Reward, Chapter 3
Chapter Three: Residence
The basement of Spike's apartment building was largely unused, so they set up a training area down there, after getting permission from the landlord, a sweet old lady who thought that Spike was a "nice young man." Spike hung a punching bag overhead, while Mandy spread mats on the floor. Then he showed her his library.
In the second bedroom of his apartment, Spike had installed floor-to-ceiling bookcases, in which he had ensconced all the books he had inherited from Giles. Someone had had to take custody of them, and since he was the only one left, it had fallen to him. He'd put them in storage while he'd wandered around the globe, but pulled them out when he'd finally settled down. After that, he'd bought a laptop, learned how to use it, and started transferring and, more importantly, translating, the contents of the books onto his hard drive. He wasn't even a tenth of the way done; but, he reasoned, vampires live a long time, and it gave him something to do to fill the long stretches of empty time that he'd had before Mandy.
Then came the hours of training and research. Leading her in the Dance. Teaching her the various ways to kill vampires and demons. Bandaging each other after the sparring sessions, if it got a little too rough--which it frequently did. After the first day, Spike didn't pull his punches, and Mandy quickly learned not to pull hers either. He would hold her while she cried that she would never get it, not ever, and then they would jump up and start all over again with fresh determination. Even Hansel got in on the act, playing Werewolf or whatever other four-legged demon they were studying at the time.
After training came patrolling. Spike wondered if it was something genetic in the Slayer lines that made them shoot off smart-aleck comments when they dusted a vampire or broke the neck of a Krusnar demon. He remembered that Buffy and Faith used to do that too, and it caused a little stab of both pride and reminiscence that Mandy did the same thing. They did a nightly patrol of one graveyard in particular that seemed very attractive to vamps and demons, and took the others on a rotating basis.
His Slayer was...complicated. Soft and giving, and steely and decisive. Wholly remorseless when it came to destroying vampires and demons, she would melt when they passed a kitten run over on the road. And she could read and write Latin.
"How did you learn that, luv?" Spike asked her. "I didn't think there were any schools that taught Latin anymore."
"Guess there's one," she replied. "I went to school in this little podunk town, where they still thought it was more important for students to actually learn things than to work on their self-esteem. Just lucky, I suppose. You had to learn another language to graduate, and I've always been interested in how words are put together, so I picked Latin."
Mandy disappeared every morning after their sparring and study sessions. He didn't know where she went, and she wouldn't--couldn't--tell him that "home" was an empty refrigerator carton in an alley a few blocks away. He thought about following her, or having Hansel do it, but he was still building a relationship with her and didn't want to break her trust. That went out the window, though, when he noticed her getting thin. He sat her down in the living room after a sparring session that left her far more winded than it should have.
"Right, pet," Spike said, handing her a cup of hot chocolate. "You might as well tell me. What have you eaten lately? Because I can smell how hungry you are, and your ribs should bloody not show that much."
Darn vampire super-senses, Mandy grumbled to herself, not looking at him. "I eat," she protested. She sounded weak even to herself.
"Bloody hell!" he exploded. "When was the last time you ate?"
"Sometime...yesterday," she replied, still not looking at him.
Stupid, stupid git, he berated himself. Of course she didn't have any money to buy food with; she didn't have a job since she'd quit working for Billy. Hansel had more sense than he did. "Mandy," he said gently, "I'm not mad at you. I just realized what a bloody idiot I am for not figuring it out sooner. Come on, I've got a bucket of hot wings in the fridge. While you're eating those, you can tell me how things really are with you."
Between mouthfuls of eagerly devoured chicken, she poured her heart out to him. Life with Billy had been hard; life without him was infinitely harder. At least when she'd worked for him she'd had a roof over her head and three meals a day. But, as a Christian, it was impossible to find employment. So, she lived in a cardboard box and ate when she could find a soup kitchen that would actually feed her without looking too closely at what she wore in her ears. She wouldn't deny her Savior just to put food in her stomach, and taking off the earrings would feel like betraying Him.
"The worst thing isn't the hunger, or the cold, or the human predators that try to take advantage," she said quietly. "It's the loneliness. Oh, God, Spike, I'm so lonely." A big tear spilled over her eyelid as she finally looked at him.
"I understand, luv. I do. It's like you're the only person in the world who's going through what you're going through. And right now, each of us is the only person in the world going through what we're going through. You're the Slayer. The Chosen One. You are the only person on the planet with that sacred duty. And I'm the only vampire in history who's won his soul back and then become a Christian. So, trust me when I say that I do know a little about what you're feeling." By the time he finished talking, she was in his lap, sobbing.
He picked her up, carried her into the living room, and sat down on the couch, with her still in his lap. Gradually, her shoulders stopped heaving and her breathing deepened. Then she gave a little laugh. "Boy, do I feel like an idiot. Throwing all that stuff at you."
"I'm glad you did, pet," he replied. "Do you know how long it's been since anyone actually trusted me like that? Even vampires don't trust other vampires. I think the last time anyone's shared that much with me was when Captain Cardboard told me that Buffy didn't love him. And that was a bloody long time ago." Plus we were both very drunk, he didn't add.
"So..." Mandy looked at him, "you're not angry?"
"What's to be angry with, luv? We do need to do something about your situation, though. Slayers need their strength, and part of that strength comes from eating on a regular basis. And a cardboard box is certainly not a suitable dwelling for my Slayer." He thought about it for a few seconds. "Well," he said finally, "there are a couple of options. There's an enclave of Christians that I help out on occasion. I could send you there."
Living amongst a bunch of strangers, Christians or not, who would understand her calling even less than she did, wasn't very appealing. "Or..." she prompted.
"We could put a futon in the training room and you could sleep there."
That sounded better. "What about money for food?" she asked.
"You let me worry about that little detail. Slayers shouldn't have to work; they're made for killing vamps and demons, not flipping bloody burgers at the Doublemeat Palace." Spike growled at the memory of Buffy working at that place, her stubborn pride refusing any help that he tried to offer at the time.
Mandy looked at him sideways. "So, where do you get your money?"
"I'm nearly two hundred years old. Do you know what the stock market has done in that period of time? I don't even need the principle anymore; I just live off the interest and dividends and pay taxes on it like a good citizen."
Well. Her vampire was full of surprises. Christian or not, he enjoyed the kill as much as he ever had, but he was compassionate, fiercely protective, and completely ruthless when those to whom he felt an obligation were threatened. He'd told her how he'd found Hansel as a puppy, being beaten by a man who had wound up in the hospital because Spike didn't like the way the guy treated his dog. "I'm not bloody proud of what I did," he said when he related the story, "but I'm not bloody sorry either." Hansel apparently wasn't sorry either; he was just as committed to Spike as Spike was to him, and they were the best of friends. Hans hadn't even hesitated to follow him, even after Spike had tried to shoo him away--what did he want with a dog, anyway? But Hans had refused to be shooed and followed him all the way home, worming his way into the vampire's heart with that facility that all good dogs have. They could even communicate after a fashion; Spike could understand what Hans told him when he tried, and Hans seemed to grasp almost intuitively what Spike tried to get across to him.
So, Mandy wound up in the training room, and Spike bought more human-type groceries. He wasn't a half-bad chef, as he had never lost the taste for regular food like most vampires did once they were turned. Mandy had never learned to cook, but Spike was as good a teacher of cooking as he was of Slaying, and they spent many happy hours puttering around in the kitchen. Spike noticed with approval that her ribs filled out, and her eyes lost that haunted, dark-circled look that they had taken on not long after he'd first rescued her.
TBC...
Chapter Four
The basement of Spike's apartment building was largely unused, so they set up a training area down there, after getting permission from the landlord, a sweet old lady who thought that Spike was a "nice young man." Spike hung a punching bag overhead, while Mandy spread mats on the floor. Then he showed her his library.
In the second bedroom of his apartment, Spike had installed floor-to-ceiling bookcases, in which he had ensconced all the books he had inherited from Giles. Someone had had to take custody of them, and since he was the only one left, it had fallen to him. He'd put them in storage while he'd wandered around the globe, but pulled them out when he'd finally settled down. After that, he'd bought a laptop, learned how to use it, and started transferring and, more importantly, translating, the contents of the books onto his hard drive. He wasn't even a tenth of the way done; but, he reasoned, vampires live a long time, and it gave him something to do to fill the long stretches of empty time that he'd had before Mandy.
Then came the hours of training and research. Leading her in the Dance. Teaching her the various ways to kill vampires and demons. Bandaging each other after the sparring sessions, if it got a little too rough--which it frequently did. After the first day, Spike didn't pull his punches, and Mandy quickly learned not to pull hers either. He would hold her while she cried that she would never get it, not ever, and then they would jump up and start all over again with fresh determination. Even Hansel got in on the act, playing Werewolf or whatever other four-legged demon they were studying at the time.
After training came patrolling. Spike wondered if it was something genetic in the Slayer lines that made them shoot off smart-aleck comments when they dusted a vampire or broke the neck of a Krusnar demon. He remembered that Buffy and Faith used to do that too, and it caused a little stab of both pride and reminiscence that Mandy did the same thing. They did a nightly patrol of one graveyard in particular that seemed very attractive to vamps and demons, and took the others on a rotating basis.
His Slayer was...complicated. Soft and giving, and steely and decisive. Wholly remorseless when it came to destroying vampires and demons, she would melt when they passed a kitten run over on the road. And she could read and write Latin.
"How did you learn that, luv?" Spike asked her. "I didn't think there were any schools that taught Latin anymore."
"Guess there's one," she replied. "I went to school in this little podunk town, where they still thought it was more important for students to actually learn things than to work on their self-esteem. Just lucky, I suppose. You had to learn another language to graduate, and I've always been interested in how words are put together, so I picked Latin."
Mandy disappeared every morning after their sparring and study sessions. He didn't know where she went, and she wouldn't--couldn't--tell him that "home" was an empty refrigerator carton in an alley a few blocks away. He thought about following her, or having Hansel do it, but he was still building a relationship with her and didn't want to break her trust. That went out the window, though, when he noticed her getting thin. He sat her down in the living room after a sparring session that left her far more winded than it should have.
"Right, pet," Spike said, handing her a cup of hot chocolate. "You might as well tell me. What have you eaten lately? Because I can smell how hungry you are, and your ribs should bloody not show that much."
Darn vampire super-senses, Mandy grumbled to herself, not looking at him. "I eat," she protested. She sounded weak even to herself.
"Bloody hell!" he exploded. "When was the last time you ate?"
"Sometime...yesterday," she replied, still not looking at him.
Stupid, stupid git, he berated himself. Of course she didn't have any money to buy food with; she didn't have a job since she'd quit working for Billy. Hansel had more sense than he did. "Mandy," he said gently, "I'm not mad at you. I just realized what a bloody idiot I am for not figuring it out sooner. Come on, I've got a bucket of hot wings in the fridge. While you're eating those, you can tell me how things really are with you."
Between mouthfuls of eagerly devoured chicken, she poured her heart out to him. Life with Billy had been hard; life without him was infinitely harder. At least when she'd worked for him she'd had a roof over her head and three meals a day. But, as a Christian, it was impossible to find employment. So, she lived in a cardboard box and ate when she could find a soup kitchen that would actually feed her without looking too closely at what she wore in her ears. She wouldn't deny her Savior just to put food in her stomach, and taking off the earrings would feel like betraying Him.
"The worst thing isn't the hunger, or the cold, or the human predators that try to take advantage," she said quietly. "It's the loneliness. Oh, God, Spike, I'm so lonely." A big tear spilled over her eyelid as she finally looked at him.
"I understand, luv. I do. It's like you're the only person in the world who's going through what you're going through. And right now, each of us is the only person in the world going through what we're going through. You're the Slayer. The Chosen One. You are the only person on the planet with that sacred duty. And I'm the only vampire in history who's won his soul back and then become a Christian. So, trust me when I say that I do know a little about what you're feeling." By the time he finished talking, she was in his lap, sobbing.
He picked her up, carried her into the living room, and sat down on the couch, with her still in his lap. Gradually, her shoulders stopped heaving and her breathing deepened. Then she gave a little laugh. "Boy, do I feel like an idiot. Throwing all that stuff at you."
"I'm glad you did, pet," he replied. "Do you know how long it's been since anyone actually trusted me like that? Even vampires don't trust other vampires. I think the last time anyone's shared that much with me was when Captain Cardboard told me that Buffy didn't love him. And that was a bloody long time ago." Plus we were both very drunk, he didn't add.
"So..." Mandy looked at him, "you're not angry?"
"What's to be angry with, luv? We do need to do something about your situation, though. Slayers need their strength, and part of that strength comes from eating on a regular basis. And a cardboard box is certainly not a suitable dwelling for my Slayer." He thought about it for a few seconds. "Well," he said finally, "there are a couple of options. There's an enclave of Christians that I help out on occasion. I could send you there."
Living amongst a bunch of strangers, Christians or not, who would understand her calling even less than she did, wasn't very appealing. "Or..." she prompted.
"We could put a futon in the training room and you could sleep there."
That sounded better. "What about money for food?" she asked.
"You let me worry about that little detail. Slayers shouldn't have to work; they're made for killing vamps and demons, not flipping bloody burgers at the Doublemeat Palace." Spike growled at the memory of Buffy working at that place, her stubborn pride refusing any help that he tried to offer at the time.
Mandy looked at him sideways. "So, where do you get your money?"
"I'm nearly two hundred years old. Do you know what the stock market has done in that period of time? I don't even need the principle anymore; I just live off the interest and dividends and pay taxes on it like a good citizen."
Well. Her vampire was full of surprises. Christian or not, he enjoyed the kill as much as he ever had, but he was compassionate, fiercely protective, and completely ruthless when those to whom he felt an obligation were threatened. He'd told her how he'd found Hansel as a puppy, being beaten by a man who had wound up in the hospital because Spike didn't like the way the guy treated his dog. "I'm not bloody proud of what I did," he said when he related the story, "but I'm not bloody sorry either." Hansel apparently wasn't sorry either; he was just as committed to Spike as Spike was to him, and they were the best of friends. Hans hadn't even hesitated to follow him, even after Spike had tried to shoo him away--what did he want with a dog, anyway? But Hans had refused to be shooed and followed him all the way home, worming his way into the vampire's heart with that facility that all good dogs have. They could even communicate after a fashion; Spike could understand what Hans told him when he tried, and Hans seemed to grasp almost intuitively what Spike tried to get across to him.
So, Mandy wound up in the training room, and Spike bought more human-type groceries. He wasn't a half-bad chef, as he had never lost the taste for regular food like most vampires did once they were turned. Mandy had never learned to cook, but Spike was as good a teacher of cooking as he was of Slaying, and they spent many happy hours puttering around in the kitchen. Spike noticed with approval that her ribs filled out, and her eyes lost that haunted, dark-circled look that they had taken on not long after he'd first rescued her.
TBC...
Chapter Four