A/N: OK, I promised a new fic, so here it is! Please keep in mind that I know nil about actual police work, so I’m just playing it by ear. If I step on any law-enforcement toes, sorry! Please don’t throw sharp implements or those bludgeon-thingys at me :)

~*~

“There is abso-freakin’-lutely no way,” Officer Elizabeth Summers said flatly.

The LAPD police captain, Officer Rayne, leaned forward menacingly. “Officer Summers, you have no choice. I have extracted our current operative from the position, and you are the available candidate.”

“Are you on crack?” Elizabeth shot back. “Captain, you know I suck at undercover! Sticking me right into the middle of some extensive gang operation—not a good idea!”

Captain Rayne leaned back in the chair, massaging his temples. Elizabeth scowled at him. How in hell had she gotten into police work anyway?

Oh yeah, Willow had recommended it. Little Buffy Summers, straight out of high school, no college degree, and there was her best friend saying that the LAPD was a great place to work. It had seemed like a good choice at the time.

Of course, Wills works with their computers. She’s not sitting in an office trying to talk a superior out of making her go on an extensive undercover mission.

Elizabeth sighed, ruffling her hair. She’d changed back to brunette at the same time she’d changed her name from Buffy to Elizabeth: when she joined the force. No one would hire a blonde former cheerleader named Buffy for serious police work.

“Look, Captain, it’s a great position and all, but please, give it to someone who’s actually good at all the undercover stuff! I’d be horrible, I can barely remember to put on my uniform before I come to work!”

“Officer Summers, this is LA. We have some of the worst crime in the country, and we are working hard to obliterate it. We can’t spare any other officers. Either you agree to take up a position in the crime ring, or you turn in your badge. It’s your choice, but make it quickly.”

Fuck. “Fine,” she growled. “I’ll do your stupid undercover thing.”

“Excellent.” Captain Rayne’s scowl disappeared, to be replaced by a sly smile. “Captain Elizabeth, from now on you will go by the moniker Buffy Summers. Tomorrow you will be contacted by one Miss Harmony Kendall, the operative we formerly had filling the position of secretary in the ring. She will tell you when to start. Also tomorrow, you will go to the Sweetcheeks Hair Salon and have your hair re-dyed blonde.”

Buffy stared at him. “How the hell did you know about that?”

The Captain’s smile grew. “My dear Officer, we know everything about you.”

OK, why does that sound as way-creepy as it does? she wondered, but her years of training helped hide her discomfort. “Um. Right. I’ll do that then.”

“Excellent. Remember, Officer, this crime ring is extensive and ruthless. You get caught, you get killed. It’s not the department’s responsibility.”

Oh, this is going to barrel-loads of fun, Elizabeth thought sarcastically. “Right. Got it.”

“Oh, and one last thing.” He pulled out a stack of papers an inch thick. “This is all the data we have on the ring. I suggest you look through it before you go undercover tomorrow, OK?”

“Yeah. I can do that.” Inwardly she groaned. Reading boring crime reports was definitely of the bad.

“That’s my girl! Now go home and get some rest.” Captain Rayne smiled, a hollow smile that didn’t seem to quite reach his eyes. “You’re going to need it.”

“Gotcha. Rest. Um, bye.” Elizabeth was out of the chair and trotting through the LAPD headquarters in record time. Before she went home, she had an errand to run.

She grabbed her purse and went to the bathrooms to change into civilian clothes. As soon as she was sans uniform, she made her way over to the Forensics Department.

Sitting in a cubicle and tapping away at a keyboard like there was no tomorrow was her best friend Willow. Elizabeth slammed a hand on the wall. “I am so gonna kill you!”

Willow looked up from the screen. “Buffy, hi!” she said, her face lighting up. The two women had been friends since high school, so Willow still called her by her old nickname. “Wait...” the redhead added, face falling, “Not hi. Why are you gonna kill me?”

“Four years, Wills. I’ve been on the force for four years, and all I’ve ever done is fieldwork. And now stupid Captain Rayne wants me to do undercover!”

“Uh-oh.” Willow knew that her friend was really horrible at anything involving lying. She hadn’t even been able to lie her way out of detention in high school. “I sense badness. So that’s what your meeting with the Captain was about?”

Elizabeth cocked an eyebrow at her friend. “How’d you find out about that?”

“Oh, you know, word travels,” she stuttered. “So, um, why are you gonna kill me, again?”

Elizabeth groaned and slumped against the short wall of the cubicle. “You made me get this job.”

Willow laughed. “Oh, come on, I did not. You didn’t have any other job prospects, and you’d always liked martial arts, with the hitting and kicking and...okay, yeah, I kinda pushed you a little.” Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Or, a lot?” Willow corrected herself, smiling hopefully.

Elizabeth cracked a smile. “Relax, Wills, I’m not that mad. It’s just—arrrg! How can he expect me to do undercover?”

“Maybe he thinks you’re ready.”

“Ready? That’s just great, Willow. Oh, and look,” she continued rating, holding up the stack of papers, “I get homework!”

“Hey, it’s not so bad.” At her friend’s skeptical look she said, “Well, you know, most women would love to feel like a high-schooler again.”

“Ha. Funny. Oh, and guess what else. When I go to work as a secretary, I’m gonna have to go to Sweetcheeks Salon and be re-dyed as a blonde. And, guess what? From tomorrow on I get to assume the perky, happy Buffy persona!” Elizabeth put on a fake smile, baring a little more tooth than was necessary.

Willow shook her head. Personally, she’d liked the ‘perky, happy, Buffy persona’ way better than the grim and focused Officer Elizabeth, but she knew that after the death of her mother, that girl had all but disappeared. “So the Captain knows all about your high school years?”

“Yeah. Way creepy, when you think about it, but whatever.” Elizabeth waved her hand dismissively. “Listen, I gotta go. Captain Jerk-face wants me to rest up for the big op tomorrow.”

“OK. You wanna come over for a chick-flick fest later?” Willow hoped her friend would say yes; Buffy hadn’t unwound in so long...

“Nah. I gotta work on my simpering.” Elizabeth hefted the bag that had her uniform in it, trying to ignore the way her best friend’s face fell. “See ya later?”

“Yeah, sure. See ya.” As soon as Buffy was gone, Willow turned back to her computer.

She brought up AIM and typed in: It’s all ready. She’s coming tomorrow.

A few minutes later, she got a response: Excellent. Does she know?

And Willow Rosenberg, after looking around cautiously, typed back: No. She knows nothing.

~*~

Elizabeth tried to concentrate on the bathtub she was filling up. Just because she was a way serious cop didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy a bubbly bath, right?

Elizabeth sighed. She even lied horribly to herself. The truth was that she was actually looking forward to being Buffy again. She’d been so happy in high school, before everything caved in.

God, she could still remember finding her mother’s body. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the images were in her mind, where she couldn’t erase them. Finding Mom lying dead on the couch, calling the ambulance...at that moment, it had all fallen apart. Careless, happy Buffy had been buried for what she’d thought would be forever.

She’d dyed her hair back to its original brunette the very next day. No sense in being a sunshine-y blonde bombshell at graduation if there was no one there to see it. Her only other relative was her father Hank, and he hadn’t even bothered to send her a Congrats card.

Elizabeth closed her eyes. A single tear slipped out, falling into the bathtub and mixing with the floral-scented water. “No, Elizabeth,” she muttered to herself. “You’re a tough cop now, right? Not the high school girl who ran from her own mother’s funeral because she couldn’t bear to see the body.”

She eased herself into the hot water, grimacing as it stung several bruises on her legs. She’d helped bust a local prostitution ring that morning. It had been nice kicking serious bad-guy ass, but she hadn’t exactly gotten off scott-free in the ass-kickage area.

She soaked for a long time, willing the bruises to go away. When the aches in her muscles had diminished slightly, she drained all the water out and wrapped herself in a towel.

She was about to walk into her bedroom to put on her pj’s when her reflection caught her eye. Almost involuntarily, she stared at herself.

Brown hair that reached a bit past her shoulders, usually braided but now free to go all frizzy on her. Wide hazel eyes with more sadness in them than they should have. A thin, small frame that looked delicate until you saw the way she moved, with athletic, predatory grace.

She grimaced at her reflection before plastering a huge, fake smile on her face. “Hi, I’m Buffy Summers, and I’m here to be your new secretary slash spy for the LAPD. How may I help you?”

Her face fell. God, even her smile looked majorly wrong. And when was the last time she’d laughed? Not in a long, long while, she thought, pulling on her pj’s and crawling into bed.

As she began to fall asleep, various stories she’d heard about the crime ring floated into her head. She’d heard that the headquarters were in Sunnydale, a smile town about two hours from LA. They dealt in drug dealing and child prostitution. The head of the operation was...William something, maybe? She couldn’t remember.

I’d better get started on all that stupid reading tomorrow, she thought at sleep began to take her. Stupid paper...what the hell am I getting myself into?

~*~

“So what, you’re saying I have to move?”

“Well, duh. I mean, Sunnydale is like so totally in the middle of nowhere, but as a secretary you have to live nearby. Plus if the boss finds out that you live in LA, he’ll totally know you’re a plant.” Harmony Kendall talked fast, loud, and sounded annoyingly like the typical California Valley Girl. Elizabeth was starting to wonder how she’d managed to stay alive for three years as a plant in the crime ring. She seemed way too dumb.

“Okay. You have a house there, right?”

“Yeah, it came with furnishings and everything, but I’m moving out so—Omigod! You can have my apartment!”

“That’s the plan. Where can I come pick up the key?”

“Oh I won’t be there, as of today I am so out of Sunnydale...um I guess I could leave it under the doormat, but wouldn’t that be like—“

“Under the doormat’s fine,” Elizabeth cut in impatiently. Jeez, if she’s this stupid maybe I’ll be able to survive on the job after all. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

“Oh no, it’s totally cool, you know since you’re a fellow cop and all. Hey, maybe we could have coffee or something sometime. I bet we could totally bond on, like, all the spy-stuff and everything,” Harmony chirped.

Over my— so totally!—dead body, Elizabeth thought grimly, but she said only, “That’d be great, Harmony, but right now I’ve got an appointment as Sweetcheeks Salon. Talk to ya later, k?”

“Oh, that sucks. Oh well! Guess I’ll, like, see you later!”

“Yeah,” Elizabeth muttered before slamming the phone down. “When hell freezes over, maybe.”

Well, at least she had an apartment. Now all she had to do was dig out the pink and pastel-colored clothes that she’d buried in boxes and go to Sweetcheeks, and she’d once again be Buffy Summers.

And of course I’m looking forward to it, she thought as she walked to the salon. Not.

The salon was a pretty nice place. She was directed almost immediately to a stylist who winked when she told him curtly, “I need to be blonde and bouncy-looking. Put it on the LAPD account.”

“Sure thing, sugar,” the male hairdresser said. His nametag identified him as Lorne. “You ever tried this look before?” he asked as he began to snip at her hair.

“Yeah, once, in high school. Can you tell?”

“You might not be a blonde, sweetie, but you act like one,” he said with a wink. “All confidence and bouncy step.”

Elizabeth snorted. “You gotta be kidding me. I’m a cop, buddy, not a cheerleader.”

“Not anymore...” Another wink.

“Just finish my hair, ok?” She was more than impatient now—she was starting to get just a little bit mad. Who the hell did this Lorne guy think he was, digging in her past like that?

“Of course, honey,” he said, and the rest of the styling was done in silence.

“All done,” Lorne announced a few hours later. “And oooh do you look fab!” Before she could protest, he twirled the chair around dramatically so that it was facing the mirror.

Almost in spite of herself, Elizabeth gasped. The makeup that she put on as a matter of routine suddenly became way more obvious. Her eyes looked bigger and greener. Her hair had been cut to just past her shoulders and dyed honey-blonde. With the tan she’d picked up from all her street work, she seemed to almost glow.

“So, what do you think, sweetie? I told you it would be gorgeous!” Lorne crowed with triumph.

“Um...thanks,” she settled on saying. “You did a great job.”

“You bet I did!”

She thanked him again, smiling amusedly, and then left the salon. As she walked back to her apartment, she couldn’t help but think, Good-bye, Officer Elizabeth of the Los Angeles Police Department. Hello, Buffy Summers—secretary slash undercover extraordinaire!

She boxed up the clothes she’d need and changed into a jean skirt with a pale blue tank top. She’d hired a guy named Gunn to drive her car, small U-Haul trailer attached, down to Sunnydale. Her in a car was bad enough; throw a trailer into the mix and major bad things would happen.

He insisted on helping her load the numerous boxes and other possessions into the trailer, despite her protestations that she could manage just fine. Oh, well, I did hire him, she thought as she settled into the passenger seat. But still, having him toss boxes over his shoulder that I can barely lift? Way embarrassing!

“So, why you gonna go to Sunnydale?” Gunn glanced over at her as they merged onto the freeway.

“I got a job as a secretary for someone I know. A friend quit,” Buffy said, deliberately being vague.

“Oh. And what’s your name again?”

“E—Buffy,” she corrected herself quickly. “Buffy Summers.” Wow. Why did that feel so normal, so natural, when saying ‘Elizabeth’ always felt kinda wrong?

“How old are you? Sorry to be intrusive, it’s just, you look almost like a teenager.”

“I’m twenty-one.” Jeez, was he ever gonna stop questioning her? It was like Harmony, only he was black and older and didn’t say ‘like’ as much...okay, he was nothing like Harmony, but right now she felt that silence would be of the good.

“Wow. You look about sixteen.” Gunn grinned at her.

“Yeah. I’ve been told that.” Maybe if she kept it simple, he’d stop talking...

“Oh, really? Let me guess, your boyfriend tells you every day.”

...Or maybe not. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” she said shortly.

He finally seemed to get the hint, if his next words were any indication. “You aren’t the talkative type, are you? I’ll shut up.”

She realized too late that her ‘leave-me-alone-I’m-grouchy-and-troubled’ attitude didn’t exactly go with the California girl look thingy she had. She smiled at him sunnily. “Sorry. I’m just tired, I guess.”

“It’s cool. So, you’re going to work as a secretary?”

“Yeah. I’m thinking it’ll be cooler than my last job.”

“Which was?”

Suddenly Buffy realized that she hadn’t bothered to think of a fake former career. “Ah...um...d—daycare,” she stuttered, cursing in her head. “I worked in a daycare. I just love little kids.” She clamped her mouth shut before she babbled any more.

“Oh. Any siblings?”

“No.”

“That’s too bad. Your parents live in Sunnydale?”

Her mother’s body passed before her eyes. She clutched her purse. “My mom’s dead and I haven’t seen my dad since he walked out on us nine years ago. Okay?”

Gunn glanced over at her. When he saw her suppressed tears he said, “Hey, sorry, I didn’t know. My condolences, alright?”

“Don’t worry about it.” She looked out the window at the rapidly flashing by desert. “I’m over it.”

They passed a sign that said ‘Sunnydale: 15 miles.’. Buffy looked at it, thinking, Sunnydale. That’s where everything changes. That’s where I start living one humongo lie.

“Hey,” she said a few minutes later. “Ya wanna help me unload once we get there?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m down with that.”

They arrived at Revello Drive a half an hour later. Gunn pulled up to house number 1620. “Honey, we’re home,” he joked.

Buffy was staring at the large house. “Um. Wow,” she said. The house was large enough for a family of four. Harmony hadn’t mentioned living in the lap of luxury! This whole spy thing just got way better...

“Yeah, it’s a pretty sweet pad,” Gunn agreed. He shot her a narrow-eyed glance. “’Course, you oughta know that, since you were the one who picked it out.”

“Oh, of course. It’s just such a shock, seeing it again. Memories lie and all that.” Speaking of lying—Buffy fought back a hysterical giggle. “I’ll just—go, and, and unlock the house so we can start moving things in,” she said, and almost tumbled out of her car.

Gunn watched her go up to the house, bend over, and grab the key out from under the mat. When she’d disappeared inside the house he reached inside his coat pocket, pulled out a walkie-talkie, and held it to his mouth. “You get that, boss?”

A voice, laden with static, crackled back at him: “Every bloody word.”

~*~

A/N: So, do you like it? Review if you do and I’ll post another chapter!

A/N: Thanx to Annie, Elanor, and Minerva for reviewing :) You guys are great!



~*~



The trailer was unloaded in just under two hours. Standing in the middle of her furnished, box-filled room, she handed Gunn two hundred dollars. “For the driving, and the help, and all that,” she told him with a smile.



Gunn nodded. “Thanks. Be seein’ you, then?”



“Well, Sunnydale seems to be a small town, so I guess! Bye!” She ushered him out the door.



As soon as he left her smile fell. Damn it! She was really not doing well with this whole perky ex-cheerleader act. Even if was kinda sorta partly true, that didn’t mean she had to like it, and she didn’t.



But now really wasn’t the time for complaints. She had to finish unpacking before tomorrow, when she started her wonderful new job at—what were they calling it—oh yeah, Jenkins’s Employment Inc. Buffy snorted as she started rummaging through boxes. Stupid name for what was essentially a Mafia-style crime corporation.



Oh, well. At least she got an awesome house. Buffy eyed the living room appreciatively. Comfy couch, nice TV, ooh, big chest behind comfy couch, I can probably put all my guns and stuff in there. Hate him she might, but she had to hand it to Captain Rayne, her accommodations—not too shabby!



It was ten o’clock at night before she was all unpacked. When she finished she slumped down on her new bed, exhausted. It wasn’t like she was exactly a packrat, or anything, but she’d never really realized how much stuff she had until she was stuck moving it.



Ugh. And now it’s all late and I forgot to eat dinner... She frowned. Wait, hadn’t Harmony mentioned some club or something that was open all night long? And yeah, it was Wednesday, but...Buffy concentrated hard, trying to remember exactly what Harmony had said.



”The Bronze? It’s, like, the coolest place in Sunnydale—not that there’s much in Sunnydale, but, you know, I could totally have some fun in there, and it’s open for like ever, even on weekdays...



“Okay, then,” she muttered. “The Bronze it is.” She grabbed her purse and headed for the door, but then she stopped dead. Elizabeth Summers, LAPD cop, would go to a bar in whatever she happened to be wearing. Buffy Summers, secretary? Not so much. Buffy gave a beleaguered sigh. “Dammit.” She was in ‘moving day clothes’: a baggy shirt and drab blue jeans. She could not go clubbing in that.



She rummaged through her closet before coming up with a short black suede skirt and a mint green halter top. Not great, but it’d have to do. Thank God her hair looked good with minimal fussing. She strapped on high-heeled sandals—black, of course—and winced. Ow. She’d forgotten what wearing heels was like...



As soon as she was Buffy-fied she snatched up her purse (again) and headed out the door.



It was plenty dark, but she wasn’t exactly scared. She had two guns and a knife on her, which in her book made for some pretty good confidence. She’d checked a map and discovered that the Bronze was in an alley off of the main street running through Sunnydale, oh-so-creatively named Main Street. She decided to cut through the park, since she’d get there faster.



Unfortunately, the park was very much unlit by any streetlights, and all of a sudden, Buffy was reminded strongly that she’d been scared of the dark when she was a kid. She hesitated outside the park entrance, feeling ridiculous.



Get a grip, Bu—Elizabeth, she scolded herself. You’ve been out at night on patrols and drug busts dozens of times in a city way bigger than this!



Yeah, a part of her that she was starting to identify as her ‘Buffy’ side whispered back, But that was always with a squad, and there were no huge scary-looking trees all around. Remember what you used to tell Mom? You and trees aren’t at all mixy!



“Okay,” she muttered, “This is stupid. I’m a grown woman with a gun, for fuck’s sake.” And with that, she wrenched the lock off the park gates and slipped inside.



But she couldn’t help but notice that it really was kinda dark, and she hated it, and the trees made every shadow look like a crazy serial killer guy about to cut her throat, and OH MY GOD THERE’S SOMEONE BEHIND ME!!!!!



She whirled around, reaching for a gun, but before she had time to grab it the man was on her. Big, burly, and not exactly friendly, he grabbed her arm and attempted to restrain her with something—a belt, maybe. She didn’t try to find out. Her training took over almost instantly.



She rammed her hand into his nose, cracking the cartilage and driving it back into his skull. He howled but she showed no mercy, driving her knee into his groin even as she dealt him a horrible punch with her left fist.



And as she grabbed his arm and twisted it at a hitherto impossible angle, she couldn’t help but think, Thank God I was so good in all the self-defense classes!



He fell to his knees on the park path, whimpering, a bloody mess. Buffy gazed at him coolly. “You finished whimpering yet, or would you rather I kicked your ass some more?”



He didn’t say anything, only lurched to his feet and stumbled off. Buffy watched him go, wishing hard that she wasn’t undercover right now. She really would have loved arresting that dork...



What was up with the clothes, anyway? Didn’t he realize that wearing all white didn’t exactly help with the whole mugger career? God, thieves were so dumb! It was probably a good thing most of them were in jail.



So absorbed was she in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the other figure in the bushes, the one watching her silently. She didn’t hear, when she continued walking toward the other side of the park, him prowling along silently.



She sure as hell heard the blundering moron who came up behind her.



She sighed, turning slowly, not even bothering to be wary. “You know, I’ve known dogs smarter than you,” she informed the beat-up mugger. “They at least know when to quit.”



“Got a job,” the figure wheezed before rushing at her.



“A job? And exactly what does it entail? Me kicking your ass multiple times?”



He didn’t answer, only swung a fist at her.



She dodged it contemptuously and planted one right in his face. “Damn, you’re stupid. Didn’t you get the Kick-O-Gram? Leave—“ she dealt him a right cross to his eye—“Me—“ now a kick to his stomach—“Alone!” And to finish off the job, she gave him a punch that sent him flying into the shrubbery.



This time, when he high-tailed it out of the park, she really didn’t think he was going to be coming back.



She was about to continue walking through the suddenly un-creepified park when a man strode out of the bushes, applauding.



Her first conscious thought was OH MY GOD, he’s gorgeous!



Because he was. Gorgeous and eatable in a way no guy had been in so long Buffy was starting to think all the good ones were taken.



She couldn’t see the color of his eyes, but his hair glowed platinum-white in the moonlight. Dyed, surely, but it worked more than well on him, especially with his all black outfit. He also somehow managed to pull off wearing a long black duster without looking completely ridiculous. Quite a feat, that.



And his body—he was better built than most of the guys on the force! Muscled arms that she itched to have wrapped around her, a torso that she was certain held a ten-pack, and legs that—well, actually, she couldn’t see his legs, but she was sure they were just as yummy as the rest of him.



Unfortunately for him, he was wearing a truly annoying smirk. She narrowed her eyes at him. He might be hot, but if he was going to try laughing at her, she’d have to kick his ass. “And you’re applauding...why?”



“Well, I was gonna come in an’ play rescuer for the pretty bird, but you kinda squashed that plan, what with the kicking and punching and all.”



And he did sound amused! And oh God his smirk was sexy...Oh no you don’t, Buffy. He’s a yicky man who likes laughing at you, remember? And plus, he’s short! Accordingly, she scowled at him. “I doubt you could have helped me out. What are you, five-five?”



The smirk disappeared. “Five-ten, Blondie, an’ you’d better watch it. I know who you are.”



“Is this the part where I’m supposed to be frightened?” Sarcasm blanketed her voice.



“No. This is the part where you’re s’posed t’ lick m’ boots, considerin’ as I’m your new boss.”



Bad night, Buffy decided. Bad, bad night. “You’re William Jenkins?” Oh, wonderful, it had had to come out as a squeak, hadn’t it?



“Not unless you’re m’ grandma, in which case, hey gram,” he retorted. “The name’s Spike, an’ you’ll do well to remember it, pet.”



“I’m not your pet,” she snapped. “And Spike? What kind of idiot goes around calling themselves Spike? I thought you were supposed to be the serious business type.”



He opened his mouth to reply, but another voice cut him off. “Spike! You idiot, why can’t we just take a car like a civilized person? I’m tell you, if you mess up my hair because you’ve been dragging me through the wilderness I’ll exact vengeance the likes of which you’ve never seen! You’ll never be able to have orgasms with anyone ever again! I’ll—oh, hi!”



A woman had blundered out of the bushes where Spike had just been. She had wide brown eyes and honey-brown hair. Coupled with a very determined chin—Buffy could very much picture her slicing Spike’s dick off, or whatever she’d been promising to do. Wish I could watch... “Hi,” she replied, smiling. “You know him?”



The woman gave Spike a disgusted look. “Unfortunately, yes. He’s my brother. I’m Anya, by the way,” she said, holding out her hand. “Anya Jenkins. And you are?”



“Buffy Summers,” she provided, smiling and trying to tell herself it was purely because she’d have to ingratiate herself with these people if she was going to be an effective undercover cop. She firmly told herself it had nothing to do with the instant liking she took for the woman, or how hot her jerk of a brother was.



“Now that the charmin’ introductions have been made, can we please get to the Bronze?” an impatient voice interrupted. “I don’t fancy spendin’ the whole night in the bloody park.”



Ignoring Spike, Buffy turned to Anya. “What’s his deal? And why does he have the wiggy accent and you don’t?”



“He doesn’t have a deal, he’s just always annoyingly rude and blunt,” Anya answered as they turned and began to walk back toward the other side of the park. “Spike’s my twin, and thought I honestly do love him, I’m really starting to understand why our parents stuck him with a nanny in England until he was fifteen. That’s where the accent comes from. Although honestly, he’s been here for ten years, you’d think he would learn how to talk right, but no, he keeps his silly accent. Anyway, why are you here?”



Anya was talkative, but also a good source of information, she mused. Without even realizing it she’d just provided Buffy with valuable information she could give to Ethan. “I’m taking the place of Harmony Kendall as the secretary of Spike’s little company.” She smiled at him sweetly, letting him know that she was in on just exactly what the ‘little company’ really did. “Harmony told me all the details.”



“Did she tell you it’s a drag to work at? Even with my love of making money, I can barely stand it,” Anya said, again cutting Spike off. “All those hours of being nice to people! I’m thinking of going into retail. Getting money for the exchange of goods and services seems so much more reasonable.”



“Anya, would you shut your gob?” Spike cut in. “’M trying to get to know my new employee, here.”



“And if I don’t want to get to know you?” Buffy questioned.



“Then ‘ll fire you,” he responded blithely. “So tell me, what’s your name again?”



“Eliz—Buffy. Summers.”



“So, Summers, why’re you plannin’ on bein’ my secretary?” He leered at her. “Not that ‘m complaining, or anything.”



“Oh for God’s sake, Spike, stop ogling her. Ignore him,” Anya advised. “He can barely restrain his desires even when they’re purely sexual.”



Her face turned bright red. “I’m sure he wasn’t—“



“Don’t be so sure, Goldilocks.”



She whirled around to glare at him. He’d been walking behind her and Anya, and it was making her way uncomfortable. “I have a name, you know, and it’s not Blondie, pet, or Goldilocks!”



“But seein’ you get mad is so much more fun,” he teased, grinning at her.



She held up a fist. “You’d better shut up, or I’ll—“



“Go ahead then, Summers. Hit me.”



She glared at him for a moment before throwing up her hands and increasing her pace. “Arrrrgh!” She couldn’t hit him when he was acting like it was just going to be sooo much fun, dammit!



Screw the job. There is no way in hell I’m walking with this arrogant bastard! With a scowl planted firmly on her face, she stalked off toward the Bronze, doing her best to put as much distance in between her and Spike Jenkins as was humanly possible.



*



Spike watched the blonde chit go with an amused smile on his face. He hadn’t had this much fun since he’d introduced himself to Anya as her long-lost twin...



Whowas currently blabbering away at him, he realized as he watched Buffy Summers’ ass disappear into the night. It was a nice ass, which made sense, since the rest of her body was damned nice as well.



He was feeling pretty lucky just then. Who’d have thought that Harmony’s replacement would be as appealing as Harmony had been repulsive? Blonde hair that made him want to run his finger through it for the rest of eternity, a body to die for, and though he couldn’t see her eyes, he’d be willing to bet they were quite nice, too. And she was a good fighter, clearly, since she’d dispatched the would-be mugger quicker than even he might have been able to. And she’d displayed a fairly formidable intellect, too.



Yes, all in all, Buffy Summers was one very appealing girl.



Really, it was a damn pity she also had to be a cop.



“Oh, and by the way, an eighteen-wheeler decimated the DeSoto this morning.”



That got his attention. “What?” he roared, snapping back to reality instantly.



Anya only smirked at him.



He narrowed his eyes. “Bleeding hell, Ayn, you ever do that again and I’ll—“



“Oh, please, save it for our kids,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Because I for one stopped being intimidated by you when I caught you crying over that idiot show you like.”



“Passions is not an idiot show,” he snapped. Damn it, Anya was like a dog with a bone when it came to that little incident. Stupid bint. Too much like me for either of our own good. “And could you stop mentioning the kids so loudly? ‘S supposed to be a covert operation, y’know.”



“The only other person in the park is Buffy, and I’m pretty sure Harmony filled her in on the truth of the matter,” Anya pointed out.



“Well, yeah, since Harmony couldn’t keep a secret ‘f her sorry life depended on it. But that’s not the point. D’you really want to tell the whole soddin’ town what we do for a living?”



“The town isn’t wet,” Anya replied cheerily, “Much less sodding. We live in California, remember? Not your precious England. And Sunnydale is an open-minded town, I’m sure they’d accept what we do.”



“Yeah, they’d love hearin’ that we exploit the weaknesses of this town for our own gain,” Spike said sarcastically. “’M so sure.”



“Well, it’s not all our fault, you know. It’s better to do that than just let all that potential money be dealt through someone else.”



Spike shook his head as they began walking. The whelp and Faith and Cordy were probably pissin’ their pants right about now, they were so late. “You are one delusional girl, you know that?”



“I get it from my beloved twin,” Anya shot back. They continued bickering as they walked to the Bronze.



When they reached the Bronze, the bouncer let them in without even asking to see ID. It was no wonder, since they’d given him his job.



Spike’s eyes roved the room, searching for potential employees and customers, as he always did. His business required pretty much constant vigilance.



Or at least, that’s what he told himself he was doing. But a nasty little feeling told him that he was also looking for one Miss Buffy Summers.



He found her soon enough. Somehow, without guidance from either himself or Anya, she’d gravitated toward his friends and co-workers.



She was sitting in a chair next to Faith, laughing at something, mostly likely something ribald, that the sultry brunette had said. Xander was on her other side, and Spike had never seen the whelp with quite that goofy a smile on his face.



Bloody hell, he thought as he made his way over to the table. She’s been here—what, five minutes? And she’s already charming the pants off of everyone there.



“So, you lived in LA before, right?” Cordelia was saying as he neared.



Buffy smiled, a brilliant, happy smile. Spike wished it had been he who made her smile that way. Hey, wait just a bleeding minute, mate. She’s your secretary, not to mention the latest spy sent from the Hell-force to sniff at you. Down, boy.



“Yeah,” the blonde replied. “It’s a nice city, I love it.”



“Nice? I dunno, Buff, I’ve heard some nasty things about Los Angeles,” Xander said.



“Have you really? Well, I guess it’s crime-ridden, but the police are doing their best, you know,” she told him.



Her nose was adorable when it was wrinkled like that—no. Not in a million sodding years was he gonna go there. “You would defend them, wouldn’t you?” he drawled arrogantly, sliding into the seat.



She narrowed her eyes at him, a gesture she seemed to be perfecting where he was concerned. Too bad—now that he could see her stunning hazel eyes, he wanted a view of them that was unobstructed by her eyelashes. “Yeah, I would. You got a problem?”



He held up his hands. “Cool it, pet. ‘M just here for the food.”



Faith laughed. “Hey, Spike, did you get the 411? Someone pulled those onion blossoms off the menu.”



“What? Bugger!” He leapt to his feet. Bungled deals with clients he could deal with, but this—“Where the hell is the cook? ‘M gonna tear his throat out.”



“Assuming you could reach it,” Buffy muttered.



He glared at her. “An’ that’s s’posed to mean what?”



“Just that really, you’re kinda short,” she said, smiling sweetly at him.



That was it, he decided. Whether or not she was the hottest bird in the room, he didn’t like her. “You’re a real bitch, you know that?”



“Coming from you, I’ll consider it a compliment,” she retorted. Her eyes lit on someone behind him. “Anya, hi!”



He barely restrained a groan as his overly blunt twin said, “Hello, Buffy. I see you’ve found our partners in crime.”



The rest of the group, who up until then had been watching with interest, widened their eyes. “Ah, Spike, Buffy’s not—“



“She’s filling in for Harm, whelp,” Spike cut in impatiently. “Who as you know, could hardly keep a secret if the Pope himself told her to. A’right?”



“Jesus, chill out, Spike.” Kennedy was one of his more successful charges, and also one of the most bratty. “And take the stick out of your ass. We’re here to have fun, remember?”



“The bitch has a point,” Faith told him.



“Yeah, Spike,” Buffy said with a smile that he itched to wipe off her face, “Chill out, why don’t you.”



He growled and lunged for her. “You little—“



She was on her feet in an instant. “Finish that sentence,” she dared, her eyes dangerous.



He glanced over at the group. They were watching with great interest, much as they’d been doing a moment ago. When he glared at Anya she said, “Don’t come crying to me for help, Spike. You’re the one who can’t keep his mouth shut.”



“Yeah, well, ‘s not like I wasn’t provoked,” he shot back, before glancing back at Buffy. She wasn’t exactly shoving her fists in his face, but she looked prepared for any fight he might feel like bringing to her. Oh, bugger it.



He unclenched his fist and sat back down. When she continued to stand, he motioned to a chair. “C’mon, Blondie, don’t be stubborn. ‘M not gonna start a fight in the Bronze, I don’t much fancy bein’ thrown out. And anyway, you haven’t even started work yet. Can’t be scarin’ you off now, can I?” He smiled at her, praying to God that she’d decide that he was charming enough to put up with for awhile.



Plants were so hard to identify, much less keep tabs on, and he was positive that she was harmony’s replacement as the LAPD’s eyes and ears. Need to keep her here, where she can’t spread her poison back to that bastard Rayne, he thought.



“Fine,” she finally snapped, flopping down in the chair next to Xander. “Pig.”



“Stubborn bint.”



“Butt-head.”



“Bitch.” He watched with amusement as her face turned a number of truly interesting colors.



“Oh my God,” Cordelia cut in, “Have you ever witnessed anything more immature? For God’s sake, you two, stop acting like a pair of high-schoolers.”



“Yeah, no kidding, it’s fuckin’ stupid how much you two are fighting,” Faith chipped in.



“This could be the martini talking, but the ladies are right, Spike,” Xander told him.



Spike sneered at him. “Like I need your help, you bloody—“



“Hey Spike,” Kennedy said, leaning over and sending him a sly smile. “Polka-dotted underwear.”



That was it. He buried his head in his hands, the incident Kennedy was referring to reducing him to absolute, humiliated helplessness. “You’re a right heartless bitch, you are,” he told her.



“You know you love it,” she shot back, downing a huge gulp of Jack Daniels. Beside her, Buffy began to laugh.



“Oh, bloody hell,” he muttered, burying his face in his hands. It was going to be a long night.



~*~



“And the documents have been planted?”



“Yes, sir,” came the voice on the other end of the phone. A deep voice, dark, capable of saying horrible things in an even worse monotone.



“Excellent. And she still doesn’t know?”



“She is ignorant, sir.”



“What of him?”



“We attempted to dispose of him. We failed.”



“Is that so?” Eyes glinted in a dully lit up room. “Well then, I’m afraid you have a very short time to live. Our force is limited enough without you dragging failure into it...”



And the silent night helped to muffle the screams of the dying.



~*~



Buffy frowned as she leafed through the documents that Harmony had left. She was lying in bed and it was past midnight, but she’d been too curious to wait till morning.



Not exactly warm bedtime-y goodness, she thought as she read the numerous charges associated with Jenkins, Inc. Child prostitution in addition to good old-fashioned pimping, drug dealing, rape, murder, it was all there.



Most of the accusations tied directly into Spike.



No, no, no, she scolded herself. Bad Buffy. Not Spike. Jenkins. He’s the bad guy, remember?



And yet, even when she’d been fighting with him, it was so hard to remember! She couldn’t see, couldn’t understand, how a man who seemed to be if not nice than at least decent could be a cold-blooded killer.



That’s why you’re a good guy, Summers, ‘cuz you can’t understand the bad guys.



But they’d all been so nice! That had been what was confusing her, the fact that none of them acted like evil nasties. OK, she could see Faith taking a guy down, and Kennedy wasn’t exactly gonna be joining the cast of Barney anytime soon, but none of them had acted like killers.



And yet, she’d noticed the sidelong glances, the insinuations, and the hints that indicated that they were all in on some covert operation. Thank God they assumed that she knew exactly what they were talking about.



The truth was that though she was reading about all their various crimes, she really didn’t understand how they went about actually committing the crimes. They talked about ‘clients’ and their ‘business’, but how exactly did they sell the drugs and run the brothels?



Well, she guessed she’d find out soon enough. As the secretary, she’d be privy to most if not all of the goings-on in the so-called Jenkins Employment Inc. Including whatever Spike was up to. And given what she’d seen when they’d walked her home...



She leaned back into her pillows and remembered:



”Sorry, Buffster, but you’ve had a fight with Spike and endured Anya’s sex-comments,” Xander said, with a cheerful grin. “You’re one of us, and that means we’re walking you home.”



“I agree with her Royal Bitchiness.” Spike was being a smartass, kind of like he’d been being all night long, actually.



“Oh, shut up for one second, Spike,” Cordy ordered. “God, you’re such a moron.”



“Guys, really,” Buffy tried once again to protest. “I’m fine making it home on my own.”



“Well, yeah, but Sunnydale’s a fucked-up small town. God only knows what kind of jerk might try to jump ya.” Faith wore a loopy smile, and Buffy suspected that she was more than slightly wasted.



“Which means we’re gonna walk you back, no matter how much you try to convince us not to so that you don’t have to put up with my odious brother any more,” Anya finished Faith’s thought, grabbing Buffy’s arm and fairly dragging her down Main Street. “So come on!”



The rest of them raced ahead and Buffy was left standing alone in the dark street, staring after them, more than a little stunned.



Well, not alone, technically, since Spike was standing there beside her. But really, he didn’t count.



Unfortunately he didn’t seem to realize that, since he smirked at her and said, “Well lookee here, I managed to get you all alone in the dark. Do you normally do this on a first date?”



She sneered at him. “Go to hell.”



“Been there, done that. Wasn’t much fun,” he answered, and his tone of voice might’ve made her think that he was joking, but his eyes were deadly serious.



She opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off when someone leapt from the darkness onto Spike’s back.



A gun was in her hand almost before she thought about it, and she was preparing to fire, but it turned out that there wasn’t any need. He threw the man onto the muddy alley floor, bashing his nose in as he did, and placed his boot heel at his throat. “You’d best watch it, mate. I dunno who you’re workin’ for, but stay away from me and my girl, got it?”



“Please...” the man wheezed. Spike ground in his heel a little harder as Buffy watched with wide eyes. His face was so cold, so unfeeling, that it frightened her, and in that moment she could picture him forcing an eight-year-old to sell herself on the streets. blood trickled down the man’s neck, and she could see him mouth, “Stop, please...”



“Right then. Get the hell out of here.” As abruptly as the fury had appeared it left. He lifted his shoe off the man’s throat and held out his arm to Buffy. “C’mon pet, let’s get you home.”



She’d taken his arm because she had been too scared to do anything else. Spike hadn’t explained to the others why they’d been detained, which led her to believe that this sort of thing happened fairly requently.



But...Spike had told Xander that she knew what was going on. Which meant that Harmony must have been in on things. Wait—so how had Harmony insinuated herself into the group? And if it really was an elite crime ring that stretched all the way to New York, why would they trust the bimbo’s recommendation?



And while she was lying here being all ultra-suspicious, what was up with the freak attacking her in the park?!



Something didn’t add up, but she was too tired to even try to figure it out. The hard, disciplined cop Elizabeth was ordering her to stay awake, but secretary Buffy was tired from a night out on the town with her friends—No! Not friends! Evil child exploiters, remember? Not friends!



But Faith had been funny, and Cordelia was nice if a little conceited, and Xander and Anya were so adorable, and well Kennedy was Kennedy, but she seemed cool enough...



Completely exhausted, Buffy fell back onto the bed. Sleep overcame her before she even had a chance to set her alarm.



~*~



A/N: Hope you enjoyed it, review and there’ll be more faster *wink*

A/N: Thanx to everyone who reviewed! And about the whole ‘Spike can’t be an evil child prostitute crime ring lord!’ thing...well...wait and see, is all I’m gonna say :)



~*~



The next morning found Buffy standing in front of her mirror, staring at her reflection. She was holding up various outfits, but she hadn’t yet decided which one to wear. Was she going for serious and trustworthy, or fun-loving and a little bit slutty?



“They’ll underestimate me if I dress like a slut,” she mused. “Okay then.” She held up a yellow skit and a white blouse. “Hi! I’m Buffy, the new secretary!” she said to the mirror, “And please, just ignore me while I report back on your every activity to my boss in LA, whom I really don’t like but who says we need to bring down this crime ring, led by the hottest guy I’ve seen since oh I dunno pretty much ever...” She trailed off, plopping down on the bed and sticking out her lower lip in what was undeniably a pout. “Crap.”



Unfortunately she didn’t have much time to mope. The clock already read 8:45. She had to get dressed soon, or she’d be late.



“Stupid Captain Rayne,” she muttered, yanking on the skirt, “Making me do spy-stuff. I don’t like spy-stuff.”



She yanked on a pair of flip-flops and stared at herself in the mirror. To tell the truth, the barely recognized herself. Officer Summers had been who she was for so long that seeing herself as a carefree young woman was majorly freaky.



She took a deep breath and grabbed her purse. “You can do this, Buffy. You can.”



She arrived at the Jenkins building just before nine. She stood for along time, staring at the nondescript grey building. “Headquarters of a gang worse than the Crips,” she muttered, walking up the steps. “Yay. This should be barrels of fun.”



She was going to just open the door and walk in, since she worked there and all, but right before she put her hand on the knob it turned and was opened by Faith.



“Hey, B.” The brunette grinned at her. “Come on in. The staff’s fucking crazy without that blonde bitch Harmony, we’re gonna need you today.”



“Um. Okay.” Buffy frowned as they walked in. “So, no secretary results in major badness, right?”



Faith laughed. “I’ll let you decide, B.”



They walked through a series of halls. At first Buffy tried to keep track—this was stuff the Captain could definitely use—but the twisty halls were too, well, twisty, so she gave up.



Faith led them up a pair of stairs and up to...



“It’s a door,” Buffy observed, giving the other girl a quizzical look. “A big, grey door.”



“Kudos to Sherlock.” Faith rolled her eyes. “The real operation’s behind the door.”



“Uh-huh.” Buffy reached out and pushed the door open...



And very nearly fell over in shock.



She was standing in the middle of a humongous room, three stories high and about half the size of a football field. She knew the Jenkins building was big—it took up like three blocks or something—but this was more than just big. Big could not possibly describe the hugeness that was the Jenkins’ headquarters.



Open hallways were attached to the walls on the second and third floors, and doorways opened into what she assumed were more rooms. Holy crap, she thought, staring at the dozens of doors lining the two upper floors. Looks like it takes a lot to run a crime ring!



She turned around to ask Faith where she worked, only to find that the brunette had disappeared when she’d been looking around. “Major weirdness? Check,” she muttered, staring around desperately. Where the hell am I supposed to work?



“Hey! Blondie! Get your ass over to your desk!”



The nickname alone told her who was yelling, and the accent only reinforced the hunch. She suppressed a shiver and walked over there. Wonderful. Bid, bad man ordering around all day, the same big, bad man who shoved his boot in a guy’s face last night while I watched...this is really just terrific.



“So, this is my desk?” she asked in what for her passed as a perky manner. It was a huge desk set up against the farthest wall. Filing cabinets were behind and beside it, and huge stacks of papers covered most of the wooden surface.



“Yeah. Now listen, you watch the entrances, got it? Business we’re in, we need to know everybody who comes in an’ out. Someone you don’t recognize comes in, you buzz me.” He pointed to a huge intercom. “Mine’s the only room on the ground floor. Other than that, sort all these bloody papers an’ put ‘em in the proper files. You got all that?”



Buffy was staring at the desk with huge eyes, feeling more than a little dazed. OK Summers, don’t get all wiggy on him now...wah. What happened to, ‘these are the bad guys, you shoot them with the gun?’



“’Ello?” Spike snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Earth to Goldilocks! I haven’t got all day, y’know.”



“Oh! Sorry.” She smiled at him in what she hoped was a cheery manner. “So I sit at the desk and file papers?”



“Yeah, pretty much. ‘s not exactly a difficult job, so you shouldn’t have a problem with it.”



“What?!” A voice in her head warned her not to fight the boss, but she didn’t listen. “Are you calling me stupid?” She questioned in a dangerous voice.



He smirked at her. “Might be. Wait—yeah, ‘m definitely callin’ you stupid. A bloody idiotic, silly little chit.”



“You—you—jerk!” She spluttered, unable to come up with anything more creative or insulting. Her fist was doing most of the talking. It flew up and toward his face with blinding speed.



He was faster. He caught her fist in his hand and forced it back down. Anger sparked in his eyes. Blue eyes, her beyond frightened mind gibbered. The bad evil man has blue eyes. Very pretty blue eyes. No, Buffy. Pretty blue eyes equals very very bad, okay?



And yet when he back her up against the edge of the desk, she was too frozen, too busy staring into those eyes of his, to stop him.



“’M gonna give you a piece of advice, kitten,” he said in a soft, deadly voice. “You’re not the one in charge here. That honor goes to me. And in place like this, you’d best be watchin’ your step. Maybe you were safe back in LA with all the thugs walkin’ round callin’ themselves cops. You’re not safe here.” His hand tightened ever so slightly on her fist.



It hurt. It hurt enough that if she had any sense at all, she would have shut up and sat down and worked like a good little secretary. But Buffy had never been the sit-down-and-shut-up-type. Besides, in a way bizarre kinda way, she liked fighting with him. “Are you trying to scare me again? ‘Cause, it’s really hard to take a wanna-be Billy Idol freak seriously.”



He narrowed his eyes, but just then, his cell phone rang—and the tune was a Billy Idol song. She smirked at him and sat on the edge of the desk as he stepped away from her and checked the caller id. “Shit,” he muttered, before flipping the phone open. “A’right, talk, Bit,” he ordered. “What’s the problem?”



He was silent for a moment. Buffy took the opportunity to stick her tongue out at him—totally juvenile, she knew, but for God’s sake, the man looked seriously hot in a suit.



And even hotter when he scowled at her...



Focus, Buffy, she scolded herself. You’re not here to seduce your hot evil crime-ring-running boss, okay? Yeah, that was why she was swinging her legs on the edge of her desk, doing her absolute best to be seductive, right?



“He did what? Dammit, ‘m gonna kill him...no, you annoyin’ chit, not lit’rally...good. Yeah, you do that. Right, then. See ya.”



He hung up and rounded on Buffy. “You. Get your ass in the chair and keep it there. I don’t have time for your shit. Someone named Dawn comes in, you get her straight to me, got it?”



“Um...” she hopped off the desk and hurried around to the other side, sitting down. “Dawn. Okay.” She smiled at him. “Thanks for giving me this job, Spike.”



He sent her a look that could only be called one of deep disgust. “Don’t even try it, pet.”



She winced as he slammed the door to what she assumed was his office. Oh, yeah. I’m sure this job will be laughs, hugs, and puppies.



*



Spike felt bad as soon as he slammed the door, because the person sitting on his couch jumped about a half a mile into the air.



“Jesus, you white boys are all the same,” Charles Gunn berated him, tucking the gun he’d pulled out back into his pocket. “Let a girl get you all pissed—it’s pathetic, you know that?”



“She’s not a girl, she’s the sodding cop sent to spy on me and m’ company,” Spike snapped. “An’ that’s what’s got me so mad at her, not the fact that she’s a girl!”



He was lying, of course. Even he knew he was lying. You’re damn pathetic when you can’t even fool yourself about something.



He had the worst luck when it came to these things. Why the hell had Rayne sent him such a pretty girl? Weren’t there right ugly chits in the LAPD, too?



Gunn, too, was staring at him like he’d just tried to convince him the earth was flat. “’M tellin’ you, the fact that she’s a bird—“



“Has everything to do with it. Admit it, Spike, you think she’s hot.”



“I do not!”



Gunn just looked at him. He was really good at that, Spike mused as he walked over to the desk and picked up a paper, stubbornly refusing to meet Gunn’s eyes. Just starin’ at you till you caved...



“Okay, fine, maybe a little.” When he saw Gunn’s smug smile he snapped, “Hey. A little, mate, so wipe the grin off your face.”



“Okay, okay, a little. I’m down with that.”



“Down with what? You Americans, always so—oh god.” His eyes finally focused on the piece of paper he’d been holding for the past few minutes.



“What’s up?” Gunn tensed, ever so slightly, but it was the look of someone readying themselves to kill.



“It’s them. Makin’ trouble, again.”



“We gonna go and stop ‘em?”



“Um...” Spike plowed a hand through his hair. Bloody hell. A chap can’t get two minutes’ rest around here, can he? “Yeah. Yeah, we’ll do that. Buffy!” he hollered.



Something banged, and a few seconds later Buffy was standing in the door, holding a stack of papers and looking extremely annoyed. “What...sir?” she added, scowling at him.



He smirked back. Probably shouldn’t have, but really, he couldn’t help himself. She was too cute when she got mad. “’F Dawn comes in while ‘m out, just amuse her for awhile, a’right?”



“Amuse her?” Buffy repeated incredulously. “You want me to...amuse her? What the hell am I, a babysitter?”



Spike had had enough. There was a job to do, and the little blonde cop was in his way. Not too bad a view, but still...down, boy. She’s a bloody cop, remember? “No. You’re my employee, which means you do what I say, when I say it, you got that?” He caught her fist right before she landed a punch on him—girl could really throw one, all things considered. “And no hitting! This is a civilized establishment, y’know.”



Buffy narrowed her eyes at him, but really, what was she supposed to say? He had her trapped, and he knew it. “Fine. Sir.”



“Excellent!” He walked past her, barely resisting the urge to pat her on the ass. She had a cute one, all firm and tight...damn. “Be seein’ you!”



He heard her mumbling behind him, something about assholes and fornicating pigs. Jesus, she even sounded cute when she was threatening death by slow torture.



He grinned. “C’mon, mate,” he said jovially to Gunn, “Let’s go get down an’ dirty, shall we?”



And as they left, he could resist turning back around and mock-saluting his smoldering secretary. “Oh, an’ do us a favor, pet. Get the coffee on for when we get back?”



He dodged the heavy book she threw at him and left the building laughing.



A/N: OK, so it’s way shorter than what I usually write, but I have major writers’ block, plus spring break ends tomorrow :( . So I’m feeling a little down. Review plz and there’ll be more, promise!

A/N: Thanx to Jessica, Mike, and Minerva for reviewing!

~*~

Buffy scowled at the mountain of paperwork that Spike had ordered her to sort through. “Stupid, worthless sonofa—“ She sighed. At least most files were marked...but still, that was a hell of a lot of paper to get sorted! And she was just barely getting paid minimum wage. Way unfair in her opinion, but then, that was what was wrong with this whole job: no one had asked for her opinion.

“Get the coffee on for when we get back,” she mocked. “Who does he think he is, anyway? A good guy? Strutting around this stupid warehouse, going off to deal with—whatever it was. Bleached idiot.”

“Um...who are you talking to?”

Buffy looked up from the desk, startled. She hadn’t heard anyone come in and crap, hadn’t Spike told her to watch the doors? Oh, well. “Who the hell are you?”

The girl pursed her lips in a manner Buffy found instantly irritating. “I asked first.”

“Your point being? I’m the secretary, I need to know who you are.” Buffy smirked at the brat. She was almost relieved that there was at least one person in this...establishment...she could actually dislike.

“Some secretary. You seriously need niceness lessons,” the girl said.

“Oh yeah? Look who’s talking,” the girl shot back. “You don’t ask ‘Who the hell are you?’ when you’re the secretary. You ask, ‘How may I help you? Want Coffee? Tea?’ God,” she finished, “Did that stupid freak Harmony teach you anything?”

“You know, you are the absolute most annoying little brat I have ever met,” Buffy said in an approximation of a cheerful voice. “Now would you please just tell me your frickin’ name?”

“It’s Dawn,” the girl said, glaring at her. “I’m a client, and a friend, of Spike’s.”

Wonderful. The girl was what, fifteen? And Spike had stuck her out on the streets. Buffy eyed the girl. Whoring, or dealing? Maybe both? Nah, she didn’t have the look of a drug dealer. Which meant...all of a sudden she felt sick. This Dawn kid was being a brat, but that didn’t mean she deserved to live her life as a street whore. I’m gonna have to talk to Captain Rayne about this one. No one that young should have to live such a horrible life.

In the meantime, Spike had said to entertain the girl, and, well, no matter what he’d done to Dawn, she seemed to think of him kinda like a bid brother. No accounting for taste...

“Sorry, Dawn.” Buffy tried to smile. It felt more like gritting her teeth. “Spike’s not here right now, he went...well, to be honest, I’m not sure where he went. But I’ll keep ya company, if you want.”

Dawn just looked at her. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“No, really. I wanna talk.” She stood up and went over to the little waiting area outside Spike’s office, patting the lurid yellow seat beside her. “Come on, sit down.”

Dawn was now staring at her like she thought Buffy was insane, but she complied—warily. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Um...actually, I’m kinda curious about how you know Spike. I really don’t understand much about how his business works.”

“Oh, it’s not a business thing—well, it was,” Dawn corrected herself. “He got me the job I have now!”

And you’re smiling like it’s Christmas and you just got a puppy...why? Buffy thought, but she kept her face blank. “And you like your job?”

“Oh yeah, it’s great!” Dawn grinned. “I mean, before he helped me out, I was just a kid on the streets, ‘cuz you know, Sunnydale’s kinda got lots of those, but then Spike was all, hey, maybe I can help, and so he pulled a few strings, and now—bang!—I’ve got a job!”

Well, okay, maybe if you were homeless, being a prostitute would be a good option. Ha. Buffy knew she was kidding herself. “So, it pays well, huh?”
“Uh-huh!” Dawn beamed. “Taking orders was hard at first, and sometimes the customers are a little snooty, but if I’m extra fast and super nice, I get tips!”

Buffy couldn’t do anything except sit in her neon yellow chair and stare at the girl before her. Dawn looked radiantly happy, and she was talking about her profession like it was something perfectly normal.

“Um, you okay?” Dawn frowned worriedly. “You look pale.”

“Right.” Buffy shook herself, inwardly cursing for being such a sensitive idiot. You have a job here, stupid, and it isn’t just filing papers! “So, you still come to visit him? Spike, I mean.”

“Oh, yeah. He’s like a brother. Well, a big, annoying, bleach-blonde, kinda dumb brother, but hey. Still a brother.” Dawn looked at her questioningly. “Hey, how’d you get your job here.”

“Harmony was a—friend—of mine,” Buffy lied quickly. “Um, another one of my friends, Willow, knew her. Harmony recommended me when she quit.”

“Huh. I’m surprised Spike took her word for it. I mean, some stuff you’re going to be seeing is kinda—you know—sensitive.”

“Sensitive?” Buffy pretended to be confused. “What do you mean? I thought Spike ran an employment business.”

“Well, he does. But what with the, um, extra-curriculars—you know what I’m talking about, right?” Dawn all of a sudden looked guilty, like she knew she shouldn’t be saying all of what she was. “Please say you do. About the other agency, and the lap-dancers, and all that?”

Lap-dancers? What the hell—Captain Rayne is gonna hear about that one! But right now, Buffy had to pretend she was in the loop. That way, Dawn would keep talking. “Oh, that. Of course, Harmony filled me in on all that.”

“Oh, well that’s a relief.” Dawn smiled at her. “Spike woulda killed me if—oh, hey, Spike!”

The fifteen-year-old leapt to her feet, smiling cheerfully at Spike. She did that a lot, Buffy had noticed. “Your new secretary is so way cooler than the last one,” she informed him.

“Really?” Spike cocked an eyebrow at Buffy. God, he was sexy when he did that...No, Buffy. Evil man who plucks fifteen-year-olds out of the streets and turns them into happy, well-adjusted prostitutes is not sexy!

“’ll have to stick around when you decide to chat with her, then,” Spike continued. “’Cuz she’s been downright nasty to me.”

“Because you’re a conceited jerk who seems to think that running a business consists of sticking your boots in prone men’s faces and bossing a lowly secretary around,” Buffy retorted. “I’m nice when I actually like the person I’m talking to.”

“You stuck your boots in somebody’s face and didn’t let me watch?” Dawn pouted. “Meany.”

“You’ll get over it, Bit, you always do.” Spike ruffled her hair affectionately before turning back to Buffy. “Listen, I need a file. ‘S labeled lap-dancin’ and it oughta be somewhere in the drawers. Bring it in when you’ve found it.”

“Lap-dancers again?” Buffy rolled her eyes. “This esteemed company’s fixation on lap-dancers is weird to the extreme, ya know.”

“Whatever. You gonna do it or not?” Now she could tell he was annoyed, because that little vein in his temple throbbed. She probably shouldn’t be looking at him so closely that she noticed it, but hey, she was a cop, and cops were supposed to be observant—

Oh, who was she kidding, anyway? What was she going to do, sit in Captain Rayne’s visitor chair and tell him all about the layout of the building, and the suspicious lap-dancers, and oh yeah, the brains of the operation has a little blood vessel that throbs when he’s mad!

Not so much.

So she only smiled at him and said, “Of course. It’s my job, isn’t it? Sorry if I was a pain.”

Now he was the one who looked suspicious. “You feelin’ all right, Blondie?”

“Fine! Absolutely fabulous!” She beamed at him. His eyebrow stayed cocked, and his electric blue eyes let her know that he really wasn’t buying it. “Um...I’ll just get that file, okay?”

“Right. You do that.” He walked back into the office, shutting the door quietly—an action that Buffy had a hunch wasn’t normal for him.

Crap, she thought, and turned to the filing cabinet. Great job, Summers. You’ve really done it now!

*

“What the bleeding hell did you say to her?” Spike demanded.

“Um...well, I mentioned the other side of the company...the extra-curriculars, I called them. And the lap-dancers, but I don’t think she really understood that.”

“So now she knows. Except—wait, she knew before. Didn’t she?” Spike frowned. All of a sudden, some things really didn’t add up. “She’s with Harmony and all the lap-dancin’ rotters, right? So why was she so damn surprised?”

“Good question,” Dawn said, frowning. “Sucks that we don’t have an answer.”

“You don’t think they didn’t tell her, do you?”

“I don’t know. That bitch Harmony sure as hell knew about it.”

“Dawn!”

“Well, she did!” Dawn stared at her friend for a second before realizing that he had no problem with her telling the truth. “Oh. Language.”

“Damn right. When you’re around me, keep it pg-rated, ok?”

“Damn right, I will.” Dawn grinned at him cheekily. “Hey, you get to say it, so do I.”

“You’re a brat, you know that?” Spike only groaned when Dawn nodded. The little bit could be incredibly annoying, but she was also cheerful to a fault. “Now, getting back to Buffy...”

“I don’t know what she doesn’t know, or what she does know, or even if she knows that I don’t know what she does or doesn’t know.”

“And that meant what?”

”That she might be in on what the lap-dancers are doing, or she might not.” Dawn shrugged. “To be honest, there’s no way to tell.”

Spike barely restrained himself from groaning again. Things just kept getting worse, didn’t they? First those nancy-boys he and Gunn had had to deal with, and now the issue with Buffy-bleedin’-Summers. “But we know she’s a plant. Fine then. We let her know only what she needs to. I dunno what she thinks we’re doin’ on our off hours, and frankly, I don’t care. ‘F we keep her in the dark, then she’ll just stay confused. Got that? No more runnin’ your mouth, Bit.”

“Hey,” Dawn said indignantly, “don’t lecture me when half your friends are as floppy-mouth as I am. If you let her near Xander for more than three seconds, he’ll be sure to slip.”

“And if he does, I’ll kill the stupid whelp,” Spike snapped. “Listen, Bit, this is important, a’right? We have to convince Buffy that we’re hardly a threat at all, got that?”

“Good luck. I just think—oh! Oh! Oh!” she suddenly squealed, bouncing up and down in her seat.

“Think what? What’s so exciting?” God knew he could do with a little good news, although knowing Dawn it was probably just that Chad Michael Murray was coming to town, or some rot like that.

“Willow!”

He whipped around so fast he felt his neck crack. “AURGH! Buggering hell! Where, Dawn?”

“She’s not in the room, moron,” the teenager said, rolling her eyes. “God, you can be stupid sometimes. She mentioned Willow. She’s friends with her.”

Spike stared at her for a second, completely still. Dozens of ideas were rushing through his head, all at once. “Red. ‘Ve got to get in contact with her. She’ll be able to tell me how much Buffy knows.” It had been he who IM’d her a few days ago, of course. Red had told him she was completely ignorant about Jenkins’ true dealings—but now he wasn’t so sure. If Red was Buffy’s friend, then she could easily ply her for the truth.

“OK, you have fun with that.” Dawn checked her watch and sighed. “Well, the customers call. Holy crap, I’m not looking forward to serving people all night long...”

“Have a good time,” Spike muttered. He was rifling through his papers, looking for Red’s number.

Dawn rolled her eyes and left.

As soon as he located the slip of paper with her number on it, he dialed her up. “Hey, can I speak to Willow Rosen—oh, hey, Red! Listen, I need a favor...”

A few minutes after he got off the phone with Willow, Buffy opened the door and strolled in. “I got the file on lap-dancers.” She handed it to him. A crinkle appeared in her brow. “This company is beyond bizarr-o, by the way.”

“Bizarr-o?” Spike arched an eyebrow at her. “Tell me, pet, do you ever talk normally?” God, she looked sexy in that skirt. Abruptly an image came to him, of Buffy sitting on the edge of his desk and slowly, slowly pulling that skirt off...

He shook himself. Good God, man, pull yourself together! She’s one little chit, for Christ’s sake!

Uh-huh, that other voice, the one he could never quite make shut up, said. Just like you’ve got the whole ‘manage the plant and tell her only what we want her to know’ thing under control, right?

Buffy grinned at him. God, she had a cute smile...”Not if I can help it,” she replied. “So, I saw Dawn leave?”

“Uh, yeah, I had work to do,” Spike replied, shaking himself out of the stupor her smile had induced.

“I was nice of you to help her find a job,” Buffy said, but her brow was wrinkled slightly. Spike smirked.

Snoop all you like, sweetheart, you’re not gonna find it easy gettin’ anything outta me, he thought before replying, “Well, that is what we do here. Jenkins’ employment and all.”

“Oh, right. I knew that...” she trailed off for a moment before redoubling her efforts: “So, what are all the offices for?”

“Consultants. Counselors. Helpers. Takes a lot to just find people jobs here,” he replied curtly. He watched with amusement as anger, then stony determination, flashed across her face.

“Oh, okay. I’ll just...go file, then. Call me if you need anything.”

God, the things that flashed through his head when she said that—he was a truly immoral man. “Will do, luv.”

“Um. Bye.” She awkwardly turned on her heel and walked out.

Spike flipped through the file intently. Paperwork really wasn’t his thing, but there were some things in here that really couldn’t be seen by anyone but him. “How the hell did I get into the business, anyway?” he wondered out loud, before remembering: “Oh, yeah. My bitch of a sister Anya forced me to. Said it’d make loads of money, so ‘f course I had to do it.” No, that wasn’t fair. Anya wasn’t a bitch, and she hadn’t forced him, exactly. Just...compelled him.

Persuasively.

And now he was stuck dealing with a way-too-smart-for-her-own-good spy, who also happened to be a drop-dead gorgeous bird, though he didn’t really like her much, and a bunch of lap-dancin’ nancy-boys who barely knew which way was up.

“Bloody—fucking—hell,” he cursed, banging his head on his desk. Maybe if he hit it hard enough, he’d just get knocked into a coma.

God knew it’d be easier than what he was doing now.

*

“And you’re certain he is ignorant of your ties to our organization?” A pair of eyes glittered in the darkness of the room. Riley Finn tried to ignore them as he concentrated on giving prompt answers.

“Yes, Captain. He doesn’t know anything.”

“Excellent. And the girl?”

“Will be eliminated, sir.”

“Yes, but when? This needs to happen soon, Finn.”

“I understand that, Captain. As we speak, the plan is being set in motion.”

“Who have you sent?”

A glint of teeth. “The most trusted member of our venerated psych ward, who else?”

And they both laughed, picturing the demise of the one thing that could keep their plans from coming to fruitation.

Neither of them noticed a third pair of eyes, glinting in the darkness behind the men. And neither noticed when the darkness became a shape that slithered off into the night to bring a report back to the one who sent it.

~*~

A/N: WAH!!! My 12-yr molars wait 3 frickin’ years to come in, and now they HURT!!!! Which, actually, means updates will be faster since typing has little to do with my teeth, unlike talking and pretty much everything else, so hey, it’s all good :) Review plz and the next update’ll be longer!! Sorry they’re so short, but I figure a little is better than nothing, and the gap between updates will be WAY bigger if I wait till I have ten pages into the comp. each time. If it’s a bad idea, just tell me in a review. (Yeah, yeah, it’s manipulation. Sue me, lol )

A/N: Sorry for the wait. Thanx to Minerva for reviewing!

~*~

Two weeks. Buffy stared down at the desk, just as full of papers as it had been when she started—although to give herself credit, they were different papers.

Still, she felt like she was making no progress. Two whole weeks, and I still have zilch to tell Captain Rayne.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t been trying. She was trying to be super-observant, but somehow, she never heard anything useful. Everybody talked around her, but it was like they were talking in code. “Hey, got a job, let’s go,” one person would say, or “Did you do the thing last night?” Even Dawn, whom Buffy had seen several times lately, was incredibly ambiguous about the whole thing.

And to tell the truth, it was getting beyond frustrating. She liked these people, honestly she did. Xander was funny, Cordelia was a complete softie underneath the bitchy exterior, Anya was weird but nice, and Spike—well, okay, Spike was Spike. He was a complete jerk. But she thought she was starting to understand even him.

And they were just the main group. She’d met other people she genuinely liked, such as Faith and Kennedy. She hadn’t quite managed to figure out what the two of them did for the company, though she was pretty sure they were in on the other side of Jenkins’—the side that sold eight-year-olds in warehouses. And this—liking Faith, and Kennedy, and Xander and Anya—was dangerous. Because they were the bad guys, and she was supposed to take out the bad guys. Undercover sucks.

She hadn’t even been able to talk to Willow in more than a week, which was wicked unfair. And—

“Sorry, pet, but I don’t pay you to stare at the papers. You’re s’posed to file them.”

Buffy lifted her head to glare balefully at her all-too-familiar boss. “I’ve been working all day, you idiot. I’m on break.”

“That stack of papers says you’re not. Get to work. Oh, and get me some coffee, ‘m almost all out.”

“Get your own damn coffee,” she snapped, grabbing a file folder full of papers and checking the labeling. God, she hated this...

She froze when two large, very capable-looking slammed down on either side of the desk. “What did you just say?”

Buffy swallowed hard, but she also sat up straighter. There was no way he was going to get all menace-y and actually intimidate her. “I said, get it yourself. I have work.”

“Look at me, Summers,” he ordered. When she continued to focus on the desk, two fingers insinuated themselves under her chin. She fought not to shiver as he slowly urged her head up. He doesn’t affect me, he doesn’t affect me...oh crap, how can fingers feel this sexy?!

“I don’t care ‘f you’ve got work,” he informed her. “I don’t care ‘f it’s the end of the bleedin’ world, you’re gonna do what I say.” He leaned forward, ever so slightly, and Buffy’s breath caught. His blue eyes were holding her just as still as she would have been in a straitjacket. “When I say jump, you ask how high. An’ if I say I want coffee, you go and get it.”

He leaned in even closer. Okay, forget catching breath; she couldn’t breathe anymore. “Understood?” he whispered in her ear.

Two could play this game, she realized. She leaned forward just far enough so that her lips brushed over his in a graze as light as a feather.

She was momentarily shocked by the incredible electricity that shot through her at that simple touch. She half-gasped, looking into his eyes. They’d become darker, and she knew that she wasn’t the only one who was affected by her maneuver.

Slowly, slowly, she smiled. It was a sly, sexy smile, the kind that said she knew exactly what he was thinking—and she approved. She was gratified to see his muscles tightening. “Perfectly,” she said, her lips only inches away from his as they moved and pursed to create words.

Spike blinked before standing up abruptly. Buffy watched him with a slight smile. He looked annoyed, and she was pretty sure it was anger at himself. Lusting after the secretary...bad, bad Spike, she thought, amused, as he glanced back over at her.

“I want the coffee in twenty minutes, tops,” he barked before marching into his office. Buffy took the opportunity to watch his ass as he crossed the room. Ooh, very nice. All firm and tight and—

Whoa, girl. He’s evil, remember? Lusting after evil is bad! But evil was so frickin’ hot...

She brought him his coffee exactly twenty minutes later. When she entered the room she rolled her eyes in disgust. His black boots were propped up on the desk, and little dirt clods littered the formerly shining wooden surface. When he saw her, he smirked. “Thanks for gettin’ my drink, pet.”

“I’m nobody’s pet,” she snapped, slamming the cup down. “Especially not yours.”

“Touchy today, aren’t we?” He regarded her calmly. It was starting to freak her out, since usually he had such an explosive temper.

She smiled at him sweetly. “Well, usually my temper is much better, but twenty minutes ago an autocratic, chauvinistic jerk tried to boss me around, so I’m in a teeny little mood.”

He arched an eyebrow at her, acknowledging her dig. “I see. Well, I hope you gave the wanker what he deserved.”

“Not even close.”

“That so?” The casualness in his voice was a strong indicator of his real feelings, which were much more angry than casual.

“Yep. I was thinking that he deserved being eviscerated, or something,” Buffy said cheerfully. “Anyway, I gotta go. I hafta file a crapload of papers.” She turned and walked toward the doorway.

Her hand was on the doorknob when he called out, “Buffy?”

She turned. “Yeah?”

He nodded at her. “Thanks for the coffee.”

She recognized it as a peace offering. She’d known him long enough to know that Spike saying thanks was pretty much Spike saying sorry. “No problem, Spike.”

“Be seein’ you?”

“Um, yeah.” She gave him a bemused little look. “Every time you walk past my desk.”

He laughed. “Get back to work, Blondie.”

“Get your shoes off the desk, pig,” she retorted. Before he could get another word in, she hurried out of the door.

When she reached her desk she collapsed into the chair gratefully. Okay, not only was she hanging with the bad guys, she was also flirting with one. And seriously thinking about making with the smoochies, too.

She was pathetic.

She closed her eyes and tried to calm herself down. Buffy, it’s no big deal. Even if they are the bad guys, you have to befriend them to find out information for Captain Rayne, right?

Riiiiight that nasty little honest voice she called her inner Elizabeth said.

“Hey, B, you alright?”

Buffy’s eyes snapped open. Faith was staring at her with a quizzical expression. “Sorry!” Buffy said, pasting a very insincere smile on her face. “Just dozed off there...so, um, what do you need?”

“Got a file Spike wanted,” Faith said, giving it to her. “Just put in under CO’s.”

Buffy glanced at it curiously, wishing fervently that she could leaf through the papers and see what the hell a CO was. Unfortunately, the whole lobby was full of security cameras. Someone would see her. “Right, OK.” She set it on the desk. Maybe she could just glance at it later...

“So, ya like the job?”

“As a secretary?” Buffy laughed slightly. “It’s growing on me. What about you? Do you like, um, whatever you do?”

“I help out customers,” Faith said with an evasive grin, “And yeah, when they’re not pains in the ass, it’s a wicked cool job. A little short on the kicking and punching, but a girl can’t have everything, right?”

“Um. Right.” Buffy managed a slight smile. “So, what exactly do you help the customers with?” She was being incredibly obvious, but Faith wasn’t exactly good at subtlety, so hopefully she wouldn’t notice.

She didn’t. “Oh, just the usual.” Faith winked. “Ya know what I mean.”

Actually, she didn’t, but there was really no way she was going to tell Faith that. She only smiled and said, “Oh yeah. That stuff.”

“So, anyway, Anya and Xander wanna know if you’re free tonight. Bunch of us are goin’ to the Bronze.” Faith unsheathed a knife and started tossing it in the air, catching it expertly. Buffy winced. If Faith had a license for that thing, then Buffy was a movie star.

But she couldn’t exactly ask Faith for identification. She said instead, “You guys want your secretary to come along?”

“You kiddin’? You’re the only one who can mouth off to Spike and get away with it. I don’t know how you do it.” Faith grinned at her. “C’mon, B, it’ll be fun. You’re too damn serious for a secretary.”

Buffy shook her head. “Faith, are you feeling okay?”

“Five-by-five,” Faith replied. “Why?”

“’Cause you’ve got to be completely nuts to think that I’d want to come to the Bronze. I’m a secretary! I’m the most junior member in the building!”

Faith just rolled her eyes, completely unimpressed by Buffy’s tirade. “Whatever, B. Just be there, ‘k?” And before Buffy had time to say a single thing, she left.

Buffy slumped back into her desk chair, beyond dejected. Wonderful, now she had to go to the club with the bleached idiot. She really didn’t like him. Who did he think he was, anyway, all bleached hair and sexy leather and...

Okay, who was she trying to kid? He was totally hot, and anything with eyes—male or female—could see it. It was perfectly natural to be attracted to someone that sexy, right? Right?????

No, she knew, it wasn’t. It was normal to like looking at the guy. It wasn’t normal to have fun trading insults with him. No, she knew that normalness was not exactly the word to describe that.

But he was the only one who could appreciate her puns and be just as snappy as she was. Xander and Cordelia and Anya and even Willow were all nice, but in terms of wittiness, Spike was her equal. She liked knowing that when it came to mean, cutting comments, she didn’t have to hold back.

Yeah, she was definitely going insane.

And worst of all, she had a meeting with Captain Rayne the next day. That was what worried her more than anything else. She had to meet with the Captain of the LAPD, and she didn’t have a single thing to tell him.

What could she say? “The building’s big and way pretty?” “My fake boss is so hot I want him pretty much 24/7?” “Oh yeah, and those evil child-porn people? They’re really nice. I went to a club with them.” If she told him anything even close to the truth, her ass was as good as fired.

Of course, I could always just work here for real...

No. Not gonna go there. That was way too tempting for her to think about.

She was one majorly pathetic excuse for an undercover cop, she mused with a sigh. God, Harmony had probably been better at this than she was.

Of course, Harmony had absolutely no respect for rules. Rules like no looking in the top-secret files she spent the majority of her time filing...

Okay, so there was a security camera. But that was only during the day, right? At night they probably shut it down. They might engage in all kinds of illegal activity, but Buffy was pretty sure they didn’t have enough money to keep constant surveillance.

So. If she raided the filing cabinets tonight, then tomorrow she’d have enough information to hopefully keep her job. She glanced around nervously, half-convinced that someone could hear her thoughts.

Part of her was convinced that this was completely crazy. It probably was, actually. But she was a cop, which meant that sometimes she had to make with the sneakiness. Even if she hated it.

She’d just wear black to the Bronze, and then afterwards she could take a little detour on her way back to Revello Drive.

Simple.

Funny how her stomach felt like it was a bowl full of spaghetti...

What if she got caught? Major badness would ensue. She could get arrested and sent to jail. How would she explain that? A member of the LAPD in jail was not so good. And nobody, not even Anya, would ever speak to her again. Spike would hate her.

Which of course she didn’t care about.

Still, even in the spirit of non-caring-ness, she would have to be careful. Who knew what Spike might do to her if he caught her sneaking around? He could tie her up in an alleyway and leave her for evil Sunnydale muggers to find. Or he could tie her up and...major ick. Not even gonna think about it...oooh, just did!

This was getting exasperating. Buffy lust plus Buffy curiosity seemed to equal absolutely nothing getting done in terms of work. It had to stop. Tonight, she would sneak into the building and raid the files. Tomorrow, she’d report every single thing she’d learned to Captain Rayne.

OK. That was that, then.

She turned back to the papers resolutely, determined to get at least a little work done. It wasn’t like she was nervous, or anything. She was just fine. This was her being perfectly fine.

So why were there butterflies in her stomach the size of German Shepard puppies?

~*~

A/N: OK, before you guys get out giant forks and skewer me, I AM planning on actually making this story go somewhere. This thing people call ‘real life’ (anybody ever heard of it, by the way? cuz I thought it was just a myth) kinda snuck up on me last week and bit me on the ass, along with an uber-cold I can’t seem to shake. Hm...reviews would help encourage me *hopeful look*

A/N: Here’s the update! If there are lots of errors, sorry—the letters kinda swim on the screen when you’re sick, lol. Enjoy :)

~*~

Bloody hell.

How in God’s name was he supposed to concentrate on keeping his hands and his—other parts—to himself when she looked like that?

It was bad enough that she came to the office every day in cute little skirts and tops that he really wanted to take off of her. No, now she had to dress in black from head to toe. And damn, it looked hot.

Her perfectly shaped legs were encased by tight black leather. Her black halter top accentuated her golden skin and brilliantly blonde hair. She was on the dance floor, a good twenty feet away from him, yet he could have sworn he saw the sparkle in her green eyes.

“You’re brooding,” Dawn remarked, staring at him thoughtfully. She was sitting at his table, dangling a straw into her Coke. Dawn was a good sort. She was young, but smart enough so that unless there was alcohol around, he never even noticed the difference in their ages.

“What? I bloody well am not!”

Dawn only cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Dammit, Bit, I’m just sittin’ here!”

“You’re sitting there, nursing a beer and scowling out into the crowd. That’s called brooding.” Dawn followed her friend’s gaze. Understanding came into her face. “Oh, okay. You’re right. You weren’t brooding, you were moping. Sorry I didn’t make the distinction.”

Though her voice was teasing, Spike glared at her balefully. “’M not moping, either.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Dawn raised her voice to a tragic-sounding falsetto. “Oh, poor me, Buffy will never love me because she’s a cop, and she’s supposed to be spying on me, and she’s so beautiful…”

“Y’know, I got the bouncer his job. It’ll be a piece of cake, makin’ him kick you out.”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “Shutting up.”

“That’s m’ girl.”

“Dork,” Dawn accused. She checked her watch and stood up, sighing. “Damn. I have to get to work.”

“’S too bad you have to work nights,” Spike remarked, still looked out at the dance floor.

“Yeah, ‘cuz in the business I’m in, day work is so likely,” Dawn retorted sarcastically.

“Hey, you never know,” Spike argued.

“Yes, I do. I’ll be working at night till I’m so old I can’t walk, much less service hungry customers.” Dawn pretended to swoon before giving him a wicked grin. “See ya later. And for God’s sake, if you want to dance with her, then just do it! She won’t kill you…well, probably not.”

She was gone before he could think of a snappy comment.

He growled and looked back at the dance floor. Buffy was dancing with some guy, rubbing herself up against him like—bugger! That was Scott Hope she was dancing with!

Enough was enough, he decided, and stood up with new intent. He wasn’t actually planning on dancing with her, just getting Scott out of the way. It wasn’t like he could stay at the Bronze long, anyway. He and Anya had work to do.

He sauntered up to the gyrating pair and tapped Scott on the shoulder. “Mind ‘f I cut in, mate?” he asked, restraining the curse that appeared on the tip of his tongue when he noticed Scott’s hands on Buffy’s waist.

“Well, yes, actually,” Scott replied. “Find someone else to dance with, Jenkins. Someone who doesn’t mind tiny dicks and even smaller minds.” He smiled almost patronizingly at Buffy.

Spike smirked. “Bad move,” he informed Scott.

Buffy stared at her dancing partner, utter fury in her eyes. “OK, I knew I would totally never want to see you again, but you’re a real asshole, did you know?” When he tried to keep holding on to her, she shoved him away.

“But, Buffy—“

“Don’t you even,” she snapped. “I’ll decide who I dance with, you bastard.” And with that, she turned to Spike.

He was almost ready to jump for joy, the display had been that satisfying for him. He smiled at her as she grabbed his shoulders and started to determinedly dance. “Thanks for that, pet,”

“I didn’t do it for you,” she told him. She was still glaring, but at least it was at him, not Scott.

“Yeah, well, ‘m still glad you did. Hope’s a bloody nuisance. Bastard’s an amateur pimp. ‘Ve met more than one girl who’d been victimized by him.” He moved closer, until he could feel her breasts pressing against his chest. God, she felt so good. Small, compact, but curvy in all the right places. She was damn near perfect.

And currently staring at him incredulously. “Oh, come on, you’ve gotta be kidding me. Like you aren’t the same thing. Oh, wait—“ Sarcasm now blanketed her voice—“You’re a professional, aren’t you?”

“What the bleeding hell are you talking about?” Spike stared at her, wide-eyed, completely confused. Was she off her bird, or had she had a bit too much to drink? Yeah, they profited from their kids, but if they didn’t the business would crash. “What’s your problem, Summers?”

She averted her eyes from his. “It’s nothing. Never mind.” She moved slightly closer, and Spike’s whole body clenched. “Let’s just forget about it,” she whispered.

It was a diversionary tactic and he knew it. She was a cop, after all. If anyone knew about lying and distracting people, it would be her. That’s why you were sitting at the table instead of dancing with her, remember? his mind said nastily. Cops are liars and sneaks. Getting involved with a cop means puttin’ up with a bunch of crap. You don’t want that.

But her body was so soft, and she smelled so wonderful—like vanilla and flowers, a perfect combination—that he ignored the diversion, opting instead to pull her still closer and rest his chin on the top of her head. They swayed together, barely moving, soaking in the feel of each other’s bodies, for what felt like an eternity, though he was relatively sure it only lasted for a few minutes.

Then the song ended, and Buffy jumped away like she’d been burned. Spike was rather disappointed she’d cut the contact so soon, but then, she’d probably realized what trouble them getting involved with each other would be.

And at least she was heading back to their table instead of goin’ to dance with that wanker Scott again. That was an improvement.

He was about to follow when a wave of strong, sultry perfume assaulted him, followed by a, “Spike! What the hell’s up with you and B dry-humpin’ on the dance floor?”

He rolled his eyes at Faith. “We weren’t dry-humping, you silly bint,” he said. “’S called dancin’. You should try it.”

“I know what dancing is. That’s not it.” She grinned at him. “Planning on getting some action tonight, stud?”

“Aside from the kind I get at work, no,” Spike replied. He knew that would distract her—and it did.

“So, got a job, huh?” Faith groaned. “Jesus. I shoulda known. You’re a workaholic.”

“As opposed to you, who never work unless there’s a gun to your head.”

Faith grinned at him. “Or somethin’ else…”

“Bloody hell. ‘M not even attracted to her, Faith.”

“Okay, I didn’t finish high school, but even I’m not that dumb,” she said. “You’ve got the hots for B. You might as well say it. Even that bitch Anya figured it out.”

“Hey. Anya’s m’ sister,” he defended her.

“And a pain in the ass.”

“Well, yeah,” Spike admitted. “She is that.”

“Told ya.” Faith eyes him carefully. “Y’know, you’re not gonna get away with changing the subject. You’ve got it bad for Blondie. Admit it.”

Damn. He’d hoped she wouldn’t notice. “Faith, ‘m not gonna tell you anything. There’s nothin’ to tell.”

“And the frickin’ moon’s made of cheese, right? Damn, Spike, just say it.” Faith was clearly starting to grow impatient; she was tapping a pack of cigarettes against her thigh and wore a pissy expression.

“No.” Faith at her most pissed-off was still better than triumphant Faith.

“’Cuz you know it’s true.” Now she looked amused. Shit.

“Bugger it, Faith, could you just let it go already?”

“Hell, no. This is fun.”

“Right, then. I’ll leave.” He turned and walked back over to their group’s table.

“Hey, Spike, why does Faith look like an evil genius?” Xander asked. “She’s smiling. It’s freaking me out.” He gulped when Anya patted his knee sympathetically.

“’Cuz she’s evil an’ she likes to think she’s smart,” Spike grumbled.

“Ooh, poor Spikey,” Buffy said in a falsely sympathetic voice. “Being bullied around by a girl employee.”

She even looked beautiful when she was teasing him! Jesus bleedin’ Christ, this had to stop! He summoned his most formidable glare. “’M not bein’ bullied!”

“Oh my God.” Cordelia rolled her eyes. “You people are so immature.”

“Hey!” The four of them chorused. Cordelia just cocked an eyebrow. “See? Told you.”

“Well, it’s not like you’re much better,” Anya grumbled. “Dressing like a slut just so you can attract an orgasm-buddy when there’s perfectly acceptable ones sitting right here.”

“They’re both taken,” Cordelia told her acidly.

“I’m not taken,” Xander told her eagerly. “I’m big on not being taken!”

Spike sniggered at that, and Cordelia looked him pityingly. “You poor thing. You really are clueless, aren’t you?”

“What the—oh,” Xander said, finally connecting the dots. Anya glared at him and removed her hand.

“Hey, now you’ve hurt ‘m sister. ‘M gonna hafta kick your ass,” Spike informed him with a wicked grin.

“Yes, please do. Rip his penis off. At least then I’ll be able to see it,” Anya said, pouting.

Buffy coughed into her drink. Spike glanced at her. “You okay, pet?”

She waved his concern away. “Fine, fine.”

Xander was protesting Anya’s statement: “Hey, if you wanted to see it, all you had to do was ask!”

“You never want me. I’ve been coming on to you like some kind of slut for months now! I’ve been acting like Faith!” Anya wailed, tears unexpectedly filling her eyes.

“Oh, great.” Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Here we go.”

Anya and Xander ignored them. “Well, how was I supposed to know your slutiness was directed at me?” Xander asked.

“You could have paid one whit of attention to me!” Anya cried. “What does it take with you men? Am I going to have to corner you and get totally naked, or what?”

“Hey, baby, I’m sorry.” Xander patted her back. “Really, I am.”

Spike was highly amused. The whelp and his sister had this sort of conversation at least once a week, and it never failed to give everyone a good laugh. Why the two of them didn’t just shag and get it over with was completely beyond him. He was starting to think the whelp liked seein’ his sister cry.

“Is this…common for them?” Buffy asked, her eyes riveted on the couple.

“Yeah. They go at it on a pretty regular basis. Don’t worry about ‘em. They’ll be snoggin’ ‘fore the night’s up,”

“Is that so?” Buffy sighed and stood up. “Well, the night is up for me. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

What? She was leaving? Spike couldn’t for the life of him have explained the incredible urgency that rose in him. All he knew was that he wasn’t about to just say goodbye right then and there.

So he stood up, too. “I’ll walk you home.”

She stared at him incredulously. He didn’t blame her, actually. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Not this time, pet.” He flashed her a smile he hoped was charming. “So, what d’you say?”

“And again I ask, are you kidding me? You’re being all…gentlemen-ey.” Buffy narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you drunk?”

“Nope. Just wanna walk you home.” Spike was acutely aware of the stares he was garnering from every single member of the table. He was right there with ‘em. Part of his mind was screaming at him to just sit down, but with her all hot and tight in that black leather—well, a fellow had to try, right?

And succeed, for the next words out of her mouth were, “Okay. Fine. But if you try anything, Xander’s dick won’t be the only detached one around here.”

Not exactly gracious, but he’d take what he could get. “Got it.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

He followed her out of the bar, staring at her leather-encased ass. Behind him, four pairs of eyes stared first at the leaving couple, then at each other.

“I think I speak for everyone when I say, huh?” Xander said finally.

“Oh, yeah,” Faith agreed.

*

Buffy glanced at him nervously as they got to the parking lot. “I, um, walked here.”

“Yeah, I noticed you’re allergic to cars. I walked, too.”

She smiled slightly. Just because he was an enemy didn’t mean she couldn’t smile, right? “Bet Anya threw a fit.”

His lips curled up at the corners. Oh, God, he was sexy, especially tonight, with the loose blue shirt over his customary black…arrrg. His hotness was really getting in the way of her stay-away-from-the-evil-crime-lord plans.

“Yeah, she wasn’t too happy,” he said. “Anya’s a nice bird, but she’d a bit spoiled.”

“And blunt.” Criticizing Anya was good. That way she didn’t have to think about just what those lips of his could do. “But then, I guess blunt can be good sometimes.”

“Preachin’ to the choir on that one, luv,” Spike informed her. “’M more blunt than she is, most ‘f the time.”

Oooh, her knees practically melted when he let that endearment slip. Gah, can’t think, can’t think…luv. He called me luv! Yay—no, not yay. Bad. Very very bad. She hardened her expression. “Don’t call me love.”

“Right then, pet.”

“Or pet!” Now she was almost yelling. How in the world was she supposed to break into the Jenkins’ building if he made her so horny she could barely walk?

“Hey.” He stopped dead and turned to face her. “What the hell is your problem?”

She jutted her chin out. “Nothing. I’m just majorly wiggy because someone who I thought hated me is walked me home. OK?” How far away was Revello Drive, anyway? Three blocks? Could she run three blocks?

She could try, she decided as that bone-melting smirk appeared again on his face.

“You think I hate you?” He stepped forward. She jumped back nervously, and then berated herself for it. She was a grown woman—a cop!—and she was letting him spook her. Could this get any worse?

Yep, it could. He was now leaning forward, looking directly into her eyes, and her heart was racing. “How,” he asked, his accent suddenly more refined, “could I possibly hate any woman as beautiful as you?”

Buffy gulped. OK, he was a major creep! Not only was he coming on to her on a sidewalk, but she was his secretary, undercover role notwithstanding. How stereotypical could you get?

And who was she kidding? It was completely hot. “I—I’m not beautiful,” she stuttered, clenching her hands in fists to keep from reaching for him.

He came even closer, until his hands rested on her waist. “But you are,” he murmured. “I saw you dancin’, and all I wanted to do was grab you and shag you ‘till you couldn’t stand.”

“It’s a little late for that,” she said breathlessly, sinking into the embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck. God, his chest was hard. He had such well defined muscles—all she’d wanted to do on the dance floor was sink into his embrace and never leave it.

He didn’t reply, only stood still, staring into her eyes with a strangely intent look on his face. Buffy gulped as lust rushed through her. All of a sudden she felt like she was back in high school just waiting for the guy to kiss her. And she wanted it. God help her, but she did.

She stood up on her tiptoes. “Spike…” she whispered, feeling his arms tighten around her.

“Buffy,” he whispered back, “We can’t…we shouldn’t…”

“Yes, we should.” She smiled slightly, teasingly. “You know you want to.”

He groaned and leaned his forehead against hers. “You don’t understand, dammit! I can’t…I’m not…”

“Sh.” She silenced his protests with a single finer against his soft, full, strong lips. “I do understand. I want this.” She wriggled ever so slightly against his erection. A wicked smile graced her lips. “And I know you do.”

For a second the world froze, and only the two of them existed. Buffy held her breath—she could see the war being waged in his eyes.

Then he smiled. Buffy gasped—it was the single most beautiful expression she’d ever seen on a human face. So happy and peaceful, yet longing and powerful at the same time. And then he was leaning forward, and all thoughts fled from her head—

They had a seconds’ warning. Their lips were about to touch when both pairs of crime-trained ears heard the telltale rustle. Before either of them could turn and see what made the noise, an enormous body barreled into Buffy.

“Aieee!” She gave a very un-cop-like shriek, kicking the ski-masked man hard in the shins.

“Buffy!” Spike launched to his feet as the man leapt at her.

She fell, rolled, and got up, dealing him the hardest punch she could as she did. “Bastard,” she spat. He reeled, but didn’t seem about to do down. Dammit, why was he so big?

“I can agree with that,” Spike said. He grabbed the guy’s collar and turned him around. His fist then flew into the guy’s face in a stunningly powerful punch.

The man went down like a stone. Before Spike could damage him more, Buffy rushed over. “I’ll take it from here,” she said, and drew her foot back. She kicked the man’s ribs repeatedly, not even wincing when she heard something crack, and stomped on his stomach. When she was satisfied that she’d caused maximum damage, she sat on his chest.

“’ey, you sure that’s smart?” Spike asked.

Buffy smiled at him. “If he tries to hurt me, I’m sure you can handle him.”

“Okay, then.” He was beyond doubtful, but Buffy thanked her lucky stars that he trusted her enough to handle her would-be attacker.

“Now,” Buffy said, “Let’s see who you are.” She yanked the ski mask off, a task made difficult by the fact that the man seemed to be laughing—which was beyond bizarre.

As soon as she saw his laughing face she froze. Ice-cold sweat broke out all over her body. She began to shake, and her trembling fingers dropped the ski mask to the ground.

Angel O’Connor smiled at her malevolently. “Hey there, Summers.” He threw back his head at her expression and started giggling insanely. “It’s been awhile.”

“Oh my God.” She stood up, almost ready to be sick. Spike rushed to her aid instantly. His strong arms encircled her, holding her upright. “What’s the matter, pet? Buffy? C’mon, talk!”

“It’s—it’s Angel,” she managed to force out. Shock still immobilized her, but she knew she had to explain. Maybe if she told Spike what had happened, he’d kick Angel’s ass. Not that she needed it done for her, but the thought was comforting. “He’s a serial rapist, six counties over. Formerly resided in the LAPD Asylum for the Criminally Insane. He must have broken out.”

Her voice was flat and unemotional when she described it. What she didn’t say was that it had been she who arrested him two years ago. He’d been crouched over a bloody, dead little eight-year-old girl. Reliving that experience, from the body to the horrible things he’d said about it, was a nightmare.

“Nice to see you again, little slut,” Angel wheezed, laughing despite his many injuries. “God, you were close to screwing him a minute ago, weren’t you? Is there a limit to the number of guys you’ll fuck, or are you charging now? And I didn’t break out. I was freed.” Another insane cackle. “To come and get you.”

“They let a bastard like that go?” Spike’s voice was rough. “What the hell is wrong with the la—the LAPD?”

“Nothing!” Buffy snapped, a bit too forcefully. “I mean—I don’t know. He’s probably lying. I think he broke out.” Except she knew that he hadn’t, because she would have been alerted had that been the case. Perhaps… “Or someone in the department—the police, I mean—could have let him go illegally.”

“Damn, Summers, maybe you’re not as dumb as you look,” Angel said, attempting to struggle to his feet, still chuckling.

Spike gave him a look that was pure Death walking. “Keep your ass on the pavement if you value your life,” the platinum blonde advised before turning back to Buffy. “You gonna be okay?”

She nodded. The experience had been horrifying, but if she kept acting the victim Spike would have some uncomfortable questions. “I think so.”

“Right, then. ‘ll phone the cops. You walk home. I think you can take care ‘f any potential nasties, am I right?”

Buffy nodded again. “Um—sorry about how this turned out.”

“’S alright, luv.” He glared at the man on the ground so balefully that Buffy almost felt sorry for Angel. “’He’ll be payin’, not you.”

“Good.” Buffy, too, was glaring.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Despite what they’d been doing before Angel interrupted them, she felt her old anger rising up against him. “I’m not a china doll, Spike. I’ll be fine.” Angel’s comments were coming back to her, and heat began to rise in her cheeks. She wasn’t a slut, but still, what he’d said was embarrassing. “See you at the office.”

His eyes narrowed, but he just nodded dismissively. “Yeah. See you.”

Why did she get the feeling that she wasn’t going to get away with this? And not just the whole almost-kissage thing. He’d confront her later about her knowledge of him, and her quick, cop-like summary, and probably even her fighting ability. But right now, she just had to get back home so that she could grab her lock-picks and head over to Jenkins’ Employment.

She was unusually jumpy as she walked, looking over her shoulder at every little noise. Seeing Angel again had brought back all the things Officer Elizabeth had experienced. She knew that in terms of attitude and personality she’d changed quite a bit in the two weeks she’d been away from the force, but the memories were the same, and they hurt.

Angel had been her biggest scare, but there were others, lunatics and just plain evil people whom she’d put away for what she’d thought was forever. But now someone had let one of them out.

How could this have happened? She knew it had to be an inside job. A cop had let Angel go, and probably told him to find her. That meant that someone on the force had it in for her, but why?

Was it because of the undercover work? It wasn’t exactly the hottest job in the world. As far as she was concerned, whoever wanted it could have it.

But what if that wasn’t it? What if someone had some other reason to hate her?

And then it occurred to her: Oh God, what if it’s Riley? She’d dated him for a few months, but she’d broken it off because he was way overprotective. She’d come to realize since then that dating a fellow cop was a big-time bad idea. What if Riley was nursing a huge grudge and decided to sic Angel on her because of it?

No. That was insane. It had to be something else, some little detail she’d missed. Buffy snatched up her lock picks. Who said it had to be just the LAPD’s work? Maybe Spike had decided to get rid of her, so he paid someone to let Angel loose.

She knew, deep down, that the idea was even crazier than her previous one, but she was too mad and confused to care. There were a few seriously missing links in this little puzzle, and she got the feeling that she knew where to find them.

With one hand over her gun in its holster and the other clutching her set of picks, she walked toward the Jenkins Building.

One way or another, she was going to get to the bottom of this tonight.

*

After the cops hauled the lunatic away, Spike lit a fag and started towards his office. Red was gonna kill him for calling her so late, but it was the only way to get things sorted out. That, and raid the files for any information at all on this Angel fellow.

Damn, and he’d thought Scott was a wanker! Angel was downright insane. They’d had to wait a solid fifteen minutes for the cops to come, and during that time, Angel had babbled like the lunatic he definitely was. Spike had heard more descriptions of rape than he’d thought possible. It was enough to make stronger men than he sick.

And Buffy was an even more confusing part of the puzzle. Why the hell would the LAPD send their pet psycho after her if she was feedin’ them information like a good little snitch? It didn’t make any sense.

And of course, he’d had to go and complicate it any more by almost kissing her right there on the sidewalk. Dammit. That had been the dumbest thing he’d done in quite awhile.

‘Course, it wasn’t like he was alone in his little endeavor, though he’d be willing to bet that she was going to try to pull a fast one on him and pretend it had never happened. Spike wasn’t going to allow that. Yeah, it was an immensely stupid thing, gettin’ involved with a cop, but hey, he’d done stupider things—just not in recent memory. He wasn’t gonna just act like they hadn’t been about to start snogging. That wasn’t his style.

Plus, if he had his way, she wouldn’t be a cop for much longer, so that little complication would be gone…

Thoughts, questions, and plans whirled through his mind as he walked quickly toward Jenkins’ Employment, Inc.

~*~

A/N: Yeah, yeah, I know, evil author leaves a cliffhanger, GET THE PITCHFORKS AND RUN HER OUT OF TOWN!!!!!! But I’m all typed-out for today. I promise the next update will be within 24 hours. Sooner, if I get reviews :) I’d really like to know what you guys think of crazy Angel. Thanx to Anne for reviewing the previous chapter!

Buffy stared up at the building. The huge, dark, deserted building. The suddenly incredibly creepy building.

OK, this was getting ridiculous. First the park, now a building that she went into every day...she was turning into the worst kind of coward.

But it wasn’t really the building she was scared of. It was more what she’d find inside the building. For better or for worse, the truth of this whole thing lay inside those filing cabinets.

She took a deep breath. “You can do this, Buffy,” she muttered as she strode up to the building and began to work on the lock on a side door. “If you can survive a gunfight in LA, you can break into a building.”

It only took her a few minutes’ fiddling with the lock before it opened with a soft click. Buffy turned the knob silently and eased herself inside.

For once she was glad that the entire first floor was one big room. If she’d entered a hallway or something, she would have gotten completely lost. As it was, it took her a few minutes to find her desk.

She turned on her desk lamp before slipping behind it and crouching down. She wasn’t really sure where to start, so she just opened the drawer that held files ‘A-H’.

“Auto insurance...no. Automated appliances...no.” Buffy flipped through the files, trying to decide which ones to read. She did have limited snooping time, so she needed to select files that would give her maximum information.

A lot of the files had names: Calendar, Jenny; one that just said ‘Lily’; and one that said...

Buffy frowned. “Giles, Dawn?” she said out loud. They had a file on Dawn? Well, since they had her working the streets for them, that made sense. But since Dawn was definitely part of the not-quite-right-ness of the company, she decided to check out the girl’s file.

The first page was just commonplace statistics: name, birthdate (unknown—Buffy pitied the girl for that), age (approximately 15), and a brief description. The second page was what caught her eye. She blinked twice, unsure that she was really seeing what her weary eyes told her she was.

The page was labeled “Case History.” Was that what they called their child prostitutes? Cases? There was some sick irony in that...

She leaned against the desk and proceeded to peruse the page. It read: Found in alley between Main and Revello April 15th, 2003. Case’s age approximated at13. Both parents found to be dead. Case fostered with Cordelia Chase for six months, then placed in night position with Doublemeat Palace. Case tithe is 5% per year...

Buffy stopped reading. It was too hard to focus on the letters when her head was swimming with complete, utter disbelief.

Where was the child prostitution? Where was the drug sales? Not that she wanted to read a description of Dawn whoring, but what was up with all the good deeds? Dawn was a prostitute...

Wasn’t she?

Buffy tried hard to think back to Dawn’s comments on her job: Taking orders was hard at first, and sometimes the customers are a little snooty, but if I’m extra fast and super nice, I get tips! She’d thought that Dawn was talking about whoring, but she hadn’t been. She’d been talking about carrying food to people’s tables!

They might be lying, but who would lie in classified files? The cop in her knew that what lay in those files was pure, undiluted truth.

But if that was the truth, then what Captain Rayne told her had to be a lie.

No. She set the file aside resolutely and resumed searching. It must be part of their cover business, the one they ran to keep the police off their backs. Either that, or the Captain had made a mistake. He would never deliberately lie.

And yet, in the back of her head, she heard a sneaky little voice say, would a cover business really take in a homeless girl?

She needed more answers than these opaque files could give her. Wait—there was a file she knew would hold the information she needed to prove to herself that this corporation was just as rotten as Captain Rayne and Harmony had said. Almost every day, someone gave her something to file under ‘lap-dancers’. She’d long since stopped taking it at face value; they probably ran strip clubs, but who needed that much data on the entertainment?

Whatever was the big secret about Jenkins’ Employment, she’d be willing to bet it was in that file.

She shoved Dawn’s file back in its place and opened up the next drawer. Itineraries...insurance...labs...lap-dancers!

She pulled out the desired file and lay it on the floor, too eager to see its contents to bother with sitting at the desk. The file was thick, almost too full, just as it had been that afternoon when she’d put that last packet of papers in it. For more than two weeks now she’d been dying to go through it. Now, this was her chance.

With almost trembling fingers, she slowly opened the file, lifted the top packet of papers up to the light, and began to read.

Two minutes later, the papers fell from her numb fingers. One thought and one thought only dominated her mind:

Oh—

My—

God.

At the top of the paper, emblazoned in huge, black letters, were the words: Los Angeles Police Department: Weekly Report.

LAPD. LAP-Dancers.

She feverishly flipped through the report, her eyes taking in fragments of type. Blonde female, approximately five feet tall—formerly LAPD officer—two new stashes uncovered—five clubs in southeastern LA—

The pages flashed by, each one almost exactly like the previous. Information on her, the LAPD, Captain Rayne—it was all there. And though her eyes saw it, her mind refused to believe it.

No, no, no, no, was the mantra running through Buffy’s mind as she slumped down to the floor. It couldn’t be true. All of it had to be lies. It was a trap, they were just putting lies in there because they knew that sooner or later she’d end up snooping, the LAPD couldn’t have crack houses in southeastern LA, they shut down crack houses...

Tears began to stream down her face as she realized—all she’d wanted, all she worked for , was gone. Gone in a pile of papers she knew couldn’t possibly be all lies.

And she, Buffy Summers, ‘one of the good guys’, was lying on the floor, sobbing her heart out, as all that she’d ever worked for, everything she’d devoted her life to, was smashed to bits.

*

Spike gave Willow a call as he made his way to their headquarters. “Hey, Red,” he said, cutting through her rather desperate threats directed at the evil maniac who dared to call her at such a late hour. “We’ve got a bit of a problem.”

“Problem? What problem? Oh God, is Buffy okay?”

His mind flickered back to that almost-kiss. He winced, inwardly kicking himself for coming on to the enemy. The very hot and definitely shaggable enemy, but the enemy nonetheless. “Um, yeah, she’s doin’ fine. ‘S this ponce who attacked her tonight ‘m worried about.”

“Buffy got attacked? Oh, no!” Spike heard a thump that meant Willow was out of bed and attempting to get dressed. “I’m coming, I’ll be there soon, and then I can, can tell you more about why she got attacked and maybe who did it and—“

“Angel ring a bell? That’s who took a swing at her.”

For a second there was complete silence on the other end, then Willow said, “I’m coming over, Spike. I’ll be there in an hour.”

Spike was surprised, to say the least. Red almost never used that take-charge, serious tone of voice. Generally she was the most timid chit you’d ever find. “’S there something I ought know ‘bout this fellow?”

“Nothing I can tell you over the phone,” was the cryptic reply.

Spike frowned, thoroughly puzzled, but eventually he acquiesced, saying, “Right, then. ‘ll be at headquarters.”

A car motor sounded on the other end. “See you then. And Spike, you should know—“


The line went dead. Spike stared at his cell phone for a minute, completely disgusted with the thing—it could never hold a connection. Sometimes he seriously contemplated just tossing it in the bushes. He hated modern technology.

He slipped through an alley and found himself at a side door into the building. He slipped a key inside and tried to turn the doorknob.

Tried—and failed. He frowned down at it, rattling it none too softly, but still it didn’t move. Did I lock the bloody thing? He stuck his key in and turned it again. This time, the doorknob turned. It had been unlocked when he walked up to it, which meant—

He felt himself grow cold. If the door had been unlocked, then someone was in the building.

When he knew that he was about to face an enemy, he always got much colder, more distant. It was his way of preparing for the physical prowess required for fighting.

Right now, he felt like he had ice running through his veins.

He opened the door slowly, careful not to let even the slightest squeak escape the hinges, and slipped inside. He was about to close the door behind him when he heard something that made him forget entirely about doors.

Someone was crying, sobbing her heart out, more like—Spike could tell that it was definitely a her. And if the lamp on top of the desk was any indicator, they were over by the filing cabinet.

He approached the huge desk slowly, making sure to let his boots tap in order to alert the girl that there was someone else in the huge, mostly dark room. He’d had plenty of experience with this—he couldn’t count the number of child whores he’d approached in much the same fashion as they lay in a dirty alley, crying their hearts out.

“’Lo? Who’s there? You can come out, ‘m not gonna hurt you.”

His only warning was the click of a gun being loaded. A millisecond later, his own pistol was out, pointing directly at his would-be attacker, who in turn was standing and pointing her own weapon.

Buffy and Spike stared into each other’s eyes, shocked hazel meeting wary blue. Guns trained at foreheads trembled in their owner’s hands.

Spike was the first to speak. “Best put that down, luv, ‘fore one of us gets hurt.”

“Too late.” Buffy dropped the gun, only to pick up something else. Spike squinted—neither the moonlight coming through the still-open door nor the weak lamp illuminated the words.

“Having trouble reading it? Let me enlighten you.” Her voice was cold. She held the file up to the light and read in a mocking, heartless voice, “Lap-dancers. That’s what it’s labeled. Funny how I never found that too terribly out of the ordinary. A crime ring would have lap-dancers, wouldn’t they? But this file’s exceptionally thick.”

She paused, flipping through the file in her hands, a mocking smile on her mouth. When she spoke again, her voice was loud and furious. “So I look in it, and guess what? Turns out that lap-dancers is code for the LAPD, which I just happen to belong to!”

Spike licked his lips, frantically trying to come up with something to say. Buffy as his secretary was fiery enough. Buffy as the cop he knew she’d been all along was enough to make him rethink his confrontation idea. “Listen, pet, please, I didn’t—“

“Don’t. You. Dare.” She glared at him, tears in her eyes. “Don’t even start. Are you going to lie to me some more? I know you knew who I was from the beginning. It’s all in here, Spike! You’ve been keeping tabs on me, monitoring where I go, what I do. So tell me—did you know Angel was going to try to kill me? Did you?” She screamed, tears running freely down her face. All Spike could do was watch in horror as her rage and hurt grew.

“Answer me, Goddamn you! What the hell is this? What is any of this?” She grabbed the file and located a page. “Crack houses—brothels—child prostitution—it’s all in LA, Spike. So why was I looking for it here?”

“Wait, Buffy. Please, you don’t understand. We thought—“

”I told you not to tell me!” Suddenly she leapt over the desk, causing the lamp to crash to the floor and illuminate them in moonlight, landing in front of him. She shoved the file in his face. “What answers are in here, huh? Is there something in that stack of papers to tell me why I’ve been working for the bad guys for the past four years? Is there?”

Spike didn’t know what expression was on his face—hell, he didn’t know how he felt inside. All he could do was stand still and stare at the raging woman in front of him. Tears were falling from her face freely, yet she still screamed at him. The hurt in her eyes was breaking his heart.

“Buffy.”

His voice somehow broke through her wrath. She stopped, staring up at him, gasping, trying to control the tears running down her cheeks.

“I thought you knew. I thought you were spyin’ for Rayne and Harmony and that lot. I thought—“

”You thought. Is that all you have to say? Well, what do you think about this?” She shoved him back with all the force she could muster. “Whatever we had, whatever we were, is over!”

She wasn’t just talking about her job, and Spike knew it. “Buffy, wait! Don’t—“

She held up a hand. Such a simple gesture, but it instantly stopped his advance. “Don’t come anywhere near me,” she ordered. Her voice was once again deadly quiet. “You lied to me. You all lied to me.”

He stopped, looking at her closely. She was shaking like a leaf, and though he knew she hadn’t gone completely round the bend yet, she was close. Him pushing would just make her lose that last bit of rationality.

“Please, Buffy, just—“ he began desperately, wanting, no needing to let her know the real truth. He couldn’t let her keep believing that he’d betrayed her, not after what had happened before Angel interrupted.

“Hey! I’ve got an idea: Shut the hell up!” she screamed. “You’re not real. One of this is. It’s all a lie!” She threw the file at him. The papers flew out, fluttering down upon his shoulders and the floor, painting the floor white.

Something in him snapped. He dropped his gentle attitude and stepped toward her menacingly. “Listen here, you idiotic little chit—“

“No! I’m not going to listen! I’m not—I can’t –AUUUGH!” she screamed, before drawing back her arm and punching him.

He reeled back, pain exploding in his head. He could hear her running toward the door. He didn’t want her to leave—knew that if she left, something would be irrevocably changed. She was feeling betrayed, hell she had been betrayed, just not by him. And as he heard the door close, as he was plunged into darkness, he slumped to the ground. The papers that had caused the fallout lay on the cold floor like dirty snow—dirty because of the things written on them, the heinous crimes committed by the people Buffy had trusted and worked for.

Buffy. Oh God, Buffy. Somewhere inside him, he’d known that he would have to tell her someday, but for her to find out like this—it almost broke his heart. She was so innocent, so driven, and he knew that it was breaking her.

And in a moment of clarity, he realized: somewhere along the line, he had developed feelings for her that went far beyond simple lust. And if this night was the end, if she fled from everything in both Sunnydale and LA, he would never be able to survive. She was his, and her pain was hurting him.

He launched to his feet and stumbled toward the closed door. His nose hurt like the devil, but only one thought was in his mind: Gotta find Buffy. Gotta explain, before it’s too late.

A/N: OK, so it’s a little more than 24 hours, but I finally finished the update. Thanx to SoulNyte, Steph, and Shippy for reviewing, you guys are awesome! Oh, and just so you know, Buffy finding out is more of a beginning, not an ending...hint hint ;). Read, review, and I’ll try to post the next chapter tomorrow :)

Buffy ran, and ran, until she could run no more. She was halfway across town, far beyond Revello Drive and the Jenkins Building, when her legs finally gave out on her. She slumped down on the grass next to the road, still sobbing.

All she could think about was Spike. Spike and Officer Rayne and Harmony and Xander and Faith and Anya and...it was a jumble. All of it, everything, was twisted and turned upside down. She felt like she could almost feel her world breaking, shattering, falling away from her forever.

Those files...they were just words. Just words, yet they cut into her like knives. Such descriptions, of drug deals, crack houses, and brothels—filled with horrifying details, yet she’d seen it all before. What ripped her apart was the fact that it wasn’t the people at Jenkins’ who were committing all those crimes. It was the people she worked for.

For four years, she’d been convinced that she was doing the right thing, fighting on the side of good. It was horrifying to learn that all this time, she’d been helping the kind of people she hated.

And Willow...oh God. What if Willow was a part of it? Conspiring with Rayne and the others—Buffy’s tears suddenly increased tenfold. Imagining Willow, gentle, stuttering, compassionate Willow, as a cold-hearted killer—

No. That, at least, couldn’t possibly be true. She knew Willow. They’d been best friends for what felt like forever. Willow was even less likely to be a criminal than Spike was.

That meant, then, that either Willow was being strung along just as Buffy was, or Willow had known all along. If that last was the case—

God, god, god...why me? Why here, why now? And why—why did it hurt so much?

She rocked back and forth, oblivious to the curious stares she was garnering from passerby—though of course, she thought bitterly, none stopped to help.

Drowning. She could feel herself drowning, becoming lost, in a sea of emotions that wouldn’t let up. And what stung most, what hurt her beyond her entire former concept of hurt, was Spike’s betrayal.

And betrayal it had been. He had known. All that time, he had known who—known what—she was, and he had said nothing. He had fought with her, flirted with her, made her think that she might possibly fall for him—

Only to realize that he’d been lying to her all along.

Had it been a ploy? Had he been luring her into a false sense of security by playing with her emotions? She’d like to think he’d been genuine, but that file proved that he was perfectly capable of lying through his teeth. He played others for power all the time, never mind the fact that his manipulations were for the side of good. To Buffy, that little detail didn’t matter. He played with people, and he had played with her.

And the fact that his betrayal devastated her—that knowledge that she had come to care enough for his betrayal to hurt—that was what had her on the ground, crying her heart out.

She didn’t know how long she lay there, didn’t care actually. All she knew was that after awhile, the sobs stopped, and all she could do was stare at the cement sidewalk. Cold. Empty.

Footsteps neared—she didn’t care. A voice, distantly, called out her name—no. The name she’d taken for the job that was helping the evil powers of LA.

“Buffy. Buffy, pet, listen to me.”

It was Spike. Funny how it would be Spike. He was the worst of them all. Worse than Harmony, worse than Riley, worse than Rayne—worse than Angel, even.

She continued to stare at the ground. His voice became more and more desperate, calling that name over and over again. She ignored him.

But when he touched her, when he put a hand on her shoulder, she jumped up and looked at him with frightened eyes. And when she saw Willow next to him, talking to him with the ease of great familiarity, she collapsed.

Willow had been in it all along. Like Spike, Willow had betrayed her.

And now Willow was saying something. “Buffy,” the redhead began, looking at her friend with great concern.

Buffy jumped up. “You knew,” she said in a dull tone. Willow looked guilty but said nothing.

“You knew!” An anguished wail into the sky.

And then she was gone again. Running on legs that burned from exhaustion, running through the woods of the park, fighting through brambles and bushes—trying only to get away from the only two people she’d ever loved, and the only two people who had ever broken her heart.

*

Spike was ready and willing to spring after her. In fact, he would have, and damn the consequences, had Red not restrained him. “Spike. She needs time.”

“She’s half-crazy!” And she was. Anyone with even half a wit could see that much.

“And you chasing after her is only, only gonna make it worse!” Willow cried out, stuttering in her distress. “She’s not—she’s not stable right now. I knew coming along was a bad idea...”

This rebuke, combined with his memory of the look in Buffy’s eyes when she stared up at him, made Spike clench his teeth. “’D thought seein’ you might calm her down a little,” he explained. “An’ since it hasn’t, ‘m gonna go after her. Bloody hell, she could get killed, the condition she’s in!”

He tried to make his voice sound tough, like he cared more about how useful she was than the fact that she might get hurt, but his voice roughened and nearly broke with emotion toward the end of his tirade. Seeing Buffy like that, half in pieces and furious with him, practically mad because of the discoveries she’d made, was enough to make him crazy.

Willow looked at him sympathetically. “I know you’re upset, and I’m upset too, there’s lots of, um, upset-ness, but you can’t get all caveman on her. Buffy’s strong, she’ll be alright, and you should g—“

“Don’t you dare tell me to go home,” Spike snarled. “’M not gonna go away when the woman I care about is lyin’ out there somewhere, cryin’ her heart out!”

“The woman you care about?” Willow asked quietly.

“Well...yeah.”

“Funny how you’ve spent the entire time you’ve known her telling a bald-faced lie.”

“Hey—that’s not true! We talked ‘bout the business around her all the bleeding time!”

“Yeah, in terms so, so vague you knew she wouldn’t understand,” Willow shot back. “And you weren’t exactly honest about the whole knowing who she really was thing, were you?”

“Oh, look’s who’s talking? Little Miss Friend-Since-High-School didn’t bother lettin’ her know you just happened to be spyin’ on the whole bloody LAPD!”

“Hey, no British cussing!” Red frowned at him disapprovingly. Spike almost screamed in exasperation.

“Sodding hell, Red, this isn’t the time to start motherin’ me!” Thunder rolled in a distance, a frightening portend of things to come.

“Well, someone has to!” Willow had that stubborn look on her face that Spike knew meant she wasn’t going to budge.

He groaned. “Red—“

“No. A whole universe of no. Buffy needs time to absorb all this!”


“What about what I need?” Spike demanded. “”Cuz right now, I need to know that she’s gonna be okay!”

“And what about what she needs to know?” Willow demanded.

He stared at her. “What the bloody hell are you talking ‘bout?”

“What I’m talking about is the fact that right now, she’s probably thinking that neither of us respected her enough to tell her the truth. So we need to show we respect her by not running after her like we think she’s a little kid who can’t be trusted out on her own. Because, if she thinks that, then that would, would be bad...” Willow faltered and then trailed off, more than slightly daunted by Spike’s hard stare.

“Look, Red, you can say what you like. ‘S far as I’m concerned, you can sit here all night long an’ speechify ‘bout me giving Buffy respect. Thing is, ‘m not gonna listen. So bugger off, a’right?”

He felt more than slightly bad about giving Red such a telling-off, especially since her eyes were all hurt, but somehow he couldn’t stop. All he knew was that she was trying to stop him from going to find Buffy, and that just wasn’t going to happen.

“Spike, I was just—“

“I know. An’ I appreciate it, but right now, ‘ve got bigger fish to fry. You go home now, ‘k?”

He didn’t bother waiting for her to reply. Instead, he patted her on the head, gave her a slight smirk as a sort of reassurance, and pelted off into the darkness, determined to find Buffy.

It wasn’t easy; his little secretary knew how to cover her tracks. Luckily she was also a predictable little chit—she went straight to her house.

He came upon her as she stumbled up the steps. He watched her fall and scrape her knees—by the time he was close enough to help her, she’d picked herself up and was trying to jam a house key into the doorknob.

He took the steps two at a time. “Buffy!”

She whirled around like an animal caught in a trap. “Don’t call me that,” she bit out.

He smirked at her. “’S who you are, innit?”

“No!” She tried again with the key, still having no success. “So what, you’re gonna torture me now?” she asked, pain laced through her voice. “Laugh at me, mock me? Or were you just planning on killing me since I clearly know too much?”

“We don’t do that. That’s the LAPD’s job.”

He knew he’d said the wrong thing as soon as her face contorted even more. “Oh, s-sorry, I forgot,” she said, her voice wavering pitifully as she attempted to keep a steady tone, “It’s my other boss who’s the evil bastard!”

And that, Spike could now clearly see, was what was torturing her so much. God, he wished she’d stop. She was practically wetting her knickers, she was so upset, and it twisted his heart to see her like that. “Luv, that’s not—“

” Fair? Is that what you were going to say—that’s not fair? Well, sorry, but I’ve got news for you—this whole thing isn’t fair!” She finally managed to get the key in. She gave the doorknob such a savage twist that Spike would have sworn he heard the wood crack and stumbled into her house.

“Buffy, wait—“

“Spike. It’s over.” Her voice was quiet, and he knew she was talking about more than the secretary gig.

“That’s it?” His voice was calm, malicious, even, but inside he was screaming. “That’s the way this is gonna end?”

Buffy shook her head—not a denial, but a negation. “There never was a this, Spike,” she spat. “All there was, was you lying to me. That’s it.”

And before he could say another word, she slammed the door in his face.

He stood there, staring at the door, for a long time. Buggered if he knew why, after the way she’d just got done treatin’ him, but he still cared. Funny how just starin’ at a door could make you feel like your heart was bein’ ripped out...

After awhile the thunder that had been threatening in the distance pealed overhead and the rain began to fall: huge, fat drops that spattered on the pavement and soaked Spike to the bone. Yet still he stood, like stone, staring at the door. There had to be some solution to this problem. He could break down the door...

It was only when the lightning began striking that he realized he was in some danger, standing in the middle of the storm like he was. And though he didn’t care, personally, whether he lived or died, there were dozens of others who depended on him being alive come morning. So once the lightning started striking, he walked home.

This is the end, he thought bitterly as he walked down the abandoned street. The whole bloody thing ended before it could even start.

As he walked up his driveway and entered his own cold, empty house, his tears mixed with the rain. Tears for Buffy, for himself, for the evil that surrounded them and tore them apart.

For what might have been, but now never could be.

~*~

A/N: Life got really hectic on me for a few days there, sorry I didn’t get the chance to update before this! I’ve decided maybe I should make my chapters a little shorter, not because I’m trying to cheat and write less per day, but because I think it’d maybe make ‘em easier to read...? I dunno, tell me what you think plz. I write for myself, but whether or not I change the chapter length will depend on you guys. Thanx to SoulNyte, Jess, Bleh, Nic, and Steph for reviewing! The reviews were especially awesome this time around because after I wrote that update I kinda looked at it and winced. I was half-convinced it was the suckiest thing I’d ever written. Seeing positive reviews had me so happy I was practically dancing in my living room! SoulNyte, thanx for the thanx for the thanx! lol. Review plz, the next update’s coming soon :)

Buffy had been in her house for a full half hour, and she knew he was still out there. Even through her grief-induced haze, she could feel his presence just outside her door.

She didn’t know why he only stood there. Surely he knew how to break doors down. The good guys broke doors down, didn’t they? She knew the bad guys did, since she’d seen Riley break down a door more than once...

She was babbling in her head. That was fairly pathetic, but at least she knew it. If I’m gonna be Insane-o Gal, at least I’ll be Insane-o Gal who knows she’s totally cracked.

After an hour had passed, lightning began to crack overhead. It was then that she saw him walk home. When his black-clad figure disappeared into the night, she sank down in her chair, oddly let down. In some strange, perverse way, she’d wanted him to stay. Even though she’d deliberately pushed him away, closed the door on him in fact, she still wanted him to hang around.

She was beyond deranged. She was just completely and totally, utterly whacko. Crazy Buffy, that was her.

No. Not crazy Buffy. Crazy Elizabeth. Because as of tonight, Buffy was gone. Thrown in the trash can. She was Elizabeth once again.

Funny how it felt completely and totally sucky...

She slumped down on the couch and stared into the empty fireplace. Her house—no the house, it wasn’t hers—was kinda cold. She should light a fire.

Her bitter laugh rang in the still air. She should do a lot of things.

But she wasn’t going to. Actually, she should go to sleep, but that wasn’t exactly high on her list of priorities. Right now, she was in a major session of freak-outage. And it was going to stay that way, yes sir, it was.

Wait. Sleep. She should sleep because she had an appointment with Captain Rayne tomorrow. She had an appointment with a guy who was apparently even worse than she’d been led to believe Spike was, in a building full of people who were just about as bad as they got, criminal-wise...

Shit.

What was she going to do? She couldn’t just waltz in there and pretend that the whole world hadn’t crashed down the night before, leaving her standing in the twisted ugly rubble—could she?

Buffy frowned. She’d already tried to get the truth out of the files at the Jenkins’ Building, and that had kind of blown up in her face. She didn’t know if she actually believed the file. She didn’t want to, but the more she thought about it, the more sure she became that she was working for the wrong side.

Still, Rayne deserved a chance to make his case, right? Maybe the whole thing was some colossal mistake that could be fixed with some intervention. Yeah, that was it. She could go all intervention-ey when she met with Rayne, and if it didn’t work out and he really was evil, which she was starting to doubt more every second that ticked by, then, well, she had a gun. And she was a pretty good shot, too.

The part of her brain that hadn’t completely lost it when she read the contents of that file warned her that she was being completely irrational, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t care. She had to hold on to the hope that Captain Rayne could explain thing. Otherwise...

Otherwise, it’s a one-way ticket to Screwednessville for one Miss Buffy Summers, ‘cuz I probably won’t make it out alive.

And while she was being brutally honest...I couldn’t care less.

Still, she got off the couch and managed to make her way up to her room. If she was going to get all confront-ey tomorrow, then she did need to pack some z’s in before then.

Sleep. That was the priority. Then the confrontation with the Captain. After that—if there was an after—

Life without Spike. She climbed into bed and turned off the light. So, why does that feel just as bad as the thought of no after at all?

Sleep claimed her before she could answer the question in her mind.

~*~

Spike did what any sensible man would do in a situation like the one he was facing: he went out and got drunk.

Oh, he tried to sleep first—he wasn’t that big a moron. But soon enough, he found himself sitting in a bar in one of the worst parts of town, pounding down one shot of whiskey after another. Maybe if he drank enough, the pain would go away and he’d stop seeing her pained, accusing eyes swimming in front of him every time he blinked.

“Y’see,” he explained to the apathetic bartender. “Y’see, the thing is, I knew she’d end up feelin’ hurt. Tha’s why I was gonna tell her...but I didn’ get a chance. ‘Cuz tha’ girl, she’s...ah, she’s really somethin’ mate.” He pounded back another whiskey. “An’ now ‘s all over.”

“Spike? Dude, you’re like...drunk.”

Spike turned around slowly. His vision was a bit blurred, but he could make out one of the people he really didn’t want to see right now. “Xander. Wha’ th’ bloody ‘ell’re you doin’ ‘ere?” His words were so badly slurred that even he could barely make them out.

“I told him we had to go. Going to bars at night makes me hot, and Xander wanted to have sex,” Anya spoke up frankly from her position beside her now-boyfriend.

He rolled his eyes to the sky. “Wunnerful. Jus’ the two people I really don’ wanna see.”

“And why is that?” Anya demanded. “Do you find us repulsive, or are you just drowning your sorrows over something Buffy said?”

“What? Spike has a thing for Buffy?” Xander peered at him closely. “Ah, I get it. Buffy doesn’t like you, so you’re getting drunk.”

”Got drunk, mate,” Spike corrected. “’Ve been ‘ere at least an hour...’ey iznt there a storm goin’ on out there, or somethin’?”

“The storm’s stopped, mostly, but that’s okay since lightning gets me hot too,” Anya said.

“When the ‘ell’re you gonna get some liquor in this bint so she’ll shuttup?” Spike demanded, frowning at Anya. Even his fuzzy brain could tell that she was being deliberately antanonistig—antagonistic, he corrected himself mentally.

“I’m not going to shut up until you tell me what’s wrong. It’s very unlike you to get drunk, since it makes you look like a pathetic shmuck. And it’s clear that your problem is with Buffy, since you haven’t drunk this much since Drusilla,” Anya prattled, either completely unconscious of or bravely ignoring the death-by-slow-torture glare Spike was giving her.

“Was it Buffy, man?”

“Damn right. She knows ‘bout all th’ shtuff,” Spike slurred. “’ey, bartender! Gimme ‘nother!”

“Wait—stuff? What stuff? The stuff, stuff? The stuff she’s not supposed to know about?”

“No, Anya, th’ shtuff she’s s’posed to know ‘bout. ‘Course ‘s th’ stuff she innit s’posed to know ‘bout.”

Xander and Anya exchanged a worried look that the inebriated Spike barely saw before they each grabbed one of his arms. Spike jumped. “’ey! Leggo!” He exclaimed, but it was too late. They were already propelling him out of the bar at a pace that made his alcohol-soaked head spin.

They shoved him into Xander’s car. Anya got in beside him and, giving him a hard look, said, “If you puke in the backseat I’ll kill you. And Mom will shoot you the next time she visits if you puke in the house. So, do us both a favor and keep your puke to yourself, okay?”

“Got it,” he grumbled.

When they arrived at his house, Anya dragged him out of the car and into the kitchen. It was only when she turned on the water in the sink that he realized what she was going to do.

“Uh-uh,” he exclaimed, lurching back. “There’sh no bleedin’ way you’re gettin me ta—“

“Oh, shove it, Big Bad,” Anya advised. She moved quickly—too quickly, in Spike’s opinion. Why wasn’t she drunk, too? It was nice and cozy and warm and—

“AUGHH!” His holler could be heard throughout the house when Anya shoved his head under the icy water.

He came up spluttering. “Wha’d you do tha’ for?”

“You were drunk, and we’re in serious need of information,” Xander informed him. “Really, Spike, ever heard of talking it out?”

“Was’n in the mood for talkin,” he muttered, shaking his wet head.

“Hey!” Anya cried, throwing a towel on top of his head. “Watch it! I don’t want to have to get water stains off the wooden table!” She rolled her eyes in disgust when Spike shook himself into the towel like a dog. “Men!”

“So are you sober now, or what?” Xander asked.

“Sober.” Spike made a face; though the majority of his drunkenness had dissipated with the freezing cold water, he was still a bit dizzy. “More or less.”

“Good.” Xander turned around and called out into the living room. “You guys can come in now!”

Faith, Kennedy, Willow, Cordelia, and Gunn filed into the room. When he saw them, Spike groaned. Just what he needed, the do-gooder team. Why didn’t they understand that he wanted to be left in peace so he could engage in serious self-flagellation for the next century or so over what he’d done to Buffy? “Why the buggerin’ hell did you call them?”

“We heard you was havin’ some trouble with the ladies,” Gunn started.

“Or one lady, if you want to be exact about it,” Kennedy added.

“So, tell us, what’s the deal with you and B? And make it quick,” Faith added. “I was in the middle of a monster hookup when Xander called.”

“We really didn’t need to know that,” Kennedy informed her.

“Hey, bitch, no one asked your opinion,” Faith said, her face turning confrontational. It was no secret that Kennedy and Faith weren’t exactly the best of friends.

“Nobody has to,” the younger girl shot back.

“That so? Ya wanna work on changing that?” Faith fisted her hand.

“Hey, guys, maybe we could, um, do this later?” Willow suggested, her voice growing smaller as the two others turned and glared at her.

“Or, like, never,” Cordy interjected. “I so do not want to see a cat-fight between the two Brass Balls Queens.”

“I agree with Cordelia,” Anya said bluntly. “Now, can we please get down to the real problem before I die of old age?”

“There isn’t any problem,” Spike growled. Bloody hell. He should have known making friends in this Godforsaken bit of nowhere was going to come back and bite him in the ass someday. “’M in pain, and ‘d like to suffer alone, if you don’t mind.”

“We do mind. I mean, for Christ’s sake, I’m related to you,” Anya snapped. “And you may be a big dumb idiot, but we’re gonna help you. We’ve got stake in what Buffy does too, you know.”

“And as thrilled as I am that you care, I want to be alone,” Spike snapped back. Damn it, he loved Anya like a sister—which was good, since she was one—but if she didn’t bugger off, he’d snap her spindly little neck!

“Well, bad boy, we ain’t your fairy godmothers, so sorry, you’re outta luck,” Faith said. “And I’m not gonna say this again: what the fuck is goin’ on?”

Spike caved. He gripped the counter tightly and growled under his breath before saying, “Fine. But I swear, you lot are the nosiest, most inconsiderate idiots a fellow’s ever had to put up with, and if I had m’ way I’d—“

He was cut off by the back door slamming loudly. “I’m here!” A young female voice shouted. Dawn came running in, her hair wildly tangled, the Doublemeat Palace uniform looking ridiculously out-of-place in the chic, Anya-decorated house.

She didn’t seem to care. “Sorry I’m late,” she panted. “I was about to go to the door when this guy walked up to me and was all, where’s my smoothie, and I was like, sorry, I’m off duty, but then he went—wait,” she broke off, her eyes surveying the room. “What’s going on?”

“Buffy knows about the fact that we take in helpless orphans and prostitutes and give them jobs while simultaneously fighting the force of evil that is the LAPD,” Anya said bluntly.

“And she also kinda knows that her best friend is a, um, spy, for us,” Willow added.

Dawn raised her eyebrows. “Wow. That explains why Spike looks like he’s been hit by a truck. He has a thing for Buffy,” she told the group at large. “And let me guess,” she added, now speaking directly to Spike, “She went totally postal on you?”

“Somethin’ like that, yeah,” Spike said, smiling at her. The Bit was such a good kid, always ready to take things in stride.

He proceeded to tell everyone what had happened with Buffy at the building. When he was finished, the room was so quiet that you could have heard a pin drop.

“Oh, no,” Willow whispered. “Poor Buffy. I mean, you told me it was bad and all, but...wow.”

“Wicked fucked up,” was Faith’s assessment. “What I can’t get is that you lied to her for so long, Willow.”

“Especially since generally, you’re a really incompetent liar,” Dawn added.

Willow looked about as upset as Spike felt. “I said I was sorry!” she cried. “Only, she didn’t seem to want to listen, and I was stuttering and making with the spazzing out and everything. I didn’t want to lie...” she trailed off helplessly.

“’S okay, Red. Neither did I.” Spike sighed heavily. Maybe he was the most worthless ponce ever born, but he felt sorrier for himself than he did for Red. At least she had friendship to fall back on with Buffy. Take his and Buffy’s professional relationship away, and as much as he hated to admit it, he had nothing. He’d be willing to bet his feelings for her were pretty damn one-sided as far as the attraction went.

“Wait. You said she was totally nuts?” Dawn asked, a strangely apprehensive look on her face.

“Completely carrot-top, yeah,” Spike said. When he saw Dawn’s look go from nervous to almost completely panicked, he said urgently, “Okay, Bit, what aren’t you tellin’ me?”

“Buffy told me she had an appointment with someone today,” Dawn said, her lips barely moving, her face the still that means the owner is holding in panic. “An appointment with someone in LA. She’s going to report back to that Rayne guy, Spike.”

Xander took a deep breath. “Oh, boy. She’ll ask him if what she read in those files is true—“

“And cop-boy’ll ice her, because she’s one of the poor chicks who knows too much now,” Faith finished. “Damn, are we in deep shit now or what?”

“Like, hugely deep,” Cordelia contributed. “Buffy’s totally gonna blab!”

“I think Dawn was a little more worried about the part where Rayne kills her and leaves little Buffy-bits all over LA,” Kennedy snapped at Cordelia.

Cordelia glared at her. “Okay, hello, I’m worried about that, too, but if she blabs, we’re all going to get killed, which is just a teensy bit more important!”

Everyone was silent as the two brattiest members of the group stared at one another.

“Okay, sorry to interrupt the glare-fest, but plans really need to be made.” Anya’s sarcastic voice interrupted the girls’ glare-fest. When no one answered, she snapped her fingers in front of Cordy and Kennedy’s eyes. “Hello! Earth to air-heads! God, guys, pay attention before those evil cops you’re so scared of come to kill us all!”

Ordinarily Spike would have intervened right about then, but he was too dazed by a combination of alcohol and constant worry centering around his wayward secretary. So he just stood there, leaning against the wall, as his sister set into motion a debate about what, exactly, the gang should do.

“I vote for doin’ the intervention thing,” Xander said. “Go to her house and get her out. She doesn’t really want to go back to the dark side, right?”

Dawn stared at him with all the haughty arrogance of an amused fifteen-year-old. “You really are one big geek, aren’t you?”

Willow smiled sympathetically at his chagrin. “The dark side thing was a little over the top,” she told him.

“I was just trying to put stuff in, you know, layman’s terms,” Xander defended himself.

“Why don’cha leave that to the experts,” Faith suggested. “I say we ice the guy.”

“Ice? Like, freeze him? We’re going to turn Rayne into a giant ice cube and—what? Hit him with an ice pick?” Anya was thoroughly confused.

“Ice means kill, genius.” Cordelia rolled her eyes. “And how are we going to kill Ethan Rayne? He’s, like, LA’s answer to that Al Capone guy.”

“Ever heard of a gun?” Faith asked. “Bam, bam, Rayne’s dead?”

“’S not that simple,” Spike informed her. His voice was low and still slightly slurred, even by British standards, yet everyone stopped and listened.

“Well, then, what should we do? “Cause, the discussion is great and all, but we’re kinda getting low on time,” Willow reminded everyone.

“Well, first we do what the whelp suggested, with less Star Wars references,” Spike said. As he spoke, he stood up straight and began to prowl from one end of the room to the other, taking charge as naturally as breathing. “Then, ‘f she’s at home, we stop her from runnin’ to Rayne. Tie her up ‘f we have to. If she’s not...” He trailed off ominously.

Faith’s eyes glinted. “Yeah?”

“We’ll have a right spot of violence b’fore tomorrow’s up,” Spike finished, his former cocky smirk back firmly in place.

“OK, so not my thing,” Cordy said. At everyone else’s reproachful looks, she rolled her eyes and sighed. “But I’ll help out anyway,” she said in a long-suffering voice.

“Because you’re so very self-sacrificing,” Kennedy muttered.

Everyone else ignored her. “Right then,” Spike said. “Let’s saddle up, all.”

Dawn winced. “Okay, I’d love to help with the Buffy rescuing slash handcuffing, but I really have to get back to work or I’ll get kinda sorta fired.”

“Go ‘head.” Spike waved his hand. “Got enough people here to do a decent rescue.”

Willow smiled at the teen as Dawn headed for the door. “Have fun, Dawnie.”

“Try not to get too much grease in your hair,” Anya advised. “It makes you smell like the weird homeless guys who live by the McDonald’s dumpster. Very unappealing.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Dawn said in a very dry voice, grinning at Xander’s mortified attempts to quiet his girlfriend. “See you guys.” And then she was gone, melting into the darkness outside with the ease of long practice.

Faith watched her leave. “She’s a good kid,” she said quietly.

“Not a kid anymore,” Spike reminded her.

“I keep forgettin’ she’s all woman-sized now,” Faith admitted. “Time flies when you’re fighting bad guys, doesn’t it?”

Spike just raised a sardonic brow. “Right,” he said skeptically.

“Hate to interrupt the not-so-charming trip down memory lane, but hello, we have a rescue to stage!” Anya waved her arms for emphasis.

“Then let’s go.” Faith grabbed a gun from its black leather holster, spinning it around in her hand. “I really hope I get to use this thing.”

Xander shook his head as he opened the side door and left the house. “Faith, you’re the most—merciful Zeus, who in the world are you?”

Everyone else rushed to the door. Spike narrowed his eyes when he saw the girl crouched on the ground. Bloody hell, I don’t have time for this! he thought, regretting for about the ten billionth time his whole helping-the-innocents gig.

Nevertheless, he helped her up gently. “Got a name, luv?”

“And a reason why you’re crouched on Spike’s doorstep like some kind of giant, slutty lost puppy?” Cordelia added, as always completely clueless to the delicacy of the situation.

Xander shook his head at Cordy as Spike led the girl inside. “You know, this is probably why you never get chosen to help out the homeless people. Doorknobs have more tact that you do.”

“As opposed to you, who never gets chosen because you’re completely incompetent?” Cordelia said sarcastically.

“Can it, both of you,” Spike ordered. He led the girl to his couch and sat her down. Her eyes were wide and rimmed by smoky eyeliner. She looked traumatized, and he could see a bruise spreading over her cheek. Put two and two together and...”Some worthless ponce been beatin’ on you, huh?”

“He...he hit me...” she whispered, her fingers brushing against the bruise. “I heard from a friend that maybe you could...help...”

Spike cursed at the inconvenient timing. This was what he did—got whores and druggies off the streets and into a warm building where they could make some money. But he didn’t have time to find this girl a job right now. “Look, ‘ve got errands to run. You wanna stay here for awhile?”

“Hey! Dumb move!” Anya said. “What if she’s a thief? She’ll make off with all our stuff!”

Spike glared at his sister. “You said you knew who I was?” He asked the girl. She nodded jerkily. “Then you know that ‘ve got more connections than anyone else in this town,” he said, his voice suddenly a bit harder, more menacing. “An’ ‘f you steal from me, they’ll be findin’ your body for quite awhile. You follow?”

The girl nodded, clearly terrified. “I—I’ll be good,” she whispered.

“That’s nice to hear. Got a name?” he asked again.

“Veruca,” she whispered.

“Well, Veruca, you’ve been beat on, but rest an’ ice should fix that. You help yourself to whatever food you can find, an’ me and my mates’ll be back soon’s we can to help get you settled in a new home. Okay?”

Veruca nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Don’t,” Anya advised. “He’ll get testy.”

She cracked a slight smile at that.

“Can we go now? I’ve got some serious pent-up frustration and i just wanna ungh!” Faith announced, graphically illustrating what the sound meant.

Everyone else in the room made faces. “Yes, please, let’s leave before I get seriously traumatized,” Kennedy said, staring at Faith uneasily.

“I second that,” Xander said, and they began to file out.

Willow hesitated at the door. “You’re sure you’re gonna be okay?” she asked the girl. “I can, can make you hot chocolate, or something, if you’re not...”

“I’ll be fine,” the girl said in a throaty whisper. Willow still was still unsure—there was something not-quite-right about Veruca that really set the redhead on edge—but eventually, she nodded, smiled, and left.

As soon as she was gone, Veruca’s half-feral gaze turned into a sly smile. Standing up, she shed the blanket to reveal a tight black tube dress. When she put the cell phone up to her face, her purple “bruise” smeared. She hit a couple of buttons and waited for the phone to finished dialing.

A few second later she said, “It’s me. I’m in.”

~*~

They walked as quickly as possible to the house on Revello Drive. Spike led the way, followed closely by the others.

After a few minutes Willow came astride. “Veruca seemed kinda upset,” she ventured.

“You would be too, ‘f you were a whore who’d just been beaten by some john ‘f yours,” Spike replied. Red was a nice little bird, but sometimes she was a little long on empathy and short on common sense.

“Okay, if you say so.” Red’s voice was doubtful, but she didn’t argue. “So, um, what are you going to do it she’s not there?”

“What’re you sayin’? You think she ran off to LA already?”

“I’m saying that just angry Buffy is a bit unstable, common-sense wise. Angry, traumatized, betrayed Buffy...it has potential explosiveness,” Willow said. Her voice rose when she got to the betrayal part; Spike could tell she was feeling it just as much as he was.

“”F she’s not there, we’ll find her,” Spike said with more confidence than he felt.

Willow sighed, and he knew he hadn’t fooled her. “I guess...”

They rounded a corner and came to the house: 1630, Revello Drive. Spike grinned jauntily at Willow as they climbed the steps. “We’re ‘bout to find out who’s right.”

The others saw them go in, Spike with a competitive grin and Willow wearing a worried half-frown. A few minutes passed in breathless silence before they saw Willow come back out. “Guys, you’d better come in,” she said.

Everyone filed up on the steps as one, and as one they caught their breath when they looked inside the house and saw Spike crying in the corner.

And they knew what she was going to say before she said it: “She’s gone.”

~*~

A/N: Thanx to Jess, Bleh, and Gattaca for reviewing, it made me do the happy dance! Those of you who weighed in on the whole chapter length thing said mostly that you liked long chapters, so the chapter length will stay about the same unless I’m feeling really lazy *wink*. Feedback’s always nice, yadda yadda yah. The next chapter should be posted soon!

Buffy sat stock-still in the room, clutching her purse in her lap, unseen by the man in front of her.

Captain Rayne leaned forward and smiled. “Are you okay, Officer?” he asked seemingly solicitously.

“I’m—I’m fine,” she lied. The truth was that she could barely tell Rayne even the most insignificant details without bursting into tears.

She was vindicating herself, getting back at her betrayers. She was doing the right thing. They should have known I’d tell if they made with the lying!

So why did it feel like she was the traitor in the situation?

“Then tell me more details.” Rayne’s voice hardened. “Harmony was more useful than this.”

“I—I can’t,” she stuttered, gripping the bag even more tightly. I have a gun. If he tries anything, I can start the shootage. I have a gun. I have a—ohcrapI’mherereportingtoabadguy!

“Oh?” Now his voice was dangerously soft. Shit with a side of fuck, Buffy thought more than slightly desperately. “And why would that be?”

“Because, um, they keep me in the lobby,” she lied quickly, affecting a petulant whine. “And they never let me hear anything, and you told me to keep a low profile...”

“Okay, she is like so totally lying.” Harmony strode into the room. “Like, I just got off the phone with Veruca, and that Spike guy, he like records all his conversations, and they were talking about how she completely knew about everything just a few minutes ago.”

“Is that so?” Rayne’s eyes riveted on Buffy’s face. She tried to school her features, honestly she did—but even as she worked to keep her face blank, she felt awareness and guilt wash over her.

“I was just coming her to ask if, if I could join, because that whole helping the helpless thing they’re doing? Wicked lame,” she chattered, avoiding eye contact. She knew that as of now, she was in some serious trouble.

Rayne shook his head, sighed, and leaned back. “So that’s why you were acting so strangely. I should have known.” He sighed again, theatrically. “I had so hoped you’d come around to our way of thinking...”

Okay. She wasn’t going to talk her way out of it, that much was obvious. And even though Harmony looked like a complete ditz, she was probably packing some kind of ammo. So there was really only one thing to do.

“Sorry,” she said in a falsely cheerful voice. “I don’t play well with evil Mafia types.” She reached in her purse and yanked out her gun.

Adrenalin coursed through her when she looked up and saw that Rayne’s gun was trained steady at her face. Harmony, too, had a gun out—though Buffy noted with no small amusement that it was painted pink.

Okay, she was one perverse cop—ex-cop she corrected herself. Really, though. She was sitting there with two guns at her head and all she could do was grin cheekily and say, “Wow. That all you got?”

“You’re a fool, Officer,” Rayne informed her.

Buffy grinned even wider. “But I’m a cute fool.”

He leveled the gun at her forehead. “This is the day you die.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say, “I don’t think so” and pop him one with her own gun, and to hell with what Harmony and the other minions in the building might do, but just then, the door behind the Captain’s desk burst down. Rayne’s finger froze where it had been pulling the trigger when cool metal pressed against his temple.

“I wouldn’t do that ‘f I were you, mate. Could hurt someone.”

He smiled nastily at Spike. “That was the point.”

Buffy froze, staring wide-eyed at the scene before her. Faith had Harmony in a headlock; the gun dangled uselessly from her fingers. There were shouts and clanks coming from the splintered doorway, so she guessed the rest of the gang was fighting. Spike was standing behind Rayne, every bit of him completely relaxed-looking except the hand that held the gun—which signified that he wasn’t relaxed at all. “Buffy?”

Spike. There he stood, as incredibly sexy as ever. She should be thanking him profusely and help him get out of there, but all she could do was sit and stare.

He had been her betrayer, the person she was sure she’d never forgive...and he was saving her life. He didn’t have to, but he was.

She would have liked to explore the situation further, because the weirdness of it was really interesting, but he was staring at her like he expected some kind of response, or something. “What?”

“Well, you gonna get the hell out of here, or what?” Spike’s voice was desperate, and she realized just exactly what his team was doing: breaking into a building full of hundreds of trained fighters smack dab in the middle of a crowded city.

All to rescue me.

That thought made her decide. She wasn’t entirely sure that she could trust these people, but the gun clutched in Rayne’s hand was proof enough that she could trust the LAPD even less.

“This doesn’t mean you’re forgiven, ya know,” she informed Spike as she stood up and grabbed the gun from Rayne. It was a nice one; she wouldn’t want to waste it on such a big jerk.

“’D figured,” Spike said grimly. “Now, pay attention. This is what we’re gonna do.

“I told everyone I’d call ‘em off as soon as you were free. We’re gonna run out to the lobby, you’re gonna scream as loud as you can, an’ we’re gonna run like hell. Got it?”

His voice was cold enough that Buffy could tell that she wasn’t exactly forgiven yet, either. Which makes sense, since the last time I saw him I was acting completely insane.

She nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“Great. Let’s get it done, then.”

He threw Rayne away from him, dealing the man a powerful enough blow to the head that he slumped down on the desk, unconscious. Faith did the same thing with Harmony, who somehow managed to get an ear-piercing squeak in before Faith silenced her.

The three of them strode as one toward the door. Buffy opened it—and almost collapsed from shock.

Xander, Anya, Kennedy, Cordelia, Willow—every single person who had become her friend over the past few weeks was there, and fighting for their lives. Bullet holes riddled the chairs of the detention area. The glass in several windows was shattered, and the secretary was nowhere to be seen. Bodies, all of them in uniform, littered the ground. Buffy didn’t know if they were dead or alive.

Faith summed it up well: “Damn, this place is a mess.”

“I—“ Buffy began, not even sure just exactly what she was going to say, but it didn’t matter, since Spike cut her off.

“Jus’ go out there an’ scream, would you?”

“And, B—make it loud,” Faith advised.

Buffy sighed. They did realize that she wasn’t big in the screaming department, right?

She took a few steps forward, inhaled as much of the dust, acrid air as she could, and let loose.

“AUUUUUUUUUGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!”

It was a scream that could have rivaled anything produced in Harmony’s lungs. It pierced through the gunfire and yells of the combatants.

As soon as they heard it, the employees of Jenkins’ Incorporated whacked their opponents on the head with whatever blunt instrument was handy and headed for the door. Buffy stood stock-still, watching them.

That is, until Spike poked her in the back with his gun. “Run, Blondie,” he yelled, sprinting ahead of her.

Okay. Sort-of-friends do the whole rescuing thing, you run. Easy enough rule.

Buffy ran out of the smoky, chaotic building like everyone’s lives, not just hers, depended on it. When she caught up to Spike she gasped, “Parked—my car—a block away.”

“’ll send someone out to get it later,” Spike said, seemingly not at all out of breath. “We gotta get the hell outta here b’fore squad cars get on our asses. C’mon,” and he veered into an alley, “you’re ridin’ with me.”

Buffy gulped as she hopped into the passenger side of the DeSoto and slammed the door. Spike. Hot sexy rescuer Spike with me in a very small space.

Crap.

*

He gunned the engine and drove away, hitting ninety before they even got out of the city. To anyone else he supposed his driving style would have been at least distracting, but to Spike, it was pure exhilaration.

Mixed with a bit of chagrin, he admitted as he glanced over to the girl sitting next to him. Really, you’d think that bursting into a building chock full of evil-ass cops would be enough to impress one silly bint, but no. The girl he’d wanted to earn the forgiveness of was staring out the window of his car, her face completely empty.

She hadn’t gone insane when he’d burst into the room, and she’d complied when he told her to scream and then run—but since he’d stopped that rat-ass-licking bastard Rayne from shooting her, he wasn’t sure if that was just gratitude or if she actually trusted him again. She’d told him he wasn’t forgiven...

Bloody hell, now she had him analyzing every little thing she’d said. This couldn’t be good.

It took them all of five minutes to get on the freeway. They were tailing Anya and Xander’s car, which also carried Cordelia; Willow, Kennedy, and Faith were riding in the Ford Focus right behind them.

Spike gave a relieved sigh. “We’re clear, luv. Rayne won’t chase us down now.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Jesus Christ, even her voice was expressionless! “’S the rules. ‘F we get out of LA, we’re home free. Well, till we get back to Sunnydale.”

“Sounds dangerous.” Still quiet, opaque.

“That’s the name of the game.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Um, dangerous? Name of the game?” Bugger it, he’d thought she was smart, but even Harmony coulda caught that one!

“No, not that.” Now she sounded impatient. Oh, well, he’d take what he could get. “I don’t understand...this.” She waved her hand expansively. “You come in, guns a-blazing—literally—and save my life, even though I called you all kinds of names and said I never wanted to see you again. Why?”

That gave him pause, since it was a question he’d been asking himself ever since that morning. He thought he’d come up with an answer, but it sure as hell wasn’t one he could tell her.

So what was he going to say? Because you’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever met and I’ve got a thing for you? Because I genuinely care about you? Because I want to shag you more than I want to breathe? Somehow he thought that any of those would just piss her off.

So he settled on, “Dunno how it happened, but you’re one of the gang now. We don’t leave our own in the hands of the lap-dancers.”

She smiled slightly at the mention of the infamous nickname. “Why lap-dancers?”

Now that was a question he could answer. “Well, when this whole bloody thing started, it was just me an’ the whelp. We figured ‘f we named ‘em lap-dancers, we could talk ‘bout it in public an’ no one would care. We were still teens, an’ teenage guys are all about sex.”

“That makes sense.” Silence for a moment, then: “Wait. What about Anya?”

“Anya got in on it after Willow did. Anya an’ Willow were friends. ‘D recruited Willow after Rayne tried to rope her into his prostitution business. Willow accidentally let slip to Anya, so Anya demanded to be able to join.”

“Bet you didn’t like that.”

Spike remembered the day crystal-clear. They’d had a row of epic proportions over Anya helping him with the whole fight-the-LA-police thing. “Well, no. But you know Anya—‘f she wants something, she’ll get it, one way or ‘nother.”

“So...Rayne runs a crime ring, right?” At Spike’s nod, Buffy sighed. “God, I can still barely believe it. I mean, it’s like out of a movie or something. A bad movie.”

He’d thought so many times himself. “Yeah, well, where d’you think they get this stuff? ‘F you look back in history books, real ones, not the poncy shit they teach you in school, you’ll find ‘s all like that. Rayne’s deal is no more remarkable than, say, the bootleggin’ the in twenties.” Oh, bloody hell. Now she had him talkin’ like a professor.

And judging by the grin on her face, she knew it. “Well, well, well. Somebody used to be a geek,” she said in a teasing voice. He growled, which made her laugh out loud. “So, teach, where does Jenkins’ Inc. fit into all this?”

“On the surface we’re jus’ what the sign says. People pay us to get them jobs. But we also pull homeless brats off the streets an’ help ‘em out. Former whores, drug dealers, gang members, you name it, we’ve helped ‘em. After they stop whatever they’re doin’ acourse. We get ‘em jobs an’ they pay us a dividend of what they earn for a year. We use that money to keep the evil nasties away from them.

“That’s why,” he continued, “Rayne wants to take us out. He reckons on expanding his little trade business out of LA, an’ Sunnydale’d be the perfect jumpin’ off point. Only problem is, we’re not gonna let him.”

“Hence the fightage,” Buffy finished for him.

He smiled at her phrasing. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“Oh.” For a few minutes, silence reigned in the car as they sped down the freeway. After awhile, she said, “I guess that explains the whole keep the secretary in the dark thing.”

“Well, we knew you were a plant,” Spike said uncomfortable. “That is, y’know, a spy. We just didn’t figure you to be one of the good guys.”

“Is that what I am?” He glanced sideways at her in time to see her smile bitterly. “I feel like I don’t even know anymore.”

“’F you hate Rayne an’ all he stands for, you’re a good guy,” Spike said firmly. It damn near broke his heart, seein’ her sitting there so incredibly unsure of anything in her life.

She smiled slightly at his assessment. “So...what happens now?”

“Well, you’re out a job,” Spike said. He’d rehearsed this bit so many times he felt like a bit of a ponce, sayin’ it to her now. “So I figure, ‘f it’s alright with you, you can maybe still work as m’ secretary?”

She gave him a you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me look. “Um, is that a joke?”

“Wasn’t s’posed to be...” he trailed off, unsure of what to say. Did she think he was kidding? Jesus, hadn’t she learned that when it came to her, he was never kidding around?

“Look, it’s nice of you to ask, but I know damn good and well that you don’t really need a secretary.”

He smiled, not because of her words, but because of the way she said them. So tough, even when she was at her most vulnerable—that was his Buffy.

“Actually, we do. An’ we’d all be honored if you’d join the gang.”

“Join the gang? As in, help you in your crusade again evil-ness, or whatever?”

“Yeah. Pretty much.” He held his breath.

And nearly turned blue, since she spent a good ten minutes thinking it over.

“Am I gonna have to eat bugs to prove my loyalty or something?”

He laughed, and she joined in. “No, nothin’ like that, pet. Jus’, ‘f you ever try to betray us, we’ll kill you.”

He saw her wince and wished he hadn’t sounded quite so menacing. But then, it was his job. He was the leader of their little crack team, and if she was even thinking for a second about betraying them, well, he’d lock her up and have his wicked way with her.

Okay, not that. But he would have her killed.

“I think I can handle that,” she said, her eyes slightly hard.

“Plannin’ on bein’ a turncoat, pet?” His voice was teasing; he hoped she realized that he’d stopped being serious.

She did. “Not unless you force me,” she said, teasing him back.

“And how would I do that?” His voice was low, seductive, and as soon as it came out of his mouth, he could have kicked himself. You just got her out of a death trap, you wanker. Not twenty-four hours ago, she was sayin’ she hated you!

And now he’d really screwed up. Her face went blank and she said flatly, “To be honest, I have no idea. But then, I don’t really care.”

He sighed. The whole seductive purr thing had been goin’ a bit too far, obviously. As if he hadn’t known as soon as it came out of his mouth. “Sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

They drove on in silence. He would have liked to say something, anything, to make sure they were still okay...’Course, she said that you weren’t back in the police headquarters. So just shut your gob.

He zoomed past a sign: Sunnydale, next exit.

Thank God.

Not that he was getting a religion, or anything.

Still, he was thanking every deity he could think of when he pulled into the driveway of Buffy’s house. The other two cars carrying He cut the ignition and stared back at it. “’S a pretty big place. You gonna be able to afford the rent?”

She winced. “Crap, I hadn’t thought of that. D’you think it’ll be a lot?”

He shrugged. “Seven, maybe eight hundred a month, prob’ly.”

“Oh, God!” She paled. “I can’t afford that! Hell, I can’t even afford half that!”

He was about to respond when he saw the bush next to the walkway rustle. Just a tad, but in his experience, bushes didn’t rustle like that unless someone was in them.

“Hold on a sec, pet.” He held up a hand, not really expecting her to obey his request—but to his immense surprise, she did. She fell silent as a church mouse.

He watched the bush intently. Was that movement amongst the leaves? It was too damn hard to tell, sitting here in the car.

“Okay,” he said in a low voice, glancing at Buffy. She was fixated on the bush. Smart girl.

“Okay what? Spike, is someone in that bush?”

He winced. Bloody hell, Rayne couldn’t just leave us alone for awhile, could he? M’ girl’s been practically traumatized! “I don’t know. Jus’—get out ‘f the car with me. If there’s someone in there, ‘ll beat ‘em to a pulp, yeah?”

“Great plan,” Buffy muttered, fishing around in her purse.

“’S the only one we’ve got,” he retorted, watching her closely. That purse was huge. What was she looking for?

He got his answer a second later when she pulled out a pistol. “This,” she said, cocking it, “will help. A little, at least,” she amended.

“Uh-uh.” He held up his hands. “No bloody way are you gonna brandish that thing with me around.” He’d known she was dangerous, but what if she decided to shoot him instead of Sir Hides-A-Lot over there?

“You don’t trust me!”

Oh, this was just terrific. Now she was gonna look all hurt. Yep, there were the eyes, the big green eyes full of tears, and there was the lip, and—

“Bloody hell! Fine,” he growled. “But you point that thing at me and—“

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’ll ‘rip my bleein’ eyes out’.”

He winced. Her approximation of an English accent was worse than the whelp’s. “Let’s jus’ do this, a’right?”

“Fine by me.”

He grabbed his own pistol and stepped out of the car.

Nothing happened. Buffy followed suit and slammed the car door. She darted her eyes over to the bush; Spike did the same. They both saw the glint of metal amongst the leaves.

Left to his own devices, Spike would have just raised the gun and started shooting at the little glint. Buffy, though, apparently had other ideas.

She swooned forward, lowering the gun and looking at Spike with wide, worshipful eyes. Eyes that begged him to go along with this little plan of hers.

“Oh, Spike,” she simpered, swaying forward a bit more. “Thanks so much for driving me home.” She raised her hand and rested it on her arm.

He swallowed—hard. How in the world could she make him hard, make him want her, with that simple touch? “Um—it was my pleasure,” he said, loud enough for the man in the bush to hear.

“Do you maybe wanna...come inside?” she purred, looking up at him through her lashes.

God, yes. For a second his lust-addled brain forgot that this was a charade. Then said brain noticed the anger beginning to spark in her eyes and kicked back into gear. He smiled suavely and wrapped an arm around her waist. His smile widened when he saw her seductive smile falter. Two can play this game, kitten. “’D love to.” He began to guide them to the door.

They were halfway up the steps when a rustle behind them informed them that their mystery man had decided to step out. Spike felt Buffy’s body tense, and he squeezed her waist in warning before as one they yanked out their guns and whirled around.

To both their surprise, it wasn’t a man standing there with a gun pointed at them. No, it was a girl—and Spike recognized her.

“Veruca,” he spat.

Buffy shot a glance at him. “Veruca? Harmony said she was the one who—“

“Pretended to be homeless so you could snoop around my house?” Spike addressed the woman in front of him. He shook his head contemptuously. “How low will that bastard sink?”

“Pretty low, apparently,” Veruca said in that sultry tone of hers. She then looked over her shoulder and called, “You can come on out, boys.”

Spike’s whole body went cold when three more men popped out of the nearby shrubbery. Footsteps behind him informed him that more had come out of the house. And at that moment, he was terrified.

Not for himself, of course. He’d been in more situations like this than he could count. But Buffy—they were pointing all those guns at her, too, and the idea that they’d hurt even a hair on her head scared him half to death.

Which was why he said in what he hoped passed for a reasonable tone, “Now, let’s not get hasty. Maybe we can work somethin’ out.”

Everyone there, Buffy included, looked at him like he was terminally insane. He was starting to think he was, actually.

Veruca was the first to speak. “I don’t think so,” she said, and pulled the trigger.

Spike jumped on Buffy not a moment too soon. He felt the bullet graze his back, and pain like fire tore through him. He shoved it aside—he’d tend to it later. Grabbing her tight, he rolled them behind a bush.

“What the hell are you doing?” Buffy shrieked as he rolled off of her.

“Just stay here,” he ordered, and prepared to jump out from behind their meager cover.

He really shouldn’t have been surprised to hear her come behind him.

Apparently Veruca wanted to see them die; she could easily have had them taken out in the bush, but when he emerged, she was standing there calmly, sneering at him.

“Take a bullet for your lover. How cute.”

Crack! A gun went off, and Veruca jerked to the right. A bullet grazed her hair.

“He’s not my lover, you skanky bitch,” Spike heard Buffy snarl. A second later a blur of blonde hair shot by him, and Buffy was tackling Veruca, shoving her onto the pavement.

He would have liked to worry about her, but six of Veruca’s henchmen were getting ready to pull her off and probably inflict some serious damage while they were at it. He fired a few bullets at them before unsheathing his wrist knife and diving into the fight.

He was hopelessly outnumbered and he knew it, but all he could do was hope that someone—Anya, Kennedy, even Xander—had enough sense to come by and check on them, preferably before they both died. He grinned fiercely and knocked one man out. ’Course, that might take awhile.

A punch to his right eye had him down on the sidewalk. He felt the hard cement cut into his head and winced, but this wasn’t the time for self-pity. Veruca had Buffy in a stranglehold, and he’d be damned if he was gonna let that continue.

But then two men pinned his arms behind his back. He saw Veruca deal Buffy a blow of astonishing force—

He heard himself scream, a strangled sound that might have resembled his girl’s name—

And then cold metal impacted with his skull, and he was out cold.

~*~

A/N: Arg. Another cliffhanger...do you hate me now? See, the thing is, I kinda got, um, grounded (insert embarrassed blush here), so it’s no computer till next Saturday. Big big sorry. I can promise that stuff’s gonna be okay, and in the next chapter there’ll be some Spuffy. So please don’t smack the crap outta me? OW THAT HURT YOU STUPID SONOFA—breathe. In, out, in, out...lol ;) Anyway, thanx to Nic, Rachel, and Jessi for reviewing! As always, feedback is very much appreciated...please? *hopeful look* Again, sorry about the wait and the cliffhanger!

When Buffy heard Spike yell, for a second, her whole world froze.

It was like, she thought later, she was staring through one of those old-fashioned movie projectors, and it had gotten stuck on one of the slides. Motion, motion, motion—then none.

She swore she could feel her heartbeat falter, she was that shocked. Even though she’d told him he wasn’t forgiven, she still very much cared about what was happening to him, and currently, he was screaming in pain. The fact that her own face was being beaten by Veruca didn’t really register.

And then he hit the pavement, and something inside her snapped.

She jerked forward, not so much to free her captured arms as to give herself some wiggle room. When she’d flown forward about six inches, she lifted one of her legs and hooked her foot around the back of one man’s knee. She gave a mighty yank, and he dropped like stone.

She fell, too, but since his grip lessened when she went down, it was a small price to pay. Before he could roll over and crush her into the pavement, she dug an elbow into his ribs and wrenched herself free of his grip. A blow to the nose of the other man freed her completely.

Veruca was standing a few feet away, staring at her with a stunned look on her overly-made-up face. Buffy lunged at her.

She grabbed the tart’s hair and gave it a huge yank. Drawing back her fist, she looked directly into the girl’s eye and said, “This is for Spike.”

When her fist connected with Veruca’s nose, it drove the cartilage almost completely out of the flesh.

She would have loved to stick around and beat up Veruca some more, but there were four other men to deal with, and they weren’t exactly small.

She knocked Veruca out, a mercy that personally she didn’t think the skank deserved, and dropped her onto the driveway. As soon as she heard the thunk of her head hitting the pavement, she rushed the other men.

Actually, it was more like limped toward them. The fall had twisted her ankle just enough so that it really hurt, and she could feel her eyes swelling.

But to tell the truth, none of her injuries mattered. All she cared about was the fact that they had hurt Spike. For that, these jerks were so gonna pay.

She was pounding the face of her second victim, heedless of the little flecks of blood flying everywhere, when one of them snuck up behind her and drove a huge, meaty fist into her face.

For a second, she saw stars. Then she was tanked up by her shirt collar and brought face-to-face with one Officer Riley Finn.

She stifled a moan. If Riley was involved, then she was as good as dead. Why couldn’t this be one of those neighborhoods where people were always looking out their curtains, hoping to catch a drug deal in action, or whatever?

“Miss me, baby?” Riley sneered, grinning at the blood that ran down her forehead and pooled right above her eye. “I tried to send someone with a message for you, but I think he fucked it up.”

Angel. “Now, why am I not surprised?” Buffy asked. “Sorry your little rape-o-gram didn’t get through, but—“ she kneed him in the groin—“I’m really not a big fan of evil rapists.”

“Fuckin’ Christ!” he gasped, leaning over. Buffy grinned at him smugly, enjoying the effects of her handiwork.

“Actually, Riley, I doubt Christ fucks,” she informed him cooly. “After I kick your pathetic ass all the way to Hell, you can ask the devil, though.” She raised a fist, ready to pummel him.

Huh, why is he smiling? she wondered, before a blow to her temple told her why. She was knocked to the ground. Someone stepped on her spine, and she quavered as she felt the feeling leave her arms. Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit... Riley was approaching her.

“Now, little slut,” he crooned, “If you beg real pretty I’ll kill you fast.”

“Fuck—you,” she managed to whisper as she fought to get control over her arms again. Dammit! She wasn’t even all that injured! Stupid spinal cord...

“I’m sure you will,” he sneered, leaning over. Buffy gulped: a knife was glinting in his hand. Oh God, this is it. They’ll be finding my body for weeks!

“OK, that was the lamest line I’ve ever heard. Do you actually find gaining orgasms from such things a rewarding use of your time?”

“What Anya means is, you are one fucked-up dumbass,” Faith announced with a grin, right before her right cross knocked him to the ground. Buffy craned her head just in time to see Xander calmly knock the other guy over the head with a thick stick.

Cordelia helped her up—or, actually, hauled her up, since her arms were still numb and tingly. “Are you, like, okay?” the brunette asked. “You went down like a shopping bag loaded with shoes.”

Buffy smiled at her comparison. “I think I will be,” she said, grimacing, “But Spike—oh my God!” Her horror renewed itself as she remembered. “Spike got hurt!”

“I’m on it,” Kennedy called. She and Willow were trying their best to carry Spike to his car. “Buffy, can you drive?”

“Drive? She’s so injured she can barely walk,” Anya said. “I’ll drive. Get in Spike’s hideous car, Buffy. Kennedy, you can come too. We need someone tough enough to carry Spike inside.”


Um—“ Buffy looked at the seven unconscious bodies. “What about them?”

Anya shrugged. “If they die, we’ll all celebrate,” she said flatly.

“No kidding,” Cordelia chimed in. “Like, who does that? Seven against two is so unfair!”

“I think that was the point,” Buffy said dryly. “Might as well grab their guns,” she added thoughtfully. Anya took up her suggestion, loading them all into the duffel bag she’d been carrying.

“Um, guys?” Willow called. “Spike bleeding, and I don’t think it’s serious, but we’d better get him home so we can patch him up.”

“Right-o,” Xander said. “Let’s get out of here.”

As Buffy slipped into the car, she heard Faith advise him, “Listen, stud, don’t ever say right-o again, or you’ll be a little less than five-by-five, get my meaning?”

“Um, no?”

Buffy grinned and slammed the door shut with her foot—a grin that faded into a worried frown as soon as she saw Spike. He’d lost so much blood! “Do you think he’ll...you know...be okay?” she asked Anya, ignoring Kennedy’s are-you-crazy? look.

“He might die,” Anya said cheerfully. “But Willow’s way too smart for any of our good, and she said he’d be okay, so hey, who knows?”

Wow. A mark of how tired I am that I went to Anya for comfort, Buffy thought dryly.

When she noticed them turning into downtown Sunnydale, she asked, “Um...aren’t we going to you guys’ house, Anya?”

“Oh, that’s not really Spike’s house,” Anya reported. “Since he’s the head honcho, we figured it would be good for him to have a cover house where he keeps stuff like taped transcriptions of his conversations, and then a house where he could live and orgasm and things. It’s quite convenient, and it keeps the LAPD off his tail. We’re going to his apartment.”

Buffy, having ignored most of what she said after the orgasm comment—Oooh, orgasming Spike...—, just said vaguely, “Oh. That’s nice.”

She missed the amused glance Anya and Kennedy shared.

They were at Spike’s house in almost no time. Kennedy, true to her word, dragged Spike indoors. Buffy wiggled her fingers as she followed the girl in—she was starting to get feeling back. Definitely a good sign, since she didn’t really feel like being permanently paralyzed by her jerk-off of an ex.

Kennedy laid Spike down gently on his (black) couch, and Anya busied herself trying to find bandages, muttering under her breath about stupid men who didn’t know to keep bandages around at all times.

Buffy walked slowly up to where he lay on the couch. He looks so peaceful she thought, reaching out to touch his scarred eyebrow. Almost like he’s sleeping. Her fingers ran, almost unconsciously, down his face, tracing his sharp cheekbones...his soft, full lips.

Anya’s strangely tactful throat-clearing alerted her to the fact that she really wasn’t supposed to be standing there tracing Spike’s lips and wondering what it would be like to press her own against them—while he was conscious, of course. No, she was actually supposed to be helping Anya clean up his wounds.

“So, I see you got your—oomph!—arms back,” Anya said, rolling Spike over on the couch.

“Well, I actually had them the whole time,” Buffy said wryly.

Anya gave her an exasperated look. “Well, duh. What I meant was, you got the use of your arms back.” She tugged her brother’s shirt off, and as one, she and Buffy sharply inhaled. Buffy was relatively certain that Anya was inhaling because of the nasty bullet graze running across his shoulder blade. She herself was worried about that, but at the same time, she couldn't help but notice how incredibly well-muscled his back was.

Wonder what his front looks like, she thought, licking her lips.

“Okay, I know most girls think Spike looks good enough to eat—or at least, that’s what Cordy told me the first time she met him—but can we get back to reality, please?” Anya’s voice was annoyed as she shoved an alcohol pad into Buffy’s hand. “Sterilize the wound.”

Anya’s words brought her sharply back to the here-and-now. She took the pad and gently cleaned out the gash, tears brimming in her eyes as she did. All this was for me, she thought, and had to choke back sobs. I told him he wasn’t forgiven, and he still risked his life for me.

“Um, Buffy? I think it’s clean,” Anya pointed out.

Buffy’s face leapt into flames. “Right! Sorry,” she muttered, yanking the pad away. “Um...where’s everybody else?”

“They’re gonna to clean-up and cover-up,” Kennedy reporting, coming downstairs with a handful of sheets. “It’s routine for these sorts of things.” She glanced over at Anya. “So, Buffy’s gonna sleep on the couch, right?”

“Yes. Just put the sheets there, and I’ll put them on after I clean Spike up,” Anya answered.

“Whoa. Wait—routine? And I am so not staying here!” She was practically shrieking by the end of her questions. Me and Spike, alone in an apartment, with him all sexy and wounded? No way!

“These things happen fairly often.” Anya cut a bandage and, surprisingly gently, placed it over the cut. As she taped it on she said, “Now, I think you can handle the rest. You know, ice on his black eyes, and so forth. If you and Kennedy can haul him to his room, I’ll make up the couch for you.”

”I am not staying!” she cried. “Didn’t you hear me the first time? I’m going home!”

“Are you crazy? That bitch and her cronies attacked you at home,” Kennedy snapped. “This is the most secure place we have. We’re an underground movement, remember? You’re staying here.” Her voice turned taunting. “Or are you scared?”

“Scared? So not. Who said I was scared? I am full of—not-scared-ness,” Buffy stuttered.

Anya gave her an amused look. “Good. Now, help Kennedy get Spike to his room.”

Buffy obeyed, grumbling and trying hard not to notice how warm and smooth his skin was. Hard. Hm, wonder how big he is when? Uh-uh. No way. Cut it out, Buffy...

They deposited him on the bed and Buffy high-tailed it out of there. By the time she got out to the living room, the couch was made and Anya was gone. “Um, Kennedy? Where’d Anya—“ she whirled around. Kennedy was gone.

“What the hell?” she muttered. The apartment was on the fifth floor—how did Kennedy get out with her seeing? There was just the one door. “I’m starting to think I’ve been set up,” she muttered.

And it was weird, but she wasn’t scared. A month, even two weeks ago, she would have been half-panicking by now. But she trusted these people more than she had ever trusted anyone in the LAPD, Riley included. Anyone from Jenkins’ could leave her hanging over a pit of lava, and she’d trust that they knew what they were doing.

Including, she realized, Spike. Especially Spike.

Which was good, she reflected wryly, since he was the one she was stuck with.

Okay. So, she was stuck in a small apartment, with a former enemy/boss, who also happened to be incredibly hot, for an indeterminate amount of time.

Wonderful. She was gonna get sooo bored.

Okay...I guess I can always snoop around, she thought. This was Spike’s personal apartment, right? There had to be something around here...mementos, maybe, or at least underwear.

She wandered from the kitchen into the living room. Both rooms were open to the door; the kitchen island acted as a barrier between them. A hallway off the living room led to three bedrooms. She hoped everyone didn’t end up having to stay here all at once. It’d be so crowded, they’d be at each others’ throats.

She wondered briefly why Kennedy and Anya had stuck her on the couch instead of giving her a bed. Comfyness would’ve been nice...but then, maybe they had a specific use for the rooms? There was too much she didn’t know.

And now, while Spike was asleep (and of course part of her mind spent a good deal of time dwelling on Spike all alone in that big, soft bed), would be the perfect time.

She went out to the kitchen. It was clearly Spike’s apartment; all the appliances were silver, and the cabinets were black. It should have been oppressive, really—Buffy had never liked black—but somehow, it just struck her as masculine. Almost sexy.

God, she thought in disgust as she opened a drawer, I’m getting turned on by the man’s kitchen utensils...ooh, photo! Major clueage!

She turned on the light and studied the photograph. To her not-so-great surprise, it was one of Spike, with his arms around a girl she didn’t recognize. She focused her attention on the young man in the picture. It looked reasonably recent—it was in color and all—but he was so incredibly different, she almost didn’t believe it was really him.

But there were the cheekbones, and the lips—with black lipstick on them. There were the brilliant blue eyes, but black eyeliner obscured their beauty. In all, the pair of them looked like typical badass punks just out of high school.

And even in a totally dorky-looking vest and that stupid hair all gelled up, he still looked completely hot.

She turned the photo over. On the back was a short note: To my Spike. Does puppy want to play? Dark Princess has a treat for him... The handwriting was loopy and written in blood red ink.

She set the photograph down quickly. Ugh. So didn’t need to know what sexcapades were connected with that picture.

Now that she’d done some exploring, she was hungry. She opened his refrigerator and started rummaging through it. There wasn’t much to eat—she guessed that keeping perishables at a secret hideout wasn’t such a bright idea—but there was enough for her to make a decent sandwich.

She did it, and stood at the counter, eating and staring at a blank spot on the wall moodily, that picture haunting her mind.

*

The first thing Spike was aware of as he returned to consciousness was panic. Complete, utter, blind panic.

The second thing was a rather large amount of pain that seemed to prevent him from getting up. Oddly enough, the pain wasn’t half as horrible as he thought it really ought to be, considering’ that he’d been shot and all.

Shot and...oh God, Buffy! He tried to sit up, and pain shot through him. Groaning, he sank back down onto the soft bed.

Wait...bed? Spike opened one eye tentatively and found himself staring at a ceiling. His ceiling.

He instantly relaxed. If the gang had gotten to them, then everything was fine. They must’ve saved Buffy from that bitch Veruca...or maybe Buffy herself had kicked some ass. He smiled at the visual. That’s m’ girl, he thought. All cute and deadly.

He almost wondered if there was something wrong with him, that visual was such a turn-on.

Arg. His shoulder was killing him, and his back was on fire, but God help him, he was hungry. And not just for Buffy.

He sat up, wincing at the pain, and then slowly, waveringly, stood up. He felt like hell, but he’d been in worse fights, so he slowly limped out to the kitchen.

To find the object of his lust leaning against the counter, eating a sandwich and staring into space.

Her feet were bare—she must’ve kicked off her shoes. One foot was dangling in the air, and the other’s toes wriggled. Her hair was tumbling down almost-bare shoulders: she was wearing that cute little dress-and-tank top thing she’d worn to her interview with Rayne. Despite his numerous injuries, he felt himself start to grow hard.

She glanced over at him. He got several moments of amusement when he saw her expression change from worry to gladness to lust to deep confusion.

He smirked. “Sorry, luv. Was so hungry I forgot to put on a shirt.”

“Um...” Buffy said, a piece of lettuce dangling from her lips.

He stalked closer, fighting not to wince. “So, Red left me with a nursemaid, eh?”

“Hey!” She set the sandwich down on the counter and scurried away from him. “I am not your nurse! It wasn’t even my idea to be here! It was all Anya, and Kennedy, and stop doing that!”

He’d been edging closer, watching with amusement and lust as her eyes began to slide from confusion to burgeoning passion. “’S matter?” he inquired. “Scared.”

“Yes,” she stated flatly. Spike stopped instantly and studied her with a frown.

“Why the hell are you scared of me?”

“Not of you...exactly,” she said. “Just—of this. Spike, I’m homeless. The only house I have is surrounded by evil cops, and if the fight was any indication, they’d rather I wasn’t walking right now. this apartment is all I have, and if I...if we...it’ll end up being icky badness, and then it’ll all fall apart, and I don’t want that!” Her eyes became bright with tears, and her chin quivered.

He moved closer, but this time his approach had less to do with seduction and more to do with a sudden, burning desire to comfort her.

She made a face and wiped at the tears. “I’m being such a girl,” she muttered, looking away from his warm gaze.

“I rather like you as a girl, pet,” he said softly, and cupped her cheek. She leaned into his touch, ever so slightly.

For a breathless second they stood just like that. Spike’s thumb caressed her cheek gently. She was so beautiful...God, he wished he could just ravish her right then, just push her up against the counter and have his wicked way with her.

His groin tightened, but he ignored it. Even if she would be a willing participant, which he doubted, he knew that he’d be five kinds of wanker if he tried to take her right now. She was scared.

He sighed and stepped back, disappointed. “Guess ‘d better get dressed.”

“Yeah.”

He heard his sigh echoed and glanced swiftly at her. Was that longing on her face? A slow smirk began to grow on his lips. “’F course, if you like me better without a shirt...” he trailed off suggestively.

She rolled her eyes. “God, you’re a pig. How Anya expects me to put up with you is so beyond me.”

“’M a sexy pig, though.” He eyes her lustfully. “C’mon, Summers, you know you want me.”

She edged toward him, and he felt his heartbeat pick up. Her perky breasts were only inches from his chest when she whispered, “Spike?”

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you go get a shirt on?” She grinned at his shocked look, whirled around, and walked away.

He stared at her as she sat down on his couch and turned on the TV. His erection was pounding almost unbearably, and all he wanted to do was press her into the couch and shag her into next Tuesday.

Instead, he headed for his room. Right before he closed the door, he heard her laugh at something on the screen. The sound slid all over him.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered.

It was going to be a long day.

~*~

A/N: WHOO-HOO! I’m ungrounded! Thanx for those of you who offered your sympathy, it was much appreciated :) And I know that you wanted Spuffy, and the truth is that I want Spuffy too. don’t worry, it’s coming. Give me a chapter, and all kinds of fun things will start to happen at Spike’s apartment *wicked grin* Special thanx to Jess, Gattaca, Mac, and Cordykitten for reviewing. I have to confess, I’m one of those greedy writers who love hearing what other people have to say about my work...so more please :)

After he got dressed—and he took his own sweet time about it, to give his erection time to deflate—he sauntered out to the living room. Buffy was sitting there, intent on the show.

He barely gave it a glance. “Look, I’ve gotta go out.”

“No,” Buffy replied, not even taking her eyes from the screen.

“No?” he repeated, staring at her disbelievingly. “You’re not my nursemaid, Summers.”

“Funny, you seemed to think I was a few minutes ago.” She turned off the TV and came to stand in front of him. “I said no, Spike, and believe me, I meant it.”

“Oh yeah? And just exactly how do you plan on stopping me?” He came a bit closer. If she wanted a fight, he was definitely up for it—in more ways than one.

Uh-oh. She had on a smug little grin. That couldn’t be good.

It wasn’t. She reached out and pocked his stomach, where a particularly painful bruise purpled his muscles.

Fire shot through him and he couldn’t restrain his yelp. “Bloody hell, Summers, that fucking hurt!” He reached out to grab her, maybe strangle her—he wasn’t sure. Fucking bint had made it so he couldn’t even see straight!

“And if I touched your back it would hurt even more,” she snapped. Fire was in her eyes; as with all things, Spike found it sexy.

He decided to cooperate, for now at least. He hung his head. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she grumbled in a slightly softer tone. “Just...go lie down.”

“Hurts to lie down,” he pointed out. “Bloody bullet grazed m’ back, remember?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Now guilt filled her features, and it was her turn to look down. “Thanks,” she whispered, so softly that he almost didn’t hear her.

Almost. “No problem,” he replied, shrugging. he instantly regretted it, as pain from the very wound they’d been discussing shot through him. “Or maybe a slight one,” he added with a rueful grin.

A blush turned her cheeks bright red. “I feel horrible about that,” she confessed. “I mean, I tell you I don’t trust you, and I act all yell-ey and stuff, and then you go and save my life.”

“You sayin’ you want to thank me proper?” Spike asked, watching with glee as her cheeks burned. “’Cause I wouldn’t say no to that...”

“Oh, shut up,” she ordered. “Now, let’s see. It’s...” she checked her watch. “Almost noon. I ought to check your bandages soon.”

Buffy’s fingers on his back? That wasn’t something he was going to turn down. “Sounds good. What d’you want to do till then?”

“Dunno. Not much to do.”

“I know. Do you spend a lot of time around here?”

“Not much. Red comes up here, sometimes. One of those rooms is filled with all her books. Science and the like.” Spike made a face. He’d have died before he admitted it, but personally, he preferred poetry over the books Red liked. Give him a good Byron any day, and he’d be sittin’ pretty.

“Oh.” She sighed. Spike glanced at her; she looked frustrated. “So...what are we gonna do? I mean, it’s not like we can go all Blizzard Baby Boom, or anything.”

“Blizzard Baby Boom?” Was that what he thought it sounded like?

If Buffy’s face was any indication, it was. He grinned slowly. Predatorily. “Well, pet, if you’re offering...” he sidled closer, gripping her waist suggestively.

“God! No! I said cannot! As in, there will be no sex, of the unprotected—or protected!—variety,” she stammered.

He gazed down on her with amusement. He’d never known a chit to get all worked up over one little thing. And somehow, he couldn’t help but push his luck with it. Just a little.

He leaned in until his lips were almost touching her ear. “You sure about that, kitten?” he whispered, and darted out his tongue to just barely graze her earlobe.

*

Okay. That was it. End of the line for Buffy Anne Summers.

First she got all hot and bothered thinking about his cabinets, of all things. Then she went practically insane seeing him all shirtless and seductive-y while she ate her sandwich. Now he was coming on to her while they were supposed to be fighting, and since there was absolutely no chance of them ever actually consummating Buffy’s incredible lust for him, she was mad.

She pushed him away with all the cop-strength she had. He stumbled back a few feet. When the back of his legs hit the couch, he stumbled back and fell onto the leather cushions.

“AUGH! Bloody hell!” he yelped. “Jesus Christ, Summers, cut a man some slack!”

She actually felt sorry for him, but there was no way she was going to show it. “If you want me to cut you some slack, then back off,” she snapped. “I already asked you to!”

He didn’t answer audibly, though he muttered as he stood up again. She glared at him, a glare that faltered when he again began to stalk toward her. Stupid bleached wonder, why did he have to act all menace-y?

And sexy. Definitely sexy.

He halted his pacing when he was standing a mere six inches away from her. “You’re gonna regret that,” he informed her in a low (sexy) voice.

She raised her chin defiantly. “Oh yeah? Come another step near me and you’ll risk losing all your parts.” Her eyes did the flicky-thingy she’d learned from Kennedy, traveling down to his bulging pants before making their way back up to his face. She smirked.

Her smirk disappeared when he reached out and grabbed her around the waist. Yanking with surprising power, considering his injury, he pulled her flush against him.

Now that bulge was digging into her stomach. She felt wetness pool in between her legs as he stared at her with passionate eyes that, though they were far from angry, were just a little bit scary. “Now, what was that about my parts?” he asked in that same low voice.

“Um...” was all she managed to get out. God, he was so hot...

“Thought so.” His hands slid up to her shoulders, grazing her breasts ever so slightly. She moaned—and regretted it when she saw the huge grin that crossed his face. “You want this, don’t you, kitten? Want it just...as much...as I do.” His voice dropped to a whisper and he began moving toward her lips.

Her gaze was fastened on his mouth. As it descended, she closed her eyes, whispered, “Don’t want it...” and swayed into his embrace.

He stopped. Completely stopped.

She wrinkled her brow and opened her eyes. He was staring down at her, his expression one of mixed shock and hurt. “What?” she snapped, more than a little ticked that he’d ruined the romantic moment.

“You don’t want it?” he asked with a slight catch in his voice.

And that was when it happened. She blinked as she heard the vulnerability in that statement—and then she saw Spike, really saw him, for the first time.

She’d always known the bad-boy thing was just a front, but now, there was real vulnerability staring out from his eyes. She’d thought that if it ever came to this, if she ever rejected him, she’d receive the chagrin of a guy who’d never been rejected in his life. But now she just saw someone who was tired of fighting and wanted some honest kindness. Maybe even...some honest love?

Whatever. She knew what she saw, and it wasn’t the thing she’d expected. Now that the naked hurt was there, now that she knew she’d been the cause of it, all she wanted to do was kiss him until it was all better.

Why not?

She smiled kindly and reached up on her tiptoes. Closing her fingers around a handful of soft bleached curls, she finished her sentence. “No, Spike, I don’t want it...I need it,” she told him, and at that moment, their lips crashed together.

A thousand, a million sensations raced through her. She felt like she was on fire, and she felt like she was being plunged into ice. It was amazing how that one melding of lips was making her feel like she was being ripped apart, while at the same time giving her an incredible impression of finally becoming whole.

She moaned again as his tongue skimmed across her lips. She instantly opened them, plunging her tongue into his mouth even as he did the same with her.

Heat engulfed them. She couldn’t decide if she was melting or bursting into flames. All she knew was that she never wanted it to stop.

Unfortunately, they both had an annoying habit of needing to breathe. After a few minutes their lips wrench apart. Buffy leaned against him, panting, only slightly gratified to hear his heart beating wildly beneath her cheek.

There was one thought and one thought only running through her head: Oh my GOD!

He found his voice first. “So...’ve you started regretting it yet?”

Just the sound of his voice sent the lust surging through her once again. She tilted her head up and smiled flirtatiously. “You know, I think the regret hasn’t quite set in yet. Maybe you could punish me a little more?”

He growled and attacked her lips once again.

Somehow, they made it over to the couch. They fell onto it, lips still locked. Buffy felt the cool leather press against her back and Spike’s heat warming her front. She gasped at the contrast. Spike took advantage of her shock, grinding his now fully aroused groin into her hips.

He left her lips and kissed his way down her neck, eliciting sensations from Buffy that made her almost cry out in pure pleasure. “Spike...”

“Wanted you. Wanted this,” he told her in whispered tones, “Right from the first time I laid eyes on you, ‘ve wanted to have you...right...here.” His right hand, which had been wandering over her stomach, suddenly plunged downward, grazing her core.

“OhGodOhGodOhGod!” Buffy cried, arching into his caress. She felt him smile against her neck.

“D’you like that, luv?” he inquired, caressing her with a single finger. She arched into it.

“Yes,” she managed to gasp out. His wonderful, talented fingers were making her barely coherent.

“Good.” He pressed down just a little harder, making her clit throb intensely. She clutched at him. “Spike...want you now...”

“Want you too, baby,” he told her, before he planted a gentle kiss on her lips and...



Stood up and walked away!?

Buffy blinked at him, utter fury rising in her stomach. She pushed herself up, running a hand through her tousled hair, fighting to gain control of her racing body, and stolidly avoiding looking over at him.

As soon as she had control, she glanced over at him and completely lost it again.

“What the hell was that?” she screeched, coming over to him and standing in front of him with her arms placed protectively in front of her chest.

“What was what about?” Spike asked. His hair was tousled—Buffy’s fingers itched to run themselves through his hair again.

“You got me all, you know, and then you just leave!”

Ooh, now he was smirking. He was gonna get it. “’M still here, aren’t I?”

“I mean the couch and you know it,” she half-yelled. He flinched, but she ignored it. If he was going to be a big jerk, he could deal with the consequences. “Is this you trying to make me regret what I did?”

As soon as she said it, she wanted to take it back. Pure, unadulterated fury roared through his eyes. “You idiotic, half-brained chit. Have you gone completely carrot-top??

She stared at him. “How dare you,” she began in a low, deadly voice, “Accuse me of being crazy when you’re the sonofabitch who thinks he has the right to just reject me like that!” By the end of her speech, she was shouting, and he was staring at her with open shock in his eyes.

“Buffy, you don’t understand, I didn’t—“

“You kissed me and then you sprung halfway across the room. That’s rejection, you British moron!” God, how could she say these things? She saw the hurt in his eyes, the hurt she herself was causing, but still her mouth kept running, like it was on a motor or something.

“Listen, you annoying little chit, I—“ Spike stopped himself, running a hand through his already-tangled hair. “Fuck,” he muttered, before saying in a surprisingly gentle tone, “Buffy, you’re homeless. Everyone you know, including me, recently betrayed you, and you had a nasty run-in with some of your former friends.”

She couldn’t believe he was saying all that. “Well, duh, Sherlock. I kinda know all that stuff since it happened to me.”

“That’s my sodding point! You’re in a delicate emotional state, and I shouldn’t be taking advantage—“

“Delicate emontional state? Taking advantage?” Buffy repeated his words with complete and utter contempt. “Are you insane?” she yelled, waving her arms in his face.

He caught her wrists in a firm grip. His eyes met hers, and she gulped. She’d never seen such pure intensity in his eyes before. She struggled to hold his gaze when all she wanted to do was look away and hand her head in shame.

“No.”

It was a quiet, almost gentle syllable, but it rang with feeling. All of a sudden Buffy realized what she was doing, what he’d done. She realized that if she’d gone all the way with him, if she’d let him pound her into the couch until they both passed out like she’d wanted, then she would have hated herself, and him, until the end of time for it.

And she realized that in pushing himself away, he’d done more for her than anyone who came before him.

Tears brimmed in her eyes. “I—“ she began to whisper. God, she was so stupid. Stupid, and selfish, and to tell the truth, the absolute most cold-hearted jerk ever to walk the face of the earth.

She sank back down onto the couch, her eyes staring at nothing as her mind recalled the last few minutes. Spike had bared his soul to her, let her see his vulnerability, and then saved her from her impulses. And in thanks, she cruelly stomped on him.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

He sat down next to her. She felt his arms tentatively wrap around her. When she relaxed, she was instantly pulled against a hard but immensely comforting chest. Large, warm hands ran up and down her arms as she began to sob, not so much because of their fight as just because of the sheer, overwhelming emotionality of the whole stupid day.

“Shh, don’t cry,” he whispered, hugging her tight. She sniffled and burrowed into his embrace.

“I’m such a bitch.”

She felt him stiffen. When he spoke, his voice was stern. “Don’t you say that,” he ordered almost harshly. “You’ve just had a rough time of it, is all.”

“I was so mean!” she whined miserably.

His cool fingers reached under her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Buffy, you’re a wonderful person. You’re fiery and passionate and that’s one of the things I love about you. But it’s got a price, you know. Everything does. ‘ve got just as much fire as you do. If’ we’re gonna do this, then we’ll have to accept that when we get mad, there’ll be fireworks of the non-friendly variety. Got it?”

She stared at him. He had an ungodly gift of putting everything she was thinking about into simple words. “Um...I think so.”

He smiled and brushed her tears away from her eyes. “Good. Now, I was gonna go out to the store and grab us some grub. Wanna come?” He stood up and offered her his hand.

“Sure,” she said, and smiled a bit. Somehow, in just a few minutes, he’d made all the hurt better.

“Great.” He smiled gently and pulled her to him, giving her a chaste kiss on the forehead. “After we get back, then we’ll talk, a’right?”

“Yeah.” She smiled at him. “Thanks for being protector-guy.”

”Was my pleasure,” he informed her. He shrugged into his duster, wincing a bit, and escorted her out of the apartment.

As he drove them to the store, Buffy rested her head on his arm contentedly. She couldn’t help but wonder, though: Just what, exactly, am I getting myself into?

~*~

A/N: A bit shorter than what I usually put out, but I really couldn’t go any further without making it about thirty pages long. Hope you guys enjoyed the (mild) Spuffy :) There’s more to come, promise. Thanx to Cordykitten and Jessica for already reviewing! Feedback is, as always, greatly appreciated. Ooh, I sound all formal and grown up... ;)

“You actually like Raman noodles? Are you insane or something?”

“Thought you’d already made up your mind on that one,” Spike said, smirking as he tossed the small box into the cart.

“Well, yeah,” Buffy admitted. “But now I’m positive. No one eats Raman noodles. The Ramans didn’t eat Raman noodles!”

Spike chuckled. He was so glad he’d brought her to the store. Pickin’ up grub was turning out to be much more entertaining than usual. “Pet, I don’t think there’s any such thing as Ramans.”

She pouted, sticking that delectable lower lip out. Spike glanced quickly away.

“If there aren’t Ramans, there should be,” she announced, before pointing and squealing: “Oooh, Spike, Chocolate Lucky Charms! Let’s get those!”

He eyed them disdainfully. “That’s kiddy food!”

“It’s chocolatey goodness,” she corrected, grabbing a box and dropping it in the cart.

“’ey, just wait a second,” he protested. “’M not buyin’ a bunch of junk food, ‘ve got a limited budget...bugger,” he groaned as she stared up at him with those huge green eyes. How in hell was he supposed to resist her when she looked like that? “Fine,” he growled, scowling.

In an instant, a brilliant smile took over her face, and Spike found himself again fighting the urge to press her up against the cereal boxes lining the wall and kiss her senseless. God, he’d never be able to refuse her anything if she kept it up with the lip and the eyes. he could see them as old people, her begging for flavored dentures, and him trying to say no but not being able to...

He froze when he realized just what he’d been thinking about. He couldn’t possibly think that he and Buffy would last till old age, could he? They hadn’t even made love yet.

But when he glanced over at her and saw her surveying the shelves with just as much enthusiasm as other girls would have used when gazing at the Grand Canyon, he could picture spending the rest of forever with her. He really, honestly could.

And that made him wonder: just exactly how insane was he? He hadn’t thought he was completely insane—but with all the thoughts of Buffy and spending eternity with her, he was starting to wonder.

Buffy glanced over at him. “What’cha thinking about?” she asked, sliding in between him and the cart and wrapping her arms around his neck.

He smiled down at her. “You, kitten.”

“What about me?”

Now her fingers were tracing the scar on his eyebrow. Bloody hell, he could barely think when she did that. “Nothin’ much, just wondering what ‘m gonna do now,” he told her, grabbing her fingers and bringing them to her lips.

“Do about what?” she asked.

Spike opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment his cell phone rang. He must have made a face, because when he flipped it open, Buffy was giggling.

“What?”

“Wow. The day must have sucked more than Anya told me.”

“Bit.” He relaxed and shot a frown at the still-giggling Buffy, though he didn’t really mean it. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Well, everybody else is practically having an apoplectic fit ‘cuz you’re not at the house,” Dawn told him. “Where are you, anyway?”

“At the grocery store,” he told her. “Pickin’ up some food for when me and Goldilocks get hungry.”

“Ew, pet name,” Dawn groaned. “What? Willow, I can’t—Xander!” Spike heard a few thumping noises, and then Dawn was yelling something about eating skin in the background.

“Spike, man, where are you?” Xander yelled.

Spike winced, pulling his cell phone away from his ear. “’ey, quiet down,” he ordered Xander. “And gimme Dawn again, we were talkin’.”

“You were chatting,” Xander corrected. “Look, I have no idea why Ayn let Dawn be the one to call, but there’s a big problem. Why aren’t you at your apartment?”

Spike scowled. Concerned, Buffy mouthed, ‘What’s going on?’ Spike shook his head at her.

Which caused her to pout and start nibbling on his earlobe. When he spoke again to Xander, his voice was choked. “Look, ‘ve got the bare necessities, so we’ll be back soon ‘s possible, a’right?”

“Something wrong, Spike?”

“Wrong. no. Why would anything be wrong?” he issued his denial quickly, his voice high-pitched.

“Dunno, but you sound kinda...out of breath,” Xander said. Then, in a moment of surprising cleverness, he asked, “Hey, didn’t you say the Buffster was there with you?”

“’ll be there in a few, Xander. Bye.” Spike hung up as quickly as possible, ignoring the whelp’s indignant yellin’. As soon as his phone was safely in his pocket he scowled down at the woman in his arms.

“You tryin’ to give all the kiddies here a show?” he demanded, sweeping an arm out for extra emphasis.

“Did you enjoy it?” she countered with a sly smile.

He had her wrapped in his arms and was kissing her deeply in less than a second. God, but she tasted so wonderful. She was so strong, so amazing—even as she melted into his arms, she returned his kiss with passion enough to rival his.

After a few breathless moments, Buffy pulled away. Spike looked up to find that this time, they’d garnered quite a large audience. Three tots were standing in front of the cart, staring at them with open mouths.

One of them, a small girl with wispy brown hair, spoke up. “Mister, are you and the pretty lady married?”

Buffy smiled down at them. “No, we’re just—“

“My mommy says you shouldn’t do that unless you’re married,” a blonde boy announced, deep disapproval on his face.

Spike glared at him. Stupid little bugger. “Well, your mum’s bug-shaggin’ crazy,” Spike snapped at him. “Now, run along!”

Apparently he was more menacing than he’d thought, because they ran out at high speed. Buffy turned to him with a frown on her pretty little face. “That wasn’t very nice,” she informed him flatly.

Spike shrugged. “Tots shouldn’t question their elders. ‘Sides, I was enjoyin’ our little interlude.” He bent his head and kissed her again, drawing her lower lip into his mouth and groaning. He could stay with her like this all day...

After a moment, though, he pulled away. “Whelp said something ‘bout an emergency,” he explained when his girl started to pout.

“Oh,” Buffy said, and they exited the supermarket quickly, holding hands.

~*~

They were jumped on as soon as they entered the apartment—a horrible event to Buffy’s way of thinking, since they were both loaded down with bags.

Anya plopped her hands on her hips and accosted them as soon as the door opened. “Where the hell were you? I know I couldn’t trust you two to not have many orgasms if I left you in the house together!”

“Ew, Anya!” Buffy squealed, though actually, that many orgasms thing was a nice visual. Mm, orgasm-ey Spike...

“We were just shoppin’,” Spike informed his sister, and set the bags down on the table.

“Hey, the stud’s gone all domestic.” Faith grinned at him, and for some weird reason, Buffy felt like growling and clawing Faith’s eyes out. It was probably the fact that the sultry brunette wore a shirt that showed an absolute ton of cleavage, and she was currently shoving it in her man’s face.

“Wow, Buffy, chill,” Cordelia advised, coming up to stand next to her. “Faith’s, like, a complete slut, but she’d not going to try to move in on Spike.”

“How do you know?” Buffy grated out, staring daggers at Faith.

“I’m psychic,” Cordy shot back sarcastically, then tugged on Buffy’s arm. “Come on, Buffy, there’s a really big problem and we’re all going to die if we don’t talk about it! And hello, if we die and my hair gets messed up all because of you, you’re so gonna pay!”

Buffy just cocked an eyebrow at her friend, an expression she’d picked up from Spike. “Wow, Cordy, stick one more like in that sentence and you’ll start sounding like Harmony.”

“What? I so do not!” she fumed. “Willow!”

The redhead poked her head out of the kitchen. “Yeah, Cordy?”

“Tell Little Miss Buffy that I am nothing like Harmony!” Cordelia demanded.

Willow’s eyes looked about ready to pop out of her head. Buffy fought the urge to giggle. Poor Willow couldn’t lie if her life depended on it. “Well,” she stuttered. “You have very different...um...hair, and, and you were way more popular than she was in high school, and you probably don’t have the same bloody type—oh! or the same molecular construction, so that’s good, and—“

“Oh my God, you’re so not helping.” Cordelia turned to Spike. “Can we just get on with this whole meeting thing? I’ve got a spa date with Lorne coming up.”

“Lorne goes to spas? Oh, bad visual!” Dawn wrinkled her nose.

Buffy just surveyed the scene, laughing. There probably was an emergency going on, but everyone treated it as a day-to-day thing. There were no gloomy faces, no heroic statements. These people were just doing their job. It was a big change from the LAPD, where everyone was always all West Wing-ey. She decided she liked it.

Their banter was interrupted when the phone rang. Tara, who’d for the most part been staying out of the mini-argument, grabbed it. “Hello?”

Everyone in the room fell silent as Tara’s eyes grew wider and wider. “I’m not—sorry—I-I th-think you may have the wrong number,” she stuttered into the phone.

Kennedy narrowed her eyes. “I’m betting they don’t.” She grabbed the phone and snapped, “Look, you fucking bastards, I don’t know how you got this number, but stay away, or the pointy end of a knife is going to do some serious connecting with your ribcage. Got it?” Without waiting for an answer, she slammed the phone back down in its cradle.

“Fucking LAPD,” she said in response to everyone’s questioning glances.

“And I’m thinking that’s not good,” Xander said.

“They know it’s us, and they were threatening Tara.”

“Guess it’s time.” Willow came out of the kitchen. Buffy looked at her in surprise; her old friend’s face was grim and purposeful.

Everyone followed her, except Buffy. She stood stock-still in the foyer, staring at the suddenly dangerous-looking people in front of her.

Spike passed her, a smirk firmly in place. She fought the urge to smack it off—or maybe kiss it...

“’Smatter, pet? Scared to learn the nice, fluffy corporation’s got claws?”

She scowled at him. “More liked shocked. Half the time you guys seem like a joke.”

“Well, ‘m not playin’ now. The lap-dancers’re serious business.” Spike’s face was grimmer than she’d ever seen it.

“Good, because I’m about ready to make with the seriousness.” Buffy put on a stubborn face.

“Let’s go, then.”

They sat down on the couch together. When Xander opened his mouth to speak, Buffy could sense the new tension in the air.

“Okay, here’s the deal. Apparently someone followed us here, or maybe Veruca heard something on those tapes. I don’t know. What I do know is that the LAPD knows where we are, that we’ve got Buffy, and they’re not backing down until they get us, once and for all.”

“So what, we’re talkin’ war?” Faith’s eyes were troubled, but Buffy was surprised to notice that among the disquiet there was a hint of excitement.

“Yep.” Xander’s one syllable should have sounded flip, but somehow it made shivers run up and down Buffy’s spine. Spike wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed tight; she smiled happily. Somehow, even the tough cop part of her appreciated having someone to lean on.

“But, we’re still safe, right? I mean, the LAPD have never, never actually tried to hurt us, because that would make everyone know that they’re evil, which isn’t there goal...right?” Willow’s voice turned upward, ending on a pleading note.

“Actually, I think Xander’s trying to tell us we’re doomed,” Cordelia said helpfully.

Anya sent her a dirty look. “I was going to say that,” she grumbled. “It’s my job to state the painfully obvious that no one else wants to say.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve just been replaced,” Cordelia shot back. “Because hello, I went out with Xander first, I should be able to—“

“Oh please, like that matters.” Dawn rolled her eyes.

“Thanks for the backup, but since you’re fifteen and therefore extremely inexperienced, I’d rather fight with Cordelia without your help.”

“Guys, you’re losing focus!” Kennedy’s annoyed voice added to the increasing noise. “Am I the only one who remembers we’re about to be killed by an evil police force?”

“Pipe down, Kennedy, we’re not gonna get iced just yet,” Faith snapped.

“Hey, here’s a novel idea. Why don’t you pipe down?” Kennedy yelled.

Buffy stared at them in disbelief. Wow. Maybe West Wing-ey-ness was to be preferred. They were totally out of control.

“Blondie?”

“Yeah?” Ooh, she loved all the pet names he had for her. She couldn’t believe they used to annoy her.

“You might wanna cover up your ears.”

Buffy obeyed, wondering what he was going to do. She’d seen him pull some pretty wiggy stuff, but what could he possibly do to make everyone shut up?

She got her answer a second later, when Spike let loose the loudest roar she’d ever heard from a human being: “SHUT THE BLOODY HELL UP AND SIT YOUR ARSES DOWN BEFORE I KILL YOU ALL MYSELF!”

She’d have sworn there were crickets chirping in the silence that followed his bellow.

“Good,” Spike said, a moment later. Buffy noticed with surprise that he didn’t seem the least bit hoarse. “Now, pay attention, because ‘f I have to repeat m’self, you’re gonna regret it.

“Obviously the LAPD has decided to stop playin’ nice. So, we’ll stop too. We’re not gonna go into LA, that’d be stupid. But I want all of you packing ammo at all times. We can’t make the first move ‘cuz if we do we’ll get arrested by Captain bleeding Rayne. Soon ‘s he starts movin’ against us, though, he’ll find out just exactly what we’re made of.” He looked around at everyone. Buffy was surprised to see that the usually quarrelsome group was tranquil and completely agreeable to Spike’s non-plan.

Well, she wasn’t. “That’s one of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard.”

Eight pairs of eyes affixed themselves on her. “Excuse me?” Spike asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

“I said, stupid plan. Because hello! No matter how much ammunition you guys have, if Rayne decides to take you out, he’ll be on you like that.” Buffy snapped her fingers. “People who wait for the enemy to make the first move are the people who lose.”

“That what they told you in the LAPD? It doesn’t work like that here, pet.”

“Hate to say it, Buffster, but Spike’s right,” Xander admitted. “We’ve gotta lay low or we will all die.”

“Hey, I’m with you, B.” Faith flicked her lighter open and shut, open and shut. “I don’t play nice and I don’t lie low.”

“Which is why you’re going to die young,” Anya pointed out. “Spike’s plan is good,” she informed Buffy. “And even if it wasn’t, you’re not supposed to say anything, because he’s our leader.”

Buffy’s anger was rising. Spike came up with the most asinine plan in the history of the planet and everyone except skanky Faith takes his side? “Well, he’s not my leader,” she snapped before anyone else could try to tell her what to do.

She realized instantly what a mistake she’d made. Everyone in the room gasped, and Spike turned to look at her with narrowed eyes. “If ‘m not your leader, then exactly who are you working for?” he asked in a dangerous voice.

“I’m not working for anyone! I work with people, Spike, and if you can’t accept that—“

“Um, Buffy? You kinda have to accept that Spike’s the boss, not the other way around,” Willow cut in tentatively.

Buffy stared at her best friend—former best friend, now. She couldn’t believe it. First Spike tried to make her fall in line, and now Willow!? Were they all against her?

She looked around helplessly. Part of her acknowledged that no one looked really mad at her, just a bit mystified because of her seeming rebellion. Most of her was still reeling from the events of the day, though, and what she was a room full of people who didn’t know her and didn’t trust her.

They didn’t trust her, that was it. They thought she was still all buddy-buddy with stupid Captain Rayne. Well, she’d show them. She didn’t need any of them, not Willow, not Xander, not Dawn...not even Spike. She leapt up off the couch.

“I have to get out of here,” she said wildly. “I can’t—this is—“ she took a deep breath before speaking the one thought on her mind: “This isn’t where I belong.”

It was a long time before she realized what those words meant to everyone in the room except her. To her, they just meant escape. Getting out, getting some air so she could make sense of the whole Spike-is-the-boss thing. Before anyone could gainsay her, she ran out of the door.

She leapt down the stairs at top speed. She wasn’t actually planning on leaving forever, just long enough to sort some things out. Hearing Spike in there, not even talking about violence against her former boss, only advocating passive resistance—just that had made her crazy.

And then she’d wanted nothing more than to just crush the LAPD, once and for all. Something inside of her, the little voice that never really stopped telling the truth, knew that her response had been completely illogical. Spike’s plan was the good one. They couldn’t just destroy the LAPD. It was too dangerous.

And now she was running, not really trying to get anywhere, just dying to make some sense of the confusion whirling through her.

Spike lusted after her. The events of that morning made it plenty obvious. But at the same time, he was willing to be Mr. Commando-Guy and give orders that she didn’t really want to obey. She was used to making her own rules. That was what cops did.

Could she reconcile her independence with the fact that her would-be boyfriend had every right to order her around sometimes?

She reached the park and sat down in a swing, moving back and forth disconsolately. Nothing inside her would settle.

The moon shone brightly, washing everything in silver, but at the same time creating impenetrable shadows.

And as Buffy stared off into the distance, one of those shadows detached itself from the others and floated toward her.

“The dark moves around you. It twists, hissing, cah, cah, cah.” The voice was female, and more British than Spike’s.

Buffy leapt off the swing and pulled out her gun. “Who’s there?”

“Tsk, tsk,” the figure scolded. “Not polite, shattering the night with fire. The moon whispers in the night. Doesn’t like the sunshine. Doesn’t like the pretty glowing girl.”

Okay, Buffy didn’t know who the hell this woman was, but she was starting to get really annoying. “Show yourself. Now!”

“The sun is angry. It doesn’t like the darkness.” The shadowy woman took a step forward into the silver light. Buffy inhaled sharply. She knew this woman. She’d seen her before—in the picture she’d found in Spike’s drawer.

She wore a filmy white dress that somehow fit her, though it would have looked ridiculous on anyone else. Her dark hair and dreamy features only accentuated her seeming insanity. “Who are you?” Buffy demanded.

The woman smiled. “A friend of Spike’s,” she whispered. “Naughty, naughty Spike. Leaving me alone for the stars and the moon, swimming about...” She began to sway. “Swimming all around, like a little fishy...have you ever seen a fishy? I had one once, but it died. And then I cried, and my Spike...but he doesn’t love me anymore. He loves the light now, the light and all that is saintly and pure.” Suddenly her insane gaze focused on Buffy. “Take me to him,” she ordered, abruptly regal. “Take me to my Spike. He’s been a very bad boy, and now Mummy shall have to punish him.”

It was settled. This was one—what was that phrase Spike always used? Oh, yeah: This was one bug-shagging crazy chick. “How about we...um...get you inside. You must be cold, right? And then you and Spike can talk and maybe figure out all the naughty-boy weird stuff, okay?” Buffy spoke quickly, trying to get some sense into the crazy woman’s head. Actually, she doubted the wisdom of bringing her to Spike, but really, what the hell else was she supposed to do? The woman had obviously known him, so it wasn’t like she didn’t know about the so-called secret headquarters. And even if she did, well, that cat was already totally out of the bag anyway.

She ignored the voice in her head that said she was only helping Miss Insane-o because she wanted to have an excuse to talk to Spike without him yelling at her.

“You’ll take me to my Spike?”

“Um, yeah. Sure.” Buffy tried hard to smile.

“How very kind of you. Such a nice piece of sunshine.” The woman smiled at her vacantly and allowed Buffy to take her arm.

“Um, his house is this way,” Buffy told her, and began to lead her back to the apartment.

She was so distracted trying to figure out what she’d say to Spike that she didn’t notice the knife that Drusilla slipped back into its sheath in the folds of her dress.

~*~

A/N: OK, kind of a mini-cliffhanger. And yeah, the whole Drusilla thing is gonna go places. I just got done re-watching a few eps of S7 and I’ve decided that crazy people are fun to write :) Sorry for any typos, didn’t proofread this chapter very well. Thanx to Cordykitten, Shippy, and Bleh for the reviews!

Spike was off the couch and pulling on his duster before she even made it out of the room. They heard her footsteps slowly receding down the stairs as he turned to the rest of the gang. “All of you, stay here. Get weapons and the lot, and when I get out little defector back, ‘ll fill you in on the rest of the plan. Got it?” Everyone nodded.

He tried to stride out of the room all manly-like, but unfortunately his bullet graze got in the way. Scowling, he hunched his shoulders—the fabric didn’t rub as much that way—and slunk out the door.

He didn’t know what the hell had gotten into her, acting like such a lunatic, and to tell the truth he didn’t really care. She wasn’t going to get away with trying to flout his authority like that. No one did.

OK, who the sodding hell was he tryin’ to fool? He cared more about how she was feeling than he could ever care about the idiot struggle with the LAPD. God, he was half-convinced he wanted to spend forever with her. She meant more to him than anything.

He was about halfway down the block when he heard voices. Slipping into an alley, he listened to them approach.

He recognized Buffy’s voice instantly. “Come on,” she urged whoever was next to her. “It’s just a little ways more. Then you can see Spike.”

He stiffened. She was taking someone to his apartment? Was she off her bird? Who in the world could she possibly think it was safe to lead to his apartment?

His blood ran cold when he heard the other voice. “No need for that. I can feel him. Come out, come out, my Spike,” she sang, weaving toward where he stood in the shadows. “Show yourself, or Mummy shall have to be very cross.”

“Drusilla.” He stepped out, staring at the woman through narrowed eyes. Bloody bitch. Why the hell had she come back? Just looking at her made him sick. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I came to see you. Just like old times.” Her eyes sparkled. “The stars told me you were here.”

“Did the stars tell you I’d shoot your pathetic ass if you came to me? You work for Rayne now, remember?” Personally, he didn’t understand why the man employed her. Bloody bint was an absolute loon. He’d known that even when he dated her.

“I didn’t like him.” She pouted. “He made me do all sorts of nasty things.”

”Um, Spike?” Buffy cut in. “How do you know her?”

He stared at her, feeling caught between a rock and a hard place. There was his dark beauty, practically come from the dead, she’d been so lost to him—and here, in front of him, was the woman who was rapidly becoming the center of his hopes and dreams.

He sighed. There was no way he could lie to Buffy. “She’s an ex. Well, actually, the ex. Only girlfriend ‘ve ever had.”

“And the best,” Drusilla said, smacking her lips. “Come now, my Spike. Don’t you want to make Princess happy?”

He ignored her. “She’s on Rayne’s payroll,” he told Buffy.

Buffy scowled and he instantly felt sorry for her. It had been less than two days ago that she herself had been on Rayne’s payroll. Meeting yet another crazy person whom Rayne employed couldn’t be easy for her.

“Not anymore. He rejected me. Please, my Spike, make Princess happy? Give Princess a home?”

Bloody fucking hell, it had been years and that look could still melt him. “If I find out that you’re still working for that motherfucker...” he threatened, but he began to lead her home.

“Princess will be good,” Dru promised, leaning into him.

Shit.

Everyone was still waiting when they got back. Spike opened the door with a bang, not in the mood to get almost-shot by friends who thought he was a member of the LAPD tryin’ to break in.

“’m back,” he called. “And I’ve got two traitors, not just the one.”

Buffy glared at him. Spike winced; it was a definite ‘I’ll kill you later’ look.

“Hey, Spike, we’re glad you’re—oh my God!” Willow stopped dead when she saw Drusilla.

“Spike, are you insane? She’s a nut! And hello, also completely style-challenged!” Cordelia reminded them.

Spike rolled his eyes at her. “Pipe down, all. According to Dru here, she’s cut ties with Rayne.”

“And you believe her?” Xander said disbelievingly. “Oh, hi, Buffy,” he added. “I’m guessing you’re okay now?”

Buffy looked at the floor, a mannerism Spike found incredibly cute. “Sorry. I kinda lost it for awhile there.”

“It’s all good, B.” Faith grinned at her. “We’ve all done it.”

“Even I’ve rebelled, and you know I’m not much with the—well, rebelling.” Willow gave her a tentative smile.

“I know that now,” she admitted.

The scene was interrupted by Drusilla’s growling. “The little girl wants my Spike,” she hissed, glaring at Buffy. “But she shall not have him.”

Spike winced. Bloody females. “Dru, there’s a spare bedroom at the end of the hallway. Why don’t you take that.”

She smiled at him. “Mummy shall be very happy with you come morning, William,” she purred, before sashaying off.

“Wonderful. She gets a spare room and I crash on the couch?” Buffy narrowed her eyes at him.

“You’re not stayin’ out here, you’re sleepin’ in my room.” Spike had the very great pleasure of watching her facial expression change from mild irritation to absolute horror.

“What? I am not!”

“Um, Spike? Why exactly will she be sharing your room?”

For some odd reason, Spike felt his groin tighten at those words. Hearing someone else say it seemed to make it more real. “Because,” he ground out, his voice husky with arousal, “I don’t trust Drusilla. She’s a loony bint, and she wants to hurt Buffy because she knows that Buffy’s special to me. The logical place for her to sleep is with me.”

“Spike, that’s lamer than some of the pick-up lines I’ve gotten, and I’m fifteen,” Dawn told him scornfully.

Spike glanced over at Buffy. She was watching him with a slight grin on her face. “So, Spike, you trying to hit on me?” she asked playfully.

A scowl blackened his features. “This is serious,” he growled.

Good, he’d been convincing. Everyone immediately wiped the grins off of their faced. “Right,” Xander said, “Serious. So, where are the rest of us sleeping? I mean, I’m guessing this just became a giant sleepover since the lap-dancers are on to us and all.”

“Some ‘f you can take Willow’s room, and the rest can sleep out here,” Spike said, trying hard to ignore the implication that he wanted privacy with Buffy. It wasn’t exactly a lie, after all...he glanced over at her tight little body and felt himself harden a bit more. Just the thought of her in his bed was driving him insane. He was probably going to explode when it actually happened.

“Isn’t there room for anybody else in there?” Tara asked, seemingly innocently.

Spike scowled at her. “No.”

For a second, about five different kinds of tension hummed in the air, among them the almost tangible sexual tension between Spike and Buffy. Spike’s eyes met his girl’s and for a second he thought he might burst into flames at the passion and anticipation that burned there.

Bugger. He’d worried about what would happen if he didn’t behave, but he’d never given a second thought to what would happen if she decided to be naughty.

And wouldn’t you just love that, mate? a nasty voice inside him whispered. You know you want her.

Yes, he did, but he couldn’t have her—not right now, anyway. Not when she was so unsure of herself that she was cuddling with him one moment and running two blocks away the next. Him fucking her into his mattress until neither of them had the energy to stand would just have to wait awhile.

Buffy ran her eyes up and down his form before smiling and licking her lips.

Fuck. He quickly shifted his duster to cover his now roaring erection. After that, he cleared his throat. “Right then. Let’s all get armed, and then we’ll go to bed.”

“We’re sleeping with our weapons?” Buffy said disbelievingly.

Spike shrugged. “Some evil nasty comes creepin’ in the night, you’ll be glad you’ve got ‘em,” he replied matter-of-factly.

He heard her gulp. “Oo-kaay,” she said slowly.

Jesus Christ. She sounded the tiny bit nervous, and now all he wanted to do was cuddle her until it was all better. This was getting ridiculous.

After they’d all been given three guns and twice as many knives, they set up sleeping arrangements. Both Spike and Buffy were helping the others with what Spike viewed as clearly overly-enthusiastic attitudes. Looks like ‘m not the only one a bit worried ‘bout sleepin’ in the same room, he thought with a smirk.

Unfortunately for him, his smaller head was still very much looking forward to having Buffy all to itself when they were done setting up.

“Well, that’s it!” Dawn chirped, grinning mischievously at Spike. “You and Buffy can go to bed now. You guys must be really tired.”

He scowled at her. “You’re a little devil-child, you know that?”

“Hm. Guess I know who my real dad is now,” Dawn teased.

He swatted at her, but secretly he was pleased that she could joke about it. Time was she’d have burst into tears if he’d even mentioned her parentage—or lack thereof.

“C’mon, Spikey,” Buffy said with a grin. “Let’s go to bed.”

Bleeding, buggering, sodding fuck.

~*~

Buffy was actually a lot more nervous than she let on. Just the thought of sleeping in the same room as Spike made her feel all weird and mushy inside. Not exactly scared, and not entirely nervous, either. She was actually pretty excited—she had been the one practically demanding that he fuck her earlier that day.

But somehow, she knew that wasn’t going to happen tonight, and not just because Drusilla occupied the room next to his. During the day, something had changed. It had been subtle, but sometime in between her tears and finding Drusilla, a new layer had been added to their whatever-it-was relationship.

And she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, or big-time badness.

So, when she entered his room, all she could do was shut the door and stare nervously around. Posters—Sex Pistols, the Ramones, and a bunch of other bands she’d never heard of—decorated the dead black walls. The furniture was also black, and the carpet was a washed-out grey that looked like it had formerly been black. The sheets were—Buffy blinked.

“Why in the world do you have rubber ducky sheets?”

Spike groaned. “Shoulda changed those. Gag gift from Red couple years back.” He grimaced as he looked at them. “Bloody bint.”

Buffy grinned and sat down on the bed, bouncing happily. “Well, I for one approve. Rubber duckies are cute.”

“Hey! I am not cute!” Now he looked annoyed. Ooh, sexy...

That thought reminded her that this was Spike’s room. Spike, whom she had lusted after for pretty much forever. Spike, the guy who practically made her melt into a puddle when he so much as looked at her. What she did when he kissed her, Buffy wasn’t even gonna get into.

Her nervousness came back, only this time it was ten times as huge.

She cleared her throat. “So...um...you wanna take the floor, or should I?”

“Buffy.”

His serious tone gave her pause. She glanced at him and pasted a smile on her face. “It’s okay, I know you’re delicate. I’ll take the floor.”

“Pet, do you really think we have to sleep separately?” His face was open, honest, like it had been before she’d kissed him. Buffy decided right then and there that it was a big-time dangerous look.

“Um...I don’t know,” she stuttered. “Are you gonna try to like cop a feel, ‘cause that would be big-time gross, and ungentlemanly, and really really mean, plus also if Drusilla suspects she might like stab me, and—“

“Buffy. Just answer the question.”

He didn’t sound annoyed, exactly. Actually—anger began to rise in her. He sounded amused! He was laughing at her!

She narrowed her eyes. “If you’re willing to risk me strangling you, then sure, we can share.”

He rolled his eyes. “You can be such a pain, you know that, Summers?”

That hurt more than she was willing to admit, but she just stuck her nose up in the air. “I’m going to go change. You stay here,” she ordered.

Spike just rolled his eyes.

She came out of his bathroom (black tile—he was insane) a few minutes later, dressed in her traditional girly boxer shorts and t-shirt. She stopped dead when she saw Spike already under the covers...and if the pile of clothes on the floor was any indication, he was stark naked.

And smirking as he ran lust-filled eyes up and down her body. Buffy barely stopped herself from growling. This was just too much. Did he have to act like such a stupid horn dog? “Spike!”

Oops. That was supposed to sound all in-charge-ey. Instead it came out more as an I’m-a-frightened-virgin squeak.

“Problem, luv?” He was still smirking. She was gonna kill him.

“Nope. No problems here. Absolutely none.” She bent over and picked up her clothes. “Except the fact that you’re a slob,” she added, dropping the stuff in the hamper.

Oh good, the pile was minus the boxers. He at least had some underwear on. Unless he didn’t wear underwear...

Ew.

“You think ’m a slob?” He sounded mortally offended. “I’ve seen your desk, you annoyin’ chit. You’re not so neat yourself.”

“Oh, shut up.” She slid in next to him, staunchly ignoring the fear fluttering in her belly. “At least I don’t have rubber ducky—eep!”

Her foot brushed against his, and the shock was so great that she thought she may have actually levitated. She did scoot about two feet to the left and come dangerously close to falling off the bed.

And that bastard was just lying there, grinning. “Somethin’ on your mind?”

“Are you naked?”

Okay, that was beyond wiggy. She hadn’t even been thinking that...well, she had, but it wasn’t supposed to come out of her mouth!

“Would you like it if I was?” he asked in a low, husky voice.

It should have scared her. It should have made her realize that she was lying in bed with a potentially dangerous man.

Instead, it made her feel sexy. Powerful. Powerful and sexy enough to answer, in a voice equally as soft, “Maybe.”

He grinned, apparently liking her courage. “Sorry to let you down, but ‘m not.” He leered at her. “Wish I was, though, such a pretty thing like you right next to me.”

She flopped down on the pillows. “Just shut up, okay?”

His voice was instantly gentler. “Sorry, luv. ‘d forgotten how long a day it’s been for you.”

“It’s okay,” she said, sighing. “Although I wish you put some clothes on.”

He chuckled at her disgruntled voice. “Never said I didn’t have any.”

Buffy squealed when she felt his hands around her waist. The shriek turned into a gasp when she was pulled against underwear-clad hardness—no, make that rock-solid-ness. “Oh,” she said weakly.

“’m not doin’ this because I want you—well, not right now, anyway. I just want—I want us to be close. Just for awhile. Please?”

How in the world could any sane girl resist that soft, pleading voice?

Buffy sighed and melted against him, doing her best to ignore the wonderful hardness that made her want to jump him. “Okay,” she breathed softly.

His arms instantly wrapped around her, pulling her until she was snugly spooned against him. She sighed in contentment as she felt his chin come to rest on her head. He had such hard muscles, but somehow, in his arms, she felt like she’d just found the most wonderful sleeping place in the world.

“Goodnight, Spike,” she sighed.

She felt him smile. “G’night, luv.”

And that was the word that she went to sleep thinking about.

Love.

~*~

A/N: Thanks, thanks, thanks to people who reviewed! The reviews are always so wonderful because while I write for me, I post for you guys—so thanks! Oh, and Shippy—unless I was planning on killing Dru in a horribly gruesome way, there is NO WAY they’d hook up, lol!

Though he felt Buffy’s breathing become even after only a few minutes in his arms, Spike couldn’t go to sleep. It might have had something to do with the hell of a day he’d just had, not to mention the fact that his loony bint of an ex was in the next room over, or perhaps it was the definite pain he still felt from that bullet graze...but he thought it had more to do with the girl in his arms.

She was so soft right now, so utterly adorable as she slept. Who’d have guessed that when she was asleep, his little spitfire turned into a cuddly kitten? When she was awake it was clear as day that she had an attitude. She was one of those bronze-balls types. But now that sleep had taken her, she looked so bloody vulnerable that he just wanted to hold her and never let her go.

And her hair...God, he loved her hair. It shone even now, in the moonlight, and it felt so very soft under his lips. For a moment, and image flashed through his head: Buffy, naked, with her hair down all over her breasts and back, riding him for all she was worth.

He shivered and felt his erection grow even stronger—which made him scowl. How the sodding hell did she make him so vulnerable? Just the thought of her could get him raring to go, which was pretty damn awful, since she was lying in his arms as trustful as a babe. There was absolutely no way he’d be takin’ advantage of her in the position.

And there was another thing. When had he become so chivalrous? Last time he’d checked, he’d been a wham, bam, thank-you-ma’m type. Sometimes not even botherin’ with the thank you. What was it about this girl that made him so different from how he usually was. So...

Better, mate? that voice in his head whispered. No, not better. More like infinitely confused, he thought. She’s turned me into a complete ponce. Got her in the bed, admitting she’d like to be naked with me, and what do I say? I tell her I’d like to just be close to her! I’m acting like—

Suddenly his thoughts screeched to a halt. Slowly, unsurely, he traced back through his line of thought: Buffy made him a ponce. He was a ponce because he had a girl in his bed and told her he just wanted to sleep. That meant that he was acting like...shock raced through his system as he inevitably came to the same conclusion.

“Like I’m in love,” he said softly.

Buffy stirred in his arms, and for one terrifying second, he thought he’d awakened her—but no, she was just turning over in her sleep. Now she was nuzzling his chest in a manner that made him almost lose his breath.

God, she was beautiful. From those incredible eyes, currently closed to showcase long lashes, to her luscious lips that he knew from experience tasted like heaven—everything about her was absolutely perfect.

Damn it.

He hadn’t asked for this, hadn’t even really wanted it. He’d fallen in love with a cop—well, former cop—who also happened to be his secretary, and who had just gotten over a bout of hating him so much she wished the most painful death possibly upon him. If you were to look up the definition of ‘unattainable’ in the dictionary, you’d see her bleeding picture.

“Spike, you are one buggered-up puppy,” he muttered to himself.

“Mmph,” Buffy muttered in her sleep. Her hands scraped his chest gently, finally coming to settle on his shoulders. “Mine,” she muttered, presumably still asleep.

Spike’s heart felt like it was about to stop in his chest. Had she meant it, or was she dreaming about something else? There was no way to tell, and realistically, Spike knew that even if she had been thinking about him, she might not even remember the dream when she woke up. Hell, she might not want to.

There was nothing he could do about this new condition—yeah, that’s what he’d call it, a condition—of his ‘till at least morning. He sighed and grumbled before pulling Buffy into his arms and falling into an uneasy sleep.

~*~

It was the sunshine that woke her. Warm, beautiful sunshine that, though it seemed weird in the black-painted room, made Buffy feel warm and happy inside.

The first thing she saw was the rubber ducky sheets. That made her smile. The second thing she saw was the man cradling her in his arms, which made the smile melt into a soft, happy sigh.

It was funny, but she hadn’t pegged Spike as the cuddly type; he seemed to her to be more love ‘em and leave ‘em. But the whole night long, he hadn’t tried anything.

If it was possible for hearts to melt, Buffy’s was going like chocolate in the sun.

She reached out a finger and traced his features. The sun warmed his usually pale skin to the palest golden honey. His features, always so hard and uncompromising when he was awake, had softened. He didn’t look cute, exactly, but he did look vulnerable and almost childlike, lying there.

Buffy grinned suddenly. He may have looked childlike, but he was sporting stiffage that would have put many a man to shame.

She traced his eyebrow, wondering for about the billionth time where he’d gotten that scar. Had it hurt? She hoped not. The thought of Spike hurting made her tummy twist inside.

And therein lies the problem, she thought with a mental grimace. Stupid heart. Stupid body. They’d both teamed up against her brain in an effort to get her to trust Spike. Her body wanted his, even now, and her heart was insisting that he could be trusted. Her affection for him was getting to the point that she found even his dumb habits, like smirking and raising his eyebrows, incredibly endearing.

Jeez. What was her deal, anyway? Half the time she couldn’t stand to look at him, he bugged her so much, and the other half he was driving her up the wall with the need to kiss him. She was starting to think she was insane.

The eyes that she’d been gently tracing around opened and stared at her. Buffy gulped. Good God his eyes are blue. And the expression in them...so soft, so wonderful.

“Thinking ‘bout something, pet?” he asked softly.

She felt herself frown. “Actually, I was thinking maybe I’m insane.” As he started to chuckle, she pushed on his chest a bit and said, “Hey! I’m not kidding. I mean, yesterday I was hating you one minute and then I was kissing you and then we were all cuddly...I went totally schizo yesterday.” She hung her head. “Sorry.”

It was actually kinda hard to hang your head when you were all snuggly with someone. Her forehead ended up resting against his chest. She wasn’t the only one who shivered at that contact.

“’S okay,” he said, his voice wavering ever so slightly. “One thing that’s good ‘bout that is, ‘m never gonna get bored.”

The way he said it—like that was the absolute worst trait in the world to have—and the fact that she knew he was exactly the same way made her giggle, alleviating some of the tension in the room. He laughed along with her. When they began to calm down he said, “Reckon we’d better get up.”

“Hmph.” Buffy pouted. “Comfy.”

Wow, was it just her or did his morning stiffy turn into something a little...stiffer? She fought not to laugh—an urge that was completely quelled when his mouth swooped down upon her own and kissed her urgently.

She gave as good as she got, and when they broke apart, they were both gasping for breath. “What—the—hell?” Buffy managed to get out.

“Don’t pout,” he advised her, reaching round and squeezing her ass. “Makes me all hot and bothered.” He leaned down and kissed her again. This time, she managed to keep enough of her sense to wriggle closer, pressing her soft stomach against his erection. He moaned into the kiss.

“Tch, tch, tch.”

An insidious clicking noise cause them to leap apart. Looking up, Buffy saw Drusilla standing in the previously closed and locked doorway.

“Naughty Spike, sleeping with sunshine. She’ll burn you.”

“Drusilla, what the bleeding hell are you doing in m’ room?” Spike demanded more than a little angrily.

“The sun has come up,” Drusilla replied innocently. “Princess wanted breakfast, but the other won’t give it.” She swayed forward and made it suddenly very obvious that she was wearing nothing but a sheer nightgown. “You can get me breakfast.”

Okay, this was just a little much. Buffy could handle it when she was all insane and slutty. That was okay, because she could handle crazy slutty chicks. But right now, the girl was perfectly sane, and she was still slutty. Worse, she was throwing herself at someone who was definitely not available.

So, accordingly, she sat up, leaned down, and gave Spike a quick, passionate kiss. Before the world had a chance to do the spinny thing, she looked into his eyes, said, “We’ll finish this later, baby,” and stood up to face Drusilla with what she hoped was a scary face.

Drusilla herself looked pretty freaky. She was staring at Spike with narrowed eyes, and Buffy could have sword she was hissing.

Well, Buffy had never been big on the whole common sense thing. She took a step forward, eyeing Drusilla contemptuously.

When she was about two feet away from the girl, she stopped dead and smiled sweetly. “We get our own breakfast here, Dru,” she said in a high, innocent-little-girl voice. “Why don’t you run along and do just that?”

“Ssss. Don’t want food if naughty boy won’t give it to me.” She pouted, looking over at Spike with huge eyes.

Wonderful, now she was going to make with the craziness again. Fine. Buffy could deal with that, too.

“Sorry, Princess, but the naughty boy’s busy being naughty with me. Scoot.” When Drusilla still didn’t move, Buffy snapped her fingers in front of the woman’s eyes.

”Get the hell out of here, you crazy-ass bitch!”

Okay, so she wasn’t exactly good at the whole temper-holding thing.

Drusilla, though, didn’t even blink. “Spike? Don’t make Princess go,” she begged in a quivery voice.

Buffy didn’t even bother looking back at him. He didn’t count (her jealousy-addled brain refused to admit that maybe she was being a little irrational). The only thing that currently counted was getting Drusilla out.

So, accordingly, she planted herself directly in Drusilla’s line of vision—or at least, a little below it. “Leave now,” she ordered, “Or there will be a hole where your brain was.”

She expected a whimper, another plea to Spike, or maybe one of those weird clicks or hisses. What she got weirded her out more than all those things combined would have.

Drusilla just stared at her for a minute before whispering, “The cards aren’t right just yet. The fishes will tell you when they are,” before departing.

Buffy turned back to the bed, feeling perplexed. What was that girl’s deal?

She didn’t get more than halfway around before she was enveloped in a bear hug. “Didn’t want to interfere,” Spike mumbled, kissing the top of her head. “Figured that’d just piss her off more.”

Buffy sighed, allowing herself the luxury of melting into his embrace for a second before stiffening and saying, “Okay, it sucks big-time that I have to do this, but we’d better get dressed.”

He pulled away from her, grimacing, but she knew he agreed. Sighing, he said, “Guess you’re right. What say you take the bathroom, an’ I’ll get dressed out here.”

She rolled her eyes, which of course made him get the offended look on his face. “What was that for?” he asked in a hurt voice.

“You are such a guy,” she told him, smacking his chest. “I’m going to be in that bathroom for at least a half an hour getting all pretty. you’ll just toss your clothes on and that’ll be that.”

“’S worth it, though. You’re beautiful,” he told her softly.

A blush rose in her cheeks and she smiled in pure pleasure. She’d never been called beautiful before—well, not by anyone who counted. Having him look down at her like she really was beautiful...somehow, out of all the stuff that had happened over the past few days, that was one of the most amazing.

“You, too,” she said. When what she’d just reciprocated occurred to her, she covered her mouth. God, could she get any more dumb-blonde-ey? “I mean,” she babbled, “In a gorgeous, manly, sexy kinda way...” she trailed off and made a face. “That was totally lame, wasn’t it?”

“Just a bit,” he said, but he was smiling.

God, I have to be the luckiest betrayed ex-cop with the LAPD on her heels in the world, she thought, staring up at him.

Unfortunately there was no cool world-stoppage like there was in the movies. They had to go get dressed. After staring at each other in the sappiest of ways for a few minutes, Buffy smiled awkwardly. “We really should get dressed.”

“Guess so,” Spike said, sticking his lip out petulantly. Buffy fought the urge to kiss it—his pouting was just as sexy as he apparently thought hers was.

“So. Um. See you out in the kitchen?”

At his smirk and nod, she scurried into the bathroom.

~*~

When Buffy entered the kitchen, people were draped over every article of furniture in the room that was even remotely near the wall. At first she just wondered if they all had a wall fetish or something wiggy like that, but then she saw Drusilla standing in the center of the kitchen, eating cereal. The milk dribbled down her chin in a way that should have looked nuts, but something about her expression turned it into a sexy thing, like a tube top or whatever.

Buffy scowled.

Her scowl lightened only a little when she saw that Xander and Anya were sitting in chair propped in front of the small kitchen table, which had been shoved against the wall. Eating at the table was Spike. Buffy refrained from smiling triumphantly.

At least he get the whole he’s mine and if she touches him she is a dead schizo walking concept, she thought as she walked over to the table, slid into the chair next to him, and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Crazy lady scaring you?”

Spike snorted. “More like makin’ me want to rip her bleedin’ head off,” he growled.

“Which of course is why we’re protecting you like a little baby,” Anya said in a vague voice. She, too, was watching Drusilla like a hawk.

“Spike, I know you decided to keep her here and all, but I don’t like her,” Xander said. “She’s...”

“Clearly insane?” Anya offered. “A raving lunatic, and Spike must be one too since he’s insisting we keep her here? A serious clamp on the whole get-Buffy-and-Spike-to-hook-up plan?”

“Anya!”

“S alright, whelp, ‘d already guessed,” Spike said lazily. “’Sides, we took care of that bit ourselves, didn’t we, pet?”

Buffy just sat there and grinned. That is, until Anya said curiously, “Are you two having many orgasms yet?”

Spike actually choked on the pastry he was eating, and sitting as close to him as she was, Buffy saw his muscles tense. Apparently the thought of them having ‘many orgasms’ was a turn-on. It sure as hell was for her.

It was also majorly embarrassing. “Anya!” she cried, pounding Spike on the back. “There were no orgasms!”

“Judging by the look on the Big Bad’s face, I’m bettin’ he wishes there were.” Faith, leaning against the counter, grinned.

“Whatever.” Buffy rolled her eyes, but her grin had come back. As long as she wasn’t going all boob-shovey with Spike, Faith was okay.

Now Kennedy came over. “Spike, I’m really not liking this Drusilla thing. It blows,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, I’m worried she’s gonna like rip up my Prada bag or something.” Cordelia was the perfect face of worry, despite her shallow words.

A chuckle sounded behind them. “Don’t want your purse.”

Okay, Buffy decided. Drusilla coming over there was kind of inevitable, since they were all gathered there. But still. The girl was freaky in a huge way.

Cordelia just eyed her up and down. “Um, hello, nobody asked you!”

“Don’t have to. Do they, Spike?”

Spike averted his eyes from her.

“Grr. Bad dog. Answer when Mummy tells you.”

The rest of the group was completely still. You know, when you think about it, it’s a little funny that one crazy chick can make everybody so scared.

Drusilla reached out toward Anya, presumably to push her away.

Or not.

“Spike! Your crazy ex is going to touch me! For God’s sake, can’t you just shut her up somewhere or something!” Anya was practically jumping out of her skin. Insanity didn’t agree with her.

“Uh, yeah.” Spike managed to shake himself out of whatever thrall he’d been in. “Dru, come with me. We’re gonna, um, put you in for a nap. ‘k?”

He led her back down the hallway. Fortunately, she was gibbering insanely—she barely seemed to notice when he locked the door on her.

When he came back, Faith’s comment summed up everybody’s feelings: “Damn, that is one fucked-up bitch.”

~*~

A/N: Sorry for the wait, things piled up a little. The whole purse thing of course comes from Fool For Love. When I realized what I’d made Cordy say, I couldn’t resist =) I realize that I say this every time, but thank you thank you thank you for the reviews. Every single one makes me smile—and I’ll respond more now, promise =) Thanks again!

A/N: When it rains, it pours. Here’s the second chapter of the mega-update. I didn’t want to leave you guys with just a filler chapter, so I wrote this one too. Enjoy!

~*~

For more than two weeks, everything was the same. The ‘fucked-up bitch’ stayed, despite pretty much everybody’s strenuous objections. Even Buffy was starting to doubt Spike on that one, but she kept her mouth shut. For now, anyway.

They continued the whole sleeping-in-the-same-bed-with-major-sexual-tension thing. Sometimes—no, make that all the time—Buffy wished that they could just consummate the whatever-it-was relationship.

But when they kissed, when they held each other, she could feel the uncertainty they both still had. For her, it was the uncertainty the resulting from having her whole world knocked sideways. For him...well, she wasn’t sure what it was for him. But he was uncertain, that much she could tell. Maybe he was worried she’d go all insane on him if they slept together. Whatever the reason, for now, they were celibate.

Celibate but not strangers. Now that she was in on what Jenkins, Inc. was really for, she was becoming real friends with everyone there, including Spike. Of course, her stomach did the weird flippy thing when she was anywhere from a hundred yards to a few feet away from him, but if she ignored that and the burning desire to kiss him, they could actually have a decent conversation. And Buffy liked that.

Everyone still slept, ate, and did everything short of make love with their weapons. Rayne hadn’t moved against them yet, but everyone was adamant that he would soon. Buffy was again doubtful, since they hadn’t even had a drug bust since she’d ‘crossed over’ (Xander’s Star Wars talk), but everyone else seemed positive that Rayne was going to attack soon.

So, despite the nervous tension that Buffy felt waiting for Rayne to attack, plus also the, um, sexual tension between her and Spike, for awhile, things were almost quiet.

Really. She should have known it wouldn’t last.

It was almost exactly three weeks after she’d learned the truth about the LAPD. It was late afternoon and Drusilla was, as usual, weirding everyone out. Some of them had only just awakened, since most of their work was done during the night. Dawn was due to come around some time later, probably around ten. Buffy was bored to death.

She found Spike in his room—his closet, to be exact. When she opened the door and saw him crouching there in the dark, she just about peed her pants, she was laughing so hard.

“Spike, what the hell are you doing?”

He looked at her with a look she could only describe as deep disgust. “What the sodding hell does it look like?”

Well, actually, it looked like...a grin grew on her face. “You’re hiding from Drusilla, aren’t you?”

“Buffy, don’t—“

“The Big Bad is hiding!” she crowed, and he buried his face in his hands. “Spike the big, bad street fighter is hiding from his ex!”

“M’ completely insane ex!” he pointed out, but his voice was muffled because his head was in his arms.

“Right,” Buffy teased, but after that she let the subject drop. She’d managed to make with the prying and get some info about Drusilla out of Anya, and what she learned made her feel really sorry for Spike. He’d been deeply in love with her. Having her here, now, couldn’t be easy.

“Listen,” she began, “You may not have noticed since you’ve been all hermit-ey, but it’s a really nice day and since Dawn’s not coming by till later, I thought maybe you might want to go on a walk?” Her voice ended about an octave higher than it usually did, mostly because she was terrified he’d think she was nuts. They’d become friends, but they’d never really done anything couple-ey. Well, except for sleeping together.

He stared at her, his eyebrow cocked curiously. “You coming on to me, Summers?” When her blush just deepened, he grinned and said, “’M surprised, but sure, ‘d love to. Gimme a minute and ‘ll be ready to go.”

“Great.” Buffy stepped aside to let him out of the closet and said, “Oh, by the way, I’ve decided to stop carrying around three pistols. I mean, nothing has happened, and doesn’t three seem kind of excessive to you?”

The look he gave her would have stopped a bull in its tracks. “No.”

Just that one word, but something told her she’d be really sorry if she didn’t obey. “Oh, okay,” she said in a small voice. “Sorry. I was just asking.”

He melted immediately. “’S a’right, jus’ don’t do it again,” he advised. “Look, baby, the lap-dancers are dangerous, an’ it’s you they’re really after.” He wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. “Can’t lose you, luv.”

“Um. Right.” Her face was even brighter red than it had been a few minutes ago. “See you in a few, then?” she asked, quickly extricating herself from his grasp and practically ran for the door.

She heard him sigh. “Yeah. See you.”

*

Spike watched her go with what he knew was a petulant expression on his face.

Well, dammit, he had every right to put. Bloody bint was testing his patience past its limits. Every single sodding day, it was the same thing. He lusted after her so much he was starting to believe that he’d die if it wasn’t fulfilled.

But he couldn’t seduce her. Not yet. Hell, he was only just starting to become friends with her. Now, granted, he liked what he was gettin’ to know, but still. Seducing her right now just wouldn’t be fair.

Plus, there was the fact that the whole damn LAPD wanted her ass just as much as he did, only for different reasons.

Still, even though he reprimanded himself every day, even though he told himself that it wasn’t time to seduce her just yet, he still wanted to. God, how he wanted to.

His jeans, he decided as he exited the room, were entirely too tight. He ought to look into a new look. Maybe khaki?

He voiced the thought to Buffy as they walked through one of the many Sunnydale cemeteries a few minutes later. Funny thing about Sunnydale—dozens of cemeteries and no parks.

“Khaki?” Her voice expressed true horror. “Spike, why in the world would you want to wear khaki? You’d look like...” she paused for a moment, wrinkling up her nose in a way Spike found incredibly cute. “Xander,” she finished, her tone indicating that this was a very bad thing.

“Hey! I wouldn’t look anythin’ like the whelp!” Spike protested, though he was secretly pleased that she liked his look better than said whelp’s—and not just for his sake. If Anya thought Buffy was moving in on her man, well, if he didn’t kill her first, Anya certainly would.

“If you wore khaki, you guys would look like brothers,” she told him seriously.

“Would not! Hey, luv,” and he began to smirk; this would definitely get to her, “Like the top you’ve got on.” She was wearing a pink tank top that he really would’ve liked to wriggle her out of. “You ought to wear pink a bit more. Makes you look like Harmony’s twin.”

As he’d predicted, her eyes bugged out in pure fury. “What?” she screeched. “I look nothing like that skank!”

“True,” he said thoughtfully. “Your breasts aren’t quite as—bloody hell!” Pain, not severe but certainly noticeable, shot through him when she punched his stomach.

“You shouldn’t insult girls with police training,” Buffy said, smirking.


”So I feel,” he shot back, wincing. “Still don’t see how you can punch that hard. ‘S not normal. You’re not normal.”

“Oh, shut up, you big baby.”

He growled, and Buffy stuck out her tongue at him—an action that made him growl for an entirely different reason. Seeing her pink, wiggly little tongue had made him harden immediately. “Best watch it, Goldilocks, or ‘ll ravish you on a tombstone.”

Her eyes lit up. “Ooh, would you really?”

The image was just a little too pleasing. He found himself wishing he hadn’t thought of it, much less voiced the thought. “Um—prob’ly not.”

“Not even if I was really, really convincing?” Buffy edged toward him and put her hand on his chest, staring up into his eyes in such a seductive manner that pulling back made him feel like an absolute pillock. “Not right now, Summers. Got work to do, remember?”

“OK, the point of the whole walk thing wasn’t so you could work.”

“I work all the time. ‘S my job,” he explained. “We could find runaways anywhere.”

She gave him a look that said she thought he’d lost his mind. “In the cemetery? Are you nuts?”

“Well, yeah,” he replied, grinning, “But that’s not the point. ‘F course we’d find ‘em in the cemetery. No better place to look.” She was still giving him the look that said she was convinced he was crazy. “Well, it is,” he defended himself. “Crypts make great shelters.”

“Oh, of course. Of course a kid would want to sleep where they keep the dead bodies. However did I overlook that?” she asked teasingly.

Spike was a tad bit annoyed. He was willing to joke ‘bout plenty of things, but this wasn’t one of them. To him, his work was dead serious. “Most ‘f ‘em don’t have a choice,” he told her quietly.

She stared up at him for a moment, those wonderful green eyes of hers shocked and contrite. After a moment she said, “I...didn’t think of that. Sorry.”

“’S—“ he began, but before he had a chance to finish with ‘okay’, three very large objects leapt out of the bushes and onto him and Buffy.

“Buffy!” he yelled, trying to stand up and come to her side. The two burly who’d knocked him down had other ideas, which they expressed by dealing Spike a strong punch to the nose. His blood began flowing freely.

Distantly he heard Buffy yell his name, but now all his attention was focused on the man in front of him. “You’re gonna die for that, you sonofabitch,” he growled, and launched himself at the man who’d hit him. Punch, kick, hit, get knocked down, repeat. It was something he’d done a million times, but this time it was just a bit different.

Though he was fighting frantically, his attention wasn’t on his own safety; it was on Buffy’s. Every blow he dealt was powerful, because he had to get to Buffy’s side. Every time he got knocked down it was ten times more bitter because he wasn’t helping her.

“Lemme guess,” he panted, landing a blow on one man’s right eye, “Friends of the LAPD?”

“Part of,” the man replied smugly. “And soon, you’re going down.” He leapt at the man, only to have Spike knock him out with the barrel of his gun.

“Right,” Spike said sarcastically, and delivered a blow to the other man’s temple that was so powerful he was knocked out.

At that moment, several things happened. Spike turned to rush to his girl’s aid, but even as he turned to go, another figure jumped out of the bushes and onto the back of the man she was contending with. Within seconds he was down.

Spike watched Buffy’s eyes widen till they were almost frighteningly huge—which scared him. Buffy wasn’t the sort of bird who was intimidated easily. “Riley?”

Spike swore. Riley. Her ponce of an ex who’d been threatening to rape her, or so she’d told him. Looked like he’d still need to help her.

“Buffy,” Riley said. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Look, it’s about Rayne, he’s—“

“Shut it, Riley,” Buffy said, her voice icy. “I don’t wanna here it.”

“But, Buffy—“

“I believe the lady said to shut her mouth,” Spike said, coming over to Buffy’s side and wrapping his arms around her waist reassuringly.

Riley scowled at him. “Who the hell are you?”

Yeah, he really didn’t like this guy. “That’s for me to know, an’ you to shut the hell up about,” he said, glaring at the man in as menacing a way as he could.

“Sorry, but I’ve got to talk to Buffy,” he said, before turning back to her. “Listen, Rayne’s insane. I’ve cut ties with him and I need to—“

Buffy gave an incredulous laugh. “That’s the best you idiots can do? What the hell do you think I am, the weak link of Jenkins’?”

“Buffy! It’s true!”

Spike studied the man. He guessed that maybe, if you were as dumb as a doornail, you might think he was telling the truth. Problem was, the man had that corn-fed look to him. Blokes like that were as transparent as glass. “Sorry, Captain Cardboard, but I find the whole ‘I’ve reformed’ bit hard to swallow. When Rayne’s ready to send the big boys, we’ll be waiting. Till then, sod off.”

“Buffy, please,” Riley pleaded, ignoring Spike, “You have to believe me!”

She darted a glance at him and then Spike. Spike just cocked an eyebrow at her, knowing what she was going to say. There was no way on God’s green and verdant earth that she could believe that wanker.

She didn’t. “You heard him, Riley. Leave.”

“But—“

A gun was suddenly pressed to his temple. “Get the hell out of here now, Finn,” Spike ordered in a low, deadly voice.

Riley gave him a look that could only be described as murderous and ran off.

Buffy turned to him. “I was handling it, you know.”

“Bollocks,” Spike shot back. “He was handling you.”

“Okay, that too,” she admitted. He almost choked when she leaned into him and whispered, “Spike?”

“Uh, yeah?” How in hell was he supposed to think with her this—bugger.

She stood up on her tiptoes, pulled his head down, and kissed him. And it wasn’t a gentle, thank-you kiss, either. It was a full-on, lip-to-tongue, I-want-you-now kiss—and all of Spike responded.

By the time they broke away he was so hard his pants were straining. “Bloody—“ he managed to gasp, before pulling her into his arms and kissing her again, this time even more deeply.

She threw her head back, moaning in a way that drove him insane, when he left her mouth and started nuzzling her neck, planting lazy kisses all over it. He pulled her up a bit with his hands, squeezing her ass in the process, before leaving one hand to support her and using the other to tease her fabric-clad nipples into hardness. He grinned against her neck when she gasped out his name.

His grin disappeared when she ground herself against his erection.

His body turned into a flame—he could have sworn he was turning into ashes, he needed her that much.

It was she who finally restored sanity to the situation. Seconds before they completely lost it right there in the park, she pulled away and gasped, “Spike. Home. Now.”

Spike would have smiled at seeing her go all BC on him, but he was too consumed by need to notice her usual endearing traits. All he could think was that he needed to be inside her right then.

“We can do it here,” he murmured, and tried to return to her neck. “You got protection?”

“Yes, pill, but—Spike—ahhh!—no,” she panted. “We can’t...we have to...it’s daylight,” she whimpered. “What if someone sees?”

That gave him pause. She had a point. Plus, dirty jokes aside, he didn’t particularly want their first time to be in a graveyard. “Right, then. Let’s get home,” he said, putting her on her feet. Before she had a chance to start walking, he grabbed her and kissed the breath out of her. “But once we get there, we’re goin’ back to where we left off,” he whispered huskily. “Got it?”

Buffy nodded, her eyes intent on his. “A world of yes.”

*

They practically ran home. Anticipation, mixed with incredible need and yearning, was smoldering between them. Buffy was quickly learning that when it came to motivation, nothing could top pure, unadulterated lust.

Lust that she’d initiated. She wasn’t sure if she was doing the right thing. Actually, she knew she probably wasn’t. Her brain was screaming at her to pull out before it was too late, but she didn’t want to pull out.

When she’d been fighting that man, she’d realized something. She could die any day. Rayne wanted to kill her, and the odds were that he might succeed. If she ever wanted to make with the—well, love-making with Spike, then she figured she’d better do it soon.

And hey, there was no time like the present, right?

Though she was incredibly worried about the whole Riley thing. That was big-time weird. She couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he was telling the truth, even though her intuition said he wasn’t. Riley was a lying bastard; she knew that. But what if...?

All thoughts vanished from her head once they reached the front door. As he unlocked it, Spike’s mouth once again descended on hers.

Whether by chance or design, the apartment was completely empty. They stumbled toward the bedroom, lips interlocked, hands trying and failing to neatly remove clothing. By the time they reached the bedroom, both were sans shirt and Spike was working on Buffy’s jeans.

They entered the room and Spike threw her down on the bed, locking the door. “Clothes off,” he growled at Buffy.

She grinned and obeyed, watching him greedily as he bared his body to her. When he finally discarded his jeans, he took a step towards her—and both stopped dead.

This was the first time they’d seen each other naked, and both were astounded.

Only one lamp, a red lava lamp that was always on, illuminated them. Buffy was practically salivating at Spike’s smooth, pale skin, bathed in crimson light. His wonderful face, the face she’d admired oh, so many times. Strong arms and legs that could cage her in, making her feeling threatened and safe at the same time. A wonderful chest, hard and smooth yet oh, so soft. And a rather large-looking cock that was currently jutting out at her.

Knowing that his arousal was for her, that he wanted her and no one else, made a whirlwind of emotions rise in her. Pride that it was she who could incite such passion in this beautiful man. Fear because she had that power. Wonder that something so perfect was about to be hers. And another emotion, more elusive yet more powerful than any of the others, that chased about the corners of her mind, making itself known a little more strongly than those times when he held her in his arms. An emotion that could grant eternal happiness, or crush her completely. And right now, that emotion was washing over her like a tidal wave.

Buffy gulped.

*

Spike saw the gulp, and he could have sworn at that moment that he’d never seen anything so beautiful. Of course, she could have done anything and he’d have sworn he’d never seen anything so beautiful, because the truth was, there was nothing more beautiful than the woman who lay on the bed before him.

Her face was hesitant and uncertain, yet at the same time completely resolute. Her eyes seemed to glitter at him, daring him, begging him, to make love to her.

Her soft curves were made sultry and mysterious by the red lights. Her breasts, small and pert, seemed to beckon to him. He ached to kiss them, touch them, worship them in the manner that they deserved—and he would. But right now, he just wanted to look.

Her cunt was covered by soft brown curls, currently glistening with evidence of her desire. Even as he gazed at her, she began to wiggle uncomfortably. “Am I—is something wrong?”

Her voice broke the spell on him. Feeling overwhelmed with something akin to both possessiveness and desire, something that was both and neither and so much more, he stepped towards the bed. Looking deep into her eyes, he placed his hands on her knees. “Nothing is wrong,” he told her sincerely. “You’re the most beautiful thing ‘ve ever seen.” He leaned down and kissed her, very softly, right above her clit.

“Perfect.” Now he kissed right below her clit.

“Absolutely gorgeous.” He planted a wet, open-mouthed kiss on her opening. After that, neither of them had the breath to speak.

He kissed her, rubbing his nose in her juices and brushing her clit with his tongue, delighting in her little squeals and moans. She gripped his arms, then his head, frantically, brushing her fingers over his cheekbones. God, could this get any more wonderful?

He got his answer when he inserted his tongue inside her and she screamed in climax. As her juices flowed with new abandon, he got his answer: yes. It could get a hell of a lot more wonderful.

When she began to float back down from her orgasm-induced high, he moved up her body. He had a raging hard-on, which was no surprise, given that he’d been eating her out as she ran her fingers over him. He paused at her breasts to kiss them, to swirl his tongue over her nipples just a little before reaching her face.

She yanked him in for a kiss, not seeming to care—or perhaps liking?—the fact that her arousal was still in his mouth. He poised himself at her entrance and looking into her eyes. “Buffy, my love,” he said, brushing her cheek with a finger, “You’re sure you want this?”

*

Good question. She could only stare up at him, marveling at his words. Buffy, my love. Could she hope that maybe, just maybe, these emotions that held her in their thrall were returned by him? Was it possible that he loved her, too?

“Yes,” she whispered. It was both an answer to his question and an answer to her own. Just looking into his eyes, she could see the love that shone there, the same love that she knew radiated from her.

He slowly began to push into her, and she gasped. How could anything feel so perfect? He was hard and silky at the same time, he stretched her to her very limit, and somehow, he wasn’t just entering her body. Even as she felt her body welcome her in, her soul opened up and accepted this man, her former enemy. It was right, it was perfect.

It was Spike.

*

He didn’t know what had come over him. Just eating her pussy had made him ready to come right then and there.

As he entered her, as he began to move against her, suddenly he knew:

This was bliss.

Buffy, warm and tight around him, was bliss. Buffy, gasping and writhing and convulsing around his cock, was bliss. Pure, utter bliss was holding her in his arms as she came.

It was him, it was her, and it was pure perfection. “God, Buffy,” he gasped, leaning over and kissing her on the nose as they moved together, “So—wonderful. Love you—so much—“

*

The words didn’t even register to her just then. She was too lost in the myriad of emotions that he was creating in her.

But some part of her heard his words and took them into a heart that had been both crushed and repaired by the very man who now moved inside her body. Somewhere in her mind, she heard his confession, and she took it into her soul.

When she reached the final peak, when everything he had been making her feel came to a head and clashed in an explosion of fire and light, all she could do was scream. As she began to float down, as he kissed her fervently, shot his seed inside of her, and collapsed on top of her, she met his eyes and whispered:

“I love you, too.”

She knew it was true. Maybe it always had been, but now that both had said it, there was no going back.

An expression of fierce tenderness came over his face, an expression she knew was mirrored on her own. “Buffy...” Spike trailed off, then rolled onto his side, taking her with him, and kissed her softly on the lips. “My Buffy,” he finished in a fierce whisper, clutching her tightly.

“My Spike,” she replied, pillowing her head against his chest and sighing in contentment.

She saw something out of the corner of her eyes. Suddenly, in the midst of all the strong emotion and confessions, she giggled.

“Somethin’ funny?”

“We just made love on rubber ducky sheets,” she giggled. The giggle turned into an outright laugh when she saw the tender, disgruntled look on his face.

They fell asleep in each other’s arms.

~*~

A/N: Um...um. Don’t really know what to say about that last bit, except, well, they fell asleep happy, think they’re gonna wake up that way? =) Thanks again for the reviews. I love hearing what people think about my writing, and even though I’m repeating myself and it’s beyond lame, THANK YOU!!!!!!!!! is really all I can say. You guys rock!

Buffy woke in the middle of the night. As soon as she returned to consciousness and her memory supplied images of the previous evening, a beatific smile took over her face.

She snuggled into Spike, reveling in her memories: what he’d said, what he’d done, how wonderful it had all been... Hot embarrassment colored her cheeks when she realized that everyone in the apartment probably knew what had happened. The embarrassment left her, though, when she gazed at the man lying next to her.

He loves me, she thought, and for a second the traditional bells and hallelujah chorus thing went on inside her head. We made love, and he...loves...me. She didn’t think she could ever get used to that thought. She didn’t want to.

She sighed and stroked his cheek. He’d always tempted her most when he was asleep—he was so soft, so gentle...

Her stomach growled, and she made a face. She’d been having a moment there, looking at adorable cuddly Spike.

Unfortunately, she was really hungry.

She kissed his lips gently, careful not to wake him, and slid out of bed, covering her nakedness with his t-shirt and her discarded jeans, her gun in her left pocket. The moonlight hit against the blinds, just barely illuminating the room. Even as she walked to the door, her lover caught her eye. In the light, his skin seemed to glow. She smiled fondly. “Be back soon,” she whispered, even though she knew he couldn’t here her.

She opened the door and crept out to the kitchen. All those years of training were again coming in handy; as she moved down the hall, she was completely silent.

Bodies were draped all over the living room. Anya and Xander were cuddled together; Buffy smiled when she heard Xander snoring. Kennedy and Willow were all curled up...when the hell is Willow going to both telling everyone she’s gay? Cordelia was lying curled up in a chair, snoring slightly. She could see the glint of metal that came from the weapons everyone kept close.

It was a typical night at the headquarters of Jenkins’, Inc.

She opened up the refrigerator and rifled through it. They all ate out most of the time, but she and Spike made sure things stayed stocked up. And if she was remembering right, there should be some super-yummy chocolate cake right about...here. She grinned and took the plastic container out, shutting the refrigerator door. Grabbing a fork, she started in on the one piece still in the box.

Mmmm, chocolately goodness, she thought, closing her eyes in pure bliss. Chocolate and sex, two things every woman needed. She smiled happily. Now, she had both.

Soft footsteps sounded behind her. She whirled around, mouth filled with cake. She probably looked completely ridiculous, but when she saw who stood at the entry to the kitchen, how she looked ceased to matter.

“Naughty, naughty sunshine, covered in my Spike,” Drusilla cooed, coming closer, her eyes fixed on the t-shirt Buffy wore.

Buffy cursed herself. God, could I get any more stupid? Of course she’ll go crazier if she sees me in Spike’s clothes!

She opted for an ingratiating smile. Ingratiating was good, right? Maybe she could calm Drusilla down. “Sorry, I didn’t realize anyone else was awake. Did I make too much noise?”

Drusilla cocked her head. “I could hear you screaming,” she said dreamily. “And the stars screamed, too. My Spike, all burnt by the sunshine...my Spike...” she trailed off.

OK, Buffy was starting to fell a little less ingratiating-ey and a little more fight-ey, hearing her endearment for Spike being spoken by this loony bin. She took a step forward. “Listen, Drusilla, you need to get to bed.”

Suddenly Drusilla’s eyes focused on Buffy. The hate in them almost made her gasp. “You’ll kill him,” Drusilla breathed. She took a step forward. Something in the back of Buffy’s mind warned her that she ought to move, but she couldn’t seem to make her feet work.

“You’ll smother him in the light.”

“Okay, listen, you’re not really being very—“

A knife suddenly appeared, clenched in her right hand. “Kill the sunshine and Mummy shall be happy,” she hissed. “That’s what the King of Cups told me.” She grabbed Buffy by the arm and plunged the knife down towards her shoulder.

She grabbed Drusilla’s arm and twisted it, causing the knife to fall to the floor. The clatter woke Xander, who launched up, saying, “I swear I didn’t do it! It was all Pooh’s fault!”

And somehow, in the midst of knife-stabbage, Buffy found herself snorting with laughter.

Laughter that was quickly cut off when Drusilla jumped her. She squirmed underneath the taller girl, punching whatever surface was available, not really caring that as a former police officer she way outclassed Drusilla in terms of fighting. Bitch tried to kill me, I’m gonna do as much damage as is humanly possible. Still, she held back a bit. She didn’t like hurting people.

She punched Drusilla and threw her off, leaping to her feet and yelling, “Xander! A little help he—ow!” She turned back to Drusilla, who’d grabbed the knife once again and raked it across Buffy’s cheek. It was a glancing blow, but still, it burned like fire.

She spun and kicked Drusilla, maneuvering as best as she could in the small kitchen. She should have known that girl was a psycho killer. Actually, she had known—Spike just hadn’t listened.

Xander ran into the kitchen, followed by all the others, but for some reason he didn’t try to help her. No one did. Buffy would have liked to ask them why, but she was too busy. her adversary didn’t seem near ready to give up just yet.

Drusilla pounced, waving the knife about crazily, trying to get another stab in. The knife again grazed her, only this time it was her shoulder, and it really hurt. Buffy hissed in pain and her face hardened with resolve. She’d had enough. Screw not trying to hurt Spike’s ex.

She drew back her fist and punched the girl right in the eye. The force of her blow sent Drusilla careening backwards, knife flailing about. The watching crowd scattered.

“Spike! Spike!” Drusilla wailed, apparently unaware that Spike wasn’t there, “The naughty sunshine hurt Princess!”

“Damn straight, and the naughty sunshine’s a bit annoyed now,” Buffy snapped. Stepping forward, she snatched the knife out of Drusilla’s hands and grabbed a handful of dark hair. “So fuck off.”

Her fist slammed once, twice, thrice into Drusilla’s face before the girl finally passed out. Buffy sighed and dropped her now blood-flecked fist, looking down at Drusilla. It hurt, seeing her lying there and knowing that she had been the cause of all Dru’s pain, but at the same time, she couldn’t be too terribly sorry. The knife was evidence enough that Drusilla had been out for blood.

“Well, that was—“ she turned around and halted when she saw Spike standing only a few feet away from her, looking livid.

Aw, he was being all protective. It was so sweet. Buffy smiled a bit. “It’s okay,” she told him. “I knocked her out.”

But he wasn’t looking at her. In fact, he strode right by her, straight to Drusilla’s side. “What the bloody hell did you do to her?”

Buffy stared at him. She glanced over at Willow, but the redhead just shrugged. What was wrong with everybody? “What do you mean, what did I do to her? She tried to kill me. I defended myself.”

He looked at her coldly, turning Drusilla’s head from side to side. “This was a vicious beating, Buffy, not defense. What—the—hell—did—you do to her?”

Her mind barely registered the last bit. She was fixated on the whole vicious beating thing. “It was not vicious. She came at me with a knife!” She pointed to the wounds on her shoulder and cheek. “Or are you just not seeing that?” she spat. She couldn’t believe this. They’d made love only hours before, and now he was treating his ex better than her. “Spike, what is your problem?”

“She’s helpless, you silly bint,” he snapped. “And you hurt her bad, maybe injured her for life. You could have just taken the knife away!”

“Taken the knife away? Buffy repeated, fury rising. “Taken the knife away? Are you insane? You wanted me to risk my life so Little Miss Insane-o could stay in one piece?”

Spike picked Drusilla up. His face was cold, empty—completely devoid of the emotion she’d seen there earlier. “In a word, yeah.”

“I don’t believe this!” Now she was screeching. “Do you care that little about me? What, was tonight some quick fuck?”

He winced at that, but his face stayed closed in. “Sorry, luv, but ‘ve got better things to do than moon over you. I got what I wanted, and ‘ve moved on.”

Tears filled her eyes as she watched him gently lay Drusilla on the counter and put ice on her face. Moved on, or gone back? She wished she could say it out loud, but all she could force out was, “Spike...please?” She wasn’t even sure what she was asking for.

“Buffy, for God’s sake, don’t start blubberin'. ‘m busy. Either help me fix the mess you made, or leave.”

Buffy stared at him, eyes wide, tears streaming down her face. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. “Spike. You told me...you said...”

“That I loved you?” Spike smirked. “Damn, you’re a naive li'l chit.”

Buffy whirled around, expecting to see angry faces—but all she saw was what looked like masks. Cordelia, Kennedy, Tara, Willow, Faith, Xander, and Anya were all stony-faced and impassive.

“Cordy—“ she began, but the tall brunette cut her off.

“Oh my God, Buffy, don’t even start,” she said. “You sleep with a guy, he tells you he loves you, and you actually believe him? God, how I ever put up with you for all these weeks...you’re like the annoying little kid in the Welch’s commercial.”

Now her lips was trembling. She was thisclose to out-and-out bawling. “Xan—Xander?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Buffy, stop being such a baby,” Kennedy snapped. “You’re out, okay? Get over it and leave.”

She stared at them, at their wooden faces, at the malicious glint she swore she detected in Drusilla’s now-open eyes...at the empty, cold expression on her love’s face. She gazed into his eyes, trying to read them, to tell what was really going on. This couldn’t actually be happening...could it? “Spike?” she whispered pleadingly.

For a second—just a second—she saw something in the blue depths of his eyes. A flash of some sort of emotion—regret? Sadness? Pain? She couldn’t tell. But it was gone as quickly as it had come, to be replaced by the worst nonemotion of all: apathy.

“Jus’ leave,” he ordered her flatly. “’m not interested in listening to a little girl’s whining. Get out.”

There was that phrase again. Get out. They’d all said it to her...

Maybe they all really meant it.

Once again she felt her entire world come crashing down. Pain filled her, pain and loss and betrayal—again. Only this time it was worse, because these were people she loved. The only friends she’d ever had, the only man she’d ever loved, and they were against her. Every single one of them was against her.

Fine. Her grief-filled brain could formulate one thought. If they were against her, then she was against them, too. Her face turned as cold and empty as theirs as she put her emotions on lockdown. “I don’t know what you guys’ problem is, but I’ll find it out. And then—“ she strode over to the door, ignoring her cuts, and put on her jacket. Placing her hand on the doorknob, she turned back to face them and vowed:

“And then I’ll destroy you.”

She walked out, slamming the door behind her.

The night was cold, but she didn’t feel it. She couldn’t really feel anything. Everything seemed frozen, as though that last betrayal had numbed her emotions permanently.

As she turned into a cemetery, her only thought was peace. She needed a place to stay—Spike had told her that sometimes, runaways slept in crypts. She wasn’t a runaway, but she was homeless.

Homeless. The word reverberated through her skull. They don’t care about me, Spike doesn’t love me, and now I’m homeless. Homeless. She repeated the word over and over again, trying to give it some meaning, trying to come up with anger or hate or any feeling over what had just happened, but she couldn’t.

She was empty.

And the worst part about it, she mused as she searched the cemetery for somewhere to sleep, was that she could almost feel her heart breaking, yet it caused no pain. She knew it would some time, though. It had to.

She had lost the man she loved. That was something she’d never recover from.

“Buffy?”

She whirled around, hand immediately going to the gun in her holster. As soon as she saw who it was, she pulled it out. “Get away,” she ordered in a quavering voice.

“Buffy, wait. I just want to know what happened to you. You’re bloody.” Riley took a step forward, reaching out as though to touch her cheek. Buffy’s grip on the gun tightened.

“I told you not to move!” He was only about ten feet away. If she shot him, she could kill him.

Riley’s face showed confusion. He was a good actor. “I thought I’d told you. I’ve broken ties with Rayne.”

“Yeah, you told me,” she snapped. “I just made with the not-believing. Who sent you, Rayne or Spike?” She spat the last name out like it was poison.

“Spike?” Riley sounded bewildered. “What does Spike have to do with...oh my God, Buffy, did he hurt you?”

“What? Oh.” She suddenly remembered that she was bleeding from two different cuts. “No. He didn’t hurt me.”

‘Then who did?” Riley again took a step forward, and this time, Buffy didn’t try to stop him.

“Drusilla.” Now her voice was leaden. Every word she spoke was numbing her further.

“The crazy girl? Rayne let her loose?”

“I don’t know. All I know is, the bitch came at me with a knife and no one c-cared,” she said, fighting to keep the tears at bay. Numb. She was numb. She couldn’t feel...

Riley reached out and brushed her chin, tilting it up so she was looking him in the eye. “Look, Buffy, I know you don’t trust me, and I know that I don’t deserve to be trusted. But you’re hurt and alone, and I swear to God, if you just come with me I’ll get you cleaned up and no one will touch you. Not Rayne and not Spike. I’m finished with them, Buffy. I’m starting a new life.” He gave her a peppy-looking smile. Any other time she would have decked him for it, since stuff like that was way annoying to her. Now, she just stared at him as he asked, “Would you like to start a new life, too.”

A new life. A life without pain, without intrigue, without betrayal or sorrow. A life where she could trust what people told her.

A life without Spike?

Something inside of her screamed in agony, but she forced a smile on her face. “I’d love to.”

“Excellent!” Riley’s smile widened. “This way, then.” They walked over to his car, got in, and drove off.

Though tears were running down her cheeks, Buffy refused to look back. Spike had been her past. Wherever Riley was taking her, that was her future. She wasn’t sure if she trusted Riley or not, but she knew she couldn’t trust Spike.

As they left Sunnydale, one thought was in her head: Goodbye.

~*~

A/N: Hey, that’s an awfully pointy stick. *peers at huge pointy stick mob member is carrying* What’s it for? OW! *leaps up into the air* OWWWW! PLEASE DON’T KILL ME, PLEASE!!! NOOOOOOOOOO! lol =) Sorry about the horrible stuff in this chapter, I promise there’s a reason for it. And don’t worry: this story does have a happy ending. As for the reviews, well, all I can say is thank you—again. It’s incredibly touching, knowing that people like my story enough to pause and tell me about it. I read every single one, grin at all of them, and every time a new one comes in it motivates me to write just a little more. So, THANK YOU!!!! You guys kick monkey-ninja ass =)

As soon as the door slammed, Spike turned back around to the group. “Okay, guys, we’ve got a sweep to do, and now that that—bitch is gone, we won’t be loaded down. Let’s get moving.” He quickly brought Dru back to her room, laid her down tenderly, and exited the apartment. The others followed.

Everyone in the room swiftly and silently gathered their things. One by one, they slipped out of the door, walked down the stairs, and into the alley next to their building.

Spike watched his colleagues assemble. The soft, sickly glow of a streetlamp illuminated their faces. They all looked sad.

When everyone was there, he said, “You think she bought it?”

“I think she bought it a little too well,” the whelp said, frowning at the closed door. “Did you see her? I don’t think the Buffster’s ever been that upset.”

“Yes, you were very cruel to her,” Anya said flatly. “Especially after you two enjoyed many orgasms earlier tonight.”

Spike groaned, burying his head in his hands. “Bloody hell.” It had hurt so much, seein’ his girl stare at him with betrayal in her eyes—again. Forcing cruel words to come out of his mouth, watching as each statement made her crumble just a little bit more, had damn near broken his heart.

“You know it had to be done, Anya.”

“Yeah, but...poor Buffy,” Red said, frowning. “I think she really believed us.”

Spike frowned. Buffy’s emotional state was probably even more fragile than it had been before he’d spilled his soul out to her. But his girl was strong—she’d survive.

“What if she thinks we’re all against her? What are we going to do then? I mean, as it is, once we let her in on the whole security cameras thing she’s so going to hit the roof,” Cordelia pointed out.

“The fashion bitch is right,” Faith said. “B’s smart, but just a little tightly wound. She’s not gonna just forgive you for that stunt you pulled.”

Spike knew she was right, but dammit...”’S not like I had a choice! Bastard put cameras in every room in the bleeding house!”

“Who?” A new voice asked. “Rayne?”

Spike shook his head. “Riley, Bit,” he told Dawn. The girl came and sat next to him on the wooden crate he occupied. “Sodding ponce had the house wired. I had to convince Buffy we all hated her.”

Dawn winced. “Ouch.”

“Quite right,” Anya told her. “Especially since earlier that night Spike and Buffy were trading orgasms.”

Spike glanced at Dawn. The teen had an absolutely huge grin on her face. He barely restrained a groan—he knew what that smile meant.

“Aieeeeee!” Dawn shrieked, bouncing up and down so hard that the crate’s wood creaked. “You guys did it! Omigod, I so knew this was coming! Oh, it’s so cute!”

“Or it would be, ‘f Buffy didn’t currently think I hate her,” Spike reminded her.

He winced as her face fell. “Oh. Why the hell did you do that?” She fixed him with an accusing look.

He shifted uncomfortably. Bugger it all, the Bit was like his conscious, only more annoying.

Now she was archin’ an eyebrow. “Explain now, Spike.”

He glared at her. “You remind me of m’ old schoolmarm, you know that?”

“Spike...”

Warning, I’m-gonna-beat-you-bloody tone included. “A’right, a’right,” he snapped, “Gimme a minute.” He sighed, ran his hand through his hair, and began:

“Got a phone call from Red in the middle of the night. Told me the ponce’d set up cameras in all our rooms, includin’ the bedroom. She was out on the fire escape. Told me Riley was still with Rayne an’ was lookin’ to either recruit Buffy back or kill her. Only way he could get her back would be ‘f we turned her away—an’ since he was watchin’ the house, he’d know ‘f it was just a charade. Everybody else already knew, Red’d told ‘em earlier, when they were out.

“So when Dru tried to kill ‘er, I took the opportunity an’ made her hate us all. Now she’s wanderin’ around somewhere.”

Dawn’s eyes were wide. She heard crazy things every day—the place she worked at wasn’t exactly known for its pristine clientele—but this pretty much took the cake. “Okay, what happened to just killing Riley?”

Spike shook his head. “No can do,” he told her regretfully. “Woulda thought you knew even before we did—Rayne’s movin’ in. He’s got half the lap-dancers shacked up in Sunnyhell right now.”

“Oh my God,” Dawn said softly. “Really not good.”

Spike nodded. “The only way to be able to keep fighting was to get Buffy out, an’ it had to look convincin’. There was no way to tell her. She doesn’t have a cell phone, an’ it’d look way more suspicious ‘f she got a call in the middle of the night than ‘f I got one.”

“So you pushed her away.” Dawn shook her head. “That sucks big-time. What are you going to do now?”

“Good question,” Faith said. “We gonna try to get B back?”

He wished to God that he could answer yes, but he knew he couldn’t. The second Red had told him Riley had gone mad scientist on them, he’d known Buffy was lost to him. He shook his head.

“By now, she’ll be in Captain Cardboard’s care. That’s the only safe place for her—‘f they think she’s cut ties with us, they won’t hurt her. Maybe when we make the last move, we can get her back. ‘Till then, she’s gone.”

His voice was steady, almost calm, but his innards were in turmoil. Buffy. His thoughts were racing frantically, but it was her name that kept surfacing. My Buffy. God, ‘m such a wanker. She could be gone forever. There could have been another way. But he knew the truth: there hadn’t been. He’d done what he’d had to do, and now it was tearing him apart.

“Wow. Harsh.”

Spike glanced at Dawn. Her voice, too, was nonchalant, but he knew the Bit almost as well as he knew himself, and she was upset. The only thing hiding it was years of experience on the street.

“Speaking of final confrontations, when exactly is that going to be? I’m tired of playing cat-and-mouse with Rayne. I want vengeance, and I want it now!”

Spike cocked an eyebrow at his sister. “Impatient, much?”

She gave him a brilliant smile. “Very.”

Good thing he’d come up with a plan, then. Probably one of the worst plans in the history of bad plans, but it was somethin’, at least.

“Right, then. Here’s what we’re gonna do.”

~*~

The SUV was quiet, much more upscale than the DeSoto—and way, way less comfortable, to her way of thinking. Riley drove so well, they could have used him as an example in a high school driver’s ed class. Buffy was super-bored.

They’d stopped by his apartment and he’d fixed up her wounds and given her some aspirin. Before they headed for LA, they’d also stopped by Wal-Mart and gotten her a tank top and some underwear. Buffy knew it was silly, but she kept wearing Spike’s shirt. She felt like it was her last link to him.

Riley had tried to initiate conversation, but Buffy’s replies had been monosyllabic when she’d bothered to say anything at all. She knew he was making an effort, but she still didn’t trust him.

She also couldn’t make herself care. The numbness was leaving, and with every mile they drove came more pain. She didn’t want to go back to LA. She wanted to stay in Sunnydale, with Spike. But she couldn’t.

Because he hated her.

“Of course you’ll live with me for the time being—“

Buffy’s head lifted sluggishly—she couldn’t seem to move quickly. “What?” she screeched, before she remembered that he’d just saved her so she should probably be nice. “I mean, um, sorry. You have a house in LA?”

“An apartment,” he told her. “It’s small, but it should be big enough for two. We’re going there now. You can crash on the couch, and then tomorrow we’ll see about getting you a job. Okay?”

He was being really nice, she noticed distantly. A little too nice, if you asked her. “Riley.” For the first time since he’d found her, her voice was hard, aware.

He tensed. “Yes?”

“Why are you doing this?”

His muscles relaxed, and she wondered what he’d thought she was going to ask. “I told you, Buffy,” he said, in a tone that sounded almost like a recital. “I’m turning over a new leaf, and helping you is the first step.”

“Really.” Flat skepticism rang out in her voice, and she realized—she was still worried about how much she could trust Riley. She was still sure that she could trust Spike. Part of her was insisting that everything that had happened in the house was all part of some bizarre-o dream.

God, she was messed up.

“Yes, really,” Riley snapped. For a moment his voice sounded menacing, but then he modified it. “I mean, yes. Of course. Look, Buffy, I know you don’t trust me, and that’s okay. Just give me a chance. Please.”

Hadn’t he said that before? Buffy frowned. She couldn’t remember. Everything was hazy from the moment she’d seen Drusilla on. Everything except Spike’s cold face, his pain-filled eyes.

Hate flooded into her. He’d been in pain? She was in pain now! He’d hurt her, called her names, turned away from her and told her he didn’t love her. She had to put him behind her...

She smiled at Riley. “Okay. Chance given.”

...No matter how much it might hurt.

~*~

Riley turned out to be true to his word. They drove for about three hours before reaching LA. He wove through the streets, sighing when they stopped and cursing other drivers.

If it weren’t for the fact that her heart felt like it was being torn apart, it would have been a nice, cozy, domestic scene. As it was, it felt like a kind of refined torture.

He drove through town until they came to a nice, reasonably upscale street. Parking outside a tall brick building, Riley grinned at Buffy and said, “Honey, we’re home.”

She frowned. “Please don’t say that,” she requested quietly. “I’m hurting, Riley.”

She watched the emotions play across his face out of the corner of her eye: frustration, murderous rage, and then determination. When she turned to face him full-on, his face was again smooth. “Sorry, Buffy, I forgot,” he said seemingly contritely. “You want to go inside now?”

Buffy settled on nodding. She unbuckled her seatbelt and got out.

When her feet hit the pavement she had to fight to keep her knees from buckling. God, she was tired. The emotional night had left her feeling ready to collapse. Just a little while longer, she told herself, and then you can rest. With Riley in the same apartment...no, Buffy. No second thoughts. They betrayed you.

Riley took her hand and led her to the door. The doorman let them in without checking ID, which Buffy found a bit odd, but not really suspicious. With his hand proprietarily on her elbow in a manner that seriously bugged her, he steered her over to an elevator.

As they walked, Buffy looked around herself with interest. The room was well-furnished; the reception desk was dark wood that matched the floor. The ceiling was tiled, but the tiles were the same soft golden as the couches at the far corner of the room. Low lighting and soft music invited the apartment’s occupants to sit down and enjoy themselves.

It was luxurious, which was surprising. Any other time Buffy would have wondered where Riley was getting all this money, but now she just wanted to sleep. Even as they walked, her lids were dropping.

She wasn’t too tired to not be astounded, and more than a little afraid, when the elevator opened to reveal a tiled white box. It was almost blindingly pale. “Riley?” Buffy asked as they started to walk in. Wait—she didn’t want to go in. Something was up.

“Riley, stop!” She frantically tried to dig her heels into the ground, but her legs weren’t working right. Actually, she realized suddenly, they weren’t working at all. She blinked, but when her eyes closed she had to fight to keep them open. All her limbs were floppy, and Riley was practically carrying her.

“Aaah!” She tried to scream, but her throat muscles were lax, too. It came out as a whimper. At about the same time, she realized that even if she had been able to scream, it wouldn’t have helped. The whole building was deserted.

“Shut the hell up, bitch,” Riley spat, hitting her across the head and stepping into the elevator. The doors closed, and she was encased in horrible, blinding whiteness. She didn’t want to close her eyes, but she did anyway. Even those muscles were limp.

The last image in her mind was of the ‘aspirin’ Riley had given her. Drugs. It was a trap—oh, God, Spike!

She felt Riley hit her again, making her head spin. The elevator door opened, and she forced her eyes open slightly. Fuzzy blackness edged the corners of her vision.

Rayne’s smiling face greeted her, along with a crushing blow to her stomach.

And as she went spiraling off into darkness, her mind screamed one name: SPIKE!

~*~

A/N: Okay. Tiny chapter, I know, and big-time cliffhanger, but I figured, an explanation might be a good thing =) Thanks to everyone who reviewed with WTF???!!! kinds of responses. I’m really sorry these last two chaps have been not so fun. Maybe it’s sadistic, but I like knowing I made you guys mad, cuz then I know I’m doing my job, so thanks!

They were all sitting in the alley, discussing their next move. Everyone was tired, tousled, and in Xander’s case, a little ripe. A map of LA was sketched into the dirt. As everyone else listened, Willow gave a detailed description of the LAPD headquarters.

It was all a bit cliché, Spike mused. ‘f course, if it’d bring the LAPD down, then he wasn’t exactly complaining.

“I don’t know so much about the actual officer’s, you know, offices, but I heard they’re cubicles and Rayne’s office is right next to—Gunn? What’s going on?”

Spike whipped his head around to see what had happened to Gunn to make Red so distracted. Generally she’d just ignore an intrusion.

As soon as he saw the man, he rushed over and helped him onto a garbage bin. To be honest, Spike wasn’t sure how the man had made it into the alley, he was so exhausted. His head was glistening with sweat and he was gasping for breath, but Spike couldn’t wait. “What the bloody hell happened?”

Gunn was their muscle, but due to the fact that he was also rather smart, Spike had recently placed him in charge of handling gossip and rumors in LA. He wasn’t supposed to report back to them until the next week. Knowing what he did about Buffy’s whereabouts, Spike was beyond worried.

“Gunn! Sod it all, man, start talking!”

“Spike, I think he’s a little out of breath,” Red told him, her eyes fixed on Gunn. She seemed more worried about Gunn than the news he might be carrying, and though Spike knew he ought to be, too, somehow he couldn’t force himself to be overly distraught about it.

“No—I’m cool,” Gunn gasped, leaning back. “I gotta—it’s about that girl of yours. The nice one.”

“Buffy.” His voice was flat, refusing to betray the turmoil he was in. Oh God, was Buffy in trouble? The only reason he’d been cruel, the only reason he’d forced himself to do the unthinkable, was because he had to get his girl away from danger.

Every time he thought of what he’d said, what he’d done—when he thought of the crushed look in her eyes, the absolute heartbreak she must be going through when she remembered his words, it felt like there was a knife twisting in his belly. He was trying to be cold and leader-like on the outside, but his inner ponce was whimpering, Buffy. Buffy, my love, forgive me. I only did what I had to.

“Yeah, Buffy. Word came to me—few hours ago. I hit a hundred on the highway, man, that car you gave me is tight..” Gunn spoke quickly.

Spike frowned. “You’re changin’ the subject, mate. Best tell me what happened to Buffy and fast.”

Gunn grimaced. “Okay, you caught me. Got word from a custodian at the Randall Building...ya’ll know where that is, right?” At Spike’s impatient nod, he continued: “Riley’s a turncoat like you said, Spike, but they’re not gettin’ all cuddly with the lady. They drugged her, and word is Rayne’s planning on questioning her. The guy said that...”

Spike didn’t hear anything after that. Rayne’s planning on questioning her. Rayne. Oh, God, no. He’d delivered her straight into the hands of the one person capable of inflicting pain upon her far worse than death. Buffy was going to be tortured, and it was all his fault. He was responsible for the worst pain his love could ever feel.

“Spike?” That was the Bit’s voice. He glanced at her for a moment before falling back into apathy. Poor girl, she looked terrified. Well, she ought to be. They all ought to be. Without Buffy, his world was nothing. He was nothing.

“Spike? Spike, you can’t stay in a love-sick haze forever. Spike, dammit, stop it!”

Someone else was calling his name. It was his sister, and not only was she yelling at him, but she was also shaking his shoulder.

“Bloody hell, Anya, what do you want?”

His sister’s eyes were staring into his, and for once, they looked honestly concerned. “Spike, if you want us to rescue Buffy, you can’t go all semi-catatonic on us now! We have to move quickly!”

“Anya’s right, Spike,” Cordelia said earnestly. “Just because you had to be a total jerk to her and now it was all for nothing since she’s in deep crap anyway doesn’t mean you can just tune us all out.”

Although Cordy’s idea of motivating was rather amusing, he still didn’t move. His mind wasn’t capable of focusing on something as complicated as standing up. He was too busy thinking of Buffy, of the woman he loved— of what he’d said, what he’d done, and wishing he could undo it all. He kept seeing her eyes, so beautiful, so green, staring at him in love as she climaxed...

And then a few hours later, staring at him in utter disbelief and betrayal.

“Spike! God-fuckin’-dammit, get your sorry ass up now!”

His jaw was dealt a right cross of absolutely stunning proportions. He reeled back, smacking his head against the brick wall and jolting back to reality.

“Faith, you bug-shaggin’ mad little—“

“Don’t even start with me,” Faith snapped. “You needed that.”

Spike rubbed his jaw. Well, he could see something other than his memories now, that was an improvement. But...”Coulda started talkin’ without you takin’ swings at me,” he informed her.

Faith only rolled her eyes. “Right. Look, you okay now?”

“More or less. Although ‘m gettin’ a huge bruise on m’ jaw.”

“Okay, guys, cut the crap,” Kennedy interrupted. “Spike, you had your pity party, now it’s back to reality. Buffy’s stuck in the Randall Building. Now, are we going to get her out, or are we going to mope in the alley until our asses fall off?”

“Nice way to put it,” Xander said sarcastically. Kennedy flipped him the bird.

Spike would have smiled it his heart wasn’t breaking. That was his team, all right, true to form. They were all squabbling now, completely ignoring their venerated leader.

“A’right, all,” he announced, standing up. “Get your guns ready and all that rot. We’ve got a rescue to do.”

Personally he thought it was a rather impressive little announcement, but everyone ignored him. Bloody hell. “Is anyone listening?” he asked, starting to get annoyed.

They continued to bicker.

Okay, that was it. He was gonna kill ‘em. “All of you, shut your bleein’ gobs b’fore I rip your throats out!” His roar was loud enough to be heard three streets away, though he rather hoped it wasn’t.

Silence fell. If they’d been in the country, you could’ve heard crickets chirping, it was that quiet. “Right then,” he said when they’d stopped glancing at each other and started paying attention to him, “we’ve gotta get to the Randall Building, and we’ve gotta get there fast. Cordy, Anya, get your cars. We’ve all got our weapons, right?” At everyone’s nod he said, “Good. Let’s go.” He turned to Gunn. “I want you to stay here,” he said. “Drusilla’s in the guest room. Tie her up or kill her, your choice, but restrain the bitch will we get back.”

Gunn stood up, wincing, and nodded. “I can take care of one crazy chick,” he said, though he didn’t look exactly eager. Oh, well. Spike didn’t really care. Right now, there was only one goal in his mind: rescue Buffy.

“Um, Spike?” Tara spoke up. “I think—can I stay with Gunn? He looks done in, and, well, Drusilla can get kind of mean.”

Spike stared at her for only a second before nodding. Tara was a good bird, but she wasn’t too great in a fight.

Anya looked him up and down. “You look ready to collapse,” she said matter-of-factly.

Xander patted her on the back. “Way to encourage, sweetie.”

“You think so?” Anya was practically radiant.

“No, that was sarcasm. God.” Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Even I could recognize that.”

“Um, guys? We’re supposed to be rescuing,” Willow reminded them.

The guilty looks on everyone’s faces gave him grim satisfaction. “C’mon, then, let’s get over to LA.”

They all trooped over to the two cars. On the way, Faith fell into step next to him. “Think we’re doin’ the right thing, just charging in like this?”

He shot her a sharp glance. “You protestin’?”

Faith held up her hands defensively. “Hey, you’re the boss. ‘Sides, you know me, half-suicidal anyway. But...” she lowered her voice. “She’s just one person, and we’re risking everything, here. Seems a little crazy to me.”

“Faith.” His voice was hard; he had to set her straight now.

She halted. “Yeah?”

“’m not doin’ this because ‘s sane. ‘m doin it because I have to. I put her there. She’s in Rayne’s claws right now because I drove her there. Now, I gotta get her out.”

He didn’t know what she saw in his eyes, what conclusion she drew from his words, but her eyes narrowed. She stared at him in silence for a moment, rubbing two fingers together, before she said, “You love her, don’t you?”

Spike arched and eyebrow at her. “Where’ve you been?”

Faith was grinning and about to reply when Dawn yelled, “Guys, come on, we’re ready to go!”

“Okay, studly,” Faith said, unsheathing a knife and twirling it around on her knuckles. “Let’s go save B.” She strode off confidently.

But as Spike got into Anya’s car, his expression was closed in, and his head was spinning with worried thoughts. Unlike Faith, he knew exactly what Rayne was capable of.

What if we’re too late?

Anya sped toward LA. The speedometer crept up: 80, then 90, then 100, and finally, amazingly enough, 110. Any other time he would have been scared shitless, not to mention a little annoyed with Anya for her reckless driving. Now, he just wished she could go faster.

Hold on, luv. Please, hold on.

~*~

Buffy woke slowly, pain clouding her mind. Her first conscious thought was of Spike. Her second thought was, Where am I? And then memory came rushing back.

Spike. Riley. Aspirin. Rayne...Oh, God. She let out a whimper as the cause behind her pain finally hit her.

A second later, she wished she hadn’t. She kept her eyes screwed shut, but heavy footsteps alerted her to another’s presence in the room—wherever that room was.

“So, you’re awake, are you?”

She cringed. She knew that voice: it was Captain Rayne.

“Open your eyes, bitch! I know you can hear me!”

She kept her eyes shut.

There was no warning, not even a rustle or an angry mutter. One second she was lying on the ground, praying to be let out of this place, keeping her eyes shut in a feeble attempt to deny that she had really been captured. The next, she was hauled to her feet, and a fist plowed into her face.

Her eyes flew open and connected with Riley’s small, piggish ones. He smiled gleefully and punched her again, only this time he let go. She flew across the small white room and hit the wall—hard.

Buffy caught herself on her hands and knees, fighting not to hit the floor, struggling to contain her whimpers. That would only give them satisfaction.

She stood again, noting that they’d at least left her clothes on, and turned to face her captors.

Riley, Angel, Rayne, Harmony, and Veruca all stood at the other end of the room. One wall was covered in irons and pokers and other incredibly unsavory-looking things. Some very medieval-looking chains were coming from the wall. Buffy poked the wall she was against with her toes—it was plaster, nothing special. She couldn’t see a door.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit!

She straightened as best as she could when Riley starting to walk toward her. Her muscles ached like fire, and she could tell that they still weren’t working properly, but she fought to stay upright all the same. Maybe if she could hold on, fight back, someone would rescue her.

But who? a nasty little voice in her head whispered. With a sinking feeling, she realized it was right. The people she trusted had abandoned her. No one knew she was here.

But that didn’t mean she had to give up. Buffy lifted her chin and stared haughtily at Riley as he came closer. “Nice dose. It wore off fast,” she said in as snide a tone as she could summon.

Riley smiled nastily. “It was supposed to,” he told her.

“Yeah, we figured that if we were going to like torture you, then we, you know, wanted you to feel it,” Harmony piped up.

“Is that so?” she said, still fighting for disdainful casualness. “Well, hate to disappoint you, but there’s not gonna be any torture today.”

Riley huge, ham-like fist came crashing toward her. She ducked and pivoted, so that instead of hitting her, he hit the wall.

Which was definitely plaster, Buffy noted with interest, since his hand crashed right through it.

Unfortunately, it was flimsy plaster, so sticking his hand through it didn’t seem to affect Riley much; and, spirit aside, Buffy was unarmed. Still, she fisted her hands. She might die—actually, there was a fairly good chance she would—but she was going to go out fighting.

“So, answer me this,” she taunted as he flexed his knuckles.

She leapt for him, dealing him a blow to the face and then to the groin. “Were you planning on torturing me all along?” Punch. “Or was it a spur-of-the-moment kind thing?” Spin, kick, punch, duck, and—ow!

Someone had come up behind her and hit her over the head with a bludgeon. Her head spun, and the next thing she knew, those chains were being put around her wrists and legs.

“You see, Buffy,” Rayne said calmly, coming to stand over her as Harmony rushed to help Riley, “We need information. There are a few things that don’t add up, and we knew you could provide us with some answers. We understand that you’ve been intimate with William Jenkins recently?”

“She was so doing him,” Harmony said matter-of-factly. Despite the fact that she was in chains, Buffy rolled her eyes.

“No kidding,” she said sarcastically.

She was rewarded with yet another kick to her ribs. “Treat us with respect, you whore,” Veruca advised.

Rayne knelt down in front of her. Buffy wished she could stand up, but the chains were placed in such a manner that her feet could only move a few inches and her arms just a few feet. Just kneeling like she was then hurt.

“We want information, Ms. Summers, and we want it now,” he said in a hard voice. “I know you’ve heard from all your little friends about what we’re capable of. You don’t want to find out first-hand, do you?”

“My little friends hate my guts,” Buffy spat. “So sorry, I know jack.”

Rayne shot a glance at Riley, who shrugged apologetically. “She’s right. That’s why she came running to me.”

“Well, you at least know what they’ve told you before. Tell us that,” Rayne cooed.

“Not on your life,” Buffy snapped.

A gunshot went off right next to her head. In spite of herself, Buffy flinched and jumped to one side. The chains constricted her movement, and she fell in a heap on the floor.

“Perhaps you misunderstood.” That was Rayne again, still cool as could be. He put the gun back in its holster. “We are in charge, not you. You will tell us what you know, or we’ll give you our worst. Understood?”

“Bring it on,” Buffy whispered, and she spat at his feet.

He didn’t get angry and knock her out, the way she was hoping he would. Instead, he crooked a finger and called out the one word she’d been dreading to hear: “Angel?”

He came over immediately, insane grin fully intact. In his hands was a pair of metal prongs that ended in serrated, hooked edges. Thinking about what it might be used for, Buffy grew sick.

“Yeah, boss?” Angel asked. “You gonna let me play a little?”

“Try a lot,” Rayne said, smiling. “Don’t kill her, and don’t let her pass out. Oh, and make sure she can still talk.”

Buffy paled at his instructions. Oh, God no.

As Angel advanced, fly unzipped, tongues at the ready, she shut her eyes. Please, Spike, hurry. She didn’t care if he hated her. He had to be coming. Somebody had to have told him. You’re my only hope. God, please, make him come.

After that, she could only scream.

~*~

They got stopped about twenty miles outside LA. It was an LAPD cop who stopped them. Anya poked her head outside the window. “Yes, officer?” she said sweetly.

“Show me your license,” the man said in a bored tone of voice.

Spike watched his sister blink innocently. “Of course, officer,” she said. She turned to Spike, who sat next to her in the passenger seat. Wordlessly, he handed her a gun.

She whirled around and pressed it against the man’s temple. “Now, here’s the thing,” she said calmly. “You’re gonna let us go, because if you don’t, your brains will be the newest decoration to the highway. Got it?”

The man nodded. His face was a mask of utter fear.

“Thank you!” Anya said. She then reached up and whacked him across the temple with the gun. He fell in the ditch on the side of the highway.

Kennedy and Xander were in the backseat. They didn’t even blink when Anya rolled up the window, put the car into gear, and sped off to catch up with Cordelia.

*

Buffy didn’t know how much time had passed, and to be honest, she didn’t care. All she knew, all her world consisted of, was pain.

And if the look on Angel’s face was any indication, he wasn’t half finished yet.

There were cuts on her thighs and arms, and her muscles hurt more than ever. Blood from a cut on her forehead was constantly welling down into her eye. She was just barely restraining tears.

“Now, I’m going to ask you again,” Rayne said, his voice as calm and patronizing as ever. “What do you know?”

Angel took a piece of skin on her calf in the tongs; her clothes had long since been reduced to tatters. Buffy closed her eyes, knowing what would happen if she didn’t answer. Part of her was begging the rest to stop, to be realistic, to just give in to the inevitable and tell him everything. But the rest of her refused.

“Go to hell,” she whispered.

Angel’s grip on the tongs increased until the blades cut through her leg. He twisted, twisted, wrenching the skin out of shape, causing blood to fountain every which way and stain the once-pristine walls red. And then, when that bit of skin was nearly shredded, he yanked.

The tongs ripped away a chunk of skin about an inch square, revealing red, angry, bloody meat underneath. Buffy screamed in agony as he discarded the chunk and got ready to begin again.

Oh God, Spike, please come.

Please.

~*~

A/N: Sorry about the delay, my mom took over the computer and I developed a huge, annoying case of writer's block. =) The reviews I got for the last chapter rocked, and I swear I’m not being sarcastic. Even if you said you hated Spike, it was good to know you still liked the story enough to review. Here’s hoping the next chapter makes you change your feelings about him! Sorry about the Buffy torture. It sucked ass writing it, but I kinda felt it had to be done. Don’t worry, it gets better =)

They were stopped at the door of the Randall Building by a cop who looked considerably more fit than the one who’d tried to give Anya a ticket—and considerably more worried at the sight of eight angry-looking people facing him down. Still, the man tried to do his duty. “I need a photo ID from each of you,” he told Spike, who headed the group.

“Right,” Spike said, before pulling his gun out of his duster and laying it against the man’s throat. “Now,” he said in a slow, deadly voice, “Open the door for us like a good lad.” Wordlessly, the man obeyed. Spike crooked a finger behind him. “Whelp.”

Xander took a club and hit the man. He slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Spike turned to the rest of them. “Remember, we’ve got no idea where Buffy is, but she’s our goal,” he told them. “Someone dies, leave ‘em. We’ve gotta get her outta there. Got it?” They all nodded. “Good.” He paused, hesitating, before saying, “Thanks.”

“We all love her,” Xander told him. “We can’t leave her with Rayne.”

Cordelia nodded. “She has good taste in shoes.”

Red walked up to him. Her face was set in what people called her ‘resolve face’. “Let’s go, guys,” she called, and walked through the doorway.

Spike closed his eyes briefly. Here we go. The bloody Band of Buggered. Hell, we could die in there.

But if they didn’t recover Buffy, he didn’t care.

They were set upon as soon as they walked in the door. Police officers swarmed around them—Spike didn’t waste time counting, but it looked like there were at least a dozen. Fortunately, they were lightly armed, and his team had heavy gear with them.

They let loose shooting, aiming mainly at kneecaps and arms. Screams filled the air; bullets ricocheted off walls. Luckily for them, all of the bullets that found their mark landed in members of the LAPD.

The shootout, if one could call it that, only lasted a few minutes, but to Spike it felt like an eternity. Every minute that the bullets flew around was another minute Buffy was left with Rayne.

When all the cops were more or less incapacitated, they all looked around. Aside from their welcoming committee, the large room was deserted. Bloody hell, maybe we shouldn’t’ve knocked all Rayne’s men out, Spike thought, looking around frantically for some sign of where they’d taken Buffy.

It was Anya who found it. She walked over to a slightly uneven patch of wooden panel and pushed the button on it. As the others watched, astounded, an elevator opened in front of them.

“How’d you figure that out, Ayn?” Xander asked, looking considerably impressed with his girlfriend’s skills.

“Haven’t you people ever watched Alias?” she answered. “Now come on, time’s a-wasting!”

They all piled into the elevator, Spike last. Right before he went in, he stooped and picked up the nearest cop’s gun. Couldn’t hurt to have more ammunition, he mused.

He was about to straighten when something on the ground caught his eye. He stiffened and picked up the object in between two fingers. It was exactly one strand of blonde hair.

Buffy, he thought, and the agony washed over him again. He could remember her hair so well—shining in the sun, bouncing in the club, tossing over his pillow that long night before...

“Spike?” Cordy called. “Are you coming or what?”

He looked up and into the eerily pristine elevator. All of a sudden, utter rage took over him. The grief and the guilt were still there, but now there was another emotion: pure fury.

“Yeah. Let’s go.” He stood up, face grim. Right before he walked into the elevator he kissed that single strand of hair and let it drop.

He’d save his girl if he died trying that very night.

*

They’d paused for a moment, probably to discuss what they were going to do next.

Buffy’s legs were lacerated and scored with deep cuts. If they scarred, she was going to be so pissed off.

She knew it was ridiculous to stay stubborn and refuse to talk, just as she knew that all her thoughts about being pissed off were just bravado, but she had to keep it up. Someone was coming to rescue her. She was sure of it.

Common sense pointed out, as it had many times in the past—minutes? hours? there was no way to tell—that her rescue was far from a sure thing. From what she last knew, Spike hated her. They all did.

And yet, somehow, she couldn’t make herself believe it. Going with Riley had been uber-stupid, she could see that now. She’d had no evidence to believe that he was on the ‘good guy’s’ side, and all the reason in the world to believe that he wasn’t. Of course, she’d been half out of her mind with grief at the time—but that brought her to another possible mistake she’d made.

Spike had been cold and mean and basically a big jerk after Drusilla had attacked her. But...what if he’d had a reason to be like that? Somehow, now that she was lying in a torture chamber probably about to be killed, she could see things lots clearer than she’d been able to in the kitchen. She could remember seeing that look in his eyes, that grieving, regretful look, but at the time she’d paid it no mind. Now she thought long and hard on it.

What were the chances that everyone, from Spike to Cordy to Anya, would hate her? And Willow? Next to Spike, Willow was the person she loved most in the world. Buffy knew with more surety than she’d ever known anything before that Willow would not turn against her.

She should have known that about Spike, too, but for some reason she hadn’t. Why? Was it lingering doubt on her part, deep-set insecurity? Or was she just an idiot?

Her thoughts were interrupted when her tormentors again turned toward her. Her stomach sank; they all wore huge grins. That meant that she’d be back in a world of pain in a very few minutes.

Crap.

“Well, Ms. Summers,” Rayne said with an enormous smile, “We’ve decided that we’ve been a bit too easy on you. So, here’s what we’re going to do.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Angel walk over to the wall and pull of a very, very sharp-looking metal tool. She gulped.

Loudly.

“Now, Buffy,” Riley said, smiling as Angel approached, “Be a good girl and tell us what we want to know, okay?”

She stayed silent. Out-and-out defiance would mean that Rayne gave Angel permission to go full-on with the poking, which she really didn’t want, and saying something...that would be betrayal. Of what or whom she wasn’t really sure at this moment, but she was reasonably certain that if she started talking now, she’d be betraying...something.

What she didn’t realize was that her silence would be read as defiance. Smiling broadly, Angel stepped forward and pointed the poker at a cut in her leg. Buffy braced herself for what surely would be the worst pain she’d had to endure so far.

Just before the poker touched the cut, a ding sounded somewhere in the wall. Everyone in the room froze, Buffy included.

Ding. Like an elevator ding. Oh God, please, let it be who I hope it is...

It was. One second Angel was poised to stick a poker in her leg, and the next a gunshot rang out, Angel’s hand was halfway across the room, blood was spurting everywhere, and somehow over the screaming Buffy heard Spike say, “I wouldn’t do that ‘f I was you, mate.”

For one beautiful, shining second, Spike was standing there in the elevator door, gun in hand, eyes locked with Buffy. But that second was shattered when Buffy saw his eyes: cold and shuttered. Furious. With whom, she couldn’t tell, but at that moment it didn’t matter. She was left as unsure of everything as she had been before he’d blown Angel’s hand off.

“Spike,” she began, intending to ask him what was up and to hell with everyone else in the room, but at that second, Riley jumped him.

After that, everything was chaos. The seven that had been in the elevator rushed out at the same time Harmony, Veruca, and Rayne all had their guns out. Buffy screamed as loud as she could, “Harmony’s got the keys!” The little bitch had dangled them in front of her face awhile earlier.

It should have been an easy fight, but somehow, it wasn’t. Angel had gotten out a gun and was shooting bullets every which way, and though Xander tried to stop him, he didn’t get over soon enough. Buffy screamed when one of them hit Dawn’s arm. Dawn went down immediately. Buffy saw her face right before the girl passed out—intense pain was written all over it.

Kennedy and Cordy were fighting with Veruca, who was holding them off with a seriously formidable-looking gun. Buffy had no doubt that the two of them would win—eventually. Willow was trying to help Spike with Riley, and Faith was kicking Rayne’s ass—for the moment.

“Buffy!” That was from Anya, who’d been bitch-slapping Harmony into next week. She was dangling the keys from her fingers. “Catch!” She threw the keys frantically. Out of the corner of her eye, Buffy saw Harmony take the chance to knock Anya out cold. She didn’t have time to dwell, though; she was too busy trying to catch the keys.

Of course she didn’t. There was no way she could have, chained up as she was. Fortunately, she managed to inch her way across the floor, smearing blood all over the place, and grab the keys with the tips of her fingers. She began to wrestle with unlocking herself, trying all the while to watch the fight.

There was clearly one objective for Rayne: keep the enemy away from Buffy. Fortunately that seemed to be her friends’—no, not friends’, rescuers’—plan, too. No one bothered her as she worked the key into the lock on her hands.

But as she watched, what she saw made her hardly believe her eyes.

Harmony was moving in on Kennedy and Cordy, and as Buffy watched she smacked Cordy across the face. Angel had somehow overpowered Xander, and though he was still streaming blood at an alarming rate, he was also fighting to pull the trigger of his gun again. Riley had disabled Willow. In fact, the only two people who weren’t losing were Spike and Faith, who was winning mostly because she had a long, dangerous-looking knife.

Buffy felt tears fill her eyes. They outnumbered the LAPD two to one. Surely...surely they couldn’t lose?

No. Not now, not when I was so close to being free. Come on, Buffy, unlock the Goddamn manacles! She was trying to bend her hand at a rather impossible angle in order to fit the key in the lock. It kept scratching the surface of the metal, never quite going into the hole—but Buffy kept trying. Once she got out of the things she probably wouldn’t even be able to walk, but she had to get free. She had to.

Spike, fortunately, was kicking Riley’s ass. Buffy watched with glee as he dealt three punches in quick succession to Riley’s face, ending with a blow that knocked the man halfway across the room. Standing up, Spike pulled out his gun, snarled something that Buffy couldn’t hear over all the noise, and pulled out his gun. He aimed carefully, shot three bullets—

And Riley fell to the ground, blood gushing from a bullet hole in his stomach, his arm, and his foot. Painful, incapacitating places. “OOOH GOOOOOOOOD!!!!!!”

And then, several things happened at once. Buffy smiled savagely upon seeing Riley writhe in agony—

The key slipped into the lock, and her hands were free—

She bent over and unlocked her feet, and when she stood up she shook the manacles off her feet—

Faith’s knife got knocked to the floor when Rayne bashed her wrist with a gun—

Rayne hit Faith’s temple with the gun, and she fell to the ground—

Buffy lunged toward the gun dangling uselessly from Angel’s fingers, legs half collapsing under her, knocked Angel out, and tried with shaking fingers to cock the gun—

Rayne pivoted on his heel, took aim, and shot at Spike—

The bullet missed, but the distraction it caused Spike was just great enough to give Rayne time to grab Faith’s knife and rush at Spike with it—

Rayne shoved Spike down and was about to plunge the knife into him—

Buffy finally succeeded in cocking the gun. She yanked it up and aimed it steadily at the only two men in the room still fighting—

Spike’s eyes locked with hers—

And then, the whole world froze.

Seriously. It was like in one of those movies, when for just a second, everything’s frozen, and some things suddenly become clear. Even Harmony and Veruca was stock still and staring at their boss.

If she put the gun down, Rayne would stab Spike. He probably wouldn’t kill him—Spike was much younger and a far better fighter. But Rayne would probably manage to injure him badly.

Part of Buffy was urging her to put the gun down and give Spike his just desserts. In fact, most of her was. She knew that in many ways, he deserved to get shot. No matter what the reason, he’d treated her like trash the night before.

But disdain or hatred was not what she saw in his eyes just then. No, what she saw took her breath away.

It was love and, perhaps more importantly, it was trust. The one thing she’d lacked before, and the one thing that every love is built around.

And that was when she realized why she’d run off and straight into Riley’s arms. She hadn’t trusted Spike enough to wonder if there was a reason for his behavior beyond the obvious. Spike had betrayed her, but she’d also betrayed herself.

Trust. It was what she’d always refused to do, the one thing she’d been warned against as a police officer. Now, looking into Spike eyes, she saw it. Trust. Love. Hand-in-hand, entwined so that it was impossible to tell one from the other. And in that moment, Buffy realized that she didn’t want to.

He was trusting her to save him from Rayne, and if she did, then she would have to trust him to not break her heart again. It was a trade-off.

Was she ready to risk it?

She loved him; she’d already figured that out. Now all she had to decide was if she was ready to take the ultimate leap and trust him with something even more important than her life...her heart.

Yes.

She blinked. Her whirlwind thoughts had taken only a second to sort themselves out. Spike was still staring at her like she held the fate of the world in her palm, and Rayne’s arm was still descending.

She’d done it a million times before, and now was no different. Almost automatically, she raised the gun, sighted, and shot.

Rayne fell to the ground, blood spewing everywhere, emanating from the small wound in the back of his brain.

He was dead in an instant.

Spike pushed the body off of him with contempt. “Bugger died too quick, ‘f you ask me.”

Buffy just stared at him. After all that had happened, and he could make jokes?

But when he came nearer, she could see that it wasn’t a joke. That fury she’d read in his eyes was still there, and though she knew it wasn’t directed at her, she still shivered. Spike could kill someone and not think twice about it, if he was sure the other person was fighting for the wrong side.

But when he saw her legs, his fury melted into what to Buffy was an even more terrifying look: complete and utter heartbreak. “Oh, God,” he whispered. He lurched back, clutching his head. “God help me.”

“Spike!” Buffy took a step forward, wavering and cursing the pain that cut through her like knives with every step she took. “Spike, look at me!”

He only shook his head, staring at the floor, at the dead police officers—at anything but her abused flesh. “’s my fault,” he muttered.

Okay, enough was enough. Buffy put a hand on his shoulder. “No, it wasn’t,” she told him, her voice firm but gentle. “And even if it was, we don’t have time for this. The LAPD don’t have their police chief anymore. Within hours, all of LA is gonna be chaos. We’ve gotta get out of here.”

Abruptly his head came up. “We?” he asked with quiet intensity.

She held his gaze steadily, willing the love she felt for him to show. “We.”

The smile that graced his face was, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. “Luv—“ he began, clearly about to explain something.

“Spike? Can you help me get Dawn out to the car?”

Two blonde heads swiveled around. Cordelia was next to Dawn, struggling to get her upright; Harmony and Veruca lay prone on the floor, out cold. Buffy’s fear for her friend came rushing back when she saw that Dawn’s arm was still gushing blood.

Spike was frozen. “Oh, God,” he breathed. “Bit.” He glanced at Buffy, clearly torn.

Buffy just said, “Go. Cordy needs your help.”

He went. Slowly and reluctantly, and glancing back at her every two seconds, but eventually he was helping Cordelia get her into the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, Buffy slumped against the blood-spattered walls and, for the first time, allowed herself to consider the horrors around her.

Kennedy was coaxing Willow into awareness. Xander had apparently just woken up; he was fighting to wake Anya up, saying things like, “Come on, sweetie, you can do this, just wake up...”

Blood was all over the place, in pools and in strings, like some kid had gone insane with a can of red spray paint. Angel’s hand lat clear across the room from its owner, and judging by Angel’s pallor, he wasn’t going to last long. Riley had ceased twitching sometime—Buffy wasn’t sure—and she was relatively certain he was dead. All of her friends were cut up and weary-looking.

It was a nightmare.

A nightmare made worse by the fact that she still wasn’t sure what Spike would say. Oh, she knew what she wanted him to say, but what she wanted didn’t really have any bearing on reality. She knew she loved him more than she ever had previously, even last night when she’d given herself to him, but did he feel the same?

He had to. If he didn’t, all this horror was for nothing.

“Buffy?” A sharp intake of breath. “Buffy, what did they do to you?”

Buffy looked down at her deeply scored legs. Somehow, she found the courage to shrug. “They tortured me.”

Willow exhaled slowly, her eyes still on her best friend’s mutilated limbs. “Merciful Goddess,” she whispered.

“Yeah, pretty bad,” Buffy agreed. Bracing one hand against the wall, she struggled to stand up.

“Um, I can help you,” Willow suggested, clearly unsure of what to do in such a situation. What did you say to a friend when it was your fault they’d gone through almost unspeakable torment?

Buffy was about to shake her head, saying that she could walk on her own—though she knew she couldn’t—when a voice sounded nearby. “’ll get her, Red. Tell the others to get their arses down to the car.”

Willow nodded and made a beeline for Anya.

Spike knelt down so that they were level, face a heart-wrenching combination of fear, shame, and hope. Buffy looked at her hands after a moment. She couldn’t take what she saw in his eyes. “Dawn?”

“Bit’ll be fine,” Spike told her. “Worse for wear, yeah, but she got lucky—the bullet din’ hit any big veins or anything. Rest and food, whether she’s peckish or not, and she’ll be good as new.”

“That’s...nice,” Buffy said, wondering at the ridiculousness of their situation. She was standing in a virtual graveyard with a man she knew she loved but wasn’t sure loved her back, and she was making small talk.

“Spike—“ she began, but he cut her off.

“I had to do it. That ponce Riley had cameras in the house. I figured...I dunno. maybe ‘f I made you hate me, ‘f the LAPD thought you were gonna go back to ‘em, that you’d be safe.”

It was the explanation she’d been hoping for. Granted, it was a bit short on details, but for now, it was enough. “So all those things you said—“

He closed his eyes. “Were lies,” he said in a pleading tone. “All lies. Please, Buffy, just for—“

“I do.” She interrupted him before he could say forgive me. “If you’ll forgive me, that is.”

He shot her a confused look. “Can’t imagine why I’d be doing that.”

“I just ran off. Didn’t even bother to wonder why you were acting so wiggy all of a sudden. I just...ran. I didn’t trust you enough, I guess.” She reached up and traced the scar on his brow before smiling into his eyes. “I do now.”

Spike shook his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said heatedly. “’m not sayin’ you weren’t a little carrot-top, but what I did was unforgivable.”

Buffy shrugged. “Well, I forgive you anyway. Deal with it.”

That brought a smile to his face, as she’d hoped it would. He slipped an arm under each of her shoulders. “D’you trust me enough to carry you?” he asked quietly.

She nodded. “Always.”

He scooped her up in his arms, careful not to touch any cuts, and carried her to the elevator.

As the doors closed, Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his, savoring the contact, ignoring the pain it caused her. Electricity shot through the both of them at the contact. “I love you,” she whispered.

Awe and gratitude shone out in his eyes. “And I love you,” he replied.

Later, she’d have nightmares about what she endured in that horrible room. Later, she’d get a full explanation from Spike about the night before. Later, they’d work out the details of their love.

But right now, all they wanted was some rest.

They whispered words of love to one another the whole way back to Sunnydale.

~*~

A/N: Um...feeling really unsure about this chapter :/ Horrible torture stuff, again I’m sorry about that but I felt it was necessary. I’m not the greatest at writing action scenes, that’s probably why I write AU all human fics... I have to say again, thanks times like three billion for the reviews of chapter 18. I loved getting feedback, and I’m hoping you guys’ll find it in your hearts to tell me what you think of this one, too =)

Buffy stared at her legs and sighed. It had been two months since they’d killed Rayne. Her legs were virtually healed. She’d gotten a full explanation of that horrifying night from Spike, and though she still didn’t quite see the sense in it, she’d come to forgive him.

Her last nightmares had been weeks ago. Jenkins’ continued to help out runaways and prostitutes, but their extra-curriculars weren’t half as many as they had been before the LAPD—or Rayne, at least—had been brought down.

Rayne. She still shuttered when she thought of that scene in the white room. Spike told her that she sometimes woke in the middle of the night, screaming. It didn’t really surprise her, considering what she’d gone through at that man’s hands. She still thanked God every day that the man was dead.

Things had gotten much quieter since the new police chief was chosen, a man by the name of Wesley something-or-other. According to Gunn, Wesley had destroyed Rayne’s businesses and put the LAPD back on the straight and narrow. Buffy was relieved that they’d cleaned up, but she wasn’t about to go back. Both she and Willow had relocated to Sunnydale. Willow helped a man named Giles run a magic store in town, and she was looking into teaching. Buffy, Kennedy, and Willow now all occupied 1630 Revello Drive; Xander jokingly called it Chick Palace.

Dawn had been a bitch while recovering, but she was once again a cheerful waitress and one of Buffy’s best friends. It had been she who told Buffy some truly excellent news: both Veruca and Harmony were in jail, possibly for good.

In fact, everything was peachy keen. So why? did she feel so restless?

She flopped back down on Spike’s bed. Okay, dumb question; she knew why. She’d been spending more time at Spike’s house than she had at her own, and yet in two months their relationship still hadn’t progressed farther than the occasional kiss.

At first it had been about her legs, of course. She’d gone to the doctor and had them treated immediately to avoid scarring, but they were still incredibly painful for almost a month. After that, however, the pain faded quickly. She was perfectly capable of any and all physical activity.

And it wasn’t because he didn’t want her. She’d seen his obvious arousal almost every time she got close to him. He’d lick his lips, his eyes would get glazed, and then his jeans would look remarkably stretched in the front. It was a dead giveaway.

They both loved each other. They were the best of friends as well as almost-lovers.

So what in God’s name keeps him from jumping me when I lie on his bed like this???? It was a beyond frustrating question.

Maybe he had some kind of funky, archaic can’t-take-advantage-of-the-lady complex, so he didn’t try to seduce her because he was worried about her virtue, or her legs, or whatever. She didn’t think that really fit Spike, though. He wasn’t exactly chivalrous.

Or maybe he was just dense? Definite possibility, Buffy decided.

Either way, if he didn’t change his mind tonight, she was going to give up for good.

She’d decided a few days ago that if she waited for him to seduce her, she’d be on her deathbed before he made a move. So, accordingly, she’d gotten together with Anya and planned out a seduction.

Anya had cleared out the apartment. The whole place was dark except for the bedroom, which was lit by the soft glow of the lava lamp and a vanilla-scented candle next to the bedside. Soft music was playing, and the bed was decked out in black satin, as opposed to cotton, sheets.

Buffy was lying in the middle of it. She was wearing a red bra and thong, over which hung a sheer black robe. Black lace trimmed the translucent middle of the bra, framing her nipples. She’d showered, waxed, trimmed, and perfumed until she was ready to drop, and she was certain she’d never looked better.

Tonight, she was going to make him hers for good.

Just when she was starting to wonder if he was going to work all night, it was getting so late, she heard the key in the lock. Hurriedly, she draped herself in a languid pose across the bed.

She heard Spike put his coat down on the back of the couch before calling, “Buffy? Pet, you here?”

“I’m in the bedroom,” she called in as nonchalant a voice as she could manage with the huge lump in her throat. She wanted him to be taken by complete surprise when he walked into the room.

She heard his purposeful footsteps come into the bedroom. She fixed her eyes on the door. When he appeared, she smiled slowly. Seductively.

“Hey, baby,” she purred.

His eyes went wide and she could have sworn she saw his pants twitch. Her smile turned wicked. Oh, yeah. Tonight was the night.

*

Spike was ready to die on the spot.

He’d been telling himself for weeks now, every since she’d started walking normally actually, to wait just a little while longer. They weren’t sure that the LAPD was really reformed, and anyway, he didn’t want their relationship to be just about sex.

But it had been hard, in more than one way. Everything she did, from her smile to her nose wrinkle to that wonderful feisty look she got when arguing with him, turned him on. Five times a day he had to stop himself from reaching for her and taking her right then and there—wherever ‘there’ happened to be.

And now, in one fell swoop, she’d just bollocksed up the whole plan.

How in hell was he supposed to resist her when she looked good enough to eat? That black-and-red ensemble was gonna drive him mad soon, not to mention the way her smooth, tan skin looked against the sheets, or how her hair shone in the soft light. Sodding hell, his mind was already reminding him of the one time he had with her.

She smiled at him innocently. “Aren’t you going to come to bed, Spike?”

At that moment, Spike threw caution to the wind. God knew that if Buffy didn’t want it, she wouldn’t be lying there begging him to shag her brains out. And anyway, doin’ the gentlemanly thing and inquiring about her legs would’ve ruined the mood.

He smiled back his sexiest smile and was gratified to see her catch her breath. “Be right there, luv,” he said. “Just gotta get m’ clothes off.”

He very deliberately unlaced his boots as slowly as possible, sliding them off and tossing them to one side. He pulled his socks off with the same slow deliberateness, then his shirt, and finally, his pants.

His cock sprung free instantly, full and proud. Spike smiled predatorily when he saw Buffy staring at it. “Yeah, Goldilocks, you made me that hard,” he told her, pacing towards the bed “Saw you in that sexy number and can’t wait to get you out of it.” Now he crawled onto the bed, staying on all fours, moving in on her until she was scooted back against the headboard. He nudged her slightly and she slid down beneath him.

“Y’see, ‘ve got this theory,” he said, leaning closer so that his breath but not his lips brushed hers. “Goes back to your legs. ‘f they weren’t just fine, you wouldn’t be temping me like a little minx, now would you?”

Buffy whimpered and shook her head. Spike smiled. “I didn’t think so,” he said, and then he covered her lips with his.

Soft. She was so soft, like silk—silk that could set him on fire. Her mouth was the sweetest taste he’d ever experienced, something created from a mix of vanilla, cinnamon, and the tart, tangy taste that was pure Buffy.

He growled and began kissing down her neck. Her fingers already clutched his hair; now they began to roam down his back until they came to his buttocks. With a surprising show of strength, she hauled him towards her, pressing his erection into her soft belly.

He was burning up, and it was wonderful. That was the thought in his head as he groaned and ripped apart her robe to reveal her satin-covered breasts.

For a moment, which was all that he could bear, he paused to admire them. “Never seen anything so beautiful,” he whispered. He reached back and unclasped the bra, aided by a very eager Buffy. He tossed it aside and zeroed in on her breasts.

First he felt them, cupped them in her hands, re-accustomed himself to their weight and size. Then, agonizingly slowly, he leaned down and licked her nipple—just once. Delighting in the breathy sigh she gifted him, he began sucking her right nipple in earnest as he teased her left with his other hand. Buffy began writhing beneath him, grabbing his head, clenching his body in between her legs. Spike was driving her wild, and he gloried in the knowledge.

Once her nipples were hard and straining, he moved down, down, planting worshipful kisses on her stomach and thighs. He was about to kiss her now glistening pussy when she stopped him.

Or, her foot did. Clever toes wrapped themselves around the head of his cock. Gasping, barely able to breath thanks to the incredible sensations running through him, he glanced up at her.

God, her eyes were beautiful—and right now, triumphant. “Come here,” she whispered.

He slithered up her body until they were face-to-face. She cupped his cheek in one hand. “I love you,” she told him, looking deep into his eyes.

He nearly teared up. She could say it a thousand times a day and he’d never get tired of hearing it, never grow weary of hearing about her love for him. “And I love you,” he replied, planting a gentle kiss on her lips.

Or, it was supposed to be gentle. Buffy apparently had other ideas, since she fisted her hands in his hair and gave him the most passionate kiss he’d ever had. Tongues dueled with tongues, igniting fire in both of them. When she pulled away a few minutes later, they were gasping.

“Want...you...” she gasped. Before he could acquiesce, she pushed him onto his back and climbed up, straddling him.

He stared up at her worshipfully. Her panties were long since discarded; she was gloriously naked. Her beautiful hair hung down around her shoulders, and her eyes were stormy with passion. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so wonderful.

That was until she enveloped his cock with her mouth.

He gasped and bucked up, desperately trying not to grab her head and shag himself on her mouth.

It didn’t work. He could feel himself gathering towards climax, getting ready to spill his sperm—and he didn’t want that just yet.

Buffy seemed to almost read his thoughts, because as abruptly as she’d taken him into her mouth, she slid it out. Peppering kisses along its length, she moved to sit on his chest. He reached up and ran a hand through her hair. “My love,” he whispered, an unashamedly tender smile on his face.

*

A shiver ran through Buffy at his words. She leaned down and kissed him, agreeing, “Yours.”

His groan of satisfaction made her shiver again. This little seduction was working out better than her wildest dreams. She could feel him pressing against her ass, straining, damp from her kisses.

It was time. Reaching behind her, she gripped his cock firmly and led it to her entrance. As she slid him in, leaning back so as to take him fully, her eyes met with his.

When he was fully embedded, they both fought to keep eye contact. Buffy felt like hot pokers were running through her body in the most delicious of ways. She was trembling with desire and love, and the way Spike looked at her made her feel like a goddess.

She leaned back, placed her hands on his chest, and began to ride him, savoring the feeling of him filling her, stretching her to her very limit. God, she loved him so much. She increased the pace, feeling herself getting closer, closer, closer...

“Spike,” she moaned, giving in to temptation and closing her eyes. “Love you...oh God...so much...” she couldn’t force any more word out, so enthralled was she in the feelings he was giving her.

He didn’t even bother to speak, only gasped, gripped her hips, and encouraged her to ride him faster. She obeyed, grinding against him so that every time they came fully together, her clit hit his pelvis bone. She gritted her teeth, feeling the electricity shoot through her, knowing she was close to completion. Beneath her, Spike moaned—the sound drove her on more.

When they came, it was with shouts, and it was more intense than either of them had ever experienced before. Spike arched his back and clutched her to him, bending her down so he could crush her lips with his. She greedily returned the kiss as wave after wave soured through her, making her shake, causing her walls to flutter around him.

Oblivion was slowly blanketing her. She wrapped her arms around him, feeling him disengage and roll over to his side so that she was nestled in his arms. Wearily, Buffy smiled up at him. “I love you,” she whispered.

*

“Love you too, kitten,” Spike replied, half-shaking from the intense orgasm she’d just brought upon him. God, she was amazing. Never before had he run across someone with so much passion, so much fervor—never before had he met anyone who he wanted to spend the rest of forever with.

And he wanted her to know it.

“Can you stay awake for a minute longer?” he asked her.

She smiled at him wearily. “Maybe a couple. I’m all floppy, though.”

“Ditto, pet,” he said, but he forced himself to stand up and walk over to the dresser. He opened a drawer and pulled out something that had been in there for quite some time.

“Whatcha gettin’?” Buffy asked, propping her head up in an adorable manner as she watched him.

He didn’t answer her. He didn’t know if he could, really; sudden nervousness seemed to have closed up his throat.

“Spike? I—is something wrong?”

Wonderful, now she sounded apprehensive. He was such a spineless ponce. “Buffy, I—“ He paused to clear his throat. “I love you.”

“As you just told me,” she said slowly.

“Well, yeah,” Spike admitted. “See, the thing is, I love you more than anything ‘ve ever loved before. I love the way you laugh, how you can always crack a joke even in the worst times—how you can manage Faith when no one else can.” He walked closer to the bed, keeping the object clutched in his hand. “I love when we sit and talk, I love when you kiss me, and I love when we make love.” He sat down on the bed and took her hand. “D’you get what I’m trying to say?”

She shook her head.

He flipped open the box. Ignoring Buffy’s gasp, he looked deep into her eyes and said, “’m askin’ you to marry me. You’re the one I want to spend forever with.”

*

Buffy gasped, and to her horror, her eyes filled with tears. Why in the world was she crying? Okay, she’d had happy tears before, but to lose control now of all times was utterly ridiculous.

Spike was watching her apprehensively, and she realized she’d best answer before he thought she was disappointed, or something. Hurriedly, she wiped the tears off her face.

“You alright?” he asked, worry evident in his voice.

“Of c-course, I’m fine!” she exclaimed. “I just—oh my God, I wasn’t expecting this!”

“But it’s okay, right?” Spike asked. “I mean, ‘ll give you time to get used to the idea...”

She smiled at the look on his face—he was so cute when he was concerned. “Spike, of course I’ll marry you.” She laughed jubilantly. “I’d love to.”

Joy flooded his face. Both his eyes and his mouth were smiling brilliantly. He swept her into a hug, raining kissed down on her hair, clutching her tight. Buffy squeezed him back, her joy completely equal to his. She was going to marry Spike. Spike. The love of her life. She laughed in pure, utter wonder, and he did the same. He was relieved, ecstatic. His love was going to marry him. For now until forever, they’d be able to share a love that few ever experienced in their lifetimes. It was enough to make him want to burt into song.

When they were a bit more calm, Spike slipped the ring onto Buffy’s finger. She looked at it carefully. It was beautiful and simple, exactly the way she liked it. A small diamond occupied the center bordered by two sparkling rubies. The ring itself was made of intertwined strands of gold and silver. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly, smiling. “Thank you.”

He caught her chin and looked into her eyes. “You make me so happy.”

Somehow, that statement made her blush. She smiled at him. “You make me happy, too,” she told him, before leaning in and kissing him with all the passion and joy she felt inside.

As they kissed, they leaned back on the bed, till at last they were lying together, hands and lips locked. The ring sparkled on Buffy’s finger, sending off little red motes of light.

Red. It stood for so many things—blood, hatred, passion, war, and most of all, love. They’d experienced all of those, and sometimes it had almost destroyed them. Now, it was time to grab hold the last and keep it with them forever.

Their lips parted and they held each other close, savoring the nearness of one another, murmuring soft words of adoration. Eventually, they fell asleep, contentment and happiness in each of their hearts. Skin against skin, mind against mind—together in every way possible.

Somewhere, between the black and the white, the hate and the love, they’d made a place for themselves. Sometime along the way, they’d surrendered their hearts to one another. Neither would ever be able to point out when or how it happened, but they did know one thing:

Finally, after years of fighting, they’d found what they were looking for: a love that would never die, that would continue beyond anything else.

Finally, they’d found peace.

~*~

A/N: *stares at paper in utter shock* Oh wow. I’m done! Hope you liked the ending and the happy sex =) I did my best with that. I’m not the greatest at endings, but I figured it was high time to wrap things up. The Grey Areas was definitely much more stressful, and rewarding, than All Endure It (my first long fic), for multiple reasons. I absolutely loved writing this, even when things were pretty bad between Buffy and Spike, and I’ll be sad to let it go.

That being said: HUGE thanks to anyone who ever bothered to review. I know I’ve said it a million times before, but it’s true: reviews are what keep me posting, and you guys were wonderful with that. *hugs* One of the reasons this fic was tough was because I didn’t know exactly where I wanted it to go. You guys helped with that big-time. Thanks is a pale word and can’t possibly include how grateful I feel for being given props during the writing. Let me just say, you guys ROCK!!!!!!!!!!! =) Be on the lookout for my next long fic in a few days, I have no idea what it’ll be called or even what it’ll be about (I’ve got some ideas, maybe a high school fic?) but it’ll be coming soon. Please review and tell me what you thought of the last chapter! Again with the you guys are awesome, I love you all!!!! ~~Panta_Rei