PROLOGUE

She hung upside down from the ledge above her balcony, outside the bedroom window. She started on one cigarette, but it only served to make her slightly dizzy. She lit another one, taking longer, faster drags. Slightly dizzier. “Fuck it,” she mumbled, lighting two at once and smoking them both. The head spin increased, but that was about it. “No one’s dying that way,” she said dryly, climbing back to her feet and crawling head first through the window, stumbling slightly as she tried to regain her balance. Her head cocked to the side at the sight of him in her bed, asleep. At that moment, the radio flicked on across the room and a groan was audible from somewhere amongst the pillows.

“Shit!” Angel groaned, sitting up in bed and seeing the time. “Buffy! Why didn’t you wake me up?!” He was out of bed now, frantically searching for his clothes. “Where are my pants? God, what am I gonna tell her this time?”

“How about the truth, that’d be a breakthrough for you,” Buffy replied sardonically, lighting another cigarette.

Angel stopped to meet her gaze, taking in her long blonde tresses, streaked with bright red and black, that hung down her back in waves. Her green eyes were smoky, with remnants of yesterday’s eyeliner and she was dressed in nothing but black, boy-legged cotton panties and a skimpy grey tank top. Her nails were painted a dark maroon. The look accompanied her natural defiance nicely. Angel licked his lips in appreciation.

“You know how hot you are when you’re pissed off at me?”

Buffy smirked as he made his way towards her, predatorily, turning away from him to head for the bathroom and leaving Angel alone and unsatisfied.

“Baby?” He called out. “Where are you going?”

He chased after her, only to be greeted by the bathroom door slamming in his face.

Buffy lay back in the empty tub, cigarette in hand, wondering how this had become her life. How reality had become so far removed from the future she had envisioned as a kid.

Angel broke through her reverie as he knocked on the door again. “Hey honey? You didn’t buy those tickets to New York yet, did you?”

“Why? Wait, let me take a stab in the dark here: there’s some big emergency and you can’t go? Big shock,” Buffy called through the door as she lit another cigarette.

Angel’s look was less guilty and more impatient. “I’m sorry sweety, Faith’s trip was cancelled, there was nothing I could do. We’ll reschedule for soon, ok, I promise.”

“Whatever, I’ll get over it.”

“You’re the best, Buff, I knew you‘d understand!” Angel yelled, as he walked out the front door of her apartment.

Buffy dragged on her cigarette, slumping down further into the tub. “Don’t mention it.”

Chapter 1


Buffy finally found her other high heeled boot, sitting on top of the dvd player, next to the fish bowl. It was then that she noticed that Charlie, her fish, was floating upside down on the water’s surface. She absentmindedly dropped the boot onto the floor, scooping Charlie into her hand and running a finger down his wet scales. “I’m sorry, Charlie.” Her eyes welled up. “I hope you’re someplace better than here now. I’ll miss you.”

She found a small take out box and put the goldfish into it, then picked up the phone. She suddenly had the urge to call her father.

“Hello?” Someone answered petulantly. There was the unmistakable sound of a baby wailing in the background.

“Hello? Dad?”

“Oh, hey sweety. Can we talk later, this really isn’t a good time. Ellie’s been up all night, she’s got gas.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Wow, gas. You must be so proud.”

“We are,” her dad said softly at the other end, clearly pre-occupied with his infant daughter. “She’s adorable. Aren’t you Ellie? Yeah, you are.”

“Dad,” Buffy cut in, trying to avoid anymore of the pathetic goos and gaas coming from her father’s end.

“Yeah? So can I call you back later? Is everything alright?”

“Well, not r-”

“Ok then, talk soon, bye hun.”

Buffy blinked at the dial tone assaulting her ear. A lone tear fell down her cheek. And suddenly she was so mad at every guy on the planet. She went into a frenzy, taking out a large garbage bag and throwing in everything that was remotely attached to Angel, whether she liked it or not. When she was finished, the bag was full, the apartment much barer and her sense of calm restored. She locked her apartment behind her and threw the bag across to the front passenger side of her car.

* * *

“We don’t qualify for the loan, do we? I knew it!” The husband said, looked defeated.

Buffy rolled her eyes. According to this guy, he knew everything. “I didn’t say that,” she replied, irritably.

“So, we do qualify? I knew it!”

“Technically, yes,” Buffy nodded, trying to ignore the obese ten year old boy outside her window, who was busy pressing his chubby face up against the glass.

“Technically?” The wife asked, suspiciously.

Buffy turned suddenly, slamming her palm against the glass where the kid had his face plastered to it, scaring him off. “Yep, on paper you do qualify for this loan.”

The wife’s face lit up and she rubbed her pregnant belly excitedly. “Well, that’s fantastic!”

“So what happens now? When do we sign the papers?” The know-it-all husband asked eagerly.

“Hold up. I never said there would be papers getting signed.”

“But you just said-”

“What I said was that on paper you qualify. Before we go ahead with anything, I want you to be fully aware of what you’re signing up for.”

The husband looked at Buffy like she’d grown an extra head. “Of course we’re aware.”

“Are you really? Because this is a huge step to take, financially and otherwise. What if it all falls apart? What if your kid’s born with a significant disability and there has to be special schooling and one of you can’t work? What if you get divorced? Then we’ll be talking about two households. What if the child commits a major crime and you have to bail him out of jail, or pay for an attorney? Or one of you gets sick and there’s a hospital bill to consider? I just want you to consider all the options before taking on a debt this huge.”

The husband was suddenly looking very unsure of himself. He turned to his wife. “She’s right honey, we haven’t really thought this through properly.”

The wife turned angrily to Buffy. “What kind of a miserable person are you, anyway?" She rose to her feet before Buffy could reply, stalking out of the room. Her husband followed close behind, trying to reason with her. “Common honey, we could find a really nice condo,” were the last words Buffy heard, before the door to her office fell closed.

She sighed, opened her drawer and pulled out a bottle of vodka, now glad for the secret stash she had risked keeping. She did two shots before her eyes fell upon the hastily discarded bag of belongings in the far corner. She rose to her feet, grabbed the bag and stalked up to Angel’s office. He was her superior, therefore his office was much more stylish and larger than her own. She threw open the door, catching Angel off guard.

“Just you,” he sighed. “Geez, don’t do that.”

“Here’s your stuff,” Buffy replied nonchalantly, throwing it across the desk at him.

Angel put the bag down beside him, his eyes already on the work in front of him. “Can we talk about this later? I‘m kinda snowed under.”

“No, we can’t. It’s over.”

“Buffy, I get that you’re mad about the weekend -”

“That’s not it.”

“Then what?”

“This is a joke, Angel. It’s been a year, you, miserable, me, pathetic. I can’t even feel sorry for myself anymore,” Buffy explained, gesturing wildly with her hands.

“You can’t expect me to just leave Faith, it’s not that simple.”

“I know it isn’t and I don’t. That’s why I’m ending this freak show. In the hope that maybe we can hold onto what small fraction of sanity we have left.”

“Things are going to change, Buffy. You just have to be patient. Give me time with Faith. I’m married to her. And our affair is -”

The door was suddenly thrown open for the second time that morning and Buffy caught her breath when Faith entered the room. But she didn’t appear to have heard any of their conversation.

“Hey Buffy,” she nodded at the younger woman kindly.

“Hi.”

Faith approached her husband, leaning over his desk to plant a kiss on his cheek. “I just came to let you know that the check-up was fine. I scheduled the ultra sound for a week’s time.”

Buffy swallowed a gasp, staring hard at Faith’s back. “You’re pregnant?” she whispered in shock.

Faith turned back to her and smiled. “Yep. Eleven weeks now.”

Buffy closed her mouth, suddenly aware of the likelihood of her jaw hitting the floor. “Wow.”

At this point, Angel rose from his chair and came around his desk to embrace his wife. “Yeah, it’s amazing,” He smiled, kissing the top of Faith’s head.

Buffy’s head was beginning to spin again. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Angel had never said that he’d stopped sleeping with his wife altogether, but he’d pretty much implied it. The bastard.

Buffy looked up at them both one last time, before whispering “congratulations” and making a hasty exit.

Angel looked up as she disappeared through the door, calling out after her “we’ll talk about that other thing later!”

* * *

Buffy stomped up the stairs that led to the rooftop of the bank, her vodka under one arm and her smokes under the other. She wished she could take the steps two or even three at a time, but her skirt prohibited that. When she finally threw open the door and stumbled out into the sunlight, she was gasping for the fresh air that assaulted her lungs and unscrewing the lid on the vodka. She took large gulps as she made her way unsteadily over to the ledge that looked over the street, several floors below. Then she collapsed against it on the ground, the tears making rivers down her cheeks. She struggled to light a cigarette, inhaling from it and taking swigs of the vodka between sobs.

This was it. She was so utterly through with it all. Human existence was an utterly cruel joke. Buffy could not for the life of her figure out why the world hated her. Sure, she was a little narcissistic at times, but who wasn’t. Did she really deserve to be punished for that? And yeah, she was miserable… having an affair with a married man, secretly hating her father, lonely…

Buffy wobbled to her feet. She turned and looked out over the ledge. The fall would definitely kill her. So no risk of ending up crippled and even more bitter than she already was. She climbed up onto the ledge, almost losing her balance. She took another swig from the bottle and closed her eyes. This was it. She bent her knees, ready to jump. Then turned and stepped back onto the rooftop. Not yet. She wasn’t ready just yet.

* * *

In a law firm across the street, someone looked out their window and was just looking back towards his computer screen when something dragged his gaze back again. On the roof of the bank across the street stood a pretty young woman, with long blonde, black and red hair, that was blowing about behind her in the morning breeze. She wore a fitted black skirt-suit and fishnets. She was holding a cigarette and a bottle of something and very obviously crying, as she tottered precariously on her stilettos. The man realised she was going to jump. “Holy shit!” He cried out, jumping to his feet and picking up his phone. He dialled 911 and explained the situation and location.

* * *

“Alright guys, we’ve got a jumper. She’s situated on the roof of the bank on Connor street. Just got the call. Round up the psych department and tell them we’re leaving now. Move out!” The sergeant bellowed, watching his men jump into action. He shook his head. He would never understand how young people were driven to these extremes. He just hoped they could save this one in time.

* * *

“How could you say that Dean Cain was a better superman than Christopher Reeve?! You are seriously over the cuckoos nest my friend,” Jonathon argued with the blonde, effeminate guy beside him.

“Am not! Dean had the charm and the body… Lois was hot too!”

“Reeve was the master! The role was always his, no matter who else tried to play it!”

“Was not!” Andrew argued.

“Would you two children shut the bloody hell up?!” A British, cockney accent bellowed from the front seat.

The two young men were startled from their argument and looked at the floor of the car guiltily. “Yes, Spike,” the mumbled in unison.

“I sincerely hope you twits know what the soddin’ hell you’re doin’ when we get there!” Spike went on, keeping his eyes on the wheel.

“Of course we do, Spike,” Andrew said eagerly, bouncing slightly in his seat. “Me and Jonathon are going to go through the front doors, I’ll get the smaller money and keep the people occupied, Jonathon will get into an office, use that decoder thing on the system that controls the main safes and then you’ll come in through the back and hit the biggest safe on level 9. If we get split up, we meet back at the docks at 2pm.”

“Yeah, what he said,” Jonathon quickly put in.

Spike nodded to himself, more than them. “Right. Least you listen to the bloody important stuff,” he mumbled to himself.

They pulled up in the small alleyway next to the bank and climbed out. Spike went around to the trunk of the car and removed three pistols from it. He handed one to Andrew, who promptly fumbled with it, almost dropping it to the ground.

Spike rolled his eyes and took the gun back, flicking the safety back on. “And safety for you it is, Andrew.”

“B-but what if I need to use it?” Andrew questioned worriedly.

Spike eyed the boy mockingly. “You wont.”

“But what if-”

“No more bloody ’what ifs’, ’right?! Jus’ do as I say, you’ll be fine,” Spike said firmly, handing the other pistol to a large eyed Jonathon, who promptly gulped.

“Can I have my safety switch on too?” He asked, underlying fear in every word.

Spike closed his eyes and counted to ten. Slowly. “No. You. Can. Not. Someone has to have a bloody gun they can actually fire. Now move it, we got a job to do, yeah?”

The motley trio pulled on balaclavas and split up, taking their separate routes into the bank.

* * *

When detective Johnson and detective Sparrow showed up at the bank, it was in utter chaos. They looked around, confused. People were screaming and ducking low behind their counters. Why would someone wanting to jump from their building make them all cower behind their desks? Then they were hit with a stark realisation: the bank was being robbed. There was a suicidal woman on the roof of a bank that was also being held up. Detective Sparrow suddenly saw a wiry man, wearing a balaclava, pointing a pistol at him.

Johnson had his own gun out before the burglar could react. “Police!” He yelled. “Drop your weapon!”

There was a moment of utter stillness before Andrew squealed and dropped his gun, turning to make a run for the front door. The detectives raised their eyebrows at each other in amusement, before giving chase. He got onto the sidewalk, the detectives hot on his heels. He ran around the corner, seeing that Jonathon already had the car started, having fulfilled his part in the break in. He was just pulling the door to the passenger side open when one of the police guys open fired at him. He cried out as a searing pain unlike anything he had ever experienced tore through his left butt cheek. He fell to the ground just as Jonathon pulled out and sped off in the car, leaving him to face his doom. “Oh man,” he mumbled between gasps of pain.

* * *

Spike came out into the hallway, grinning under his mask, the bag stuffed full of money over his shoulder. His grin faded as he walked directly into two armed policemen. He immediately swung around, making a run for the stairs to the roof.

“Hey!” They yelled out behind him.

He didn’t look back, which was a good thing, since they started shooting at him. He took the stairs three at a time. They seemed to be gaining on him, he didn’t know how. He looked up. Two more flights ‘til he reached the roof.

* * *

Buffy was standing on the ledge again, looking at all the cops and paramedics standing below. “You can’t stop me, you pigs!” She called out drunkenly, swaying on her feet. She bent at the knees once more, raising her arms back behind her to propel her forward. She was just pushing off from the hard surface, just felt the air beneath her feet, when someone grabbed her from behind, pulling her roughly back down, onto the roof. She turned around fiercely to face the person who had interrupted her suicide attempt.

“What the fuck?! Are you crazy?!” She screamed in his face, not phased by either his gun or his mask.

He shoved the guy up in her face. “Shut up! Do as I tell you, else I’m gonna have to shoot you, ‘right?!”

“What are you, stupid?!” Buffy continued to scream. She grabbed the end of the gun, holding it directly over her heart. “Go ahead and shoot! SHOOT!”

Spike slowly lowered the gun, surveying her with disbelief. “You for bloody real? The only hostage I could get is a stupid, suicidal bint?”

“Looks that way,” Buffy got out between gasps. “So, are you gonna shoot me or what? ‘Cos I was kinda in the middle of something here, otherwise.”

Spike shook his head at her and sighed. “I’m between a rock and damn hard place here, luv. So you‘re gonna be my hostage.”

Buffy shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah, well, like I said, I’m busy.”

“Pfft, busy tryin’ to off yourself? Look, I’ll make you a deal. You help me out ‘f this, I’ll kill you later, yeah? Promise.”

Buffy eyed him suspiciously.

“You’ve got nothin’ to lose, right? I’ve got everythin’. You help me, I’ll help you. Otherwise, those cops catch me, put me in jail and then I’ll die too. I really don’t want to die. Please. Will you help me?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe this crap.”

“You do me this favour, I’ll shoot you clean through the skull, make it quick, you’ll never feel a thing,” Spike begged, fully aware of how odd this argument was.

Buffy looked him directly in the eyes and he felt compelled to take off his balaclava. She almost gasped at the sight of him. Prominent cheekbones, below intensely blue eyes. He was one hot thief. “You ever shoot anyone before?” she asked him.

“Pffft, yeah, do it all the time, ‘tis my favourite hobby.”

“Sarcasm will get you nowhere.”

“Look, I said I could bloody shoot you, I can. You don’ believe I’d do it?”

Buffy started to walk away, then turned back to him, her eyes clouding with a darkness that almost frightened him. “I’m counting on it.”

CHAPTER 2

Spike paced the couple of metres to the ledge, held his gun high above his head and fired it into the sky. As the police watched helplessly below, he yelled out “next one’s for the girl!”

He grabbed Buffy’s arm to lead her around the other side of the rooftop, but she snatched it back defiantly.

“Ow! I don’t need to be led anywhere, I’m not vision impaired, you idiot!”

“Right. Sorry.”

Around the corner of the rooftop, over the edge and a metre or so lower, was a diagonal sheet of metal, housing a smaller part of the building, with one less floor. Spike helped Buffy over, carefully lowering her onto the unsteady surface, before climbing over himself. From there they climbed down onto the balcony of the building behind the bank. They were then only about three metres up from the pavement below.

Spike surveyed the height they were at, trying to calculate exactly how far down it was. “So, looks like we’re gonna jump, yeah. S’not that far.”

“Pffft, I don’t think so, buddy,” Buffy said, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

Spike sighed, rolling his eyes impatiently. “So let me get this straight, I just stopped you from jumpin’ off a building and now that I ask you to jump off a building, you refuse.”

“That was different! Before I was definitely gonna die. Now I’ll probably just… break my neck or my legs and end up as a quadriplegic or something!”

“And what if we make it? Geez, are you always this bloody negative? No wonder you want to kill yourself!”

“Hey, I-”

“Listen to me,” Spike cut her off. “We can make this. Easily. All you gotta do is trust me. Would I jump if I thought there was anyway I’d end up crippled? No. S’not that far down, let’s do it, yeah?”

Buffy sighed, massaging her temples. Was it too soon too be hung-over? “Ok, whatever. Let’s just go.”

“Right.” Spike took her hand. “On the count of three. One. Two. Three!”

They flew over the edge, landing roughly on the sidewalk. Spike brushed himself off and turned to Buffy. “You alright, luv?”

Buffy pulled away from his helping hand, adjusting her suit indignantly. “Fine. And don’t call me ‘luv’,” she added.

At that moment, the sounds of several policemen on foot could be heard coming their way, their heavy boots thudding along the pavement.

“This way,” Spike urged, making a run for the undercover parking lot. “We’ll just borrow a car for a bit,” he added, once they’d ducked into the outskirts of the lot.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Or we could just take my car.”

“No,” Spike shook his head, frowning. “They know I got you, if your car goes missin’, they’re gonna find us.”

“They’ll find us anyway,” Buffy argued. “Any car that goes missing from this lot will be reported.”

“Not ‘til the end of the 9 to 5 shift, they won’. And stop bloody arguin’ with me, you’re really startin’ to piss me off,” Spike growled back at her.

Buffy raised her eyebrows at him. “Gee, you really wanna start a tally of who’s pissing who off? ’Cos let me tell you, I think you’d probably win.”

“This one,” Spike murmured, ignoring her and stopping beside a silver Mercedes.

“Typical. Why do you have to steal a nice car? If we’re only ’borrowing’ it, why can’t you steal a piece of crap car.. like that one over there?”

Spike had taken a piece of what looked like ribbon from his back pocket, tied it into a loop and was busy lowering it carefully into the car, via the gap in the front driver’s window. “Way I figure it, the owner of that ’piece of crap’ don’ have insurance. Probably can’t afford it,” Spike stated, his eyes on the loop that he was now trying to hook over the lock on the inside of the door and pull up. “Whereas the owner of this little number will have it insured to the hilt, so it’s not gonna cost them a dime to get any damage fixed, yeah? Jail time’s the same either way, so it don’ much matter where I’m concerned,” he added.

Buffy was quiet, studying this mysterious thief as he struggled a few moments more, then smiled triumphantly and pulled open the door.

“Get in,” he grinned.

Buffy obliged, climbing over into the passenger seat.

Spike shook his head. “Uh-uh. You’re gonna have to drive. I gotta stay low, least ’til we got a few blocks between us and this place.”

“I don’t even know how to drive a stick shift! Not happening,” Buffy shook her head.

“Well, looks like you’re about to learn.”

“I won’t even be able to get us out of this parking lot without killing someone! You don’t think that’s going to draw any unwanted attention?”

“Don’ be such a soddin’ drama queen, you drive, yeah?”

“Yeah, auto only!”

“So, there’s hardly any bloody difference. I’ll tell you what to do, if you can manage to shut your trap and listen for five seconds, you won’ have a problem,” Spike snapped, impatiently.

“And if you could just stop telling me what to do every five seconds, I won’t have to castrate you,” Buffy retorted, arms crossed, face set in a scowl.

“I’m s’posed to tell you what to do, you’re my bloody hostage!”

“I am SO not your goddamn hostage! I’m merely doing you a favour, so that you may, in return, do one for me.”

The pair stared each other down for several seconds.

“Just get in the soddin’ driver’s side, you crazy bint.”

“Fine… asshole.”

Buffy crawled over, behind the steering wheel and Spike climbed into the car, kneeling down in front of the passenger seat.

“So… keys would be great,” Buffy smirked, her pseudo cheerful tone intact.

Spike grinned, producing another tool from his pocket.

Buffy raised an eyebrow. “What else you got in there?” she asked, indicating his pockets. “Rainbow with a pot of gold at the end? All the missing kids from the neighbourhood?”

“Pfft, hardly.”

Buffy drummed her fingernails impatiently on the wheel, as Spike tended to some wires under the dashboard. Several “bloody”, “shit” and “soddings” later, the engine roared to life and Spike’s head (triumphant smirk in place) appeared over the front seat.

“So what do I do?” Buffy asked, her voice portraying anxiety for the first time since Spike had laid eyes on her.

“Right, what you need to do is keep your eye on the level of the revs. Which is here,” he pointed out the meter. “When you’re movin’ and your foot’s on the accelerator, you don’ need to worry too much, but if the revs start gettin’ too high, you have to put your foot onto the clutch and move it up a gear, got it?”

“How do I know if the revs are getting too high?”

“If they get past here,” Spike indicated a line on the meter. “But when they’re gettin’ too much for the car, it’ll tell you anyways. Just listen to the engine, when it’s startin’ to strain itself, it’s time to change gears. Make sense?”

Buffy sighed. “I think so.”

“Then let’s go.”

Buffy lurched the car out of the park and stalled the engine.

“Bloody hell woman, you know I gotta do this jump startin’ crap every time you do that?” Spike barked.

“This was your dumbass idea, I told you I don’t know how to drive a freaking stick shift! So stop being such an asshole.”

Spike pulled the wiring out again and started the engine once more. “Bloody women,” he grumbled.

They managed to get to the exit from the parking lot without stalling again, much to Spike’s relief. He huddled as far down as possible, squashed into the nook under the dashboard.

“You hear about the shenanigans going on upstairs then, taking off early?” the lady in the box at the exit sign said, as Buffy pulled five dollars from her pocket to pay her.

“Oh, you mean the robbery?”

“Botched robbery, yeah. The idiots didn’t think it through too much, one of them got taken down already. Apparently the other one’s got one of the staff hostage. They’re hoping he’ll have the good sense to turn himself in before things get more out of hand than they are already.”

Buffy smirked, picturing Spike’s furious face under the dash. “If he had any ‘good sense’, he wouldn’t have been robbing a bank in the first place.”

The lady nodded, handing Buffy her change. “True that. Enjoy the rest of your day off. Smart thing, getting away from all this.”

The second they had rounded the corner onto the street, Spike pulled himself up into his seat. “You bloody enjoyed that, din’ you,” he grumbled, scowling out the window.

Buffy laughed for the first time in what felt like weeks. “Damn right I did, bleach boy.”

“Are you knockin’ the hair?” Spike asked, incredulously. “I’ll have you know the ladies love my hair!”

“This hair?” she asked, reaching over and tweaking it, keeping her eyes on the road. “It’s kinda Billy Idol.”

“Billy Idol?! I don’ think so.”

Buffy shrugged innocently. “I do.”

“Next phone booth you see, pull over,” Spike ordered, changing the subject.

They drove along in silence for a few minutes, until he spotted a phone box. “Over there.”

“And once I again I say ‘not blind’.”

“Jus’ pull over.”

Buffy pulled over, stalling the engine again and making Spike roll his eyes. “Wait here,” he said, climbing out of the vehicle.

“Not likely,” she retorted, opening her car door and climbing out also.

Spike watched her dazedly for a moment, as she stretched her hands above her head and yawned, revealing a good few inches of flat, toned stomach.

“What? It’s been a long morning. Plus, I think I’m getting a hangover,” Buffy explained, when she caught him staring and misinterpreted his focus on her actions.

Spike cleared his throat. “Right.”

They walked the few metres back up the street and around the corner, where they’d spotted the phone booth and he put in a quarter. He drummed his fingertips on the wall of the booth intolerantly.

Buffy watched with mild interest. “Who are you trying to call anyway?”

“Jonathon and Andrew. The other two who did the robbery with me. Wanna know they’re both okay, see if we’re still meetin’ up in the same place we organised to divide the cash.”

“Right. The cash. Exactly how much money did you steal?” Buffy asked.

Spike frowned and slammed the receiver down when no one picked up. “Dunno, at a guess, I’d say about half a mill.”

Buffy whistled under her breath.

“You think that’s a lot? That don’ even account for whatever Andrew managed to get away with.”

They started walking back to the car, when Spike suddenly grabbed Buffy’s arm roughly, pulling her back against the wall around the corner.

“Ow! God, stop grabbing me, you jerk!”

“Shut up and look over there, you daft bint!” he hissed at her through clenched teeth.

Buffy followed his gaze, which rested on the silver merc, gasping when she saw the four cops staring into the windows. Her eyes swept the street and she noticed that there were several policemen around. Some were speaking to passers by, some were going in and out of shops and some were conversing in a small huddle not far from the abandoned vehicle. Abandoned as of that moment, anyway.

She turned to Spike with questioning eyes. “What now?”

“What now? What do you bloody mean, ’what now?’” Spike snapped at her.

“Shit, sorry, it’s not like I’m experienced with the whole ’fugitive on the run’ scenario,” Buffy bit back, defensively.

Spike tugged her sleeve in the opposite direction. “This way.”

They were headed back up the street towards the phone booth again. They had just passed it when a loud “hey!” was shouted at them from behind. Buffy turned around and saw a police woman standing back at the corner where they had just been. Her and Spike broke into a run, the police woman gesturing behind her to the other cops and sprinting after them. Buffy was soon panting for air, her tobacco abused lungs not used to the work out. Spike kept turning his head to check on her, make sure she was still with him. When she started to lag behind, he grabbed her hand to keep her pace up to his. They took shortcuts through back yards, over fences and through alleys, yet the police always seemed to be at their heels. Things took a turn for the worse when two of the cops stopped running and yelling to pull out their handguns and open fire on the pair. They cut through another backyard in a few short seconds.

“Did that asshole just shoot at us?!” Buffy panted.

Spike nodded. “Gonna go with a sodding big ’yes’ to that.”

“I’m meant to be the hostage and they shoot at me?! Law enforcement in this country is a joke.”

“Damn right it is,” he agreed.

They cut through another property and came out across from an alley. They ran through it, coming out on a small backstreet that housed several small factories. The pair ran between two of them, coming out into the loading docks. A large truck was sitting idle in one of them and Spike gestured to it. “In there,” he panted. He pulled up the roller door, pushing Buffy inside and pulling it shut behind them both. As they turned around to lean their backs against the roller door, Buffy gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as she suppressed a gag.

“Oh my god,” she murmured, when she trusted herself enough to speak.

Spike surveyed the various carcases that hung precariously from the roof. On one side there were obviously pigs, then what looked to be chickens and what was probably cow… parts. All of them were freshly skinned and reeked of dead flesh. The smell was putrid, even to him.

“Just a bit of meat, luv, won’t hurt you,” he mumbled.

“I can’t stay here!” Buffy reached for the roller door, but Spike pulled her away forcefully. “Let me out! Now! I can’t breathe, I’ll suffocate!”

“Look, just chill out. They’re all dead, they won’ do anything to you, so stop carryin’ on. Or did you just forget that the cops are after us?” Spike said into her ear, his hand clamped over her mouth.

Buffy pulled herself free, an expression of pure disgust splayed across her pretty features. “No, I won’t ‘chill out’, I can see that they’re dead and it makes me sick. The smell alone makes me sick. I’m a vegetarian, you stupid ass! Oh and FYI, the cops are after you, not me.”

There was a sound behind them as someone approached the roller door at the back of the truck, wiggling the handle a couple of times to make sure it was secure. Spike gestured to Buffy to keep her mouth shut as the sound of a lock clicking into place could be heard on the outside. Then the front door opened and the engine turned over and suddenly they were both lurched forward head first into the meat, as the truck pulled out of the loading bay.

Buffy shrieked and backed up against the door, her hands over her mouth, trying desperately to just breathe.

Spike looked up at her, from where he had lost his balance and fallen onto the floor of the truck and was struck down by an abrupt bout of sympathy towards the girl. She actually looked like she might be sick. Her face was a picture of absolute terror.

“Look at me,” he said to her softly. It was like she didn’t hear him. “Look at me, luv,” he said, a little louder.

Her gaze fell upon his face.

“I want you to do something for me. I want you to think of your fondest memory. Can be anywhere, anytime. Describe it to me, yeah? In detail, whatever you remember of it.”

Buffy gulped, her face pale and shining with perspiration. “M-my favourite memory?” she questioned stupidly.

Spike hadn’t seen her look this vulnerable all day. She wore her “tough” façade like a second skin. He thought it ironic that something as tame as being inside a meat truck could so thoroughly undo her, considering what she had been through in the last few hours. “Yeah, best time you remember havin’.”

“Ok. I was young… seven, I think. You know, before the world started to suck? My dad took me to the circus. I think that was the last time he really took me anywhere… It was amazing. There were no animals that’d been whipped into submission, just these incredibly talented people. There was even a family of acrobats. One of the kids was only a little older than me and she was fantastic. Her moves, her courage. She inspired me, I wanted to become an acrobat for so long after that… I actually believed I could. My dad told me that night that I could be anything I wanted. I could choose from anything and make my dreams come true and because he believed in me, I believed him…” Buffy was smiling, lost in the memory.

Spike was smiling at her story. “So you wanted to do the acrobat thing, wear the leotards and do all the fancy moves and the like?”

“Yeah. Stupid huh?”

“Dreams aren’t stupid. Just a part of who we are. If we can actually make them happen, then that’s amazin’, ain’t it,” Spike mused.

Buffy met his gaze. “And that’s the problem. Most of the time we can’t and it’s this big let down. We come to resent the mediocrity of our own pathetic lives.”

“Is that what happened to you?” Spike asked, quietly.

Buffy shrugged. “I dunno.”

“Why do you want to kill yourself?”

“I don’t know, god, what do you want me to say to that? I had a shitty childhood? My parents died? I have a terminal disease, my prince charming turned out to be gay? Global warming depressed me, I had a bad week on the stock market?”

“How ‘bout the truth?” Spike pressed.

Buffy sighed. “I don’t know, I’m just fucked up, ok.”

“I think there's gotta be more to it than that, luv.”

Buffy glared at him, suddenly defensive. "You wanna know my dream? My new, grown-up dream, I mean?"

Spike nodded. "Tell me."

"It's a beautiful dream, really."

"Yeah, what is it then?"

"To be cremated."

Spike raised his eyebrows at her. "Well, that's depr-"

The truck lurched to a sudden stop and Spike grabbed Buffy’s arm again, a signal for her to be quiet. The front door opened and footsteps approached the back of the truck once more. The lock was released and the roller door thrown open. The pair jumped out on either side of the delivery man, breaking into a hard sprint before he could even give chase.

“Hey!” He shouted after them in shock.

He looked into the back of truck, saw that nothing was damaged or missing and shrugged his shoulders, looking back at the two stowaways in the distance and shaking his head.

CHAPTER 3

“You alright?” Spike asked her, when they finally stopped after several blocks.

Buffy gave him daggers with her eyes. “Sure,” she panted. “Nothing amputation wouldn’t fix.”

Spike looked at her, his eyebrows raised in amusement.

“You try running in these,” she added, indicating her stiletto heels.

Spike smirked at the thought. “Matter of fact, I got those exact same ones in a nice shade of red.”

“Really?”
“Yeah really. What, you don’ believe me? What if I told you that right this moment, I’m wearin’ women’s panties?”

It was Buffy’s turn to smirk. “I’d say ‘prove it’.”

“Touche, luv,” Spike laughed.

There was silence for a few seconds, before Spike cleared his throat. “Well, I think we’re good, so… thanks for everything, you’ve been a right sport ‘bout all this and er, good luck,” he said quickly, then turned away from her.

Buffy raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “Excuse me?!”

Spike turned back around to face her. “Yeah?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Like what?”

“I help you, you shoot me, remember? We had a deal!”

Spike’s eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing with astonishment. “You can’t be bloody serious! Are you crazy? You know the difference between suicide and murder? ‘Cause let me tell you, I‘m pretty sure the soddin‘ cops do!”

Buffy scowled. “Then make it look like an accident.” She reached into his belt before he could even realise what was happening, let alone stop it and pulled his gun out.

Spike grabbed the bottom of the handle, but she held the top and pulled it to the side of her head. “Just do it,” she whispered hoarsely, her eyes tightly shut.

Spike yanked the gun out of her hands, tucking it in the small of his back, scrutinising her, until she opened her eyes and glared at him angrily.

“You’re bloody nuts! Look, there‘s a bus parked up there, why don‘ you go lie under it, it’ll pull out and you‘ll be dead in no time.”

“You made a promise! You bull shit artist!”

“So sue me, I’m a thief!” Spike bellowed, returning her glare with equal disdain.

“No, you’re an ASS!”

They stood there on the sidewalk, their noses centimetres apart, their eyes locked with each other’s. The fight went out of Spike first. He sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “Look, take a vacation, y’know, get laid. Talk to a shrink about your problems, he’ll help you out.”

“God, spare me,” Buffy grumbled, rolling her eyes petulantly. “If you can’t keep your word, I’ll just go back to plan A - flying solo.”

Spike decided to call her bluff. “Fine, you do what you want. Later.”

He turned away from her and began walking up the street. He heard a loud engine turning over and the unmistakable sound of a bus approaching. When he looked back, Buffy stood at the corner, waiting for it. As it neared, she stepped closer and closer to the edge.
“Bloody hell!” Spike growled, running back up and reaching her just as the bus pulled up level with the sidewalk and Buffy stepped in front of it. Spike grabbed her round the waist, pulling her out of harm’s way, barely in time to save her. The bus squealed to a stop, the driver throwing open the doors to yell abuse.

“Sorry, she’s had a bit much to drink,” Spike said to the angered man, turning and dragging a struggling Buffy back to the (relative) safety of the footpath. He let her go and she spun around to let fly with the insults.

“What the hell are you doing?! What, you can’t just let me die in peace?!” She screamed at him.

Spike pulled her further down the street, desperately trying to avoid the curious eyes of passers-by.
“Well, no. Not here. I wasn’t two metres away, I would’ve been held accountable, y’know?”

“Ha! So you admit to only being worried about yourself. Well, I got news for you, Mr… Bleach… head - man, if you won’t keep your end of the bargain, I’ll kill myself any way I want, anywhere I want. But I should probably let you know that I have this,” Buffy pulled his wallet out of her back pocket, making him gape in surprise. “I also memorised your full name and social security number, Mr William Giles.”

“K, look, I get that you’re depressed and stuff, but there’s gotta be some kind of agreement we can come to, yeah?” Spike pleaded, just wanting the freak show to be over.

Buffy laughed sardonically. “’Some kind of arrangement?’ How about the one we had to begin with?!”

Spike thought for a moment, his face lighting up with an idea. “Oh, how ’bout money? I got loads of that, take some of it!”

“That’s so typical! Money, money, money, the answer to everything!”

“Common! What’s the goin’ rate for someone like this?”

“I don’t want your m-” Buffy cut herself off, as something important occurred to her. “$41,327. And fifty-five cents.”

Spike raised an eyebrow, wondering at the significance of such a random number. “An approximation?”

“Better make it $50,000 then,” she replied smugly.

Spike frowned. “And $41, 327 it is.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, but smiled smugly, pulling her squashed packet of cigarettes from her other pocket and lighting one up.

Spike coughed, waving the smoke out of his face. “You shouldn’t smoke those, they’ll kill you,” he stated, without thinking.

Buffy just looked at him like he was a moron. “Are you for real?”

“Bloody hope so,” he grinned.

She tried not to notice how sexy that grin was, even tried to let his annoying traits outweigh it. She failed. Instead, she occupied herself by handing his wallet back to him.

Spike cleared his throat. “So, y’know my whole name now.”

“Yeah, William. Pretty pansy name for a thief,” she commented, taking another drag of her cigarette.

Spike shifted the small, lightweight pack on his back. He refused to put it down for even a second, he was paranoid that someone else would end up with all his money if he did. He glanced at Buffy, his expression indignant. “Well, no one calls me that. It’s just Spike.”

“What’s just Spike?” Buffy asked, momentarily confused. Then realisation dawned on her and she smothered a giggle. “Oh, you mean your name? That’s…” She looked up to see Spike glowering at her and lost herself to another bout of laughter. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she exclaimed, once she’d recovered.

Spike just opened his mouth and haughtily said: “What’s your name then, if you think mine’s so bloody funny?”

Buffy sobered up instantly. “Nothing,” she said quickly, suddenly becoming engrossed with the warning label on her cigarette packaging.

“Oh no you don’, you’re not gettin’ off that easy!”

“Like I’m going to tell you my name, anyway. You’re a criminal. A thief. You’ll probably… I don’t know, break it up and sell it for parts on eBay.”

Spike looked at her, amused, before laughing at her theory. “Common luv, I promise I won’t sell your name for parts on the internet. It can’t be that bad.”

“Yeah, but you also promised you’d kill me and look, that hasn’t happened,” she pointed out.

“Are you forgettin’ about the part where I - very generously, by the way - compensated for that with $41, 327 of my own, hard earned cash?”

Buffy narrowed her eyes at him and crossed her arms over her chest. “That would be $50,000 and I think you may be forgetting that I helped you earn every cent of that money. In fact, I should be entitled to half of whatever’s in that bag, ’cause you know, if it weren’t for me, you’d be hiding in the corner of a grimy jail cell, begging Big Bertha not to make you bend over to pick up the soap.”

Spike looked scared at the prospect. “Fair call,” he finally shrugged. “$50,000 then. But that’s it.”

“Fine.”

“Good… Now tell me your name.”

“Nooo,” Buffy whined like a ten year old.

Spike stooped to her immaturity level, pouting like a spoiled brat. “Please?”

“Don’t make that face!” she groaned in response.

“Why not?”

“’Cause… it’s all with the cuteness.”

Spike smiled hopefully. “Really?”

“Duh.”

“Well, tell me your name and I’ll stop doin’ it. Fair’s fair,” he retorted.

Buffy sighed in resignation. “It’s Buffy,” she mumbled, looking at the ground, embarrassed.

Spike didn’t hear her. “What?” he asked.

Buffy scowled at him for making her repeat it. “BUFFY,” she said, over-enunciating each letter.

Spike said absolutely nothing for a few seconds. Then he burst out laughing.

Buffy was furious. “Hey, my mother gave me that name!”

But Spike just laughed over her, not hearing a word she said, great guffaws wracking his lithe form.

Finally, Buffy saw the funny side. They both had lame names, it was true. She smiled, then dissolved into laughter too. Spike eventually recovered from his fit of hysterics, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He turned to Buffy, his eyes still dancing with hilarity. “You wait here, with your death sticks and I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Where are you going?” she questioned, also wiping tears from her eyes.

Spike gestured at her to stay put. “Just stay here, I’ll be back in two minutes, five tops.”

“Ok,” Buffy shrugged, lighting another cigarette, as Spike shook his head disapprovingly and headed up the street. She had no idea what he could be doing, the only other thing down that end of the road was a K-Mart and she couldn’t imagine why he’d be going there now, of all times.

Now that he had his back to her and was relatively far away, though still within seeing distance, she had a moment to speculate on his ass. And boy, was it worth speculating on. It was a very fine ass, the way it moved in his tight, black jeans. The ultimate of asses. A creation of ass so fine tha- “God, snap out of it, you ho-bag,” Buffy chastised herself, shaking the thoughts from her head.

By the time she had finished her smoke, Spike was approaching on the opposite side of the street. He crossed over, stepping up to her with a pair of something in his hands, smiling triumphantly.

Buffy raised an eyebrow at him. “What are those?” she asked when he held them out to her, proudly.

He smile faded slightly, as he grumbled: “thought you’d be a little more excited.”

“And again I ask, ‘what are they?’”

“Don’ be daft luv, they’re shoes.”

“These? Shoes? Exactly what kind of shoes are these, Spike?”

Spike shrugged defensively. “I don’ know, the kind you can wear without your feet falling off. Now stop complainin’, we still got a fair trek ahead of us and I don’ want to listen to you whining like a brat all the way there. Put them on.”

“Oh, I so do not see that happening!” Buffy argued, cringing away from the shoes as if they were diseased.

Spike shook them at her impatiently. “There’s no time for this crap, put the bloody shoes on now. If you ever want to see your cut of the money, you’ll hurry up, ‘cause you won’ be gettin’ it ‘til it’s been divvied up between the fellas, ’right?”

Buffy’s defiance melted and she snatched the shoes from him, annoyed. “Where are we going, anyway?” she asked petulantly.

“To see a mate of mine.”

* * *

As the young pair walked along the hilly streets - Buffy panting for air, Spike frowning - many people in their front yards turned to look at Buffy, puzzled at the sight of her.

“You couldn’t have picked something a little less conspicuous?” She huffed at him.

Spike cocked his head sideways, taking in her streaked hair, dark nail polish and lipstick, her sensible and stylish (albeit bordering on gothic) business suit - the black, above the knee skirt and matching jacket and undershirt - and onto the black pantyhose she wore. Then his eyes rested on the hot pink, fuzzy slippers on her feet. He couldn’t help but grin, which only made her glare, so he attempted to cover it with a cough.

“You could show a little gratitude,” he said lightly.

Buffy’s laughter at his suggestion was harsh and false. “How do you figure that?”

“Well, I’ve just stolen about a mil in cash, so I’m pretty much on the cop’s radar, right?”

Buffy had to agree with this.

“So,” he went on, “already having the town alerted to me, being wanted by the law and what not, I then stroll into a bloody K-Mart and put my ass on the line to steal a soddin’ pair of shoes for you, because your feet were hurtin’. Probably end up gettin’ arrested over the stupid things. Moral of the story: stop complaining!”

Buffy pouted, but didn’t say anything and she was quiet until they reached their destination. Though she couldn’t renounce her thoughts, which were wondering why Spike had stolen a pair of $2 slippers when he had about a million bucks in cash on him. Spike refrained from commenting on the pleasantness of her quietness, for fear of triggering her mouth to open again.

Another half hour later, they were standing out front of an apartment block. A relatively nice, suburban apartment block.

Buffy smirked at Spike. “Wow, your partners in crime are really living it up. Must’ve robbed a lot of banks.”

“My partners in crime don’t live here,” Spike said in a low voice, staring at a window several floors above. He didn’t even turn to look at Buffy.

“Who does live here then?” She asked.

When Spike opened his mouth again, he spoke in soft, haunted tones. “She does.”

Buffy frowned. “Who’s ‘she’?”
“No one, let’s go.”

They strolled casually through the foyer, into the elevator. The small room filled with silence, which wouldn’t have been so uncomfortable had Spike not been sending out wave upon wave of tension. Buffy knew that whoever they were coming to see, it was not going to be pleasant. They walked to the second to last door in the hallway and Spike tapped on it loudly. There was silence on the other side for several seconds, but finally, light footsteps could be heard, approaching the door.

When it swung open, Buffy was surprised to see a pretty harmless looking blonde woman, well presented, in nice jeans and a cashmere sweater. She looked pretty average for someone Spike had just painted a villainous picture of.

“Will,” she sighed, looking wary and unimpressed.

“Charlotte,” he nodded, moving into the apartment. He seemed to have forgotten about Buffy, so she invited herself in.

Still no one introduced her, so she waved at Charlotte. “And Buffy,” she said.

Charlotte looked at her for the first time. “Oh, sorry, hi. Are you the new… friend?”

“Please, probably the only friend,” Buffy scoffed, looking pityingly upon Spike, who scowled in response.

“What do you want?” Charlotte asked, turning back to Spike.

Spike sighed. “I need to borrow your car.”

“My car?”

He nodded. “Please Char, you know I wouldn’t ask, but it’s a bloody emergency.”

“It’s always an emergency with you.”

“Common, luv, I need this.”

Charlotte massaged her temples. “How long for?”

Spike looked her directly in the face. “If it’s not back in two days, you can report it stolen.”

“Stolen?!”

“Yeah. Oh, common, you’ve got insurance! I’ll bring the soddin’ thing back, it’ll be fine, right?”

Charlotte sighed again, like she hadn’t the strength to argue. “Fine, Will, but if you - “

“Who are you?” Came a loud, but young voice.

Buffy looked around, wondering where it had come from, before looking down and seeing a little girl, of about five, with gorgeous blonde curls hanging down her back. Buffy’s gaze fell upon Spike, who was looking absolutely terrified. He didn’t seem capable of answering the girl’s question.

“Geez, what’s wrong with you?” she mumbled, poking his shoulder as she kneeled down to speak to the child. “Hi, I’m Buffy. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“I’m jacinta!” the girl practically yelled. She seemed energetic to excessive proportions. “Why are you wearing those funny shoes?” the child added, staring at the fluffy, pink contraptions with interest.

Buffy laughed. The kid was adorable. “You know what, I was asking myself the same thing.”

Charlotte stepped in, touching Jacinta’s arm. “Sweetie, why don’t you go into my room and turn on the tv.”

“I don’t wanna watch tv!” Jacinta scowled, crossing her arms.

“You can put Rugrats on.”

“Rugrats?! Cool!”

The three adults watched as she ran down the hallway, excitedly.

Spike cleared his throat. “She’s bloody gorgeous,” he said gruffly.

“Yeah,” Charlotte agreed, looking at the carpet.

“How’s she been?”

“Like you care.”

“I bloody well do! You know I do, so don’t give me any of this bollocks about ‘not carin’!”

“Like you hell you do, god, you’re still so full of crap!”

Buffy watched on with curiosity, as the pair continued to bicker.

She had no idea what was going on, but this was better than an hour of “Passions.”

Finally Spike sighed. “You’re doin’ an amazing job with her, Char, she’s perfect.”

“Well, she can be pretty stubborn,” Charlotte relented, giving an apologetic half smile. “Just like her father. God, she reminds me of you sometimes,” she added.

Buffy gaped. Spike was a daddy?

Chapter 4

Buffy was stealing sidelong glances at Spike all the way down the hall and out into the parking lot. She couldn’t believe he was a dad. It was a bizarre concept. Then again, it had been a bizarre day.

Spike sighed. “What are you bloody well gawkin’ at then?” he snapped.

Buffy jumped. She had thought she was being discreet. Evidently not. “Sorry.”

“What are you staring at me for, anyway?”

“I dunno,” she mumbled, averting her gaze. “Guess I’m shocked by the whole ‘daddy’ thing.”

“Oh, an’ why’s that? Don’t think I’m capable of bein’ a father?”

“More like surprised that you were capable of spawning a kid without horns, actually,” Buffy snapped back at him.

They glared at each other for several seconds, until Spike finally unlocked the car. Their new getaway car. He revved the engine and had them cruising along the windy roads of the hills in no time. For the first time that day, an uncomfortable silence engulfed them both. Spike’s hands were gripping the wheel so tightly, they were turning white.

Buffy noted his obviously tense state, yet she couldn’t help her next comment. The way Jacinta’s life was shaping up was vaguely reminiscent of her own shitty upbringing. And somehow, all her anger at her own father fell onto Spike in that moment.

“Guys like you should be sterile.”

For a moment there was no reaction. Then Spike’s jaw ticked and he pushed his foot down on the accelerator. They swerved around the bends in the narrow road, the tyres squealing.

“Jesus, slow down you moron, do you want to get us killed?!” Buffy screeched, gripping onto the dashboard.

Spike snickered at her, his eyes on the road. “Thought that was what you wanted.”

There was a small parking bay, overlooking a miniature waterfall on the side of the road up ahead and he veered the car sharply onto it, turning off the engine and climbing out. He began to pace back and forth, working his fingers through his hair in a failed attempt at calming down.

Buffy threw open her door and stalked towards Spike, her face the very picture of rage. “What the hell was that?! You are the biggest asshole I’ve ever met. And believe, that speaks volumes!”

“What, for almost giving you what you’ve been beggin’ me for since this morning?”

“Do you know how often people are afforded the luxury of dying in a car accident?” she screeched at him, answering her own question before he had a chance. “Not very often, that’s how much. You’re more likely to end up as a brain damaged vegetable, or have to get limbs amputated or end up in a wheelchair!”

“GUESS WHAT? I REALLY DON’T GIVE A FUCK!”

Buffy’s mouth closed in shock at Spike’s outburst. He was breathing heavily, gasping for air. He closed his eyes, breathing in and out, aware of Buffy’s scrupulous gaze taking in his every gesture. “I’m not like that,” he eventually murmured, opening her eyes.

Buffy narrowed her own in confusion. “Huh? Not like what?”

“Not the kind of guy who walks out on his family.”

“Funny, that’s not what it looked like from where I was standing.”

Spike glared at her, his nostrils flaring with rage. “Shut up, you infuriating bint. You don’ know what the hell you’re talking about!”

“Don’t I?”

“No! I never left her. Never left either of them. I’d never leave Jac, she’s my bloody everythin’, you know. My world. My flesh and blood. Don‘t fucking judge me, you have no idea what it‘s been like.”

Buffy began to feel sympathy for him. He looked heartbroken. “What happened?” she asked softly.

“She was sick when she was a baby. Real sick, yeah? We didn’t have the money for the treatments she needed. So one night I held up a convenience store. Got bloody caught, didn’ I. I asked Charlotte to wait for me, begged her to. They put me away for two years. Not fifteen, not ten, not even bloody five. Two years! That’s it, that’s all the sodding bitch had to wait for. I got out, came home to find her shacked up with some other bloke. Jacinta had started walkin’ and talkin’, the whole bit. Worst of it? She thinks that dick’s her father. She was callin’ him ‘daddy‘. Charlotte told her he’s her father. She told me to get out, said I wasn’t welcome. Stupid bloody poof has to be all stable job and good dad to Jac too, doesn’t he. So what do I do? I gotta do what’s right for my family, yeah? What’s right for my little girl. So I do the best thing I can for her. I walk away.”

He turned away from her, clenching his fists to try and dull the ache. The ache that never went away. It followed him everywhere.

Buffy felt her heart break for him. She really did. She couldn’t begin to imagine how awful it must be for him, every single day. She bit her lip guiltily, coming up behind him and placing a tentative hand on his shoulder.

“I-I’m sorry, Spike. I’m such a bitch sometimes, I always manage to jump in and say stupid things before I have all the facts. I’m sorry she was taken away from you, she’s a beautiful girl. I wish… there was a way you could make it right. Maybe one day there will be. She‘d be lucky to have a dad like you, someone who really loves her. God, if only my dad cared half as much.”

Spike turned back to face her, his hand covering hers on his shoulder in silent thanks. “I’m sure your dad does care, Buffy.”

She shook her head sadly, eyes on the ground. “No. He really doesn’t,” she whispered.

Spike extended a long finger towards her, tilting her chin up, until she was forced to look at him. “Despite whatever’s gone on between you and your Pops, no matter the years of crap in between, he does love you. I promise.”

“You’re wrong.”

She pulled away from him, walking back to the car and letting herself into the front passenger side. Spike sighed for what felt like the millionth time since that morning and followed her.

* * *

“Where are we going?” Buffy yawned, stretching in her seat as she realised night had fallen and they were still driving.

“Not far, luv, we’ve only been on the road about twenty minutes.”

“Huh? Where did the sun go?”

Spike laughed. “You fell asleep almost as soon as I started the engine, Buffy. I had to make a few stop offs along the way, so we haven’t gotten far.”

“Oh… so we’re still in town?” she asked, yawning again.

“Still in town.”

“So, let me ask again, where are we going?”

Spike grinned. “I got this neat little boat shed on the water. Place itself isn’t much to look at, but I’ve got my own pier and all. Nothin‘ for miles, just the fishes and the birds.”

Buffy smiled, imagining what it would be like to live that way. So… free. “Sounds amazing,” she sighed wistfully.

He nodded. “Kind of is, luv.”

“So… why are we going there again?”

He shifted in his seat. “Goin’ to wait and see if Jonathon shows up for his cut of the cash pie.”

“Oh. Right… Spike, I’m really kinda hungry,” she blurted, as her stomach rumbled ravenously.

He laughed again. “Can hear that. I picked up a few things during your nanna nap, you’ll have plenty to eat.”

Buffy frowned. “Nanna nap?”

“Yeah, you know how grandmas always seem to take naps in the afternoons?”

“Can’t say I’ve noticed, I don’t have tendencies to hang with the geriatric.”

“Well, maybe you should. Old folks got a lot to teach us, been around a lot longer than us. They got real life experience. We can learn a lot from ‘em if we give ‘em a chance.”

Buffy raised her eyebrows, thoroughly intrigued. “You’re a total weirdo, you know that, right?”

Spike grinned. “Been told that once or twice,” he replied cheekily. “Must be true.”

They finally pulled onto a narrow, beaten track in some undergrowth. It was barely wide enough for the car, leaves scratched at the windows and the roof. A couple of minutes later, the shrubs disappeared and they came out in front of a cute little shack. Spike drove along the side of the small building, parking the car on the water’s edge to make it less visible. Just in case.

Buffy gasped as she climbed out of the car and saw a small rowboat bobbing alongside the pier Spike had told her about. Moonlight was shimmering on the inky black surface of the lake. It was all so quaint and picturesque. She loved it.

Spike couldn’t seem to stop smiling at her reaction. It reminded him of the first time he’d seen it. It had been abandoned. No one owned the property. He’d spent months cleaning up, trying to make the inside as nice as possible. It had gone from an abandoned crap heap to his home. It was the first time he’d felt like he had a real home since before his jail stint. The surroundings were simplistic, but magnificently so. He completely understood Buffy’s responsiveness to this place.

“I’m goin’ to get some food happening,” he said quietly, not wanting to disturb her mood.

Buffy turned back to him and cocked an eyebrow. “You’re gonna cook for me? The hostage?”

“Even a hostage has gotta eat, luv,” Spike pointed out.

“True,” she agreed. “You sure call me ‘luv’ a lot, considering the fact that I am your hostage.”

He suddenly seemed embarrassed and Buffy couldn’t wipe the grin off her face as his turned beet reed. She laughed, then clapped a hand over her mouth to stop it when he scowled indignantly at her and stalked up to the front door, disappearing inside. She was still laughing as she turned back to face the lake again, aware of the fact that her face was actually beginning to ache from the constant grinning of the past half hour or so. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had smiled before that. No wait, yes she could. It had been when Angel had taken her to a carnivale on their third date. That was over six months ago. She noted how sad and pathetic it was that she hadn’t smiled for six months. Then she shook of the melancholy that threatened to envelope her again and wandered down onto the pier. She sat on the end and dangled her legs over the edge, letting them swing freely, back and forth.

Buffy was distracted from her reverie by a loud bang coming from the small house. She craned her neck, not wanting to stand up and could see Spike making his way towards her, a tray with two bowls atop balanced precariously in one hand, a wine bottle and two glasses in the other. If this was the treatment one got when being (or pretending to be) a hostage, she’d do this everyday. She grinned at the thought, just as Spike set down the glasses and the wine bottle beside her.

“What’re you grinning like a bloody Cheshire for?”

“No reason,” Buffy replied, watching his graceful movements as he set down the tray. “Previous life in waiting tables huh?”

Spike pretended to grimace. “'S it that obvious?”

“Afraid so,” she grinned.

He took a seat beside her, letting his legs hang over the edge too. He popped open the wine bottle, pouring the dark liquid expertly into the two wine glasses. Buffy watched on, head cocked to the side.

“So, what did you bring me?”

“Well this,” he said, handing her a glass of wine “is a highly underrated Merlot I discovered a couple of years ago. Very cost effective, I highly recommend.” He raised his glass, indicating she should do the same and then clinked them together. “And this,” he went on, setting aside the wine and reaching for one of the steaming bowls “is the best sodding carbonara pasta you’ll ever experience in your life. Made by yours truly o’ course.”

Buffy didn’t want to be the thorn in his side (hey, first time for everything), but there was something he’d overlooked. “Spike, I don -”

“Made with mock meat for the bacon,” he interrupted her, anticipating what she was going to say.

She took a big mouthful, chewed it experimentally and swallowed. “You picked up vegetarian bacon for me?”

“Well, yeah, know you don’ eat the real thing,” Spike shrugged, then realised that his comment might come across as ’vegetarian bashing’ and was quick to correct himself. “Not sayin’ you should be, I respect what you’re doing, keep doing that, by the way. Just didn’t want to make something you couldn’t eat.”

Buffy put the bowl down beside her quietly.

Spike looked disappointed. “No good huh? Try not to hold it against me, it is my first crack at a vegetarian dish.”

“What? No, it’s great Spike! Seriously, I can’t cook a vego meal like this and I haven’t eaten meat since I was eight.”

“Then what’s the problem, luv?”

Buffy sighed, closing her eyes momentarily. When it didn’t achieve the gainage of perspective she desired, she opened them again. Spike was staring at her intently.

“Well, I’m not really… normal, I guess would be the word,” she began, making Spike grin. “But even by my standards, this has been a kinda… weird day. Way weird, actually. It’s just… it’s wigging me out, Spike. That’s an understatement, I’m having a total wiggins. Like, the really wiggy type. I -”

“What’s a wiggins?” Spike cut in, confused at her terminology.

“Like, freak out? You know?”

“Oh. Right.”

“So… I think this wiggy feeling is coming from the fact that this morning you held a gun at my head and took me hostage… and now you’re making me vegetarian pasta dishes and serving me wine.”

“One vegetarian pasta dish,” Spike grumbled in his defence.

“Ok, one, whatever. Really not the point I’m making here. I mean, what are we doing? Why am I still even with you? We could’ve separated hours ago. I think what I’m trying to ask, in a really roundabout way, is… do you have a thing for me?” Buffy finally blurted at the end.

Spike’s eyes went wide with disbelief. “Do I have a thing for you?” He repeated dumbly. “Are you bloody serious? Are you -” he cut himself off at looked at her. “You don’t really think that I - pffft, you’re off your sodding nutter, lady.”

Buffy looked down, suddenly fixated on her bowl of pasta. She looked disappointed. This he hadn’t seen coming.

“Buffy… do you want me to?”

Her head snapped up instantly. “What?! No!” she laughed, a little to forcefully.

Neither of them were convincing each other. They both knew it. But the situation was too bizarre. How had they taken the path together that they had and ended up where they were? How was that even possible.

“Let’s just… forget the last five minutes ever happened, ok?” she begged, feeling humiliated. Was she really that desperate that she’d try it on with her kidnapper? Ugh, she was sick. It was official. She was a sick, sick, sicko.

Spike shook his head. “Buffy, we -”

“No. Don’t. Please, humour me, ok? We never had this discussion.”

Her eyes were pleading with his and he found that he couldn’t deny her. He nodded. “Eat your pasta luv, before it gets cold.”

She gave him a timid smile and picked up the bowl again, tucking into her meal. It really was good.