Penny for Your Thoughts- Part 1 of Song of Solomon Series.
("Like a lily among thorns, so is my loved one among the young women.")
Disclaimers: BTVS belongs to Joss Whedon along with all the characters—these are sued for entertainment. Lyrics by Beth Hart, The LA Song.
Summary: Set some fifty years after "Smashed", Spike died about seven months after the episode aired. Buffy being not truly human is more of an immortal; she's alone in this earth and her life does an 360 degree turn when she runs into Rocco in a bar one night. Rocco is somewhat the reincarnation of Spike's soul. B/S, some B/Rocco.
Rating: Strong R
Distribution: Please do not take without my permission. The only sites that have my pre-approval to post my stuff is Carnal Sins (cause it's mine), Death-Marked Love, and any affiliate/soulmate of mine.
Feedback: Please!! firstname.lastname@example.org
Author's notes: If you've read 100 yrs of Solitude and enjoyed it you will like this, think Spike in 100 yrs, reversed to Buffy.
"Take me away with you,
and let us run together." Song of Solomon 1:4, The Bible
She could hear the far-off fiddle in the crescent valley that dipped like a lover's breast upon black silk. She could hear the moon singing its farewell song to the birds and the sea. She could feel in the back of her neck how the sun was approaching to bathe the earth with its soft glow.
She had not seen the sun in fifteen years.
It was like a memory—but then she had a lot of memories. Some good, some bad, some not so pleasant. Some...she didn't let herself think about those. They were so happy she almost wondered if they belonged to her at all.
The wet, slick road under her feet felt good, made her more aware of her surroundings, kept her on edge. She could fall, crack a bone, the possibilities were delectably endless.
around the boulevard
She's a local girl with local scars
She got home late
She reached 15th Street a couple of seconds before the sun came out. Climbing the stairs quickly she made it to the fourth floor. The cracked and dirty white door before her that had been painted over in too many colors and seen too many bad days. She took out her card and slid it down the scanner, making the door pop open, an electronic voice greeting her. It closed behind her as she stepped over the threshold.
Her card-keys sounded flat when they hit the glass table on the entrance. The apartment held one large sofa, a little TV and the glass table. It was worn, it was falling apart but it was one of the few things she had left. She took off her overcoat and hung it on a bare nail protruding from the wall. Trusty nail, she thought briefly. Reaching for her hair clips, she let her hair loose; it cascaded in blonde waves to her waist, her leather halter top allowing her to feel the warmed locks against her golden skin.
She went straight to the kitchen; above the old refrigerator that didn't work was her stash. She reached for the expensive little bottle of Bourbon and uncapped it. She took three large gulps, letting it burn down her throat and into her stomach. You'd think that after doing this for god knows how many years you'd get used to the taste, but she still pulled a face at the bitter taste burning her tongue.
She drank so hard
The bottle ached and she tried
But nothin's clear in a bar full a flies
So she takes
She understands when she gives it away
Capping it sloppily she placed it back with her stash.
Running out, she told herself.
She kicked her black boots leaving them in a heap on the floor. She walked tiredly to the back of the apartment where her shower and small bedroom lay. A creaky bed with dirty sheets lay before her, and as she walked towards he bathroom roaches scurried over the floor. She stripped off her clothes and barefooted her way to the green tiles on the grungy bathroom floor.
She turned on the water in the shower and stepped in, letting it chill her body. The cold felt good against her warm skin—it reminded her of times past so long ago were cold met with warm and sweat...her thoughts drifted off to distant memories.
Before she realized it, she was almost asleep in the shower. She shook her thoughts away and turned the tap off, climbing out she slumped onto her bed, wet and naked.
She remembered the past as if it were yesterday. The first time they made love. They had fucked many times but this time it was special — real.
She ran around the house making sure everything was ready. The table looked impeccable, candles, wine, blood. Perfect.
Soft music playing in the background, the soft glow of the room shinning off her bare golden shoulders.
Only one thing was missing. The man...well, the vamp. She paced anxiously back and forth in the living room. If they were going to do anything he needed to hurry up and get here. Dawn would be home from her date and she really didn't want to rush.
The clock read 6:48 PM; he was late.
She slumped on the dinning room chair and buried her head in her hands.
All the trouble that she'd gone through and he was late. Typical male, she thought.
Before she knew it she had fallen asleep. What woke her was the soft butterfly kiss on her shoulder and the light shaking.
She groaned and sat up languidly. "You're late," she told him.
He could see the daggers dancing behind her groggy eyes.
"For patrol, not this," he motioned to the decorated table and the candles that were melted and the music that had stopped playing. "What's this, Buffy?"
She leaned back on the chair and glared at him. "Your surprise romantic dinner."
His eyebrows nearly jumped off his face. "My what?"
"Well," she started and shrugged. "I wanted to do something different and romantic—since you never come up with anything imaginative."
She could see the regret forming in his face. He knelt before her and took her hands in his, staring at her in the manner that made her forget she was mad at him at all.
"You did all this for me?"
"For us—lately all we do is shag on the nearest flat surface," she pouted.
"Well..." he rubbed the back of his neck and smirked at her seductively.
"Ok—we shag anywhere we can. I just wanted to...you know, to have a normal dinner with sex afterwards. Like normal couples do," she said and picked at the fresh nail polish on her nails.
He took those hands and made her stand along with him.
"You know I'll never be normal. You'll never be normal. We...can never be normal." She met his eyes.
"Can't we just pretend we are?" she ducked her head and leaned into his embrace. "Just pretend—for tonight."
He wrapped his arms around her and rocked her lightly back and forth. Kissing the top of her head and he whispered, "Sure,whatever you like, love. We'll just pretend."
She smiled and relaxed into his embrace.
That night they made love for the first time.
That night she told him she loved him.
Buffy opened her eyes and bit back a reflexive cry. Life was bad. Very bad.
She sat up, groaning as her back protested to the bad sleeping habits of the slayer. She reached into the drawer next to her bed and pulled out a photo frame.
With her thin pale finger she traced the contours of his face.
The sharp cheeks and the little smirk that made her shiver and fume at the same time. The lips that softened his face and those eyes—liquid blue-gold that saw right through her.
"What am I thinking of, baby?" she asked the frame.
The blue sparkling orbs shone back at her.
"You were right. I'll never be normal." she told it and quietly kissed it, smudging the glass with her tears. They mixed in with the other that had decorated the frame night after night.
Man I gotta get outta this
Man I gotta get outta this pain
Man I gotta get outta this town
Outta this town and out of LA
The old LA bar/restaurant buzzed with activity as soon as the sun set. Humans of every kind chattered quickly; it was a dark place—the type of place people with too many problems came to drink their troubles away.
So busy were they with their lives that they didn't notice a small blonde that came in. Dressed in black leather form head to toe, and smoking a cigarette.
She made her way straight to the bar were the bartender looked at her and nodded.
"Buffy," he greeted.
"Teq," she returned.
She took her usual stool and looked up at the fat man.
She nodded and he placed a glass in front of her filling it with whiskey. He took out a second glass and filled it with bourbon.
"Thanks," she said as she gulped back a first drink.
"I'll tell Molly to start your dinner."
She said nothing but stared at the now empty cup before her. She was going to need a lot tonight.
She got a gun she calls the lucky one
She left a note right by the phone
Don't leave a message
'Cause this ain't no home and she cried
She was lost in thought when Molly came out, her hands greasy and her apron dirty, her forehead full of sweat. "Hey there, hon!"
"Molly, how are you?" She almost smiled at the kind woman who set the plate in front of her.
Hot, spicy, buffalo wings and a flowering onion.
"Oh, working to the death, sugar. How's the wrist?"
Buffy rolled her sore wrist and showed it to Molly. "Look, almost healed."
Molly smiled and placed the blue cheese in front of her. "Good to hear. Thanks for your help the other night.
Buffy shrugged. "Not a problem."
The woman left and let the slayer eat in peace. She occasionally got a refill on one of her drinks.
Before she knew it, her onion and wings were gone. She had eaten them all.
Standing up on her stool she motioned for Teq.
The man waved his hand and shook his head. "On the house."
She nodded and made her way out of the place she liked to call her dinning room.
As she walked outside, past an alley in the back, she heard a grunt and a scream.
Her instincts kicked in and she ran towards the noise.
The vampire never knew what hit him. One minute he was biting down on the woman's neck and the next he was dust on the ground, leaving a shivering, shocked woman behind.
"Oh my god! Thank you!" She cried out.
Buffy shrugged and tucked her stake back into her pocket. "It's nothing."
Silently she walked out of the alley and to point A.
She cried so
long her tears ran dry
Then she laughed
'Cause she knew she was never comin' back
Benny moved fast on the balls of his feet; he paced back and forth, back and forth.
She was late. The little nervous guy puffed smoke after smoke of his cigarette, looking down the alley and up the docks.
He was such a dead man, well a dead demon. But that didn't matter. Dead was dead.
So he yelped when he turned for another round of pacing and found her inches away form his long nose.
Her eyes cold and dead and a smirk on her lips were she hung a cigarette loosely.
"You scared the bejesus out of me, slayer!"
Buffy smirked and moved to lean back against a wooden pole.
"Learned from the best," she answered and puffed her cigarette.
"Bell. Neck. Look into it." She told him, more to calm the nerves that were suddenly jumping. She wanted to mask her speeding heart rate at the scent of his leather coat.
"Come with a nice leather collar, does it?" He did that thing with his head again—that thing that made her want to smile.
She shrugged her feelings aside and concentrated on conversation. Conversation was of the good. "What are you doing lurking down here?" He always lurked, popping up in places she least expected.
He sighed and she pretended not to care about his explanation. "Came through the tunnels." He held up a root that looked suspiciously like algae. "Running low on burba weed. Stir it in with the blood. Makes it all hot 'n spicy." Ok—that was gross, but cute in a way. Cringing was better than showing the cuteness of it all.
"Earth to hot-blonde-slayer!"
The blonde shook herself off her memories and turned old eyes to glare at the man.
"Babes, you just left me for about three minutes straight. Where'd ya go?"
Buffy stood straight and stalked up to the man.
"You been drinking, slayer?" She grabbed his throat and slammed him up against the light post. "Cause you know the boss, hates it." he choked out.
"I drink all the time—whenever I please, I do what I like. Got it, monkey boy?"
"Yessss," the man hissed and his eyes went completely black.
She smiled and dropped him.
"Now. The instructions."
He landed on his knees and tried to regain his breath. "Jesus, woman—cut a fella' a break, I was only..."
A slap landed on his face and he looked up surprised. "Your mouth is moving, yet I hear no information for me."
The demon nodded quickly. "Right, ok, see here's the deal. There's a shipment arriving at the west doc on the west side of town—by the pier."
She nodded and lit another cigarette. "I know the one."
"Ok—so there's this man called Piro, he's a Greek motherfucker with too much dough, made it off pearls he stole from one of the boss' associates. Not of the good. So the boss wants you to take him out. Clean. Just him."
Buffy nodded and started to walk away. "Hey slayer!"
The small blonde girl turned around.
He studied her statement for a bit.
She looked at the dark woman in shock. "Getting rid of the evidence doesn't make the problem go away."
Faith looked at her. "It does for me."
She was trembling with worry, she could feel her limbs shaking. " Faith, you don't get it. You killed a man." She felt sick to her stomach; it was turning inside out and doing little flips.
The woman met her gaze. "No, you don't get it." She smiled daringly. "I don't care!"
She turned away to tend to her things. And all the blonde slayer could do was stare at her in disbelief.
"I don't care," she replied and walked away.
Benny watched her walk away and shook his head. Slayers were bitchy, dangerous women. He shuddered.
It's all she loves
It's all she hates
It's all too much for her to take
She can't be sure just where it ends or
Where the good life begins
So she took a train
To a little old town without a name
Passing the dark streets of this dark town that smelled of old blood and sticky beer.
She dug into her coat for another cigarette and pulled it out and lit it. She needed a drink. Something strong.
There was another bar up the street—she'd been there a couple of times. It was a demon bar but they knew better than to mess with her. Especially on a Tuesday night.
She could hear the distant laughter of whores that danced to invisible music that only they could hear.
Entering the bar she ignored the glares she received from some of the demons. Glaring was all they would do, at least tonight.
She walked up to the bar where a tall female was wearing a maroon bustier, her chest about to pop out of her lace and velvet.
"What can I get for you, darlin'?" The woman asked. Buffy could see she wanted to flirt and all she could do was roll her eyes. She'd had enough of bitches that never got the concept that she was straight.
"Whiskey," she murmured and slapped a bill on the counter.
The girl flashed her a disappointed look and turned to get her the dark liquid.
She met a man
he took her in
But fed her all the same bullshit again
'Cause he lied
He lied like a salesman sellin' flies
So she screamed
It's a different place
But the same old thing
She could hear the sad song playing in the background. She hated this song. It was so damn depressing. Why did the girl go back to LA?
"Cause you crave it..." Spike's long ago voice filtered to her thoughts.
Grabbing the cup set before her she submerged herself in painful thoughts before heading out for the kill.
Spike had died five months and thirteen days after they first...had sex. He and Dawn had died at the same time. It was at that very moment that Buffy felt her last flicker of life.
She nervously picked the skin on the side of her nails, pulling back more than was recommended. Blood seeped around her fingertips. He wouldn't have thought it sexy.
She and Spike had been happy—or as happy as they could be for about three months. The first three months before that had been a blur of fucking and denial. Stolen kisses in the alleys and make-out sessions on patrol.
Those were the good ol' days.
It's all I love
It's all I hate
It's all too much for me to take
I can't be sure where it begins or
If the good life lies within
So she said
She twirled the liquid in her cup a couple of times watching it paint the dirty cup with it's bitter taste.
She gulped it down—drowned in it.
She was upset with him. More than she had ever been. "What's going on?"
He looked her over, a look that made her skin crawl. "Simple. I'm gonna prove something." He moved closer to her. "I love you."
She closed her eyes and grimaced in disgust. This was so not happening to her.
"Oh my god." She groaned.
"No, look at me!" He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him—but she couldn't meet his eyes. They were burning prism fire that made her body respond—and definitely not in a good way. "I ... love you." She jerked her chin away form his grasp. "You're all I bloody think about. Dream about. You're in my gut ... my throat ... I'm drowning in you, Summers, I'm drowning in you."
Memories were bitches. Nasty, snarky bitches that came out of nowhere and into somewhere.
She motioned for another drink and took out another bill. It was worn and dirty but it was money, wasn't it?
The female took it gave Buffy another glare. The slayer didn't bother to answer it.
She was again lost in times so long ago—those good old days.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
The deep English voice rushed over her and she wondered if she was having a hallucination. The hairs in the back of her neck did that thing that they do when something's wrong.
She took a deep breath and turned to look at the man.
There he stood. Dressed in a black fisherman turtleneck, his hair was brown but she knew that face like she knew her own. Ok, so she hadn't see it in decades but she knew it. It was her mate.
All she could do was stare and gape, he smiled at her.
Man I gotta get out of this
Yeah now I gotta get back on that train
Man I gotta get out of this town
I'm outta my pain
So I'm goin' back to LA
"Listen to the voice of my loved one! See, he's coming!" Song of Solomon 2:8