I have two small comments to add about the fic. In the beginning, I forgot to mention that the fic is also Nicholas/Danny (of the Hot Fuzz portion). My apologies for that. It's getting added to the summaries, and when we hit their NC17 section in chapter 6, I'll remind you again, in case slash isn't your thing. Also, based on the outline Pepper and I have, we're estimating between 17 and 20 chapters total. 7 of those are done already, and it's writing quickly.
That being said, on to the story...
Author: Eurydice & Pepperlandgirl
Fic Title: The Rose Remembers
Summary: Death isn't done with Sandford, but a Slayer and a vampire on the run have something to say about that. Spike/Buffy, Nicholas/Danny
Rating: Eventually NC17
Warnings: Violence and sexual content.
Banner number: 47 by athenamuze
Setting: About 2 1/2 years post-NFA
Disclaimer: Not ours, as much as we would like them to be.
Author Notes: This is a crossover with the movie, Hot Fuzz, but honestly, you shouldn't have to be familiar with the movie to be able to understand the fic. However, by reading the fic, you *will* get spoiled for the entire movie. Just so that you know.
Previously on Buffy: Nicholas and Danny learned about the existence of vampires, and Buffy ran into Drusilla, only to be interrupted by a familiar face...
The story begins here.
“That’s quite the story he told us, isn’t it?” Danny asked, pushing his hands deep in his coat pockets.
“It was just a story.”
“What? You don’t believe him?”
Nicholas sighed. “I don’t know, Danny. Vampires. Demons. Doesn’t that seem a bit insane to you?”
“How do you explain what happened to Gabriel, then?”
Nicholas’ shoulders hunched. “I don’t know that, either.”
“Do you think….”
Danny shrugged. “Do you think it was demons what made the NWA do what they did.”
Nicholas opened his mouth to respond, but he looked up in time to see hope bare on Danny’s face. He swallowed hard. “No, Danny, I don’t think so.”
“Yeah,” he sighed. “I didn’t think so either. Want to go to the pub?”
“No.” He looked at Danny from the corner of his eye. “I’ve got some beer at my place. I don’t really feel like going to the pub tonight.”
Vampires. Vampires. Vampires. The word pounded in Nicholas’ head, like he could make sense of it if he repeated it enough. But it didn’t make sense. It sounded foreign. Ridiculous. He couldn’t believe he was even entertaining it at all. He couldn’t believe Danny had bought Mr. Giles’ story so thoroughly.
Then who took Gabriel’s body?
Nicholas didn’t know, but that’s what an investigation was for. He had put Detectives Cartwright and Wainwright—the Andys—in charge of finding out what happened.
So what we’re thinking, Nicholas? Zombies?
Nicholas hadn’t bothered correcting them. Zombies or vampires. What was the difference?
“Nicholas, I was thinking that…”
Danny’s voice disappeared like somebody flipped a switch and put him on mute. There wasn’t a pause, wasn’t even a startled breath. One second he was speaking, the next he was sprawled dazed and blinking at Nicholas’ feet.
“What happened? Did you slip?” Nicholas bent, taking Danny’s arm with one hand, and gripping his shoulder with the other.
“I…no…I didn’t slip. Nicholas, look out.”
And then Nicholas was somehow on the cold ground beside him, a flash of hot pain spreading up his spine. Nicholas looked around, quickly taking in the situation. He had been kicked in the kidneys, and that hurt like a bugger, but whoever did it had been directly behind him and…
Nicholas jumped to his feet, and his arm shot out. His fist connected with the soft bones of somebody’s face. The bones immediately began to shift against his knuckles. He pulled his hand away as if stung, and finally got a good look at his assailant.
But it wasn’t Gabriel.
Gabriel’s features had been fine, almost fragile. The thing staring at him had a ridged brow. And bright yellow eyes.
The Gabriel-thing grinned at Nicholas’ exclamation, running his tongue over his teeth—fangs. They were fangs.
Nicholas dropped back a half-step and adopted a defensive position, doing his best to stay between the…vampire and his partner. “Danny? You okay?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“What did Mr. Giles say about killing these things?”
“Use something sharp and pointy.”
“Were those his exact words?”
“Right. Find me something sharp and pointy.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Execute moral authority,” Nicholas said, moving forward to kick Gabriel’s legs out from under him. The vampire hit the cold concrete with a grunt of pain, but it didn’t stay down for long.
Mr. Giles had been pretty sketchy on the details, but Nicholas was a quick study. Vampires were clearly stronger and much faster than humans. They were also better at hand-to-hand. Nicholas suspected Gabriel had never been trained in any sort of martial arts, but he was still defending himself well against each one of Nicholas’ attempts to bring him down again.
“Danny, where’s that stake?”
“Give me a minute! It’s not like they’re lying around, are they?”
“I don’t.” Nicholas ducked to the left. “Have.” He moved to the right. “A minute!” He drove his head forward, and the sound of his skull cracking against Gabriel’s ridged brow echoed on the empty street. Gabriel stumbled back, stunned.
“Here! Try this.”
Nicholas spun around in time to catch the thin sliver of wood Danny had tossed at his head. “What is this?”
“It’s a piece of wood!”
“This isn’t going to work. Did you find it in somebody’s garden?”
Danny gestured at the street. “Do you see any other wooden stakes around here?”
“Is there another way to kill these things?” Nicholas asked, doubling over to avoid Gabriel’s attack. He flew over Nicholas’ head and spun around to attack again.
“Cut off his head.”
“Well, I left my sword at home.”
“You have a sword?”
“Just try it. Maybe it’ll slow him down, at least.”
The toothy smile on Gabriel’s face told Nicholas what he thought of that plan. But Nicholas knew he could use the vampire’s speed and strength against him. He backed up several paces, hoping that Gabriel would continue to ignore Danny in favor of attacking him. Especially when the dead boy realized Nicholas had effectively cornered himself against a parked car.
He wasn’t disappointed. Gabriel put his head down and charged. Nicholas clutched the thin piece of wood at his side tightly, tiny slivers digging into his palm. Gabriel was only a few feet away from him when Nicholas finally raised the make-shift weapon over his chest. Gabriel launched himself through the air and landed on Nick, pinning him to the car.
Nicholas could smell his bitter breath a split second before the boy burst into dust.
“See. Told you it’d work.”
“Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“We’re getting somewhere safe, then we’re calling Mr. Giles, and then we’re going to find some better stakes than this.”
Danny smiled. “Guess you believe in vampires now, huh?”
Nicholas spit the taste of ashes out of his mouth before he reached for his cell phone. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Spike had been prowling through bloody Sandford for nearly a week, alternately cursing Angel’s name and wishing the wanker had been there to keep him company. There was absolutely nothing to do in Sandford, and the trick about Dru was, you couldn’t find her unless she wanted to be found.
He couldn’t even find any decent blood. Usually the local, friendly butcher would oblige him with a bit of the red stuff, but when he went around to the Somerfield and asked, the man behind the glass counter looked at him like his second head had grown a second head, and then threatened to call the police. At least nobody threatened him when he bought some fucking Jaffa cakes and Walkers’ crisps, so that was something.
Spike forgot all about his food woes when he caught a hint of Drusilla on the breeze. Sweet and bitter like the darkest chocolate, with a hint of tea and blood and sex. He had caught whiffs of her all over the village, but never so close. Never so strong. The demon slumbering deep in his body began to rouse.
He immediately shifted direction mid-stride, ducking into the long shadows skirting the castle. He didn’t vamp out. It would make it easier to find her, but like would call to like, and Spike didn’t want to bugger around with that. He wanted to do what he had been sent to do—and why couldn’t Angel do it his own bloody self?—and then get the fuck out of there and back home. Even though it wasn’t much of a home. And he’d be forced to give a full report instead of the pat on the back he deserved for a job well done.
There hadn’t been time to think, just react. Drusilla cut into his vision, poised to strike, and Spike never hesitated. She was stronger than he expected. She was always stronger than he expected. And she didn’t want to be brought down. Her games weren’t over yet.
Should have grabbed the stake first. Should end it here.
He barely felt it when her nails scored his cheeks. That was really nothing more than a playful scratch from Dru. If she really wanted to hurt him, she would have gone for the eyes.
“I told you he bleeds for you, Slayer.”
Slayer. There were lots of slayers in the world now. Maybe even thousands. Spike did his best to stay out of their way, but only because the big ponce would throw a hissy-fit if one of the new slayers ever reported back to Buffy that she saw Spike, and frankly, Spike didn’t need the headache.
So there were lots of slayers, but Spike knew who Drusilla was addressing. Even before he turned his head and met her eyes.
Time altered nothing. Her hair was still golden, pulled efficiently off her face in a low ponytail that highlighted the angles of her face. Her eyes were still that odd blend of brown and green, too dark to be called hazel, too nothing else to be called anything but. Her body, even hidden as it was beneath her coat, was softer than it had been those last two years, but that more closely matched the woman who’d curled up in his lap and made a pouty face when he’d rejected a daytime ceremony. So even that counted as still the same.
The only thing that wasn’t the same was the way she looked at him. Because, oh yeah, she’d thought he was dead. Bugger.
Her jaw snapped shut, as if she only just realized she was gaping. When it opened again, the words that came out made him burn with memories.
“And here I never realized your middle name was Lazarus,” Buffy said.
“Yep, back from the dead to warn you all,” Spike said under his breath. Drusilla took advantage of his distraction by shifting her leg beneath him, and then he was flying backwards, his gut throbbing where she had kicked him—just an inch or two away from his bits.
Spike jumped to his feet immediately, as did Drusilla.
“Look, I’ll explain everything,” he promised, ducking out of Dru’s reach. “In a minute.”
“In a minute? Are you kidding me?”
It was a mistake, but the incredulity in Buffy’s voice drew his attention to her for a fraction of a second, just long enough for her fist to slam into his jaw. His head snapped back, his ears ringing, only for her tiny hands to grab his jacket lapels and yank him away from Drusilla’s fresh attack.
Spike’s arms flailed as he struggled to right himself before hitting the ground. “Bloody women.” He danced out of Buffy’s reach as Drusilla growled and darted forward. “Look, there was fire, and the amulet, and I was a ghost for awhile there. Another magic bauble and suddenly I’m all solid again.” Drusilla aimed for his legs and he jumped, his foot connecting with her chest. “Then the Senior Partners tried to kill us all. Big explosions. Lots of blood. And here we are.”
“Yeah, see, it’s the we of that sentence I’m having a problem with.”
When she positioned herself between him and Dru again, Buffy blocked a punch meant for Spike and shoved Drusilla into a nearby tree. Some of her hair was falling loose of its holder, and the stray wisps tickled across her cheek, just begging to be tucked away.
“Angel’s problems with Wolfram & Hart were over two years ago,” Buffy continued. “Are you telling me you’ve been back that long?”
Spike’s eyes darted from Buffy to Dru and back again. Drusilla looked wild, but Buffy looked angry. He’d rather deal with wild Drusilla any day of the week. He actually had a chance of winning that fight.
“Yes. But we’ve been in hiding.” Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Unless Angel hasn’t been maintaining radio silence. Has that tosser been talking to you?”
“No, but I’m beginning to think he should’ve been.”
“Because you know, it would be just like him, wouldn’t it? No, Spike, you can’t talk to Buffy. No, Spike, we can’t go to New York. No, Spike, we have to live like stray dogs. And the whole time, he’s calling you.”
Her jaw dropped again. Literally.
“New York? You’ve been in New York? Where Dawn and I have lived for the past six months?”
“Well, not in New York. We passed through New York, and that’s really besides the point here. The point is…” Spike grabbed Buffy by the shoulders and yanked her away from Drusilla, who was apparently bored by the conversation. “What the hell are you doing in Sandford?”
“Trying to stop your crazy ex again, it looks like. And that is so not the point of this any more.” The hard tip of her finger jabbed into his chest. “Stop changing the subject.”
Spike looked down at where she touched him. Heat seemed to be spreading from her finger and through his chest. And the look of fierce annoyance on her face should never be described as cute, but well, she was looking pretty cute.
“I’m not changing the subject. I’m here to stop my crazy ex, too. So maybe we should…” He finally looked up to the space Drusilla had occupied. “Hey! Where did she go?”
Buffy whirled to stare at the now deserted castle grounds. Only the slightest of breezes remained in Drusilla’s wake, but if Spike held hopes that chasing after Dru would distract Buffy from their argument, they were dashed when she turned back to him.
Twin spots of color were high on her cheeks, heat to be shared with a simple touch. Up close, Spike saw the faint lines at the corners of her eyes, and the evidence that she’d shared enough laughter in his absence suddenly made his radio silence worth it. She’d been happy. She’d lived. His entire reasoning now seemed justified.
His mouth was open to suggest they not lose Dru while she was still close when Buffy grabbed his coat again. She didn’t toss him out of the path of another blow this time. This time, she shoved him backwards until his spine smacked into the thick tree with bone-rattling force.
“Just tell me you’re not here with Drusilla, Queen of the Nuthouse,” she said, her eyes blazing.
“No, I’m here for the same reason you are.” The answer should have been enough to satisfy her, but she was still standing against him, pinning him to the tree. His nostrils flared, and beneath the scent of her perfume and soap was the flavor of something he had become intimately acquainted with. “A bloke could almost think you missed him, Slayer.”
Her eyes flickered to his mouth, and he deliberately curled his tongue behind his teeth. When Buffy spoke, her voice had that bedroom rasp that made him itch to fill her throat.
“And a girl could almost think you might care that she did.”
It had never occurred to Spike that Buffy might be missing him. He knew she was out living her life, in Rome, in New York, taking care of the slayers, and Dawn. Angel did keep tabs on her, and Spike kept tabs on his tabs, and there never seemed to be a Spike-shaped hole in her life.
But maybe he’d been wrong.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
He gripped the back of Buffy’s neck, and her hair was cool and soft against the back of his hand. He paused a moment, giving her a chance to pull away from his grip, but she didn’t move, and her eyes remained on his lips. Holding her in place, he dipped his head and pressed his mouth to hers. Kissing Buffy was like pouring sunshine into his body, funneling heat and fire right through his chest and down to his toes.
The hum of adrenaline and the racing beat of her heart mingled and twisted to throb through the space separating them, drawing them closer until her breasts crushed against him. Buffy let go of her hold on his coat to slide her arms up and around his neck, slim fingers digging into his scalp as if she needed to root them there to keep him from moving. There had been a lot of Buffy kisses with his back against a tree and death in the air, but Spike decided this one, this hard and hungry and heady devouring, was his new favorite.
It was freely given. Reciprocated without recrimination. If he’d known this was how he’d be received, he would have told Angel to sod off long ago.
Spike pushed his hand under Buffy’s jacket, seeking out the warmth of her skin. He knew he couldn’t get as much as he wanted from her, but in that moment, just a hint of her body was better than nothing at all. He tugged at her shirt and pressed the palm of his hand against the flat of her back. He was already hard for her, his erection outlined against his jeans, pressing against her stomach.
“You stupid vampire,” she muttered between kisses. “You should’ve known things are always better when you don’t listen to Angel.”
“I’m never listening to him again,” Spike promised.
Her tongue was hot where she dragged it over his jaw, nipping and licking along the harsh line until her face was buried in the leather. Buffy inhaled deeply, and a new rush of her arousal flooded his nose.
“You smell like Sunnydale.” Her voice was muffled, her body taut as she kept herself turned into him. “You smell like home.”
Spike growled softly. Buffy didn’t smell like Sunnydale to him, but she would always smell like home, always smell like where he belonged. It didn’t matter where they were, or what they were doing, it was always the same. Even in the middle of some god-forsaken village in England.
He spun around quickly, pressing her against the tree and freeing his hands to explore her body. There wasn’t a single inch between them, their bodies molding together perfectly. Spike dragged his mouth over her jaw and down her neck, relearning the salty-sweet taste of her skin. He wanted to go lower, to taste more, but he reined that temptation in. Now wasn’t the time or the place.
Buffy gasped, a groan of desire that rippled through him. She squirmed against his hips, and each glance of muscle to muscle made his cock jerk.
The hiss of his name on her lips was drowned out by the shrill ring of a phone, so sudden and unexpected that it made both of them jump. His first instinct was to curse Angel for spoiling yet another Buffy moment, but when it rang again, it dawned on Spike it wasn’t even his.
“Sorry,” Buffy apologized. Reaching into her coat, she cut off the third ring without even looking at the display. “Giles? Worst. Timing. Ever.”
Spike could easily hear Giles’ response. “I just heard from Inspector Angel.” Spike grimaced at the name. “Gabriel attacked them in the town center. Have you seen any other vampire activity tonight?”
Buffy met Spike’s eyes. “You could say that.”
“Really? What happened?”
“Maybe it’s better if I tell you in person. Do I need to come into town and track down our Teenaged Vampire?”
“No, actually. From what I understand, Inspector Angel staked him with a piece of wood he found. There were minor injuries, but everybody is fine. I’m actually on my way to the Inspector’s house now. I’d like you to meet us there.”
Spike listened to Buffy agree and parrot back the address before clicking her phone shut. Reluctantly, he peeled away, giving her room to adjust her rumpled clothing and slide his new most hated inanimate object into her pocket.
“Feel like watching Giles’ head explode?” she asked with a cheery smile.
“As long as he doesn’t try to turn me into a big pile of dust first,” Spike muttered as he fished a fresh pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He needed to keep his hands and mouth busy or they would never reach their destination. “Inspector Angel, huh? Is he a big ponce, too?”
“Be nice,” Buffy warned as she led him away and back toward town center. “He’s the head honcho around here. Giles says we need him.”
Spike merely grunted. He wouldn’t make any promises. He didn’t mix well with head honchos, especially not head honchos named Angel. But for Buffy’s sake, he’d try to make an effort to behave.
To be continued in Chapter 5...