It was more than knowing the moves, more than knowing to do this when that happens; it was how to anticipate what was coming next, how to gauge her opponent’s movements and use them to her advantage.

This was completely different from the minimal kicks and punches she performed on the vampires she staked every night. Spike was teaching her to fight. Martial-arts-street-fighting-kill-or-be-killed type fighting.

She had to admit that he was really good. Scarily good. Which was what resulted from one hundred plus years of experience, she supposed.

“You’re not fast enough, love.”

“You’re too fast,” she complained, swinging half-heartedly. It was getting late and they were both winding down, she could tell.

Spike circled her, his head cocked to one side as he studied her. He was doing that predator thing. “Remember your disadvantage. I’m faster. Right now, I’m stronger.”

“Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.” She twisted to keep track of him. “How does that help me?”

Suddenly he was behind her, his arms pinning hers. “Don’t get within range unless you’re sure of yourself.”

“Right.” Buffy sagged against him. “I’m beat. Can we call it a day?”

She felt him shrug. “Sure.” He let go, and they both went over to the shaded porch steps. Spike lit up a cigarette, and Buffy took a long gulp from her water bottle.

“What did you mean right now you’re stronger?”

“Slayers should be stronger than vamps,” he said. “Wouldn’t be much point otherwise, would there?”

“I guess not.”

He took another drag from the cigarette. “You’ll get there, Slayer.”

“Don’t—”

“Don’t call you that, right. Sometimes it slips, love. Just seems natural-like.”

“Well, try not to slip,” she snapped.

He tilted his head at her. “What about Slayer irritates you so bloody much?”

“Because Slayer is what the vampires who are trying to kill me every night call me!” she blurted. “If I was nothing but the Slayer, you would have killed me in L.A. in some horrible duel to the death.”

The smoke suddenly went down the wrong way, and Spike sputtered.

“Don’t say it’s not true,” she said. “You’re helping me because I’m me, not because I’m the Slayer.”

“Well, yeah,” he said slowly. “Wouldn’t help just any Slayer.”

“Don’t you ever wonder about if things had gone differently? If you hadn’t known me?”

“Not really.” But a sudden mental image came to him, of him hearing about a Slayer in L.A., tracking her down, fighting her, killing her—Buffy—

“Yeah, well. Because you would have come out on top.”

“Probably,” he said, only half listening, mouth suddenly dry.

“Probably?” she asked. “Were we even in the same dimension just now? You totally kicked my ass.”

It made him sick, the thought of her as just another kill. Some hot night under the orange streetlights, him drawing her out, doing it without knowing what she could have—

“Don’t play the what if game, pet. It never does anyone any good.” Spike took a long drag from his cigarette, looking away. “I won’t call you Slayer.”

“Besides,” he continued, to distract her from her morbid what if game, “It’s not like it was an obsession. Otherwise I would’ve done a lot more than two, yeah? Not like those other vamps, the ones who were after you before.”

“Yeah, them.”

“Course, the hunters didn’t want the real thing. They wanted the girl before. They didn’t want to fight a real Slayer, too dangerous for ’em.”

“Yeah, Wesley said something like that. He wouldn’t really talk about it, though.”

Spike looked at her.

“It was you,” she realized. “You’re the one that told him.”

“Yeah.”

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t at first. But I found out, didn’t I?”

She took another swig of water. “I’m probably going to regret asking this, but why did they want me? Or anyone else?”

“The blood.”

“Again with the blood. Well, I dusted some of them, and never saw the others, so I guess they really don’t come after Slayers. Once I became the Slayer, did they just leave town or something?”

“They were gonna, actually.”

“But they didn’t?”

“Didn’t get a chance to. I killed them.”

“Huh?”

Spike slowly turned toward her. “They were after you. I killed them.”

He said it so simply, like you might say, ‘It’s raining. I took an umbrella.’

Buffy wasn’t sure she had a response for that, other than ‘Less vampires, great!’ He killed them for her. Sure, it was just vampires, but he’d done it after she’d left him, when she had no intention of ever seeing him again.

“Why?” she asked.

“They tried to hurt you.”

“Buffy! Honey, are you—oh.”

Buffy whipped around and saw her mother standing at the back door. She quickly stood up, Spike following her.

“Hi, Mom.” She winced at her own voice. It sounded like a squeak.

“Why, hello Spike.” The door shut behind her as she stepped out onto the porch.

“Joyce.”

Buffy barely heard her mother’s question, she was so busy running over things in her head. Okay, so Mom knows about the Slaying, but there’s no reason for her to know Spike is a vampire, no one needs to know that. Should I say he’s helping me? I should have thought of something better after—

“I was in town,” Spike was smoothly saying. “And thought I’d pop ’round and see Buffy here. But I’d best be going.”

“Oh, but I don’t mean to run you off—”

“Nah, I got stuff to do anyway. Might see you ’round later.”

“Well, all right.”

Then he walked around the back fence and was gone.

Buffy turned to see Joyce looking at her with the Mom Stare.

She decided to go with the original story. “We had a thing,” she mumbled.

“Well, I wondered about you two.”

Buffy’s mouth fell open. “Huh?”

“It was obvious he liked you.”

“Mom?”

“I was sort of surprised you didn’t see him after he left us.”

“I kinda did. I just, uh, didn’t tell anyone.”

“He’s a little older, but well, you’re a grown girl, I figured you could make these decisions yourself.”

“You’re completely blowing my mind here,” Buffy said.

“Honey, I’m not blind. And you’re not sixteen anymore. So,” she said, “Is he really just passing through, or is he here for you?”

“Um, me. But, there’s some issues. Stuff happened.”

“Things happen in every relationship.”

“Whoa! There’s no relationship. There’s just—us. Two people who—who are not in a relationship. No relations—ship! No relationship. Not now.”

“But there was?”

“Yeah…”

“And now?”

“It’s complicated. I mean, someday, if the issues—” Buffy cut herself off. “They’re mostly his issues, you know,” she said.

Joyce smiled. “Aren’t they always? Come on, since I got off early, I brought takeout.”

Buffy followed her inside.