FIC: Present and Unaccounted For, part 2
TITLE: Present and Unaccounted For, part 2
AUTHOR: Cindy
RATING: NC17 overall
SPOILERS: Through Chosen and Home
PAIRING/CHARACTERS: S/B, ensemble
DISCLAIMER: The characters aren't mine, but Joss said I could play with them.
A/N: Thank you to my beta extraordinaire, mommanerd.
A/N: Mangling of the Lugandan language is solely my responsibility.
Previously on Present and Unaccounted For:
“You’ve been gone for months,” she said, whirling around to face him. “Without a single word.”
“Had a reason. Seemed like a good one at the time.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Now I’m not so sure.”
“I looked for you,” she whispered. “Every place I could think of.”
He nodded. “Know you did. Wasn’t the time, pet.”
“And now it is? Because you’ve decided?”
He didn’t say anything. Just stood there, giving her that - yes - soulful gaze.
Was there really any possibility that she wouldn’t hear him out? Buffy sighed and crossed slowly to the sofa, sitting down and curling her legs up underneath her. She grabbed the nearest throw pillow and hugged it to her chest.
"Okay, Spike.” She patted the place next to her. “Tell me a story."
Present and Unaccounted For, part 2
Uganda, five months earlier
He crouched in the darkness on the outskirts of the village, an arsenal of smells assaulting his nose: Burning brush. Roasting meat. Human sweat. And blood. Spike shifted into game face, his vision sharpening. He watched as people went about their evening routines, moving between the half-dozen or so fires that dotted the village. Cooking. Eating. Living.
There was nothing for him, here. The demon he’d come all this way to see had made sure of that. There were no second chances for Spike - or had he already used his up? He knew he wasn’t thinking clearly. He didn’t even know how long he’d been here. His rage simmered under the surface, clouding his thoughts. After the demon had laughed in his face, he’d prowled the outskirts of this tiny village, night after night. But why? Sometimes he thought he was trying to protect them. And sometimes...
Last night he followed, from a distance, a young boy stupid enough to be caught out alone after dark. The boy couldn’t see Spike, but he must have sensed him somehow, and started to run. Stupid kid. There were a lot of things waiting out in the darkness for a choice little morsel like him. Lions and tigers and all manner of things that went bump in the night. And they loved it when you ran. In point of fact, it had taken every ounce of control Spike had left not to give chase. Oh, he’d talked big about being able to control his demon, but it had been a lot easier to do with Buffy in his bed, and a ready supply of blood in the fridge. Now he was in the middle of the fucking African bush hunting animals to survive, just another predator in the darkness.
And why, exactly? What was he waiting for? A sign from the heavens, maybe, in glowing bloody neon? He gazed up at the unfamiliar sky, but he didn’t know which star to follow - none of them were where they were supposed to be.
He sensed the girl an instant before her machete came slicing through the air, nearly invisible in the inky blackness. He moved at the last moment, a fraction of an inch making all the difference. Her blade whistled past his ear and struck the tree behind him. And now she was without a weapon, save her hands and her brain. Adrenaline surged through his body.
Slayer
Spike grinned. Laughed out loud. How fucking perfect was this? The girl eyed him warily, then leapt up and grabbed a tree branch, swinging gracefully through the air. Both feet hit him square in the chest, knocking him flat on his back. He rolled out of the way just before the tree branch she’d broken off came in contact with his chest. So she could think on her feet; good girl. She was on those feet in an instant, but he swept them out from under her before she could do any more damage. Or so he thought. She’d lost her make-shift stake, but she somersaulted back up and placed a solid round house kick to his head. Size six boot or bare foot, it hurt just the same, he found out. He saw stars, and then the slayer’s face hovering above him, her hands around his neck. She squeezed. Hard.
She was young and inexperienced, and he would have never even been in this position if he were on top of his game. Still, older and wiser and all that rot. With the last of his strength he broke her hold, bucked her off, and rolled to his feet. She tried for another round house kick, but he caught her foot this time, and twisted. She tried to regain her balance, and almost succeeded. Instead, she fell sideways, her head slamming against the tree, dazing her for a moment. Spike had her backed up against the trunk, hands pinned before she knew what hit her. He looked into huge, terrified brown eyes, but her nostrils flared defiantly, and she spat out what could only be interpreted as the Lugandan version of “Fuck you.” Spike laughed again. This - this was what he’d been waiting for. This was what he was made for.
Her heartbeat pounded, fast and loud in his head. She couldn’t be more than fifteen, tall and gangly, and her scent was a heady mix of girl sweat, slayer blood, and a liberal dose of fear. Spike was nearly dizzy from it. He pressed closer, fangs grazing her neck, and she closed her eyes tight. Not yet, not yet. With his free hand he brushed her long, dark braids from her face, and she grimaced in disgust. He didn’t know many words in her language, but he knew a few: Monster. Animal.
Evil, soulless thing.
No. No he fucking WAS NOT.
What the hell was he doing? She nearly toppled over when he suddenly released her, and stepped away. She recovered quickly though, scrambling for another piece of wood, spinning and crouching into a battle stance. But Spike forced himself to remain relaxed, arms hanging loose at his sides as he very deliberately let his game face slip away.
“Not a monster!” he said, pointing a finger at her. “At least, don’t wanna be. Choose not to be, in point of fact. Not anymore.” The girl’s brow knitted in confusion. “I’m a fuckin’ hero! I was. Saved the whole sodding world not too long ago. And it wasn’t my fault the bloody soul went astray. Came all the way here - again - half-way ‘round the sodding world to get it back, didn’t I? Not my fault that demon neighbor of yours has a no refunds/no exchanges policy, either.” In fact, he’d barely managed to escape the cave with his head still attached. “So now what? Am I s’posed to go back to her like this? A failure? Half a man? I screw up again, I’ll break that girl’s heart, and it’s been pasted back together too many times already! Not gonna be the cause of that.”
He was pacing now, and the slayer didn’t even seem afraid of him anymore. She looked puzzled more than anything else. She continued to stare at him, still holding her stake, but she’d dropped her hand to her side. Spike sighed. “You haven’t understood a single bloody word I’ve said, have you?” And he was a vampire with a fucking existential crisis. What a fucking joke.
“Actually,” said a voice from the darkness, “Dembe speaks rather good English. She’s a fine student - just not accustomed to conversing with...your kind.” A large, black man emerged from the shadows, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a smile. “They do not usually last long enough for that. Hello, munnange. I did not think we would meet again.”
Munnange. Friend.
Spike stared at the man in confusion, until a slide show of images began flashing through his mind. The hot African sun hurting his eyes, scorching his skin. Strong brown hands. A brightly colored blanket dousing the flames. The memories of his first time in Africa were fuzzy, but now he remembered the smiling eyes, and the kind voice.
Spike smiled back. “Lutalo. Didn’t think I’d be runnin’ into you again, either.
“The world is full of strange connections.”
Spike frowned. “You her watcher, then?” He shook his head, snorting out a laugh. “I shoulda known. You were just gonna stand by and let me kill her?”
“She is a slayer. I will not always be here to rescue her.” He grinned. “And as you can see, she is not dead.”
“Yeah. Well, she’s gonna be a good one, take it from me. She’s strong. Resourceful. Reminds me a bit of another slayer I know.”
“Is she a good one?” Dembe asked shyly.
“The best there is.”
“Your praise is very kind. But Dembe should not become overconfident.” Lutalo gave the girl a pointed look. “You could have easily killed her tonight, had you chosen to do so.”
The girl hung her head, and Lutalo spoke to her again in Lugandan. She turned without a word, and trotted off, disappearing into the darkness.
“Bit rough on her, weren’t you?”
“Not as rough as you were.”
Spike laughed. “Point taken.”
Lutalo sat down on a large rock, and Spike sat next to him. “I would not have guessed you capable of that, last we met.” Spike noticed that he held a wooden stake loosely in his hands.
“Yeah, I guess I must’ve been pretty pathetic, huh?"
"As harmless as kitten."
Spike bristled. "Yeah? Well, wasn’t quite myself back then." He sighed. "Or, maybe it’s now that I’m not myself. Hard to say.”
Lutalo nodded. “Ah. The missing soul.”
“Yeah. His royal scaliness threw me out on my ear.”
“You are one of the lucky ones, then.”
“Don’t feel so lucky.”
Lutalo peered at him curiously. “I am very surprised you want your soul back. You were full of regret, before. Regret, and pain.”
Spike shrugged. "Yeah, I know. But it was taken without my permission, that's why I want it back. That, and...”
“And?” He smiled conspiratorially. “This is the part where we speak of the girl, yes?”
Spike ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t want to hurt her again.”
Lutalo contemplated his stake for a moment, rolling it between his palms. “My people, we have a saying: it is not what you are called, but what you answer to.”
The watcher's words took a moment to sink in. Then a slow grin slid across Spike’s face. Soul or not, he'd be what he damn well wanted to be. Or try his damndest, at least. After all, he’d never been what anyone expected. Why start now? Spike stuck his hand out, and Lutalo transferred the stake into his other hand before giving Spike a firm handshake.
“Nice to see you again, mate.” Spike stood up. “But it’s time for me to go." What would he answer to? It was time find out.
“Thank you for not killing my slayer,” Lutalo said good naturedly. But he was waiting, Spike realized, for Spike to leave first. Lutalo's trust only went so far. Smart man.
Spike could feel the watcher’s eyes on him as he strode off into the night.
“Omukisa omulungi,” Lutalo called out to him.
“Thanks mate,” Spike said. “Good luck to you, too.”
Part 3
AUTHOR: Cindy
RATING: NC17 overall
SPOILERS: Through Chosen and Home
PAIRING/CHARACTERS: S/B, ensemble
DISCLAIMER: The characters aren't mine, but Joss said I could play with them.
A/N: Thank you to my beta extraordinaire, mommanerd.
A/N: Mangling of the Lugandan language is solely my responsibility.
Previously on Present and Unaccounted For:
“You’ve been gone for months,” she said, whirling around to face him. “Without a single word.”
“Had a reason. Seemed like a good one at the time.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Now I’m not so sure.”
“I looked for you,” she whispered. “Every place I could think of.”
He nodded. “Know you did. Wasn’t the time, pet.”
“And now it is? Because you’ve decided?”
He didn’t say anything. Just stood there, giving her that - yes - soulful gaze.
Was there really any possibility that she wouldn’t hear him out? Buffy sighed and crossed slowly to the sofa, sitting down and curling her legs up underneath her. She grabbed the nearest throw pillow and hugged it to her chest.
"Okay, Spike.” She patted the place next to her. “Tell me a story."
Present and Unaccounted For, part 2
Uganda, five months earlier
He crouched in the darkness on the outskirts of the village, an arsenal of smells assaulting his nose: Burning brush. Roasting meat. Human sweat. And blood. Spike shifted into game face, his vision sharpening. He watched as people went about their evening routines, moving between the half-dozen or so fires that dotted the village. Cooking. Eating. Living.
There was nothing for him, here. The demon he’d come all this way to see had made sure of that. There were no second chances for Spike - or had he already used his up? He knew he wasn’t thinking clearly. He didn’t even know how long he’d been here. His rage simmered under the surface, clouding his thoughts. After the demon had laughed in his face, he’d prowled the outskirts of this tiny village, night after night. But why? Sometimes he thought he was trying to protect them. And sometimes...
Last night he followed, from a distance, a young boy stupid enough to be caught out alone after dark. The boy couldn’t see Spike, but he must have sensed him somehow, and started to run. Stupid kid. There were a lot of things waiting out in the darkness for a choice little morsel like him. Lions and tigers and all manner of things that went bump in the night. And they loved it when you ran. In point of fact, it had taken every ounce of control Spike had left not to give chase. Oh, he’d talked big about being able to control his demon, but it had been a lot easier to do with Buffy in his bed, and a ready supply of blood in the fridge. Now he was in the middle of the fucking African bush hunting animals to survive, just another predator in the darkness.
And why, exactly? What was he waiting for? A sign from the heavens, maybe, in glowing bloody neon? He gazed up at the unfamiliar sky, but he didn’t know which star to follow - none of them were where they were supposed to be.
He sensed the girl an instant before her machete came slicing through the air, nearly invisible in the inky blackness. He moved at the last moment, a fraction of an inch making all the difference. Her blade whistled past his ear and struck the tree behind him. And now she was without a weapon, save her hands and her brain. Adrenaline surged through his body.
Slayer
Spike grinned. Laughed out loud. How fucking perfect was this? The girl eyed him warily, then leapt up and grabbed a tree branch, swinging gracefully through the air. Both feet hit him square in the chest, knocking him flat on his back. He rolled out of the way just before the tree branch she’d broken off came in contact with his chest. So she could think on her feet; good girl. She was on those feet in an instant, but he swept them out from under her before she could do any more damage. Or so he thought. She’d lost her make-shift stake, but she somersaulted back up and placed a solid round house kick to his head. Size six boot or bare foot, it hurt just the same, he found out. He saw stars, and then the slayer’s face hovering above him, her hands around his neck. She squeezed. Hard.
She was young and inexperienced, and he would have never even been in this position if he were on top of his game. Still, older and wiser and all that rot. With the last of his strength he broke her hold, bucked her off, and rolled to his feet. She tried for another round house kick, but he caught her foot this time, and twisted. She tried to regain her balance, and almost succeeded. Instead, she fell sideways, her head slamming against the tree, dazing her for a moment. Spike had her backed up against the trunk, hands pinned before she knew what hit her. He looked into huge, terrified brown eyes, but her nostrils flared defiantly, and she spat out what could only be interpreted as the Lugandan version of “Fuck you.” Spike laughed again. This - this was what he’d been waiting for. This was what he was made for.
Her heartbeat pounded, fast and loud in his head. She couldn’t be more than fifteen, tall and gangly, and her scent was a heady mix of girl sweat, slayer blood, and a liberal dose of fear. Spike was nearly dizzy from it. He pressed closer, fangs grazing her neck, and she closed her eyes tight. Not yet, not yet. With his free hand he brushed her long, dark braids from her face, and she grimaced in disgust. He didn’t know many words in her language, but he knew a few: Monster. Animal.
Evil, soulless thing.
No. No he fucking WAS NOT.
What the hell was he doing? She nearly toppled over when he suddenly released her, and stepped away. She recovered quickly though, scrambling for another piece of wood, spinning and crouching into a battle stance. But Spike forced himself to remain relaxed, arms hanging loose at his sides as he very deliberately let his game face slip away.
“Not a monster!” he said, pointing a finger at her. “At least, don’t wanna be. Choose not to be, in point of fact. Not anymore.” The girl’s brow knitted in confusion. “I’m a fuckin’ hero! I was. Saved the whole sodding world not too long ago. And it wasn’t my fault the bloody soul went astray. Came all the way here - again - half-way ‘round the sodding world to get it back, didn’t I? Not my fault that demon neighbor of yours has a no refunds/no exchanges policy, either.” In fact, he’d barely managed to escape the cave with his head still attached. “So now what? Am I s’posed to go back to her like this? A failure? Half a man? I screw up again, I’ll break that girl’s heart, and it’s been pasted back together too many times already! Not gonna be the cause of that.”
He was pacing now, and the slayer didn’t even seem afraid of him anymore. She looked puzzled more than anything else. She continued to stare at him, still holding her stake, but she’d dropped her hand to her side. Spike sighed. “You haven’t understood a single bloody word I’ve said, have you?” And he was a vampire with a fucking existential crisis. What a fucking joke.
“Actually,” said a voice from the darkness, “Dembe speaks rather good English. She’s a fine student - just not accustomed to conversing with...your kind.” A large, black man emerged from the shadows, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a smile. “They do not usually last long enough for that. Hello, munnange. I did not think we would meet again.”
Munnange. Friend.
Spike stared at the man in confusion, until a slide show of images began flashing through his mind. The hot African sun hurting his eyes, scorching his skin. Strong brown hands. A brightly colored blanket dousing the flames. The memories of his first time in Africa were fuzzy, but now he remembered the smiling eyes, and the kind voice.
Spike smiled back. “Lutalo. Didn’t think I’d be runnin’ into you again, either.
“The world is full of strange connections.”
Spike frowned. “You her watcher, then?” He shook his head, snorting out a laugh. “I shoulda known. You were just gonna stand by and let me kill her?”
“She is a slayer. I will not always be here to rescue her.” He grinned. “And as you can see, she is not dead.”
“Yeah. Well, she’s gonna be a good one, take it from me. She’s strong. Resourceful. Reminds me a bit of another slayer I know.”
“Is she a good one?” Dembe asked shyly.
“The best there is.”
“Your praise is very kind. But Dembe should not become overconfident.” Lutalo gave the girl a pointed look. “You could have easily killed her tonight, had you chosen to do so.”
The girl hung her head, and Lutalo spoke to her again in Lugandan. She turned without a word, and trotted off, disappearing into the darkness.
“Bit rough on her, weren’t you?”
“Not as rough as you were.”
Spike laughed. “Point taken.”
Lutalo sat down on a large rock, and Spike sat next to him. “I would not have guessed you capable of that, last we met.” Spike noticed that he held a wooden stake loosely in his hands.
“Yeah, I guess I must’ve been pretty pathetic, huh?"
"As harmless as kitten."
Spike bristled. "Yeah? Well, wasn’t quite myself back then." He sighed. "Or, maybe it’s now that I’m not myself. Hard to say.”
Lutalo nodded. “Ah. The missing soul.”
“Yeah. His royal scaliness threw me out on my ear.”
“You are one of the lucky ones, then.”
“Don’t feel so lucky.”
Lutalo peered at him curiously. “I am very surprised you want your soul back. You were full of regret, before. Regret, and pain.”
Spike shrugged. "Yeah, I know. But it was taken without my permission, that's why I want it back. That, and...”
“And?” He smiled conspiratorially. “This is the part where we speak of the girl, yes?”
Spike ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t want to hurt her again.”
Lutalo contemplated his stake for a moment, rolling it between his palms. “My people, we have a saying: it is not what you are called, but what you answer to.”
The watcher's words took a moment to sink in. Then a slow grin slid across Spike’s face. Soul or not, he'd be what he damn well wanted to be. Or try his damndest, at least. After all, he’d never been what anyone expected. Why start now? Spike stuck his hand out, and Lutalo transferred the stake into his other hand before giving Spike a firm handshake.
“Nice to see you again, mate.” Spike stood up. “But it’s time for me to go." What would he answer to? It was time find out.
“Thank you for not killing my slayer,” Lutalo said good naturedly. But he was waiting, Spike realized, for Spike to leave first. Lutalo's trust only went so far. Smart man.
Spike could feel the watcher’s eyes on him as he strode off into the night.
“Omukisa omulungi,” Lutalo called out to him.
“Thanks mate,” Spike said. “Good luck to you, too.”
Part 3