Sherliton's Army 4/?
By Len (lendolyn@y...)
Spoilers: `Gone' – it pretty much branches off into AU at that point.
Teaser: Willow and Spike deal with the side-effects of their run-in
with Bub (Big Ugly Bug), and Sid has a brief cameo in which he tosses
our heroine around a little. But never fear - no Willows (or
Spikes!) were harmed in the making of this fic.
Rating: R – Spike and his dirty mouth!
Note: I can't write drama or angst to save my life. This is the
result of me attempting to keep my head from exploding in the pre-
finals season. Clichés abound, Evil Critters are borrowed from
Sigourney Weaver movies, plot weaves like a drunken man, names are
silly…you know, the usual. Have fun.
Archive: My site – Blood Magic:
( http://www.geocities.com/voodoo_bloodmagic/enter.html ), Breathe,
FF.net, NHA, WLS - and anyone else who wants it. Just let me know so
I can visit. Or gloat. Same diff.
More Notes: Not one of my better chapters, granted, but hopefully it
will be fun to read. Just don't read too carefully. (:
Also: WILL FIC FOR FEEDBACK!!!
For: sinecure. You asked for it. ;)
Chapter 4
~*~
Willow gingerly removed her shirt and walked to the bathroom in
her jeans and bra, almost dreading what she would see in the mirror.
She looked at her reflection and cringed. The creature that looked
like those things that lived…well, you know – had really done a
number on her ribs. They didn't appear to be broken, but the red
footprint was rapidly transforming into a rather startling shade of
purple.
She sighed. If this had happened a couple months ago, she would
have simply spelled away the damage. Now it looked like she would
just have to heal the old-fashioned way.
"This sucks," she decided, grumbling and prodding the area with a
careful finger. Her head wasn't feeling to hot either – there was a
trickle of dried blood running down one side of her forehead from her
abrupt nose-dive into the street, and a lump from where that Big Ugly
Bug had cracked her and Spike together like they were a couple of
eggs and it was the Iron Chef.
Willow dug around in her well-equipped medicine cabinet and
swallowed a couple of Aspirin dry. She hoped she didn't have a
concussion of some sort – the ringing in her head hadn't gone away
and was showing no signs of lessening. She sighed, and stripped off
her blood-soaked jeans to climb in the shower. The near-scalding
water ran down her body and washed away the crusted blood, creating
pink rivulets of liquid. Willow watched it in fascination before
realizing that Spike must've lost a heck of a lot more blood than
she'd thought – because none of that blood running down the drain was
hers. She hoped he was all right. He'd seemed a little dazed when
they'd left the shop, like his chip was acting up. Except there
hadn't been anything to set it off…
She squirted out a measure of shampoo into her palm. `Wash that
Big Ugly Bug right out of your hair!' she thought irreverently,
scrubbing hard. Big ugly bug, big ugly bug…
Willow knew she had seen that Creature before, but she couldn't
remember where. It was really starting to bother her. Maybe that
crack on the noggin had knocked a few brain cells loose. It was so
familiar, practically on the tip of her tongue…
She rinsed that last of the soap from her hair and body before
stepping out onto the shower mat and drying off. Maybe she would
stop by Spike's new place and find out what his impressions of that
Thing had been. After all, he'd gotten a few good knocks in on it,
too.
Her nightshirt hung on a hook on the bathroom door, and she
slipped gratefully into the soft, worn cotton.
And out of nowhere came the memory of his touch. Just the
faintest whisper of fingers across her face, so soft it made her
ache. Moving across her lips, leaving them tingling in the cool wake
of his caress. The air between them seemed to hum with energy, and
she leaned towards him, closing her eyes…
Blinking, Willow snapped out of her daydream at about the same
time she over-balanced and fell over. `Definitely a few loose brain
cells rattling around,' she decided, and climbed into bed. `Like
that ever has or ever *will* happen…'
All the same, she couldn't stop a wistful smile from crossing her
lips as she drifted off to sleep.
~*~
Across town, Spike was in Hell. It wasn't the traditional
Victorian version of Hell – all flames and brimstone, but one that
was sufficiently tortuous to satisfy all the basic requirements.
For one thing, he felt like he'd been thrown off a tall tower,
several times. And he was in a position to know exactly what *that*
felt like. There wasn't a part of him that didn't hurt. If
anything, the ringing in his head had gotten worse since he'd parted
company with the rest of the gang, and the gash on his side was
showing no signs of healing. But he figured that both could have
quite a bit to do with the fact that he couldn't get to the fridge
and his blood. Or to a phone.
Just the thought of calling one of the Scoobies to tell them that
he had fallen and couldn't get up was enough to make him shiver in
horror. The only one of the whole lot he could imagine himself
asking for help was Will, and after their run-in with that black,
scaly demon, she wasn't in top shape either. She'd come, but she
needed her rest now.
He could call the slayer – and she would help. But he knew how
that scenario would end. She'd haul him to his feet, grimacing at
how repulsive his physical proximity to her was, and then watch him
drink his blood, keeping a long, angsty silence. Then one of them
would start and argument and she'd storm out of this apartment with
some cutting final remark…
Nah. He wasn't disillusioned at all, was he? Spike smirked self-
depreciatingly to himself from his position on the floor of the
living room. That's all he and Buffy had ever been – tragic,
pointless, full of pain. Well, he was fed up with brooding and
stalking and hurting. He wanted to have a bit of fun – like before
the days of the chip. Laughter was good for anyone – even demons –
and he intended to find some.
Just as soon as he got off the floor.
Buffy didn't know where his new apartment was, anyway. The
thought cheered him somewhat.
Bloody Hell…he was so tired… But he had nice carpet – that had to
be worth something. It was nice and squishy. Spike gave up trying
to get up and just laid his head down on it. It was too much. Just
too much. Why couldn't the Powers That Be just give him a couple
days of rest? He was sick to death…well, really tired, anyway, of
being constantly bruised or fighting…. Was it too much to ask for
just a few minutes to recover? Or even better, someone to fuss over
him a little bit? Not long, just an hour or so…
And somehow, in the midst of his pain-induced fog, he wasn't
terribly surprised when Willow fell from the ceiling and landed on
the lovely carpet next to him.
Thud.
"Whaa…?" The half-asleep and startled redhead muttered, rolling
over and into Spike's prostrate form. He flinched in pain, but
couldn't get his mouth to form the trite but useful, `Ow'.
Willow blinked against the lamplight in the apartment, completely
disoriented. She quickly replayed the evening's events in her mind.
Shower…yup. Teeth…whoops. Bed….yup. Sleep…check. Wake up in
strange room…huh. Maybe the side-effects of her run in with the Big
Ugly Bug (henceforth referred to as BUB due to time restraints) were
more numerous than she had originally believed. She laid there
pondering the idea as gradually the smell of cigarette smoke and
leather filled her senses. She knew that combination. "Spike?" she
croaked. "What the hell am I doing here?"
He rolled his eyes towards her, trying to convey a suitably
sarcastic remark. It took most of his remaining energy to tilt an
eyebrow.
Willow sat up slowly. The ringing in her head had lessened, but
falling from…wherever it was…hadn't helped her poor ribs any. She
opened her mouth to ask her blond, fangy friend what was going on but
stopped as she got a good look at his appearance. Her eyes
widened. "Eep!" she squeaked. "Blood! Lots of blood. And you look
bad! Let me just get—" and she dashed out of the living room.
Spike listened to her putter around in the kitchen and relaxed
for the first time in a week. Willow was there now. Things would be
fine because she wasn't the type to settle for anything less.
And his last conscious thought before he passed out was that
people didn't have nearly enough appreciation for wool-blend
carpeting.
~*~
Meanwhile, back at the corporate offices of The Powers That Be,
the Almighty Sid was very pleased. All the two Beings had required
to get things back on track was a tiny push. For P%k&6's sake, Sid
hadn't even needed to send them any provocative images – they were
doing it all on their own. He had to commend Willow the witch's
imagination – even he couldn't have dreamed up something so subtle.
He rubbed his hands together in glee and watched the scene
presently playing out before him. Willow the witch had returned from
the kitchen with a mug of blood and some rags. She trotted back to
the vampire, looking worried. Sid smiled. "Ah yes, I'm back in the
saddle again," he sang, congratulating himself. Spike the vampire
wanted some babying, did he? Well, fortunately for him, that fit
into Sid's plans very nicely.
After a few more minutes of Willow/Spike TV he changed the
channel, curious about what his second-in-command was up to in
regards to that annoying little gnat, Sherliton.
A dark warehouse came into view, and Sid rolled his
eyes. "Thousands of years of Evil Masterminds, and the best they
ever seem to do for a Secret Lair is a warehouse. Idiots!"
His annoyed expression softened as he watched No. 2 skip her
little Girl Scout-ish way in through the door. Oh, this would be
*good*.
TBC...
Review! Please!
By Len (lendolyn@y...)
Spoilers: `Gone' – it pretty much branches off into AU at that point.
Teaser: Willow and Spike deal with the side-effects of their run-in
with Bub (Big Ugly Bug), and Sid has a brief cameo in which he tosses
our heroine around a little. But never fear - no Willows (or
Spikes!) were harmed in the making of this fic.
Rating: R – Spike and his dirty mouth!
Note: I can't write drama or angst to save my life. This is the
result of me attempting to keep my head from exploding in the pre-
finals season. Clichés abound, Evil Critters are borrowed from
Sigourney Weaver movies, plot weaves like a drunken man, names are
silly…you know, the usual. Have fun.
Archive: My site – Blood Magic:
( http://www.geocities.com/voodoo_bloodmagic/enter.html ), Breathe,
FF.net, NHA, WLS - and anyone else who wants it. Just let me know so
I can visit. Or gloat. Same diff.
More Notes: Not one of my better chapters, granted, but hopefully it
will be fun to read. Just don't read too carefully. (:
Also: WILL FIC FOR FEEDBACK!!!
For: sinecure. You asked for it. ;)
Chapter 4
~*~
Willow gingerly removed her shirt and walked to the bathroom in
her jeans and bra, almost dreading what she would see in the mirror.
She looked at her reflection and cringed. The creature that looked
like those things that lived…well, you know – had really done a
number on her ribs. They didn't appear to be broken, but the red
footprint was rapidly transforming into a rather startling shade of
purple.
She sighed. If this had happened a couple months ago, she would
have simply spelled away the damage. Now it looked like she would
just have to heal the old-fashioned way.
"This sucks," she decided, grumbling and prodding the area with a
careful finger. Her head wasn't feeling to hot either – there was a
trickle of dried blood running down one side of her forehead from her
abrupt nose-dive into the street, and a lump from where that Big Ugly
Bug had cracked her and Spike together like they were a couple of
eggs and it was the Iron Chef.
Willow dug around in her well-equipped medicine cabinet and
swallowed a couple of Aspirin dry. She hoped she didn't have a
concussion of some sort – the ringing in her head hadn't gone away
and was showing no signs of lessening. She sighed, and stripped off
her blood-soaked jeans to climb in the shower. The near-scalding
water ran down her body and washed away the crusted blood, creating
pink rivulets of liquid. Willow watched it in fascination before
realizing that Spike must've lost a heck of a lot more blood than
she'd thought – because none of that blood running down the drain was
hers. She hoped he was all right. He'd seemed a little dazed when
they'd left the shop, like his chip was acting up. Except there
hadn't been anything to set it off…
She squirted out a measure of shampoo into her palm. `Wash that
Big Ugly Bug right out of your hair!' she thought irreverently,
scrubbing hard. Big ugly bug, big ugly bug…
Willow knew she had seen that Creature before, but she couldn't
remember where. It was really starting to bother her. Maybe that
crack on the noggin had knocked a few brain cells loose. It was so
familiar, practically on the tip of her tongue…
She rinsed that last of the soap from her hair and body before
stepping out onto the shower mat and drying off. Maybe she would
stop by Spike's new place and find out what his impressions of that
Thing had been. After all, he'd gotten a few good knocks in on it,
too.
Her nightshirt hung on a hook on the bathroom door, and she
slipped gratefully into the soft, worn cotton.
And out of nowhere came the memory of his touch. Just the
faintest whisper of fingers across her face, so soft it made her
ache. Moving across her lips, leaving them tingling in the cool wake
of his caress. The air between them seemed to hum with energy, and
she leaned towards him, closing her eyes…
Blinking, Willow snapped out of her daydream at about the same
time she over-balanced and fell over. `Definitely a few loose brain
cells rattling around,' she decided, and climbed into bed. `Like
that ever has or ever *will* happen…'
All the same, she couldn't stop a wistful smile from crossing her
lips as she drifted off to sleep.
~*~
Across town, Spike was in Hell. It wasn't the traditional
Victorian version of Hell – all flames and brimstone, but one that
was sufficiently tortuous to satisfy all the basic requirements.
For one thing, he felt like he'd been thrown off a tall tower,
several times. And he was in a position to know exactly what *that*
felt like. There wasn't a part of him that didn't hurt. If
anything, the ringing in his head had gotten worse since he'd parted
company with the rest of the gang, and the gash on his side was
showing no signs of healing. But he figured that both could have
quite a bit to do with the fact that he couldn't get to the fridge
and his blood. Or to a phone.
Just the thought of calling one of the Scoobies to tell them that
he had fallen and couldn't get up was enough to make him shiver in
horror. The only one of the whole lot he could imagine himself
asking for help was Will, and after their run-in with that black,
scaly demon, she wasn't in top shape either. She'd come, but she
needed her rest now.
He could call the slayer – and she would help. But he knew how
that scenario would end. She'd haul him to his feet, grimacing at
how repulsive his physical proximity to her was, and then watch him
drink his blood, keeping a long, angsty silence. Then one of them
would start and argument and she'd storm out of this apartment with
some cutting final remark…
Nah. He wasn't disillusioned at all, was he? Spike smirked self-
depreciatingly to himself from his position on the floor of the
living room. That's all he and Buffy had ever been – tragic,
pointless, full of pain. Well, he was fed up with brooding and
stalking and hurting. He wanted to have a bit of fun – like before
the days of the chip. Laughter was good for anyone – even demons –
and he intended to find some.
Just as soon as he got off the floor.
Buffy didn't know where his new apartment was, anyway. The
thought cheered him somewhat.
Bloody Hell…he was so tired… But he had nice carpet – that had to
be worth something. It was nice and squishy. Spike gave up trying
to get up and just laid his head down on it. It was too much. Just
too much. Why couldn't the Powers That Be just give him a couple
days of rest? He was sick to death…well, really tired, anyway, of
being constantly bruised or fighting…. Was it too much to ask for
just a few minutes to recover? Or even better, someone to fuss over
him a little bit? Not long, just an hour or so…
And somehow, in the midst of his pain-induced fog, he wasn't
terribly surprised when Willow fell from the ceiling and landed on
the lovely carpet next to him.
Thud.
"Whaa…?" The half-asleep and startled redhead muttered, rolling
over and into Spike's prostrate form. He flinched in pain, but
couldn't get his mouth to form the trite but useful, `Ow'.
Willow blinked against the lamplight in the apartment, completely
disoriented. She quickly replayed the evening's events in her mind.
Shower…yup. Teeth…whoops. Bed….yup. Sleep…check. Wake up in
strange room…huh. Maybe the side-effects of her run in with the Big
Ugly Bug (henceforth referred to as BUB due to time restraints) were
more numerous than she had originally believed. She laid there
pondering the idea as gradually the smell of cigarette smoke and
leather filled her senses. She knew that combination. "Spike?" she
croaked. "What the hell am I doing here?"
He rolled his eyes towards her, trying to convey a suitably
sarcastic remark. It took most of his remaining energy to tilt an
eyebrow.
Willow sat up slowly. The ringing in her head had lessened, but
falling from…wherever it was…hadn't helped her poor ribs any. She
opened her mouth to ask her blond, fangy friend what was going on but
stopped as she got a good look at his appearance. Her eyes
widened. "Eep!" she squeaked. "Blood! Lots of blood. And you look
bad! Let me just get—" and she dashed out of the living room.
Spike listened to her putter around in the kitchen and relaxed
for the first time in a week. Willow was there now. Things would be
fine because she wasn't the type to settle for anything less.
And his last conscious thought before he passed out was that
people didn't have nearly enough appreciation for wool-blend
carpeting.
~*~
Meanwhile, back at the corporate offices of The Powers That Be,
the Almighty Sid was very pleased. All the two Beings had required
to get things back on track was a tiny push. For P%k&6's sake, Sid
hadn't even needed to send them any provocative images – they were
doing it all on their own. He had to commend Willow the witch's
imagination – even he couldn't have dreamed up something so subtle.
He rubbed his hands together in glee and watched the scene
presently playing out before him. Willow the witch had returned from
the kitchen with a mug of blood and some rags. She trotted back to
the vampire, looking worried. Sid smiled. "Ah yes, I'm back in the
saddle again," he sang, congratulating himself. Spike the vampire
wanted some babying, did he? Well, fortunately for him, that fit
into Sid's plans very nicely.
After a few more minutes of Willow/Spike TV he changed the
channel, curious about what his second-in-command was up to in
regards to that annoying little gnat, Sherliton.
A dark warehouse came into view, and Sid rolled his
eyes. "Thousands of years of Evil Masterminds, and the best they
ever seem to do for a Secret Lair is a warehouse. Idiots!"
His annoyed expression softened as he watched No. 2 skip her
little Girl Scout-ish way in through the door. Oh, this would be
*good*.
TBC...
Review! Please!