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Walk After Dinner

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Summary: Midyear Ficathon for Amaranthea. Spike takes a walk after dinner down memory lane. Spike and Connor MacLeod.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Highlander > Spike-Centered(Past Donor)housesFR711,551332,57914 Jul 0414 Jul 04Yes

Title: Walk After Dinner

Author: houses


Universe: BtVS, AtS, Highlander

Character: Spike

Pairing: None, allusion to Spike’s affection for Buffy

Disclaimer: Panzer own HL, Joss owns AtS
Spoilers: Chosen [7:22] on BtVS, Soul Purpose [5:10] on AtS , general on Highlander

Summary: Spike takes a walk on his way home from ‘work’, finding yet another hopeless helpless to help, or so he thought. He finds himself walking down memory lane instead, remembering those who made his unlife worth living in Sunnydale.

Notes: For Amaranthea’s Summer Ficathon. Request below. I went with Spike and Highlander. For inspiration, I reached for the Witches peanut gallerying Macbeth’s life in the movie Scotland, PA. I hope it doesn’t disappoint.

Name: Abigail Reese (Pen Name: Amaranthea)


Genre: Anita Blake, Highlander, Lord of the Rings

Max Rating: NC17

Characters: Buffy, Spike, Anita, Connor, Duncun, Legolas, Aragorn

Type: Action

Want To See: Scooby interaction

Not Want To See: Dawn.

~~~Walk After Dinner~~~

Clash of steel on steel rang down the alley. Spike tilted his head, listening. He contemplated the bag of Chinese food in his hand, the noises, the food, the noises, and gave a gigantic sigh.

Unusual, but not unheard of, sword fighting in the streets of LA. Granted, he and his merry band of not-friends were usually the ones doing the clashing, but still. Could be nothing.

He lit a cigarette, breathing deep. He looked up and down the street, noting the absence of cars before darting down between the dumpsters. Then again, could be something. Right then.

He was new to this hero-in-the-night gig. More Angel’s scene, but since he was the one the Powers tapped this time around, damned if he wasn’t going to make a go of it. That Doyle fellow was rather convincing with the visions and all that rot, and it actually felt…good, to help. Help and not be ridiculed like those Scoobies used to do. Never good enough, not even with a soul. He stifled another self pitying sigh and tried to look on the bright side of dark-avenging: the clanging may be some damsel in distress and whatnot. Gotta love those damsels, fools the lot of them.

The sounds of fighting echoed around him, bouncing off the concrete and metal of the alley, he paused for a moment to take another deep drag before flicking the butt off into the refuse pile. He strutted around an abandoned car, leaping lightly over a tipped trash can. The vampire wrinkled his nose; no matter how long humans were on this rock, they never managed to make their rubbish to smell better. Maybe he should have science-girl look into it. Fred was into that sort of thing, more or less.

“Right then, which one of you damsels need helllll-ooo,” his clever quips died on his lips when he got a look at the fight. Some how, ‘Dark avenger come to kick your sorry demon ass,’ didn’t seem to apply to two very human men going at it with swords.


Not your usual Los Angeles nightlife- way too heartbeaty. Spike debated a moment before pulling up a cinder block and having a seat.

“Oy, you boys have a license to do this?”

No answer, though the larger, sweatier, hairier one grunted. Hard to say who needed saving- no one was wearing a nametag that said ‘Hi, I’m demonic, please slay me!’ Spike tskd and lit another cigarette. It was times like these he actually missed the Scoobies. Annoying little gits, most of them, but sometimes…well, they were company.

He could leave, he supposed, let these two duke it out. Spike wasn’t sure that playing nanny to a bunch of frustrated humans was in Doyle’s job description, and he was sure there’d been no vision about this little…interlude. The men continued their dance, the littler one having better form, but not quite the strength. Spike found himself critiquing their technique before rolling his eyes. “This is really sad, boys, can’t find a date? Better to beat up on each other? A bit of pent up inappropriate feelings?”

Still no reaction. This whole watch-and-scorn wasn’t nearly so much fun without the kids around. If he concentrated hard enough, he could imagine them there around him. Xander was sitting on the bench seat of the abandoned car, munching happily on an Italian sub wearing an atrocious Hawaiian shirt. He waved the sandwich around a bit, “You know, Deadboy Junior, this hero thing’s not really you. You’re more the suck-em and leave-em type.”

“Xander! That’s not fair. He’s done lots of good.” Willow appeared to his left, slurping a mocha frappachino through a straw. She scrunched her nose. “Well, some good. Goodish.” She sighed, rolling her eyes when Xander started laughing.

With a start, Spike was surprised to see Buffy leaning up against the wall. “I dunno, guys, he might figure it out. He did come through in the end.”

He straightened up, flexing his shoulders subconsciously. It was one thing to conjure up the wonder twins. Another thing altogether the blonde-goddess herself. After all this time away, the sheer image of her was enough to stop his heart. Well, if he had one, anyway.

Xander munched another bite, talking with his mouth full, “Gotta give him points though, how many other undead creatures with souls would be out doing…whatever…it is he’s doing.”

“Hey! I’m helping the helpless here!” Spike interjected, narrowly missing a sword swipe that went a little too close to his beloved duster. “Oy, watch the leather, punk!” The hairy one snarled, looking a little less human and a bit more Conan the Barbarian. Spike huffed, “A bit touchy, ain’t ya.”

“Ewww, smelly. You know, Spike, if you’re helping the helpless, can’t you choose a cute one, or at least a non-stinky one?” Buffy waved her hand in front of her nose. Spike’s lips quirked up into a smile. She was so very Buffy just then, this figment of his imagination.

“Don’t choose ‘em, love, just save ‘em.” He ducked again, tripping over a jumble of bottles. “But these two don’t really look like they need it. Big with the male bonding, my guess.”

It was the little one that spoke this time, rolling his words with an impressive Scottish accent, “If you aren’t going to help me kill him, then please fuck off. We don’t need the commentary.”

“Fussy aren’t they. You know, I miss the good old days where the demons just quipped and sliced.” Willow tapped her fingers on her lip, leaning on Xander’s shoulder. He bobbed his head up and down in agreement.

“Life got harder when the bad guys stopped being evil and got a bit greyer, or, you know, friend shaped.”

“Way to bring down the mood Xander. We’re past all that now.” Buffy watched ambivalently as a swipe went right through her chest. “Good thing I’m not really here, that would have hurt. Not to mention ruining a perfectly good Bebe top. I spent good money for this.”

Willow nodded, a flush still on her cheeks, “Darn toot’n.”

The vampire couldn’t help the chuckle that rumbled from his chest. It felt so good, the casual commentary, the camaraderie. He had to face facts, he was a complete pansy- he missed them all. Missed Xander’s awkward off-color humor, Willow’s self-deprecation, Buffy’s sheer magnetism cloaking a warm heart.

He was so wrapped in his thoughts when a grunt behind him took him by surprise. He looked over his shoulder in time to see the smaller man slice the head off the larger one, his unattached skull rolling across the alley.

“Hey, now that’s just not nice at all,” Spike started, but snapped his mouth shut at what happened next. Blue lights started under the slain man’s skin, dancing lightening around the enclosed space. The Scottish fellow dropped to his knees, sword discarded, holding tight to the ground.

The arcs of electricity soon spread, and Spike was hard pressed to keep out of the way. One by one the, Scoobies faded until only Buffy was left, watching him with compassion. She smiled faintly, giving him a nod and a wave before she too disappeared in a lightening struck haze.

Spike’s jaw was on his chest, ash drifting around his fingers from the abandoned smoke. His imagination was definitely running away with him. First imaginary friends then this lightening show. Definitely not on the docket for the day.

The man opened his eyes, whole body tense. He moved as if to grab his sword again, but Spike held up his hand.

“Look, mate, I’ve had a really bizarre couple of weeks. Like, cosmically demented. I just had a conversation with people I’ve not seen for months that don’t really exist then watched you chop the head off of old Stinky here complete with laser light show.”

The man watched him warily, drawing himself up to his feet. “What do you want from me,” he murmured.

Spike thought for a moment, wondering just what he did want. He wanted his unlife back, he wanted a purpose, he wanted fucking respect from Angel and his merry band of poofters, and most of all, “I want a drink.”

The man blinked and Spike stuck out his hand, “I’m Spike. I think I could do with a pint or twelve. You up for it?”

“Connor MacLeod.” He shook his head, “And why not? Drink it is.”

Spike beamed, wrapping his arm loosely around the man’s shoulders. “I know this great little dive, not far from here. And if we’re lucky, it’s Karaoke night!”

The vampire lit up again, duster swinging with each step. It was a weird, weird night. But one thing was for certain, this was absolutely, positively, the last time he let Harmony fix his blood before leaving work. Otter, his ass.

~~~The End~~~

The End

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