926/Slayer Surprise

Slayer Surprise
Date of Scene:	13 June 2017
Location:	Sunnydale, Bludhaven
Synopsis:	Spike and Buffy have a run in
Cast of Characters:	Buffy Summers, Spike

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Buffy Summers has posed:
Are there ever any not rough nights in her life? She'd just like a normal one for once. As it stands, it's about four in the morning when she gets home. The time she had told Spike he could come over. If he wanted.

It was the coffee's fault. Caffeine made her stupid. She babbled and talked too much with it in her system. So last night after the whole hosing down in the yard, she was an idiot and imbibed. Only to invite Spike back over the next night to talk. To clear the air about everything that's been going on.

She brushes her hand back through her hair, sighing softly. She refuse to look at it too closely. It simplifies things. And God knows she needs just a little bit of simple. The night started in the worst possible way, something she will need to consult with Giles about tomorrow. She runs a hand across her throat, knowing that the bruising has already healed. She can still feel the hand. Whatever is she going to do?

Spike has posed:
The invitation came as quite a surprise. The trust was also especially appreciated. She invited him, and gave him a time to come over. But after they got separated, he could have come to her home, ransacked it. With the chip in his head, he couldn't do anything to her family without feeling excruciating pain, but the trust came as a surprise, and an honour. Mostly though, it was perplexing after she had made him bathe in the yard.

So, at the appropriate time, Spike, dressed in his best red shirt, best black jeans, and the trademark duster jacket, knocks on her door. He knocks loud enough that someone up might hear, but not loud enough to wake anyone who might be sleeping upstairs. At least that's what he hopes. He had thought about bringing flowers. He wasn't sure if this was a date, or work related, or what, so he did bring flowers, and then, over the last half hour or so that he had been debating what to do, how to approach it, he had stashed the flowers in her bushes, hoping she wouldn't have heard or seen him do it. "Buffy?" He called out, quietly. If he wore a hat, he'd have it in hand right now.

Buffy Summers has posed:
Her family is upstairs sleeping so she's thankful that the knock is light. She almost expected him to be at the sliding glass door. Teach her to think she's got him figured out. Buffy walks to the door, still dressed in the clothes she used for patrol. Jeans, black tank top and a lightweight black leather jacket. Boots cover her feet. She gives a faint smile. "Hi, Spike. Come on in."

She can't believe she just did it again. Does that mean she has to get the house locked down twice because she's invited him in twice? Kind of a gray area there. She'll have to ask --nobody. If she asks anyone, they'll know she let him in twice. Once is going to be hard enough to explain.

"I put on some coffee unless you'd like something else. To drink. Other than people." Yeah, this is going swimmingly.

Spike has posed:
Spike steps in, slowly. He had a light touch. He was showing her home the respect it deserved. And it was nice to be inside again. He had been there before, but he was... well, he was there for different reasons that involved his hatred for Angel. But once invited, a Vampire is able to return at their lesisure, until someone like Willow does her thing, or the ownership of the home changes hands. "I drink coffee," he said softly. He felt as weird about this as she did.

"So, how was patrol? Did you run into anymore Unimodry demons?" He hoped not, after what he had gone through last night, but if there were three, there could be more out there. "I ran across a couple of kids playing at the old Foreman home," a condemned home that Vampires often made into a lair, "they were playing some kind of dice game." He really didn't understand it, "like the kind Xander played." He remembered from being tied up and had to watch Xander's Dungeons and Dragons group play. They even invited him to play, but he of course declined.

Buffy Summers has posed:
Buffy closes the door behind him then leads the way to the kitchen. Once there, she takes off her jacket and lays it over the back of a chair. She continues to walk into the kitchen. Once there, she pulls two mugs out of a cabinet. One has a picture of a unicorn on it. The other had the worlds 'I Hate Mondays' in bold letters. There is a fresh pot of coffee already on the warmer. She pours both cups then brings them over to the table, setting them down and letting him choose his own cup. "Cream, suger?" she asks as she walks to get both and bring them back to the table, just in case.

She finally sits down in one of the chairs, stretching her legs out underneath. "I went to Dennys before patrol. For one of those jalapenon sriracha burgers. And I ran into something that. Not demons."

Absently her hand comes up to the side of her neck and she rubs the spot gently. "Thers's a god in town. Not God with a big G but a little g. Greek. Or Roman I guess since he said he was known as Mars too. That's Roman, right?"

Spike has posed:
Spike takes the mug with the unicorn on it. Something about it appeals to him, and he'll pour a bit of cream and sugar into his cup when it's offered, "ta, luv," he says, English for thank you, my lady. He doesn't immediately drink from it, instead, letting the steam catch his nose. He inhales it. He senses it, absorbs himself in how it smells, drinking that in before even a drop hits his tongue.

And then he sips from it, not slurping, but taking a bit of it. Setting the cup back down, "oh..." he says in relation to her news. "Ares? Never met 'em, but I heard of him. Nasty temper, as you do, when you're a god of war. The thing to remember is, none of the gods are as big as the stories make them out to be. Oh, they're up there. But there are so many different pantheons, just like there are all manner of demons. Everybody's gotta have their thing. Hell, to some, you're a god, being the Slayer and all."

Buffy Summers has posed:
"Yeah, he had a little temper," she says, thinking back. "Course, I had to stab him a few times before he actually got physical." That would do it typically. Most people don't react well to being stabbed. reapeatedly. I think he was fine until I messed up his jacket. Or maybe it was when I went for his throat."

She shrugs. "Seems he's trying to change his colors. Been going straight." She puts extra cream and sugar in her cup, swirling the contents with a spoon as she considers. It comes out a light tan in color before she's done. One more plop of sugar for good measure. Her eyes meet Spike's over the table. "A lot of that going on lately."

Spike has posed:
"A man's coat is important," Spike admits with a little too much of himself in that. His coat means so much to him, and even he's not sure why. He got it from the second time he killed a Slayer. It's a souvenir, as he never took anything the first time he killed a slayer. But really, the way he feels now, it has less meaning. Still, he's had that coat for so many years. And it's been a real trooper. So many memories.

He takes another sip of his coffee. Still a bit hot for his liking, and he meets her eyes. "Yeah... about that." He looks around without moving his head, just his eyes roaming in a circle at him, being here, in her place. "The chip stops me being bad. The rest, that's on you."

Buffy Summers has posed:
She should've known he'd side with the god of War on that one. What is it about those coats? She wouldn't be upset if something happened to hers. Maybe it's a guy thing. She'd have to ask Xander later. Not that she remembered him having a coat he was super in love with.

"The chip doesn't stop you from being bad. You're still that. But it does stop you from hurting people." She finally takes a cautious sip of her coffee. Good temperature, sweet enough, bitter cut down so she can deal with it. "What's on me?" she asks, hoping that he isn't meaning what she thinks he's meaning because complicated!

Spike has posed:
"Well, a man needs hobbies," he smiles to her, and rather likes being bad. But there was something about the way he responded, his body language. He was good at reading people. If she read him correctly, she'd see that it's more of an act than anything else. "But this chip," he points to his forehead, "Angel's soul," yeah, he had to bring up Captain Forehead, didn't he? "It's the same thing. I haven't hurt anyone or anything, that wasn't a demon, since they put this thing in my head. Not even rats. I can't." He frowns at that. He can't even hurt a rat. "Living, earthly plane, call it what you will, I can't hurt them without this bloody thing going off in my head. I have to drink pig's blood from the butchers. Though I did get some bison blood the other day. Not bad, actually. A bit gamy if you ask me."

And if she thought he had forgotten about that other part, he didn't. "I can't be bad... okay," he rolled his eyes, "if I wanted to come up with a plan, tell some piddly little toad what to do, how to do it, I suppose I could do that, but come on Slayer, you know me." He was getting animated, eager, "I have to be in the fight, right in the thick of it. I'm not a sidelines kind of guy, I'm on the first team." He calmed down, took another sip, "that being said, I'd probably have gone with option A, being the brains of some operation, if it hadn't been for you." He let that sink in, hanging in an uncomfortable silence. And then, he said something that was going to get him banished from her home once again. "Buffy, you make me want to be a better man."

Buffy Summers has posed:
As he speaks, Buffy listens. Actually listens. She sips her coffee once or twice but otherwise, she keeps her mouth shut. It all makes sense and she gets where he's coming from. He's not one to sit to the side and let others run the show. Or make the decisions. It's a part of him. It's what made him the brains behind his old partnership with psycho fang girl. But her heart is starting to beat faster, fear setting in. He's going to go there and she's not ready for it yet. She needs more time to try and figure this out. Whatever this is. Is there even a this? He's just a vampire who helps them.

"Spike, don't," she says softly, looking at his face and trying to choose her words instead of just blurting out the first thing that pops into her head. "Your change of heart has nothing to do with me and everything to do with that bit of hardware in your head. If it was ut tomorrow, I'd be back at the top of your hit list." She knows his history. She gets reminded of it often enough when it becomes known that she let him help out. Or come in her house.

Spike has posed:
Spike is quiet for a moment. And then he softly whispers, "He who dares..." the end of that quote being 'wins', but he doesn't say that. It was more to himself than her, even though he knew she could hear every last syllable. He finally decides to confront her with logic. He was like that. "Before I got this chip in my head, would you say I was a vampire of my word?" He knew it to be true. As bad as he was, he did follow his own moral code, and when he bargained, he kept it, even when it wouldn't suit him. She didn't trust him then, or maybe now, but he had kept his part of every bargain he had made. "But you, your family, and hell, even your friends too," he then points a finger, "I do not include Angel in that list," damn, he hated Angel so much. But he continued, "need not fear me, chip or no chip. I swear it." He had just gambled everything he had left. And it showed. Normally, he was steel. But, he was so nervous as he waited for her reaction.

Buffy Summers has posed:
In truth, he has always done what he promised. Or not done, as was generally the case. She can't argue that with him. It would be a lie on her part to deny the fact. The vow shakes her to her toes. It's not something she ever expected. A complete promise to keep those she cares about safe. Other than one but the pair have too much of an ax to grind. No way she oould lessen the level of animosity between the pair. She looks into his eyes, seeing the truth. The concern about her reaction.

He claims it's because of her. She knows there are feelings that have developed on his side. That doesn't make things easier for her. She knows what he is. Who he is. She should just throw him out of the house. Let him know that it doesn't matter what he says.

But it dooes.

And she's touched by the gesture even though she wishes to avoid the truth of why he made such a vow. She drops her gaze then peeks back up at him. "Thank you." It's all she can think to say, feeling a bit choked up. Must be allergies. Or she's coming down with a cold. It's not her being emotional.

Spike has posed:
It's a better reaction than he expected, and less than he had hoped for. Spike was a romantic, he was a dreamer. He was a fully actualised person, despite not having a soul, and being undead. He lived his life how he pleased. He didn't even care about sunlight, going out in the day with a blanket, and driving in the day in his blacked out car. They were obsticles to be overcome, nothing more. If he wanted to go out in the day, he would damn well do it. But now, he had set his sights on something far more difficult, and far less likely to succeed.

That he hadn't been thrown out on his ass, meant that he had made some meagre level of progress. Deciding to lighten the mood, he joked, "is it too late to take Xander off the list? After wearing his old clothes last night, I think it'd be a public service."

Buffy Summers has posed:
"No, you may not! Xander's fashion sense may be a little challenged but that's not a reason to hurt him," Buffy argues. She goes with that instead of his smell being the problem. A little too weird to be discussing the smell of her friend that way. He doesn't smell bad but he doesn't smell that great either. Not like Sp--Not going there! "Although you made the oufit look ..."

What the hell is she saying? Now she's going to compliment him? She seriously has lost her mind. "Okay." It's obvious she changed what she was going to say, her expression giving her away as does the flick of her gaze to Spike's clothed chest and back up to his face. then she finds something in her coffee cup interseting. Oh look, coffee.

Spike has posed:
Spike picked up on the change, and he's pretty sure he caught her meaning. He smiled at her, knowingly, smugly, superior, oh god, he knew. His grin widened into a smile. He knew. And for added effect, he raised his eyebrows, then lowered them, twice. He had a strange scar over the left one. It kind of proved that vampires can get hurt, they can even scar.

Then he made eye contact with her. He looked into her eyes. The coffee was forgotten. Xander was forgotten. The world around him could have crumbled into ash, but to him, she was all that there was. He looked to her, and he didn't look away. Would she hold his gaze?

Buffy Summers has posed:
That tan coffee is so very interesting. It's a good minute before she looks up.

Her hazel gaze is caught by blue eyes.

Buffy has no idea what his going on here. She hates him. He's a vampire. A killer. He revels in the bloodshed and the true evil he has committed in the past. The only reason that people on the streets are safe is that chip in his head. Otherwise, she'd be having to put him down like the monster he is.

Wouldn't she?

Why did he make that promise? Why is he willing to give her that? He claims he wants to be a better man because of her but that makes no sense. All they've done is fight and tried to kill each other. Yet, neither of them has succeeded. Why?

Staring into his eyes, her own reflect confusion and a touch of fear. Not of death. Never that. She accepted that long ago. This is a fear of a different sort of danger.

Spike has posed:
Spike is pleasantly surprised when she holds his gaze. Though, there is that fear in them. What's got her so scared. And then he pulls back, "ah, so that's it, is it?" He was talking to her, but mostly, thinking out loud. He grinned widely. He had won, at least in his mind, he had won.

"You like me. And you're worried about it. You've probably been telling yourself for weeks, I should stake his ugly mug. He's a vampire. So what if he saves some people. So what if he's done some good. He's a vampire. He did all kinds of bad things that I don't even know about, am I right? I am, aren't I?" He winks, smiling merrily. "Well, that's something you're going to have to live with, until you do suss out what you want, luv. Me, I know what I want, who I want, and I've made my peace with the dichotomy. Someday, I hope you will too." But he was still happy. He had gotten into her head. He was pleased.

Buffy Summers has posed:
The spell is broken when he goes all smug.

The confusion and fear disappear, replaced with resolve. Buffy frowns darkly. "Don't try to read more into this. You've helped us. You made a promise not to hurt my family and my friends. I am holding you to that, even if you were to get that chip out of your head." She pushes away her coffee mug, practically glaring now. "I don't like you. You're a monster and a killer and I have no idea why I haven't put a stake through your heart already. You're useful from time to time but that's it."

When she's confused, she strikes out. She lifts her chin, getting a slightly haughty look. "You're a tool, to be used, and nothing more than that. When you aren't useful, I'll put you down like a rabid dog. Keep that in mind."

Spike has posed:
Spike drops the smugness, though the smile remains, more impish now than anything else. His first thought is to make a crack about she can use him any way she wants. But he decides to revert to a softer approach. "Buffy. If you want, you can stake me right here, right now. Or in the backyard. Wherever you want my ashes to be. I won't put up a fight. If that's what you want, you can do it now. Because a life without you is no life at all."

Buffy Summers has posed:
"Shut up!"

Buffy is on her feet, her chair pushed back so fast when she stood that it totters then falls over to land on the floor. She is controlled, that deadly edge to her that he knows better than most. He's hitting all her buttons and she isn't hiding it. "You don't know what you're talking about. It's the chip. Or you got hit on the head. Or you just have lost your mind finally." She throws her hands up in the air in frustration then stomps toward the door.

Yeah, stomps. Like a grumpy two year old.

She flings it open and looks back at him. "Outside, now!"

Spike has posed:
Spike carefully sets the coffee down, on the coaster, and rises from his chair. He tucks it back in, where it belongs, and walks towards the door, slowing as he passed her. He inhaled, breathing deeply, even though he didn't need to breath, as he passed her. He wasn't sure if she was coming, or about to close the door, lock it, and call Willow, waking her up, to come over and change the magical locks against Spike. Or, she might follow him out, to have a proper conversation. He wasn't sure. "You're right about one thing. I have lost my mind. And I know just where I lost it. It was back there, in your eyes."

Buffy Summers has posed:
The door closes behind her quietly. She wanted to slam it but she does have family sleeping upstairs. Then she walks across the yard, getting the point furthest from the house before she stops. When Buffy turns, she pulls a stake out of her boot, focused completely on the vampire who can't seem to stop spewing words she would rather not be hearing.

"Snap out of it! You and I are nothing but enemies. We will never be anything but that!"

Her hand tightens on the stake as she shifts her weight, preparing to do something.

Spike has posed:
Spike was quiet as a mouse. He followed her. He knew she had the stake. And he isn't scared of it. He moved towards her, into her personal space, and grabbed the stake, not out of her hand, but rather, clutched the business end of it. He brought it to his chest, right where his heart is. "This what you're looking for? Go on, do it. Right here, right now. Tell them that the chip failed. Tell them that I attacked you. They'll believe it. Or don't tell them anything at all. I'm a loathsome vampire type. Maybe I skipped town. You want me out of your life, do it, right here, right now. Because I don't want to live in a world where we're nothing but enemies." He was so close to her right now. He looked into the eyes he had lost himself in, and lost what little he had left. In what might well be the epitath for Spike, he leaned in and kissed the Vampire Slayer.

Buffy Summers has posed:
Her eyes widen as he moves into her space, moving that stake right to the spot it needs to be. Just a push. It isn't even difficult with her strength. Drive it in, he'd turn to dust and everything would go back to normal. She hears every word, her hand trembling, the stake reflecting the movement.

As his lips find hers, she tenses completely. The stake digs in a tiny bit then it's gone. Her hand replaces it, laying on the center of his chest where his heart rests. There's no beat, no steady thrumming beneath her hand. Yet there is no doubt that he's alive as his lips move against hers.

And God help her, she kisses him back.

Her eyes close and she leans in, giving as well as getting, lost in the sensation.

Spike has posed:
Spike is pleasantly surprised to be among the living, or whatever Vampires count as. Even better, he's pretty sure that her lips moved independently of his own, and not away, but towards him. She was kissing him back. She knew it. He knew it. That smugness was justified. It had been a terrible gamble, but some are worth it. He knew and she knew. There was something between them, as right now, there was nothing between them.

His hands went to her side, slipping behind her, and pulling her in closer to him as they kissed. He hoped she wouldn't accidentally push that stake into him, but he had felt it drop down, so maybe the pointed end wasn't against him anymore. She was a good kisser, a very good one, but he wasn't exactly a bad kisser himself. And then he pulled back. "Now, I can die."

Buffy Summers has posed:
The kiss shouldn't have been that good. Her toes shouldn't feel like they are curling. Her heart shouldn't be thundering out of her chest.

When their lips part, she blinks up at him, a little unfocused. That confusion is there again. She has a tendency to be an open book when she isn't guarding herself. Everything she thinks and feels written for anyone to see. Which means he sees the confusion, sees the way her gaze moves over his face like a caress.

Then sees as her eyes go wider, reality setting in, knowing what just happened and that she didn't fight it. The damn stake is laying on the ground by her foot.

She puts her other hand on his chest and shoves, hard, using all her strength in an attempt to send him flying.

Spike has posed:
Spike does go flying, backwards, some ways away, landing on his back. The grass was very comforting in the end. He barely felt it. Mostly, her shove, the contact of her hands to his chest, was the hardest part. She had a lot of power in those hands. Spike lay on the ground where he landed, bending on knee as he leaned up to look at her. She could have stopped him. She could have staked him. She could still stake him. There were so many things that came to mind. And he didn't volunteer any of them. He just smiled up at her.

Buffy Summers has posed:
Buffy picks up the stake that was on the ground, striding toward him with annoyance showing in every line of her body. About five feet from him, she stops. No, she isn't getting close again. She doesn't trust him. Or herself. Especially herself. Her whole body is shaking with the pent up energy but it's not just annoyance and that's what has her the most upset.

"Go away, Spike. Before I change my mind." She stalks toward the door.