Chapter 8: Ice Queens
“Once things have settled down here, I’ll be able to give you an exact date,” Sam Zabuto said into the phone. “All I can promise just now is that if Kendra can be there to help you, she will be.”
“Thank you, Sam,” Giles replied. “That’s all we can ask.”
“You haven’t told me how the other help is shaping up. Is William the Bloody as tough as advertised?”
“I thought you’d met him.”
“I have, but I’ve never seen him fight. He’s the primary source of Robin’s noted prowess, so I assume there is some similarity of style there?”
Giles leaned back in his desk chair to bring the sparring match taking place in the library into his line of sight. “Quite a bit, though Robin obviously lacks the advantages of natural speed and agility a vampire brings into a situation.”
“Or a slayer.” Sam chuckled. “It doesn’t hurt that Spike’s had over a century of experience in the field, besides. I’m sure that counts for a fair amount.”
Giles winced as his slayer was knocked to the floor by a kick she clearly didn’t see coming, but should have. “To be honest, Sam, Spike’s experience training Robin is what has been of greatest benefit thus far. He’s making greater progress with Buffy than I ever have, in some respects. Of course, his familiarity with our foes of the moment is useful, as well.”
In the library, Spike offered a hand to pull Buffy to her feet. As soon as she was vertical again, he stepped back, and they began circling each other again, each looking for an opening. “You gotta understand how he thinks, Slayer.”
“Like a sadistic serial killer?”
“Bugger thinks he’s an artist, that Dru was his great masterpiece.”
Buffy frowned and dodged a kick. “What’s that got to do with fighting him?” She moved in for an attack of her own. “I’m not planning on a showdown in a convent.”
“That’s the point, pet. He didn’t have to fight her.” Spike ducked away from the oncoming punch. “He’s not a fighter, not like you and me. It’s the mind games and torture that get him off. So that’s where he’s had the most practice.”
“Spike, I’ve taken hits from him. He’s not exactly weak.”
“No. He’s strong.” Punch to the shoulder. “He’s quick.” Punch to the gut. “But he’s not–” Spike failed to dodge a retaliatory left cross. “Good! –as creative on his feet as he is when he’s got time to think about it.”
She took a step back to avoid a kick, then came back swinging. “I think your information is a little out of date. I’ve seen him fight, too, you know. He’s pretty lethal.”
Spike went in for what she thought would be another punch at her gut, but suddenly turned upward as he reached her. The unexpected uppercut to her jaw left her reeling. He took a step back, giving her time to recover. “He’s also direct about it, and I doubt that’s changed. Straight punches. Obvious attacks. A bit bland, really. That match what you’ve seen?”
Buffy rubbed her jaw while glaring at her opponent. “Uh-huh. Also, ow!”
“He won’t come up with any surprises in a straight fight, Slayer. He’ll be looking for a way to make it about him, about getting his jollies. And those don’t come from trading blows like this. For him, gaining the upper hand isn’t about knocking you on your ass and bruising you up ’til you slow down. It’s about control, getting you into a corner as soon as possible. He wants you where you can’t fight, and he can run the show at his own pace.”
“And give himself time to think,” she whispered, understanding. “So if I can keep him engaged and moving…”
“You’ll get the opening you need, sooner or later. In a straight fight, you’ve got the advantage. The trick is to keep it.” He stepped close to her and pulled her hand away from her injury to inspect it. “You’ll live. Might need to ice it, though.”
Buffy grunted and pointed toward Giles’ office. “Mini-fridge under the desk.”
Spike went to the office and pulled an ice tray from the mini-fridge’s upper compartment.
Giles handed him a towel from a nearby shelf, then covered the mouthpiece of the phone he held long enough to say, “Sam Zabuto sends his regards.”
Spike grinned. “Haven’t seen Zabuto since the funeral.” He held out a hand for the phone.
“One moment, Sam,” Giles said into the phone. “Spike wishes to say hello.” He relinquished the handset without waiting for a reply.
“Zabuto!” Spike greeted warmly. “I hear your girl got the call, and she might be coming up this way.”
“Soon enough, if Saint Catherine Parish can spare her for a few days,” Sam replied. “The California Hellmouth unfortunately doesn’t have the corner on the market, as you well know.”
“We demons need to keep things interesting for you lot.” Spike constructed an ice pack with the towel and the contents of the tray while he spoke. “Listen, mate, about that favor I owe you…”
“Neither of you owes me a thing, as I’ve told Robin a dozen times. Crowley was a friend. It was the least I could do. If anything were owed, I’d consider it paid by both of you going to Sunnydale to help Rupert and his charge. Paying it forward, as Hammond wrote.”
“Fair enough,” Spike said, putting the ice tray back into the freezer compartment. “Tell your girl to bring her dancing shoes, Zabuto. It’s likely to get rough up here. We’ll be in touch.”
“Take care of yourself, Spike. And keep an eye on Robin.”
“Always.” Spike handed the phone back to Giles and took the ice pack out to the library, where Buffy was leaning against the checkout counter, rubbing her jaw and studying him. “What?”
“You know Kendra’s watcher?”
“Met a few times.” He again moved her hand away from her injury, this time to hold the ice pack to it. “He helped us out with some things when Crowley’s health started going. His recommendation letter got Robin a scholarship when doctor bills were eating through Crowley’s savings. Owe him big for that one.”
“Oh. So he’s not nearly the stick in the mud his slayer is?”
“He brought her up by the book, as close to the letter as he could manage. Doesn’t mean he’s any less loyal to his friends. Zabuto’s a good egg.”
“At least there are still some people out there whose work doesn’t ruin everything.” Buffy put her hand over his, as a hint for him to withdraw, leaving the ice pack in her hand.
Spike’s hand lingered under hers. “How’s your mum faring, pet?”
“Touch and go. She’s curious, which is good. But she seems to think she can work around it, like that I should be able to schedule slaying around chores and homework, which is less good. She’s still not quite getting it.” Her eyes drifted down to the ice pack being held at the edge of her vision. “Um, I got this.”
Realizing what was going on, he pulled his hand away abruptly. “Guess I’ll take off. You seem to be done for the night.”
He’d only taken one step away when her voice stopped him. “You’re right, you know.”
“About what?”
“Angel wanting time to think, time to come up with some fun torture. He’s been laying low for a while, not doing much but leaving creepy sketches in random places and showing up to taunt us. Meanwhile, we’re just waiting around, wondering what he’ll do next. I think he’s probably planning something.”
“You’re the one not quite getting it, Slayer. He’s not planning to torture you. This is the torture.” Spike shrugged. “Stage one, at any rate.”
“That’s a comforting thought.”
Spike gestured toward her bruised jaw before turning to walk out of the library. “Clearly, I’m not here to comfort you.”
“Clearly,” Buffy agreed with an eye roll. When she she was alone in the library, she pulled the ice pack away from her jaw to frown at it. “Except that you kinda just did.”
*~*~*
November, 1978
“It’d be easier if you’d let me carry you,” Spike grumbled as he crutched Nikki to a park bench.
She winced at the pain from her ankle at every step. “No way. No demon in this city is gonna see the slayer looking helpless.”
“Except this one.”
“You don’t count.”
“Thanks, love. That’s what I always wanted to hear from a slayer.” He carefully negotiated the turn to get their backs to the bench seat. “We gonna have to hail a cab?”
“No. I can walk home.” She dropped onto the bench. “Just give me a minute.”
“You’re a bloody stubborn bint, you know that?”
“That’s what you love about me.” Nikki felt around in her coat pockets. “I know I’ve got a bandage in here. …Somewhere.”
“Along with a half dozen weapons, a couple of Robin’s toys, and a pack of gum, no doubt.” Spike sat down beside her and gently brought her injured leg up to rest on his lap, turning her to face him across the bench. “Are you sure that coat isn’t enchanted?”
She laughed as she reached into an interior pocket. “There it is! Oh, wait. That’s just the kitchen sink.”
Spike rolled his eyes. “One of these nights, you’re gonna get hurt and actually take it seriously.”
“And ruin your night, too? That’s stupid.” Nikki pulled a rolled up elastic bandage from the interior pocket and tossed it into his hand. “Stop looking so worried, Spike. It’s only a sprain. It’ll be healed up in a day or two.”
“Mostly worried about you being reckless enough for it to happen,” he mumbled as he pushed up the leg of her jeans and untied the top of her boot. “You didn’t have to jump off that bin that way, love. Could’ve just landed in front of it and run a couple steps over to that bloke.”
“But making the long jump and staking him before I hit the ground looked good, didn’t it? And it intimidated his friends.”
Spike looked up at her with an eyebrow raised, then slowly back to the ankle he was wrapping “Just stick the landing next time, alright?”
She leaned in close to him to whisper. “You know, it’s possible I was just showing off for my guy.”
He shook his head. “Always knew there was a downside to patrolling with you. I just thought it was my reputation that was in danger.”
Nikki reached out to lift his chin with her fingertips, bringing them eye to eye. “Worth it.”
His expression softened into a smile. “You think so, do you?”
“Every. Single. Night.”
When Spike broke from the heated kiss that followed, he immediately resumed his work on her ankle. “Should hurry up and get you home. This could use some ice.”
Nikki fell back against the bench, watching him with a look of amusement. “Home, huh? For ice?”
“Yeah. For the swelling.”
Her gaze drifted lower, and she fought back a laugh. “Well, if I’d known ice would fix it…”
“What?”
“Nothing.” She tried to shift her tone into something more casual. “I just don’t see the rush. It’s a nice night. We could hang out here for a while. You know, so I can rest my ankle.”
Spike’s eyes stayed on his work. He made a vain effort to make his voice sound threatening. “You try it, Slayer, and I’ll have you right here on this bench, with nothing to cover you but that magic coat of yours.”
Her eyes darted around the park. “That would be worse than someone seeing me being carried.”
“Would finally teach you not to kiss me like that in public, wouldn’t it?” he retorted while he secured the bandage. “Bloody tease.”
Nikki finally gave in to her urge to laugh. “Fine. We’ll go home …and take an ice pack upstairs.”
myrabeth 