Deleted Scenes

by Sweetprincipale

This story is a sequel to "Starting Over". If you haven't read that, this story won't make any sense, so please make sure you read it first. This story and its prequel are about the dimensional other halves who portrayed Spike and Buffy in a different realm, as well as Spike and Buffy themselves. Deleted Scenes is primarily only the Spike and Buffy realm after this chapter.

"Deleted Scenes" is a series of "out takes", or scenes that flow concurrently with "Behind the Scenes/ Starting Over", sometimes in the midst of a chapter, or between chapters, wherever they fit best. Some of the scenes are requests from devoted fans and reviewers, some will be scenes I wanted to include, but the piece was already so long! I hope you will enjoy.

I'd love feedback, but not flames.

Direct quotes from shows or songs are obviously not mine, but belong to the enormously talented people who created them.

Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine.

Part I

(Where it goes: Before Part I of Starting Over)

Buffy slowly walked out, following the figure she'd just seen move behind the dumpsters. Wordlessly, she moved between the leering figure in the black leather and the wall. Hands braced instantly on his arms. Hips immediately going to his, his hands on her waist, lower, back up, heads leaning against each other. He put his hands flat on the wall behind her. Loud groans and moans escaped them both as they began colliding, frantic, hard, finally collapsing on the concrete.


"CUT!"

The blonde pair were giggling too hard to get up. "Again?" The female whined, finally peeking her head over the dumpster.

"Hell." Her partner stood, and pulled his co-star to her feet.

"Can you be more vigorous?" A voice suggested from her writer's chair next to the director.

"That's a polite way of saying screw me into the wall." Buffy's double brushed her blonde hair back from her face.

"I can try." Spike's other half opened one arm, and she slid under it, in front of him, back in her place.

"Here, put your arms under mine, then against the wall." She suggested.

"Okay."

"Ready?" A technician asked.

"We're good!" They chorused.

"Marker!... Action!"

Louder groans and more fevered moans. The actress bit her lip, trying to look impassioned and orgasmic. In reality, her co-star was gonna bruise her chest if they kept wanting him to slam into her like that. Moving her head to his ear she moaned loudly, than panted, sneaking in a quick "More hips, less chest."

He nodded, and began moving more up and down, less to and fro. He made an explosive sound of passion and they brushed heads. "Better?" He asked, masking his query in his groan. She gave a loud satisfied moan, and he bit his lip to prevent the smile welling up inside from bursting out.

"CUT!"

"Now what?" He stopped, resting on the wall, the woman leaning against him, panting.

"It's not...fast enough. Or hard enough."

"We're gonna bring this set down!" The young actress protested. "I'm right on the wall, and we're both pushing back on it!"

"You'll be fine, it's concrete reinforced on the bottom." One of the set techs called.

"Okay!" The chiseled blonde rolled his eyes, and they resumed position. This time he put his arms flat against the outside of her shoulders, pinned her upper arms to her sides, allowing her hands traveling up and down and his back.

"Tenth time's the charm." He sighed.

"I hope so." She sighed in return and laid her head on his shoulder.

"Marker! Action!"


"Cut!" The director sounded tired.

The actors sounded even more so as they clambered back to face their crew.

The pair got back to their feet, and prepared to try it yet again. The male held up a hand. "Can we do this slower?"

"It's not supposed to be a love scene, per se. Oh, which reminds me, no kissing."

"We didn't kiss. Did we?" The blushing blonde tried to remember.

"Uh, a little bit. Not this take, maybe one or two ago."

"I didn't catch it either." He shrugged. "But why- why is he so fast?"

"Yeah! I mean, Spike wants this, and she doesn't, not exactly, so why is he rushing?" She fanned herself.

"They're rough." Their advisor reminded them.

"Yeah, I know that." He knew Spike in and out. He was Spike, the only actor to ever play him, the one who made him. Badass. Rough in bed, but passionate. Loving, savoring, heated- he'd be doing this slow, deep, and hard, make her crave him. He wanted Buffy to crave him like he craved her. "He's all about doing it hard, but he's not a rabbit. He'd be..." It would be easier to show this than try and verbally explain it. "Hey, Hon, can I borrow your body for a minute?" He jokingly asked his co-star, once just a casual work colleague, now one of his dearest friends.

"Take me, I'm yours." She threw open her arms comically, and they derailed again, laughing. "Sorry, sorry, I get it. For one thing, she doesn't want anyone to know that she's doing Mr. Pasty at her new job. So she'd be all quiet. No porn star gaspy moans."

"I see it, I see it..." The moderating voice intoned, visualizing.

The actor put his arms at her sides, and she instantly put her hands on his biceps, tightly digging into the leather. They moved together slowly, him setting the pace, and her bobbing as if she was feeling more that just a gentle brush up and down. "And why no kissing?" He tossed over his shoulder. "Because he'd kiss her. He wants her to want this, he'd want it to be good."

"She wouldn't want to get all emotional. She's trying to distance herself." Buffy's counterpart knew this with an odd intuitiveness, tossed her head close to his, but kept it out of reach as he moved towards her. "Here, try to, and she'll move."

"He'd go for her neck instead." He let his head drift to her shoulder. "What do you think?"

"Maybe some dark, broody music over it..." The boss was mumbling. "Yeah! Yeah, let's try that. Try to look distant." She cued the actress, "You're right, she's emotionally distant. We were trying to show that with all the violent thrusting, but there's other ways to show it's only physical."

They tried again.

"Cut!"

"Oh, fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!" The twenty-something blonde lost it and let out a hiss of expletives, thumping her partner on the shoulder as she collapsed against him again.

"I'm trying, Babe, they won't let me." He teased.

"Too soft that time. More- more- uuumph!" The "voice of God" raised his fist in an upward motion. "But in the hips, of course. Can you try to pull in a little bit of their first time?"

"But another time-" The woman tried to speak for her character, the way she viewed her, anyhow, the way she knew her with a sometimes almost unsettling awareness, but was interrupted.

"Just try it so we can go to lunch!" One of her fellow actresses groaned from off set.

"Okay, okay, geez."

"Sometimes they forget you're the star." The vampiric actor whispered in a mock serious voice, eyes twinkling.

"Shut up, or next time you wear your crotch sock- it's comin' off." She teased, pouting.

"At least your sock covers more."

"Marker!"

"Holy cow, here we go." He gritted his teeth and tried to remember the exact blend of stage directions, perspectives, and emotions. Don't kiss, try, hard, oomph, slower, not too slow, don't push on the wall, lean on the wall...

She in turn set her face into a troubled mask. Eyes open, head away, gasp softly, dig my hands into him, no I mean into Spike- breathe, bob, little grimace?

"Cut! Print!"

"Oh, thank God." The duo breathed and they exchanged a high five.

"You two can go to lunch. Next two, you're on!"


"I have gotta get out of this!" "Buffy" started tugging her top off even before they made it to the hallway of dressing rooms.

"See you later!" He laughed and ducked into his dressing room, much smaller than hers, and immediately began getting into cooler clothes, draping his trademark costume on the wardrobe rack. He picked up his phone and looked at the time. 1:20. his son would be home, it was three hours later in New York. "Hey, Little Man!"

"DADDY!" The boy sounded thrilled. "You're coming to see me next week, right?"

"You bet I am! We're gonna go see a hockey game, okay?"

"Cool! Oh, guess what my class did..." And he was off.

He listened in a happy cloud as his son rattled on about painting with apples and the class rabbit, and making potato dolls out of real potatoes, carrots and raisins, all typical six year old stuff. As he listened, he noticed the thick white envelope on his vanity table along with the bottles of hair gel, black nail polish, yellow contacts and more. Sitting down, wiping the sweat and make up off, he shook out the next three scripts, and a sealed, smaller envelope. Season Six arc. Confidential. Breach of Contract/ Copyright Infringement if Presented to Unauthorized Persons. That was odd. Not to mention a little intense.

The directors around here liked to keep the actors fresh and working to their potential. Plus, getting too many scripts in advance led to confusing what events happened in what order, plus the issue of saying lines from the wrong show at the wrong time. Receiving three scripts wasn't concerning to him. It was the other envelope. Why would he...?

"Okay, Dad?"

"What? Oh, okay, Sweetheart. I love you."

"Love you, too, Dad. Is Liz coming to the game with us?"

"No, we'll have dinner there and sleep there, but the weekend is for just us guys. We have to get through at least three things on the weekend list, okay?"

"Okay!"

"Bye for now."

"Bye, Daddy."


"Hey, Honey, can I call you back? Okay, you call me then. Are you sure you can't make it home this weekend? No, I don't want you to drive down four hours to stay for three. Love ya. Bye." She hung up on her boyfriend with a confused frown. Rough ideas for each show, in a bulleted outline. The last three episodes left blank. But that didn't matter. With only about six weeks notice, giving them time to memorize and perfect three shows, she felt quite privileged to know what was happening seven- well, really six, cause they were finished this episode today or tomorrow- episodes in advance.

Except that the final episode she was given access to said only " Rape Scene? Shooting?" She looked at the names on the front of the envelope. Hers. And his.

And only two of us have a copy.

He stared at the paper. Why do I have a copy? I couldn't- they wouldn't ask me to... They ask you to do plenty of things. You've seen the next few episodes. Hand cuffs coming up, already beaten her up up and down the set, and now this stupid thing today- at least that had gotten toned down. But they wouldn't. Yeah, maybe me, but not her. I gotta find her, see if hers has any more info. He pushed out of his dressing room, still in the tight black jeans and heavy boots, but now in an old Bulls Jersey tank top.

She was coming up the hall as he was heading down. They each had the identical little white envelope. "Hey, can I talk to you?" She said, as he began,

"Hey, did you get one of these envelopes?"

"Holy shit, did you see?" She hissed, eyes wide, and pulling him down the hall, back to her room.

"I know! I can't imagine it means us."

"I can't either. But then...?"

"Then why did we get them?" He finished her frightened thought.

"Yeah." She shook her shoulders out. "I'm not doing it. That. If that's what they're even talking about."

"I'm not doing it, either. I could never-" He looked sick. "Murdering is one thing, vampires gotta eat to live, and even now, he's a good guy. A sinister good guy, but he's not killing anyone but demons." He forced the words past his lips. "Rape is not okay. Vampire or not, soul or not, he had to know that."

"He can't do it, he'd be hurting -" She paused everything clicking more firmly into place, leaving no room to argue. "He can hurt me. I mean, her, Buffy."

"It might be suggested, off screen. Not shown." He nodded. He'd already gotten the implication. "But still..."

"No. You know the team, they like to push the envelope. I wonder where the crazy story lines come from? How do they think of this?"

"What's in their heads?"

"If I knew that, I'd be writing the show!" She laughed.

"There's a question mark. Do you want to go ask someone about it?"

"Let's see if we can drag one of the writers away from wherever they're at."


Worst fears confirmed, they sat with the lead writer as he patiently explained. They argued, he explained again.

"But Spike loves her!" Spike's mirror image snapped finally. "He wouldn't fucking hurt her, not like that!"

"He's already been so confused by her actions, her constant refusals. Since the beginning, she's denying doing the very act she's engaging in."

"He could tell if I- I mean, if she meant it." Buffy's dimensional twin protested hotly.

"It has to happen this way. I'm not sure how we'll work it. I promise it doesn't violate your contracts, we're going to have the choreographers work very hard with you on this, there will be counselors. I promise, you will receive the respect and support you deserve to do an emotionally draining scene."

"All these scenes keep getting worse!" She looked suddenly haggard. "I mean, thank God it's with him," She took her co-star's hand firmly, "that I'm doing this stuff with. We had fun today, and in the other scenes, we can lean on each other, but this-"

"There has to be something worse than death to reach him. Both of them. Both of them understand death too well, and both of them have come back from the dead, so to speak. It has to be something powerful, a powerful, powerful catalyst to move things where they need to be."

"Where are we going?" The male lead asked in a harsh voice.

"I'm not sure." The writer admitted. He and his fellow writers had two visions, visions they couldn't even necessarily explain fully, and he wasn't telling anyone about their final moments of the series until only a few days before they absolutely needed to learn their lines. "But I've told you, he doesn't actually commit the crime. It's an attempt."

"Because what? Does he realize what's going on, or does she stop him?"

"I'm not sure." He answered honestly. "At this point."

"I'm not doing it." The petite female slapped the paper down. "Succeed in doing it or not, I don't think- I don't think it's healthy."

"It isn't. Neither of them are 'healthy' by the time this is all said and done."

"Man, I've let you put me in all kinds of weird shit, strange twists, some pretty intimate positions. We love you all, we think you're brilliant, but you've gotta be able to do this another way. I'm with her." He realized that he didn't know when it had happened, but at some point, they'd scooted their chairs closer together, and were now holding hands.

She realized it too. She recognized that gesture, seen it a hundred times. A couple gets bad news, sitting in front of a lawyer, or a priest, or a doctor, they hold hands for mutual strength and support. She squeezed his fingers once with her own.

"I don't know what else to tell you kids." He smiled wanly at his leading lady and her enemy turned love interest.

"Tell us you can change your mind."

"I really can't. It has to happen like this."

"Let's go. Come on." The man rose to his feet and tugged his friend with him, to safety.

"Guys- listen. I'm gonna work with you on the details, but it has to happen. If you don't want to do it, you know the deal."

"We don't play, we don't get paid, I know." The actress snapped as she scooted the chair in.

"Breach of contract. For the entire season. Not the single episode." The executive pleaded with them. "Can't you trust me on this?"

"I'm so pissed off at you." She turned to her friend, away from her "boss".

"Don't talk to me right now, man." The second figure also turned away from the man behind the desk.


They went to his room first, let him get his phone and a copy of his contract that he kept locked in one of the drawers of the vanity, then to her room. They ended up sitting in opposite ends of the small space, each on cell phones with an agent, a copy of their contract spread out, his on his knee, hers on her dressing table.

They must be asking us the same questions, the haggard looking young man thought, as he heard her replies echoing or preceding the same ones he made.

"No, I don't know about what I'm wearing." She threw up her hands. "They so do not get it." She mouthed to him, who nodded heartily.

"I doubt it counts as a stunt. I'm not leaping through a glass window to get to her- I think. I don't know, it's uncertain, okay? But I do most of my own stunts anyway, so that's not a valid option."

"What about religious beliefs?" She paused, flipping pages. "What do you mean, my religious beliefs aren't in the contract? They're in everything I do, they're my beliefs!"

"Can't I just not do this because I don't want to do this?" He sighed, scraping his hands through his gelled locks, knowing that now he had stiff points. Mr. Porcupine Head, that's me.

Another long pause, for both of them. "How much would it be?" She whispered finally, eyes closing resignedly.

"Crunch some numbers here. Say I refuse." He came to the same decision. I've exhausted other options, let's see what they tell me it costs.

"How much?" She gasped.

Well of course, she made so much more than he did, and he wouldn't have to lose nearly- "WHAT THE CRAP DO YOU MEAN? That's like sending my kid to Harvard from now until he finishes medical school!"


"We are so screwed." She hung up her phone wearily.

"I can't afford to do this." He realized with a wave of disgust. I'm a slave to the paycheck. That's what I am, huh? My ex was right. I'm not so much an actor anymore. If the money matters more than the art... But I swore he'd have every opportunity, really good schools, any college he wanted, plus, the alimony and child support. Hell no, I'm not becoming a deadbeat dad over two minutes of what might be an off screen shouting match.

"Well, don't feel bad, I can't afford to do it either."

"You can't?"

"I could- if I use up my savings and rely totally on my boyfriend. Which, no, I can't. He respects me because I'm an actress, I'm in the biz. If I can't do this- am I an actress? It's not real." She looked across at him. He knew acting. Stage acting, real acting, do it yourself acting. Not the plastic Hollywood kind. The kind where it all has to be you, no big props, no big special effects. She could talk to him about this.

"I guess from the acting perspective, it's a challenge, and yeah, we could both do it. We have the skills. It's just not something I want to do, to be remembered as the villain who raped someone. Villain, hell yeah, bring it on. Former villain who's still got the attitude, and now he's a hero? Even better, more complex, more of a challenge. But Spike's got limits to the bad, you know? Like he'd never have hurt Drusilla when they were together, he liked Joyce, he feels for Dawn, he loves someone."

She looked over at him. They'd been playing out some pretty close contact stuff. It was fun. Maybe a little uncomfortable. Okay, maybe a lot uncomfortable, but it always ended on a good note- up until this point. "We can do it. We have, like, how many weeks to do it?"

"I think eight if we don't lose time." He nodded at her, stiffening his spine. They were overreacting. They'd explained their opinions. The staff would work with them. It probably wouldn't be anything extreme. He hoped.

"The scenes are getting rougher, harder. The dark stuff... it's coming out more, you know?

"Keep your sense of humor." He couldn't fall apart on the possibility. Besides, look at her. She's the "victim" and she's pulling herself together. "You're right. We can do this, Hon." He smiled at her and leaned back. Just like any other scene...

"We can do this." She smiled back. It's not gonna be so bad. Other actors and actresses have done scenes like this."

"True. Do you know any you're close enough to to ask about it?"

"No." Good point.

"Me, either. Guess we'll just have to-do this?"

"Wing it. Boss dude says-hell everyone says- we have awesome chemistry. Fighting, or dialoguing, or the down and dirties. We'll be fine."

"It's just like a- a highly specialized type of scene. But we can do that."

"At least it's you. Not- not some random extra, or not one of the other baddies."

He was taken aback. Hey, come on now, you'd rather your friend attacks you? But he didn't say that. "Excuse me?" He said, voice climbing the scale, hard edged.

"No, no they're nice guys, but- I can't do this with them." She explained, scooting her chair closer to him, taking his hand. "I can only do this scene with someone I really trust."

"You've gotta point. Ugh, I get what you mean. I could never ever do a scene like this with any other actress. Not even 'Drusilla', this is too -mentally taxing." Especially because of who his partner was, as a person. She was a good actress. She was strong, but the girl underneath was special. His friend, he had fun with her. Even the more involved scenes usually ended up with laughing. "I can't think about this."

"Don't think about it yet. We have eight more weeks, easy."

"I'm getting freaked out already."

"Don't. We can do this. And it'll be fine. We might even be able to make it all a big joke." Everything else they'd been able to turn into a joke between them. And she'd had plenty of difficult scenes, sexual scenes with others in the past. None of them were as real, as raw, as...special, as the ones she did with him.

"There will never be joking about this." He said gravely.

" No, you're right." She sat back. Two people who had laughed so hard an hour ago, now looking so tense. The poor guy didn't deserve it. This was the closest knit cast she could think of, and he, with his laid back good humor, never losing his temper at anyone but himself, was a big part of that now. "Hey!" She punched his arm suddenly, bringing back the gleam to his eye. "Wanna go get lunch?"

"Hell, yes! I'm starving. Do you want me to go get the rest?"

"No. Let's sneak out, just the two of us." It was going to be so hard not to tell anyone about this for another three weeks, but that had been insisted directors and writers said things were too uncertain yet.

He cocked his scarred brow at her, tipping his head incredulously "Just the two of us, get away from this mob?" This was an incredibly tight crew, all because of the woman in front of him. Once you were in, you were family- if you were staying on that is. "Never gonna happen. Never happened in-ever."

"I think it will be incredibly difficult, but, yes! Let's risk it." She turned mock serious, holding out her hand to pull him from chair, "Are you with me?" Anyone would think she'd just asked him to attempt a jail break or a life threatening covert mission, not leave for lunch.

He looked at her, copying her pseudo gravity. "I'm with you." He clasped her hand firmly, their fingers passing the palm, tightening on each others' wrists. They rose, and stared at each other, unblinking. One of them had to crack. He slowly saluted. "My captain."

She spluttered, laugh bursting messily, "Oh, you!" He laughed with her, letting her lean on him, resting on her, too. " Let's forget about this crap for awhile, okay?"

"Totally with you there. I mean, not like we're even supposed to tell anyone until they write it up. And they need to talk to some of the others."

"At least we're not getting killed off."

"Man, I hate losing someone from the show. Especially someone so awesome and fun. I just love her." He looked almost sick at the thought of losing one of their cast members.

She considered the plight of her fellow actress, destined to be written out, and patted his arm. "I know. We all do."

"Oh hey, I was supposed to get killed off in season two, you remember that. Maybe they'll change their minds."

" No. It was just that you were too perfect."

"Oooh, perfect, I could get used to you thinking of me like that."

"I meant Spike, not you, doofus." She slapped his arm playfully. "Come on, the coast is clear."

"I'm glad you know the difference between us." The actor remarked in a hushed voice.

" You know me from Buffy, right?" She didn't look at him. What if he didn't? Sometimes, a lot of the time, people didn't seem to be able to divide her into actress and character at all.

" Of course I do. I much prefer working with you." He smiled down at her as they slid into the lobby of the studio, quietly, quickly.

"I much prefer working with you. Not so moody." She crinkled her nose up at him as she smiled a pursed-lip grin. She easily slid under his arm, and reached up to holds his hand as it lay low on her shoulder. "Plus, you can walk outside in daylight. Big tip off."

"I still can't go to the beach. Another year of vampire pale. Why can't vampires tan? They could go to a tanning salon or something, then I could go to the beach." He groaned. She just laughed.

"I'll go with you a couple days, make sure you wear a big hat and use SPF 3000."

"Ha, ha." He bumped her with his hip as he laughed sarcastically.

She didn't realize until they were out in the parking lot how intimate, how couple-y they looked. With his arm around her, and her holding his hand. But it was the show. She couldn't tell how much "unnecessary" touching went on between that crazy bunch of people. Her boyfriend might not like it too much. He got a little more freaked out when he was on location, and she was at home. But I don't care, I'm with one of my best friends on earth.

In spite of the dark moments they'd just had, and dark moments to come, the pale man felt his heart lift slightly. Too effing hot, that was for sure, but the sun, and the beautiful girl beside him, made the stress go slightly. He was whistling and walking towards his car, tapping his nails against her hand, and all was calm. For lunch anyway. Wait- why am I holding her hand? He realized he was, her arm was bent up to her shoulder, snagging his hand as it hung against her collarbone. She smiled up at him, and he relaxed further, and smiled back. Oh, who cares if it looks a little strange? I'm with one of my best friends.


"They seem closer, don't you think?" Above the sunny skies, two indistinct blurs of gray on gray mist watched the pair as they drove off to lunch.

"For all the wrong reasons." The slightly larger blur replied.

"Any reason is a good reason at this point." The feminine-voiced shadow disagreed.

"You're right, Luv. Took 'em long enough."

"They have a long way to go. If they could just get past- what's coming."

"It's nothing real. Not for them, Pet. Don't fret." The blurs seemed to fuse for a second, and then drifted away, tendrils stretching like taffy. "Though, for them it'll seem so real. They're good at this actin' bit."

"I wish we could tell them to hang in there. That it's worth it."

"If he even feels a grain of friendship in comparison to how much I love you- he'll know it's worth it."

"Will she, though? She's like me. I was so stupid, for so long." The shadows briefly joined again, seeming to comfort one another.

"You did get there, Luv. A bit late, perhaps, but as long as you got there..."

"But, Baby- I don't want them to have to wait until the end." The voice, only able to reach one other, was tearful, if patches of mist could be said to have tears.

"It's not the end for them, Precious. Not for us, either. Give 'em time." Swirling forms seen dimly, like phantasms walking in heavy fog, managed to clasp what passed for hands in their shadow realm. "This is only the beginning."