(Wicked and) Lazy - Part Two
DISCLAIMER: The song referenced is by X-Press 2, featuring the vocal stylings of David Byrne, late of the Talking Heads.
Giles was at peace. His beloved nestled against him; the tastes of the wine, cigarette, and his Anyanka mingled on his tongue; his friend and his dear Buffy were happy together on the other side of the table. It was so very good to be Rupert Giles at that moment.
Then he saw Buffy tense and whisper something to Spike; the two were looking off into the other room, but Giles couldn't see the object of their gazes. At any rate, he would bet a thousand pounds that evil deeds were a-doing.
Buffy moved back to her chair, her hand reaching for her purse, and Spike leaned forward conspiratorially. "Three vamps on the hunt in the main room, Rupes. We're on it."
"We'll just wait here for you then," Giles said, his hand idly playing with Anya's soft hair.
"You ARE a wicked, lazy git. Don't want to waste the last of your fag, yeah?" Spike grinned, then he and Buffy took off.
Anya sat up, and Giles swallowed his quick protest at losing her closeness. "Giles dear, do you want to go help?"
"Not really, darling. Those two could take out three mere vamps in a couple of minutes. With their eyes closed."
She smiled at him. "So you don't want to risk your life unnecessarily? That's good. I was getting worried, what with the sudden desire to smoke."
"Too much to live for. I love you," he said gently, then kissed her. It felt so liberating to be able to say it whenever he liked, as much as he liked. "I love you, Anyanka."
"Oh, Rupie, love you too," she said, her brown eyes going darker in just the way he adored. She kissed him back, and he luxuriated in the sensation of love and lust mingling, just as the tastes of wine and tobacco had done.
They pulled back a little and smiled at each other. It was strange: his senses were oddly heightened. The tastes were so strong; too, the fragrance of his lover and the dark, smoky walls enclosing them filled him. Then there were the sounds. From the next room he heard a shriek then a crash, which must mean Buffy and Spike had given chase. From the next table he heard snippets of an incomprehensible conversation--"I prefer the sapphic 'ship, myself," said a man to his female companions. Whatever that meant.
The candle-flame leaped. Even in that dim light, he could see-- oh, bugger.
Anya whispered, "Rupert, there's another vampire left in that corner. I think he's preparing to feed on that girl."
"I just saw, darling. Guess I'd better do something about it." He looked mournfully at his cigarette, which still had a few good drags left, then crushed it out. Duty was duty.
***
Spike grinned as he and Buffy leapt up the steps into Villiers Street. The pathetic little vamps had never seen anything like his warrior-woman; the minute she whipped out her stake, they'd bolted, knocking over a wine-barrel in their flight. Good thing, really. He hadn't fancied breaking chairs or heads in such a fine establishment as that. Now they might actually get to go back--
Once they'd found those toothy pillocks.
She stood in the center of the street, her eyes scanning the crowd. Gone was any sign of his girl Buffy; this was the Slayer. Spike stood back and watched her, his duty now as well as his pleasure. She ignored all the distraction, the noises and the people, which had shaken her on the way in. She was hunting.
"Down there!" She took off running toward the Embankment, and Spike followed, doing his best to shield her from the irritated passers-by she bumped in her headlong pursuit. She stopped at the fenced and locked boundary of the Embankment Gardens. "Give me a boost, honey."
Spike braced and set his hands as if to help a lady onto a horse. She stepped up daintily, then sailed over the fence. He clambered over with far less grace-- bloody hell! His new suit jacket had torn on the railing. That did it; he was going back to sodding leather for all occasions.
He started sprinting as soon as he hit the ground on the other side. Buffy had a head-start, and she was making good time even in those sexy and impractical sandals. He could see the three vamps ahead, and he started counting, one, two-- right, the third just veered off. He'd take that little arse-wipe.
Spike burst through a hedge, then used a low branch on one of the trees to propel himself faster and higher. The momentum helped him get just a bit of a drop on his target, and his knee went into the vamp's back. Ah, nothing like the sound of a demon's face scraping pavement.
"What you trying, man--" the vampire began. Spike sighed: not even enough style to waste a quip on. He staked the target with dispatch, then got up and dusted his trousers. What had the world come to, he mused, with so many sad little excuses for a once-proud evil race running about. Hardly made it worth his or his golden girl's time to interrupt their night out--
Then he heard her scream of rage.
Almost before the last note had sounded, he was back through the hedge and at her side. Only one vamp was left, unsurprisingly, and that one cowered against a bench along the walkway. "What happened, love?"
"That little bastard broke the heel off my new shoe!" Buffy spat. She kicked off both sandals, then with raised stake, advanced on her prey. "This isn't just about my sacred duty now, mister. This is a woman's righteous vengeance."
Spike sprawled on the opposite bench. Might as well get a good view for the display. He glanced at his watch; timing it would be a nice touch for his report. Right-- a couple of kicks, a twist, a head-snap, stake, then poof. Eight seconds. "If you were riding a bronc in a rodeo, pet, you'd have won a great bucket of cash."
"What?" Still angry, Buffy turned on him. He smiled at her; she expelled a deep breath and with it, he saw, most of the rage. She started to laugh, then came over and sat on his lap again. He cuddled her close. "Oh, Spike. We're never going to be able to just go out and have a good time."
He kissed the top of her head. "Don't know about that. Didn't have to kill anyone at Drury Lane last night, did you? Got to enjoy all the singing and dancing without accompaniment of dust or demons. 'Cept for me next to you in the box, of course."
"I know. But on our way home I did have to stake that vamp just off Covent Garden whatsit."
"That place always attracts a bad element. Read your history books. Why, in 1692, which, might I remind you, was two centuries before my time--"
She kissed him to make him shut up, and he was happy to participate. Then she sighed. "We'd better get back to Giles and Anya. At this point, I could go for some of that red stuff you were drinking."
"Right then." He helped her up, then watched her mournful face as she deliberately broke the heel off her other sandal. "Do you need me to carry you, love? The shoe trauma and what all."
"I don't think so, Spike. I'm not going to cater to all those bizarre knight-and-his-lady fantasies you have."
"That's not what you said last night."
She thwapped his shoulder, then slipped on her mutilated footwear. It was sad, that-- she'd been so happy in her new shoes, and she'd looked so pretty in them. Ah well, he couldn't feel too distressed at the moment. Look where he was.
He and his love were in a garden in the midst of a beautiful city. Even in the dim lamplight he could see the ornamental plantings, the blooms, the symmetry. The traffic on the Embankment was close, but they were sheltered from it here. And if he listened very closely, underneath the sounds of humans and cars, he could hear the lapping of the Thames against the river wall. So peaceful--
"Spike! Oh my God, Spike, you ruined another jacket!" Buffy held up his torn suit-coat accusingly. "I can't take you anywhere, can I."
"It can be repaired, Buffy." He took her hand and placed it on his arm. All manner of things could be repaired, with love and time.
***
"Sorry, sorry, we'll make good the repairs to the table," Giles said to the bartender, as he sidled his way toward the door. The little vampire had escaped after the initial scuffle in the darkened room. Giles was trying to follow, but all these damn people kept getting in his bloody way.
"Be careful, sweetie, and I'll deal with this," Anya said, then she planted herself between Giles and the member of staff. He heard her begin the intimidation with "So, do you want us to pay for the table, or would you prefer that we and our friends allow your patrons to be murdered? As I see it, WE should be billing YOU for the security service--"
Giles laughed out loud, then slipped through the door. He could see the little vamp heading up the stairs: time to give chase. Thank God he'd only had half of his glass of Merlot.
Sprinting up the stairs and into the street, he caught the vamp by the arm and spun him around. The demon growled, then punched Giles across the cobblestones into a heap of trashbags. The impact of his fall crushed the rubbish, and he could feel something damp and distinctly unpleasant on his neck. The smell was of--aged fish-paste? Damn, damn, damn. And bugger.
On the other hand, the rubbish had cushioned his fall. No broken head today, hurrah.
He jumped up, then charged the stupid creature; elbowing it in the nose just to pay it back for the trash incident, he then shoved it against the wall. The vampire snarled, "You're going to die tonight. I'm going to drain you dry, and--"
"Really, just stop talking." Giles shook a stake out of his sleeve and held it in position. The vampire startled, then kicked out. The stake went flying. Oh, bloody hell.
The little vampire snickered, then gathered himself for another attack. But "Tosser, what do you think you're doing!" rang out from down the street, and Giles saw Spike and Buffy running toward him through the crowd. Spike put on a burst of speed, reached the little vampire first, and proceeded to pummel it with a barrage of fists and fairly inventive curses.
Giles took that opportunity to fetch his stake. "Send the bastard over here, man!" Spike did so with a very nice kick to the little vampire's chin, and Giles staked the creature with a great sense of pleasure.
And there they stood, amidst the night-people and clubbers and tourists watching them. Spike had a huge rip in his jacket, Buffy's shoes were destroyed, and it was definitely rank fish-paste on his suit and his neck. Giles started to laugh, and he couldn't seem to stop.
"Rupes, I repeat-- what did you think you were doing?" Spike said impatiently.
"Oh. That was for me? I thought you were talking to the vampire!" Giles wheezed out, then lapsed back into hysterics.
Buffy and Spike looked at each other. He's gone mad, their expressions read. Then Buffy giggled, and with a sigh Spike succumbed too. Giles fell on Spike's shoulder, and the three clung together as they laughed.
"Uh-huh. So you think this is funny, do you." The shrill voice sobered Giles immediately, and he looked up to see his beloved at the top of the stairs. She was carrying their bottles of wine, and she didn't look pleased in the slightest. In fact, there was a distinct hint of vengeance demon in the air.
"Darling, I'm sorry," Giles said, and he moved toward her.
"Rupert, stop right there." Naturally he did as he was told. "All right. I assumed that once again you heroes have killed the nasties?" They all nodded, and Anya continued, "Great. Well, I have managed to save the wine, we are not banned from the bar, and we don't have to pay for the table you two broke."
Buffy began, "We didn't--"
"Quiet." To Giles's lack of surprise, Buffy stopped; his beloved was a powerful presence. She said, "However, we've lost our table, and you guys look terrible. And, darling, you need a shower right now. It's time to go home, have our wine, maybe watch a video." Then she smiled.
"God, how I love you, Anyanka." He reached her side and kissed her, fish-paste odour be damned. His night was still perfect.
***
It was perfectly annoying, Buffy thought, and she closed the dictionary with a snap. How could she be expected to find a word like "som-something" when she didn't know how to spell it in the first place.
That music wasn't helping her concentrate, either. Anya had put on some thumping techno thing, explaining that it always calmed her down: vengeance demons, really. Showered and changed, Giles and Spike were in the kitchen, preparing snacks to go with the wine and video. And here stood Buffy in Giles's study, having to look up words her lover used in casual conversation.
She smiled to herself. Not really that bad an evening, if she thought about it.
Anya appeared at the doorway, gesturing for Buffy to follow her. Puzzled, she went down the hallway to just outside the kitchen, where Anya stopped, whispering, "I caught them doing this yesterday morning, and it's so cute."
Buffy peeked in. Giles and Spike were getting out trays, finding snacks, napkins-- preparing the goodies, just as she'd expected. What she hadn't expected was that the two of them would be dancing to this most un-Spike-and-Giles music. Really well, too.
Giles, barefoot in sweatshirt and jeans, did a little thing with his hips that Buffy actually didn't want to know he was able to do, then moved to pick up a bag of crisps. "Ah, I'm wicked and I'm lazy," he sang along with the vocalist.
"Oh, don't you want to save me," Spike followed. He took a pull on his cigarette, placed a bowl so that Giles could pour in the crisps, then blew out in time with the music. His open dress-shirt fluttered when he rocked, then spun. Buffy's mouth watered a little: that was hers, all hers.
"Hard men, hard lives, hard keeping it all inside," they sang together, then did a slide in perfect unison. Good God, Buffy thought.
Anya pulled at Buffy's sleeve, then pointed to the stairs. "Better not let them catch us here, they'd be embarrassed," she whispered. Buffy nodded, smiling.
She got it now. This was comfortable. This was her normal.
***
Spike stopped dancing and cocked his head, listening. Yeah, footsteps were retreating. He smiled: perfectly planned and executed, really. He'd be bloody surprised if the women didn't pick the shortest video in the collection.
"They gone?" Giles mouthed, and when Spike nodded, Rupert plucked the cigarette out of his fingers and took a long, long drag. "I didn't get to finish mine at the bar," he explained as he handed it back.
Spike crushed it out in an ashtray, then picked up the wine and the glasses. Rupert collected the tray of food. They bowed to each other, then strode out the door toward the rest of their evening, to the women who'd saved them.
And David Byrne still sang on the stereo, "I'm wicked and I'm lazy...don't you want to save me...."
THE END