Jack the Giant Killer, Part 4

[thedeadlyhook]

Oh, yeah, I'm on fire, baby. If all goes well, I may even get this done today. But not in this chapter. There's still more to come.

At any rate, more of Jack the Giant Killer, where our heroes are stuck in the arctic north facing off against a frost giant. And by the way... did the last part seem too treacly to be believeable? Too schmoopy to be real? Guess what - it was.

Disclaimer, Summary: See Part 1.
Rating: for this part, not much. G, maybe.



__________

Of course it didn't quite happen that way.

Not in any real sense. Although in Buffy's mind, as she stood there watching the giant retreat through the open door, the scenario played out. Fully and completely - she could see everything, her accusations, his responses. Confrontation and forgiveness. Grievances aired, and then understanding. Meant a lot to me. It's the thought that counts.

Heartfelt and soft and true.

In reality, though, she just pressed her lips together tightly once the giant had gone from the room. Stalked around the perimeter scavenging new rubbish to rebuild the fire, or any possible tool they could use.

For his part, Spike seemed more than a little cantankerous himself--muttering and rustling, irritably trying to find a comfortable position.

The two of them continued in this vein for some time. Silent. Practically ignoring each other.

Buffy added some more items to her cache of discoveries. She'd uncovered two additional sources of alcohol--another modern bottle of vodka, and something of a vintage so old that Spike whistled when he saw it.

"Guess our hostess wasn't kidding about having been at this for awhile," he commented when she held out the bottle to him, vamping out and pulling the cork with his teeth. "Can only hope this stuff gets stronger with age," he coughed, after a long pull at the contents that caused him to make an amusing 'blech' face.

She'd have smiled at that sight if she wasn't still so angry.

But she was, so she kept ignoring him, bristling. Every nerve crackling with anger, with hopeless, fearful betrayal. You really want to kill yourself that much, you can't even bother to fight for me?

She stared at the litter around her, the piles of artifacts. The few weapons she'd found were mostly useless--rusted knives and swords, an antique pistol long since turned into a corroded mess.

"How long?" she blurted, her mind working hard on their most immediate problem. Call of the Wild. Survival of the fittest. Survival.

"What, that this has been aging? Longer than I have, that's for sure."

"No, the giant. How long would you say she's been doing this?"

He shrugged, hugged the bottle to his chest like a storybook illustration of a drunken pirate. "Legends go back to the origins of humanity."

"So thousands of years."

"Hundreds for the short estimate. Tale-tellers do like to exaggerate. Why?"

"There's not enough bones here." Buffy walked alongside the rows of piled refuse like a shopper at a swap meet. "Even counting the animal bones. And how could you feed a giant of her size and her baby on just a couple of hikers a year, anyway?"

"Maybe they store energy in the fat. You know, like arctic animals--did you know that male penguins can go for months without eating?"

She shot him a look.

"What?" he shot back, defensive. "Sometimes I watch the nature shows."

"Like all good badasses," she replied mockingly.

"Hey! You try being cooped up during the day for a century, see what you'll do for novelty."

Buffy changed the subject. "Can we get back to the giant? Why did she just leave?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "What's gotten up your skirt all of a sudden?"

"Nothing. I'm just trying to survive here. That okay with you?"

"Sure." His brow knitted in confusion. "Sign me up for survival. But--"

"So, why?"

"Probably wasn't going according to her plan." He was starting to sound annoyed now too, and waved a hand at the evidence all around them, in bones. "We're supposed to lose, you know."

"You're saying we were winning?"

"Yeah, that, or she couldn't figure out how to cheat us. Like I told you, higher demons, higher purpose." He explained with the aggressive air of someone talking to the terminally stupid. "They want you to have a hand in damning yourself. That's what really gets their rocks off. That makes them all smiles, tricking the innocent into signing up for hell."

"So what did it want us to do?"

"I dunno, turn on each other, maybe. Take that one and let me live. Then she gets to snack on both of us and have a good laugh."

Buffy hesitated. For some reason, this idea struck her as even worse than the other option.

"So... is that why you were all, you know, 'eat me, not her'...?" she said gingerly, and was rewarded with a shocked widening of his eyes.

Then his jaw set, and he glared. "No."

Buffy fidgeted.

"Okay, that's it. What's the matter with you?"

"It's nothing."

"Oh, right, nothing, I can tell. Look, you want to get out of here alive? We're gonna have to use our heads. Not.... bloody argue with each other about who does what."

"So you really wanted to die, then?"

"What?"

"'Eat me first.' You meant that. You really wanted that to happen."

He sighed, exasperated. "Look... it's my fault we're here--"

"No, it's not."

"Uh... yeah, it is.

"No, it's not. I made you come here."

"And I let you make me, what's your point?"

"What's yours? That you should die because it's your fault?"

"No, more that you shouldn't. Christ, Buffy... I try, you know? I'm trying my damndest here to do the right--"

"The right thing." She sank to her knees. "I know. Believe me, I know." She wrapped her arms around herself.

He studied her. Let the silence tick out. Mined her expression for nuggets of truth. For clues he could then spin into gold.

"So... you don't want me to die, then," he ventured, eventually.

In answer, she just glared at him.

"Just asking." He held up a hand.

"You are so stupid sometimes," she said. "Sometimes, I think I still hate you."

"Wondered about that."

She gritted her teeth. Clamped down on an old urge to just haul off and hit him. Stupid stupid stupid. "So what else have you got? Anything that'll help us get out of this?"

He sighed, a long breath sucked in and then let out again, an exasperated sound. "Not much. Just stories I heard as a lad. About this hero who roamed the countryside, killing giants. Jack the Giant Killer."

"Imaginative name."

"Yeah, well, those were the days."

"How did he kill them? This Jack."

"Trickery, mostly. Cunning. Stealth. Strangled them in their sleep, or dug pits outside their dens and cracked their heads with a pickaxe when they fell in. That sort of thing."

"You sure had some cozy kids' stories back in your day."

"Yeah, well, supposed to teach you something about being resourceful, I think. Although later it gets a bit Harry Potter. Invisble cloak and magic sword. Then he marries the king's daughter."

She rolled her eyes. "Typical."

"Point is, I think, that you can take anything down if you put your mind to it. Just gotta figure out the right approach."

"Is this a personal hero of yours, Spike?"

He narrowed his eyes hard. "Actually, now that I think about it.... sounds quite a lot like a Slayer."

Buffy snorted. "Countryside-hopping, giant killing... could be."

"'Jack' could be short for 'Jacqueline'."

"Or Jacqueline could've been written out of history by men who didn't like the idea of a hero being a girl."

"That too."

Buffy fumed. Changed the subject back again. "You were really being overprotective in there."

"Right, I'm a chauvanist pig."

"Is that all? Just you being all guy-y?"

"Thought I told you."

"Tell me again."

"Fine. 'Cause, you know, funny thing. I happen to love you. Don't want to see you get hurt. And also, once upon a time, you called me your champion." His eyes sparked at her, bluer chips of ice in his almost blue-with-frost face. "Like that."

Buffy's whole body stiffened. It was a conscious effort on her part, a way to keep from melting, from dissolving into mist. She could never quite put those two things together, no matter how hard she tried--her admiration and awe for those feelings, the kind of love that he liked to display, my life for you, and her anger at having to deal with it. At having to decide whether or not to accept it.

She couldn't help but feel annoyed that she had to.

"I just want you to live," she said icily. "Not die. Can you handle that?"

He kept staring at her. With those narrowed, ice-chip eyes. Motionless for such a long time that Buffy began to wonder if he'd actually refrozen that way.

She'd almost started to get up to refuel the fire when his lips finally moved again, and he spoke.

"Whatever milady wants," he said.

__________

Continued in Part 5

Comments

[alexpallex.livejournal.com]

Yay! More Spuffy goodness! I'm loving this story, and of course Spuffy can't be to fluffy *angry mumble* *giggles*

[thedeadlyhook.livejournal.com]

Well... it can, just not right then. Because I'm bad that way.

Later, I promise. : )