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gen_storytellerThe Sorrowful Tale of Miss Kitty Fantastico - Ch.14: Spike,Dawn,Clem
TITLE: The Sorrowful Tale of Miss Kitty Fantastico - Ch.14: by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
myfeetshowit
Characters: Spike,Dawn,Clem
Summary: Buffy is dead and Dawn’s fifteenth birthday is coming up. A penniless Spike wants to get her the greatest present ever. It proves to be harder than he expected. He encounters kittens, and Clem and nosehairs and learns some valuable lessons about life.
Rating: PG for swearing
Warnings/Notes: A Sunnydale version of a Victorian Morality Play. Inspired by Kipling’s ‘Just So’ stories and served with a side dish of Dr. Seuss. A mixture of humor, angst, and reflection upon the foibles of a vampire who wants to be a good man.
The day has arrived. It's Miss Dawn's birthday.
TSTOMKF 14
The perspicacious readers among you have no doubt seen a certain inclination in the chapters of this story, wherein we have visited the same habitats and followed much the same paths as we have followed before, and yet, while much is the same, always there has been something different, something to set the occurrence at odds with our prior visitations.
It is the sameness that lends weight to the difference. At this juncture of his life, Mr. Spike was, in a fashion most human, living a day-to-day existence notable for its repetitious nature. Upon his return to the crypt, he realized that the kitten had made a distinct impression and he had not expected this. He roved about his quarters, looking for something suitable in which to place the pollywog and discovered that while everything was the same-nothing was the same.
He first noticed when he picked up the towel that still bore the strings and tags left by fierce kitten claws. He grasped it in his hand and pulled it away from the sink upon which it rested and was surprised at its weight - or rather, lack thereof. A moment's reflection gave him to understand that he was expecting a kitten's weight to set the towel swinging and swaying. In comparison, the towel seemed lighter than ever it had before. The towel was not of a size large enough to cover the kitten in her entirety so Mr. Spike put it down. And then he picked it up and folded it neatly, placing it on top of the cupboard. He was of fastidious nature and did not wish to use such a snagged piece of cloth for his shower. He would find some other use for it. It did not enter his mind to drop it in the rag pile stored in the bottom cupboard.
After considering the sacrifice of one his shirts and discarding the thought - it would require that he steal another soon - he decided his canvas trash bag was the only item suitable for the kitten's repose. There was a pungent odor that emanated from within the bag when he drew open the strings. He had been using it to store the emptied cans of chicken, and of tuna, and the wrappings from his BBQ sandwich that had been scored in his foray to 'The Wild Bill Hickory-OX Café'. Mr. Spike was a predator and did not find this scent unpleasant as a human might. He felt - with some justification - that the kitten would enjoy being enveloped in the smell.
He placed the body inside and could not help comparing the dull, rough coat to the gleaming, ordered fur he had produced when grooming the kitten. He drew the strings shut, and set it upon the sarcophagus, and cursed when he caught himself smoothing the bag so there would be no uncomfortable bumps or folds. He blinked away the thought that the body seemed wrapped in a small shroud, sitting there upon the sarcophagus.
This task concluded, he continued to the chair in which it was his custom to recline whilst watching Very Important Television and he noticed the catnip mouse that lay cattywampus in its corner. He picked it up and flopped himself down. He sniffed at the mouse but was disappointed to find that the scent had gone stale. He did not remember the small rip in the seam just above the toy's tail. He did remember the last time he sat in the chair, with the kitten perched upon his chest. And he became aware of the chair. And the slight prickly feeling from the scattered catnip that now seasoned the seat. And the cushion that somehow seemed suddenly too short for his legs. And the back of the chair that had always supported his neck, but now seemed to rub uncomfortably.
This is the nature of grief when one loses someone familiar. It is as though a void is left when someone passes on and the universe must reallocate resources, shift things ever so slightly to the left or ever so slightly to the right, in order to fill the empty space. The changes are so minute they can hardly be seen - consciously. But in unguarded moments, when you have almost forgotten and you look up to a place suddenly, you see delineated on the inside of your eyes the imprint of the one you loved, and in that second as the imprint disappears, you can almost see where the universe collapses in upon itself.
Mr. Spike was keenly aware of this aspect of the universe. He had spent long hours since Miss Buffy's death catching her form from the corner of his eye. He had seen Miss Buffy standing here and there, sitting upon his sarcophagus and lying upon his bed. And seen her outline disappear as soon as he tried to focus upon it. Still, he had not expected to catch the kitten's presence thus in his peripheral view but she danced upon its edges all day long, keeping him company as he waited for nightfall so he could visit Miss Dawn.
He sat sniffing the stale catnip and dwelled upon the depths to which he had fallen - that a mere kitten could have entered his heart and altered his world.
***
Mr. Spike stopped for the seventh time since starting forth from his crypt. He stopped and looked back and wondered at his trepidation. He had anticipated his triumph all the long day, rolling in his mind a series of movie-like moments where he would present his hard-won goods to his princess, Miss Dawn.
See, Bit, did what you wanted.
Over and over he had savored the sight of her bright face, shining eyes happy and assuring him that he was the most loved of friends. Yet, now that the time approached, as he drew near to Miss Dawn's residence, he faltered.
The possibilities for failure, that he had heretofore ignored most willfully, now forced themselves to the forefront of his mind. If Mau had been there with him, speaking her warning - you must take responsibility - he could not have heard her more clearly. He still did not understand her purport but he suspected Miss Dawn's guardians would, and he worried now that his inability to comprehend her meaning would leave him open to an attack for which he could not prepare.
He began to wish he had spent more time considering clarifications rather than playing triumphal marches in his head. How would he explain the crossbow? When he had smashed the window, it had all seemed so right. Now, about to face Mr. Giles, the Watcher formerly known as Ripper, he wondered what argument he could muster that would satisfy.
A pedestrian crossing on the far side of the street stared at him briefly and hurried away.
Mr. Spike decided to move on. Standing on the sidewalk with crossbow and bolts, carrying a sack full of dead cat, probably was not the same curiosity that it would be considered elsewhere. Probably the fine Sunnydale police force would make a point to avoid the area should someone report him. Probably he shouldn't take the chance. Lady Luck wasn't his girlfriend these days.
The door to the house was wide open and Mr. Spike shook his head. Vampires weren't the only evil creatures in this town but they were the only ones that required an invitation. He could hear laughter and voices, smell the savory scent of tacos - Rosenberg's girl cooking up Dawn's favorite dish, no doubt - and the light from within spilled softly out into the night. Altogether, a tempting target for evil bent on destruction. Mr. Spike felt himself drawn. Even at his most evil he would have been pulled to a place like this. His intent would have been far different then, of course. Why the Bloody Hell didn't the Watcher, at least, keep the door shut and locked. Sometimes he suspected it wasn't just Slayers that had a death wish.
He looked at the canvas bag again. He could hardly take it inside. He didn't intend to tell Bit the kitten was dead. She was going to be a goddess, what did it matter if she were a goddess on Earth or in a heavenly dimension. No need for Dawn to know he had screwed up, let the pollywog get killed, no need... He looked around and decided to put the bag next to the porch steps, tucked under the bushes. No one would notice it there and he could retrieve it on his way out. He wasn't going to be here for long anyway.
Mr. Spike pulled a deep breath deep into his chest and held it there for a long moment. He would have been scornful at the thought that he was centering himself but would have been unable to deny needing some sense of composure. The thought occurred to him that he was bearding the beast in its den and he snorted with some small measure of humor. Bearding. Now there was a good old-fashioned term. And what beast was it he would be bearding?
The humor, slight as it was, gave him the impetus to enter the house and for a second, as he stood in the kitchen doorway, he felt he was 'home.' The feeling did not last long.
The sight of Mr. Xander Harris standing over the stove, shoveling meat into a bowl while gently pushing Miss Kitty away from his legs, rapidly dispelled any sense of belonging. Mr. Spike, feeling a bit giddy, glanced at Mr. Harris' chin. Nope, no beard. He felt something suspiciously close to a giggle forcing its way out of his throat and he wondered if perhaps the events of the last two days and the lack of sleep had begun to affect his mood. He was almost done - pass on the crossbow, take the kitten to her rest and he was done.
"What brings you here, Bloodbreath?" Mr. Harris tone was not adversarial, was perhaps even bordering on friendly but Mr. Spike was not fooled. All predators were playful at times. Vampires were Mr. Harris' natural prey, and he could move from kidder to killer within seconds. When Buffy Summers died, the Sunnydale Hellmouth was left without a guardian. Her friends, including Mr. Harris, were attempting to control the demon population. They accepted Mr. Spike's help, they needed his strength and speed, but they never forgot what he was and their relationship remained one of mutual scorn.
The humor leached away from his mind and he was weary, but he drew another steadying breath. He aligned his face into a sneer - his Scoobie mask - but his voice was as affable Mr. Harris'. "Just here to give the Bit her present. Happened I got one after all."
"And what might that present be?" Mr. Harris, as casual as could be, shifted his weight and leaned himself across the doorway that separated kitchen from dining room, his arm stretching out until his hand grasped the sill. Miss Kitty seemed to sense the escalation of tension and she ran out the door. She had been present for previous such encounters and knew they ended in loud voices and flailing limbs.
Mr. Spike squared his shoulders. He had known this was coming but had hoped to get further into the den before encountering the first guardian. "Well, that's between the Bit and me, in'it?"
"I'm thinking not so much. Especially, if that crossbow might happen to be the gift. Nice crossbow, by the way." Xander turned his head as he heard the tread of approaching feet. Mr. Giles now stood behind him.
"You're blocking the doorway, Xander. Please move." The Watcher's voice intruded into the moment and it fell upon Mr. Spike like a blow. Usually, he relished his encounters with these two men, enjoying the chance to needle and pierce their skin with pithy remark and well-placed barb. Now, he was tired. He was almost done and he wanted to be on with things.
Mr. Giles took in the scene and his glasses were off in a moment, his handkerchief whipping about the perfectly-clean lenses. "To what do we owe your presence, Spike."
Mr. Spike felt anger blossoming in his chest. "Oh come on. You know perfectly well why I'm here. Stop bein' a git, let me do my thing and I'll be out of your hair."
"Giles, I know this sounds... stupid?" Mr. Harris spread his hands, "But I think fangface here thinks he's going to give Dawn a crossbow for her birthday." He smiled, his expression remarkable for being a mixture of sweetness and cruelty. A child on the schoolground, having just learned that his greater size allowed him to knock down a schoolmate, might have worn such an expression.
"Ah yes. And a splendid crossbow it is. I'm certain you have receipt for it? Considering what I've told you would happen if I caught you stealing again."
Mr. Spike looked away from the Watcher and the muscles in his jaw rippled. We have mentioned before that element of his nature that likened him to a child, that inability to tell a straight-faced lie with aplomb. For all the evil he had done in his unlife, for all his ability to tell the truth in such a way that others could fool themselves with it, he could not tell a lie easily but must change his whole appearance and the seeming of his nature. His usual wont was to become affable and cheery when lying, speaking the words with force and energy as though to convince his listeners by the very vibrancy of his voice. He did not have the energy to put on that seeming this night, and he simply stared into a corner of the room, and mumbled as if chewing his words first would make them more palatable. "Din't steal it. Was trade."
"Trade for what, Spike?" Mr. Giles voice sharpened keenly, his voice rising only slightly yet carrying an unmistakable menace. "Surely, you don't think I'm going to take your word for that, do you?" He advanced on the vampire, drawing himself up to his utmost height to further his ability to look down on his adversary. "I can't believe..."
"What's taking so lon... SPIKE!" Miss Dawn's shrill tones had never seemed so sweet to Mr. Spike.
Mr. Harris and Mr. Giles stepped back, seeming almost to shrink in inches as they pulled back the threat they had been projecting. That threat still resided in their eyes. Mr. Spike was quite clear that he was being granted a respite and not a release.
"You got it ... you got my crossbow!" Miss Dawn, to put it quite simply, was beaming as brightly as sunshine and Mr. Spike felt instantly renewed. This was his reward, this brightness, this sunshine was only kind he would ever enjoy. The kitchen light from the ceiling caught in her eyes and rather than reflecting off their surface as one might expect, they seemed to highlight depths that went on forever. He was reminded of that other place seen through the eyes of Mau... was it possible that such a place existed within a child? He shook himself to alertness. His battle hadn't ended.
The Watcher's face seemed to reflect some of Spike's weariness and his exasperation was still imprinted upon his face but his stance and the tone of his voice betrayed the affection he felt for Miss Dawn. That stance also radiated his position - Mr. Giles was not going to change his mind about the crossbow. "Dawn... I'm sorry but I can't possibly allow you to accept Spike's gift. It was extremely irresponsible for him to have brought it in the first place."
If Mr. Giles had drawn a knife across and sliced it through the air he could not have produced a more dramatic change in Miss Dawn. She still radiated but the brightness had transformed to temper. The clearness of her eyes was now marred by the tears bubbling forth, like little raindrops falling onto the surface of a pool. Miss Dawn had the Summers' temper and was still child enough to indulge it freely. "That's not fair! It's my birthday. You can't keep someone from giving me something."
"Yes. I can. You're not old e..."
Mr. Spike could not hold back. "Look, here, Rupert. The Bit's right. You don't like me anymore 'n' I like you. Don't take it out on the girl."
"For God's sake. This isn't about you. A fourteen year old is hardly responsible enough to be handling a powerful weapon like that!"
"Most fourteen year olds don't live on the Hellmouth and aren't the Slayer's sister. Little Bit needs to be able to defend herself. She's got you, don't she? You'll teach her your Watcher stuff and I'll teach her how to actually use the thing."
"And what then? She'll take it with her to school and when she goes to visit friends? Think! If you're capable of such a thing."
"Hey!"
Miss Rosenberg and Miss MacClay entered the room, drawn by the argument and Miss Rosenberg waded into the fray "Oh, Dawn honey. Crossbows are really hard to handle. I'm not sure I could load that model and I've been using them for years."
"Since you were about fifteen, I'd wager... not much older than the Pidge." Mr. Spike felt he had scored a palpable hit and perhaps he had for there was no immediate response.
Miss Dawn sensed weakness and relaunched her attack. "Please, Giles. I'm old enough. Buf - there's been weapons around the house forever. I know enough to be careful."
"No. I'm sorry..." Mr. Giles repolished his lenses and gazed into the distance for a moment as though searching for words. Then he stared at Miss Dawn, and the steel glinting in his eyes told her that he was about to speak his final word on the subject. "If... If Spike can prove he came by the crossbow through legal means then I'll keep it with the other weapons. Willow has a point about the strength required. I'll give you a set of exercises designed to strengthen the proper muscles and when you are able to load it easily, I'll begin giving you lessons. You are not to touch the weapon unless one of us adults are present - Spike is excluded from that company in spite of his age."
Miss Dawn was far from satisfied but with one of her sudden ascents to a mature outlook she accepted the inevitable. "Fine. Let's get back to dinner before it's cold. Come on, Spike."
Miss MacClay spoke with the hesitation that was her nature when with a crowd of people. "Grab a plate. There's no place set." She chewed on her lip. "I... I didn't know you were coming."
"S'all right. Didn't know it myself until today. Should be on my way anyhow. Just dropped by to do the birthday thing." Mr. Spike's tone was courtly but he was rapidly running scenarios through his head. How could he prevent Mr. Giles from finding out he hadn't got the bow 'by legal means'.
Miss Dawn moved to block his escape. "I had Tara make the tacos extra, extra spicy. I know you like them that way." She sensed that he was poised to flee and she amped up the wattage in her eyes. "Please." Mr. Spike was reeled in like a gasping fish and the group passed through the doorway into the dining room.
***
Miss Kitty was not pleased. Her rights as Queen of the Summers' household had been usurped - she should have been treated to tasty morsels from every dish and allowed to examine each plate to make certain she was missing out on nothing. Instead, she had been forced to flee from the barbarous bristling and posturing of human-and inhuman-males. Such behavior was simply too crude for her to endure. Her tail twitched and she expelled huffs of indignation from deep within her chest.
Her disappointment was soon assuaged however by the whiff of a most heavenly scent, and tacos were quickly forgotten. This was the most fragrant of perfume, an odor worth rolling in and Miss Kitty was determined to discover the source. Her nose led and she followed eagerly, her tail twitching a totally different language now.
She lowered herself, crouching till her belly scraped against the ground and froze. The tantalizing aroma was emanating from the bushes but so was the scent of something cat, yet not-cat. She was infuriated to think that another creature was already covering itself with that enticing fragrance and she yearned to attack.
Miss Kitty Fantastico was a cat born and bred on the Hellmouth, however, and the fact that she still lived was testimony to her wisdom. She wiggled herself into a position, comfortable but easily transformed to one of attack or flight and began to consider her options.
TITLE: The Sorrowful Tale of Miss Kitty Fantastico - Ch.14: by
myfeetshowitCharacters: Spike,Dawn,Clem
Summary: Buffy is dead and Dawn’s fifteenth birthday is coming up. A penniless Spike wants to get her the greatest present ever. It proves to be harder than he expected. He encounters kittens, and Clem and nosehairs and learns some valuable lessons about life.
Rating: PG for swearing
Warnings/Notes: A Sunnydale version of a Victorian Morality Play. Inspired by Kipling’s ‘Just So’ stories and served with a side dish of Dr. Seuss. A mixture of humor, angst, and reflection upon the foibles of a vampire who wants to be a good man.
The day has arrived. It's Miss Dawn's birthday.
TSTOMKF 14
The perspicacious readers among you have no doubt seen a certain inclination in the chapters of this story, wherein we have visited the same habitats and followed much the same paths as we have followed before, and yet, while much is the same, always there has been something different, something to set the occurrence at odds with our prior visitations.
It is the sameness that lends weight to the difference. At this juncture of his life, Mr. Spike was, in a fashion most human, living a day-to-day existence notable for its repetitious nature. Upon his return to the crypt, he realized that the kitten had made a distinct impression and he had not expected this. He roved about his quarters, looking for something suitable in which to place the pollywog and discovered that while everything was the same-nothing was the same.
He first noticed when he picked up the towel that still bore the strings and tags left by fierce kitten claws. He grasped it in his hand and pulled it away from the sink upon which it rested and was surprised at its weight - or rather, lack thereof. A moment's reflection gave him to understand that he was expecting a kitten's weight to set the towel swinging and swaying. In comparison, the towel seemed lighter than ever it had before. The towel was not of a size large enough to cover the kitten in her entirety so Mr. Spike put it down. And then he picked it up and folded it neatly, placing it on top of the cupboard. He was of fastidious nature and did not wish to use such a snagged piece of cloth for his shower. He would find some other use for it. It did not enter his mind to drop it in the rag pile stored in the bottom cupboard.
After considering the sacrifice of one his shirts and discarding the thought - it would require that he steal another soon - he decided his canvas trash bag was the only item suitable for the kitten's repose. There was a pungent odor that emanated from within the bag when he drew open the strings. He had been using it to store the emptied cans of chicken, and of tuna, and the wrappings from his BBQ sandwich that had been scored in his foray to 'The Wild Bill Hickory-OX Café'. Mr. Spike was a predator and did not find this scent unpleasant as a human might. He felt - with some justification - that the kitten would enjoy being enveloped in the smell.
He placed the body inside and could not help comparing the dull, rough coat to the gleaming, ordered fur he had produced when grooming the kitten. He drew the strings shut, and set it upon the sarcophagus, and cursed when he caught himself smoothing the bag so there would be no uncomfortable bumps or folds. He blinked away the thought that the body seemed wrapped in a small shroud, sitting there upon the sarcophagus.
This task concluded, he continued to the chair in which it was his custom to recline whilst watching Very Important Television and he noticed the catnip mouse that lay cattywampus in its corner. He picked it up and flopped himself down. He sniffed at the mouse but was disappointed to find that the scent had gone stale. He did not remember the small rip in the seam just above the toy's tail. He did remember the last time he sat in the chair, with the kitten perched upon his chest. And he became aware of the chair. And the slight prickly feeling from the scattered catnip that now seasoned the seat. And the cushion that somehow seemed suddenly too short for his legs. And the back of the chair that had always supported his neck, but now seemed to rub uncomfortably.
This is the nature of grief when one loses someone familiar. It is as though a void is left when someone passes on and the universe must reallocate resources, shift things ever so slightly to the left or ever so slightly to the right, in order to fill the empty space. The changes are so minute they can hardly be seen - consciously. But in unguarded moments, when you have almost forgotten and you look up to a place suddenly, you see delineated on the inside of your eyes the imprint of the one you loved, and in that second as the imprint disappears, you can almost see where the universe collapses in upon itself.
Mr. Spike was keenly aware of this aspect of the universe. He had spent long hours since Miss Buffy's death catching her form from the corner of his eye. He had seen Miss Buffy standing here and there, sitting upon his sarcophagus and lying upon his bed. And seen her outline disappear as soon as he tried to focus upon it. Still, he had not expected to catch the kitten's presence thus in his peripheral view but she danced upon its edges all day long, keeping him company as he waited for nightfall so he could visit Miss Dawn.
He sat sniffing the stale catnip and dwelled upon the depths to which he had fallen - that a mere kitten could have entered his heart and altered his world.
***
Mr. Spike stopped for the seventh time since starting forth from his crypt. He stopped and looked back and wondered at his trepidation. He had anticipated his triumph all the long day, rolling in his mind a series of movie-like moments where he would present his hard-won goods to his princess, Miss Dawn.
See, Bit, did what you wanted.
Over and over he had savored the sight of her bright face, shining eyes happy and assuring him that he was the most loved of friends. Yet, now that the time approached, as he drew near to Miss Dawn's residence, he faltered.
The possibilities for failure, that he had heretofore ignored most willfully, now forced themselves to the forefront of his mind. If Mau had been there with him, speaking her warning - you must take responsibility - he could not have heard her more clearly. He still did not understand her purport but he suspected Miss Dawn's guardians would, and he worried now that his inability to comprehend her meaning would leave him open to an attack for which he could not prepare.
He began to wish he had spent more time considering clarifications rather than playing triumphal marches in his head. How would he explain the crossbow? When he had smashed the window, it had all seemed so right. Now, about to face Mr. Giles, the Watcher formerly known as Ripper, he wondered what argument he could muster that would satisfy.
A pedestrian crossing on the far side of the street stared at him briefly and hurried away.
Mr. Spike decided to move on. Standing on the sidewalk with crossbow and bolts, carrying a sack full of dead cat, probably was not the same curiosity that it would be considered elsewhere. Probably the fine Sunnydale police force would make a point to avoid the area should someone report him. Probably he shouldn't take the chance. Lady Luck wasn't his girlfriend these days.
The door to the house was wide open and Mr. Spike shook his head. Vampires weren't the only evil creatures in this town but they were the only ones that required an invitation. He could hear laughter and voices, smell the savory scent of tacos - Rosenberg's girl cooking up Dawn's favorite dish, no doubt - and the light from within spilled softly out into the night. Altogether, a tempting target for evil bent on destruction. Mr. Spike felt himself drawn. Even at his most evil he would have been pulled to a place like this. His intent would have been far different then, of course. Why the Bloody Hell didn't the Watcher, at least, keep the door shut and locked. Sometimes he suspected it wasn't just Slayers that had a death wish.
He looked at the canvas bag again. He could hardly take it inside. He didn't intend to tell Bit the kitten was dead. She was going to be a goddess, what did it matter if she were a goddess on Earth or in a heavenly dimension. No need for Dawn to know he had screwed up, let the pollywog get killed, no need... He looked around and decided to put the bag next to the porch steps, tucked under the bushes. No one would notice it there and he could retrieve it on his way out. He wasn't going to be here for long anyway.
Mr. Spike pulled a deep breath deep into his chest and held it there for a long moment. He would have been scornful at the thought that he was centering himself but would have been unable to deny needing some sense of composure. The thought occurred to him that he was bearding the beast in its den and he snorted with some small measure of humor. Bearding. Now there was a good old-fashioned term. And what beast was it he would be bearding?
The humor, slight as it was, gave him the impetus to enter the house and for a second, as he stood in the kitchen doorway, he felt he was 'home.' The feeling did not last long.
The sight of Mr. Xander Harris standing over the stove, shoveling meat into a bowl while gently pushing Miss Kitty away from his legs, rapidly dispelled any sense of belonging. Mr. Spike, feeling a bit giddy, glanced at Mr. Harris' chin. Nope, no beard. He felt something suspiciously close to a giggle forcing its way out of his throat and he wondered if perhaps the events of the last two days and the lack of sleep had begun to affect his mood. He was almost done - pass on the crossbow, take the kitten to her rest and he was done.
"What brings you here, Bloodbreath?" Mr. Harris tone was not adversarial, was perhaps even bordering on friendly but Mr. Spike was not fooled. All predators were playful at times. Vampires were Mr. Harris' natural prey, and he could move from kidder to killer within seconds. When Buffy Summers died, the Sunnydale Hellmouth was left without a guardian. Her friends, including Mr. Harris, were attempting to control the demon population. They accepted Mr. Spike's help, they needed his strength and speed, but they never forgot what he was and their relationship remained one of mutual scorn.
The humor leached away from his mind and he was weary, but he drew another steadying breath. He aligned his face into a sneer - his Scoobie mask - but his voice was as affable Mr. Harris'. "Just here to give the Bit her present. Happened I got one after all."
"And what might that present be?" Mr. Harris, as casual as could be, shifted his weight and leaned himself across the doorway that separated kitchen from dining room, his arm stretching out until his hand grasped the sill. Miss Kitty seemed to sense the escalation of tension and she ran out the door. She had been present for previous such encounters and knew they ended in loud voices and flailing limbs.
Mr. Spike squared his shoulders. He had known this was coming but had hoped to get further into the den before encountering the first guardian. "Well, that's between the Bit and me, in'it?"
"I'm thinking not so much. Especially, if that crossbow might happen to be the gift. Nice crossbow, by the way." Xander turned his head as he heard the tread of approaching feet. Mr. Giles now stood behind him.
"You're blocking the doorway, Xander. Please move." The Watcher's voice intruded into the moment and it fell upon Mr. Spike like a blow. Usually, he relished his encounters with these two men, enjoying the chance to needle and pierce their skin with pithy remark and well-placed barb. Now, he was tired. He was almost done and he wanted to be on with things.
Mr. Giles took in the scene and his glasses were off in a moment, his handkerchief whipping about the perfectly-clean lenses. "To what do we owe your presence, Spike."
Mr. Spike felt anger blossoming in his chest. "Oh come on. You know perfectly well why I'm here. Stop bein' a git, let me do my thing and I'll be out of your hair."
"Giles, I know this sounds... stupid?" Mr. Harris spread his hands, "But I think fangface here thinks he's going to give Dawn a crossbow for her birthday." He smiled, his expression remarkable for being a mixture of sweetness and cruelty. A child on the schoolground, having just learned that his greater size allowed him to knock down a schoolmate, might have worn such an expression.
"Ah yes. And a splendid crossbow it is. I'm certain you have receipt for it? Considering what I've told you would happen if I caught you stealing again."
Mr. Spike looked away from the Watcher and the muscles in his jaw rippled. We have mentioned before that element of his nature that likened him to a child, that inability to tell a straight-faced lie with aplomb. For all the evil he had done in his unlife, for all his ability to tell the truth in such a way that others could fool themselves with it, he could not tell a lie easily but must change his whole appearance and the seeming of his nature. His usual wont was to become affable and cheery when lying, speaking the words with force and energy as though to convince his listeners by the very vibrancy of his voice. He did not have the energy to put on that seeming this night, and he simply stared into a corner of the room, and mumbled as if chewing his words first would make them more palatable. "Din't steal it. Was trade."
"Trade for what, Spike?" Mr. Giles voice sharpened keenly, his voice rising only slightly yet carrying an unmistakable menace. "Surely, you don't think I'm going to take your word for that, do you?" He advanced on the vampire, drawing himself up to his utmost height to further his ability to look down on his adversary. "I can't believe..."
"What's taking so lon... SPIKE!" Miss Dawn's shrill tones had never seemed so sweet to Mr. Spike.
Mr. Harris and Mr. Giles stepped back, seeming almost to shrink in inches as they pulled back the threat they had been projecting. That threat still resided in their eyes. Mr. Spike was quite clear that he was being granted a respite and not a release.
"You got it ... you got my crossbow!" Miss Dawn, to put it quite simply, was beaming as brightly as sunshine and Mr. Spike felt instantly renewed. This was his reward, this brightness, this sunshine was only kind he would ever enjoy. The kitchen light from the ceiling caught in her eyes and rather than reflecting off their surface as one might expect, they seemed to highlight depths that went on forever. He was reminded of that other place seen through the eyes of Mau... was it possible that such a place existed within a child? He shook himself to alertness. His battle hadn't ended.
The Watcher's face seemed to reflect some of Spike's weariness and his exasperation was still imprinted upon his face but his stance and the tone of his voice betrayed the affection he felt for Miss Dawn. That stance also radiated his position - Mr. Giles was not going to change his mind about the crossbow. "Dawn... I'm sorry but I can't possibly allow you to accept Spike's gift. It was extremely irresponsible for him to have brought it in the first place."
If Mr. Giles had drawn a knife across and sliced it through the air he could not have produced a more dramatic change in Miss Dawn. She still radiated but the brightness had transformed to temper. The clearness of her eyes was now marred by the tears bubbling forth, like little raindrops falling onto the surface of a pool. Miss Dawn had the Summers' temper and was still child enough to indulge it freely. "That's not fair! It's my birthday. You can't keep someone from giving me something."
"Yes. I can. You're not old e..."
Mr. Spike could not hold back. "Look, here, Rupert. The Bit's right. You don't like me anymore 'n' I like you. Don't take it out on the girl."
"For God's sake. This isn't about you. A fourteen year old is hardly responsible enough to be handling a powerful weapon like that!"
"Most fourteen year olds don't live on the Hellmouth and aren't the Slayer's sister. Little Bit needs to be able to defend herself. She's got you, don't she? You'll teach her your Watcher stuff and I'll teach her how to actually use the thing."
"And what then? She'll take it with her to school and when she goes to visit friends? Think! If you're capable of such a thing."
"Hey!"
Miss Rosenberg and Miss MacClay entered the room, drawn by the argument and Miss Rosenberg waded into the fray "Oh, Dawn honey. Crossbows are really hard to handle. I'm not sure I could load that model and I've been using them for years."
"Since you were about fifteen, I'd wager... not much older than the Pidge." Mr. Spike felt he had scored a palpable hit and perhaps he had for there was no immediate response.
Miss Dawn sensed weakness and relaunched her attack. "Please, Giles. I'm old enough. Buf - there's been weapons around the house forever. I know enough to be careful."
"No. I'm sorry..." Mr. Giles repolished his lenses and gazed into the distance for a moment as though searching for words. Then he stared at Miss Dawn, and the steel glinting in his eyes told her that he was about to speak his final word on the subject. "If... If Spike can prove he came by the crossbow through legal means then I'll keep it with the other weapons. Willow has a point about the strength required. I'll give you a set of exercises designed to strengthen the proper muscles and when you are able to load it easily, I'll begin giving you lessons. You are not to touch the weapon unless one of us adults are present - Spike is excluded from that company in spite of his age."
Miss Dawn was far from satisfied but with one of her sudden ascents to a mature outlook she accepted the inevitable. "Fine. Let's get back to dinner before it's cold. Come on, Spike."
Miss MacClay spoke with the hesitation that was her nature when with a crowd of people. "Grab a plate. There's no place set." She chewed on her lip. "I... I didn't know you were coming."
"S'all right. Didn't know it myself until today. Should be on my way anyhow. Just dropped by to do the birthday thing." Mr. Spike's tone was courtly but he was rapidly running scenarios through his head. How could he prevent Mr. Giles from finding out he hadn't got the bow 'by legal means'.
Miss Dawn moved to block his escape. "I had Tara make the tacos extra, extra spicy. I know you like them that way." She sensed that he was poised to flee and she amped up the wattage in her eyes. "Please." Mr. Spike was reeled in like a gasping fish and the group passed through the doorway into the dining room.
***
Miss Kitty was not pleased. Her rights as Queen of the Summers' household had been usurped - she should have been treated to tasty morsels from every dish and allowed to examine each plate to make certain she was missing out on nothing. Instead, she had been forced to flee from the barbarous bristling and posturing of human-and inhuman-males. Such behavior was simply too crude for her to endure. Her tail twitched and she expelled huffs of indignation from deep within her chest.
Her disappointment was soon assuaged however by the whiff of a most heavenly scent, and tacos were quickly forgotten. This was the most fragrant of perfume, an odor worth rolling in and Miss Kitty was determined to discover the source. Her nose led and she followed eagerly, her tail twitching a totally different language now.
She lowered herself, crouching till her belly scraped against the ground and froze. The tantalizing aroma was emanating from the bushes but so was the scent of something cat, yet not-cat. She was infuriated to think that another creature was already covering itself with that enticing fragrance and she yearned to attack.
Miss Kitty Fantastico was a cat born and bred on the Hellmouth, however, and the fact that she still lived was testimony to her wisdom. She wiggled herself into a position, comfortable but easily transformed to one of attack or flight and began to consider her options.
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no subject
Date: 2007-02-13 04:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-14 01:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-13 05:18 pm (UTC)::twitches at the thought of the new crossbow in Dawn's possession and an indignant Miss Kitty on the prowl::
no subject
Date: 2007-02-14 01:19 am (UTC)I always felt both the Scoobies and Spike were pushing themselves to the edge of insanity. I had my issues with S6, but actually thought it not unbelievable given the pressures they all were under.
Buffy wasn't the only one who was clinically depressed.
no subject
Date: 2007-02-13 11:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-14 01:20 am (UTC)