Title: The Dance (Pt1 The Peacemaker Prophesy)
Feedback: Yes, please. Especially now.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox, UPN.
Anyone but me. Except those I made up. They're mine.
Summary: First chapter of the Peacemaker Prophesy, Sequel to New Life.
Spike and Buffy patrol and the new big bad settles into town.
Author's Note: I debated releasing this book, and have held off longer than
intended because of the upcoming episodes of BtVS. I was not sure if this
story had a place anymore. When I thought it through, and discussed it
with fellow fans, I decided that this is *my Spike*, *our Spike*. This is
where many of us thought the character should go, rather than where he has
been taken. My apologies to all whom are as crushed as I about the show
itself and I am truly sorry if you find this story troubling in light of
the new episodes, but this is how I see Spike in my world. And how he
shall ever be.
The Vampire came at her with such ferocity that she barely had time to
react. Her foot hit the tombstone in front of her and she launched into a
back flip, landing directly behind the startled creature and plunging the
stake through his back. As the Vampire disintegrated into dust, the next
grabbed her from behind and she kicked his shins, spinning and swiping his
feet out from under him.
Out of the corner of her eye, Buffy could see that ubiquitous blond head
bobbing and weaving, the sound of his fists hitting flesh and the
occasional *poof*. Kinda hoped it wasn't him *poof*'ing. Did he even
*poof* anymore? After the rounds they'd had in the last few days, if he
still *poof*'d, she would be the one to *poof* him herself.
"You alright, Pet?" Spike called, as the attacking Vampire gained his feet
and launched back after Buffy. She jumped into the air, kicking the
fledgling's jaw and knocking him to the pavement.
"Meet Mr. Pointy," she said, as she plunged the stake into the vamp.
"Fine, I can take care of myself," she snapped at Spike.
"Take it easy, Goldilocks. Just a sodding question," Spike retorted,
dusting another without taking a step.
"What's going on in this town? Vampiralooza?" Buffy complained as her
fist caught her third and the dance continued.
"You live for this and you know it," Spike called back as he got a fist in
the cheek. "Ow, that *hurt*," he complained, wiping the blood from his
mouth and plunging the stake into the young one at the same time. "Dunno,
Pet, but they're out in full force."
"Would have never brought you with me tonight if it weren't this bad," she
panted, ducking a right hook.
"Brought me? I think I can choose for my bleeding self," he huffed
indignantly, roundhouse kicking the next in line.
"One of us should be home. Emma's got a fever and what if Tara's
protection spell doesn't hold." Buffy disintegrated another young vamp and
leaned over, catching her breath. Spike was working on what looked to be
the last one.
"First off," he preached, "these are vampires. Can't come in less you
invite them. Shoulda learned that by now." Buffy scowled. "All we've
seen for weeks," he continued, non-plussed. He casually tossed a right
hook at the fledgling and knocked him to the ground. Spike put his foot on
the vampire's chest to hold him down. "Second, Tara's spell has worked
smashingly. Surprised me, really. Even bounced old Clem cross the street
before she adjusted it a bit."
Buffy was fuming. She hated it when he was right. Even worse when he knew
"Last of all, Emma's fever was exactly one-hundred when we left. Checked
it myself. Babies get fevers like that all the time."
"What, your Mr. Spock now?" Buffy asked, annoyance rising in her voice.
"You might want to stake him," she continued, looking at the utterly
confused vamp under Spike's boot. "Think he's trying to bite your leg."
Sure enough, the fledgling was in game face and trying to sink his teeth
into Spike's calf. "Stupid, sodding whelp," Spike said, disgusted, leaning
down to vaporize the vamp. "And it's Dr. Spock. Damn smart bloke."
"What with the correct-y-ness?" Buffy complained, assuming fighting stance
again. Spike's head spun, looking for more vampires, but there was nary an
undead body in sight. He looked back at Buffy strangely. God, she was
beautiful when she was angry.
"Whatdya mean, Pet?" he hissed, striding toward her in his most annoyingly
"Gotta be right about everything," she grunted as she spun, kicking him in
the shoulder. The force was no where near her hardest, but it stung all
the same. She wanted to dance. Never one to disappoint the lady.
"Can't help I'm just smart like that," he shot back, deflecting a right
hook aimed near his face. "Gonna hafta do better than that to get at me,
Those eyes. That smirk. She didn't know whether she wanted to kill him or
drown in him. Her heart raced, her blood pumping fast and furious. Maybe
a little of both. Had to bait him first.
"What? You don't even care your daughter is sick?" she tossed out,
regretting it as soon as it slid off her lips. Oh, that hit the button all
right. His face blanked and his eyes dropped.
What the hell?, he thought. She knows better. She...she said that on
purpose. Ah, women. "That was low."
For a moment, she felt truly guilty. He saw it flash across her face,
before she danced again. "A little," she fired, catching him with a
forceless left jab. He shot one back, admittedly not as hard as he would
have in the past or did in training. Training was different. Here she was
Buffy, not the Slayer. Her eyes twinkled as she responded to him with
another kick, pushing him back. Spike began to spar with her. He could
tell she wasn't aiming to hurt anymore. This is just what she lived for.
Not just any dance. His dance.
Fighting him was erotic, primal, beautiful. Part of her he knew she would
never let go. He never wanted her to let go of it. They would never find
out who would win. Didn't really matter anymore because, in the end,
neither of them would. It was never the fight. It was about the heat.
"What, can't take a hit anymore?" Buffy baited, as Spike reeled back from
"Can," he said, hoarsely, grabbing her wrists as she swung her arms
forward. "But that's not what you're after," he growled, pulling her hard
against him. Her chest banged into his and he held her arms behind her
back with equal force. "You're just getting warmed up," he whispered,
letting his lips brush lightly against hers in stark contrast to her
aggressiveness. A little mewl escaped her lips and he responded with a
ferocious, bruising kiss that melted her knees and made her whimper for
joy. Buffy trembled against him, setting his body on fire with her
vulnerability. God, this girl was perfect.
She hopped up, wrapping her legs lazily around his waist without ever
letting her mouth move from his. The friction of denim on denim nearly did
him in. Hell, looking at her all flushed and pretty was nearly enough. He
stumbled back, trying to still his reeling mind and backed her to the crypt
"You don't live here anymore," she panted, as he backed through the door.
Buffy was still latched around his waist, driving him insane with her warm,
sweet breath and her tight, pretty legs.
"Consider it a summer house," he responded. He'd kept it up in case they
ever needed a place to hide, or, well, in case of this, he admitted to
himself. She chuckled softly as her tongue traced his lips.
"Planned ahead?" she asked, as he set her gently on the arm of the couch.
"Boy Scout," he whispered, shrugging off his duster and unbuttoning her
blouse simultaneously. She ripped his shirt, pulling him to her and
falling back onto the couch.
"My shirt!" he panted, indignantly as she reached for the waistband of his
jeans. Then he felt her hands.... "Hell with it," he growled, his lips
finding hers again. Yes, this dance was more fun.
They walked lazily home, her fingers weaving loosely in and out of his,
tracing his palm. The one thing about parenthood, Spike thought, was there
was never enough time for her. Never enough to explore Buffy the way he
wanted to, to give her everything he wanted to give. But Emma had been
worth every minute.
"Record time," Buffy joked, glancing at her watch. "Patrol and extra
curricular rough and tumble in three hours flat."
"I'll remind you that patrol only lasted an hour," Spike responded, "and
you got the abridged extra credit simply because of a sickly tot."
"Oh, now you're all noble," she answered, rolling her eyes. "Could have
fooled me back there."
"Only give what I am asked for," he answered, smiling softly.
Spike was silent, thinking as her fingers brushed his hand. "Buffy?"
"What?" she asked, lazily wrapping her arm around him. They turned the
corner onto Revello. He stopped, turning her towards him. Looking at her
pretty doe eyes.
"What you said back there.... You know that I... That nothing comes before
you and Emma. You know that, right?" His crystal blue eyes were so
serious. So tender.
"What... what did I say?" Buffy asked, her mind still dancing and foggy
from the crypt.
"About not caring that Emma was sick."
The guilt struck her like a freight train. She had wanted to bait him, to
rile him up, not to hurt him. Buffy didn't want that anymore at all.
"Spike," she stuttered," I know that. It was the wrong thing to say. I'm
Spike looked at her in shock. "Did the Slayer just apologize with minimal
prompting?" he snarked.
Buffy smiled slyly. "*Very* good mood," she answered, starting to stroll
back down the street, his hand still woven in hers.
"Rough night?" Dawn asked from her perch on the couch as Buffy and Spike
walked through the door. Spike glanced down at his tattered shirt and
quickly excused himself up the stairs. Buffy walked into the living room.
The coffee table was covered in books. Not a sight she was used to seeing
in front of Dawn, but welcome all the same.
Tara walked through from the kitchen, brushing Buffy softly on her way
past. "Looks more like date night to me," Tara whispered, smiling softly,
and heading into the dining room.
"Hungry," Buffy said quickly, clapping her hands together nervously and
speeding off towards the kitchen.
Spike pulled off his shirt as he walked down the hall, tossing it through
the bedroom door as he passed on his way to Emma's room. He could hear the
baby gurgling happily from the hallway. "How's my girl?" he announced as
he stepped through the doorway.
Emma was curled in Xander's arms, tugging on the sleeves of his shirt, her
happy eyes dancing almost as much as his. They were parked in a chair near
the door. Her feet were kicking with wild delight at the faces the whelp
made at her.
At the sound of Spike's voice, Xander looked up, startled almost out of his
skin. "Uh...I'm... she woke up and she... was crying.. and..." Xander
began to stand, nervously shuffling his feet.
Spike thought for a moment. Hard. Part of him wanted to take the baby away
from the git who had invested so much effort in hurting him over the years.
The other, more foreign, half felt sorry for the bloke. Knew Buffy'd be
all right with it. Knew the bugger hated him but would never in a million
years hurt a baby. 'Specially not Buffy's. "No, no. It's fine," Spike
muttered, leaning down and tickling the baby's stomach. She wriggled,
laughing in Xander's arms. "Need to take a quick shower anyway. Mind her
for a few more minutes?"
"S..sure," Xander stuttered, settling back down into the chair. The shock
was evident in his eyes as well as in his voice.
"Right then. Back in a minute, mite," Spike whispered to Emma, kissing her
forehead then spinning back out of the room.
The lighted flickered, shooting an orange flame, igniting the end of the
cigarette. The red glow grew and spread. He snapped the silver box closed
with a flick of an elegant wrist and slid it slowly into the pocket of his
crisp, pressed slacks. He leaned against the lamp post on the corner
across the street from the Slayer's home, watching. Waiting. Finding the
The protection spell had been well cast. The good witch may not have been
as powerful as her mate once had been, but she'd done this one right and
proper. The sandy haired man had sent his best to test it in the hours
just before morning and they had barely reached the sidewalk before being
ejected back across the street. He took another long draw from the
cigarette. This would take more...finesse.
He had watched the Slayer and the Vampire in the graveyard. It would not
be an exaggeration to suspect that, as a unit, they were unbeatable.
Apart, there was a chance. Their connection was strong, as if the movement
flowed from her body to his and back again. Even as they battled each
other, they completed each other's movements with the fluidity of a ballet.
The sandy haired man smiled at himself. Oh, to be in love.
Boy's turned out to be quite a fighter, he thought. Never expected that.
It was fascinating how their sparring turned, without hesitation, into this
primordial, ancient love. How the fists stopped and eyes locked and
muscles used for violence suddenly melted seamlessly into one. That
ballet, it seemed, was the one that truly mattered. There was a tenderness
in even their force, a sweetness in their anger. Ash slipped to the ground
as he remembered the one woman the sandy haired man had loved like that.
Loved with every fiber, ever muscle, every tick of his once beating heart.
He flicked the cigarette to the pavement in disgust. Love had no place in
the game. No place in the world. Nor did peace. Not after all this.
There was a way. In the meantime, he'd just bide his time and watch.
The sandy haired man turned on a well-polished heel and disappeared back
into the night.
To be contd.