Chapter 22 - Hunters

Spike sat at the back of the bar, not doing much of anything except concentrating on the accumulation of glasses before him. He didn’t particularly care for demon bars, but this was one of the only places in town where a guy could get an O-neg Bloody Mary to go with his beer.

He’d only dragged himself out of his apartment because he’d run out of booze, and was in no way ready not to be drunk.

Though he’d also needed a change of scenery. Digging through his duffel bag for cigarettes, he’d come across folded sheets of paper—the forms and notes that the Watcher had given him on Buffy’s case. Spike had found himself reading them again, the facts of her. He had stared for a bit too long at the picture in the corner.

Then he’d crumpled the papers into a ball and thrown them in the ashtray, lighting them and watching the flames slowly crinkle them into nothing. Pulling himself up, he’d decided that going out was just what he needed.

It hadn’t helped.

Bloody Buffy, he thought, draining the last of the alcohol from the glass.

First the incident in the alley and now this.

She was the Slayer. She was the fucking Slayer.

“The Slayer? Tell me we didn’t lose her again.”

Spike’s ears perked up as he caught a conversation from across the room.

A vampire slid into the booth opposite the one who had spoken. “You could say that.”

“Interference again?”

“She is the Slayer.”

“You sure?”

“Oh yeah. She dusted Chris and Mack just like that. Her friend got Cole. She’s it now.”

“Oh well.” The first vampire took a sip of his drink. “Next one, then.”

Spike made his way over to the table.

“What, is one shiny new Slayer too much for you blokes to handle?”

The vampire frowned at him. “What?”

“I’m just saying. You were all over her before.”

His eyes narrowed in recognition. “So were you. You’re the reason we weren’t able to get her.”

“Yeah, well.”

“You’re welcome to her now.”

“Thanks, mate,” he said dryly.

The vampire smiled. “I’m not going up against a full-out Slayer. I haven’t lived this long by taking stupid risks.”

“Well, I have.”

“You talk big.”

“Were you one of the ones I got the jump on that night? Dropped three of you in less than ten steps.”

Without a second glance, he walked away.

The first vampire glared after Spike as he shoved his way to the back of the bar. “Who does he think he—”

“Dude, that was William the Bloody,” the other vampire interrupted. “The Slayer killer,” he clarified. “I thought it was.”

“Then why did he get in our way?”

“Maybe he wants her for himself.” He shrugged. “He did drop you quick, though.”

“Shut up.” He downed the rest of his drink. “We’re leaving. Get the hell out of this town, and the hell away from the Slayer. I hope he does kill her. Maybe we can get some better pickings next time.”

“Oh, and mate?”

Spike reappeared before the booth. He broke a pool cue over his knee and brought both ends down in one fluid motion, simultaneously dusting the two vampires before either registered what was happening.

“It’s Spike these days.”

Throwing the shattered pieces of wood to the floor, he stalked out of the bar.

It wasn’t until he was outside that he realized he’d killed someone for the Slayer.

No, for Buffy.

Not that it mattered.

No matter how much he liked the girl—or what he had felt—a relationship with the sodding Slayer was not something he was going to pursue. Whatever they’d had was gone. Even if it hadn’t been, she wasn’t interested, Slayer bit notwithstanding.

What did you expect? That she’d be thrilled with your idea of dinner?

Spike knew better than that. He had, however, expected that it wouldn’t have come up the way it did, if at all. Even so, maybe they could’ve—

No, he knew that Buffy wasn’t coming back, not after her reaction to the ‘incident.’

And he knew that he shouldn’t be interested in any way about the Slayer, unless it was somehow leading up to her messy death.

Of course, those points aside, he could still go see what she was up to. Maybe it was exactly what he needed.

-----

Monday and Tuesday had seen Buffy back at Wesley’s office, training with him and occasionally Fred. On Tuesday night, he said that she was ready to go out.

“Already?” she asked.

“Some Watchers take their Slayers out the first night they find them. Let them learn on the fly, so to speak. Of course, I’m not your Watcher.”

“Right. So, what do we do?”

“Generally, look for vampires. The clubs around town, some of the worse streets—but the cemeteries are good enough places for a beginner to start.”

“I’m supposed to go hunting?”

“We usually call it patrol,” he said.

“That’s what you call semantics.”

“Quite. Now, let’s get the weapons, shall we?”

Buffy loaded herself up with stakes, Wesley doing likewise. She watched in fascination as he attached a wicked looking contraption to his arm that served as both a sword and crossbow and that couldn’t even be seen when his jacket was on. Even Fred was armed with a crossbow. Buffy was somewhat surprised that the other girl was actually accompanying them. Well, if she can patrol, Slayer-me certainly can, she thought, effectively squashing any nervousness.

They all piled into Wesley’s car, and for a moment Buffy almost laughed at the idea of driving to go vampire hunting. It wasn’t stealthy or something. However, the cemetery that they ended up at was a good five miles away, and after they got there it didn’t seem so ridiculous.

As they got out and walked around the quiet grounds, Wesley was reviewing her on key vampire points.

“It will take a newly turned vampire usually a day to rise, and they’re easiest to slay when they’re first risen. Though hungry, they’re confused and disoriented.”

“Right.” She nodded.

“But never take their strength for granted. They figure it out quickly. If they successfully rise, most of the time their first act is to kill family, friends, acquaintances—”

“Oh my God!” Buffy suddenly exclaimed.

“What?”

“That night, when I came to the office—you had a crossbow. Did you think I’d been turned?!”

Wesley said nothing.

Buffy stopped walking and stood in front of him. “Did you think Spike turned me?” she demanded.

“I’m not sure what I thought. All I knew was that you unexpectedly appeared after dark, looking quite pale and wearing something to obviously cover your neck.”

“Pale and shaken. Oh my God, Wesley!”

“I don’t know what you’re so upset about,” he said. “It’s not as if I shot first and asked questions later. Which is another point—a good Slayer is a cautious Slayer. You must never put yourself in unnecessary danger, but you must always be sure that you’re aware of the situation and its possibilities.”

Buffy exhaled, shifting her weight. “Okay, okay. But still.”

They started walking again.

“You must always be careful,” he said. “Furthermore, it’s important to remember that the vampire is not the person who was turned, even if they have their memories. The soul is gone and the demon takes over.”

“What about Spike?” she asked after a moment.

Wesley narrowed his eyes. “What about Spike?”

“I don’t know, I mean…”

“Buffy, I’m not saying that vampires are mindless. I’m saying that they’re demons driven by the blood. Vampires can be as intelligent as the next person. Spike has thoughts, a personality, idiosyncrasies, likes and dislikes, but he is a demon through and through. And he is undoubtedly not the man he was when he was alive.”

“You sound so clinical.”

“I’m a Wat—was, a Watcher. Buffy, this is important. Spike is an irregularity. Not in what he is, but how he behaves. You must never trust another vampire, even if they give you their word. And, God forbid, if someone you know is ever turned, you must remember that they are not that person. No matter what they say, all they’re thinking about is how to get you close enough to eat.”

“Um, guys?” Fred spoke up for the first time. “Over there?” She pointed to a new vamp digging its way out of its grave.

“Right.” Buffy tightened her grip on the stake.

“Wait just a moment,” Wesley said. “As he’s temporarily occupied, I think this might be a good time to bring up Slayer sense. You should be able to reach out with your mind and feel that there’s a vampire nearby.”

Buffy concentrated. “I do feel something. It’s sort of tingly.”

“You need to hone that sense, develop it. Soon you’ll feel whenever there’s a vampire in the vicinity, without actively trying to do so. All right, you can dust him now.”

The vampire had managed to dig himself out, and was now stumbling towards them. With a kick and a punch, Buffy drove the stake through his heart.

“How does the ‘tingly’ feel now?”

Buffy frowned. “It’s kinda still fuzzy, kinda there.”

“Well, you are in a graveyard,” Fred said.

“Her sense shouldn’t act up unless there’s another vampire.”

“Maybe there are more?”

They all looked around. Fred shrugged.

“Maybe I haven’t got it figured out yet,” Buffy said. “Oh well. What are we waiting for? The night is young. Slayage awaits.”