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jedibuttercupT; B:tVS/Fast and the Furious 'verse; Spike POV; 1700 words. Post-S5 AU. 3rd part of an endless road to rediscover. For ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
twistedshorts.
Spike had been a little less sanguine about visiting Los Angeles than he'd let on to the Slayer.
Title: nothing in this world I wouldn't do
Author: Jedi Buttercup
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not.
Rating: T/PG-13
Spoilers: AU post "The Gift" for Buffy; The Fast and the Furious (2001)
Notes: 3rd part of an endless road to rediscover. Spike's POV, since the "mechanic" mention in the previous part got some commentary. :) Title again by Avicii.
Spike had been a little less sanguine about visiting Los Angeles than he'd let on to the Slayer. 1700 words.
Spike had been a little less sanguine about visiting Los Angeles than he'd let on to the Slayer. Not that he figured she was completely in the dark, but it suited them both-- for different reasons-- not to acknowledge Captain Forehead's existence any more than strictly necessary. But what was he going to do? He'd made a promise to a lady. And even if the danger was technically past... he'd seen the look on Buffy's face when she'd told the Scoobies I love you all, but I'm sorry. When she'd climbed that tower after knocking the fight out of Glory, only to freeze at the sight of blood on her sister: that thousand-mile stare that told him the end of the dance was in view. It hadn't even entirely gone away when he'd hastened to tell her it was all Doc's, that he hadn't failed in the one thing she'd asked of him after all.
He'd seen that look before. Had even wanted-- once upon a time--to see it on her. But it had been longer than he'd care to admit since it had been the furthest thing from his idea of a good day. And if ferrying her down the road to Angel's town so she could keep herself anchored to something helped stave it off a little longer, well, that wasn't really a choice, now was it? Anyone who thought otherwise could just bugger right off.
Buffy let him chat about anything and nothing on the long drives down and back, let him take her and Dawn out around LA, even let him take just her to see the sights when their sperm donor changed the schedule around last minute for whatever reason. It was as if the git had never spent years lavishing prezzies on his eldest, taking her to Ice Capades, and calling her his princess; whether because she reminded him more of Joyce now or because the little he'd heard over the last few years made him think she'd gone mad, Hank Summers had gone all in on spoiling Dawn and treating Buffy like a bad influence. But sometimes, on one of those bad days, Spike could still get the Slayer to crack a faint smile at a demon poker game or a sunset skyline or a fairy tale from his past more nonsense and trickery than death and destruction.
It had been on one of those days that they'd come across Toretto's Market, exploring Echo Park on a summer evening when the shadows stretched long over the streets, the smog diffused the sun's setting rays in a mimosa-coloured haze, and the Slayer seemed poised on the threshold between the narrow existence of her teenage years and an unknown future full of possibilities ahead of her. In his ideal world, she'd find her new home in the dark with him; but Spike knew her too well to think she'd ever choose that willingly. And he didn't want her caged or broken. Tarnished, maybe; a little less hypocritical about her preferences. But she wouldn't be Buffy if she wasn't… well… effulgent.
He hadn't realised just how far her glow had actually dimmed, though, until they walked into that shop and he heard Buffy's breath catch. Human ages were sort of abstract to a vampire, especially one who'd come of age in an era when bared ankles were scandalous, but the girl with the long, smooth brown hair standing behind the counter looked to be in the same age bracket as the Slayer-- and nearly on the verge of bursting into messy tears. Something in Buffy sat up and took note, and just like that, she was bossing Spike around and making decisions again like she'd never tried to hand all her responsibilities over to other people.
Curiously enough, though, she didn't wave him off and send him on his not-so-merry way; instead, she asked him to stick around and help the new girl-- Mia, apparently; so now he was going to be a bystander to the spectacle of the Slayer repeatedly calling someone else 'Mine'-- run some kind of local coachworks. Besides being male and driving a classic car, he didn't know what might have made her assume that that was in his skillset, but again, far be it from him to tell the current lodestar of his unlife 'no' about anything that would increase his odds of seeing her. His Master Vampire skills had been getting a little rusty, anyway; he knew his way around a ledger well enough, and he had a few local Loose-skinned and Brachen contacts that did know mechanics and could use the legal employment.
There were neutral bars in the city, too; the Transuding Furies had set up shop thereabouts, and a bloke with cash in his pocket could get some very nice blood cocktails if he wasn't picky about the company. The evil law firm Angelus had taken as his white whale did a sound business in necrotempered glass and a sun cream that gave vampires an extra thirty seconds or so before combusting in full sun, or a good half hour in twilight conditions. And Buffy's new galpal lived less than half a mile from the market where they worked, and just over three from the garage where Spike had set up a cot in a blacked-out storage room. He hadn't even lived much closer to the Slayer back in Sunnyhell.
Alas for his peace of mind, Angel's little do-gooder firm had also set up shop only a few miles away. A month or so after Spike loaded up the DeSoto and left his crypt behind, word of his presence finally trickled back to the souled vampire's ear. Spike turned away from locking the door of D-T Precision, ready to make the trek to 1327 E Kensington to share a beer and then maybe head over to casa Summers to spend a few hours lurking within view of the Niblet's window, and looked up to see a familiar incoming scowl attached to a beefy form in a button-up and leather jacket.
"What the hell are you doing here, Spike?" Angel growled, advancing with his usual disrespect for personal space. "Breaking into an autobody shop? That DeSoto of yours finally give up the ghost?"
"Hello to you too, Angel," Spike said, baring his teeth in something that could only charitably be called a smile. "Doing well, thanks. You see these keys in my hand? Proprietor of this place now, as a matter of fact."
Angel gave a dismissive look to the keychain Spike rattled in his hand and pointed a finger at him. "A likely story. You think you can just come back to my town, no invitations, no announcements, after all the crap you pulled the last time? If you're planning something new...."
"You'll stake me yourself. Or, no; make me the subject of one of your cases. Better yet, report me to Buffy." Spike feigned a yawn. "Don't strain yourself; Slayer knows I'm here. Made the lady a promise."
"And what promise would Buffy believe from you?" Angel snorted.
The git didn't seem aware that Buffy herself was around yet, and Spike wasn't about to enlighten him. But Dawn's relocation was no secret. "Said I'd protect her sister, didn't I? Joyce's ex got custody, and the bloke doesn't even know enough not to invite strangers in willy-nilly." Not to mention the chances of Dawn herself getting frustrated and slipping out alone of an evening, a not inconsiderable risk with a Summers woman.
"Dawn's in Los Angeles?" Angel looked surprised at the news and even less happy. "Wait. Dawn's in Los Angeles and you're protecting her? What could possibly be in it for you?"
Spike snorted. "Besides the dosh and a more comfortable place to sleep? Hellmouth was getting a bit stale; a lot more opportunities around here. But don't worry, I've got no desire to challenge you for Master of the City. Too much work."
Angel simmered, but there wasn't anything he could do, not with Buffy's theoretical blessing hanging over Spike's head, and they both knew it. "I am going to call her. If you're lying, or even if you aren't and I hear about one death that could be traced back to you. One hint that you've got some evil plan in the works. One hair harmed on Dawn's head...."
"Yeah, yeah, you'll stake me yourself. Repeating yourself there, Angelus." Spike made a shooing motion at him, entertained. "Now run along; I'm late for supper."
"Stay away from the Hyperion," Angel finally growled, then turned and stormed back to his car.
No doubt they'd see Angel again soon enough, but in the meantime, that had been almost affectionate as vampire-to-vampire confrontations went. One would almost think his grandsire had missed him, in some shrivelled dark corner of his unbeating heart. Spike watched him leave with a shake of his head, then went on his way, whistling cheerily under his breath.
For all Spike's worries about negative attention, though, their next unexpected visitor wasn't anyone from Angel Investigations. A human woman named Letty Ortiz stormed into their lives next, rolling up to the Toretto house one day dragging a thoroughly wrecked Dodge Charger and a very entitled attitude about both the house's occupants and the tools at D-T's. And as luck would have it, the only form of challenge she'd entertain was a street race.
Passion, speed, and a tantalising risk-reward ratio? Not to mention a more diverse crowd gathered on the side-lines than he'd expected? The Scourge would have frothed at the mouth, but Spike felt right at home. Seemed like he had found something else about this new life 'in it for him'. Challenge bloody well accepted.
Ms. Ortiz beat him in that first race, but after that, Spike made himself a fixture, smashing all other comers. And after a few goes, Buffy even occasionally joined them, joking that if she looked like a 'race bunny' she might as well live up to the part: dressing in her skimpiest tops and skirts, cheering the pair of them on.
What more could he ask for? Very little that didn't now seem within his grasp.
(x-posted on twistedshorts and on AO3)
twistedshorts.Spike had been a little less sanguine about visiting Los Angeles than he'd let on to the Slayer.
Title: nothing in this world I wouldn't do
Author: Jedi Buttercup
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not.
Rating: T/PG-13
Spoilers: AU post "The Gift" for Buffy; The Fast and the Furious (2001)
Notes: 3rd part of an endless road to rediscover. Spike's POV, since the "mechanic" mention in the previous part got some commentary. :) Title again by Avicii.
Spike had been a little less sanguine about visiting Los Angeles than he'd let on to the Slayer. 1700 words.
Spike had been a little less sanguine about visiting Los Angeles than he'd let on to the Slayer. Not that he figured she was completely in the dark, but it suited them both-- for different reasons-- not to acknowledge Captain Forehead's existence any more than strictly necessary. But what was he going to do? He'd made a promise to a lady. And even if the danger was technically past... he'd seen the look on Buffy's face when she'd told the Scoobies I love you all, but I'm sorry. When she'd climbed that tower after knocking the fight out of Glory, only to freeze at the sight of blood on her sister: that thousand-mile stare that told him the end of the dance was in view. It hadn't even entirely gone away when he'd hastened to tell her it was all Doc's, that he hadn't failed in the one thing she'd asked of him after all.
He'd seen that look before. Had even wanted-- once upon a time--to see it on her. But it had been longer than he'd care to admit since it had been the furthest thing from his idea of a good day. And if ferrying her down the road to Angel's town so she could keep herself anchored to something helped stave it off a little longer, well, that wasn't really a choice, now was it? Anyone who thought otherwise could just bugger right off.
Buffy let him chat about anything and nothing on the long drives down and back, let him take her and Dawn out around LA, even let him take just her to see the sights when their sperm donor changed the schedule around last minute for whatever reason. It was as if the git had never spent years lavishing prezzies on his eldest, taking her to Ice Capades, and calling her his princess; whether because she reminded him more of Joyce now or because the little he'd heard over the last few years made him think she'd gone mad, Hank Summers had gone all in on spoiling Dawn and treating Buffy like a bad influence. But sometimes, on one of those bad days, Spike could still get the Slayer to crack a faint smile at a demon poker game or a sunset skyline or a fairy tale from his past more nonsense and trickery than death and destruction.
It had been on one of those days that they'd come across Toretto's Market, exploring Echo Park on a summer evening when the shadows stretched long over the streets, the smog diffused the sun's setting rays in a mimosa-coloured haze, and the Slayer seemed poised on the threshold between the narrow existence of her teenage years and an unknown future full of possibilities ahead of her. In his ideal world, she'd find her new home in the dark with him; but Spike knew her too well to think she'd ever choose that willingly. And he didn't want her caged or broken. Tarnished, maybe; a little less hypocritical about her preferences. But she wouldn't be Buffy if she wasn't… well… effulgent.
He hadn't realised just how far her glow had actually dimmed, though, until they walked into that shop and he heard Buffy's breath catch. Human ages were sort of abstract to a vampire, especially one who'd come of age in an era when bared ankles were scandalous, but the girl with the long, smooth brown hair standing behind the counter looked to be in the same age bracket as the Slayer-- and nearly on the verge of bursting into messy tears. Something in Buffy sat up and took note, and just like that, she was bossing Spike around and making decisions again like she'd never tried to hand all her responsibilities over to other people.
Curiously enough, though, she didn't wave him off and send him on his not-so-merry way; instead, she asked him to stick around and help the new girl-- Mia, apparently; so now he was going to be a bystander to the spectacle of the Slayer repeatedly calling someone else 'Mine'-- run some kind of local coachworks. Besides being male and driving a classic car, he didn't know what might have made her assume that that was in his skillset, but again, far be it from him to tell the current lodestar of his unlife 'no' about anything that would increase his odds of seeing her. His Master Vampire skills had been getting a little rusty, anyway; he knew his way around a ledger well enough, and he had a few local Loose-skinned and Brachen contacts that did know mechanics and could use the legal employment.
There were neutral bars in the city, too; the Transuding Furies had set up shop thereabouts, and a bloke with cash in his pocket could get some very nice blood cocktails if he wasn't picky about the company. The evil law firm Angelus had taken as his white whale did a sound business in necrotempered glass and a sun cream that gave vampires an extra thirty seconds or so before combusting in full sun, or a good half hour in twilight conditions. And Buffy's new galpal lived less than half a mile from the market where they worked, and just over three from the garage where Spike had set up a cot in a blacked-out storage room. He hadn't even lived much closer to the Slayer back in Sunnyhell.
Alas for his peace of mind, Angel's little do-gooder firm had also set up shop only a few miles away. A month or so after Spike loaded up the DeSoto and left his crypt behind, word of his presence finally trickled back to the souled vampire's ear. Spike turned away from locking the door of D-T Precision, ready to make the trek to 1327 E Kensington to share a beer and then maybe head over to casa Summers to spend a few hours lurking within view of the Niblet's window, and looked up to see a familiar incoming scowl attached to a beefy form in a button-up and leather jacket.
"What the hell are you doing here, Spike?" Angel growled, advancing with his usual disrespect for personal space. "Breaking into an autobody shop? That DeSoto of yours finally give up the ghost?"
"Hello to you too, Angel," Spike said, baring his teeth in something that could only charitably be called a smile. "Doing well, thanks. You see these keys in my hand? Proprietor of this place now, as a matter of fact."
Angel gave a dismissive look to the keychain Spike rattled in his hand and pointed a finger at him. "A likely story. You think you can just come back to my town, no invitations, no announcements, after all the crap you pulled the last time? If you're planning something new...."
"You'll stake me yourself. Or, no; make me the subject of one of your cases. Better yet, report me to Buffy." Spike feigned a yawn. "Don't strain yourself; Slayer knows I'm here. Made the lady a promise."
"And what promise would Buffy believe from you?" Angel snorted.
The git didn't seem aware that Buffy herself was around yet, and Spike wasn't about to enlighten him. But Dawn's relocation was no secret. "Said I'd protect her sister, didn't I? Joyce's ex got custody, and the bloke doesn't even know enough not to invite strangers in willy-nilly." Not to mention the chances of Dawn herself getting frustrated and slipping out alone of an evening, a not inconsiderable risk with a Summers woman.
"Dawn's in Los Angeles?" Angel looked surprised at the news and even less happy. "Wait. Dawn's in Los Angeles and you're protecting her? What could possibly be in it for you?"
Spike snorted. "Besides the dosh and a more comfortable place to sleep? Hellmouth was getting a bit stale; a lot more opportunities around here. But don't worry, I've got no desire to challenge you for Master of the City. Too much work."
Angel simmered, but there wasn't anything he could do, not with Buffy's theoretical blessing hanging over Spike's head, and they both knew it. "I am going to call her. If you're lying, or even if you aren't and I hear about one death that could be traced back to you. One hint that you've got some evil plan in the works. One hair harmed on Dawn's head...."
"Yeah, yeah, you'll stake me yourself. Repeating yourself there, Angelus." Spike made a shooing motion at him, entertained. "Now run along; I'm late for supper."
"Stay away from the Hyperion," Angel finally growled, then turned and stormed back to his car.
No doubt they'd see Angel again soon enough, but in the meantime, that had been almost affectionate as vampire-to-vampire confrontations went. One would almost think his grandsire had missed him, in some shrivelled dark corner of his unbeating heart. Spike watched him leave with a shake of his head, then went on his way, whistling cheerily under his breath.
For all Spike's worries about negative attention, though, their next unexpected visitor wasn't anyone from Angel Investigations. A human woman named Letty Ortiz stormed into their lives next, rolling up to the Toretto house one day dragging a thoroughly wrecked Dodge Charger and a very entitled attitude about both the house's occupants and the tools at D-T's. And as luck would have it, the only form of challenge she'd entertain was a street race.
Passion, speed, and a tantalising risk-reward ratio? Not to mention a more diverse crowd gathered on the side-lines than he'd expected? The Scourge would have frothed at the mouth, but Spike felt right at home. Seemed like he had found something else about this new life 'in it for him'. Challenge bloody well accepted.
Ms. Ortiz beat him in that first race, but after that, Spike made himself a fixture, smashing all other comers. And after a few goes, Buffy even occasionally joined them, joking that if she looked like a 'race bunny' she might as well live up to the part: dressing in her skimpiest tops and skirts, cheering the pair of them on.
What more could he ask for? Very little that didn't now seem within his grasp.
(x-posted on twistedshorts and on AO3)
