It's not hard to find evidence of the new drug cartel and their dealings. Down by the docks, enough people and enough rats are about to show that they've been busy.
Busy little bees. Buffy's having a ball, sneaks up right behind one and chops his head off with one swoop. I sit back, light a smoke, watch her at work.
Grace. Ballet. Nice ass, as she does a backflip and hisses on her way past, "You could, like, help."
"You're doing so well, though, pet."
She stands up, straightening her hair out and looking angry. But when does she not. "Start taking this seriously, Spike. We're not going for a walk in the park here."
Now that. That hurt. "I do take things fucking seriously! Everything I do is serious!"
Buffy whirls, kicks at a homeboy, and stakes him. The grand falloofah, King of the Jungle Adebisi, didn't show his smelly face tonight, just his minions - what a bloody STUPID word, and what a bloody STUPID bint, and if I was taking anything around Sunnydale any more seriously, I think I'd blow up.
One of the - hey, it's Poet. I hit him in the face, and he growls, but backs off the Slayer. While she's dusting two more brainless killing machines, I nod sharply, impatiently, for him to get the hell out of dodge. Where are your brains, mate, in your arse? Get the fuck outta here, or be dusted.
Thought you were smarter'n that.
He gets the hint, and the hell out of dodge.
After finishing off the vamps she can see, Summers whirls around again, and pulls a stake on me. Hisses, "You were laughing as I just about got my ass handed to me on a platter, Spike, and then that other vamp got away."
I don't move, take the time to be really still. Bloody stupid bint. Bloody stupid town. "Yeah, Vern boy got away. Keller will find him."
"And someone will die." She drops the stake away from my chest, anyway, and pulls of the necklace, throwing it into the bushes. A little strangled gasp comes out of my mouth before I can help it. Do you know what that cost me to give, you heartless bitch. Do you have any idea of the pains that--
"Start taking this shit seriously, Spike. Or I'll have to decide that you're useless."
Take this shit seriously. Right. And just like that, I'm back in the high school, the first time I ever laid eyes on Summers. I had such confidence then, I had it all. I've got nothing but words, now. "Fuck you, Summers. Y'know, I'm trying to help. Give a little."
"You're not doing good enough."
"Fine. I'm out of here."
And just like that, the stake's driving into my back, harder than it's ever felt and stronger than she's ever been, if that even makes sense. She's going to take it all away, I can feel it - let it come, I think to myself, please - and she whispers, "No, you're, not."
No, I'm not, am I? Bloody. stupid. bint.
Hate. That's what drives a demon. You can dress it up in poofy words, you can describe it any way you want, but that's what it is. Hate, pure and fucking simple. Curse words are hate given voice, blood is hate given form and substance. Say what you want about it, life, living, love, death, whatever - it's all bollocks.
We're driven by hate.
We stand off, face each other, and I think to myself, 'I used to commit murder as a hobby.' Say, "Fine. Let's go find that fuck Shillinger, before you lose your nerve."
She hits me. Replies, "You mean, before you lose your head."
~
I've got a code of honor. I promised fucking O'Reily I'd take care of Vern Shillinger, and so I will. The mick isn't going to go around and start telling people I can't keep up even this much. I've a code of honor, all right. It's a kind of, 'Look after self' thing. It's served great in the past. And, lately, just because I can, 'annoy the hell out of Buffy because she can take it'.
So we're hunting Nazis. At least she had the decency to pick up that precious little bauble I just happened to find in a locked museum. Don't know what she's going to do with it, don't really care.
Yeah, I still hate her. The pretty. And her little Scoobies, too.
Yeah, that was a Wizard of fucking Oz reference. Hah. Hah. And just when I think the night can't get any worse. "Buffy!"
Startled, Buffy answers, "Riley!"
Yeah. And a hundred year old vampire full of hate makes three.
"What are you doing out? It's late!"
Yeah. Late. As in, all the little boys who can't handle what time it is, get the fuck to bed before I slash you one. Rip your heart out. Feed it to one of those homeboys who'd rip you to shreds, feed on you like wolves, like vultures, dumb, stupid, already dusted vultures--
Damn. There aren't any more homeboys to feed soldier boy to. And Po-et's already told his animal loving brother that I was with the Slayer. Again. And watchin' his men get the shit beaten out of them, but I don't think he'll care about that.
I'm a bit worried about that, but it'll have to wait for another night.
Soldier-boy wants to make sure our little almost-demon Slayer isn't hurting. Of course she's hurting, she's frail. You want to help her? There are a lot of things you could do, mate. But she's not going to let you.
Go back to your other soldier boys, find some girl, or lots of girls, and do what soldiers do best. Blow shit up. Leave the understanding demons to the rest of us. You know. Maybe those of us who actually are demons.
"Spike. What are you doing here?"
That's the question everyone seems to want to ask. "As it happens, I was just leaving. I have better things to do."
I'm sure I can come up with something. Keller must be having a party - I think I'll go over there, have a little fun. Watch a crazy motherfucker of an ex-con do his version of stand-up. Or the chicken-dance. Whatever the live entertainment is tonight.
"Yeah, whatever. Crawl back into your little hole, Spike. I'll be sure to give the rest of the worthless pieces of garbage your regards."
"Tough talk, soldier boy."
They both look at me, and inwardly, I'm giving them both the two-fingered salute as I bind the lovers together with electrical tape, whimpering, quivering masses of scared human barely passing out with fear of the big bad Spike.
Outwardly, I'm slinking off into the shadows, senses watching over my shoulder for things I can't kill.
~
Turn the corner, and there's death about, on little cat feet.
"What happened?"
Keller is sitting against a crypt, smoking up a storm, and staring off into space. His hands are holding a throat closed, stained red. "Revenge happened, my friend."
His lawyer's gone and gotten himself caught.
The Nazi isn't my problem anymore - I'm sure something will get done. I have no doubt that Keller is a man not to leave work unfinished. There's no party to be had here. When I see him fumble in an empty cigarette packet, I offer him mine; he takes it between his lips, and I light him up. The law-boy is croaking at my feet.
Something should really be done, here. I call out to where her and Captain America are snogging in the bushes, "There's something you might want to see here, Slayer."
I learned early on, the power of a voice. Her boyfriend takes one look, and sprints off down the street in search of an ambulance.
Good luck, mate. Hope you have a happy trip.
Another one of the new arrivals creeps out holding a stake and looking determined to do good. The Muslim leader, religious man. Darla would like him for breakfast.
We've got do-gooders coming out our arses, lately. And do-badders, too. "Who the hell are you?"
He ignores me completely, kneels and tries to take a bloody neck away from Keller. Not fucking likely, there - the lawyer's just about gone, eyeballs glazed over and rolling back. And I know the look in Keller's eyes. There's hate there, and blood.
They're losing the guy. I wonder if I'll get a meal.