title: switched on
chap 1: one of a kinds
word count: 1485
Pairing: Buffy/Spike Spuffy eventually
Rating: M eventually pg /k now
Spoilers: None really
Summary: double drabble
Disclaimer: we all know I'm not joss. And joss is a god.
Note: Unbeta'd cuz… uh… I donts gots one…
It's not my given name, but it's the name I've earned because of my occupation.
I'm a slayer, a Vampire Slayer.
I've been killing the 'fanged beasties' since I was ten…. 'Course, at that age, I didn't know what I was doing, or who they were…, or who 'I' was for that matter.
But even then I felt the tingle: the razors' edge of danger against my nerve endings…. The warning that something malevolent was near; something that thought it was bigger and badder than me.
All slayers have had this sixth-sense; I've just had the pleasure of using mine more often than most.
I, you see, am an unusual object in the slayer world. While slayers in general are a rare breed, male slayers are a fucking anomaly.
The cursed Powers-That-Be informed me years ago that there have only been two other male slayers who survived infancy.
Well, Mother Nature fucked up again, or blinked, or something… and I was born.
Which makes me 'special'.
Killing Spike the Vampire Slayer has become, more or less, an underworld competition.
Apparently, I'm a fucking platinum-token for any 'Lovely Nasty' who wants to buy his way into the sweet side of Hades.
Ahh well, a man's gotta get his jollies where he can; I get mine defending the innocent, killing the evil, and generally, trying to stay alive.
As Buffy slid on her sunglasses, she glanced up at the grey sky; she bared her human teeth and hissed with quiet disdain. Even on an overcast day like today she was taking a chance being outside at noon – she could feel the sun pricking at her skin through the clouds.
Taking a seat at an awning covered open-café, she relaxed; settling back and watching the scene in front of her.
Lovely. Delicious. Blood-filled people. She sat and she watched as the toned, tender, and baked inhabitants of Sunnydale cluelessly traipsed by her.
She had only been a vampire for 10 years, some would say hardly long enough to shake off the shackles of humanity, but during that time, she had learned more than most vampires learned in 10 decades. And one thing she had learned very early, was to study her prey and his habitat before attacking.
And that explained why she was sitting in an open café, in the middle of the day, in Sunnydale. She was studying the 'natural habitat' of the 'one of a kind' Slayer. Studying him and his habitat before she did what many others had tried -- and all had failed -- to do. Kill him.
Pulling off her black leather gloves and laying them on the table, Buffy settled back against the chair, and beneath the fringe of her bangs and sunglasses, she let her human mask disappear.
"Seriously Slayer, you've gotta stop comin' in 'ere," Willie said as he 'cleaned' a mug with a dirty towel, "you're frightenin' off my customers."
Spike sipped his whiskey and smirked. "Mate, if you're losing business, it's not because of me." Turning around on his stool he faced the entrance of the bar and continued, "if anything, I bring them in here… I'm like fucking demon bait."
Willie grunted non-committedly and shuffled away.
Spike visited Willie's once or twice a week: firstly, the whiskey was strong and cheap, and secondly, his visits sent a message. A slayer who frequented a Demon bar – dared to turn his back to the door in a Demon bar – well, that had to give the Fiends at least a second of thought before they attacked. And a second – that's all Spike asked for – that's all he needed.
Tonight, Spike's visit to Willie's had served a third purpose. He'd collected a little information.
Scarlata, a Demon -- and a friend for a price -- had shared an interesting tidbit with him. It seemed the local Vamp families were 'in a tizzy' because of a new arrival in Sunnydale: A young, sireless, outcast vampire.
Spike had thought he'd sensed something new in the air.
"Johnny! Please, don't! I-I'm sorry!"
"I told you what would happen if you kept back-talking me Tara!" His hand slammed into her ribs.
Buffy dropped silently to the ground behind the man who had his 'girlfriend' pinned to the alley wall. "That's the last time you'll be touching her big boy."
He spun around then barked with laughter when he caught sight of the little 'bitch' who was interrupting his 'girlfriend's lesson'. "Bitch, this is none of your business, get out of here before I break you in two!"
He had barely turned back to Tara when he felt cool, slender hands at his beefy neck. Suddenly, his body was off balance; and he was in those little hands. One was at his neck, the other across his waist, and he was looking into amber eyes. He saw her teeth extend into points as she said, "Didn't your mother ever teach you that you should treat women with more respect?"
She didn't wait for an answer.
Seconds later Buffy released the dead weight of Johnny Dell. She ran her tongue along her lips before lifting her index finger to clean up the stray drops of blood trailing down her chin; she'd been hungry.
Stepping over the scraps of her meal, Buffy faced the frozen, silently screaming Tara Maclay. Sniffing at the woman's neck lightly, Buffy laughed sharply, "Of the two, I'm not the one you should be afraid of, I haven't – and won't – hurt you. I just want to offer you some advice – from 'one girl to another': men are a dime a dozen, find yourself one who doesn't think hitting you is an evenings' entertainment."
The two men shook hands and sat down across from one another at the council table.
"The other members…?"
"Will be here shortly; I wanted to… align our interests before the meeting started."
"Align our interests? Regarding William the III?"
"His 28th birthday is nearly here."
"Have we seen any signs of the fulfillment of the prophecy?"
"Other than his outliving Jacob the I, and Kenwa the II?" Alfred shook his head and leaned forward. "There have been no clear signs, but," he lowered his voice, "the Daemons at the Hellmouth, they have been unusually restless. Active and 'gathering', but in a barely discernible way -- the Slayer has noticed the swell of activity."
"He doesn't suspect…?"
"…Why? No. He thinks it's just an upswell in the draw the underworld has always had toward him."
"He's not that far from the truth." Mangus reached into his vest pocket and pulled out his pocket watch. Snapping it open, he squinted at the face then snapped it shut and shoved it back in his pocket. "I assume, however, that you didn't call me here early just to tell me that the Hellmouth's natives were getting restless -- or to remind me of the III's upcoming birthday."
"No, indeed I did not." Lowering his voice Alfred continued. "I think I've come up with a plan – a way to ensure that the prophecy falls into place in the Council's favour." Alfred leaned back in the large leather chair and rested his hands on his well-fed belly.
"I though we, the Council, had already formulated a plan to – "
"Ehhh! I don't consider it much of a plan to 'sit and wait and see' what William the III does! No Mangus, we need to be proactive. We need to ensure the Council's livelihood. We need to bring the prophecy – if William is indeed the slayer the scrolls speak of – we need to bring the prophecy to fruition, and we need to make certain that the Slayer doesn't turn against us."
"Do you truly believe he will turn against the Council?"
"The prophecy – all of the damnable prophecies – are as clear as mud. Who, how, why, what – shift like sand – depending on what variables and criteria you start with. What I do know is that William the III has always been, for lack of a better term, a free spirit; he couldn't care two figs for the Council, and only deals with us out of respect for his watcher. Do I think the Slayer could turn on us in the right circumstances if the details of the prophecy aren't handled with kid gloves? Yes. Do I fear he will turn against us if he finds out that we have attempted to manipulate him in an attempt to control him or the prophecy? Yes. Do I fear he will turn against us if he finds out what hand the Council had in his coming to be?" Alfred settled back in his chair and dropped his voice to a harsh whisper as the other members of the Council began to trail into the room. "Let's just pray that William the III never finds that out."