Bitter Business
by Kirayoshi
No More Mister Nice Guy
[reviews]
Chapter Two
No More Mister Nice Guy
"I used to be such a sweet, sweet thing,
'Til they got a hold of me
I opened doors for little old ladies,
I helped the blind to see.
I got no friends 'cause they read the papers.
They can't be seen
With me and I'm getting real shot down
And I'm feeling mean.
No more Mister Nice Guy,
No more Mister Clean,
No more Mister Nice Guy,
They say, 'He's sick, he's obscene!'"
--Alice Cooper
"No More Mister Nice Guy"
The more she waited beside Buffy at Kingman's Bluff, the less Willow enjoyed the wait. The fact that Kingman's Bluff faced the East, and thus had a clear view of the rising sun tended to keep the vampires at a distance, rendering it one of the safest locations in Sunnydale. But the long grasses that grew wild and lush over the cliff's top hid more than their share of thorns, most of which seemed to be attracted to Willow's clothes.
For Buffy, however, the still air and breathtaking view of the lights of Sunnydale still maintained the hold of memory over her. Years ago, she had confronted Angel on this very spot. Her dark knight had been worked over by someone or something calling itself the First Evil, something that used the form of a departed friend to torture Angel with memories of his past evils, of sins not repented. So convinced was he that he deserved death that he stood at the edge of Kingman's Bluff, simply waiting for the sunrise. A sunrise that didn't happen, as instead a winter storm gathered over Sunnydale, covering the normally balmy California landscape with snow for the first time in the memory of Sunnydale's oldest citizens. A miracle, most people said after the fact. And Buffy and Angel agreed. The Powers sent a message to Angel, that his task wasn't done, that absolution could be his as long as he labored for it.
From that moment, Kingman's Bluff was her special place. It was here where she inevitably came to meditate, to sort out her thoughts and feelings. Here she had recalled a thousand sweet memories of Willow. Here she had mourned her childhood after she graduated from high school. Here she had screamed her rage to the Gods when her mother died. Here she had stared at a hundred sunrises and considered her future. There was a magic here, a power greater than any in Sunnydale, of that Buffy was certain. She could feel it like a faint electric current over her skin. And there was something more. Standing on this quiet cliff she could sense her own destiny. Kingman's Bluff was a stage, upon which Buffy knew she would play an important part.
"Okay, Buffy," Willow grumbled as the leg of her jeans got caught on the sixth bramble of the night, "what are we doing here? I thought that Giles wanted you patrolling the campus tonight."
"Yeah, with the exhibit of Celtic artifacts opening today at Reynolds Hall," Buffy answered, "Giles thinks that Demona might be after some power objects. I'm not worried though; I swung by the exhibit earlier today and nothing triggered my alarms. I'll do a run-by later tonight though, just to make sure. But first, I have to do something else, and I wanted you with me." Buffy absently reached forward to pick a few stray nettles off of Willow's fuzzy pink sweater, relieved that none of their barbs had made contact with her skin. Even with Willow's assurances that she was okay following her recent parting of the ways with Tara, Buffy still fretted over her best friend perhaps a little more than usual. Or a little more than a 'best friend' had any right to.
Because you want to be more than her best friend and you know it, Buffy's daemon argued. She silenced her daemon harshly; whatever she felt for Willow, she wouldn't risk their friendship to simply sate her emotions.
"Great," Willow muttered, picking the last of the thorns out of her jeans. "Just a good thing I wasn't wearing Spandex. At least thorns and thistles don't go through denim like they do..." Willow noticed a shadow falling over her and Buffy, and lifted her head to investigate. A flap of bat-like wings could be heard over the stillness of the meadow. Willow glanced at Buffy, who smiled expectantly. "Goliath?" Willow asked.
Buffy nodded. "Goliath." Willow stood transfixed, looking up as the shadowy figure banked his flight toward the two women and spread his wings wide to slow his descent. Within seconds, the gargoyle lighted with impossible grace in front of the awestruck wiccan.
He folded his dark leathery wings over his shoulders like a cape, the bony forelimbs clasping together. "Greetings, Buffy," he bowed in an almost courtly manner toward the Slayer. "I see you brought a friend with you." He bowed toward Willow in a courtly manner, displaying a friendly upturn of his lips.
"Yeah, Goliath," Buffy answered, gesturing toward the redhead proudly. "This is Willow Rosenberg; computer hacker, witch and best friend." Willow held out her hand with a slight trepidation, and Goliath took it gently in his clawed hand and lifted it to his lips.
"Hi," Willow smiled, warming to the gargoyle's manners and courteous nature. "So, you're from New York? You ever meet Jay Leno?" She immediately cringed, mentally chastising herself for her conversational opening gambit.
Goliath glared briefly at Willow, and then allowed his jutting brow and piercing stare to soften, putting the young redhead's mind at ease. "No, Miss Rosenberg, but some months after our existence was revealed to the populace, my daughter Angela was invited to appear on David Letterman. Regretfully she had to decline; we were aiding the police in rounding up a man named Dracon, a prominent crime lord whose underlings broke him out of prison."
"Really?" Willow gasped in amazement. "Sounds like you've seen as much action as Buffy."
Goliath nodded soberly. "I have seen many campaigns, child, and will see more, no doubt. With luck, we shall live to celebrate the success of our campaign against Demona." Turning his attention to the Slayer, he added, "Have you heard from her since your first encounter, Buffy?"
"Neither hide nor bottle-colored hair," Buffy admitted. "Wherever she is, she's playing it cagey."
"She doesn't have the lay of the land," Goliath mused, "nor does she know the strength of her opponents. No doubt she is watching and waiting, analyzing your abilities."
"Well," Buffy smirked, "I'd better get imaginative then, to keep her on her toes. Or claws, or whatever."
"Hey," Willow offered, "I've been working on a vertigo spell, something that could help take down Demona in flight."
Goliath's horned brow rose in surprise. Due to past experiences with not only Demona, but the Archmage and Puck as well, he tended to distrust magic. However, having a witch on his side could prove advantageous in battle. "Have you had a chance to test this spell?"
"'Fraid not," Willow admitted. "I don't know a lot of people who can fly who'd be willing to play guinea pig for my experiments. Like any, really."
"Hey, Goliath," Buffy asked brightly, "would you be willing to help out here?"
Goliath's forehead knitted in thought for a second before he answered; "I would be glad to volunteer, Miss Rosenberg. What do you require of me?"
"Just to get airborne," Willow smirked.
Goliath nodded, observing the field around them. "I do not fly so much as glide, Miss Rosenberg. Due to our weight, we Gargoyles are unable to get aloft from the ground without a sufficient headwind." Glancing toward the edge of the bluff, he added, "However, this height should be sufficient for our purposes.
"Great," Willow smiled. "Uh, you might want to fly low, just in case this works better than I think it will."
Goliath regarded the red-haired witch with a faint trepidation, and his eyes began to glow a faint red. Taking a breath to steady himself, the ancient warrior flashed an assuring smile. "I am prepared, Miss Rosenberg."
"Please," the redhead insisted, "call me Willow. Miss Rosenberg's my father." When the gargoyle's expression grew puzzled, Willow added, "She joked."
Goliath nodded, and turned toward the edge of the cliff. "Once I gain sufficient lift, I shall pass by your position, at a low altitude. Will that be satisfactory?"
"Perfect," Willow confirmed.
"You copasetic about this, Goliath?" Buffy asked. "I mean, untested magic and all that..."
"Be at peace, Slayer," Goliath assured her in a confident, determined tone of voice, "Demona has thrown more than her share of dark magicks at me and my clan, and I have survived this long. I have no fear of your friend's magic."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Willow demurred, "let's hope it's deserved."
Goliath nodded once, then strode toward the edge of the cliff. Bending his powerful haunches to support his weight, he called to Willow, saying, "I am ready. Give the word."
Willow held up her hand, saying, "Wish me luck." She lowered her hand, giving the signal, and Goliath straightening his legs, leaping forward and off the cliff. Buffy and Willow both rushed to the cliff's edge and peered over, witnessing the gargoyle's descent.
As his body plummeted toward the ground head-first, he spread his wings slowly, the leathery webbing catching the air around them like a hang glider's kite. His body started to glide, gracefully running parallel with the ground below him before lifting into the air. A sudden rush of air, a flap of leather wings, and Goliath sped upward past Buffy and Willow, arcing high above their heads. He then crested over them, adjusting his flight pattern for a controlled descent, toward the Slayer and the wiccan.
Willow watched the shadowy form as it loomed overhead, steadily growing larger as he moved in closer to them. As the gargoyle neared them, she palmed a handful of specially prepared herbs in a small cheese-cloth bag. She waited for Goliath to pass close enough to her. Closer, closer...
When Goliath flew past, ten feet away from her, she pulled back her arm and hurled the herb bag toward the gargoyle, shouting, "Adductum vertiginis!"
Goliath arched away, gaining altitude, unaffected by Willow's spell.
Willow blinked in surprise. "What happened? I blessed those herbs myself, I treated the cheesecloth--" A sudden lurching sensation grabbed hold of her stomach, as her inner-ears vibrated. Reeling, she dropped to the ground, grabbing at the earth beneath her. "Buffy," she called out woozily, "I think my aim is off!"
She glanced at Buffy, whose body was swaying violently. Buffy grabbed a tree, hoping to steady herself. "No--whoa! No kidding!"
Willow strained to focus her thoughts, fighting down the desire to vomit her dinner, and shouted, "Reconcilio libra!" Within a second, the wave of dizziness faded and her head cleared. She lifted herself from the ground, testing her legs and breathing a sigh of relief when they didn't buckle under her. She rushed toward Buffy and helped her stand again, despite the death grip that Buffy held on the tree trunk. "Are you okay, Buffy?"
"I think so," Buffy answered slowly. "But let's not go back on the Great American Scream Machine for a while." She flashed Willow a friendly smirk, assuring her that she was fine.
"I'm so sorry about that," Willow explained, as she heard a sweep of wings behind her. Goliath lighted gently to ground behind the stammering red-head, and approached the two women. "What happened with your spell, Willow? It didn't seem to work on me."
"Because it worked on us," Willow answered ruefully. "The focus of the magic was a bundle of specially blessed herbs, wrapped in cheesecloth. I had enchanted the cloth to disintegrate the moment I used the spell, expecting you to fly into a cloud of herbs, which would then carry the spell. Unfortunately the herbs landed on Buffy and me instead."
Goliath stroked his chin, pondering Willow's predicament. "Perhaps it's not the spell that is at fault, but simply the method of delivering it. What is required is a method of aiming the herb bundle above Demona's head."
"Maybe you should start packing a slingshot," Buffy joked. Willow arched her eyebrow, reminding Buffy of Mr. Spock for a second.
"Actually," Willow mused, "that's not a bad idea. I know, I'll talk to Xander; he's still got some of that military training he absorbed when he played soldier boy a few Halloweens ago."
"Relax, Willow," Goliath soothed the young wiccan. "I have no doubt in your abilities. I only hope that you have enough time to perfect your spell, before Demona enacts her current plan."
"Any ideas what that plan might be?" Buffy asked Goliath.
"I have some ideas, Buffy," Goliath pondered, "but nothing concrete. Mr. Giles told me the other night that Demona, in her human guise, had sought something from his shop. Something of great power, if I'm not mistaken."
Buffy winced in memory of the cold customer who had asked Giles about the ferula gemina. "Yeah, a weapon that we faced a year ago. Giles kept it under lock and key since."
"A wise precaution," Goliath nodded. "While she possesses some arcane knowledge of her own, Demona has always relied upon power objects before. In the past, she had acquired three very dangerous artifacts; the Eye of Odin, a source of untold raw power; the Phoenix Gate, which can allow passage through time, and the Grimorum Arcanorum, a formidable tome of black magic spells. She has thankfully lost all three, so it is possible that she is seeking new objects for their power."
"Gotcha," Buffy answered, her body unconsciously tensing at the thought of the dark gargoyle getting her talons on the ferula gemina. "I'd better check up on that Celtic exhibit at the campus tonight."
"Maybe we'd better have Giles keep a lock on his library," Willow suggested, her voice suddenly quiet with a dread knowledge. "He's got some pretty old books of his own, y'know."
"Good call, Willow," Buffy nodded.
"In fact," Willow added, her head seemingly lost in thought, "I should visit the Magic Box before I head back home. I think Anya's doing inventory tonight, maybe she and I can whip up something, some sort of magical alarm for the shop."
"Hey, you want me to walk you to the shop before my patrol?" Buffy asked.
Willow smiled, causing Buffy's heart to melt just a little more. "I'd love that, Buffy."
"Okay," Buffy turned to the Gargoyle beside her. "I'm gonna go escort Willow. Care to tag along?"
"Perhaps I should watch for trouble around the campus," Goliath offered. "If the Celtic exhibit does have any esoteric objects, Demona will have to go through me to get them."
"Sounds like a plan," Buffy agreed. "I'll catch up with you then, okay Barney?"
Goliath glared silently at Buffy, a faint growl rumbling from his throat. He then relaxed his features into a warm smile, answering "I'll look forward to it. Take care, Willow," he saluted Willow with a graceful sweep of his wing as he turned away. He leaped off the edge of the cliff and took flight again. Willow stood in silence as she watched the winged silhouette disappear into the night sky. For once, her tendency to babble escaped her. "Wow," was all she could whisper at the incredible sight.
Buffy smiled at her wide-eyed best friend. "C'mon, Will," she took Willow's hand in hers and pulled slightly, slowly gaining her attention. "Let's head back to the Box." Willow followed Buffy as they left Kingman's Bluff and headed for Buffy's Jeep.
>
In an abandoned warehouse, Demona raged.
She wanted to take wing, to thrust herself into the night air, to strafe this town of Sunnydale and take what she desired. But Goliath had followed her to this miserable backwater, warning the Slayer. Demona had planned to finish her business and leave; now, she was forced to bide her time. And for a being who lived for close to a millennium, patience was not one of her values. She slammed her fist into empty crates, scattering wood splinters in her wake. She bellowed her anger to the vacant rafters, letting her rage echo and reverberates around her.
"Very therapeutic, I'm sure," a voice called from the doorway, "but hardly productive, is it?" Demona craned her neck toward the voice. A lithe figure leaned against the door frame, regarding Demona with a casual distaste. He stretched his arms over his head, extending long tapering fingers in a theatrical display of boredom. He sauntered almost drunkenly toward Demona, his every action speaking of arrogance.
"I wish to be left alone!" Demona hissed at her partner in this dark venture. "If you have nothing productive to add, I'd suggest that you be gone!"
"Temper, my dear Demona," the dark figure answered calmly. "You would do wise to listen to me."
With inhuman speed, Demona was suddenly less than a centimeter away from her partner, her eyes transformed to glowing red coals, her hand wrapped firmly around his neck. "And why should I bother with the likes of you, wizard?" she spat at him. "In case you have forgotten, I loathe all humans."
"Then it is fortunate indeed," the wizard smiled, "that I am not human. As for your present dilemma, I have made arrangements to deal with your little setback. Tonight, your ex-lover, the Slayer and her friends will be occupied."
Demona regarded the wizard acidly, but allowed the glow in her eyes to fade. "When do we strike, wizard?"
"Follow me, my sweet Demona," the wizard cooed. "Tonight, we will acquire the tools we need to control the Hellmouth. All we have to do is wait for the right time..."
>
"Hey, you sure you're okay?" Buffy asked as her best friend hopped out of the passenger seat. "I mean, okay with staying here for awhile."
"I'm good, Buffy," Willow answered, rolling her eyes slightly at Buffy's concern. "I'll bum a ride home from Anya. She'll be glad to help." After a beat, she added, "Well maybe not glad, but she'll help. Actually I think her pregnancy's softening her up."
"I heard that," Anya chirped from the doorway of the shop. Her puckish smile indicated that she didn't mind Willow's semi-friendly ribbing. "So, what brings you here? You do know we're closed, right? You can purchase some wiccan robes or a spare palantir tomorrow if you want."
"I'm not here to buy anything...a palantir? What's a palantir?" Willow quizzed the former demon.
"It's that crystal ball thingie that Saruman used in 'Lord of the Rings'," Anya explained. "I thought I'd call our scrying stones palantirs from now on and see if the customers will pay more for them." Willow stifled a chuckle as Buffy frowned in exasperation.
"Look, Anya," Willow steered the conversation back to the original topic, "I'm here to beef up the mystical shields Tara and I set up earlier this year when we were hiding Dawn from Glory. Buffy and I spoke with Goliath, and he thinks that Demona is out looking for mystical power objects. And she's not gonna let a little thing like the Magic Box being closed stop her."
"You mean," Anya shuddered, her face turning white, "she's going to try and rob the Magic Box?" She straightened her posture and grabbed Willow's arms. "Get in here and jack up the shields, Willow! She can't have anything here, I just did inventory!"
"Well," Willow smiled, waving goodbye to Buffy, "if you insist..."
"See ya after my patrol," Buffy called out to the retreating witch as Anya dragged her into the shop. It wasn't difficult to convince Anya to do something; all you had to do was invoke money.
Buffy's swing by the Celtic exhibit produced no leads. She felt no negative vibes, no tingling of her Spider-sense, but she chose to remain on the campus for the remainder of the night. Buffy sailed through an uneventful patrol; only the usual assortment of newly sired vampires, with no sign of Demona, or her confederate Wolf. As she brushed the dust of a slain vamp off of her jeans, she found her thoughts drifting yet again toward the red-haired center of her world. What was it Oz once told me, she recalled happily, 'As Willow goes, so goes my nation.' That certainly expressed her feelings toward the lovely young witch. From the moment when she first encountered Willow, Buffy felt a connection to her. First it was a need to protect her, either from the monsters of the Hellmouth or the barbs of Cordy and her followers. Over the years, she watched with joy as Willow matured into a strong, capable young woman; a genius-level computer jockey, a powerful witch, a confidante and a partner in her war against the dark.
And she's available now, that familiar daemon chortled. Just play the loving friend, and be ready to make your move! Buffy stifled the daemon instantly; she would not take advantage of Tara's departure from Willow's life, no matter how deeply she loved her. She was relieved, if slightly amazed, that Willow was taking Tara's departure so well; perhaps Willow was right, that there was a reason for Tara's leaving. Whatever the case, Buffy was more determined than ever to be there for Willow any time she ever needed her.
She loved her. Nothing less would suffice.
"Oh the shark has
Pretty teeth, dear
And he shows them
Pearly white
Just a jack knife has
Ol' MacHeath babe
And he keeps it
Out of sight."
The voice that started singing seemed to come from everywhere at once. Buffy stopped and turned slowly, trying to track the source of the eerie voice.
"When that shark bites
With his teeth dear
Scarlet billows
Start to spread
Fancy gloves though
Wears ol' MacHeath babe
So there's never
A trace of red."
The voice grew louder, closer, deeper in tone. A crooning voice, laced with a mounting menace. Buffy shuddered at the implied threat of the song's lyrics, as her heightened sense of hearing traced the source of the sound. She followed the voice into a darker patch of the campus.
"On the sidewalk
Sunday morning
Lies a body just
Oozing life
And someone's sneaking
'Round the corner
Could that someone be
Mack the knife?"
In the darkness, Buffy nearly tripped over the corpse of a young woman. Her body sprawled on the ground in odd angles, limbs twisted and broken, presumably by her attacker. Brunette hair spilled over a pale, blood-drained face, barely masking the telltale puncture marks at her neck. The dead eyes stared out of her face, big as baseballs, as her mouth gaped open in a rictus of terror. A vampire, probably an older one, one with a century or two of hunting under his belt. And one who liked to torture his victim before draining her, judging from the absolute fear frozen on her dead face.
"There's a tugboat
Down by the river, dontcha know?
Where a cement bag's
Just dropping on down
That cement's there
It's there for the weight dear
Five will get you ten..."
He emerged from the darkness and stood before her, leaning against a nearby tree with an almost casual air about him. He smiled that hideous Joker smile of his as he caught her eye, and finished the stanza; "Ol' Mackie's back in town!"
Buffy stood her ground, a familiar smoldering rage in her gut. "Spike," she whispered hoarsely at her old adversary. "You here to fulfill a death wish or something?"
"Why Buffy!" Spike purred, his lithe frame approaching her slowly, a coiled spring waiting for the trigger. "I come all this way to see you and this is the welcome I get? No hug, no 'howya doing, Spikey?' I'm hurt."
"Not yet," Buffy slowly withdrew the stake from her purse, "but you will be. I told you never to show your face in Sunnydale."
"Yeah, that's right," Spike kept slowly advancing on Buffy, "but then I realized something; I don't give a rat's ass what you tell me! So here I am!"
"And here you're dust," Buffy warned, smoothly maneuvering her stake in front of her. "Oh, and nice trick setting your 'victim' in my path. Tell ya what; help me tag the vamp who killed her, and maybe, that's maybe, I'll let you live."
Spike snarled in calm contempt at the Slayer. "You want the vamp who killed that bit?" He bowed theatrically, as though accepting the accolades of a Broadway audience. "Guilty as charged, Buffy."
Buffy barked a bitter laugh at the British vampire. "Yeah, that plays. We both know you couldn't attack anyone with that chip in your head."
"Chip?" Spike asked coolly, scratching his head as though she asked him for a five-letter word for "city in Idaho". He then snapped his fingers and smiled, tugging slightly at the chain around his neck. Holding the chain up in front of Buffy, he displayed the charm he wore at the end of the chain and said, "Oh, you mean this chip?" Buffy examined the charm, and saw that it was indeed a small electronic chip, set in gold to hang as a pendant.
She had just enough time to gulp in fear before Spike's fist landed hard against her chin, knocking her over a park bench behind her and onto the damp earth. "Oh, oh!" Spike shouted mockingly. "The pain, the pain--is gone!"
Mentally cursing herself for letting her guard down, Buffy scrambled to her feet, her stake clenched in her hand. "That's it, Spike," she snarled out at the leering vampire. "You're so off my buddy list!"
"I'll try to control my shaking in fear, Slayer," Spike taunted Buffy, waving his hands in front of him in a beckoning gesture. "Bring it on, Sweets!"
Buffy charged at Spike, fighting to stem the tide rage that threatened to mist her vision blood red. Spike was counting on that; he knew he could always press her buttons. He was too dangerous to take on with anger, she knew that much. She had to fight him coolly and dispassionately, not let him anger her. She fought within herself to control her anger, rather than let it control her.
He sidestepped her first attack with ease, ducking as she lunged toward him. She landed in a crouching position behind him, her legs tucked beneath her, and easily resumed an upright stance. "So much for the opening feints," Buffy snarled as she regarded her nemesis.
"Oh, I dunno," Spike purred, his body slouching before her, "I think I'm gonna miss this aspect of our relationship, once I've killed you and all." Buffy wasn't fooled by his casual stance; she knew that he was conserving his strength, and his posture spoke to her of coiled grace and power. And there was no mistaking the rage and slight madness that fired off sparks from his eyes. She had to end this quickly. She launched herself at Spike, her right foot thrust forward to deliver a debilitating kick. She felt a slight surge of relief as her foot connected with his stomach. This fight might not be as difficult as she thought.
Doubling over with pain, Spike shouted guttural obscenities. "And the score at the half," Buffy announced, "Sunnydale, one, London, nil! All that time with the chip in your head's made you soft, Spike."
"Oh, very clever," Spike spat his rage at the Slayer. "Didn't know you followed rugby."
"You can't hang out with Giles," Buffy commented, "without picking up a few pointers."
"I always wondered if there was something between you two," Spike leered. Buffy felt the rage redouble at his insinuation.
"Shut your piehole about Giles," she barked angrily, jabbing at Spike's left side.
"Ooh, hit a nerve, did I?" Spike chuckled, easily ducking her jabs. "Don't like that idea, do you? Okay, let's talk about someone else. Oh, how's Willow doin'? Her and Tara getting on well?" Buffy clamped her mouth shut; she wasn't going to let Spike rag on her about Willow. "Oh, I get it, you wanted the red chippie for yourself, is that it? Buffy and Willow, sittin' in a tree... I'll have to treat her special once I'm done with you. I wonder what a witch's blood tastes like..."
Buffy roared, her rage finally breaking all dams within her, and attacked the punk vampire blindly. Spike smiled; that's what he was waiting for, the Slayer to forget her training and react on pure instinct. Spike spun around, dodging the Slayer, but at the last second he grabbed her ankle as she passed and yanked hard. Buffy found herself flying wildly, her body slamming hard against a tree. "Didja hear about Louie Miller?
He disappeared, babe," Spike sang gleefully as Buffy's body impacted with the tree, "After drawing out all his hard-earned cash!" Bruised ribs gnawed a throbbing pain into Buffy's side as she attempted to right herself, only to feel Spike's boot impact hard on her shin, sending fresh waves of agony lancing through her leg. "And now MacHeath spends just like a sailor," the blond vampire continued singing, "could it be our boy's done something rash?" Spike grabbed a handful of Buffy's hair, lifting her head harshly, nearly wrenching her neck in the process. "Ah, the perfect beginning of a perfect night."
"Screw you..." Buffy spat out angrily through the pain and dizziness. She cursed herself for letting Spike get the drop on her like this.
Spike released Buffy's hair, dropping her head hard on the concrete sidewalk. "Y'know, Buffy," Spike answered sadly, "there was a time when I would have taken you up on that offer. But now, after all that shouting that went on the last time we crossed swords, well, I guess I'll get over that." Walking over Buffy's body as she struggled to stand again, he kicked her hard in the side, setting off a fresh groundswell of pain over her bruised ribs. He stooped down, resting his elbows on his knees and lifted a bored eyebrow toward the fallen Slayer. "This isn't nearly as satisfying as I always imagined it would be. I always thought that killing you, the most successful Slayer ever, would be more of a head-rush. But now, just seeing you lying there, it was too easy. Hmm, what to do, what to do-" With a sudden snap of her fingers, he smiled lecherously. "Ah, but Dawnie. Yes, the Bit, she could be entertaining-"
"Don't you..." Buffy cringed through her pain, "don't you dare--ungh--touch my sister!"
"And you'll do what, Slayer, bleed on me?" Spike shot back harshly. "Oh, don't worry, I like her too much to ever do anything unpleasant to her. In fact, I wanna keep her around me for a very long time." He barked a laugh at the thought. "I never sired anyone before, didja know that? I suppose that I never found anyone worth the effort before now. But Dawnie, yeah, she'd be perfect. My own li'l protégé. And you, Buffy Summers, you'll be her first meal!"
"I'll--kill--you-" Buffy groaned, before Spike struck her on the temple, knocking her unconscious.
Spike laughed in anticipation as he gazed on the unconscious Slayer. "Sleep well, Buffy," he cooed as he kicked a clot of loose dirt into her face. "Dawn and I will come back for you. When she's hungry." He felt that familiar pleasure that came before the kill as he strutted down the street, belting out the final verse with a sinister brio;
"Now Jenny Diver,
Sukie Tawdry,
Look out Miss Polly Peachum,
And ol' Lucy Brown,
Yes the line forms
On the right babe
Now that Mackie's
Back in town!
"LOOK OUT, OL' MACKIE IS BACK!"