stalking | reply for buffy (inscrutable)

au—canon divergent; with original concepts loosely based on movie lore

AFTER THE ALLEYWAY | STALKING THE SLAYER

Spike kept his distance as he followed the Slayer, silent as a thought. Even if she hadn’t just bled from her nose (the three droplets were drying like tiny copper coins on her pink shirt), Spike would have been able to sense her. The scent of her bathed him in nostalgia.

How did it all begin, his desire, his affinity for destroying Slayers? All it had taken was a single sentence, a tiny threat uttered from the lips of Angelus in a moment of frustration. Spike had only just come into his strength, only just shed the terrible weight of his weaker self. That terrified man was no more, William was dead and gone, and in his place stood a vicious killer with no cares or worries about rules and traditions.

How long had he been afraid? How long had he hidden himself away from threats, cowering, snivelling like an animal? This new man, this new monster that Spike had become, clashed with how Angelus wished to live. In Spike's eyes, Angelus showed nothing but weakness, wanting to lie low.

‘Licking the floor with his tail between his legs was more like it.’

"You can't keep this up forever," Angelus' words rang in his mind. "If I can't teach you, maybe someday an angry crowd will. That—or the Slayer."

The Slayer? Spike hadn't known what that meant, but once he knew who she was, there was no stopping him from finding the Slayer to challenge her.

For two decades, Spike watched as Angelus targeted the weak and defenseless like a coward. Yet, no one ever questioned it, somehow Angelus commanded their respect through it all. Even when he had gone, leaving Spike to lead the pack, after Spike guided and protected Drusilla and Darla, still they longed for Angelus' return.

Spike was becoming restless with yearning to prove himself. He had bested some of the strongest demons unfortunate to cross their path in Angelus’ absence, but he was ready for more. Buzzing with anticipation for the next threat.

With Angelus’ return, Spike’s desire grew tenfold. Spike had been pushed aside again, disrespected. He was thirsty to prove himself to be the superior leader. Perhaps Angelus thought if he mentioned the Slayer, Spike might slow down in his quest to make a name for himself.

How wrong Angelus had been.

The idea of this all powerful obstacle only tempted his appetite. Spike was itching for a true challenge, for a proper adrenaline rush. Angelus acted as though he’d given the dog a leash, when in fact he’d dangled meat in front of the beast instead. Perhaps Angelus was content to carry on stealing candy from babies and stepping on sand castles, but it was time for Spike to move on to bigger and better things.

Spike was wrong to think that his first Slayer would have been enough to satisfy. In his naivety, Spike was certain that he would be given the respect he deserved if only he killed the Slayer. And that was true… for a time. Drusilla had become his as more than just as a sire, but as a true lover. She no longer regarded him as a pet, but as a man fit to her level. He should have been satiated. He soon learned that it didn’t matter how others viewed him. They would always underestimate him. Spike's battle was internal. A constant fight with the man he used to be. The one he never wanted to be again.

He could still remember the sights, the sounds… the smells of Beijing in 1900. Gunpowder and desperation. The rebellion of religious zealots on both sides, fighting for their own traditions, the chaos of the Boxer Rebellion—perfect for hunting.

The candle flames warmed the air in the temple. The girl that tumbled out from behind the curtains hardly looked capable of hurting anyone, but Spike didn’t need to be told she was the Slayer, he could sense it, smell it on her. Something that he had never encountered before. Spike hadn’t known what to expect during those long months that he searched far and wide for her across all continents, but once he had found her… he knew.

It wasn’t until she was moving, the swift swish of her steel splitting the air as she twirled in place, that the amount of skill she possessed became evident. The danger aroused his senses. Spike’s nostrils flared. He grinned and went to work, dodging the swing of her blade, until he was off by a hair and her steel tore into his left brow. She was quick, but so was he. Spike was no longer a fledgling, the last twenty years had all been practice for this very moment. There was something in the Slayer’s eyes that told him he would win this fight.

Then he had her, she was locked in his embrace unable to fight her way out—her sword discarded too far to be of use to her. When his fangs pierced her throat, and he drank deep and long, Spike was filled with a rush of power that he had never imagined was possible.

What followed was more than a decade of freedom and mayhem, and Spike was the demon that had brought it about. The new Slayer had been born just as the last one had died, and for the first time since his rebirth as a vampire, Spike felt it and knew it to be true. Spike couldn’t say where she had been born for certain, but that didn’t matter. She would be of no use until she was at least a teenager. Bringing about a new age of disaster was quite the feat. He’d finally made a proper name for himself, a name that struck fear in the hearts of others. Was it any wonder that he would chase such a feeling again and again?

That was only the beginning of an impressive chain of conquests. A chain about due for another link.

This new link had honey blonde hair. She was taller than his first, her legs and lips fuller as well, but she didn’t seem any less small or fragile. Yet Spike had lived long enough to know that looks could be deceiving, especially as far as the Slayer was concerned.

He was anxious to take care of this one, to finish the job before anyone had time to question his abilities. Between the aggravating chanting that had turned his warehouse into a bloody cathedral and constantly defending Dru from those that wished to thin his weak and sickly companion from the pack, Spike was murderous. It was a shame that he had to wait until the Feast of St. Vigeous to take a proper crack at the Slayer. Not that he thought he would need the extra power to best her. Even so, there was a part of him that felt the Feast was a waste. Besting a Slayer was often about timing. All Slayers knew when it was their time to go, they begged for it. Spike could see it in their eyes, a skill most vampires would never possess. With each conquest, Spike’s skill was honed until it was almost second nature. He learned to strike at that very moment it became apparent, not a second later or before.

‘Every Slayer has a death wish,’ he thought, staring, watching as her blonde hair bobbed with each short stride. ‘When will you realize yours?’

“I hope to make quick work of you,” he whispered.

From the display of her skills just moments ago, Buffy was a messy fighter, clumsy. The distraction of the fledgling from the club had been the perfect opportunity to observe her. The fact that such a young vampire had knocked her on her arse right away was comical to him. Spike had killed Slayers that were trained since they were in their nappies to be monster hunting machines. This girl didn’t fit the bill. Certainly, she had strength and agility, ingenuity even. Enough to get by, but there was something off about her. Where had she been all this time? And why hadn’t he felt her birth?

'This is the Slayer that defeated the Master?' Spike thought. 'She's the one they have to pay me to defeat? This might be just about the easiest payday I've ever had in my life.' Yet he had to admit there was some sort of skill there. She had won the fight in the end. It was much too early to tell for sure what sort of challenge she would be.

The scent of her was rich on the breeze, guiding him as he followed her down the street. He kept his distance, aware that even the Slayer had a certain sense about her, one that could feel a demon’s presence like a vice-like grip on her insides. Spike wondered how she felt him—the silent stalker hidden in the shadows. One who had ended four of her past lives, who had taken the one just before her. Did her soul feel him? Did her soul fear him?

‘Where are you going, little dove? Home I assume,’ he thought. ‘Shall I make myself known, or wait and see what lies there for me?’

“F*** it,” he whispered. “I don’t know the first thing about patience.”

He sped up, like lightning—a shadow flying, until he was just behind her.

clap clap clap

Spike sauntered forward through the shadows into the glow of a streetlamp, the sharp clang of his slow applause echoed between the grimy brick buildings. He placed a cigarette between his lips and craned his neck to set it alight.

“Well wasn’t that a show, luv?” He called out to her. The cigarette between his lips danced precariously with each syllable. “You know, it’s dangerous to walk alone… especially for one so… pretty...” She was certainly the most beautiful Slayer he’d ever encountered.

It wasn’t any surprise to Spike that she was on her own. Slayers rarely socialized. Their independence often had a way of being their greatest weakness.

He took several pulls of cancerous smoke, watching her through the grey cloud he had created. The orange embers ate their way up the shaft.

"Someone told me the party's over, but from the looks of you, I'd say it's only just beginning.”

Spike rose a brow, still scarred from the swipe of his first Slayer’s blade. The only mark he’d retained in the afterlife. All other injuries had faded to immaculate flesh, yet that scar remained. As though its purpose was to remind him of his past triumphs and goad him on for the triumphs to come.

“Y’know,” he said. “I was pretty certain I’d ended you.” He stepped forward, dropping his cigarette to the concrete and crushing it beneath his steel toed boot. “Seems like you just took an extra long vacation. How rude of you. Ever heard of leaving a notice? ‘Gone for holiday, be back in oh, say ten or fifteen years,’” Spike quipped. He grinned and tilted his head.

“Now you’ve just popped up out of nowhere to ruin the fun. I really don’t appreciate you getting my hopes up like that. It’s disappointing, luv. Though, I will say, I am looking forward to the opportunity to kill another one of you.” He shrugged leather clad shoulders. “The afterlife just isn’t the same without Slayer hunting season.”