Stoke the Fire by Emmy

Author's Notes:

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Stoke the Fire

Characters: Spike, Vi

Disclaimer: I own nothing and seek no profit from this story.

Warning: Spoilers for Season 7; adult language, dark-ish themes.

Feedback: Yes, please. Comments are adored and very appreciated.

Notes: This fic refers to the beginning of the episode Potental, and then veers *way* off-track from there. Also, that episode comes before the First's trigger was discovered. For the purposes of this story, just accept that the timing is a bit off. Call it creative license if ya want to. :)

Thanks to my betas, Gabrielle, Shona, and Missy. {{hugs them}}

Notes 2: This is dedicated to Missy, 'cause . . . well, she's got Spike's voice down, ya'll. Thanks for helping me fine-tune this fic, chica.




image capped and edited by me.

***

He had seen her watching him all day long. There were only a few of them in the house; Buffy had taken most of the potentials out to the woods for an impromptu training session. Spike wasn't sure why this one had stayed behind with the non-English speaking girls. Not that he cared. He didn't. It was just . . . disconcerting to feel her eyes on him all the time.

She walked by the living room once more, and he knew she cast him yet another long look as she passed. Rolling his eyes, he rose from the couch and headed down to the basement, trying to remember her name as he did. Ray. No. Ri? No. Dee? Bugger.

She was standing in the kitchen when he entered, her back to him as she looked out the back door. She had on another one of those stupid hats, and Spike wondered why she constantly wore one. It looked like someone had cut open a hacky-sack and shoved it over her head. Or one of those weird doilies he used to see back in the 60s and 70s. Bright, woven bits of yarn hung over lamps and cast haphazardly over tables by so-called flower people. Either way, the hats looked horrible on her, and they hid her hair. Spike liked redheads. They had spunk.

Well, usually. This one did occasionally, but not very often. Not like Red at all. Red was all fire, burning flame, and passion. This one . . . she was more like smoldering embers. She wasn't overtly hot, but stir her up and she'd cause a fire, or so Spike thought. Not that he had thought about it much. He hadn't. It was just the way she had been watching him all day.

And the smell of her fear.

He could still smell that lingering scent, pungent and strong, belying the strength that lay untapped in her small frame. She was the chosen target last night -- his prey. It had almost been like hunting, too. The demon in him had loved it. It would have been perfect, had the Slayer and her merry bunch of teenagers not been trampling through the cemetery behind them. Would have been perfect if he had been able to tear into her throat, able to drain her dry, instead of just letting her go when Buffy told him to.

He was just standing there, watching her look outside the same way she had watched him all day. Spike was still running through names, trying to remember hers, and wondering why he cared. So many bloody girls. Don't know how anyone could keep their names straight. Know I can't; too many of 'em. Rona? No. That's one of the others, the one I knocked down last night. Chloe? Nah. It's a flower, I think. Named for a bloody flower, in't she?

"Why are you staring at me?"

He blinked as she spoke, and shrugged. "Don't know. Why've you been staring at me all day?"

"You saw me?"

"Vampire. Heightened senses. Couldn't really miss it. 'Sides, you weren't exactly being covert about it."

"Sorry."

"Didn't answer my question."

She sighed. "I know."

"Gonna?"

"Last night," she said softly. "You . . . you could have killed me."

Spike stepped further into the room at those nearly whispered words, an image flashing through his mind of the training session in the cemetery. He had her pressed against him, his fangs right there. She had been so scared. Let out a scream, she did. And whimpered -- squeaked -- to boot. It'd been too long since he'd felt that kind of control. It had been him causing the fear, him doing the hunting, him making her whimper like a little girl scared in the dark. Him. Not the First's bloody puppet. "Yeah. I could've. Could've killed you without batting an eye. Don't care about the fair fight, remember? What of it?"

"Why didn't you?"

"What?" he stared at her. "Why the fuck would you ask me that? How could I have killed you with Buffy and her bloody army of little girls not five feet away?"

She shook her head, and turned then, meeting his eyes. "No. This is all coming out wrong."

"So say it right."

"If they hadn't been there . . . would you have killed me?"

Spike wasn't exactly sure how to answer that. His demon was howling, telling him to kill her now, to let that be his answer. His soul, on the other hand . . . his soul was telling him that no, he would not have killed her, even if Buffy hadn't been around to stop him. Spike didn't quite believe the soul; he was more ready to believe his demon, but maybe, just maybe he wouldn't have killed her. He took an unneeded breath and shrugged again. "Don't know. But, I'm not the vampire to ask, pet. I've not been normal for a couple years now, least not compared to other vamps. Got myself chipped, then went off and got a soul. Not the one to ask about killing humans these days."

"But you did. Xander told us."

Bloody whelp. Spike closed his eyes and tried to figure out how to explain the First and the trigger.

"Was different. The First got to me, got inside my head. Didn't have that problem last night."

"Oh."

Her voice held something, an emotion, that Spike could not quite put his finger on. His eyes narrowed and he concentrated on her scent, only to be rewarded with an overwhelming sense of confusion. Rose? Bugger it. What is this girl's name? Daisy? Violet? Violet! Vi, that's it. 'Bout bloody time.

"Look, Vi, don't know what you want me to say here."

"I could die anytime. I mean, this is the Hellmouth. There are mega-weird things happening; the First is going to try to kill us . . . or eat us . . . I'm not too clear on what it is going to do. Not to mention that my Watcher's dead. Oh, and the fact that some of the girls who came here for protection are already dead. Those Bringer things have crashed in here quite often, and there are probably more of those nasty white vampires running around. You know, the ones that look kinda like bats that have actually flown out of hell?"

Spike blinked. That was, he realized, the first time he'd ever heard her speak past saying a few sentences. Her little tirade was a bit fatalistic, but he could understand that; she was not wrong. "You're right. You could die at any time. Such is life, or at least life in Sunnydale."

"Did you enjoy it? Killing people?"

She was looking right at him when she asked, and seemed not to realize how personal a question that was. He debated between telling her the truth and just walking out of the kitchen the way he should have done before she became aware of his presence. It was the look in her eyes, the way she seemed to truly need to know, that made his decision for him. His head tilted slightly to one side, he told her, "Yes."

"Oh."

"Did you expect me to say something else?"

She shook her head slowly. "No. But . . . um, then does that mean you enjoyed last night? Chasing me?"

Spike's eyes narrowed once more. This chit of a girl's catching on right fast.

"Why do you ask?" he questioned carefully.

"You didn't seem to."

That caught him off guard. What did she mean, he didn't seem to? "What makes you think I didn't enjoy it?"

She shrugged. "You didn't say much. And . . . and you seemed kinda bored."

Truth was, Spike had been far from bored holding her captive. He was a vampire. She had been scared. Really scared at some points during the actual hunting part of the night, when he was chasing her, stalking her. He had quite enjoyed the way she kept her stake tucked tight into her chest like she was afraid of dropping it. The smell of her fear mixed with the innocence that surrounded her all the time -- the purity she practically reeked of -- and it drove him damn near insane with wanting to taste her. How could he not have enjoyed that? It had almost been like old times. There had been a small, solitary moment when he thought that maybe the past three years had been a bad dream and that Dru was waiting just up ahead, ready and willing to help him bask in the kill.

He had most definitely enjoyed chasing her through the cemetery. Sure, the enjoyment factor had lessened when Buffy and the rest of the girl-herd had joined them, but he'd still had Vi trapped in his arms, his true face mere inches from her neck. The smell of her fear and innocence had almost been too much at that point. His demon had been so loud, expressing his need to bite her, and it had been so hard to resist. So hard. He might have a soul, but he was still a vampire.

That was something Buffy never seemed to understand, never seemed to quite grasp. She thought that just because he had a soul he was automatically good. Seemed she forgot all about the humans that murdered their neighbors on a daily basis because they played their stereo too loud. Or about the gun-toting idiots on a power trip who shot innocent witches inside their bedrooms. Having a soul did not make Spike a good . . . person, and he knew it.

Mentally shaking himself out of his thoughts, he focused on Vi once more. "I enjoyed it."

She blinked. "You mean that."

He stalked across the kitchen then, and pressed her back into the door. "Bloody right I mean it. You talk about how you could die any minute, but you still haven't grasped it, have you?"

"What?"

"The big bad wolf, the buggering boogey man, whatever you want to call the thing you thought lived under your bed when you were just a little speck of a girl . . . it's right outside the door. And I'm inside. Best you not be forgetting that."

"But you . . . Buffy said you--"

"Oh, I won't kill you, Vi. But the point is -- I could."

She pushed against his shoulder then, against his chest. Spike didn't move. She kept pushing, kept trying to move him, but did not truly try to fight him off. Spike realized then that she had not understood any of what Buffy had been trying to tell them last night. Probably none of them had. Stupid idiotic bints. Gonna get themselves killed without even realizing there's a fight to be had.

He growled at her, slipping into his vampire visage easily. "Stop fucking around, Violet. If you want me to move, move me. You've got a Slayer inside you, floating around somewhere in your blood. Don't matter that she's not activated yet. Don't mean she's not there. Find her. Use her. Become her."

She just stared at him for a moment before trying to push him away once more. Spike grabbed her wrists and leaned in, inhaling deeply the scent of her growing fear. "You smell like sunshine, little girl. Sunshine, peaches, and innocence. Want to eat you up, I do."

He licked her neck, long and wet, making sure his fangs trailed along her skin as he did. No blood broke the surface, but it rose slightly under the pressure of his teeth. Growling low in his throat, Spike nipped lightly at her throat, barely hard enough to be called more than a pinch. "Bet you'd taste like sunshine, too, wouldn't you? All pure and innocent . . . can I taste you, little girl?"

His lips trailed along her neck once more, and she whimpered. Spike grinned against her skin; he was scaring her. The smell of her fear was strong enough, but it was the tension in her body that best alert him to her state of mind. She was hanging on to the edge as hard as she could, trying not to fall over. She just needed a little push. "I could keep you. Bring you back like me."

"No."

"No?"

"No," she repeated.

"You gonna stop me then, push me away. Stake me?"

Vi pushed against his body once more, harder this time, but not nearly hard enough. Spike leaned in once more, dragging his fangs across the delicate skin of her neck, pausing at her pulse point. She whimpered again, and Spike bit down just enough to break the skin. She tensed, then froze, not moving or breathing at all. His tongue darted out, licking at the small droplets of blood that seeped from the wound. "Mmmm," he murmured. "Aren't you the nummy treat."

She came to life then, throwing her body weight around to her advantage like a good fighter should. She twisted her way out of Spike's grasp and kicked his feet out from under him, causing him to land in a heap on the floor. "Do not do that again," she said firmly.

He grinned up at her, and let his face return to his more human features. "Knew you had it in you."

"You bit me."

"You let me."

"You bit me!"

"And then you stopped me."

She blinked. "That was just a game?"

"That was a lesson."

Her hand went to her neck, and she trembled a little as her fingers brushed the small wound. Spike could tell she was about to forget why she was angry -- what she had accomplished by getting angry -- and that just wouldn't do. He leapt easily to his feet and pinned her against the door once more. Dragging his tongue over her neck once more, catching the last of the blood drops as he did. He licked his lips as he lifted his head to meet her eyes. "You redheads are all the same, full of fire. Just gotta know how to fan the flame."

Her eyes narrowed. "You're a pig."

"No, luv. I'm a vampire," he leaned in, his lips inches from hers. "And just then . . . just then, you were a Slayer. Knocked me right off my feet, laid down the law. A Slayer."

She blinked as he pulled away, releasing her. Spike turned and started to walk to the basement door. "You remember that," he called over his shoulder. "You remember how easily you got away from me when you really wanted to. Next time the house is attacked by demons, Bringers, whatever . . . you remember and you fight. Now's not the time to be contemplating death or when you're gonna buy it. Now's the time for fighting."

He said nothing more as he pulled open the door and walked down the stairs to his makeshift bedroom. Vi didn't follow him. Spike sat down on the bed and lit a cigarette, inhaling sharply as he tried to get the smell of her out of his nose, the taste of her off his tongue. Fear. Innocence. Peaches. Sunshine. Just the kind of girl he used to kill. Used to. He closed his eyes. Buggering hell, but she tasted good. All that power under the surface. Gonna need twice as much blood today with her on my tongue. Didn't enjoy last night, my arse.

He was still trying to get rid of her taste when Buffy and the others returned. Later, as he helped Buffy continue to train them, Spike couldn't help but notice that Vi was a little more alert, a little more focused on the task at hand. And, when he had her in his grasp once more, she was quicker than any of the other Slayers-in-Training when it came to getting rid of him.

Spike smirked at her when she extended her hand to help him up off the ground. "What'd I tell you?" he whispered as he let her help him up. "Just needed to fan your flame a bit."

End fic.

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