Title: Call Me
Author: Restive Nature (aka
Rating: FR-13 (just for rude
and/ or dirty words)
Disclaimer: I do not own
either of BtVS, which belongs to Whedon and Mutant Enemy, or X-men, which
belongs to Stan Lee and Marvel comics, I believe. The characters and settings
in this fiction are used for entertainment purposes only. No profit is being
made from the fiction.
Timeline: The timing in
Buffy is vague. It’s after Spike was with Harmony, but before he really got
into the Scooby gang. So season 4 somewhere, I’d guess. And for X-men, this is
between the movies. Mystique is healing from the wounds Wolverine inflicted on
her and is searching for a way to free Magneto from prison.
Summary: He’s known a lot of
women in his time and has had a name for them all.
A/N- This is written for
Twisting the Hellmouth’s Fic-for-all. Pairing #912 Spike/ Mystique.
“I don’t know why you’re bothering luv,” the
slightly tipsy British voice chuckled. Mystique sighed as she glanced down at
her body. Normally, blue scaled skin would have greeted her eyes. But in an
effort to hide, she’d been staying “in character” as it were, for longer
periods of time. And the blonde form she’d assumed, after seeing the young lady
she was doubling in the park, seemed to hold special significance to the cocky
British punk here with her now.
“What do you mean?” she
questioned softly. She really didn’t have any clue as to how his mind worked.
And she had always figured herself to have a good handle on how people thought.
It was simple. Fear ruled everything. Most especially, fear of her, and her
kind. “And don’t call me luv,” she tacked on, slightly perturbed. But the
bleached blonde Brit just laughed again.
“The scent,” he offered,
gesturing towards her. “You’ll never get that bint right. Trust me, I know.”
Mystiques eyes widened, for
two reasons. One, that she’d run into yet another freak that could identify her
by smell alone. First there’d been that great brute that had followed Magneto
everywhere, Sabretooth. And his former brother in arms, the Wolverine. And now
this one. She wondered what his mutant ability was. And two, for the fact that
she had noticed the way his body had reacted when she put on this disguise.
Whoever the “bint” was, the Brit obviously had some sort of feelings for her.
“And what would you suggest
I do, then?” she asked acerbically. Granted, the Brit had seen her in her
natural form, when she’d been fighting off those creatures that had attacked
her in the dead of night in the forest. As naturally agile, flexible and strong
as she was, her injury was enough that she couldn’t hold them all back. But
then the Brit had arrived and ordered them off. And the twits had obeyed. It
had occurred to her that someone with a little power around here was a good ally
to have at the moment. At least while she was recuperating.
“Go au natural,” he
shrugged. “Hellmouth knows, I won’t mind.”
That was an odd choice of
words that Mystique shrugged off. With ease, the blonde’s green eyed face
quickly reverted back to blue. She wasn’t surprised to see the hint of relief
on the man’s face. Actually, it felt nice to find someone else that she could
be herself with.
“So if I can’t call you luv,
what do I call ya then?” he demanded.
“How about by my name?” she
“Which would be?”
“Mystique,” she supplied
with a purr. His eyebrows shot up and he began to laugh all over again. “What?”
she demanded irritably. “I suppose you’ve something better in mind?”
“Luv,” he began when he
calmed down. “You need a name as bold and as striking as you are, pet.”
“Like what?” she demanded
softly, though she was starting to get a little testy.
“Mmm,” he thought for a
moment, his hand absently reaching for the bottle of whiskey on the table
nearby. He took a swig and squinted up at her. “You could be my Blue Angel…”
Mystique scoffed at that. “Of death,” he finished. She couldn’t help herself;
an amused giggle escaped her lips. “What?” he demanded.
“B-blue angel?” she laughed
He shrugged. “Why not?” he
sighed. “I’ve had a Black Goddess, a blonde bimbo and a brassed off Slayer in
my life. Why not a Blue Angel?”
“Of death,” she reminded
“Exactly!” he crowed.
Mystique smiled. Something about this stranger was incredibly fun. Maybe she
could relax and let her hair down, so to speak while she was here. And as if he
were reading her mind, he perked up a bit to say, “say, you wouldn’t be up for
some havoc wreaking now, would you?”
“Oh, normally havoc and I go
along together quite well,” she shrugged. “But shouldn’t I be laying low?”
The blonde regarded her
intently for a moment, and then seemed to understand. He shook his head. “Nah,
you’d be business as usual on the hellmouth.”
Mystique was taken aback
again. She could go out in public and her appearance would be considered
normal? What kind of mutant utopia was she in?
“Just a word o’ warnin’,
though,” the Brit broke in again. “Don’t go near the bint you were just
wearing. She’d kill ya in a heartbeat.”
Okay, utopia had some
drawbacks. But… “You know her scent though, right? I’m sure she’d be easy
enough to avoid.”
He perked up again. “Yeah,”
he breathed. “We could have us a time, my mysterious blue angel.”
“Of death,” she chuckled
again. The Brit joined in and stumbled to his feet. He held out an arm to her.
“Let the havoc wreaking
begin,” he yelled out. He began to drag her towards the opening of the crypt
he’d brought her to. The night air was fresh and cooling against her skin.
Mystique followed after him willingly, but she still had one thought on her
“So what do I call you?”
“Spike, luv,” he answered
with glee. “You can call me Spike.”