Closer to Hate: Part 3
by Sandycat
Disclaimer: Characters of Buffy and Spike belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and 'Grr Arg', not me. No profit being made.



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Part Three

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"He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you." -Nietzsche


* * *
There was a strange peace in the city at this hour, Buffy mused, as she sat at the bus stop. The buses had long since stopped running, but it was sheltered, providing her with a good vantage point for the rest of the street. The occasional car blasted past her, and the damp smell of rain pervaded the air. She felt almost giddy, quietly drinking in the night. Things moved in the shadows of the nameless brownstones around her, perhaps people, perhaps not. She paid them little mind, and they in turn ignored her, which was unusual in itself- most predators would jump at the chance of finding a young valley-girl all alone in the early hours of the morning. But most predators also had instincts, and Buffy, exuding an aura of barely countained violence, instigated their self-preservation ones. Sighing, she stood, glancing at the small green plants edging out from the cracked pavement at her feet. She smiled, involuntarily, at the images they conjured for her.



She didn't want to strive anymore, she thought bitterly. Some example Dad was. He certainly could've tried harder with Mom. She firmly pushed that thought away, reacting against the irrational pain, both old and new, it aroused in her. Shoving hands in the pockets of her black leather jacket, she began to walk towards the industrial district, anticipating plenty of vamp action there, as they scurried back into their hideouts before dawn.

She grinned viciously, thinking of the vamp she'd staked earlier tonight.


* * *
"'scuse me, do you have the time?"

Arnold looked up to see an exquisite young blonde, looking slightly dishevelled, and very much lost. Smiling inwardly, he put on an outwardly concerned look, but could feel the saliva gathering in his mouth.

"Twenty-five to one. You alright there?"

She dropped those large brown eyes to the ground, then back up to meet his, bottom lip trembling slightly.

"I... " she gazed at him pleadingly.

Sighing, playing the part of concerned nice guy perfectly, he offered her his arm.

"C'mon, my cars 'round here somewhere."

She slid her arm through his, and he led her into the darkness up the street, away from the crowd outside the nightclub, mouth watering in anticipation.

He didn't see Buffy's predatory grin as he fell for it, hook line and sinker.

He led her down an alleyway about a block from the club, deserted. There was no car there, and he could almost taste the sweet heat of her blood sliding down his throat. Disengaging his arm from hers, he turned away, unable to resist indulging in a bit of melodrama before killing her.

"I've got a suprise for you babe. Can you guess what it is?"

Eyes glinting gold, game face on, he spun to face her, expecting a deliciously terrified scream.

Instead he got the full force of her foot in his face. Staggering backwards, jaw broken, he could do nothing but stare at her for a moment, eyes full of shock. She smiled brightly,

"I think I can guess. Mine's better don't you think?"

Snarling, vampire instinct kicking in, he rushed her. She dodged easily, tripping him, bringing him to his knees. With a roundhouse kick, she snapped his head back, breaking his nose and completely shattering what was left of his jawbone. He lay there, feeling his own blood seeping into the pavement. She walked over, spike-heel piercing his chest. Grabbing the front of his shirt, she hauled him up.

In her absorbtion, she didn't notice the shadow that deatched itself from the alley's entrance, and ran off into the night. Facing him, eyes hard, she spoke, tone conversational:

"Usually, you would've been dust by now; sadly for you I'm feeling kinda pissed off with the world. You shouldn't have fucked with me, you know? So, I'm going work out a few frustrations, and by the time I'm done, dust is gonna seem like an attractive state of being."

Arnold groaned.

She was right though. By the time she was done with him, hell was looking to be an tempting proposition.


* * *
Her smile faded. She'd tried to work it out, pass it along, make *them* feel the kind of pain on the outside that she had locked inside her. But she couldn't tell if it was making things better or worse.



She thought idly, ducking her head against the chill. Small-talking to herself, counting the cracks in the sidewalk and thinking determinedly of nothing.


* * *
Spike leaned against the bar, thinking, but not drinking. People subtly tried to avoid brushing against him, perhaps out of some primeval instinct that told them death was with him, perhaps because they didn't want to get cut. He exuded sharpness, razored steel written in every line of his posture, a man carved of ice. His eyes were pale glass marbles, and many times that night women had begun to approach him, but none were foolhardy enough to try to talk, not when he turned that dead gaze on them.

He hadn't eaten yet, painful hunger adding to the rigidity of his posture.

Spike wasn't sure why he hadn't gone hunting, maybe because she was no longer by his side, maybe for some deeper reason that he was almost afraid to examine.



But he wasn't, and he couldn't imagine ever getting to that point. At the heart of him, Spike was all or nothing, and if he did want to die he'd walk into the sun, go out with a bang,



Or so he thought, anyway. It'd been a long time since Spike had felt uncertain about anything. He'd lived his un-life with the guilt-free wildness that came from absolute unshakeable belief in himself.

Blood-scent intruded on his thoughts then. Being a master, he could afford not to feed, for a while at least- it was painful, but it didn't drive him totally off-keel, to be deprived for a while.

Turning, he picked out the source. Children, fledglings. Neither of them over sixty. The one sitting in the booth was bloated, cheeks pink with new life- he'd just fed. The female that had just run in looked hungry. She also looked scared. They hadn't noticed him yet, too young to pick up on the master vibes he produced. Filtering through the bar's noise, he listened to what they were saying.

"... she *tortured* him, Alex! You... you had to *see* it- put him down like a *dog*... "

"Yeah, yeah... " the one called Alex paused to light a cigarette, taking his time, he inhaled, then turned his attention back to the female.

"C'mon Celene, Arnie was a fucking dumb gimp. You know how he liked games- sure he didn't bite off more than he could chew? Run into some undercover bitch?"

Celene subsided for a moment, then continued quietly:

"A cop that knew ta stake him?" she shook her head, shaking and intense, "it was a fucking *Slayer*."

Alarm bells rang in Spike's head.



There was only one slayer active now, since Dru had killed Kendra.



Interest piqued through the cloud of antipathy that gripped him, he watched carefully as the female vamp walked out in a huff, marking her, before he tossed a note to the bartender and walked out.


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