If Tomorrow Never Comes

TITLE: If Tomorrow Never Comes
AUTHOR: Fyre
EMAIL: Fyredansa@hotmail.com
RATING: PG-16 for some naughty words n stuff.
SUMMARY: Spike loves Slayer - hence, Spike gets the Valentine's Day from hell.
SPOILERS: Season 5 (Impressive considering I still haven't seen the end of S4 or any of S5)
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Hence, I sulk!
FEEDBACK: I need it! I want it! I'll even beg and do the Snoopy Dance if you want!
DISTRIBUTION: YGTS, Smack the Puppy and anyone else who wants it - just ask...
NOTES: This is in response to The Groundhog Day challenge on YGTS (#79) and its pretty much all over the place. It didn't turn out exactly as I planned, but still, I is chuffed :-) A long fic that actually got finished...and it has Joyce/Spike friendship! Who can ask for anything more? : Also /\/\/\/\ - indicates a new day. Just to prevent confusion :)
DEDICATION: To Joyce, for the crazy challenge that gave me my longest single fic to date!
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Balancing his weight on his toes, blue eyes flicked over the array that decorated the surface of the hefty stone sarcophagi.

There was a choice, as always.

Ten victims, just waiting to be defiled by a choice of three weapons that lay before the vampire, each tainted. He could use the one dripping blood red fluid. Red was always a delicious colour. Or there was poison ivy that decorated the second.

But - as usual - number three took his vote, simply the name of Deadly Nightshade bringing him to his final decision.

Gripping the handle tightly, he focused, focused...

Slash, slash, slash.

Nodding in silent approval, he admired his neat, master's handiwork. One down, nine left to go and he was confident he could take them all without too much mess or trouble.

Shifting the fingers of his left hand loosely around the smooth, black handle, his tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth in complete concentration, as he positioned himself to take out the second.

Slash, slash...

"Bugger!"

Replacing the brush back in its place, Spike twisted the cap off the other bottle with his teeth, tearing a wad of cotton wool off the roll in his lap. Soaking it in the stinking liquid, he wiped the smear of black nail polish from the skin of his index finger.

Twenty bloody years of doing his own nails and he still always mucked up at least one. It was just so bloody unfair.

Especially when he had such an array of colours to choose from. Having acquired the blood red, ivy green and black from the red- haired witch by his 'evil and villainous ways', though, he really could only wear the black the kiddies were used to.

Red and green were hidden until the festive season...or used on the toenails alone.

Yep, life was cruel to a biteless vampire.

Reduced to being the whipping-boy to a group of stake-happy teenagers. Reduced to pinching make-up from a lesbian witch's handbag. Reduced to being in love with the person he knew he should hate more than the soddin' chip in his head.

Returning his attention back to his sparsely coated nails, tiny flecks of black polish from the previous month still flaked around the edge of his cuticle. He would have to pick the new coat to get it to the same careless, chippedness.

Honestly, looking the bad ass vampire was such an effort, these days!

Holding the brush carefully, he proceeded to start on the other nails, half-watching the TV between each one.

There was a soft tap on the door.

"Bloody hell!"

A familiar face appeared round the door. Bathing the far side of the crypt in sunlight, Anya looked around. "Spike. You have to tell me something."

"Will bugger off do?" Dabbing the sweep of black off the back of his hand with some more of his cotton wool, he glared up at her. She stood in the doorway, staring rudely at him. "Why are you still here? Shouldn't you be shagging the wanker right about now?"

"I've never seen a vampire doing his nails before." She said, stepping into the crypt and shutting the door. "Now, I need your help."

Spike snorted, digging into his pocket only to groan and pull out the hand, each neat nail smudged beyond repair. "This day just gets better and better." He muttered, bunching a ball of wool in his hand and sloshing removal lotion over his fingers.

"Stop whining. You have to pay attention to me. Isn't that what you do when someone comes to visit?"

"Whatever."

Taking that as agreement, Anya smiled brightly. "I need you to tell me which dress to wear for my date with Xander." The vampire glanced at her disdainfully from beneath his brows, scrubbing at the Deadly Nightshade varnish. Pulling two items out of her bag, she held them up for inspection. "Which one?"

"Ask the witch." Making his way to the television, he snatched a cigarette from the packet on top of it. "I don't give a damn about what you wear to make yourself more shaggable for the poofy wanker."

"But you're a man...sort of. You know what men like their girlfriends to dress up in, don't you?"

"Men? We are talking about the same person here, aren't we, luv?" Grinning at her wickedly, his blue eyes glinted devilishly.

Anya's chin jutted out in indignation, but she still didn't move for the door. "Either you tell me or I will stay here all day and tell you about the sex."

Pulling a face, Spike groped for his lighter in the back pocket of his jeans. "All right, pet. How much do I get paid for this bloody torment?"

"Paid?"

"You know, I don't do these things for the good of my health. If you don't give me money, blood or something of equal value, then I'm very sorry," He tried his best to look sincere, but failed. "You don't get help from me."

A frown wrinkled her brow. "I could paint your nails for you." She suggested. "You don't look like you're very good at it."

Looking briefly at his pale cuticles, the vampire gnawed on his lower lip thoughtfully. "Right, ducks. I help you choose a frock and you do my nails."

The former demon's face lit up. Unrolling the two bundles of material carefully, she held them both up on their hangers for the vampire to look at for her, waiting expectantly for a response.

"I think it would be better if I saw them on you, you know." He suggested mildly, dropping down on his seat. Even though he had already decided on the deep red number, he wanted to see if she would strip off in his crypt. She was a daring little chit, at times.

Shrugging, she ducked behind a pillar. Her T-shirt and skirt dropped to the floor, the length of her back bared to him. Wriggling into the pink dress first, she stepped out into his full line of sight and pirouetted.

It was all he could do to hold in a laugh. Pink, fluffy hearts on an ex-vengeance demon that was the avenger of all men's wrongs seemed a bit stupid, really.

"Let's see the other one, luv." He finally found his lighter, flicking it open as she stepped back semi-out-of-sight and quickly pulled on the deep red dress instead. The flame was dancing on the lighter, flickering against the tip of his cigarette when the girl stepped out.

Revealing, yet demure...Spike's jaw sank open, his eyes roving her body. Now, to have Buffy in that dress, looking as shy as the demon girl looked at this very moment...oh God...that would be bloody heaven on earth...

"Spike!" Anya's squeal brought him back to reality, only to find his hand playing a blazing torch, the nail polish remover erupting into blue tongues of flame.

"Bloody hell!" Falling to his feet, he spun this way and that, searching for something to put the flames out, slapping at the flaming hand frantically.

"Here!" Anya grabbed his arm and tipped a small bottle of water all over the limb, only for him to give a bellow of agony. Tripping backwards, he landed on the floor in a heap, clutching his still- smoldering hand to his body.

"You stupid bitch!" Furious golden eyes blazed up at her. "What the hell do you have Holy Water in an Evian bottle for?"

Looking at the bottle, the sandy-haired girl gave him a weak grin. "Um...should I apologise now?" Spike growled, struggling into a sitting position, turning his hand over slowly to assess the damage. "You didn't tell me."

"What?"

"Which dress."

Gritting his teeth, he glared at her. "What's so special about the bloody dress? My hand was on fire and all you can think about is that bloody frock!"

"Vampires don't celebrate Valentine's day, do they?" She said pityingly.

"Valentine's Day?" Hissing between his teeth, he grabbed one of the bottles of liquor he had snatched from the Watcher's hidden stash, snatching the cork out and splashing the liquid over the burns inflicted by both flames and Holy Water.

Raw patches of muscle were visible beneath the blistered skin, the bones of three fingers flesh-coloured and laid bare. Forcing his attention away from the pain to the girl and her ramblings, he grit his teeth.

Nodding, she broke into a spiel she had obviously been rehearsing. "It's when a couple show their love for one another, in a traditional festival, involving the giving of gifts and tokens of affection to one another." She paused. "There are also fake hearts and candy."

"Lemme guess. Giles explained it to you?" She nodded. "I know what it is. Why the big deal with the dresses, though? It can't be for a few weeks yet."

Brown eyes stared at him in disbelief. "You don't get out much, do you?" He flashed a dark look at her. "It's Valentine's Day today. This is my outfit for dinner. Xander is taking me somewhere expensive. I can't eat too much though because he said he..."

"Valentine's Day is today?" **Bugger!**

"That's what I said." Changing quickly back into her shirt and skirt, the ex-demon carefully replaced her two dresses neatly in her backpack. "Does getting burned affect your hearing?"

Spike didn't seem to hear her. He was on his knees, rooting through a small chest he had beside his seat, muttering curses under his breath. His burnt hand was pressed to his chest painfully, his eyes intently searching for something.

"So, Spike, which dress?"

"Something black, with a veil." He grated, not even looking up at her. "Long. Dark. Flat shoes and no make-up."

Shrugging, the ex-demon pulled her rucksack onto her back. "If you think that's what he would like..." There was no answer from the cursing vampire. "Thanks Spike. I'll do your nails when your hand isn't so red and blistery."

He didn't even register the door shutting. His hand had finally locked onto the thing he had been looking for - a Valentine card he had spotted weeks before. It had immediately conjured up the thought of the Slayer.

Actually, anything from a disemboweled cat to the stars could create a random thought about the feisty girl.

Sickening really.

'You slay me.'

Re-reading it, he gagged. When, he wondered absently, had he gotten so sappy? He'd never been this bad before, even when he had his ripe, wicked plum. Now, he was the most pathetic of all the pathetic undead creatures.

Gripping the top of the card between his teeth, he tore it in half.

No card for the Slayer. He would tell her himself. No daft cliches, no sickeningly sweet puns, no fluffy bunnies and hearts. It would be his own words. As soon as the sun went down, he would go and tell her.

Not that his own words were any better than the sappy ones, but at least he would have only himself to blame and not some illusive card- poet to hunt down and kill. He would do that anyway, as soon as the damn chip was out of his head.

***


Switching the telly off, shrugging into his duster, Spike winced. His hand was only half-healed and it hurt like buggery, dark wads of skin still raw and open, crusted around the edges with thick, black scabs of dried-out blood.

Cigarette dangling from his lip, he carefully pulled the sleeve over his wounded hand, cradling it against his stomach, as he headed towards the door, the scent of the night calling.

The cemetery was quiet, as usual, the light breeze rustling the leaves and grass. With the full moon shining overhead, it could have been quite romantic, if hadn't been for the bloody crickets chirping like squeaky springs in a mattress all the soddin' time.

Casting a poisonous glare in the direction of the crickets in their bushes, Spike stomped off along the paths, the pain in his right limb throbbing incessantly.

He was only out for another lot of blood. That's what he had told himself before leaving the crypt. If he hadn't needed to stock up on the O-Neg, he would have happily stayed in and watched the re-runs of any gameshows or soaps he could find.

All thoughts of talking to Buffy had seemed like a sweet idea at the time, but this was him. Big Bad. Kick-ass vampire. Evil.

Degrading himself before the Slayer had slowly twisted from a romantic gesture to being sheer stupidity, so, now, he wasn't going to tell her. She didn't deserve him. She was the dozy cow who went off and shagged his Sire.

She was bloody wonderful.

Mentally kicking himself, the vampire muttered a variety of insults at the absent Slayer under his breath, his eyes fixed on the ground. Scuffing the toes of his shoes along the path, he booted a pebble, sending it skittering along the surface.

"I hate you." He growled, thrusting his un-injured hand deep into his pocket. Snarling around the glowing cigarette between his lips, he glared down at the paved sidewalk. "You're so bloody funny and tough and incredible...why can't I just bloody hate you?"

"Uh...Spike? Talking to yourself is a sign of insanity, you know..."

"Great." Rolling his eyes, the vampire looked up at the human's face, forcing himself not to ask the teen to stake him. Looking from the tuxedoed Xander to Anya, he allowed a tiny smirk to creep onto his face. "Nice outfit. Very funeral."

The former demon was glowing with pleasure. An ankle-length black coat concealed her body, a small black cap with a veil perched on her head, her heels flat. "Just like you told me, Spike." She smiled, opening the coat to reveal a slinky black dress that was almost as sexy as the dark red one.

**Bugger!** The blonde forced a grin. "You look smashing, ducks." He cast an appraising eye over Xander. "Pity I can't say the same for you, you noncey poofter."

"And I love you too, Spike." Twining his hand through Anya's, Xander gave the vampire a surprisingly genuine smile. "Pity you don't have someone to spend tonight with, what with it being Valentine's Day and all..."

Shrugging nonchalantly, duster rising several inches, he smirked. "You mean you wish I was more of a nancy boy like you, eh?" Shaking his head, he continued. "No thanks. I'm my own man. The lone wolf and all that."

"What about Harmony?" Xander looked at him shrewdly.

"Uh..." Blue eyes flashed fire. "Well, a bloke has needs, doesn't he? And don't you two have some humping to do or something? Wasting your time buggering around with me on my night off isn't bloody fair."

The brunette's teeth glinted white in his wide grin. "Defensive, much?" The young couple moved passed the glowering vampire. Glancing back, the sympathy in Xander's eyes was unmistakable. "Try to enjoy yourself, Spike." He suggested.

Flicking the teen off, the blonde growled, stalking away along the paths. Not only had his half-hearted attempt to make Anya look stupid failed, but the most pathetic of the Slayers bum-chums was pitying him.

Unlife and Valentine's Day sucked!

***


Stroking Tara's hair, Willow smiled fondly down at her half-asleep lover. Beneath the warm night sky, the two Wicca had been sitting, looking at the stars, awaiting Giles. The waiting had gotten to Tara, so she was resting.

Now, she was lying on the bench alongside Willow, her blonde- and brown-streaked locks falling carelessly over her face, her head resting lightly in the red head's lap, her eyes half-closed.

A blur of leather roared passed them, halting several paces further along the road and turning and walking back. "Well, isn't this a cosy scene."

"Hey, Spike." Willow smiled. One of Tara's eyes opened and she nodded a greeting to the bleached vampire. "You looking for Buffy?"

Shrugging dismissively, the vampire seemed to be focusing elsewhere, his blue eyes wandering around the park around them. "Is she on patrol? I fancy kicking some demon arse before bedtime."

"I gave her the night off." Giles approached the small group, Tara sitting up immediately, rubbing her hazy eyes. "It is Valentine's Day after all. I thought she might want some time alone, since she's still...alone."

"Bloody hell, you dozy git!" The bleached demon exploded furiously. "That's the stupidest thing you could have done! Now, she'll spend the night brooding and moping and being miserable! You should've let her go kick the shit out of some demons...it'll cheer her up."

Willow nodded, reaching over to squeeze Tara's hand. "Spike's right, Giles." She agreed. "If Buffy starts brooding, she might even get that overhanging brow that Angel has from too much lurking and being miserable and lonely."

"Good Lord...do you really think so?"

All but Giles laughed. "She's playing with yer mind, Watcher." Spike patted his fellow-Englishman on the shoulder with a wry grin. "If you want, I'll go and drag the airhead out on patrol if you're busy."

"Uh...thank you, Spike." The Watcher looked somewhat lost. "I would appreciate that. Willow, Tara and I are planning on doing some spells later on, so if you need anything, you'll find us at the Lockston Cemetery."

"Righty-oh, mate." Sauntering away, leaving the two Wiccas and the Wizard as they gathered their combined number of mystical objects, spellbooks, protective necklaces and started off towards the blessed area in Lockston Cemetery.

***


"So, how's the crypt?"

Poking an annoying pink marshmallow under the thick liquid of the hot cocoa, Spike gave her a weak smile. "It's dank, dark and dull -– the same as ever. Everything a penniless vampire could ever hope for, including a telly."

Joyce produced her best maternal smile. "At least you have a place of your own." She said. "I still have to share with a teenager...sometimes even two." Pouring herself some cocoa, she stared at the bubbles on the smooth surface. "It's better than hospital though."

Reaching over, he squeezed her hand. "You won't have to go back there." He tried to reassure her gently. "But the Slayer...the men in white coats'll be after her in no time at all...not all there, y'know." He tapped one fingertip significantly against his temple.

"What happened to your hand?" She gestured to the tapping finger, the underside stained dark puce with blistered skin, new tissue knitting over the revealed bone slowly, but surely.

Tilting it into the light, he made a small sound of helplessness. "Sorry mum." He replied, sheepishly, looking every bit the naughty child. "I know you told me not to play with my cigarette lighter and flammable liquids..." An everlasting klutzy teenager grinned at her from beyond those blue eyes. "Plus Anya's help and Holy Water made it worse. It should be gone by tomorrow night, though."

Joyce tutted. "Spike, you really should take more care of yourself." The Slayer's mother shook her head in disbelief, a small peal of laughter breaking from her lips. "I never thought there would be a day when I was telling a vampire to look after himself properly."

"At least you're smiling again." The blonde demon felt a sense of pleasure that - even in spite of everything she was going through - Joyce could still put a brave face on. Maybe if everyone had a mother like that, they would be semi-decent.

And he had made her smile.

Looking at the situation, he would have to agree with her laughter. A one hundred and twenty six year old vampire, sharing a cup of hot cocoa with the Slayer's mother of all people and discussing the benefits of living alone and self-help.

But he wouldn't change it for the world. Making Joyce smile, especially after that operation, was his priority. Without Buffy or Dawn's knowledge, he had been visiting regularly, looking in on and cheering up their sick mother.

And he was definitely, one-hundred-percent the biggest nancyboy vampire the world had ever seen, no doubt about it.

"What's he doing here?"

"Hi Spike!"

Two young, female voices rang in from the door, one sounding hyperactive and lively as ever, while the other sounded grouchy and pissed as hell. He didn't even have to second-guess which was which.

Swinging around, booted feet slammed on the floor as Spike straightened up and grinned down at the Slayer. "It's smashing to see you too, ducks." One hand ruffled the younger girl's hair. "You too, shorty." The brunette giggled. "Nice to see that two out of the three lovely ladies in this house can actually still smile."

"Cut the crap, Spike."

"Buffy! Language!"

The blonde was humble enough to flush and nod at her mother. "So, Spike," Forcing a civilised note into her voice, she smiled, all teeth and silent threat. "What are you doing here? In as few words as possible, preferably."

One hand over his heart, he blinked. "Why, Slayer! I came to tell you that I'm head over heels in love with you...wanna go for a Valentine's date with me?"

Incredulity rose in her hazel eyes. "Please tell me you're joking." Spike asking her on a date. It had to be some kind of joke. He vampire, she Slayer. He wrinkled his nose for a moment, then his lip crooked in a devilish smirk. Buffy felt like sagging with laughter. "Oh, God, Spike! thought you were serious!"

"Do I look that stupid?" He spun to face Dawn and tapped her on the nose. "Don't you even think about answering that!" The brunette grinned impishly. Spike turned back to the Slayer, smiling, while his heart shattered. "So, Slayer, you up for some patrol, to keep yourself busy?"

Glancing to her mother, the blonde raised her eyes in question.

"Why not, honey? I feel better knowing you've got someone fighting with you."

***


"Are you sure it went this way?"

"Positive, Slayer! I think I know where it's going."

A brief silence was followed by the hollow thud of a stake connecting with undead flesh, echoed by the sound that resembled glass shattering. Another villainous vampire fiend halted by the indefatigable Mr. Pointy.

"So, where are they going?"

Spike's jaw locked. "Lockston Cemetery." He replied tersely. His hands curled into tight fists, eyes searching the road ahead. "Giles, Willow and Tara were doing some containment spells up there tonight."

"And?"

"That species of demon is attracted to magick or the aura of it." Exchanging a glance with the bottle-blonde Slayer, he could see she understood. "It'll be attracted to the most powerful user and then..."

"Then...?" Prompting, she grabbed his arm, dragging him into a headlong sprint alongside her.

Spike swallowed hard, running faster, the Slayer putting on another burst of speed to keep up with him. "Then," He replied, his feet pounding on the damp earth. "It pulls them inside, like a Venus Fly Trap and drains the life and the power out of them."

"But that would..."

"Kill them." He finished for her, the high gates of the cemetery up ahead. There really were far too many cemeteries in this town, Hellmouth or no bloody Hellmouth.

Ahead of them, they heard a shrill, feminine scream. Spike stiffened. Buffy caught the expression on his face, his rage and fear combined in a miasma of gold in his animalistic, demonic eyes.

"We'll get to them in time." She said, more to convince herself, their feet racing faster than either of them could imagine, bursting into a wide clearing lined with candles and incense burning.

Giles and Tara sprawled dizzily on the ground, both bloodied. Clutching her head, Tara forced herself to her knees. "Bu...Buffy? Where's Willow?" Her eyes flitted around frantically. "It-it took her...where is she?"

"This way." Spike raced in the direction of a high mausoleum, hoping that his senses were wrong. That he couldn't smell and taste what he thought. That he would just wake up and it would all be a bad dream.

Behind him, he heard the light pounding of the Slayer's feet, stumbling and catching in the overgrown, long grasses. Skidding around the corner, his hand caught the side of the chilly monument, the only thing to hold him upright.

The scaly, ebony demon was standing upright, looked more powerful, stronger than it had moments before, which could only mean one thing.

The blonde vampire felt his undead heart lurch in his chest, his fury bubbling to the surface as the demon's stomach flap dropped open, the red-haired corpse tumbling out in a crushed pulp of flesh on the ground.

"You are too late." The demon's twelve eyes glittered dangerously, high on the power that he had stolen from the young Witch. "Now, you can not stop me!"

"You're right. I can't stop you killing my friend." Spike agreed icily, his body taut, tense as a wire. "But that won't stop me from..."

The creature frowned; all twelve eyes flickering this way and that were unable to catch the motion of the vampire's preternatural speed, as it darted behind him. Sinking his claws into the beast's neck, the vampire tore through the scales and flesh.

Acrid spumes of steam erupted from the boiling innards of the demon, hissing against the vampire's injured hand agonisingly, but he tightened his grip and jerked, physically ripping the demon's head from his shoulders, acid-like blood erupting from the torn twin stumps of his throat. It bubbled and spat, burning through the vampire's clothing and into his pale skin painfully, but Spike barely felt it.

"Killing you." The vampire finished bitterly.

"Oh God..." Three heartbeats were pounding rapidly before him, the multi-eyed head dropping from his hands with a nigh-soundless thud on the grass. "Oh God...Will..."

"Is-is she okay?"

Giles moved to the clenched body that had been crushed, in the fetal position. Blood was runneling from every orifice, crushed bones protruding at all angles from the tattered scraps of skin, the red hair the only thing remaining that suggested who the corpse was.

Bowing his head, the Watcher's tears were only the start of things to come. The Slayer and the blonde Wicca dropped to their knees beside the remains of the girl who had meant so much to them both.

Moving behind the group, Spike touched the Slayer's head, squatting down beside her "I am sorry, luv." He whispered, squeezing her shoulder. His own voice was rough. He had always liked the Witch, even in spite of the screwed up spells. "She didn't deserve it."

Lurching into his arms, she buried her face in his chest. "It's my fault." She whispered, her body trembling with wracking sobs in his arms. "I...I could have run faster...got here sooner...I could have killed it, Spike..."

"No, luv, no." Holding her close, he met Giles's sorrow-filled eyes. Tara clung to the Watcher sorrowfully, her grief matching the Slayer. "You can't blame yourself. It wasn't your fault. We both know it."

"It's my fault." She whispered again and again. "It's my fault, Spike...I killed her...I killed her..."


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