Rating: PG – 13
Disclaimer: Not mine. BtVS belongs to Joss and HP to JK Rowling.
Notes: Continuation of my previous story, Like Him.
His Pansy had distracted him well and good, but he wasn’t distracted, oh no not him. She might have distracted him from his mission to beat the sense into Malfoy’s head about his little Red, but she hadn’t made him forget about Blaise and how he was treating the little bit. Alright, it might be the fact that he hadn’t told
her about his intentions of giving the little bastard pervert a talking to about how he treated his Nibblet, but Spike was a mite protective of his girls, though he knew that they could and did defend themselves well. He was proud of his girls, he was. He just didn’t think it should be necessary for them to be hurtin’ in the first place. And it wasn’t the physical hurt he worried about most, either. It was the emotional one, the scars he knew he couldn’t heal. He didn’t want for them to get more scars than they did, and those two had plenty. ‘Specially the Nibblet. She’d had to stake her first kiss, didn’t she? Lived to see the Slayer die a couple ‘f times. She’d had some hurtin’ in her life that he couldn’t prevent, but his he could.
Seeing as tonight no one was around in the big ol’ headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, Spike reckoned it was ‘s good a time ‘s any for them to have the little talk. The shovel talk, t’be precise. He knew the others didn’t see the way the pervert Blaise had been looking at his Dawn, but he did. He noticed when boys looked at what was his, and Dawn had been his a sight longer than most. His first friend, she was. She and that great ol’ mum of hers. But Dawn stuck, ‘cept for that time after Buffy got brought back from the dead. But she’d taken him back in, when she found out he was all in the flesh again, and corporeal. She’d gone all white when she’d seen ‘im on her doorstep after the big old W&H showdown he’d had with Angel. She’d gone sheet white, his girl, then she’d thrown those thin arms of hers around his neck and held on to him tight as she sobbed. He remembered being thankful he didn’t have to breathe, she was squeezing him so tight.
He was in the kitchen when the door opened at twelve o’clock. It brought in the cold December English air in, with the smell of wet leaves, and stale alcohol and cigarettes hangin’ on the clothes of the one that wore ‘em. He heard her giggle, a breathless laugh. Heard the low murmur of the bas- of Zabini’s voice and wondered how long he’d let them go on before he broke in. When he heard the low moan, though, he though enough was enough, and walked to cupboard and took out a box of weetabix. Then slammed the cupboard shut. He smirked as he heard the Nibblet’s little squeak, and Zabini’s oaths and the quick righting of clothing as he sat down, took out a weetabix and dunked it into his mug of warmed blood. He was happily munching as he saw two heads peek into the kitchen, Dawn’s face brightening into a smile as she saw who it was, and Zabini’s darkening in response. Spike hid another smirk as he lifted the mug to his lips and took a sip.
“Nice night?” he asked, all innocent, like. Dawn nodded happily and started talking about the club that they’d been to and how good the music was and oh my god she swore she saw a guy that looked like he was having a fit in the middle of the dance floor but it actually turned out he was dancing and she really wished she had money to go shopping because some of the clothes that the girls had worn were to die
for and – Spike nodded and smiled and added the appropriate noises to let her know he was listening, but his eyes were locked on the figure leaned against the wall, arms crossed and an irritated look on his face. He couldn’t help but smirk again, and this time, Dawn noticed it. Sighing, she followed Spike’s eyes to Blaise, and then shook her head.
“You know, I should be insulted.”
Blaise looked confused, but Spike knew better and just smiled at her instead.
“Y’know I only do it ‘cause I love you, bit.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She sighed. “I know. Just… don’t put the big hurt on just yet, ‘kay? Sometimes I need to make my own mistakes to learn from. And I’m learning, now. You gotta let me experience life some and let me decide for myself.”
“I know that. Who d’ya think I am, the Slayer?” he snorted. “Let you live plenty, haven’t I? If Buffy knew the things I let you away with, she’d have my head on the platter, if it didn’t go to dust. Maybe she’d just settle on having a vial of said dusk on her mantelpiece, if she had one.” Grinning, she kissed his cold cheek, but gave him another warning look. As she left the kitchen, Blaise started to get up, but the cool voice at the head of the table halted him.
“Stay right where you are, boy. You and I have some talkin’ to do.” He hid his smirk as the boy followed his command, eyes wary. Tipping back the chair he was sitting on, Spike crossed his arms and looked coolly at the man in front of him. “You hurt her, I hurt you.”
“You know what I’m talking about, boy. No need to play dumb with me. The little viperess has told me ‘bout the three a’ you. She says you’re all smart and sly as could be, and I know my Pansy and she’s as she says she is, so I’m assuming you are too.” The dark skinned man’s face was unreadable as he leaned back in his own chair, opposite to Spike, arms crossed and mimicking the vampire’s pose.
“I’m not going to hurt her.”
“I know your type. All womanising. You know all the tricks in the book, wining and dining and giving the girl flowers and chocolate or any other thoughtful gift. You’ll hurt her, and don’t say you will. The Nibblet knows you’ll hurt her, too. Just ‘s I’ll hurt Pansy.” He acknowledged this with a nod, but went on. “But I’m not gonna hurt her more’n necessary. You deliberately hurt the Nibblet, you’ll die o’ th’ shovel. That’s if big sis won’t come right to England. You better watch out, boyo. She’ll likely rip off your arms and beat you t’ death with ‘em. I’ll watch ‘er, then I’ll take a saw t’ th’ top o’ your head and drink out of your skull like a chalice, you hear me?”
Spike grudgingly had to give it to the other man. Blaise looked back at him unflinching, though he knew the words that Spike spoke were truth. He just nodded coolly and then his eyes got a little bit hard.
“I have to say the same about you and Pansy. Not the beating to death by shovel, or the ripping of arms, or the drinking of blood from your head. I’m not quite equipped for that. But she is sister to Drake and I. We will
hurt you if she is unnecessarily hurt. I will find out for sure if a vampire hurts if the crucio is on him. I will find use of every. Single. Torturing. Curse I had to learn on my seventeenth birthday from my thrice damned father. Drake and I have both been tutored in the fine arts of torture. We will make sure you do not ascend to your final death for a long, long time. That fast vampire healing will go against you this time, and I will make sure that every single torture you have ever gone through in your long life will be nothing compared to what you will face with us.”
The two men stared at each other, both unwavering, both seemingly devoid of expression or emotion. Finally, a smirk curved Spike’s lips, and then Blaise’s. Oh yes, they understood each other, and well. Spike felt burgeoning respect for the little pervert. They were alike, after all.