Intelligence in Violence

[madimpossibledreamer]

Main Points:
Buffy/Yakuza AU (Slayer's Mad Whelp)
follow-up to Mad Dog of Summer
Chapter Summary: Spike's curiosity leads him to unexpected places.
Word Count: 1932
Rating: Teen (swearing)
Warning: violence

        Spike’s welcome to town is a bat to the head.  He barely even gets out of his car before he’s falling, agony in his head white-hot.  “This is a little far for one measly little sign, innit?” he spits, with the only response a cackling laugh.
        He makes it back to his feet to find Harris, sequined glittery top paired with leggings, both hugging his form.  The old version wouldn’t have been caught undead in that getup.  Angelus’ touch, all right, Spike thinks as he ducks under another swing, head still swimming a little.  He grabs the bat and with his superior strength tosses the nuisance at the nearest wall, the movement tearing the weapon from his grasp, and Harris…howls with delight, grin half a savage baring of his teeth.
        “Stop flirtin’, ya big coy bastard, an’ give it ta me!” he yells, voice a liquid sing-song, and with absolutely no pause from the impact swings back in, this time with a knife he’d pulled from…somewhere.
        He hadn’t given the droopy human much of a look, back when the pathetic soul taking his Sire’s body had offered a little morsel, but this version’s another story entirely.  He can see why those gossips had thought the boy wasn’t human, now.
        Buffy fights with the beautiful ease of a woman who’d made this her art form.  Harris, on the other hand, is all sloppy grace and a ferocity and enthusiasm that makes up for his being only human.  His relentless, repeated attacks, like that nasty terrier he’d gotten for Dru, actually get through his guard more than once, all because he’s not expecting it.  Mutt got his teeth in Spike’s leg and wouldn’t let go, and he’d had to tear it off, flesh and all, to even present her with the thing.
        “Yer a tease!” Harris accuses, grin if anything even wider.  He’s probably got a concussion, bruised ribs, and if Spike’s reading this right, he’s limping, but he doesn’t pause to even wipe the blood trickling from his forehead into his good eye.  If anything, he’s fighting even harder now.  How the hell?
        Old Harris wouldn’t be flirting with the enemy, either.   Which definitely could be Angelus, but the random accent almost definitely wasn’t.  Somewhere he’d gotten a seemingly inexhaustible supply of energy which he doesn’t hesitate to unleash on Spike in a whirlwind of pain.
        Spike manages to wrench one of the man’s arms from its socket, but stills despite himself at the prick of cold at his throat.  Harris holds the knife there with the good hand for a beat, making a point probably, and then all the fight drains out of him at once.  The knife disappears back into the boot and he holds out that hand for the vampire to take.
        “The hell?”  He stares at it, utterly confused.  But then, he’d been bewildered this whole scenario, hasn’t he?
        “Ya look like ya could use a drink.”  The voice is higher pitched, and—hang on, the whelp used to wear necklaces, sure, but that’s a girly necklace he’d been using to choke the human out before getting kicked where it hurts and a follow-up headbutt.  Harris sighs, waving his hand a little to make his point.  “Yer starin’ like ya ain’t seen a lady in yer life.”  The voice is firm, challenging, daring him to say she ain’t, but he can smell the nervousness, and it’s that that convinces him.  She’s too serious about this for it to be a prank.
        …Now there’s a surprise, but his night’s been full of ‘em already.
        “Just ain’t used to ones bein’ friendly after kickin’ me arse,” he admits, taking the hand and letting himself be hauled up.  “Y’know we’re enemies, yeah?”
        “’Course.”  The one-eyed stare says that maybe he’s the barmy one in this scenario.
        Two can play at that game.  Spike raises an eyebrow, pointedly, and she sighs, fiddling with the charm.
        “Pops’s got company, fer once.  Figured I could make m’self scarce fer a bit, an’ I ain’t lyin’.  Ya look like ya could use some booze that’ll knock ya flat an’ a carin’ ear.”
        It’s the loneliness that gets him to agree, because human, demon, it don’t matter in that scenario; they’re the same.  That, and the absolute lack of fear as he pops her shoulder back, just a bitten lip followed by a smile, impresses him.  They end up at Willy’s, because of course they do; where else can a man and a lady find alcohol in this damn town, specially at this time o’ night?  Willy’s overly friendly and polite, trying not to stare at the blood like she’ll just start a bar fight if he does, and when she notices Spike’s noticed she perks up, proud.  She gets some girly drink that ain’t too strong, and the vampire catches himself being pleased, protective, like he needs any of that.  She’s human, so being underage shouldn’t matter any more than anything else she does.
        “So, what’s yer name?”  She’s gotta have something different, right?
        “Ria Giles,” she states, dignified, and he whistles.
        “You got the Watcher to take ya?  Good on ya, kid.”  Angelus had bragged about getting the kid’s bastard of a father to sell his own child for cash, like it was any kind of accomplishment.  Not like it was his business, really, but she’s gonna at least pretend she cares about his problems for the night.  Might as well return the favor.  “Though I got a complaint, ‘bout those things ya were sayin’ back there.”
        “Oh?”  The ghost of a smile’s back on her lips as she tucks a strand of hair behind her air playfully, taking a ladylike sip of her drink.
        “If there’s a tease here, it’s ya, missy.  Finally start t’ enjoy it an’ ya pull away.”  It occurs to him too late that maybe she wouldn’t want an audience for this kind of talk, but her only response is to giggle and order some fries.  Spike isn’t sure they actually even have food on the menu, but that’s Willy’s problem.
        “Sure, a vamp’s stamina ain’t somethin’ t’sneeze at, but I’m just a lil fragile human.  What’s a girl to do?”  She flutters her eyelashes at him and giggles again.  “An’ sure, I didn’t wanna stop neither, but ‘m tryin’ not ta make the old man croak.”
        “Havin’ underage drinks with a strange vamp an’ gettin’ in fights ain’t gonna worry him?”  Again, not his problem, but he’s really fascinated about this strange nonsensical world that Ria’s living in.
        She waves that off as if it’s nothing.  “‘Everythin’ in moderation,’” she intones, as if quoting.  “Figured if yer anythin’ like me, ya just needed a good jolt ta the noggin an’ a spot ‘a good ol’ fashioned violence ta quiet yer head enough ta hear yerself think.”
        That’s really sweet in the strangest way possible.  “Ta,” he responds, finally taking a swig of his beer.  Not their strongest, but he’s planning on having many refills.
        She beams, finally wiping the blood away from her forehead, a little confused as to how it got there.  “’t’s just luck ya ran inta me,” she blurts out of nowhere, as he downs the rest.
        “Say what?”  He’s definitely not following.
        “Up ‘till nine, I was still Xander, but then, I dunno.  Wanted ta be pretty.  ‘Course, Pa’s friend was comin’ so I couldn’t go all out on th’ makeup, but…”  She’s staring moodily at the table, no longer meeting his eyes.
        Huh.  Seems Angelus really had done wonders, but maybe not how he’d planned.  He probably hadn’t meant to draw out a little genderfluid bloody saint.  An’ not much had come out in the actual course of torture, or Spike would’ve had a little more entertainment while wheelchair-bound as part of his plans.
        “Was a test,” he manages, trying not to laugh as her head whips up fast enough it hurts.
        “I need more ‘n that, pretty boy,” she snarls, lipstick glittering as she takes another drink.
        “Ya wanted ta see if yer still daddy’s little princess, still his young prince.  How he’d treat ya in front of the one who could be part o’ the family, if he played his cards right, an’ what his guest’d do.”  It’d explain a lot—how bold yet uncertain she is tonight, for instance.
        She rests her head in her hand, thoughtful, and then grins again, mood forgotten.  “Surprised ya need help, with insight like that.”  She thinks a little longer, then adds, “An’ ya know, ya were right.  The old man was fine.  A little nervous, but fine.  Didn’t stick around ta see much ‘a the woman, though.”
        He nods, and they’re quiet for a minute as her fries mysteriously appear in a basket, complete with odd looks from the other customers, and he gets a refill.  Might as well get another glass before spillin’ it all about Dru.
        She takes his pain seriously.  Listens, all solemn-like, amusement nowhere to be seen in her eye, nods and makes noise in all the right places without interrupting.
        She’s hesitant, at the end, but the reassuring hand on his arm says she really is trying to help.  “I’m gonna talk about love.  It ain’t gotta be about ya, cause yer the expert on yer life, here.  ‘m just spitballin’.”  She pauses, and then begins.  “Sometimes ya love each other so much yer gonna burst, an’ it still ain’t right.  Sometimes ya just hurt each other so much it’s better ta let them go.”
        She doesn’t flinch or move back at his instinctive snarl, glancing up with a single piercing eye that sees right through him.  Which lets him back down, too, because that’s right, she had said it wasn’t a judgement on him or Dru.
        “’m broken,” she states frankly, and the bluntness nearly makes him start crying out of nowhere because it’s true, ain’t it?  Dru is, his beautiful broken angel, and he is too, ain’t he?  “So I got these edges, jagged, deadly.  Sometimes they cut me, sometimes they cut the people I love, an’ I ain’t even wieldin’ ‘em.”  The accent is wavering with her being earnest.  She probably doesn’t even notice.  “’m scared ‘a bein’ abandoned.  So I hold on tight, tight enough ta hurt.  It ain’t always good fer me.  It ain’t always good fer anybody.  Sometimes, to stop the hurt, it’s better ta just let go.  Sometimes it’s better fer ‘em ta be happy somewhere else, ‘cause ya want ‘em ta be happy an’ it sure as hell ain’t gonna be with ya.”  She’s holding her arm now, rubbing, repetitive enough the skin’s turning red.
        And then she flashes him a smile, bright but a little empty.  “An’ a break’s only a break, ain’t gotta be a breakup.  You an’ me, we live fer other people.  Maybe it’s time ya learn who ya are fer yerself.  Show Dru the real you.”
        “When did ya get all wise?” he wonders out loud, watching the smile grow before she winces, poking the bruise on her cheek a little.
        The vampire suddenly looming over their table’s trying to put on an intimidating air, only neither of them are having it.  “Come with me and I’ll treat you right, girlie.”  He grabs her arm.
        That’s when Spike decks him.  All the violence isn’t quite out of his system, apparently.  And when he glances over to see Ria’s bright, toothy smile, he realizes she isn’t either, as she plucks the beer bottle from the table and cracks the vampire over the head with it, holding the broken remains ready to stab.