Twisted Harvest

If he had to spend one more minute with that whiney, self-righteous little brat, he was going to twist his fucking head off. Turning one so young was never a good idea, but when they were as spoiled and self-centered as this little bastard, it was a hundred times worse.

He zoned out the kid’s endless prattling as he stomped through the stagnant puddles that littered the floor of the tunnel. Hell only knew what his bat-faced grandpappy had in store for the pint sized bundle of shit, but his part in the little fiasco was nearly done. The delivery would soon be made and good riddance. “Annointed One, my arse,” he muttered. “Annoying One is more fitting.”

Should have grown a pair and stood up to Dru long ago, Spike mused bitterly. He was Spike. William the Bloody, for fuck’s sake! Not some glorified babysitter. But, no, sap that he was, he had let the dozey bint talk him into finding the little sod and making a special delivery to some cesspool in Southern California called Sunnydale.

Boca del Infiorno. The mouth of Hell. Hellmouth. Fucking great.

Figures that would be where the ancient puss bag would be hanging about. Of course it was no more than he deserved. Everyone knew that mixing church’s and attempting to free all the demons of Hell was bad business. Earthquakes tended to happen in most cases, and now he was stuck like a bug in a bottle and dependant on his childer to help him out.

Not that he could give a righteous rat’s ass about whether or not the Master ever walked the face of the earth again. He was just here to annoy some people and have some fun.

As he drew closer he could sense other family. Luke- second only to Angelus in the Cro-Magnon forehead competition. Of course Darla was here. That gaping twat never strayed far from The Master’s side since Angelus and his shiny Gypsy gift had done a runner. And speaking of his grand-sire…

He had been in these tunnels recently judging by the strength of his signature.

Spike frowned. The last time he’d come face to face with Angelus had been in New York. A few days after his little pas de deux in the subway with his second slayer, he’d been taking a shortcut through some rancid alley and there he was- the once powerful and feared former leader of the Scourge of Europe, reduced to chasing rats amongst the dumpsters for sustenance. Pathetic, but oh! So poetic.

A whiney voice pitched high in irritation caught his attention and he shrugged off his thoughts of Angelus for later introspection. The boy was still nattering incessantly about things Spike could care less about and when he shushed him so he could hear better, the little twerp had the audacity to growl at him.

Snatching him up by the throat, Spike snarled into his stunned face and then slammed his over-inflated head into the crumbling stone wall. Tossing the unconscious and blessedly silent carcass off to one side, Spike lit up a fag and settled down to eavesdrop.

“And there was a girl. She fought well and knew of our breed.” Spike recognized Luke’s harsh voice. “It’s possible that she might be…”

“A slayer!” The Master’s sibilant hiss was filled with loathing.

A slayer? Spike’s interest was thoroughly piqued. If these idiots were right- and stranger things had happened- then with a little luck this trip could be business combined with pleasure. He just might chalk up his third while he was here.

“Have you any proof?”

“Only that she fought me, and yet lives,” Luke growled.

“Hmm. Very nearly proof enough. I can’t remember the last time that happened.”

“1843. Madrid. He caught me sleeping.”

Spike snorted. He caught you buggerin’ an alter boy, you pillock! he thought nastily. Angelus had crowed about it whenever he had a willing ear. Or a not-so-willing ear, in Spike's case.

“She mustn’t be allowed to interfere in the Harvest!” screeched the Master.

“I would never allow that to happen!” the faithful Luke lisped. Spike could almost see his yellow eyes glowing with adoration. Made him want to heave.

Having heard enough, he scooped up the limp form of the Annoying One and made his entrance.

The Master frowned at the sight of him. “William, what brings you here? And how did you come into possession of the Anointed One?”

Spike dropped the heathen child in an unceremonious heap at his ancestor’s feet. “Might want to watch your flunkies, Grandpa. Thanks to my Dru, I intercepted that lot on their way to Mexico with your toy prize here.” He flicked a derisive eyebrow at the ancient vamp. “Nice leather. Darla dressing you again?’

“Shut up, Spike!” the petite blonde hissed. “You never did learn to respect your elders.”

“Well, you know me, ducks. I dare to be different,” he drawled as he found a little piece of wall to prop him up and lit a fag. He cast a jaundiced eye at the poor, quivering sod that’d had the misfortune to fall for Darla’s jaded school girl charms. The boy’s fear hung rank in the air and his disbelieving eyes darted frantically from one distorted face to the next.

Granddad was still pontificating. “If she is the Slayer and the boy lives, she’ll try to save him.”

“You’ve just been upgraded to bait,” Luke told the petrified teen as he stepped up behind him and sank his ugly yellow gnashers into tender young flesh.

Spike watched their posturing antics with an air of condescension. “Turning the boy will only piss her off,” he offered. He knew they wouldn’t take heed of his advice. They were his elders after all.

“No one asked you for your opinion, William,” Darla snarled.

“She is no different than any other slayer I have come across,” Luke chimed in. “She will bleed just the same.”

Straightening away from the wall, Spike stalked over and stood nose to nose with the other vamp. “Yeah? And how many Slayer’s have you killed, mate? What’s that?” He held a hand up to his ear. “None? Didn’t think so.” His coat whipped smugly around his legs as he turned away to return to his place by the wall.

“You,” he snapped, pointing his finger at a silently fuming Luke. “Have no idea- not the slightest, soddin’ clue- how to best these little girls. You can’t just walk up to the girl, go for the jugular and think you’re gonna win.”

Luke dropped the cooling corpse he still held and started towards Spike with a savage growl. Much to Spike’s disappointment, the big lug was stopped by Darla’s perfectly manicured little hand on his chest.

“Wait!” she commanded her hulking lap-dog, the light of speculation shining from her eyes. “Of course!”

Fighting a sudden surge of unease, Spike watched as she skipped over to her sire and rose up on her toes to whisper conspiratorially in his pointy ear. ‘This can’t be good,' he thought. Nothing good made Darla smile quite like that.

Bending his head to listen to the words that tripped from the manipulative red lips of his most beloved childe, the old git smiled maliciously and rubbed his bony hands together. “But why do I find myself worrying over that pathetic little girl when I have the self-proclaimed exterminator of her kind right before me?” he breathed sibilantly.

“Wot?” Spikes jaw unhinged and his cigarette fell to the floor in a shower of sparks.

“You, my dear William. You will accompany my vessel to the surface and guard him from the Slayer whilst the ritual is taking place. When it is complete I shall be free once more to wreak havoc on the world!”

Oh, bollocks.

~*~*~

Spike crammed his hands in his coat pockets and sulked along behind Darla and her merry band of rabble rousers. It had taken the Master’s threat to summon Dru from Paris for an intimate family ‘reunion’ to get him to agree to participate in this fiasco.

He cursed his own stupidity for not taking off as soon as he’d dropped that scabby little turd at the old one’s feet. Could’ve been halfway back to his love by now, tucked up snug in the baggage area of a nice big airplane with a sweet little flight attendant for a snack, but nooooo. Had to hang about and get dragged into what was sure to be a failure of spectacular proportions.

‘Oh, well,’ he mused, lighting up while he waited for Darla to stop with the damned cutesy skipping about and lead them inside. ‘Least I can scope out this new Slayer. Get a handle on her. Decide whether or not she’s worth the time and effort to kill.’

Once inside, the minions scattered to complete their assigned tasks, most stationing themselves among the crowd and on the balcony while one took care of the lights. There were several loud complaints from the patrons, but no real fear as yet.

Until Luke climbed up on the stage and gave the crowd a fangy grin. “Ladies and gentlemen, there is no cause for alarm. Actually there is cause for alarm; it just won’t do you any good.” He bellowed with laughter as confusion reigned and screams of fear rang out.

“This is a glorious night. It’s also the last one any of you shall see!” he continued. “Bring me the first!” The struggling doorman was dragged onstage, babbling about money and deformed faces.

Spike rolled his eyes at Luke’s dramatic gestures and speechifying and then ignored him on favor of scanning the darkened club with golden eyes. Darla had described the Slayer as small and blonde. That description fit half of the scantily dressed bints milling around like frightened sheep.

Closing his eyes, he extended his senses outward in search of the one particular signature that called to his kind. Once he’d blocked out all other distractions, it slammed into him like a freight train. His eyes flew open and lifted to scan the catwalks that ran along the ceiling.

There, overlooking the stage stood a tiny blonde.

Darla’s description hadn’t done her justice. Even from a distance, Spike could feel the power that rolled from her petit frame in waves. No other slayer had ever inspired such heightened awareness in him. He stared at her, a little bemused by the intensity of his reaction to her.

He watched as she skimmed the crowd below her and slipped out of game face just seconds before she reached him. Their eyes clashed and he saw hers widen when he gave her the smile that had lured countless unsuspecting young girls to their deaths.

“Hey, Romeo! You’re supposed to kill her, not flirt with her,” Darla snarled. She was fighting with the newly risen Jesse over a pretty, dark-haired girl. When she finally wrested his prize from him, she dragged the crying girl past Spike and shot him a dirty look. “Now, get up there and do your damn job, Mr. Slayer of Slayers!”

“Oh, piss off, you diseased cow!” Spike snapped, flicking her off. Her feral eyes promised the direst of retribution as she struggled to drag the wildly resisting teen towards the stage. Once she was gone, Spike’s eyes returned to the catwalk.


“That’s Buffy. Pretty hot, huh?” Jesse popped up at his elbow like an annoyingly overeager puppy. “I was gonna ask her out, but now I think I’ll just eat her.” His high pitched giggle was abruptly cut off by Spike’s hand around his throat.

“If I thought you could get within a foot of her, I’d pop your empty little head off right now,” Spike assured him before flinging him into the crowd. “Make yourself useful and grab the next offering for Luke, you prancing ninny.”

He whirled away in a flurry of black leather and headed towards the nearest flight of stairs to the upper level. Before he could reach his goal, there was a pained yell and the vampire Darla had sent up to the catwalks flew over the handrail to land with a splat on the stage at Luke’s feet.

“Oh, I’m sorry! We’re you in the middle of something?” Her voice was light and girlish, very much at odds with her determined expression as she glared down at the Master’s vessel.

All eyes were on her as she flipped from the catwalk to land in a loose crouch on a pool table. One overachiever rushed her from the right and ended up a pile of dust when she executed a flawless walkover and came up holding a handy pool cue that she thrust into him without even looking.

Spike was suitably impressed and incredibly aroused by her graceful body and snappy comments. He’d always been a sucker for a talker. At Darla’s insistent hissing, he started forward. Gorgeous hazel eyes met his and he was surprised at the flare of disappointment she made no attempt to disguise.

‘Too right, luv,’ he thought regretfully as he prepared to take her on.

“Wait!” Luke bellowed. He glowered, first at Spike and then at the slayer. “She’s mine. Stand down, William,” he ordered.

Shrugging, Spike ignored Darla’s shrill protests and took a step back with his hands held up. “Have at her. It’s your funeral, mate.”

He found a column to slouch against and took out his smokes, prepared to fully enjoy watching Luke get his come-uppance. Darla appeared and began to rage at him for bowing to Luke’s demands.

“He’s ruining everything! Spike, stop him,” she squawked. “The Master will be livid!”

“He told me to follow Luke’s orders, not yours, grand-mum. Not my fault if the great git has a death wish, now is it? So respectfully bugger off, bitch!”

The fight was pretty much one-sided, just as Spike knew it would be. She seemed to be everywhere at once, whirling and kicking like a small dervish and generally wiping the stage with Luke’s ugly mug. There was one moment when she had to bail out one of her little friends with a handy cymbal and Luke caught her up from behind and began to squeeze the life out of her.

“Master! Taste of this and be free!” Luke roared exultantly as he leaned in for the bite.

Spike wasn’t sure what made him lunge up with a growl and start towards the stage, but the flicker of her eyelashes made him pause. The little chit was faking!

Sure enough, she flung her head back and smashed his face in. Luke immediately dropped her and stumbled back into the wall. A few snippy quips and the breaking of one window later, it was over. The slayer rammed the stake through Luke’s back and he staggered dramatically across the stage and fell over the edge to land in a shower of ash.

Seeing the Master’s vessel fall, the remaining vampires scattered like rats. One pair that held the dark-haired boy between them took one look at the slayer and almost beat each other to death getting to the door.

Spike pushed away from the column and walked towards her, stopping at the edge of the stage to stare up at her with a hint of admiration shining from his eyes.

The slayer eyed him warily. “You’re not running away?” she asked irreverently.

He smirked at her. “I’m not a runner. I’m more of a chaser, myself.”

She didn’t relax her defensive stance. “So, why aren’t you ‘chasing’?” she snapped. “It’s kind of expected, you know? Vampire?”

In a blink, he was up on the stage and circling her, giving her curvy little body an appreciative once-over. Spike leaned in slowly, his eyes never leaving hers as he took a single deep breath of her scent. It was intoxicating.

Unable to resist the temptation, Spike quickly ran his tongue lightly over the pulsing line of her jugular. An all-over shiver wracked her body in reaction, and he closed his eyes, committing her unique signature of power, arousal, and just a hint of fear to memory. Now he could find her in a crowd of thousands.

“Who are you?” she whispered, the strain of remaining quiescent under his touch coloring her voice.

Spike laughed softly. “Buffy, is it?” he drawled, even more amused by her mutinous expression as she dared him to poke fun at her name. Once more, he tested her boundaries by daring to touch the shining mane of tousled hair, marveling at its silky texture between his fingers.

“I’m not exactly one that does what’s expected of him. You’ll find that out about me, eventually.” He could hear her friends twittering with residual excitement as they approached. “‘S too soon, right now, but I’ll be back and we’ll have us a little dance, yeh?”

Without waiting for her to reply, he bounced off the stage and was gone in a flurry of black.

“Dance?” she uttered in confusion. “What is it with you vamps and the cryptic?” Big Ugly had called him William. It wasn’t much to go on, but she fully intended on becoming research girl for as long as it took to find out just who that bleached blonde hottie really was.

Oh, well. She’d figure it out later. For now, though, she turned to greet her new friends and her watcher.

~*~*~

Spike sauntered down the alley. He paused, making a great show of lighting up a fag before turning to address the hulking form hiding behind a fragrant dumpster.

“’Lo, Peaches. Doing your part to control the rat population on the Hellmouth, are you?”

His grand-sire slunk out of the shadows, forehead leading the way and frown firmly in place. “What the hell are you doing here, Spike?”

“Had an errand to run and decided to stick around and take in the ambiance.” Spike paused, assuming a thoughtful pose. “Nice place, Sunnydale. Got that whole Hellmouth-y vibe going for it, not to mention a slayer to play with.”

“You stay away from her, or so help me…”

Flicking his spent fag at Angel’s feet, he gifted him with a sphinx-like smile. “Already met her. Had a nice little chat with the bint. Pretty little thing, but then slayers never have been an ugly lot.”

Angel’s frown turned even more thunderous, if possible. “Stay away from Sunnydale, Spike,” he said threateningly. “You’re not wanted here.”

Spike deliberately ignored him. “Dru’s been begging for a change of scenery. Paris is so dead this time of year, but of course you remember that. Yep, this could be just the place to perk up my dark princess’s spirits.”

“Spike…” Angel growled.

Dismissing the broody one with a wave of his hand, Spike continued down the alley. He had a plane to catch. “Ta, Peaches. Be seeing you… Soon.”

The End