Title: Marshmallows (2/10)
Author: Oni
Email: WasabiOni@n...
Website: http:/www.angelfire.com/id2/WasabiOni
Rating: NC-17, overall for rape, violence, sex, language
Content: Spike/Joyce
Summary: Spike comes back to Sunnydale with a plan to destroy the
Slayer...
Disclaimer: All Buffy the Vampire Slayer characters are and shall
ever be the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. Everything
else is mine, mine, mine. This is strictly for adults and
entertainment purposes only.
Distribution: Just contact me first please.
Feedback: Want it. Need it. Got to have it.
Spoilers: Through the end of Season 3.


Oh my baby baby, I want you so it scares me to death
I can't say anymore than "I love you"
Everything else is a waste of breath
Elvis Costello, "I Want You"


There was something wrong. Buffy hesitated on the threshold of
her home, automatically reaching into her jacket for a stake. The
house was dark and quiet. It was 2:30 a.m. she told herself, it was
supposed to be dark and quiet, but something about it
seemed....wrong. She switched on the light.

She picked up the videotape sitting on the arm of the couch
between an outbreak of ghouls and rumors of a new Master vamp setting
up shop on the Hellmouth, she hadn't had much chance for anything as
nonessential as watching a video with her mom. This summer was
turning out to be about as much fun as 5 to 10 at San Quentin. She
put the tape back and she went into the kitchen. She frowned when she
saw the empty wine bottle on the counter. She checked the back door
-- locked tight. But the sense of something wrong remained. She saw
but didn't notice either the pan on the stove, or the empty mug on
the table. She switched off the light and headed upstairs.

"Mom," she said softly. No answer. Which could be because mom
was asleep, it being 2:30 in the morning? She eased open the door.
More quiet and dark. Caught between feeling frightened and silly
Buffy quietly crept to her mother's bed. "Mom?"

An empty wine glass gleamed in the light from the window. Her
mom lay on her side, knees bent, cradled in her own arms. The sheet
that was all she was using in the summer heat had slipped from her
shoulders. Buffy touched her mother's bare shoulder. She smelled of
used wine and soap and her hair was damp. She was warm, breathing,
fast asleep. She was fine. A feeling of enormous relief washed over
her.
"Night, Mom," Buffy said softly as she pulled the sheet up
over her mother.

In the bathroom, she noticed a pile of damp towels on the
floor. It looked like Mom had had herself a Calgon night. Wasn't like
her to leave a mess, but, oh well. She picked up the towels and
dumped them in the hamper.

When she woke up around 9 the next morning, the house was
empty, Joyce had already left for work. Buffy ate a quick breakfast
alone before heading downtown to see Giles at his new place of
business. She stopped for a moment to admire the carved wooden sign:
Sunnydale Books, (with a big smiley sun beaming down on the words)
new and used. Its previous incarnation had been as an occult supply
shop, before Spike had murdered the proprietor during his last visit
to town. Now Willow had to go to Santa Barbara for her magic supplies
and Giles had a new cover and a perfect place to store the books
rescued from Sunnydale High's destruction.

She walked down the steps and entered the shop, ignoring the
"Closed" sign. Giles was sitting behind the counter, his attention
divided between the manual and the cash register's monitor. He looked
up at the sound of the bell.

"Hey Giles. How's business?"

"Buffy. Good morning. How did last night's patrol go?" He
gratefully tossed the manual under the counter. "Any more information
on this new Master?"

Buffy shook her head. "Nothing. I spent all night down at the
docks, `cause that's where Willie said this new Master guy is hanging
out. Saw a lot of rats, a couple of drunken sailors. Oh, and this
slimy demon thing jumped me."

"Are you alright?"

"I am. He's not." She did a quick and brutal pantomime of the
demon's demise. "He kinda melted, which is good, cause no disposal
problem, but hard on the footwear." She smiled.

"Oh. What kind of demon exactly?"

"Green, warty, like a frog on steroids-- and Viagra. Bob Dole
has a lot to answer for. My first, and hopefully last." Giles
grimaced at the image she'd conjured.

"It doesn't sound familiar. Perhaps Willow can do a search
when she gets in. What time did you say you were meeting her?"

"Ten-ish. We're going to orientation together. So how's the
book business?"

"It's an interesting change. Dealing with people who actually
like books."

"I can see where it'd be a nice change. So, Giles..." the hair
on the back of his neck rose. "..on a personal note."

"Is this absolutely..." he peered suspiciously over the tops
of his glasses.

"What's going on with you and my mother?"

"What! Umm that is, nothing."

"And why not? Are you just one of those Don Juans? A love them
and leave them kinda guy?"

"Buffy, I don't think this is really an appropriate subject."

"I really think mom would like it if you'd call," Buffy
continued "Not that she's said anything," she added hastily.

"Buffy, I..."

"All I'm saying is, she's alone a lot, with me being out on
patrol so much this summer. And I'll be gone in September so if
you're embarrassed, I mean, I'll be completely out of you guys' way."

"Buffy.."

"Shutting up now. Not another word. Really. So are you going
to call?" Giles sighed and decided on a tactical retreat.

"I'll think about it."

"Cool. Hey Willow!"

"Hi. What's up?"
*****
"Spiiike!" Drusilla pleaded, reaching out to him as the flames
caught at the hem of her nightgown, and the cotton flared.

"Spiiike! Help me!!!" His princess shrieked spinning
desperately trying to get away from the flames. He stood helpless, as
her white dress and white skin crisped and burned. She was a charred
skeleton in a shroud of flames, somehow still standing, still
screaming, blackened claws reaching for him. The eyeless skull gaped
one last time. "Spiiike..." it wailed, before the last of her
collapsed into a charcoal cloud of ash that dissipated into
nothingness.

"NO!" he screamed reaching out, trying to save her..

Spike woke and found himself reaching out into darkness. The
same dream again. The same bloody, lying nightmare. Dru hadn't
burned, he wished it had been that easy. There wasn't enough blood in
the world to wash the memory of her death from his brain. He could
feel the sun leaning heavily on the roof of the old motel, one of the
several lairs he had scattered around Sunnydale. He glanced at his
watch and sighed when it confirmed what he already knew, there were
hours to go before sundown. He hated summer. Endless days with
nothing to do. He rolled over and his eyes met the terrified eyes of
the boy lying gagged and bound on the bed next to him. He lifted the
boy's head and fingered the marks of his previous feeding
thoughtfully, but let him drop. It wasn't food he wanted.

He got up and put the video in the player. He sat down in the
battered Barcalounger, pointed the remote and pressed play. He
unzipped his jeans and grasped himself as static gave way to:

Joyce, naked, trembling, all the imperfections of her
mortality ruthlessly exposed to the camera. Sprawled on her back,
open to him, her eyes squeezed shut, her face contorted, her back
arching in joyless orgasm. Her blood tricking down between her
breasts. On her hands and knees, her mouth open in an 'O' of shock as
he penetrated her...

Spike's own hand roughly abusing himself as he came, in
perfect synchronicity with his image on the tube, again. Fuck, he
thought to himself, as the tape faded again to black. I'm going to
wear my fucking dick out if I keep this up.

The first time he watched it was just for kicks, but it was
going beyond a joke now. Over the week since making the tape he'd
watched it at least two or three times a day. What the hell was wrong
with him?

He'd come to Sunnyhell with a plan: death and destruction of
everything the Slayer loved. Not the most original plan, but a good
one. First the mother, then all of her friends. He knew exactly where
the redhead would be tonight, exactly when she would be unprotected,
vulnerable. The minions had been shadowing her for weeks, all it
would take was his word... But....

She was so perfect. His perfect victim. Defenseless, without
the armor of naivete, or youth's casual assumption of immortality.
Death had already laid its hand on her, the slow decline of her body
had already begun: she knew she could die. In his arms, she trembled
with the certainty of it. Her blood was saturated with the sweet
black terror of it. He wanted more of it. He wanted her.

Buffy wasn't the brightest candle in the box, but even she
would figure it out if her friends started dying off. It was just
good luck that he hadn't marked her throat, or anywhere else her
daughter was likely to notice. He could simply take Joyce and leave
town, but that would lead to an extremely brassed-off Slayer on his
trail. Or, he could kill the Slayer... he refused to believe that it
couldn't be done. He didn't like his odds though. He'd been paying
attention as one after another her enemies fell despite apparently
huge advantages and had concluded that this Slayer was different from
the others, not just in having friends, but in having powerful forces
ranged on her side. So for now, no showdowns.

He'd lay low. Keep his secrets and play with his sweet new toy
in the dark. He could wait a few more hours for sundown to come and
free him to go to her. He could almost taste her.

Continued in Part 3