“Xander! Will you please take care not to spill any jelly on that book! Really, I don’t know why I allow you to eat while you research...”

Giles felt more irritable than usual. He took his glasses off and cleaned the lenses. It had been too long since the last apocalypse or big bad, and he knew that something big was up--he felt it in his bones. He had come to pay attention to this sixth sense, his ’spidey sense’ as Xander called it, whatever that meant. He’d been aware of it for the first time when the Master had shown up on the Hellmouth, and since then he’d felt it every time trouble was about to rear its ugly head.

Tonight was no exception, and he could feel it coursing throughout his body, stronger than ever.

The Scoobies glanced at each other, aware of the watcher’s unusually quick switch from nagging to introspection. He hadn’t even noticed that Buffy’s latte had left a ring on his copy of Encyclopaedia of the Undead...

Worried, the Slayer decided to try and pull him back to the present. She got up and closed her book, postponing the latte stain lecture to another day. “Giles? Hello! Earth to Rupert Giles...” She waved her hand in front of his face until he acknowledged her presence.

Giles shook his head, and looked at the young woman standing before him. Putting his glasses back on, he spoke up. “Oh! Sorry about that. I was just thinking...”

His apology was interrupted by the phone ringing.

Anya, being nearest to the phone, picked it up. “Good evening Magic Box, we’re closed right now so we unfortunately can’t take your money. How may I be of assistance?” She furrowed her brow, and held the phone out to Giles. “It’s for you. It’s someone English.”

Giles sixth sense hummed steadily. This is it, this is the apocalypse I’ve been expecting. “Rupert Giles here.”

A shiver ran down his spine as a voice he’d hoped never to hear again spoke up. “Ah, Rupert. Good to hear from you. It’s been too long...”

The watcher took the phone in his hand, and made his way away out of Scooby earshot. “Not long enough. Cut the pleasantries, Travers--why are you calling?”

The pompous voice chuckled. “Always a man of business, Rupert--no time for false niceties. That’s why I like you.” Abruptly, the humour in Travers‘ voice dissipated. “Something’s come up, something of dire importance...”

As his former employer began to explain, Giles’ stomach felt like it was filled with lead. “Oh dear. Just a moment.”

He turned to the group of teens, who were trying very hard not to show that they were eavesdropping. “Er, why don’t we call it a night? You’ve been working very hard lately, and you deserve a break. Don’t worry about the books, I’ll put them away before I leave.” He’d hardly finished speaking before the last retreating figure slammed the door shut, and he was alone.

Giles turned his attention back to the interrupted conversation. “Now, about this prophecy...”

***

As they entered the Bronze, the Scoobies felt the beat of the music flow through them, washing away their stress. Giles had been working them hard, and they had been more than happy to oblige when he’d suggested calling it an early night. They’d decided that spending an evening at their favourite hangout was the best remedy. As Xander often quipped, “Milk might do a body good, but dancing is good for the soul...”

They found an unoccupied table and Xander headed to the bar for some much needed refreshments.

“So, were either of you able to make out who was on the phone with Giles?” Willow was the first to speak. “I was too far away, but it seemed pretty serious.”

“I heard him call the man Travers before he walked away to where I couldn’t hear him.” Anya sighed. “All this secrecy is silly, if you ask me. It‘s another of those human traits I don‘t think I‘ll ever catch on to, like tact--I don’t see what’s wrong with just saying what’s on your mind. All this bottling up of emotions can’t be good for you, you know. Anyway, it’s not like we know who this guy is, anyway.”

Ignoring the ex-demon’s prattling, Willow and Buffy zeroed in on the essential part of what she’d told them: “Travers?!”

Just as he was returning with their drinks, Xander overheard the girls talking; he let out a yelp, nearly spilling the colas in his hands. “Aargh--Travers? Where?!”

Buffy grabbed her drink before he did spill it. “Don’t worry, Xander--he’s not here. Anya was just telling us that that’s who Giles was on the phone with.”

The young man’s face didn’t change. “Yeah, but Travers here, or Travers back in merry ol’ England--either way it’s gonna be bad news, Buff. I doubt he called to share a Hallmark moment with Giles.”

“Well, we don’t really know that, do we?” Willow’s face fell under the gaze of her friends. “Well, we don’t! He could be calling to... to... to offer Giles his old job back!” She smiled broadly, proud to have thought of something logical. Her smile waned as the others looked at her skeptically. “OK, maybe not. But does anyone have a better idea?”

“Not really, but I’m hoping the Council isn’t planning on making another of their ‘Test the Slayer’ visits. Last time? Not so much fun. Knowing them, it’s probably another apocalypse.” Buffy had a gut feeling that the last idea was the most probable. How many apocalypses was one girl supposed to live through? Couldn’t Evil take a long, long, coffee break?

The silence at the table was broken when Anya suggested that they get up and dance. “They’re actually playing half-decent music, tonight. We might as well take advantage of it. Come, Xander.” She didn’t wait to see whether or not he wanted to dance. There was never room for discussion.

Xander raised his shoulders in an ‘oh well’ gesture, and followed his girlfriend into the crowd.

Willow finished the last of her Shirley Temple, hopped off her barstool, and looked at Buffy. “Well, I’m with them. I need to unwind. Coming?”

The Slayer’s gut still twisted with the feeling that something very bad was in the works. “Nah, I have to go to the washroom. I’ll sit this one out, Wills. Go out there, and I‘ll join you when I come back.”

***

On her way back from the ladies’ room, Buffy caught sight of a familiar silhouette at the pool tables.

She held to the shadows, watching him play against some poor college kid. ‘Play against’ wasn’t the right term; ‘beat the pants off of’ was more exact. It was obvious that the kid had never played much pool, as he missed what should have been an easy shot. This gave Spike the opportunity to sink his last balls, followed by the eight ball. She watched both men shake hands, followed by the younger man paying Spike. The vampire turned away from her, and sauntered to the table that held his drink. She decided it was time to make her presence known.

The blonde vamp beat her to it, though, and he addressed her with his back still to her. “You can come out, now, Slayer. I know you’re there.” He picked up his pack of smokes, and pulled one out.

She walked out to the pool table and stood there, hands on her hips. “Spike.” She spat his name out like it was poison.

He turned around, cigarette dangling from his lower lip. “Come to make sure I’m not cheating?” Fishing in his pocket for his lighter, he looked her up and down, smirking. “I see the Council still isn’t paying you--otherwise, you’d be able to afford a whole outfit instead of just half of one.” Leering, he added, “Not that I mind, pet.”

Buffy glared at him, and brought her arms out in front of herself in a self-conscious motion. “Shut up, Spike. You’re such a pig.”

“Ooh! Great comeback. Did you just come here to nag me, or is there a reason for your presence?” He lit his cigarette and inhaled deeply. Leaning back against the pool table he crossed his arms, mimicking the Slayer’s pose. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her answer.

Buffy caught herself looking at him. Wow--has he always been this fit? Why haven’t I ever noticed that chest, and those arms... Aargh! Spike is *not* sexy, he’s evil... and disgusting! Snapping out of it, she snorted. “Oh, yeah. Like it’s all about you. I just happened to be coming back from the washroom when I saw you taking that kid’s money. You really don’t have any scruples, do you?”

Spike looked at her like she’d grown a second head. Quietly, so that only she could hear, he pointed to himself and said: “Hello? Vampire, here. Conscience-free and enjoying every minute of it. If some college prat wants to bet me money that he can beat me, that’s his problem.”

He took another drag from his cigarette. “How else do you think I get money for smokes and beer? Work the night shift at the local burger joint?” He snickered at this last thought, finding much humour in it. “Anyway, you Scoobies are too poor to steal from anymore. I have to get my spending money somewhere else. You should be grateful.”

Buffy was incensed. “Oh, so we should thank you, now that you aren’t stealing from us?! What planet are you from, anyway?” She had to physically restrain herself from popping him one on the nose. That might work in an empty cemetery, but she doubted that hitting a patron in a crowded club wouldn’t go over well with the bouncers.

She leaned in towards him with a deadly look in her eye. “I’d better not come across you during patrol tonight, because this’ll be the last pack of cigarettes you’ll ever smoke.” She pulled the cigarette from his lip, and threw it to the ground, crushing it under her high-heeled boot.

“Hey!” Spike watched her retreating form with a scowl, lighting another smoke. “Bitch. Thinks she‘s better than the rest of us...”

***

Buffy found her friends on the dance floor, and let them know that she’d decided to go patrolling early. After her little confrontation with the vampire, she found herself needing to blow off some steam.

Staking a few vampires would do the job just fine...

Author's Note: Hey guys, hope you're enjoying! As usual, please read and review; they make the chappies come that much faster! This one's a bonus, even though only two fine readers reviewed chapter 1 (*pout*)...

Chapter 3

“...and I expect you to hand your reports in next Monday at the beginning of class. Class dismissed.” The teacher diverted her attention from the students in front of her to the stack of papers on her desk.

“So,” Willow turned to her best friend, “why did you duck out so early last night? Xander and Anya might have bought the ‘early patrolling’ bit, but I know you better than that. You’ve never let duty get in the way of having fun. So, ’fess up.”

Buffy tried to give her friend her best nonchalant expression. “Nothing’s the matter, Will. I just didn’t feel like dancing. I couldn’t stop thinking about that phone call Giles got. That’s it, honestly.” Averting her eyes from Willow’s look, she collected her books and began to stuff them in her shoulder bag.

The redhead put on her best resolve look, and pressed the subject. She held her hand out, and put it on the Slayer’s forearm. “Buffy, look at me. See my resolve face? We’re not leaving this classroom until you tell me the truth.” She pursed her lips further and sat back, giving the blonde every indication that she was serious.

Buffy sighed, and leaned back in the rigid plastic chair. “Fine. I met up with Spike, we had a few... choice words, and I left. He’s just so irritating. I mean, do you know what he was up to? He was hustling--that‘s how he‘s been making money!”

The witch‘s eyes grew, as her interpretation of the Slayer‘s words hit her. “He’s been having sex for money?!” She brought her hand up to her mouth. “Oh my God! That’s, that’s... ooky!”

“What? No! No sex and Spike!” Buffy closed her eyes, trying to remove mental images of Spike having sex out of her mind. She met with little success, as the image of Spike‘s chest was still imprinted in her mind; what would it look like without his T-shirt on? “He’s hustling at pool--taking advantage of poor students.” Seeing the redhead cock an eyebrow, she pressed the subject. “Ok, not as bad as killing people, but still--it’s evil in a different kind of way. Isn’t it?”

The witch smiled, relieved that it wasn‘t anything bad. “Uh, not really, Buffy. People play for money all the time. Anyway, it’s probably the closest he’ll ever come to making an honest dollar. You shouldn’t let him get to you like that, it just makes you all stressy. You’ve already got enough to worry about without having to keep an eye on who Spike plays pool with.” Willow stood, and picked her books up. “Now come on. I’ll buy you a latte--that always makes for a stress-free happy Buffy.”

As they were making their way out of the classroom, Buffy heard someone call her name. She turned around, and found herself staring into the eyes of the T.A--now, what was his name? Riley, that‘s it...

Turning back to Willow, she let her know that she’d catch up with her in a few minutes.

Buffy walked up to the brunette. “Hey, Riley.”

With a big grin plastered on his face, the T.A. summoned up the courage to speak to her; he’d had his eye on her since first class, but had never found the right moment to catch her for a word. “So, how are you enjoying class so far?”

How about: the teacher’s an evil taskmaster and I have to work at staying awake every session? Nah, might not go over too well... “It’s really a fun class--a bit harder than I thought for a first year, but it’s really interesting.”

Riley fell for her false enthusiasm. “It really is interesting, isn’t it? Professor Walsh has a way of making even the most mundane subjects interesting. Her classes were always my favourite--they may be a little more difficult than most, but they’re more than worth the effort.”

Buffy thought to herself, Is this guy for real? You’d have to be either a freak or in the army to appreciate Walsh’s drill-sergeant style of teaching. “Yeah, I can imagine. The more effort there is, the more it builds character, right?.” She was straining to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

This was the girl of his dreams. Riley couldn‘t believe that he‘d finally found someone to whom he could relate. “That’s precisely it! You know, I’m happy you‘ve made that observation; not everyone sees it like that or appreciates the value of hard work.” Here goes--might as well give it a go... “So maybe we could go to one of the campus pubs sometime. With what you’re learning in class, we’d have lots to talk about. That sound good to you?”

Buffy jumped slightly, and made a face. “Uh, my hip’s vibrating...”

Riley furrowed his brow. “Huh? Your hip’s vibrating? I know I’ve been out of the dating loop for a while, but is that some sort of code or something?”

Buffy laughed nervously. “Actually, I meant my pager--it’s vibrating.” She pulled the small piece of technology out of her pocket and looked at the name on the display. “Crap, it’s Giles.” She smiled brightly at the teacher’s assistant and put her hand on his arm. “Sorry, Riley, but I have to go make a call. The pub idea sounds nice--maybe we can do that sometime...” Yeah, and maybe I could go to the dentist and have some teeth removed while I’m at it.

“Yeah, that would be nice. I guess I’ll be seeing you around.” The last part was said mostly to himself, as the young woman had already disappeared down the hall. He shrugged and muttered to himself “Peculiar girl...”

***

Buffy sprinted past Willow, nearly knocking the poor girl over.

“Buffy! Wait--where are you going? What happened with Riley? Did he say something mean to you, ‘cause you know, best friend here--I could go and scowl at him for you!” She ran alongside the Slayer, until they reached a pay phone.

The blonde turned to Willow. “Sorry, Wills. It’s not Riley--he was nice. Bland, but nice. It’s just that Giles paged me. He never pages me unless it’s, like, an apocalypse or something. I just hope it doesn’t have to do with the Council.” As she dialled, she muttered, mainly to herself. “Who am I kidding, anyway? Travers calls, Giles kicks us out, next thing you know he’s paging me at school...”

Willow held the little machine in her hands. “When did you get a pager, anyway? I didn’t know you had one.” She jumped and nearly dropped it when she pressed the vibrate button by accident.

Ring... ring... “Where is he, anyway?” Buffy was getting worried.

She looked up at Willow. “The pager? Uh, Giles got it for me when he got sick of never being able to reach me. Surprised the heck out of me, ‘cause you know how unmixy he is with tech....” She was cut off by her watcher’s answer.

“Giles! Where were you? You page me, and then you don’t answer the phone--are you ok? Why are you paging me at school? It‘s bad, isn‘t it?”

Her watcher sighed, and replied. “I was in the kitchen getting the kettle off the stove, I’m fine, thank you, I need to call a meeting for tonight, and yes, possibly. Does that answer your questions?”

Buffy relaxed a little comforted at hearing the British man’s voice. “Sorry, Giles. You just had me worried there for a moment. Why the surprise meeting?”

“I can’t get into details right now. I just need you to gather everyone and meet me at the Magic Box tonight at eight.”

The short hesitation after her watcher’s response alerted Buffy to the fact that he was trying to find a way to tell her something she wouldn’t like. “Ok, Giles. Spit it out--what else is there?”

She could practically hear him cleaning his glasses.

“There’s someone else who needs to attend tonight’s meeting.”

The Slayer’s muscles tensed as she asked him the million-dollar question: “Giles, please tell me who... I have a feeling, a bad feeling, I already know--but I need you to prove me wrong.”

Sighing, the watcher confirmed her fears. “Buffy, we need Spike to be present at the meeting. He’s an integral player in what you... in what we’ll be discussing tonight.”

“But Giles, it’s Spike! He’s not an integral part of anything... Can’t we just leave him...”

The young woman’s diatribe was cut short by an outburst from the usually mild-mannered Brit. “Buffy! Can we please, for once, pretend that I know what I‘m talking about? Get Spike, make sure he’s at the Magic Box at eight o’clock, end of story.”

Properly chastised, the young woman knew when to capitulate. “Ok, I’ll go see Spike and tell him that you want him there tonight. Look, Giles, I’m sorry about giving you a hard time...”

The man’s voice softened at his charge’s apology. “No, Buffy, I should be the one to apologize. I’m just... tense... at the moment. You’ll understand more clearly tonight. Just make sure everyone shows up. Thank you, again.”

They said their good-byes and hung up.

Buffy turned to a worried Willow. “Giles called a meeting tonight at the Magic Box for eight o‘clock. He’s really wigged out about something; I don’t think this is going to be good, Willow--he even told me to make sure Spike shows up.”

The witch visibly paled. “Spike? Really? This can’t be good... My classes are over for the day--I can go see Anya at the Shop, to let her know about the meeting--she‘ll make sure that Xander shows up as well. I think I’ll leave Spike to you, though. Just make sure there aren‘t any bottles lying around.”

Offering her friend a wry smile, the blonde sighed. “Don‘t worry, Will. I’ll make sure he’s bottle-free. Thanks for letting the others know--it’s nice to see I’m left with the fun assignment.” Hoisting her bag up to her shoulder, she took a deep breath. “If you don’t see either of us at the meeting, we’ll have killed each other. If that happens, take good care of Mr. Gordo for me...”

At that, both girls went their own way, spirits heavy with apprehension.

Author's Note:Ok, so from now on I'll be updating twice weekly. I've got a sizeable chunk of the story already written and squirreled away, but I'd rather post it slowly to give myself time to write more. That way you gentle readers won't be stuck waiting months in between posts.
And thanks, as always, to those who reviewed. You make this worthwhile :)

Cheesies--check. Mug of O-Neg--check. Remote control--check.

Spike readied himself for yet another thrilling episode of Passions. Snacks and drink in hand, he dropped into his wingback chair, curious to see if Tabitha was finally going to give in to some dark magic. She needs to liven things up a bit--maybe turn them all into pigs, like the witch in that midget movie Dru always used to make me watch...

As he brought his mug to his lips, a resounding crash echoed through the crypt. The blonde vampire jumped up, nearly spilling blood all over himself. “Fuck!”

Then a voice he recognized too well piped up.

“What’s the matter, Spikey? Bit jumpy today?”

“Bloody hell, woman. Didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock? This is my home--I don’t go barging into yours, so what makes you think you have the right to come prancing in here uninvited?” He paused, wiping blood off his chin, and motioned to the TV. “And, you’re interrupting Passions. Whatever it is, it’ll have to wait until my show’s over.” With that said, he turned away from her, sat back in his chair, and wolfed down a handful of cheesies.

Buffy was dumbfounded. He was ignoring her! For a stupid soap opera, at that! She had two options. One, she could kick his TV off its stand and force herself to be the only distraction in the crypt; the trouble with destroying his only form of entertainment was that he wouldn’t be in much of a mood to cooperate--she’d never convince him to go to the meeting.

The second option was to hang around until his stupid show was over. She could actually have fun with that one--she could annoy the hell out of him. That way, maybe he’d give in and listen to her before the end of the show...

Second option it is, then.

“Fine. I’ll wait until your stupid soap is done. You don’t mind if I watch, do you?”

“Whatever, just don’t pester me.”

“Do you have an extra chair?”

“No.”

“How ’bout a stool, or something?”

“No. Sit on the floor.”

“The floor’s cold.”

“Put up with it.”

“How ‘bout a blanket?”

“On the bed.”

“Ugh. A clean one?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “There might be one in the box at the foot of the sarcophagus.” One more word and I rip her throat out...

Buffy decided to give it a break and walked to scrounge for a blanket. She’d only been at it for two minutes and his left right eye was already twitching. This would be so much more fun than kicking his TV in...

She found what looked like an old handmade quilt and spread it out beside his chair. Surprisingly, it was actually a very nice quilt--didn’t have any skulls sewed onto it or anything, like she would have expected; it was just a plain, pinwheel-style quilt. She lay down on her stomach, chin resting on her hands. She figured she’d give it a few more minutes before picking up where she‘d left off.

During a commercial break, Spike glanced down at the Slayer, who had made herself quite comfortable on his old quilt. He had no idea what she was doing at his crypt, but he was certain he wouldn’t like it one bit. At least she’d shut up--if there was one thing that really cheesed him off, it was when people talked to him while he watched TV or a movie. He’d stopped going to the movies with Dru for that reason--she would prattle on endlessly throughout the entire flick, driving him absolutely nuts.

He found himself looking at Buffy’s form, admiring the body of the one person who was his equal in battle. She was petite, but that would be misleading to anyone who didn’t know that she packed a punch that could knock Mike Tyson out. He let his eyes take in her curves, and stopped them at her rear. Mortal enemy or not, she was a hot little number.

Buffy could feel his eyes on her. She looked up and noticed that he was staring at her. After an initial feeling of pride, been a while since someone’s noticed me, Buffy clued in that the one doing the looking was Spike--her mortal enemy and ever annoying one. She knew that she should be disgusted and figured that he deserved a good kick in the nose for not even trying to hide his ogling.

Forcing herself to sound irritated, she asked him “You still watching your show? It’s back on, you know. Unless you wanna turn the TV off and listen to me...”

Busted! “No! I‘m going to watch my show...” He returned his focus to Passions, working hard on ignoring the ass that was still wiggling in the corner of his field of vision.

Ok, time to take out the heavy artillery... In the most juvenile voice she could come up with, Buffy asked. “Who’s that lady?”

“That’s Tabitha.”

“Why’s she doing that?”

“’Cause she’s a witch.”

“Oh.” Buffy paused just long enough to give her ’host’ the impression that her 20 questions were over. “Who’s he?”

Shut up, shut up, shut up... “That’s Timmy...”

“He’s short.” Holding back a snicker, she soldiered on. “Why’s he so short?”

Ok, that’s it... Spike turned his attention to the Slayer. “You know, if you can’t let a bloke watch one fucking TV show in peace, just leave, will you? That or shut the fuck up!”

Buffy gave him a blank look, then frowned at him. “Well! If you don’t know why he’s so short, why don’t you just say so? You don’t have to yell at me!”

Spike was about to get up and break his chair over her head when he noticed the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth. She was playing him, and he actually fell for it. He’d done it so often to others, but he’d never had anyone push his buttons so smoothly.

Inwardly, he smiled. Two can play at this game.

“Lack of sex.”

Buffy’s head shot up. “What?!”

“You asked why he’s so short. It’s because of lack of sex.”

“Shyeah, right. Like that makes sense.”

“Sure it does. Look at yourself, for example. You’re short--when was the last time you got some?” He had to keep his eyes focused on the TV, to avoid breaking out in a wide grin. He could hear her pulse quicken. Touched a nerve, have I?

“What does that have to do with anything? You’re such a pig, Spike.”

“So you’re not denying that you haven’t had any in a while, then, pet?”

“I’m not answering--I’m no longer talking to you.”

His plan successful, Spike sat back and enjoyed the remainder of his show without interruption.

***

He held the remote out, and turned the TV off.

“Ok, Slayer, what brings you to my humble crypt? I doubt you came over just to watch TV and play 20 questions.”

Buffy sat up, and realized that she had also been played. She’d obviously lost, as he got to watch his show in silence.

She stood up and folded the quilt. “Giles sent me over. We have a meeting tonight at the Magic Box and he needs you to be there.”

Spike looked at her, silently wondering if this was some sort of joke, or worse yet, a trap. He raised an eyebrow, and decided to call her bluff. “Sure--I’ll play along. What time does he need me there?”

Snuh? He‘s not even putting up a fight! “Ok, who are you and what have you done with Spike?” Buffy couldn’t believe that the usually belligerent vampire wasn’t even putting up a fuss.

Spike cocked his head to the side. “Come again?”

“Why aren’t you telling me to ‘sod off’ or whatever you’d usually say?” She squinted her eyes at him. “Do you already know what this is about? Is this about something you’ve done?” More to herself, she muttered. “Could be, if the Council’s involved...”

The blonde vampire laughed out loud. “Ha! Isn’t this special--the Council of wankers is involved, and the Slayer doesn’t even know what it’s all about!” Seeing the anger in her eyes, he continued. “No, I don’t know what this is all about. I figure that if ol’ Rupes thinks I’m needed, then I should probably drop by and see what it’s all about. Anyway, this should be more interesting than spending a night playing pool with a bunch of college tossers.”

Handing him the folded quilt, Buffy huffed. “Just be there at eight. And if I ever catch you looking at my butt again, you’ll be finding yourself on the wrong side of a stake.” She stormed off, leaving him alone once again.

Bloody bint, wiggling her arse and then yelling at me for staring at it. I may be a vampire, but I’m still a male. That led him to think of just how long it had been since he’d had some. “Bloody hell...”

Author's Note: Hope you're still enjoying yourselves! I've decided that i'll update this on Mondays and Thursdays--we'll see if I can remember that :)
And please, as always, don't hesitate to feed the author (reviews taste best).

“Thank you. Please come spend your money here again.” Anya handed her last customer the shopping bag, and offered her a bright, capitalist smile. She escorted the older lady to the exit and closed the door after her.

Flipping the Open/Closed sign to Closed, she sighed. “You know, earning people’s money is really exhausting. All that false smiling and being nice--it would be so much easier if they came in, knew what they wanted, and gave me the money. All that browsing...” Her rant continued as she made her way her way to the till to count the day’s earnings.

Ignoring his girlfriend’s grumbling Xander walked over to the table that was situated on the store’s main floor. “So, does anyone know why Giles called this meeting?”

Putting a bottle of newt spleens back on the shelf, Buffy scrunched her nose. “No, he didn’t say anything. He usually gives me a general overview, like ‘we need to do research‘, or ‘there’s another big bad in town‘, but this time he just said ‘can’t go into details--just make sure everyone’s there by eight pm’. I bet you anything that it has to do with that phone call he got last night...”

“And what phone call would that be, pet?”

All heads turned to the back of the store to gape at the newest arrival.

Xander let out a irritated groan. “Great! It’s Spike! What the hell are you doing here?!”

Rolling her eyes, Buffy answered the vampire. “A phone call that’s none of your business, Spike. Just sit down and shut up until Giles gets here. I don’t know why he wanted you here for the meeting...”

Looking up from her homework for the first time, Willow cast a wary glance at the vampire; she jumped and let out a squeak when he sat down beside her, propping his feet on the table.

Spike looked at the young witch with a devilish grin. “Evenin’ Red. Hope you’re not still bitter about the bottle incident. I was a bit despondent--wasn’t quite my usual charming self.”

Willow’s face took on a bright tinge of pink. “Oh no! I’m over that!” Nervous laugh. “I don’t cringe anymore when I see bottles--no bottle phobia for me...” She took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Truth was, she still hadn’t completely gotten over the incident that had taken place a year before. Being kidnapped by a sociopath, sorrow-stricken vampire and being threatened by said vampire with a broken bottle takes some getting over. And it wasn’t like she could attend a few therapy sessions, either. With her tale of slayers, vampires and witches, she’d more than likely be given a good dose of happy juice and sent to Sunnydale Psychiatric.

Spike grinned widely and slapped her on the back. “Good to hear that, Red. No hard feelings, then?”

“Oh, no. None at all. Just like it never happened. Uh, I have to go to the bathroom now...” She gave him a nervous smile and ran away.

Anya’s ears perked up to Willow’s last words. “Hey! The facilities are for buying customers only!”

Xander sighed. “Ahn, let it go...”

The ex-demon ignored his tone, pushing the topic further. “You know, just because the store’s closed, it doesn’t mean that we have to throw all rules out the window, Xander. When was the last time Willow actually bought something? She just hangs around at meetings, using...”

Her lecture was cut short by the jingle of the bell hanging above the door, signalling the Watcher’s arrival.

Rupert Giles scanned the room, relieved to see that everyone was in attendance. He had his doubts as to whether or not Spike could be convinced to attend, but he’d assumed that the vampire’s curiosity would ensure his presence.

“I’m glad that you’re all here. I’ve some... news that I need to share with you.” He removed his glasses and wiped the lenses before placing them back on the bridge of his nose. “And before any of you ask,” he caught most of them with their mouths open, “yes, this meeting is related to the phone call I received yesterday.”

All mouths but one snapped shut.

“Will someone please share what this bloody phone call is all about? Everyone seems to know about it but me.” Spike’s tone took on a more whiny inflection. “I’m always left out of these bleedin’ revelations...”

“Don’t worry, Spike. You‘re about to catch up.” He cleaned his glasses again, and took a seat.

***

“Yesterday, as most of you know, I received a phone call. What you don’t know was that it was from Quentin Travers. It seems that we’re faced with yet another potential apocalypse.”

Xander groaned. “Why apocalypses? Why doesn’t the Council ever call to let us know something fun, like ‘Hey guys, the circus is coming to town!’. Nah, it’s always got to be about the end of the world.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Will you just shut up and let the man talk?”

Grateful for the vampire’s intervention, Giles continued. “Er, thank you, Spike. As I was saying, the Council has uncovered a prophecy that has been put in motion, not to end the world, but to alter it.”

Now he had the Scoobies undivided attention.

“Thousands of years ago, a key was created that would allow the opening of trans-dimensional portals. Now, before you interrupt,” he glanced pointedly at both Spike and Anya, who were rolling their eyes, “I am well aware that objects used for inter-dimensional travel aren‘t rare; however, this key has very special properties. It isn’t used to travel from one dimension to another--it’s used to make one dimension accessible to many other dimensions.”

He looked at the faces before him, and saw that he needed to explain further. Blank stares and raised eyebrows were never a sign that one was well understood.

“What this means is that if someone opens this portal here on earth, beings from hundreds, maybe even thousands, of other dimensions will have access to our own dimension.”

Anya was the one to break the silence. “But... but that key is supposed to be a legend. It doesn’t really exist. I’ve heard about it, in demon circles, but it was like a fairytale or something...”

“Well, Anya, I assure you that it is far from a fairytale. The key is very real, and is now in the hands of some people who plan on using it, earth be damned.”

Ever the pragmatic one of the group, Buffy shared her solution with the group. “Well, we have to find this key and destroy it. That’s the beginning, the middle, and the end of the story, isn’t it, Giles?”

Her Watcher cleared his throat. “Well... no. It’s not quite that easy, Buffy. You see, the key isn’t exactly really a key.”

Spike’s patience was nearing its limit. He’d never had the attention span for all the planning and background work that came with most plans. He was more a man of action. Walk into a room, guns blazing... that was more his style. Truth be told, however, he wasn’t planning on taking this prophecy lightly. If the Watcher called an emergency meeting, asked for him to attend, and mentioned the high council of wankers, things had to be pretty scary.

“Ok, Watcher, I‘ll play your game. When is a key not a key? When it’s... Come on, Rupes, fill in the blank for us non-Watcher types, will ‘ya?”

Giles removed his glasses, and put the earpiece in his mouth.

“Yes, well, the monks who created the key needed to put it in a form that would make it more difficult to find. You see, those who would use it for nefarious purposes would be looking for an actual key, something that resembles what we all have on our key chains.” To demonstrate this, he pulled his house keys out of his pants pocket and held them up for all to see. “However, a key that opens portals doesn’t exist in a tangible form. Rather, it’s made of energy. What the monks have done is given this energy a form that no one will have expected.”

Feeling brave, Xander piped up. “So what you’re saying is that this key could be anything. It could be some old lady’s refrigerator, it could be that pencil that Spike keeps tapping on the table, or it could have been the Lucky Charms I had for breakfast...” At this last point, a look of terror came over his features. “Oh my God! I might have eaten the key for breakfast!”

Annoyed with the young man’s dimwitted conclusion, Spike cuffed him upside the head.

“Oh, please! The monks wouldn’t turn the key to a portal into something that a stupid git like you could eat for breakfast. I can’t believe that the lot of you have foiled my every plan.” He rose from his seat, and began to pace.

“Use your brains here, folks. It would have to be in form that could be easily accessible to those who keep an eye on it, but it would have to be easy to move around. Can’t be a bloody refrigerator--how would they move that at a moment’s notice?” At this point, he seemed more to be thinking out loud than actually addressing any of the others. “It could be a book, but that’s been done so many times--it would be too obvious. The only other logical thing would be...”

He stopped short so suddenly he almost toppled over. “Bloody hell!” He turned to Giles as if they were the only two people in the room. “They’ve turned it into a human!”

Now it was Giles’ turn to be surprised. He had argued against Travers’ insistence that Spike be involved. He was not to be trusted, he was dangerous, hell--he’d tried to kill them all on several occasions. What he had not counted on was Spike’s intelligence. Of course, if he thought about it, the bleached vampire couldn’t have survived as long as he had--while caring for an insane girlfriend--without being able to think two steps ahead of everyone else.

Council: 1, Rupert Giles: 0.

Oh, well. Can’t bloody win them all, can I? The Watcher cleared his throat, and spoke up.

“Very well done, Spike. That’s precisely what the monks have done. When Council members learned that the child of the prophecy was to be brought to this world, er... born, I should say, they sought it out, in the hopes of reaching it first.”

“But they didn’t, did they?” Buffy was beginning to see where this was headed. She didn’t like it one bit; this wasn’t going to be good for Buffy Summers...

The Watcher’s gaze fell to the floor. “No, they did not. When they arrived at the child’s home they found its entire family slaughtered. Mother, Father and a sister bludgeoned to death. The child was nowhere to be found.”

Everyone gasped, except for Spike and Anya--they’d both seen this kind of thing before and weren‘t surprised.

Tears in her eyes, Willow spoke up for the first time. “Do... do they know who did this? I mean, the Council must know who took the baby, doesn’t it?”

“No. I’m afraid this is where we come in. Travers has requested our help in helping them find the child, and whomever is responsible for having kidnapped it.” He took a deep breath, expectant of an outburst.

“He has requested, in particular, Buffy and Spike’s assistance...”

Both Slayer and Vampire rose at once. “What?”

Buffy scoffed. “I’m not helping them--I quit! Do they think I forgot about when they locked me up, defenceless, with some crazy-ass vampire? I sure as hell haven’t forgotten that one. They can find someone else, because I‘m having nothing to do with this.”

Spike, for once, had to agree with his counterpart. “She’s right, mate. Council’s got nothing on us. They’re the ones with a world of resources, let them deal with it. Don’t bloody know why they need me, anyway...”

Giles had anticipated their reaction. Why should they agree to the Council’s request? Buffy owed them nothing; they‘d always treated her like simple chattel. She was no more than a tool in their fight against evil. And Spike? What allegiance does a vampire owe the Council of Watchers? Its main purpose is to eradicate his kind--his reaction to brush off their request was dead on.

However, it was important for both of them to go through with this; as corny as it sounded, the world depended on them.

The Watcher cleared his throat. “Buffy, I understand that you would be... leery... of assisting the Council in any matter. I don’t blame you for the animosity you hold against them. However, this isn’t just between yourself and the Council. If whoever has the child is successful in fulfilling the prophecy, the whole world will pay. Every man, woman and child on earth will be faced with untold suffering. You are the Slayer--it is your calling to help keep the world safe from unnatural forces. You can’t let grudges keep you from doing your job.”

Buffy‘s shoulders slumped, primarily at having been properly chastised, but mainly at having let her emotions get the best of her. Giles was right. If she refused to help just because she wanted to feel the joy in telling the Council to ‘stick it’, who knows what the outcome would be. What would happen to her mom? What about Willow, Xander and Anya? No, she couldn’t refuse for selfish reasons.

“Fine. I’ll do it.” Nodding in Spike’s direction, she asked: “Now what’s the story behind him?”

The vampire chimed in “Yeah, what do they want with me? Can’t bloody expect me to help them, can they?”

“Actually, Spike, they do. Just hear me out, and you’ll see that it will be in your favour to assist us in this task.” Giles paused, and when he saw that Spike didn’t intend to interrupt, he continued. “First of all, you’ve already made it clear, when you helped us against Angel in his attempt to call forth Acathla, that you have an attachment to the world and its status quo. Something about ‘happy meals on legs’, if I recall...”

Spike’s poker face remained steadfast. He motioned with his hand for the Watcher to continue.

“Also, and I think this might be the part that catches your interest, you can expect an all-expenses paid trip back to the mother country. Airfare, lodging, food... The Council is willing to fund your travels. And last, but not least, you’ll get to expect, as you’d put it, ‘a good spot of violence’.” Satisfied with his argument, Giles sat back in his chair and waited for Spike’s decision.

As good as the Watcher’s points were Spike was still sceptical. “That’s all lovely, Rupes, but what does the Council want in return? I doubt I’m bein’ asked to act as tour guide for the Slayer...”

“To be honest, Spike, of all the individuals the Council has access to, you’re the one with the best knowledge of England’s demon underground, with the best contacts. You, and I’m quoting Travers on this, “are pivotal to the success of this endeavour“.”

Spike stood up and walked slowly towards the bookshelves, duster billowing behind him. He stopped in front of one of the shelves and slid his fingers across the titles on a number of books, as if searching for something specific. To no one in particular, he spoke. “I’ll expect nothing less than first class tickets for the plane, five star hotels and a limitless credit card. If you can promise me those three things, Watcher, I’m in.”

Author's Note: Well, now there's a bit of action and things will be moving along at a quicker pace. Sorry if this hasn't been Spuffy enough yet, but it's a longer story than I usually write. But take my word for it, this is a Spuffy story and the juicy bits *are* there. And, again, please review; it helps me gauge whether or not anyone's actually enjoying this. (a big thanks to thow who reviewed ch. 4).

Buffy knew this wouldn’t be easy. Even though her mother had been told about the slayage a few years ago, she still didn’t really understand what it was all about.

“Mom--I have no choice in this. I have to go to England, and I have to try and stop these people from killing that baby. If I don’t, it’ll be the end of the world as we know it.” Stupid REM song--now I’ll have that in my head all evening...

Joyce was having trouble wrapping her mind around this. “But Buffy, what if they just called the police? If it’s a kidnapping, I don’t see why you should be involved. You’re just a young woman.”

The Slayer groaned. Maybe there’s a reason why Slayers don’t usually have families. “Look, what do you think would happen if we did call the police? ’Here’s the story, officer: some shifty types have kidnapped a baby, who’s really an energy key, who they plan on sacrificing in order to open trans-dimensional portals.’ What do you think, Mom? Do you think they’d rush right out looking for demons?” She took a deep breath, and sat down on the couch beside her mother. “There’s a reason why there’s a Slayer, and that’s because no one else is prepared to handle these kinds of emergencies. I know it’s hard for you to understand, but this kind of stuff really exists, and for some cosmic reason, I’ve been chosen to fight the good fight.”

Joyce sighed, and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Buffy, I understand what you’re telling me. It’s just so scary for me to let you go; you’re so young, and this is such a big task. I’m just happy that Spike is going with you--he’s such a nice young man.” She smiled as her thoughts turned to her hot chocolate buddy. Her daughter didn’t know it, but the bleached blonde came over regularly for chats. It was nice to have someone to talk to about art, about being a single mom (raising a Slayer, to boot), heck... about pretty much anything.

Buffy bristled at her mom’s comments. “He is not a ‘nice young man’, Mom. He’s a vampire! He spent over 120 years brutally killing people. Do you know why his nickname is Spike? It’s because he killed people with railroad spikes--that doesn’t make him a ‘nice young man’.”

Now it was Joyce’s turn to be angry. “Buffy Summers! I will not have you take that tone with me. I may not be very knowledgeable about demons and prophecies, but I’m a damned good judge of character. The Spike that I know is smart, funny, and caring. If you gave him half a chance, you could get to see the man he’s become, instead of the monster he used to be.”

“Mom, it’s just that I worry. I mean, you’re inviting someone who’s tried to kill me into our home. You can’t blame me for being worried. But, for some insane reason, I have to agree that he seems... taken... with you; I don’t think he’d try to hurt you. Probably because no one else would bother to have him over for hot chocolate and listen to him whine about his batty ex-girlfriend...” At her mother’s surprised look, Buffy continued. “Yeah, Mom. I know he comes over. I can sense it when he’s been in the house--all part of the Slayer package.”

Joyce smiled. “Well, there goes my last secret. Look, it’s almost 6 and Giles should be by to pick you up soon. Let’s have one last look through your stuff to make sure you haven’t forgotten anything.”

***

“You know, I appreciate you doin’ this for me, and all.” Spike’s head appeared through the hole that led to the lower half of his crypt. He tossed a leather bag up onto the ground as he made his way back into the upper level. “No knowing what kind of nasty would decide to move in if I’d leave this place unattended to...”

Clem, the demon whom he was addressing, had already made himself comfortable in the vampire’s chair. “Don’t even mention it, Spike. This is a great set-up for me. I don’t even get cable at the apartment.” Rifling through his packsack, he muttered. “Now, should I open the Pringles or the Bugles first?” Settling on the red tin, he turned his attention back to Spike. “So where is it that you’re going, anyway?”

Rummaging through the fridge for a bag of O-Neg, the vamp turned back to his friend. “Bein’ sent back to the mother country to help avert some apocalypse. You know, the usual: prophecy, tot in danger, dimensions bleedin’ into each other...” He emptied the bag into a mug and stood in his ‘living room’, across from the other demon.

“Haven’t been overseas in over 50 years. Dru wanted to see America, bleedin‘ land of opportunity. That stupid doll of hers told her that our future lay across the water. We should‘ve just gone across the Channel; would have fared better in France, even if we‘d have to put up with the French.” He took a sip of his blood and stared ahead, not really looking at anything in particular. Shaking his head, he brought his attention back to the present. “Betcha all the best pubs have been replaced by Starbucks, ‘s gonna be all different...”

Clem let the blonde vamp talk. He was aware that a reply wasn’t expected of him; Spike just needed to get some issues out of his system. Since he’d announced that he was going back to England, his emotions had run hot/cold. One moment he’d be whining about having lost Dru, the next he would be kicking his furniture in, cursing ’that bloody Slayer’. The quiet demon assumed that the vampire might have some unresolved... feelings... for Buffy, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to be the one to bring that idea out into the open.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Spike. Even if it has changed there’s nothing you can do about it now. Anyway, I’m sure all the better demon bars haven’t changed a bit. You’ll walk back in and it’ll be like you never left.” He gave his friend a quick smile and offered his some Pringles.

Leaning in to grab a few chips, Spike sighed. “Yeah, I should stop being such a wanker about this. ‘S not everyday you’re offered a paid vacation to England. Can’t really pass this one up, even if I’ll be stuck travelling with the Slayer.”

Putting his empty mug on top of the TV, the blonde vamp shrugged. “Well, sun’s finally down. I expect they’ll be waiting for me.” He threw his duster on and grabbed his bag. With a sly grin, he added. “I’m off to save the world...” Chuckling to himself, the vampire headed out.

***

When he entered the Magic Box, Spike nearly walked right in the middle of a great big Scooby group hug. Bloody Hell... Sneering, he sauntered past the sniffling teenagers and sat himself down at the table beside Giles.

“You’d think we were leaving forever, the way they’re all goin’ about...” He turned to face the Watcher. “So, Rupes, do you have everything we need for this little trip?” His main interest lay in the limitless credit card, and he couldn’t wait to get his hands on that little piece of plastic. It had been a long, long time since he’d had access to that kind of money.

Giles cleared his throat. “Erm, oh--yes. All the papers are in the car. Plane tickets, passports, identification. All the addresses and numbers you’ll need once you’re in England have been jotted down in a booklet. Of course, you’ll be met at the airport by a Council representative, but I’ve still provided you with all the necessary information, in case anything... unforeseen... happens.” Please don’t ask about the credit card...

The Watcher hadn’t the guts to tell either Buffy or Spike, but the Council was yet to confirm their agreement to two of Spike’s three conditions: the five star hotel and the limitless credit card. They figured that if they splurged on the plane ticket, that the vampire would forget about the other two requests. Giles knew better than that. Spike would be expecting the royal treatment. Thing was, though, he had to make sure that the vampire made his way across the ocean; if that meant omitting some important details, well, so be it. Honestly, he couldn’t truly expect the Council to give in to all his requests--he knows better than that...

As Spike watched Willow and Buffy hug (now that was an image he would be storing away for when he got ‘lonely‘), his mind began to wander to the upcoming trip. Wonder what hotel they’ve got us booked at? If I had my choice I’d be set up at Brown’s Hotel--now *there* was a grand place. Hope it hasn’t been turned into a Radisson or anything like that...

The vampire’s musings were interrupted by Giles announcing that it was time to leave. If he hadn’t known better, he’d say that the Watcher was eager to set them on their way. He stood up and picked up his bag. “I’ll be outside; all this blubbering is making me sick.” With that, he stepped outside to have a smoke.

A few minutes later, Buffy and Giles exited the building and joined Spike by the Watcher’s car. Flicking his cigarette, the vamp exhaled a last puff of smoke. “Right, then. We off?”

Author's Note: I realized a few days ago that I neglected to thank my beta for this story. Melissa and I are no longer in contact, but she really helped me with the first 26 chapters of this story. So, thank you Melissa for everything--it's much appreciated. I'd also like to thank Christie, who was nice enough to fill the empty position. She's got a good eye for inconsistencies and a wicked clever sense of humour.
And, of course, thanks to all who reviewed. It really helps the writing process to know that people are reading and enjoying.

“Five suitcases, eh, Slayer? Plannin‘ on spending the rest of your life overseas?”

Spike lit up a cigarette as he watched Giles pull Buffy’s luggage out of the car’s trunk. He’d considered helping them with the luggage, but shook off the odd feeling, attributing it to nerves. Must be goin’ soft. Pretty soon I’ll be helpin’ little old ladies cross the street...

“Shut up, Spike. Unlike yourself I have more than one outfit. Anyway, who knows how long we’ll be there? It could get cold!” She put the last of her bags on the trolley and followed her Watcher into the airport.

The blonde vampire rolled his eyes and took one last deep drag before tossing his fag to the ground. It would be a long while before he got the chance to light up again...

***

Inside the airport, Giles and Buffy were saying their good-byes. Although the flight didn’t leave for another hour, the Watcher had to make his way back home--he had to pick up the slaying duties, along with the Scoobies. He gave her a final hug and moved back a step.

“Now, Buffy, I don’t need to tell you this, but don’t let the Council tell you what to do. Your advantage is that you’re their only hope in stopping this prophecy.” He handed her a manila envelope. “Now put this in your carry-on. It contains all the information and paperwork you’ll need once you’ve landed. And last, but not least, I want you to be on your guard around Spike. He’s not to be trusted; who says he won’t turn on you, or try to disappear the minute you arrive at Heathrow...”

“I say, Watcher.” Spike had been standing apart from the two others, but had obviously been listening to their conversation. He walked up to Giles, decreasing the distance between them. “I said I’d help, and I’m here to follow through on my word. I don’t fancy having to fight whatever kind of riff-raff might drop in on us if this portal opens up--this is as much for my well-being as for everyone else’s. Anyway, the Council’s kept its end of the bargain, and so will I.”

That last phrase unnerved the Watcher. Would Spike abandon the mission when he got to London if the Council set them up in a rooming house, or if his ‘limitless’ credit card had a limit of £500? It was a chance he’d just have to take. If the vampire found out now, he’d never even get on the plane. Perhaps he could develop a sense of right on the flight to England...

He pulled Spike aside, and whispered. “That‘s all well and good, Spike, but I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that if you do decide to jump ship and strand Buffy I will find you--you’ll be getting up close and personal with jolly old Ripper. Angelus isn‘t the only one adept at torture. You‘ll have wished that you never left her side...”

An unveiled threat from the Watcher. Well, well. Not the stiff prat I always took ‘im for... With an air of nonchalance, Spike conceded. “Well said Watcher. I’ll consider myself aptly warned. Now let’s get our bags checked in, or we’ll never be on our way.” With that, he grabbed two of Buffy’s suitcases and walked off. Bloody ponce, I’ve become--carrying the Slayer’s suitcases. Oh look! There’s an old lady; maybe I can help her with hers, too.

Buffy took in a deep breath and held back her tears. “Giles, don’t worry about me. I’ll be back before you know it. I just want everyone to be careful on patrol, and please watch out for Mom, and...” She threw herself at her Watcher and gave him a big hug. Wiping back the tears she couldn’t hold in, she smiled at him and backed away. “Bye, Giles.” She turned around, and walked towards an obviously exasperated vampire.

“’Bout bloody time. Thought I’d be goin’ on my own there, for a minute.”

***

After they had checked their baggage, the two travelers still had 40 minutes to kill before boarding their plane.

Buffy looked around. “So, what do we do now? Just sit around waiting for the plane to get here?”

Spike turned to look at her. “Have you ever flown before, Slayer?”

The diminutive blonde tossed the vampire a ’duh!’ look. “Of course I... haven’t. Actually this will be my first time.” Pausing, she added: “I am an airplane virgin.” Eyes round, she groaned and put her hands over her face. “I can’t believe I actually said that out loud.” She looked up at him and poked her index finger in his chest. “One comment from you, and you’re dust.”

Spike bit back his retort and chuckled. “There’s lots to do while we’re waitin’, pet. We can go have a drink, or a bite to eat. Then we could go and take a gander at the shops, see what they’re peddling...”

Buffy stiffened and narrowed her eyes. “Ok mister, what’s up? Why are you being... nice... to me?”

“Look, Buffy, if we’re going to be stuck together for at least a fortnight, we have to get along, or neither of us will survive this trip.” He offered her a genuine smile. “Anyway, I’m in a good mood--I’m going back to London. I’ll get to see my old haunts. So, what do you say? Will you let me buy you a latte, or whatever it is you girls drink?”

His gaze was on her, waiting for a response. It was then that she realized she’d never noticed how blue his eyes were. Kind of like the ocean, just before a storm... Snapping out of it, she relaxed a little. “Ok, William, I’m game. A latte would be nice just about now.”

They wandered around for a short while, finally sighting a coffee shop. They entered and joined the queue.

Spike looked up at the selection, frowning. He had no idea what half the drinks were. When the hell did a coffee stop being a coffee? Frowning, he asked his companion: “So, what is it that you want?”

Obviously more at ease than her companion, Buffy answered quickly. “Medium latté, with low fat whipped cream, and low fat caramel drizzle. Oh, and a carrot muffin, too.”

“Bloody hell! You’re seriously asking me to order that, aren’t you? They’ll think I’m gay or something. I’m getting two black coffees and that‘s that.” He moved up the line, leaving Buffy behind to grab them a table.

Mumbling to herself, the young woman found a table. Stupid vampire--who the heck drinks black coffee but the undead?

As she looked ahead, she couldn’t help but grin at the sight of Spike, a master vampire, standing in line at a coffee shop. Just like the rest of the world... Except he’s nothing like the rest of the world, is he? He’s spent the last 120 years torturing and killing people; he’s a monster wrapped in a human disguise--kind of like an evil eggroll.

That last thought had Buffy giggling to herself, until the sound of a plastic tray being slammed on the table got her attention.

Seething with bitterness, Spike spat out “I hope it’s how you like it, Slayer, ’cause I’m not bloody goin’ back up there. Felt like a complete poof trying to order that concoction.” He handed her the latte, as well as a small paper bag which contained her muffin.

Taking a sip of his own drink, he pulled a chocolate croissant out of the other bag and took a bite.

Buffy could smell that his own drink was definitely not a black coffee. With a sweet-as-honey grin, she teased him. “So, Spikey, whatcha drinking? That smells pretty good for black coffee...”

She made a move to grab the mug away, but the vampire was quicker. He pulled his hot chocolate out of her reach and grumbled. “It’s none of your business what I’m drinking; you just drink what’s in front of you.”

Buffy decided not to push the subject. It wasn’t worth getting in a fight over, anyway-- being kicked out of “Flora’s Coffee and Sweets” wasn’t on her A-list. She was sure she’d be able to weasel the information out of him eventually--she just had to bide her time.

They finished their drinks and snacks in an uncomfortable silence, not really knowing what to talk about. Sitting there, Buffy tried to think of what they usually discussed. Monsters, demons, prophecies, beating each other up... not really stuff we could get into sitting here at Flora’s. As she opened her mouth to say something (anything would be better than just sitting there saying nothing), Spike beat her to it.

“Well, if you’re done maybe we can go and see if we can find ourselves some reading material. Six hours stuck in a plane isn’t exactly the most entertaining of things; gotta bring something to do, or you’ll go insane.” He got up, and walked away.

As she stood and looked to where the vampire waited for her, waiting patiently, at that, Buffy noticed Spike for the first time. Caught slightly off-guard by his unusually gentle demeanour, she’d allowed her walls to come down a little. Had she actually ever taken time to look at him as a man instead of just a monster? At that moment, his eyes bore the look of someone with infinite patience, but his body was like a coiled spring, ready to let go at a moment‘s notice; the supple duster he wore like a second skin contrasted his sharp cheekbones and taut muscles. He seemed a contradiction of himself. Although he was a self-professed ‘big bad’, he shamelessly wore his heart on his sleeve--if she were to look deep into his eyes, she could see into his soul... Wait! He has no soul--this is Spike you’re thinking about! There will be no fantasizing about the enemy, no matter how beautiful he is... Groaning to herself, Buffy grabbed her purse and carry-on and rushed out to join him.

Standing there waiting for the Slayer, Spike noticed that she was staring at him. Wonder what’s got the chit’s knickers in a knot this time. She’s probably mad that I didn’t wait for her. No pleasing that one... She seemed to snap out of it and bent to pick up her bags; he couldn’t help but take a short moment to appreciate her rear end, again. Cor, I’d give anything to have her squirming beneath me, screaming my name... He readjusted his pants as he wondered when his fantasy shifted from killing her to shagging her. This trip might be a bit harder to handle than he’d first thought...

***

Hmm... Cosmo or Seventeen? Both! Buffy was quickly amassing a library’s worth of magazines to keep her busy during the flight. If the time spent in the coffee shop was any indicator, she couldn’t really rely on conversation eating up much time on the plane. She turned to see what section Spike was in, but couldn’t find him anywhere. Now where the heck did he go? He’s the one with the wallet, for crying out loud... With a screech, she was jolted from her thoughts when a set of hands grabbed her around the waist.

“Boo!”

Hand on her chest, and heart beating wildly, she turned around to see Spike standing behind her, innocent look on his face. “So, have you found anything yet?”

Glaring at him, Buffy gave him a very unslayer-like slap on the arm. “Stupid jerk--I nearly had a heart attack.” Showing him her armful of magazines, she watched his eyes grow round. “As a matter of fact, yes. I have found a few to keep me busy...” She didn’t have time to finish her sentence before the stack was ripped from her arms.

“Bloody hell, woman! How many...” The blonde vamp flipped through the reading material. “...three, four, ...seven, eight... twelve magazines? Better narrow down your choices, I’m paying for 3--that’s it. Stupid things are expensive, too; don‘t know how they’re allowed to charge ten dollars for a stupid magazine, just because we‘re in an airport...”

Well, maybe I did get carried away... Buffy picked at her pile, and chose three. She dumped the remaining ones in a pile, garnering a cheesed-off look from the lady at the cash. She offered them to Spike so he could go and pay.

“No way, Slayer. I am not standing in line holding a copy of...” He looked at one of the magazines. “Cosmo.” His eyes narrowed as he read one of the captions on its cover. “10 ways to reach orgasm quicker?!” He let out a snort. “Yeah, like you can learn that from bleedin’ periodical.” He put his hand on her far shoulder, leaned in and whispered in her ear. “You know, Slayer, if you want, I could help you feel good in ways you‘ve never dreamed were possible...”

Without realizing it, Buffy closed her eyes and leaned back into his arm. His cool breath, mixed with what he was telling her, had her in a near trance. A little voice at the back of her mind goaded her into giving in to his offer of 120 years of practice--betcha he could really teach you a thing or two about pleasure... With a start, she snapped out of it. She pulled away from him and sent him a threatening glare.

What Buffy hadn’t noticed, however, was that Spike’s words had affected him as much as they had her. He’d never stood this close to her in the absence of violence. He felt the heat of her living body, could hear the blood pumping through her veins, her heart beating... Just the thought of the Slayer letting him show her just how good he was between the sheets had him readjusting his jeans once again.

As they approached the cashier, Buffy’s eye caught a beanie baby display on the counter. They weren’t real beanie babies, but an imitation. She recognized one of them, and tried to place where she’d seen it before. Eureka! She rifled through her coat pocket, and pulled out the card the little girl had left behind, at the birthday party. She read the name on the back of the card: Mew-Two. She picked up the cat/kangaroo beanie, and stared at it.

Spike put his magazines on the counter and waited for Buffy to do the same. He turned around an saw that she was engrossed in some stuffed animal. Bleedin’ women and their bleedin’ stuffed animals--I’ll never figure that one out... Rolling his eyes, he grabbed the magazines out of her hand, and turned back to the cashier. “Looks like we’re takin’ the stuffed... whatever she‘s holding...”

The cashier smiled at him. Wow--she didn’t even ask for it. The guy looks tough, but he must really be a softie. I wish George would do stuff like that for me... She rang in his purchase and gave him a 100-watt smile before giving him his change and the bag that held his purchase.

Spike nudged Buffy, who was still staring at that stuffed... well, he still didn’t know what the hell it was. “Let’s go, Sl... Buffy, ’s time to go wait for the plane.”

Buffy had really wanted to ask him for the beanie toy, but he was buying her 3 magazines, and he’d already treated her to a latté and muffin; she didn’t want to push it. With a perceptible sigh, she returned Mew-Two to its box.

She was surprised when Spike took it back out of the bo, and put it in her hand.

“Don’t worry, pet, it’s paid for. All I want to know is--what the hell is it?” As they left the store, he took it in his hand and examined it.

Buffy was floored. Wasn’t this a boyfriendy thing to do--buy stuffed animals for girls? And she didn’t even have to beg him for it! She was beginning to realize that Spike was a multi-layered vampire; what would she find under all those layers?

She turned her attention back to his question. “Actually, I don’t really know what it is.” She handed him the kid’s card. “I helped Mom host a birthday party for some kids last week, and they had these cards--by the way, kids are way too smart these days-- and one of them left this one behind. I recognized the beanie baby when we were waiting in line.” She took the beanie back, and looked at it just as Spike had. “Looks like a kangaroo-cat, though. The card says it’s called Mew-Two--whatever that means.”

Spike shrugged. “Lots of stuff ’bout kids I haven’t understood in a hundred years.” As he led them to the waiting area for their flight, he found two seats. “Here you go. They should announce the flight a few minutes before we have to board. We just have to sit here ’till then.”

Author's Note: Hope you guys are still enjoying yourselves :) As usual, please read and review--it gives me a happy. And Angela--I can't say that the story will have 50 chapters, but I'm thinking it'll be darned close to 40.

He could hear their blood pumping, rushing through their veins--each and every one of them: the woman with the baby, the rabbi, the blind man... His stomach growled as the demon in him begged for a drink Who knew how long it would be until he had his next chance at tasting the coppery fluid that sustains his unlife? Spike knew his opportunity for feeding would be slim once they’d reached Britain; his assignment would probably have him hip-to-hip with the Slayer which meant no fresh blood for ol’ Spike.

He shifted in his seat and crossed his legs. Then he uncrossed them. He needed to do this just right, so as not to raise any suspicion. He shifted again and grumbled. “Look, pet. I’m gonna go and have a smoke. All this waitin’s just making me edgy.”

Thank God. Buffy looked up from her magazine. “Ok--anything that will get you to stop fidgeting. You’re driving me nuts. If you’re like that while we’re on the plane, I’m gonna have to tie you down.” When the blonde vampire raised an eyebrow at her last comment, she shook her head. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Spike. Just... go and smoke.”

Spike whistled as he walked through the airport, looking for his next meal. Mmm... kinda like a buffet, isn’t it? Always too much to choose from... He saw a group of people waiting in line at one of the snack bars, and appraised each individual. Nah, don’t feel like Chinese; ugh--too greasy; tempting, but too small--I’d still be hungry afterwards. He knew he was being picky and he needed to act fast, before the Slayer decided to come looking for him.

He decided to go with the failsafe method: wait in the washrooms until some poor bloke walked in.

He hadn’t been waiting long before he heard the door open. Peering through the crack in the cubicle doorway, he saw an older gentleman in a suit. He let the man finish his business before walking out of the stall--there was nothing worse than drinking from someone who wet themselves. It was enough to lose your appetite.

The man was washing his hands when he heard someone leave one of the stalls. His head was facing down as the weight of his trip finally took a toll on him. Only two more hours, he thought to himself, and I’ll be back home. I’ve got to stop taking these trips--I never get to see Muriel or the girls anymore... He looked up and frowned. He could hear someone behind him, but there was no other reflection in the mirror, save his own. When he turned around and saw no one, he chuckled quietly. “Great, Bob, now you’re hearing things.”

A voice which chilled his soul whispered from behind him. “Sorry to say Bob, but you’re hearing’s dead on.”

The older businessman turned on the spot and found himself staring into the amber eyes of a killer. He took in a sharp breath, but didn’t scream. “Oh dear God...” He was facing... hell, he didn’t know what it was--its eyes were yellow, its face was bumpy and it had pointy teeth. He began to laugh nervously. “A vampire?”

Spike couldn’t help but smile at the man who faced death and laughed. “Very astute of you, Bob. Now for the million dollar question: what do vampires do to chubby over-the-hill salesmen?” He moved closer to the other man and put a hand to his neck, tilting his head to the side. His demon thrived on the racing heartbeat, the adrenaline, the fear...

Bob stared at Spike with an unwavering gaze. “Please don’t. I... I haven’t seen my wife or my daughters in over three weeks.” He saw the vampire’s eyes roll, but kept at it nonetheless. “I just made the sale of a lifetime--it’s enough to finally go to Disneyland. Please, please don’t do this to them...” He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable.

Not one of his victims had ever gotten that many words in--not ever. Spike wasn’t really the type of vampire to play with his food; not like Angelus, anyway. He would usually snap their necks in mid-whimper and drink. Now he found himself slightly ill at ease, and he hated Bob that much more for it. Why should the death’s door prattling about wives and daughters and Disneyland phase him, anyway? This man was a prime example of a ‘happy meal on legs’--he was dinner. End of story.

“Sorry, chap--but my plane’s going to be leaving sometime soon. Gotta get this show on the road.” He leaned in and bit the man’s neck, drinking in all the blood and fear that came out of him. When he felt the man’s pulse weaken, he pulled away. The demon in him roared in frustration. What the hell?! There’s still some juice left in him--don’t let it go to waste! You fucking ponce--it’s all because of that speech, isn’t it? What’s next--brown bagging it like the grandsire?

Spike lashed out and kicked the waste basket, tearing it off the wall. Looking down, he saw the slumped form of Bob the salesman--heart still beating. He pulled the man into one of the cubicles, sat him on the john and closed the door, all the while cursing at himself under his breath. He turned to the sinks and washed up before lighting himself a cigarette. At this point, he truly needed the nicotine to calm his nerves.

***

Spike returned from his ‘cigarette break’ and headed towards his seat. He picked his magazine up off the chair and sat down, staring ahead. The cigarette hadn’t really helped him understand where the... emoting... had come from; truth was, however, he didn’t care anymore. Maybe it was just an off day--he was nervous, he was stuck with the Slayer, he was about to return to Britain. Yeah, that must be it--just chalk it up to nerves.

He shot a sideways glance at the young woman, trying to broach a conversation. They had to open up a little, or this was going to be one of the longest couple of weeks ever... “So, this kiddie’s birthday thing--is that something you do often?” Wanker--what a stupid question...

Buffy put her magazine down and smiled at Spike. Ever the social creature, she much better preferred a conversation to reading--even if it was an article on Joseph Fiennes...

“Oh, God no! Once a year is so more than enough. That stupid birthday party is the low point of my year--I always get stuck entertaining the kids, while Mom and Willow cook the hot dogs. I suck at straws...” At the questioning look the peroxide vamp gave her, she blushed. “Uh, yeah--that didn’t sound good, did it?”

“Sounded good to me, pet. I think I know what you meant, though--you always get the short straw, right?”

Buffy exhaled, relieved that he’d gotten her meaning. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I meant. Willow never gets kiddie duty, and she actually likes kids.” Leaning in so no one else could hear them, she admitted, “Kids scare me. It’s like they’re smarter than they seem. They make me nervous--it’s kind of like being tested, or something.”

Spike chuckled. “And all this time I’ve been trying to kill you, I’ve been going about it all wrong. Should’ve just hired a bunch of tots to hound you. Could‘ve run you right out of Sunnyhell...”

“Oh, you’re so funny. And I bet you have so much experience with kids, fang face?”

“No, I was an only child. But in my day, women your age already had children. It’s just funny to hear that not only have you no idea what to do with them, but that they frighten you.” He continued chuckling to himself.

Buffy decided to turn the tables. “So now you know my dark secret. What’s yours? What silly little thing scares the big bad, huh, Spike?”

The vampire gave her a deer-in-the-headlights stare before regaining his big-bad attitude. “Haven’t got one.” There, maybe she won’t push it.

“Yeah, right. Everyone’s got something. Betcha yours is really silly--more than kids. Hey, how ‘bout I try to guess?” She looked like a kid in a candy shop. She jumped up in her seat, and straightened up. “Hmm... let me think. Are you afraid of heights?”

“No.”

“Water?”

“Unless it’s the holy variety, no.”

“The dark? Uh, nix that one. How ‘bout dogs?”

Spike looked at her like she’d grown a second head. “No.”

Buffy bit her lower lip. There had to be something--there’s always something... “Dolls?”

“No, unless you’re talkin’ about Miss Edith.”

Now it was Buffy’s turn to stare at her companion. “Spike--who, or what, is Miss Edith?”

“Miss Edith is Dru’s psychic doll. Too long to explain, pet. Keep guessing...” He was getting tired of playing twenty questions, but at least she was talking to him. This was much better than uncomfortable silence.

“Snakes?”

“Nope.”

“How about...”

Their game was interrupted as their flight was announced on the P.A.

Spike got up and grabbed the bag that held their reading material. “Guess we’ll have to continue later, luv. We’ve got to get in line.”

***

After they boarded the plane, both contentedly sat themselves down in 1st class. Spike grabbed the window seat, wanting to be in charge of the blind. The sun was bound to come up before they reached their destination and he wasn’t eager to be reduced to a pile of dust because of the Slayer’s sick sense of humour. He stretched his legs out and made himself comfy in the large padded seats. Exhaling an unnecessary breath, he grinned. “Sure beats coach, Slayer...”

Buffy looked around nervously. “Spike--do you think you could call me by my real name? I’d rather attract the least attention possible.”

“Sure, pet.”

“Birds?”

Spike opened his eyes, and stared at the young woman. “Come again, pet?”

“Birds--are you afraid of birds?”

“Ah, back to the game, are we? No.”

“Ghosts?”

Snicker. “No...”

“Well, it’s not that funny--I betcha poltergeists can be scary.”

“More like annoying, if you ask me.”

“Fine. Umm... spiders?”

“Er, no... I don’t like them, but I wouldn’t say they frighten me. I’ll make it easier on you, pet. It’s not a thing per se, that scares me.”

“Oh, ok... Aren’t we supposed to take off, or something?”

“They usually make us stew for about 15-20 min. before leaving.” He turned to look at her. “Are you nervous?”

How could she not feel nervous with those blue eyes looking at her? “Yeah, a little.” There was that little voice again... Maybe if you play it coy, he’ll keep looking at you like that. “Actually, a lot. Don’t your ears pop, or something?”

Spike frowned. Why is her pulse beating faster? Don’t fool yourself into thinking it‘s because of you. There’s no way the Slayer’d go for you, you git--get over it already. “Wouldn’t know about the popping, pet. Don’t exactly feel that kind of thing.”

“Oh, yeah. Guess I’ll find out soon enough.”

When the plane started to move, Buffy froze and her hands gripped the armrests. All the stories she’d heard about people’s ears bleeding from the pressure changes came back to her. She tried to even out her breathing--hyperventilating would so not be good right now. Closing her eyes, she tried to relax.

Her eyes jumped open when she felt Spike pry her hand off the armrest. She turned to look at him, but he was staring out the window. She looked down and saw that he had taken her hand in his. She should have been more nervous at having him touch her, but for some reason, his cold touch was reassuring. Exhaling, she closed her eyes and relaxed into her seat.

This wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

***

As far as flights go, theirs was uneventful. No turbulence, no screaming kids, heck--even the movie had run smoothly.

Buffy was slowly drifting back into consciousness as she felt a tugging on her right sleeve. Stretching, she yawned and rubbed her eyes. She turned and saw that Spike was looking out the window. Her eyes grew wide as she noticed that it was daytime and the blind was up.

Spike must have read her thoughts. Chuckling, he reassured her. “’S cloudy out--no big bad sunshine to burn me. Look down--we’re flying over land. You can see the houses.” He pulled at her sleeve again, inviting her to look for herself.

As she leaned over him to look out, the blonde vampire realized that he hadn’t counted on having her pressed up against him. He’d expected her to glance quickly and to keep her distance. He hadn’t expected her to sit on his lap and squeal like a ten year-old, wiggling in delight. Shifting, he tried to readjust the growing bulge in his pants, without her noticing.

The Slayer, however, was too entranced in the patterns the tiny households made to notice her companion’s discomfort. Nose pressed to glass, she squirmed again, trying to get more comfortable.

This time, Spike couldn’t bite back a moan. Bloody hell, can’t she feel that?! He was about to suggest that they trade seats when she grew very still.

Something hard was pressing into Buffy’s thigh. Her first assumption was that Spike had managed to carry some sort of weapon onto the plane; she wouldn’t put it past the bleached vampire to pull something stupid like that. When she heard the moan, though, she knew all too well what it was. And she knew what was causing it: she was. She chided herself. Stupid, stupid! You’re wiggling on his lap, for crying out loud! Why not just straddle him and give him a big sloppy kiss? Her devious inner voice retorted. Yeah, you’re causing it and you’re enjoying it, in some twisted way. You’re far away from Giles, your mom and the Scoobies. No one here to judge you--heck, no one here to know. What’s a little fun between vamp and Slayer?

The young blonde gulped and turned to look at the peroxide vamp. When her eyes met his, she shivered at the undisguised lust reflected in their blue depths. She licked her lips--why was her mouth so dry all of a sudden? “I... um...”

Spike wanted to take her then and there. Sod tact, he thought to himself, sod the 70 other blighters sitting around us... He wanted to feel her warmth surround him, hear her scream his name as she peaked, see her all sweaty and dishevelled... Instead, he opted to be the one to ease their discomfort. “How ’bout we change seats eh, ducks? You’ll get a better view and you’ll probably be a bit more comfy than you are sitting on my lap.” He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her response.

Buffy was tempted to decline. In a strange way, she found their proximity comforting. However, she could only guess at how awkward it must be for him. “Sure--if you don’t mind...” She shimmied a little, partly to give him room to move, partly to tease him a little, and moved out of the way.

In a liquid move, Spike moved from his seat to the Slayer’s. He wasn’t sure, but he’d swore she was playing him--no way did she need to wiggle her butt like that just for a seat change. He was relieved when the pilot’s voice came on to ask that they fasten their belts. He felt a stirring in his gut as the thought of returning home hit him. Prodigal son, he wasn’t...

The plane began its descent towards their destination. Nervous once again, Buffy let her mind fill with the worries of a novice flyer. What if the landing wheels don’t come out? What if the lights aren’t on, on the landing strip? What if a thick fog rolls out just as we’re landing?

Her breath caught, her pulse quickened, and she did the only thing that she knew would calm her: she slipped her hand into Spike’s.

To say that her action took her companion by surprise would be an exaggeration--after how she’d handled the take-off, he’d sort of expected this from the young woman; also, landings were often harder to take for first-time flyers. To say that her action took her by surprise was an understatement. How quickly had he turned from a threat to her life to the thing that kept her fear at bay? No, not the *thing*, her little voice announced, the *man*...

She peered at him slyly, out of the corner of her eye, expecting to see him either staring at her in surprise, or leering at her like she’d invited him for a quick roll in the aisle. However, his gaze remained steadfastly focussed away from her, although she could see the corner of his mouth twitch.

Spike finally turned to look at her. What was that look on his face? She was used to seeing anger, disgust, sarcasm (he had the eye roll of a teenager down pat), derision, but this look he gave her was different; it seemed to speak of... friendship?

He smiled at her and squeezed her hand reassuringly; still smiling, he turned back to whatever it was that had previously held his attention.

Buffy let out the breath she didn’t know she had been holding and relaxed in her seat. Yup. Friendship it is... She didn’t think anything could ever phase her again, as long as he was beside her.

Author's Note: Hey guys--I know some of you are wondering why I'm only posting two chapters a week when I have so many written. I want to keep posting at regular intervals, but my writing right now is slower than heck (teething baby). If I post all the chapters right away, you might not see anything for at least a month and I'd like to avoid that.
Anyway, please go and read--and, as usual, review. I need some pick-me-ups to counter the fussy baby :)

Too many people.

Buffy couldn’t believe that any place could hold so many people, all rushing somewhere. Business people with their cell phones and their laptops; mothers and fathers with their screaming kids; young hippie wannabes with their backpacks and Birkenstocks... It seemed that everyone under the sun was here, at Heathrow International Airport, at the same hour and on the same day as her.

Feeling nervous, and not for the first time like a little girl, she kept her eyes on Spike, who was pushing ahead of her, creating a part in the sea of people. Would it be blasphemous to compare a creature of the night to Moses? she wondered, a wry smile on her face.

No longer paying attention to where she was going, she bumped into something solid. She looked up into the amused blue eyes of her travel companion. He raised his eyebrows and smirked.

“Bit overwhelmed, pet?”

“Yeah, you could say that. Is there some kind of carnival or something going on? This is like Mardi Gras, only with twice the people.” She grunted as she was jostled. “Rude much? I thought Brits were supposed to be like Giles, Spike. You know, insufferably polite.”

“They usually are, but you’ve got more than Brits here. That ponce was probably French...” He took her arm and led her to where the baggage was coming onto the conveyor belt. “Keep your eye open for your bags. Wouldn’t want anyone nickin’ your skivvies.”

Although he gave off the appearance of someone at ease, Buffy could tell that Spike was wound as tight as a coiled spring. His nostrils were flaring, his eyes were skirting the large room, his fists were clenched; he was relying on his senses to tell him everything that was going on. He could probably tell what the short guy in front of them had for breakfast, he’d be able to smell all the different perfumes and deodorants, and though she wouldn’t want to know, he could probably also profess to know who had had sex, and which women were having their periods. Gross! He isn’t even saying it, and the thoughts are still sticking in my brain. Ugh...

She returned her attention to the bags dropping out of the chute, and idly wondered if hers would be last.

As if he’d read her mind, Spike leaned in. “Always seems like yours is last, doesn’t it? It’s like it’s a rule, or something. You get your bags last, there aren’t any carts left, and everyone’s snagged a cab.” He looked up and, seeing his duffel bag drop down, left Buffy peering for her own luggage.

As he walked over towards his bag, Spike tried to hold back a smirk. For once in their Slayer-vampire relationship, for the first time in four long years, he was in a situation where he was the stronger, more confident one. He should be basking in the glory of it all, taunting her wide-eyed naïvete, mocking her lack of worldliness; no--instead, what does he do? He moves in and protects her, surrounding her and cajoling her into a sense of security. He was royally on the road to poofterdom...

Contrary to what she’d expected, her bags were not last. Not far from it, but not last. She ran to grab them, snatching them almost before they fell onto the moving belt. A few minutes later, she was laden with suitcases and trying to find her way back to Spike. With a dramatic harrumph, she let everything fall at his feet. Blowing a strand of hair out of her face, she grimaced. “Remind me again why I decided to take my whole wardrobe?”

Slipping one of her bags on to his shoulder, Thank God these bleedin’ things aren’t pink, Spike grabbed another one by its handle. “Dunno. Something about ‘I don‘t even know what the weather is like out there’” he teased in an effeminate voice. “Come on, Buffy, they’ll probably think I’ve eaten you if we don’t go meet Mr. Council Wanker.”

As they made their way into the main concourse, Buffy was once again taken aback by the number of people at the airport. Her immediate reaction was to press herself closer to Spike; however, she fought off the feeling and increased their distance--minimally.

“Well, you’ll have to be lookout guy, ‘cause there’s no way I’m finding anyone in this crowd.” Had she missed a rule that said you had to be six feet tall to travel in England?

Spike easily spotted the woman holding the ‘Buffy Summers’ sign. “This way pet.” Snickering, he leaned in towards her. “Looks like they sent us a female version of Rupert.”

***

When they approached the Council representative, the blonde duo tensed up. They expected a stern reprimand about the amount of time it had taken them to reach her. At a quick glance she seemed severe, although she couldn‘t have been much older than 30: she wore a tweed skirt and blazer and had her hair up in a tight bun. Buffy was anticipating a lecture on the importance of being punctual. Spike, on the other hand, was expecting to see the wrong end of a pointy stick.

All preconceptions were thrown aside, however, as the woman’s seemingly stuffy demeanour was replaced with a more relaxed stance. Her face broke out into a wide grin and she warmly walked towards them.

Taking Buffy’s hands in her own, she spoke up. “Ah, Buffy. I’m so pleased to finally meet you! It’s not every day that one gets to meet someone as... talked about... as you.” Brushing a lock of hair behind the young woman’s ear, the watcher smiled. “You’re also as pretty as they said you would be.”

To say Buffy was floored would be an understatement. A watcher--smiling, complimenting, touching... This lady had to be an impostor. She realized that the woman was watching her. “Oh, sorry.” Nervous laugh. “You just don’t seem really, watcher-like. You kinda took me by surprise there, Ms...”

“Oh dear! How rude of me!” She took Buffy’s hand once again and gave it a proper shake. “I’m Amelia Bishop. And no, I‘m not what you would consider very ‘watcher-like‘, as you so finely put it. I‘m a bit of an odd duck--I believe that‘s why they sent me to greet you.”

“Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Amelia Bishop.” Buffy’s attention was diverted by an impatient cough from behind her. Rolling her eyes, she introduced her travel partner. “Amelia--Spike. Spike--Amelia.”

Though it seemed hardly possible, Amelia’s face brightened even more. “William--enchanted!” She gave him a very un-watcher like wink. “I’m sure you never expected to be joining us on Council matters...”

Spike took Ms. Bishop’s hand in his and placed a kiss on it. He presented her with his most bewitching smile. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

Blushing, the Council member returned his smile.

This exchange tweaked something in Buffy--Are they flirting?! Well... so what if they are. It’s not like I’m jealous or anything. It’s not like it bothers me that he never aims a smile like *that* my way. With a pout, she shifted her bags, which were by now getting a little heavy.

Her movement caught the watcher’s eye. Helping Buffy with one of her bags, she apologized. “I’m sure you’re both very tired. We should be on our way. The quicker we get to the Council, the quicker you can get to your accommodations.” Looking at Buffy, she added: “And I’m sure you could appreciate a nice, long bath, followed by a good rest.” Turning to include Spike as well, she motioned with her arm. “Shall we, then?”

As they made their way towards the exit, Spike hesitated. Of all the bleedin’ luck--had to turn out to be a sunny day... As he approached the doors, he let out an unnecessary breath: their car was waiting under a concrete overhang--no worries about instant combustion.

The Council really seemed to want to make them feel at ease. This mission of theirs must be worse than they’re expecting...

As they got into the car, Spike thanked the powers that be for tinted windows. There was truly nothing worse than having to hide on the floor of a moving car, especially if the Slayer was there to taunt him.

As they made their way through the busy streets of London, the two blondes’ reactions couldn’t have been more different. Spike was dismayed at how modern the city had become since he’d left half a century ago. Glass office towers loomed over the old stone buildings he recognized, McDonald’s and Starbucks had replaced the human pubs he had frequented, and the old shops where he and Dru had bought their clothing were now Gaps and Old Navys. He felt lost and not a little betrayed by his city’s foray into the 21st century.

Buffy, on the other hand, felt like a kid at Disneyland. She emitted constant “ooh”s and “aah”s at all the usual tourist attractions. She secretly hoped that they could find the time to visit some of these places.

“Ooh! Look--it’s Big Bin! Although, I don’t know why they call it that. They should call it ‘Big Clock’, ‘cause that’s what it is...” The Slayer was now turned completely around, kneeling on the seat, watching the clock tower slowly recede.

Trying to hide a smirk, Spike motioned for her to sit back down. “’S called Big Ben, pet. Not Big Bin. It was named after some old stogy guy called Benjamin Hall--hence the moniker Big Ben.”

Craning her neck to take a last peek, the vampire’s explanation seemed sufficient. “Oh, well--that makes more sense.”

Finally, their car entered an underground car park. They drove until they reached the lowest level, and the driver parked in a reserved spot right by an elevator.

Waiting by the car’s trunk, Buffy and Spike watched Amelia and the driver walk to the elevator. Feeling ignored, the vampire hollered to them. “Oi there! What about our bags? I’m not leaving my stuff here for Council wankers to rifle through.”

Turning back towards them, Amelia gave them both a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about rifling of any sort, William. Your luggage is safe--we’re just leaving it there because the same car will be driving you to your hotel. Now, if you will, please follow me. There’s someone waiting to see you.”

Author's Note:First off, I hope I didn't offend anyone with the French joke. I'm French, but I just thought it was a funny thing for Spike to say. Second, thanks to all who are reviewing. The writing process is going better, but you guys don't have to worry--where are still many, many in reserve. Please read and review--you know the drill! :)

As the elevator slowly crept towards their destination, Buffy couldn’t help but feel antsy. She’d never had any trouble facing the Council head on, but it had always been on her turf. Things were different now; she was going to meet them in their own headquarters, halfway across the world from Sunnydale. She tried to keep her mind occupied by scanning the elevator; there wasn’t much to see, however--it was just a plain, albeit very old, elevator.

The doors opened at the 8th floor, and all four passengers walked out. They found themselves in a small room containing only two chairs (Spike thanked the powers that be that they were made of metal--just a small reassurance) and one door. Amelia asked them to take a seat and made her way to the door that led to the Council. What happened next surprised both vampire and Slayer.

As the Council representative faced the door, a small square of wall, about five feet from the floor, slid to the side to reveal an electronic pad. Amelia placed her hand on it for digital recognition, and then keyed in a pass code. A clicking sound was heard, and she opened the door. She stood aside, letting the driver by, and faced the two stunned blondes. “Just a small security measure--the Council has yet to reach the 21st century. Please take a seat. Someone will be by shortly to greet you.” She smiled warmly at them. “Truly, it’s been a pleasure to meet you both.” With that, she walked through the door and only two were left in the little room.

A short while later, Buffy sat on the edge of one of the chairs and watched the vampire pace. “Spike, sit down. You’re making me dizzy--all you’re doing is walking around in circles.”

Stopping in front of the other chair, he growled. “Yeah, well you can hardly blame me, can you? A master vampire in Council headquarters? Not really normal, is it? I can’t help but shake the feeling that this is some kind of lark--the minute I walk in there, they’ll stake me, or do tests on me or something.”

Buffy had to laugh at his remark. “Yeah, like there’s anyone out there that would go around kidnapping demons just to study what makes them tick... You’ve been watching too much X-Files, Spike.”

Just as he was about to argue back, the vampire spied a small TV screen up in one of the corners. There must have been a camera, somewhere, filming them. Speechless, he gazed in wonder as he caught sight of himself for the first time in years. Grinning like a kid on Christmas morning, he began to preen in front of the small screen. “Slayer, why don’t you ever tell me how good I look in this coat?”

Frowning, Buffy turned around to see what he was talking about. “Huh? Spike, what are you...” When she saw what he was doing, she couldn’t help but smirk. “When was the last time you saw yourself?”

Examining his hair, the blonde vamp paused. “’Bout 10 years ago, I suppose. Caught sight of myself on the telly--news story about some kid dying at a heavy metal concert.” He took his eyes off the TV long enough to turn around and face her. “And before you come to certain conclusions, he jumped off a balcony and landed on his head. I had nothing to do with it.”

Rolling her eyes, Buffy was about to respond when the door opened and a woman stepped into the room. About twice Amelia’s age, and not half as pleasant, the woman fit the Council bill to a tee.

“Mr. Travers is ready to meet with you.” The woman handed them each an ID card. “Please pin these to the outside of your clothing, and make sure it is visible at all times. Anyone without a visible card will be... escorted out.” She pursed her lips to relay the full meaning of what she said. She turned around began to walk away.

Spike watched Buffy pin the ID to her blazer and scoffed. “No bleedin’ way I’m pinning anything to this coat. They can threaten to ‘escort’ me all they want...” ID held in hand, he slipped in line behind the two women.

***

As they were led through corridors, both Slayer and master vampire tried to take in as much as they could. Amelia had been correct when she’d said that the Council had a ways to go before it joined the 21st century. Heck, they still had to get to the 20th...

When they reached a large room brimming with wall-to-wall bookcases, the woman stopped and turned to the two ‘guests’. “Wait here. I’ll let Mr. Travers know you’ve arrived.” She turned away from them, paused in her step, and faced them again. In a voice one tends to reserve for small children she warned them. “And I don’t need to tell you not to touch anything.” With that, she walked away.

Snorting, Spike was first to break the silence. “Hmph... Bossy chit i’nt she? I liked the first bird better...” He walked to one of the tables and scanned the books piled on it. “Treatise on the Breeding Habits of Minor Demons... Anatomy of Faeries... Vampires and their Thrall... Ooh--now there’s some titillating night-time reading.” He sat down on a leather chair, kicked his feet up onto the table, and proceeded to flip through the book.

“Spike! What part of ’don’t touch anything’ don’t you understand?” Buffy was looking around, expecting alarms to go off at any moment.

“Oh please. What are they going to do--stake me for reading a book? Anyway this thing’s a bloody joke. ’How to fight the thrall’ . Figures the wankers would think that they can learn how to fight a thrall.” He threw the book back onto the table, and rocked back on the chair. “If a vamp decides to do his mojo on you, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Taking a seat beside the peroxide vamp, Buffy picked up Anatomy of Faeries and examined the binding. Why don‘t they make books this pretty anymore? Looking back up at her companion, she retorted. “Oh, and I bet you have a thrall, Mr. Master Vampire?”

“No, as a matter of fact I do not have a thrall. That’s for ponces, like Dracula. Females are always better at thralls, anyway. Real harpies, you lot are. Dru has a thrall--you might want to ask ol’ Rupes about that one, some day.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What, the harpy bit? ‘S the truth--you lure some poor, unsuspecting man to fall in love with you. He gives you over 100 years of faithfulness and devotion, taking care of you because you’re off your rocker, and you go off snogging some phlegmy Chaos demon, not caring anymore...”

“Somehow I don’t think we’re talking about generic examples, here. No--I didn’t mean the whole woman-bashing bit. I meant the ‘ask ol’ Rupes’ bit.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and gave him a pointed look.

Spike flipped his hand in the air, as if he was swatting a fly. “Oh that. Not much to it, really. Back when Angelus took the watcher in for his personal style of fun and games, Dru did a bit of a thrall on him--pretended she was his girl.”

His girl? Oh God, Jenny... “You asshole! How can you talk about it like you’re discussing the weather? Angelus tortured Giles, and murdered Jenny, and you’re sitting around like... like...”

Pulling his feet off the table, the vampire sat up straight and pulled Buffy’s chair until she was knee to knee with him. He leaned in looked her straight in the eye. “Yeah, and if I recall properly, this asshole was the one to discourage Angelus from testing out his new chainsaw on your watcher, so you might want to lay off with the guilt trip.” He got up and kicked his chair out of the way. “Where the hell is that old bat, anyway? I’m getting hungry...”

“That old bat,” replied a deadpan voice, “Is right behind you.” Both blondes turned to find the older council member glaring at them. “Mr. Travers is ready to meet with you, if it’s not too much of a bother.”

Since there wasn’t a safe response to the woman’s ‘invitation’, Spike and Buffy stood up and followed her out of the room.

She led them into a large conference room, detailed with dark paneling and a large oak table surrounded by leather chairs. As they seated themselves, the door located at the other end of the room opened, and in walked Quentin Travers.

***

The head of the Council of Watchers approached his two ‘guests’. Never having seen him before, Spike sized the man up. Although not big in stature, he was nonetheless imposing; Travers had an air about him that spoke of authority. He had short, greying hair that was beginning to thin on top. His gaze was calculating and his posture rigid. The suit he wore cost a pretty penny, and Spike was sure that the tie was silk-- he’d seen enough of it during his stay in China to be able to tell the difference.

The watcher turned his eyes to Buffy. “Nice to meet you again, Ms. Summers.” He didn’t acknowledge Spike’s presence, which, although insulting, suited the vampire just fine. “I didn’t think we’d have the opportunity to meet again, although under the circumstances, you’ll forgive me for wishing we wouldn’t have reason to.”

The smile the Slayer returned didn’t meet her eyes, which remained cold. “Well, Travers, I can assure you the feeling’s not mutual, aside from the wishing I wouldn’t have to be here.”

All pretence left the older man’s features and his face-hardened to match the young woman’s. When he turned his gaze to Spike, the latter couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable. He couldn’t quite read the human, and began to have doubts as to whether or not he was the only soulless one in the room.

“Well, William, I finally get to meet the problem child of the line of Aurelius.”

Fidgeting in his seat, partially restraining his anger, mostly uneasy with the authority of this man, Spike returned the steely gaze. “Yeah, well, pleasure’s all yours, Watcher.”

Playing on the vampire’s obvious discomfort, Travers egged him on. “Please explain one thing, William. What makes a master vampire, former scourge of Europe, side with the Slayer of vampires? I’m curious to know why you accepted our offer--is it because you’ve nothing better to do? Or is it because your beloved sire’s flitted to the nearest available demon, and you’re looking for a suitable mate?”

Spike’s body became rigid, every muscle tense under the watcher’s taunting. His eyes had changed from clear blue to deep amber--his demon was fighting to be released, and seemed to be getting the upper hand.

Buffy had never seen Spike fight so hard to exercise control over his demon. She was on edge, and wondered what she’d do if the demon did get out. Would she fight the vampire to save Travers, or would she let the watcher get his just desserts? Evil undead or not, Spike had just been majorly dissed and had every right to be pissed off. Her attention was brought back to the situation at hand by the sound of the master vampire’s barely controlled voice.

“Listen here, Watcher, I have my own reasons for joining your little tosser brigade and I don’t see how I have to...”

Not waiting for the vampire’s answer, Travers cut him off. “It seems to run in the family, this tendency to join us white hats, doesn’t it, William? Are you following in the footsteps of Angelus, perhaps? A bit of soul envy?”

Before either Buffy or Travers had time to register what was happening, Spike leapt and had the watcher pressed up against the table. Demon at the forefront, the vampire’s face was just inches above the older man’s. “That, old man, was the last time you’ll ever taunt me. I hope you have a high tolerance for pain...” The demon smiled as he leaned in and grazed his fangs over the man’s neck.

“Spike!” Buffy jumped up and grabbed the vamp by his collar, pulling him off his victim. Tossing him in the nearest seat, she gave him a ‘move and be staked’ look before returning her attention to the watcher. The fact that the man was hyperventilating was sign enough that he was alive, if not too well.

Pointing her finger at the vampire, she let her Slayer take over. “You--put your fangs away and stay put.” Then she turned her attention to Travers. “And you--I would have guessed that the head of the Council of Watchers would have more common sense than to piss off a master vampire in the presence of an ex-Slayer who doesn’t give two shits about you.”

Addressing Travers, who had managed to crawl back into his chair, she decided to take control. “Look, you called us here to help you with a prophecy. We’ve both accepted your offer, for whatever reasons that aren’t important for you to find out, but the deal won’t hold if you keep treating us like crap.” Pulling herself onto the tabletop, she kept a wary eye on Spike, whose eyes still gleamed yellow. “Now be a good little Watcher and tell us about this prophecy. We need to know the who, when and where; Giles has already filled us in on the what and why, so don’t waste our time with those.”

Author's Note: Hello again! I hope you're still enjoying this. I'm going to try my best to remember to update on Thursday, but it's Canada day, so who knows if I'll even be at home (Happy B-day Canada!!). Worst case scenario, the update will be on Friday. Thanks to all who are generous enough to review--please keep doing so :)

Clearing his throat, and keeping a wary eye on Spike, Quentin Travers spoke up. As the haughtiness disappeared from his voice, all that remained was a polished, well-educated accent.

“Five weeks ago, the child was taken from its home in South Kensington. We’re at a loss as to who took the child, and where they are.”

Buffy jumped off the table, momentarily forgetting her vigil. “Five weeks?! How do we know they’re not halfway to China by now? Why did you take so long before calling Giles?”

“Because you were our last recourse, Ms. Summers.” Travers straightened in his seat, and looked the Slayer straight in the eyes, unmasked hatred pouring from his narrow, grey eyes. “Do you really think that the Council’s first impulse is to cajole a wayward Slayer and William the Bloody to fix... to help us?” His slip was obvious, and both blondes did a double take.

“Fix what, Travers?” Buffy’s interest was piqued. “Just how responsible is the Council for this apocalypse?” At the silence with which she was met, the young woman headed for the door. “Come on, Spike. Let’s see if we grab something to eat. I don’t think he’s serious about getting our help.”

The blonde vampire stood, despite a moment’s hesitation at obeying an order by the Slayer. Maybe he could find that old bat and drain her...

A feeble voice called out, just as Buffy had her hand on the doorknob. “A former student of ours has the infant.”

Oh, now this is just getting better, Buffy thought to herself. “So you do know who has it? You were going to let us waste time, and possibly fail, because you didn’t want to admit this is all your fault?” Turning to face the watcher, who was beginning to look haggard, she put her hands on her hips. “Fine. We’ll sit back down, and you’ll tell us everything, and I mean everything. If I even suspect that you’re holding out on us, we’re back in Sunnydale before you can say ‘apocalypse’.” She plopped back into her chair, and motioned for Spike to find himself a seat as well.

Rolling his eyes, the vampire did as he was bidden. Guess that snack’ll have to wait. He took a seat at the head chair and propped his feet up on the table. “Yeah, and hurry up ‘cause I’m starting to feel a mite peckish.”

Travers stood up, and walked to a large window decorating one of the walls. He pulled the curtain aside, peering outside. Sensing the vampire’s nervous glance, the older man broke the silence. “Don’t worry, the windows face North. You don’t have to worry about the sunlight.” Closing the heavy drapery, he sighed and turned back to his audience.

“Evan Blakeford was one of our most promising watchers-in-training. He had a natural aptitude for other languages, history and, of course, the occult. Neither of his parents had been members of the Council. His father taught at a private school and his mother was a nurse--but we took him in regardless. We never really questioned where he had discovered us; his talents exceeded that of some of our more seasoned students, and it’s needless to say that our attitude was, succinctly put, ‘don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’.” With an acerbic smile, he added, “That was our first mistake.” He took off his blazer, draped it across the back of one of the chairs, and took a seat.

“In retrospect, we should have wondered where a young man of such modest beginnings--modest in terms of everything the Council deals with--could have such a natural penchant for any of it. Every spare moment had Evan poring through books of all sorts. The first time he was caught with a restricted book he pleaded ignorance--he said he’d found it along with the other books to which students have access. Since it was his first transgression and he was a remarkable student, we let him off with simply a warning. We had no other problems with him for a good six months.

“The second indication we had that Evan was not honest with his intentions at the Council happened last year, just before the winter solstice. One of our resident witches detected the use of dark magic here within our headquarters. She performed a location spell, which indicated that it was taking place in the cellar. When they reached him,” Travers paused and looked down, “he had already killed the young woman. He was offering her blood to darker influences in exchange for greater power.”

More composed, the watcher brought his gaze back up to his audience. “We thought we’d arrived in time, that he hadn’t had time to complete the spell. We expelled him from Council training that same night. The oddest thing, at that time, was that he was nonplussed about being expelled. He shrugged his shoulders and said that he’d gotten everything he needed from us. A few months later we noticed that the book he’d been caught with the first time had been taken. Luckily, one of our members had another copy of this tome, and we were able to read through it; it was at that point that we put it all together.”

Spike took advantage of the pause to air out one of the thoughts he’d been mulling over. “So, if this pillock hadn’t pretty much led you all to this prophecy, you’d still be in the dark? Doesn’t the Council have some bloody calendar with these things marked up? ‘Ooh, look! The world will be sucked into the void next week--gotta get workin’ on that!’”

“As a matter of fact, we do not have such a calendar, useful as it would prove to be. Our members are continually researching the texts we have at our disposal, but sometimes something will slip by us.”

“Like disco? There’s no way that originated in this dimension...” Buffy shuddered at the memory of retro disco videos she’d seen on MTV.

Spike chuckled, and even Travers smirked. “I’m afraid not, Ms. Summers--disco is invariably a human creation. We can’t blame it on anyone else.”

Buffy got up from her seat. The Slayer in her was now in full gear and didn’t allow her to sit still for too long. “So this Evan guy is who we’re looking for? Do you have any pictures of him, or any information that can help us?”

Travers slid a folder down the table. Buffy opened it, and Spike, despite trying to look unaffected, slid into the seat next to hers to get a better look at the papers.

“This folder contains all the information we have on Evan. The rest, I’m afraid, is up to you two. We were able to keep tabs on him for a short period of time, but he’s proven to be rather slippery. He’s managed to elude our network for the past two weeks; we’re no longer sure if he’s still in London, much less in England.”

Snorting in derision, Spike spoke up. “Let me guess--this is where I come in, with all my demon contacts...”

“Precisely. We know he’s been dealing with some Pelorak demons, but our inside people haven’t been able to get any information on them. Perhaps with your contacts, you’ll be able to succeed where we’ve failed.”

“You do realize that I haven’t been in London for over 50 years... All my contacts might have disappeared for all I know. And I betcha all the better demon bars have been torn down and replaced by Starbucks.” Leaning back in his chair, the vampire lit a cigarette and took a deep breath. “It’s going to be real difficult making any headway. You’re going to have to make this worth my while, Watcher.”

Travers got up and headed towards a small cabinet which rested against the far wall. “Ah, yes--your ‘requests’. We’ve already fulfilled the first one--the 1st class airfare. I do hope you were comfortable enough; I wouldn’t want the extra money to have gone to waste. As for your accommodations, we’ve done a bit of research and have found the perfect lodgings for your stay here--I’m sure you’ll appreciate them. They have all the comforts of home. As for your third demand, the limitless credit card, we find ourselves unable to meet it.” He pulled a manila envelope out of the top drawer, and turned back towards the two blondes.

Buffy’s lips curled into a smirk and she turned to watch the vampire’s reaction to this bit of news. Heh heh--serves him right...

“Bloody hell! Rupert told me that you’d accepted my demands. That blighter--he tricked me into coming over here! Let’s see how well he can catalogue his stupid diaries with his throat torn out...”

Buffy jumped up from her seat and punched him square in the nose. She yelled at him as he held his nose, cursing. “You try anything with Giles, and I’m going to kick your pale ass from here to the next sunrise--understand?”

“Oh, God! Why is it always the nose with you?”

Enjoying the interaction, Travers felt it a pity to interrupt. “Actually, Mr. Giles was not told the entire truth. We did tell him that your requests were still being processed, but we did not give him any specific information. The Council is not in a situation where we are able to provide someone with your... eccentric taste... a free ticket to anything he so desires; we’d be in financial ruin after one week.”

Pulling a small packet out of the envelope, he slid it over to Buffy. “We are providing you with the financial assistance we deem necessary. The card is in Ms. Summers’ name--that ensures that you don’t decide to leave us, William--and has a limit of 500 pounds.”

“500 pounds! Is that some sort of gag? One needs money to get into these demon bars. You don’t get in with just a smile and a handshake, you know! We’ll need money for transportation, and the Slayer here has to eat. She needs to get some meat on those skinny bones of hers. A good British diet’ll do her some good.”

“Hey! Don‘t insult the woman with the credit card. Maybe I won‘t want to share, William.” Examining the rectangular piece of plastic, the Slayer asked. “Just how much is 500 pounds in American dollars, anyway?”

“Not bloody much, that’s how much.” Spike got up, and walked up to Travers. The watcher stiffened, on guard for any attack. However, the vampire only leaned in and held himself nose to nose with the other man. “Fine--she gets the wallet, I get the wheels. You can’t expect us to travel by public transit...” He narrowed his eyes. “...do you?”

Glad to still be in one piece, Quentin Travers let out a breath of relief. “There is a car waiting for you at your hotel. I’ve had one of the residents from the local coven put a spell on the windows--you’ll be impervious to sunlight while you’re in the vehicle.” He held out a set of keys, as well as a laminated card. “Here are the keys, and your driver’s license. I’m sure you’ll recognize the name we’ve given you.”

Spike examined the keys, BMW--not bad, and then looked at the license. “Bloody hell...” This exclamation came under his breath, hardly audible to the two humans in the room. He fell back into the nearest chair and just stared at the card.

Ignoring him, Travers handed out birth certificates and passports to Buffy and the sedate vampire. “These will be your identification papers for your stay here. We decided that it would raise fewer questions if you were travelling as a married couple. You look to be about the same age, so it will be rather easy to pull off.”

Buffy cringed, expecting some sort of crass comment from Spike--something about fulfilling wifely duties. However, the blonde vampire simply sat there staring into space. Turning to the watcher, she pleaded. “How did you do that? Please let me know--I didn’t even know there was a way to shut him up.”

When the vampire didn’t even rise to her bait, she knew something was off. “Spike? Uh, I can’t believe I’m asking this, but are you ok?”

“How did you find out? How did you know?”

The young woman was baffled. “Find what out? Spike, what are you talking about? Don’t get weird on me before this thing even starts, ‘cause...”

“I believe I can answer that for you, Ms. Summers. Look at the name that we’ve given you.”

Buffy looked at the driver’s license she’d been handed. “Ok, so it says Elizabeth Sinclair. What’s special about the name?” Before Travers could reply, the Slayer’s eyes shot up and stared at Spike. “Wait a minute--William Sinclair. That was your name before you were turned...”

“Haven’t heard that name in a hundred and twenty years...” His eyes hardened and he looked at the watcher. “Tell me,” he said to Travers, “did you toss off thinking of the thrill you’d get at my reaction? Bet you spent days wondering ‘How can I get William the Bloody back for all the shit he’s put the Council through?’. Well, your jollies are over, Watcher, and I’m still way in the lead.” Not waiting for Buffy, he jumped off the chair and made his way out of the room, duster billowing behind him.

Buffy got up, collected the folder and their paperwork--she figured that although Spike didn’t want to travel down memory lane, he would still need his ID--and stared at the door. “Great. He’s in a pissy mood and I’m stuck with him. Thanks for everything, Travers.”

Ignoring her insubordinate tone, he answered coolly. “Just make sure you successfully complete your mission, Ms. Summers. You’ll need his help, but you’ll also need to keep him under control. His moods may prove to work against reaching your goal.”

“No. That’s where you’re wrong. I may not like the bleached wonder very much, but his ‘moods’, as you call them, are the reason why he’s one of the most feared vampires still around. They’re what make him a stronger, more dangerous opponent. Anyway, if he’s gotten to the point where the Council of Watchers needs his help, he must be doing something right.” With that, the young woman walked out the door.

***

Buffy caught up to Spike as he waited for the elevator that led back to the underground car park. Mimicking him, she looked straight ahead, saying nothing.

The door opened and they both entered.

“Ok, Slayer, out with it.”

“Out with what, fang face?” Maybe a bit of verbal sparring would put him back in a better mood.

“Isn’t this the part where you tease the Big Bad about his nancy-boy reaction to his past?”

Buffy turned to face the peroxide blonde. With as serious a demeanour as she could muster, she answered: “Actually, I was trying to find a way to say ‘Hey, I think you handled that great’ without sounding like I actually like you.”

Spike’s brow furrowed as he tried to figure out whether or not he’d been insulted. The smirk that broke out across his companion’s face provided him with his answer, and he smiled back.

“Spike, what Travers did in there was a low blow, and I can see how it would have caught you off guard. I’m just happy you didn’t try to rip his throat out, ‘cause I would have had to kick your skinny ass.”

The vampire chuckled and was about to reply when the doors opened. As they exited the lift, and approached their ride, he softly whispered “Thanks.”

Author's note: So, you guys are now in the loop. Well, as much as Buffy and Spike are :)
Please read and review, as always--reviews are fodder for my imagination (yeah, that's a veiled threat ;P )
And, of course, happy Canada Day to all my fellow Canucks!!

When the car stopped in front of a plain three-story building, Spike and Buffy glanced at each other questioningly. Shrugging her shoulders, the Slayer broke the silence. “Maybe he has to pick someone up. Whoever lives in that building probably can’t afford a car anyway. It doesn‘t exactly look like an upper middle class kind of place.”

They felt the car jostle, and looked out the window to see the driver dumping their bags on the sidewalk. Taking advantage of the shaded sidewalk, Spike jumped out of the vehicle. “Oi there! What’s this about?” He looked up at the building and saw a sign above the door; the red placard, which sported a pair of pikes in the form of an ’x’, read ‘Sheffield Arms’.

“Bloody hell...” The vampire turned to accost the driver, but bumped into Buffy instead. Before he could do anything, their chauffeur had hopped back into his vehicle and had driven off. Coward...

Taking in their surroundings, Buffy was confused. “Uh, Spike? It doesn’t look like there are any five star hotels around here, unless the rating system is way different in England. Maybe...”

A string of curses cut her off. “Bloody fucking piece of shite... Argh!” Spike proceeded to kick the shape out of a steel garbage bin. “Fucking wankers! They were supposed to keep their word--we’re supposed to be in a royal goddamn suite, not” he waved wildly at the hotel in front of them “this!”

Tired from the trip and irked by the vampire’s tirade, Buffy put her hand on his elbow. “Spike? Look, I know this isn’t what we were expecting, but I’m so tired right now, that I think I could probably fall asleep on that bench over there. How about we go inside, have a good rest, and go back to the Council tomorrow--we can always kick Travers‘ ass and get him to make arrangements for something less slummy.” She noticed a few gawkers across the street. “Anyway, I don’t feel like attracting the cops. Jail is one place I do not want to spend the night.”

Shoulders slumped in defeat, Spike sighed. Picking up his bag, which he had thrown into the street Good thing this street isn’t busy, Spike grabbed some of Buffy’s luggage as well. “Sorry ‘bout that, pet. Don’t really like being taken for a chump that’s all. We’ll take a look at this place. Maybe it’s not that bad on the inside.” Offering her a genuine smile, he carefully placed his hand on the small of her back. “Let’s get ourselves cleaned up and rested, shall we?”

***

Whatever hope they held on to disappeared when they walked into the lobby of the Sheffield Arms. Buffy almost burst into tears at the sight of the dirty pale green walls, yellowed linoleum flooring with missing tiles and small dingy staircase which lead to the upper floors. She tugged on the vampire’s duster. “Spike? Maybe we can find a nice alleyway to sleep in... Come to think of it, I’m not tired anymore.” Plastering a big, fake grin on her face, she jumped around. “See? Awake!”

Spike ignored his companion and continued to slam his palm on the bell. Where the bloody hell is the owner of this rathole? “’Ello? Is there anyone here?” Ding! Ding! Ding! “Bloody hell...” As he was about to hit the bell once again, his hand was stayed by the Slayer’s.

He turned to look at her, and followed her eyes to the staircase.

Someone was coming down the stairs, cradling a tower of folded towels. A bright turquoise eyelid peeked out from behind the towels, and a cheerful voice spoke up.

“Sorry about that, dears. Can’t hear the bell from the laundry room.” Spotting Spike, she winked at him. “Here, you look like a strong lad. Do be a love and help me with these; I’m afraid I’m not as strong as I used to be.” Chuckling, she shoved her burden at the vampire.

Dropping the bags he was holding, Spike caught the laundry before it fell to the ground. Embarrassed beyond words, he avoided catching the Slayer’s eye. Last thing he needed was to see Buffy laughing at him.

He followed the older lady to an armoire, where he was asked to place the towels. Now if only he’d found himself in a similar situation say, 5 years ago, the old bint would have been drained for putting him out. Instead, he just gave her a strained smile and placed the towels where he was asked.

Clucking, the woman thanked him. “It’s so nice to have strong arms around, every now and then. Now, let’s see what I can do for you...”

Walking behind her, Spike finally realized who this woman reminded him of: that Mrs. Slocombe on Are You Being Served, the one whose hair colour often matched her clothing. Snickering to himself, he thought: Wonder if she’s ever died her hair magenta?

The yellow-haired lady positioned herself behind the counter and looked at the couple in front of her. They make such a lovely young couple... She opened the logbook and ran her finger down one page. “Now, let me see... Do you have a reservation?”

Before either Spike or Buffy could answer, she let out what could only be described as a girlish squeak. “Oh, wait! Let me guess-- Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair?” She looked up at them with obvious glee.

Groaning at the use of his last name, Spike could only mutter a curt “Yep. That would be us.” Hearing the shortness in his own voice, he followed it with a forced smile. Not her fault we’re stuck in this shithole. Wait, why the heck am I feeling bad for the old bat?! Great, now I’ve gone soft...

The woman winked at them in a conspiratorial way. “The honeymooners. I should have guessed--you both look tired...” She giggled again. “I’ve been preparing your room since yesterday. It’s just perfect for newlyweds.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes and turned to Spike; if this was some sort of trick of his, she was going to dust him, whether or not she needed him on this trip. However, one look in his direction and she could tell he had nothing to do with this. His mouth was slack, and his eyes round-- Nooo, he doesn’t know anything about this either; he’s more surprised than I am. Heck, he almost looks scared.

She turned to face the weird looking lady and smiled. “Uh...” Reading the lady’s nametag, she forced herself to continue. “Hetty.” She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Who mentioned the honeymoon?” Her voice squeaked, betraying the nonchalant image she was trying to convey. She tapped her fingers on the counter. Someone’s going to die a slow, tortuous death...

Hetty smiled warmly. “Don’t worry, love. Miss Bishop said that you wouldn’t want any fussing, but I know better than that. It’s not every day that you get to celebrate having found the person you love-- a little pampering is always a nice touch...” She turned around, and went into the back room, talking to herself. “Now, where did I leave that key?”

The instant Hetty was out of sight, Buffy groaned and banged her head on the counter. “I can’t believe she did this to us... Amelia is soo dead; next time I see her, I’m going to... to... oh, I don’t know, but I’ll think of something.” She turned to the blonde vamp, and wrinkled her nose at him. “And why are you so quiet about this? Don’t tell me you’re happy, ‘cause I swear, I’m gonna...”

Spike cut her rant short. “Don’t worry, Slayer--I’m no giddier than you are about this. I’m just trying to suppress my gag reflex. How do you think an old bint like her, in a place like this, prepares a honeymoon suite? Think heart shaped bed, pink satin sheets, Burt Baccarach on an 8-track...” That last thought made him shudder.

“Who in the world is Bert Bark.. Bacha.. whatever, and what the heck is an 8-track?”

“Never mind that. I’m just saying that we’re about to walk into a situation that I don’t think either of us is prepared for. She’s actin‘ like a mother hen, for Christ’s sake--she’s probably been planning this for weeks! I think I’m going to toss my breakfast...”

“Here we go!” Hetty seemed to appear out of nowhere. “Ready to go up? I’m afraid you’ll have to carry your own bags--I don’t have anyone to help you with that...”

Quietly accepting his fate for the moment, Spike smiled at her. “S’ok mum--you just lead the way and we’ll follow.” He picked up their bags and left Buffy behind, with only her carry-on to carry.

***

Their dread escalated with every step they climbed, every footstep they took down the hall that led to their room. Spike’s visual imagery was getting worse--on top of the heart-shaped bed and the pink... everything, he now saw flowers everywhere, and the Burt Baccarach had changed to Celine Dion.

Caught in his daymares (what else would you call such horrible daytime imagery?), the vampire almost didn’t notice that Hetty had stopped. Feeling the Slayer crash into him from behind, he guessed that she had also been in her own little world. He heard her hold her breath as their host unlocked the key to their room.

Hetty waved them in. “Come on in, dears.” She entered the room, and left the two ’honeymooners’ in the hallway.

An idea popped into Spike’s head. One that would probably result in him getting staked, but who had ever accused Spike of being reasonable? He dropped his bags, cocked his head and looked at Buffy.

Feeling awkward under his stare, Buffy snapped at him. “What?!” She saw a smile form on his lips, and backed up a step. “Spike--what are you...” She screeched as she felt him pick her up in his arms and carry her into the room.

Her insides turned to mush when she felt his cool breath in her ear. “Can’t skirt tradition, can we luv? It‘s bad luck...” He set her down, and walked back out to the hall to grab the bags. She reached out to the wall, to steady herself. Good God, girl. It’s only for show--why do you feel like there was more involved? She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Maybe it’s because of how right it felt being in those strong arms, nuzzled against his chest... She opened her eyes and saw a pair of clear blue eyes staring at her in amusement.

“Shall we, pet? We‘re about to be given the grand tour.” He offered her his arm, and to his surprise, she accepted it.

The room itself was much different than any hotel room Buffy had ever stayed in. To her, it seemed more like an apartment. There was a small kitchenette, with a mini-fridge, a sink and a microwave; the bathroom was small and cramped, mostly because of the oversized clawfoot tub that took up half the space; the last room, which was like a bedroom/living room, contained the biggest bed she had ever seen. She ran towards the canopied bed and jumped on it, losing herself in the feel of the chenille blanket that covered it. “Wow! You’ve even got the curtains around the bed. I’ve only ever seen these in old movies...”

Hetty chuckled. “It’s the honeymoon suite, love. Of course I put extra effort in the bed...” She winked at Buffy, who turned beet red and began to choke.

The Slayer’s reaction got a heartfelt laugh out of Spike. “Don’t worry ‘bout her, mum. She’s just a little coy, is all...” He couldn’t help but add: “I’m sure she’ll be wanting to try it out soon enough.” He gave the older woman a wink, causing her to laugh.

Pouting, Buffy figured turnabout was fair play. “So, Hetty. Which way do the windows face? I just love sunrises. Don’t you, Spikey?” She walked up to the vampire and put her hand around his bicep, squeezing just hard enough for him to yelp.

The older woman furrowed her brow. “Now that’s odd... Ms. Bishop clearly asked me to put up heavy curtains; said that Mr. Sinclair had a... what did she call it? Oh, yes! A sensitivity to sunlight. If you want, I can remove them for you and put the sheer ones back up...”

Spike decided to speak up before Buffy had a chance to. There was no knowing how far she would go--lot of good sheer curtains would be to him in a sunrise. “No, the curtains are good as they are. Ms. Bishop was right about the... sensitivity. This is just the wife’s way of being witty. Wicked sense of humour she has...”

After a short silence, Hetty decided to leave the two lovebirds be. “Well, I’ll be on my way now. If there’s anything you need, just let me know. I come by to pick up towels and bedsheets every two days, so just give me a holler when you’re leavin’, so I don’t disturb you.” There was that wink again. As she was walking out the door, she turned, and added. “Oh, I almost forgot. I’ve left you a few prezzies in the fridge. Ta-ta!” With that, the door closed and Slayer and vampire were alone for the first time.

Author's Note: This is one of my favourite chapters. I don't know why, but it just is. Maybe it's because the Buffy/Spike interaction will be getting much more *interesting* from now on... Anyway, please enjoy and review :)

Buffy was the first one to speak. “Well, I’ve got dibs on the tub. I’m going to soak until I’m all prune-like.” Turning to her ‘husband’, she gave him fair warning. “Listen, Spike--I’m only going to say this once. Don’t take this honeymoon idea to heart. You try anything funny, and I’m making an appointment between you and Hetty’s dustbuster. Capisce?”

“Don’t worry, Slayer. ‘S the last thing from my mind. Now go get shrivelled and give me some peace and quiet. Haven’t had a moment’s time to myself since we left bloody Sunnyhell...”

“What? You’re the one who never shuts up!” Opening her suitcase, she pulled out a pair of flannel pyjamas with monkeys on them. Shaking the fist that held her pj’s in his direction, she added. “You’re so in love with the sound of your voice, it’s sickening!” She stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door.

Always the one to have the last word in an argument, Spike cried out. “And don’t take all the bloody hot water--I need to clean up too!” Smiling, he cocked his head towards the bathroom, and heard a frustrated sigh. Heh, she’s too much fun to tease...

Whistling, he walked to the kitchen. “Let’s see what kind of ‘prezzies’ ol’ Hetty left us newlyweds.” His eyes widened at the refrigerator’s contents: a bottle of champagne, a basket of strawberries, a can of whipped cream, and a jar of microwaveable chocolate.

Slamming the door closed, he leaned against the small appliance. Thoughts of whipped cream and the Slayer made their way through his brain, and then went straight to his groin. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He tried to remember how she felt in his arms, just a short while before: she was soft and light, even though she’d beaten the crap out of him a number of times. She’d smelt of vanilla, and whatever else was her own particular smell; even the unguarded little “mmm...” she’d let out when he carried her was etched into his memory.

The vampire knew Buffy was just as affected by his presence than he was by hers. This led him to re-evaluate their relationship. Before they’d left Sunnydale, he would have been hard pressed to say anything nice about the Slayer. They bickered, they fought, they were enemies. However, after only a short time, he had to concede that they had developed mutual feelings of friendship. They had both teased each other, but without the usual venom. More like the ribbing you give an old acquaintance.

At the airport, in LA, they had both agreed that this trip would be much easier on the nerves if they worked at getting along. Well, he’d suggested it and she’d acquiesced. He realized, now, that not much effort had gone into their getting along; it had almost been natural. A very small part of him wondered if there ever could be more than friendship. No, he told himself, don’t even go there. Slayers and vampires don’t mix. It’s odd enough that you’re becoming friends, but lovers? Just think about what happened between her and the poof. Very, very bad scenario. He shook his head at these new thoughts and looked for something to keep him busy. He could watch the telly, but he really didn’t feel like it. His mind kept going back to those damn strawberries. Ah, now there’s an idea... He went back to the fridge and started to work on his plan. Have to hurry; she won’t be in there all night.

***

Buffy had never wanted nor needed a bath so much in her life. As she peeled off her clothing, tossing it in the corner of the small bathroom, she felt the day’s anxieties disappear. She looked at the large porcelain tub and smiled; this was to be her vessel to nirvana.

As she stepped into the almost too-hot water, everything around her disappeared. There was no Council expecting news, no mother anxiously waiting for a call, and no irritating vampire in the room adjacent to her little paradise. All that existed at that moment was Buffy Summers and the claw foot tub. As she played with the bubbles surrounding her, she was grateful for the bath products that Hetty had left for her—it was almost as if the older woman had known what her tastes were. Although vanilla scented products weren’t hard to come by, she could have easily found herself using something fruity or perfumy.

Sinking further into the tub, she wondered at the size of it. Wow, you could easily fit two people in this thing. This led to thoughts of her traveling companion, and what it would be like to share a bath with him. He’s old fashioned—it’s probably the kind of romantic thing he’d go for… She threw her eyes open, having realized where her thoughts had taken her. No! Bad Buffy—no thoughts of baths with evil vampires. Anyway, his idea of romantic is probably being chained to a wall. Groaning, she submerged herself and attempted once again to clear her thoughts. She had all the time in the world for this bath, and she’d enjoy every minute of it.

Ten minutes later, she was jolted out of her heaven on earth by a loud thumping at the door.

“Have you bloody drowned in there? You’re not the only one who needs to clean up, you know! If you’re not out of there in five minutes, I’m coming in—virtue be damned.”

She heard him mutter a further “bloody women and their bloody baths…” before he was out of her earshot.

Ignoring him, Like he’d dare..., Buffy grabbed her smooshie and poured a generous amount of body wash on it. Stretching her leg, she lathered the vanilla-scented liquid on it. As soon as she’d finished washing, she heard the distinct sound of metal against metal. He wouldn’t… was the last thought that went through her mind as the door flew open.

She shrieked as Spike sauntered in to the bathroom, towel in hand. Ducking low enough that he couldn’t see anything, she glared at him. “Spike! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Smirking, the peroxide blonde spoke up. “Told you I’d come in. Probably didn’t believe me, did you?” He kept his eyes even with hers. “Now I’ll show you that I can be a gentleman, and I’ll give you one more minute to get out, grab your sleepwear and all your lotions and potions. If you’re still in the tub when I come back, you’re going to have to make room for me in there—and you know I’m not kidding about that, either.” Before she could respond, he was gone and had closed the door.

Cursing a blue streak, the young woman jumped out of the bathtub and towelled herself on in record time. Well, she wasn’t very dry, but there was no way she was being caught in her birthday suit by a certain annoying vampire. She wrapped a second towel around her head, to dry her hair.

Looking at the one remaining towel, an evil grin crossed her features. Lesson the first, Spike: never, ever, rush a woman through a therapeutic bath session... With that, she ‘let’ the towel slip into the not-yet-empty bathtub.

***

Leaning against the door, Spike could hear the Slayer rushing around the bathroom. Grinning from ear to ear, he realized that one couldn’t buy this kind of fun. He almost wished that she’d stayed in the tub, despite his warning. He grew hard at the thought of Buffy all soaped up, golden skin glistening in the water... Bloody hell, you’re supposed to be teasing her, not yourself!

Guessing that it had probably been about 1 minute since his final warning, he began to count down out loud. “Ok, Slayer: 10... 9... 8...” His countdown was interrupted by the door being opened. What he saw surprised the heck out of him...

Smiling, Buffy walked out of the bathroom. “Sorry about that. I tend to lose track of time when I’m taking my bath. Hope I left you some hot water...” She kept walking, and made her way to the bedroom.

Frowning, he watched her disappear around a corner. He’d expected her to storm out of the bathroom and punch him in the nose, as she was wont to do when she was pissed off at him. This sunny disposition, however, baffled him. Shrugging, he walked into the bathroom and poured himself a nice hot bath.

***

As she sat on the bed applying her lotion, Buffy couldn’t help but smirk at the image of Spike growling because he didn‘t have a dry towel. That’ll teach that stupid vampire. He’ll have to dry off with his T-shirt. She knew that he had been teasing her, although she was also sure that he would have followed through with his threat to jump in the tub with her. Which may not have been so bad... No! What’s wrong with me? Why do I keep thinking like that? Ugh, maybe I’m sexually frustrated or something. There’s no other logical reason... Hearing the bathroom door open, she bit back a giggle, and waited to hear her roomie’s curses.

Nothing could have prepared her for the sight that befell her next. When she looked up, she was staring at a nude Spike. Well, not entirely nude--he had her top, the one she’d removed before slipping into the tub, wrapped around his midsection.

His skin still glistened from the bath, and Buffy found herself mesmerized by the sight that her eyes beheld. Was this his thrall? Did he render women speechless with his body? How had she never realized that he was built like a god?

She couldn’t bring herself to look into his eyes, the clear azure gaze that would look right through her, so she began her perusal at his neck. Corded muscles clenched tight, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple was a clear giveaway that her scrutiny was affecting him.

Her eyes moved down to his chest. Slowly, she let them trace the lines of his abs, memorizing every scar that marred his otherwise perfect skin.

She really didn’t want to think that she, Buffy the vampire slayer, was ogling her undead enemy’s crotch but, hey, why lie to herself? Her shirt was stretched taut against his waist, draped against his pelvis like a second skin, displaying to the world (or just her, in this case) the definite bulge that her gaze had created.

She unconsciously dragged the tip of her tongue over her lower lip.

Her examination was cut short by an audible groan. Had that come from her? No, she was sure that it hadn’t. That only left him--the object of her perusal. Of their own volition, her eyes raised to meet his.

Mistake. Big mistake.

Spike’s gaze was direct and unwavering; however, the usual clear blue of his eyes was now clouded with... with what? With curiosity, with uncertainty, with... lust?

His tongue mimicked the movement hers had made just moments earlier, tracing the velvety outline of his bottom lip.

“Slayer?”

When Spike had pulled himself from the comfort of the tub (not that he’d ever admit to being a bathtub kind of vamp, not even under torture), and found only a sodden towel left for his use, he’d sought his wicked revenge by using her shirt with which to cover himself.

On his way to the bedroom, a number of scenarios ran through his head for when the Slayer saw what he’d used to cover himself. None of them included her giving him the once over, mouth agape. Hell, he could smell her arousal clear across the room, over the myriad soap and lotion smells.

He watched her eyes roam his body and couldn’t help but feel proud of himself... and more than a little aroused. He clenched his teeth as he felt his cock react to her gaze, responding to the sight of her tongue darting over her lips. Wonder what else that little pink tongue of hers can do?

Although his body’s natural reaction was to go with the flow and see how far he could get, his internal voice spoke up. Hello! This is the Slayer--mortal enemy--vampire killer?! What do you think would happen if you walked up to her and tried to see what it takes to pry those dimpled knees? Do you think she’d moan and lay back on the bed, waiting for your cold, undead touch? Not bloody likely. ‘S’more like you’d be meeting up with the wrong end of that Mr. Pointy she carries around with her.

Then, a small voice, one that hadn’t spoken up for ages, added its own two cents. As well, you know she deserves more than that. She may act tough, but she’s still a young woman who’s had a string of heartbreak. The last think she needs is to have someone take advantage of her more... physical... needs when what she really needs is a good friend.

The demon in him growled at the other’s presence, and at its more noble suggestion. Ponce, it grumbled.

In the end, Spike decided to heed their common advice, which was to discourage any kind of ’improper’ activities between himself and the Slayer. Anyway, they had just begun this adventure of sorts, and the last thing either of them needed was the blemish of a horrendously failed fling. There may have been another reason, more closely tied to what the second little voice told him, but he wasn’t prepared to think of that yet.

He repeated her name, not having had a response the first time around. “Slayer?”

Mouth hanging open, the only sound she could make was “Uh?”

That’s when the Slayer part of her knew that she had to take over; girly Buffy was making a right mess of things. Damn it, snap out of it! Get a hold of yourself before he thinks you’re brain dead. With the look you’re giving him, he’s probably plotting some way to take advantage of you. Now find a way to say something else than ‘uh’!

“Yes?”

The blonde vamp gave her a smirk. “Nice as this all is, I can’t really go ‘round wearing your shirt like a loincloth. Why don’t you get me a towel or something, huh?”

Sure you could, there wouldn’t be anything wrong with... Oh dear... She had to regain control of herself before it was too late. Too late for what? You’re already looking at him like he’s made of Belgian chocolate... She shook her head, and let the Slayer take over. Ok, Buffy--you’re the Slayer, and he’s a vampire. Figure it out for yourself.

That’s when she threw him the best sneer she could: “Pig!”

“What?! What the hell is that for? You bloody well forced this when you soaked the last available towel.” Before she could say anything, he pointed a finger in her direction. “And don’t try to deny it, Slayer--you were in too good a mood when you walked out of the loo not to have been responsible for that little prank. You’re just lucky you left your clothes in there, or I would’ve had to walk out of there starkers. Now get me a towel so I can regain some dignity.”

Jumping off the bed, she walked up to him and looked him in the eye. “The towels are in the closet--I am not your slave, so you can get them yourself. I am going to find myself something to eat before going to sleep.” Heart pumping furiously, she walked towards the kitchenette, listening to the litany of curses coming from behind the bedroom door.

***

Because she’d only had a muffin at the airport, Buffy still felt like she needed a snack before heading off to bed. She was used to eating a little something, whether it was a peanut butter and banana sandwich, or a bowlful of Ben & Jerry’s, or anything else that the average woman would shun just minutes before going to sleep. That was when she remembered something about ‘prezzies’ in the fridge. Now what on earth could Hetty have left in that fridge?

As she was staring into the open refrigerator, a voice from behind her spoke up.

“Figured that you might want a little something before going to bed, pet. Anyway, strawberries never last very long--you kind of have to eat them when they’re fresh.”

Pulling out a plateful of the chocolate-covered fruit, the Slayer had to consciously close her jaw. “You... you made these? For me?” Squinting at him, she added “Why? What did you do to them?”

Exasperated, Spike let out a breath. “Bloody hell, Slayer. Does everything I do have to have a nefarious purpose? There were strawberries, chocolate and whipped cream. Now, unless you want to find some more... imaginative... uses for what good ol’ Hetty left us, I suggest you sit down and eat them.” Walking over to her, he took one off the plate and popped it in his mouth. “See? The only bad thing about these are the calories--and with all the energy you’ve spent pissing me off today, you certainly don’t have to worry much about that.” He turned around, and walked back to the bedroom.

Looking down at the strawberries, Buffy felt a twinge of remorse for how she’d treated Spike. He had obviously gone to the trouble of preparing this snack for her--which he obviously didn’t have to do-- and then she snapped at him, accusing him of trying to poison her. Where was the easy camaraderie they had enjoyed earlier, at the airport and on the plane? Somehow, she felt responsible for this falling-out. Plate still in hand, she made sure the door was locked, turned off the kitchen light and headed for the bedroom.

***

“I’m sorry.”

Spike looked up from the directory he’d been scanning and frowned. “What was that?”

She knew he was making her repeat it, but she wasn’t going to argue--they needed to put this day behind them without making it any worse. “I said I’m sorry. For pissing you off--about the shirt, about the strawberries, about anything I did that cheesed you off.” She walked up to the bed, sat on it, and laid the plate between them. “We’re stuck here, together, and we have to get along. That won’t happen if we don’t trust each other. I’m going to have to work on not second-guessing everything you do--you’ve already shown me that you’re not in this to hurt me, and I’ve got to realize that. So” she picked up a berry, and offered it to him “I’m apologizing.”

The vampire could only blink. Here he was, in London, sitting on a king sized bed with a Slayer decked out in flannel pyjamas (with monkeys on them, to boot) and the single thought that coursed through his mind was that he respected her. The maturity that she was displaying at the moment astounded him--was this the same young woman whose usual rebuttal was a punch in the nose? He’d listened to everything she’d said, most of it mirroring thoughts that had already been flitting through his mind, and was glad that they now seemed to be on the same page.

Accepting the chocolate-covered olive branch, he offered her a smile. “Apology accepted.”

Seeing Buffy stifle a yawn, the vampire spoke up. “Now, don’t take this the wrong way, but have you considered sleeping arrangements? One bed, two of us?” Although he needed a good day’s sleep, he let the gentleman in him speak. “I could take the couch, if that’s what you want.”

Her response was immediate. “No, you’re not sleeping on the couch. This bed is huge-- we can share it. Heck, I could sleep sideways and you’d still have tons of room.” She looked as if she was about to say something mean, then thought better of it. “I’ll go put the plate in the sink.”

Spike slid under the covers, grumbling to himself about having to sleep with clothes on. He wore a pair of cotton pyjama pants that he’d pilfered during one of his recent ‘shopping’ trips. They had looked comfortable, and he had figured the Slayer wouldn’t be too happy if he stalked around the hotel room starkers.

Two minutes later, he felt Buffy climb into the bed.

“Spike?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks again for the strawberries.”

“You’re welcome, Slayer.”

“Spike?”

Be patient... “Yes?”

“When are we getting up?”

“Well, if we can ever get to sleep, somewhere around ten. That should give us time to get ready and head for some of the demon bars I remember, if they’re still around. Now go to sleep.”

“Goodnight, Spike.”

“Goodnight Buffy.”

Author's Note: Bit of a teaser for you guys--a little UST always helps, doesn't it? Enjoy these twice-weekly updates while they last. The writing process isn't going as fast anymore, so when my cache of chapters dries up, updates might be a bit further apart. Thanks to all those who reveiw--please keep doing so. And kudos to Christie my bet for her input!

Buffy was awakened by the grating sound of the room’s alarm clock. Ugh--damn things are just as aggravating overseas... She smacked the top of her night table a few times before realizing that the clock was on the other side of the bed. Half awake, grumpy and irritated as hell, she climbed over the still-sleeping vampire to shut the annoying thing off.

She looked down at Spike and wondered at how weird it was to watch him sleep. Hair tousled and lips slightly separated, he looked like any other sleeping man; however, no breath passed his lips and his chest was perfectly still. She sat back and stared at him, wondering how something that was so peaceful in rest be so damned annoying awake. Not knowing why she was doing it, but giving into the feeling anyway, she leaned over and whispered into his ear. “William, time to wake up.”

When the vampire didn’t move, she tried again. “Come on, William--time to join the waking world...”

He smacked his lips and muttered “Just a few more minutes, mum...” before turning around away from her.

Buffy sat back. This was definitely not what she had expected. Trying to push away any maternal feelings, Why the hell does he have to be so adorable sometimes?, she gave him a good shove and watched him disappear over the edge of the bed. There. That’s better.

Game face on, the vampire jumped up and looked around. When he saw the young woman on the bed, laughing like a madwoman, he narrowed his eyes. “Oh really fucking funny, Slayer. ‘S that how you’re going to wake me up every time, by shoving me off the bed?”

Gasping during laughing fits, the young blonde managed to respond. “If it’s this funny every time, yeah, I’d say I just might.” She managed to slow down to a few giggles. “Seriously, though, Spike--I tried to wake you before, and you weren’t moving so I had to resort to serious measures.”

He frowned. “Were you whispering in my ear? Is that why I started to dream of my mum? ”

“Whispering? Me? I don’t know what you’re... Mom! Oh my God, I forgot to call Mom--she’ll be freaking out! She’ll think I was kidnapped or something--she’s probably called Giles by now. I am in so much trouble.” She whined and dropped her legs over the edge of the bed.

“Look, why don’t you just calm down and call her--I’m sure she’ll understand that you were tired and took a nap. Jet lag’s a bitch, even for us vampires.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Buffy picked up the phone and dialled. After a few seconds, she hung back up and stared at the phone. “That’s weird. I dialled the number and some voice told me it was an invalid number. Do you think Mom changed our phone number since I left?”

“Yes--it was her secret desire to get you out of the country and move where you couldn’t find her. She told me as much last time I stopped by for a cuppa.” At the heartbroken look Buffy gave him, he rolled his eyes. “No, she didn’t change the bloody number! We’re overseas--you have to dial an extra code or something.”

“Well, Mr. Smartyfang, do you know what that code is, or are you just going to sit there and be useless?”

“Useless?! I’m the one who told you about the stupid code in the first place. And no, I don’t know what it is. ‘S’not like I was calling America last time I lived here.”

Buffy huffed and picked up the receiver. “Geez, you don’t have to bite my head off. If you don’t know it, just say so. I’ll call the operator--I’m sure she’ll be nice enough to tell me.”

With the help of a very friendly operator, Buffy was finally put through to her home phone and spoke to a worried Joyce.

“Hi Mom... yes, everything’s alright. No, we got here a few hours ago, but we were tired so we took a nap. What time is it? It’s just after 10. Yeah, 10 PM. Yeah, he’s ok. No, he didn’t get charred or anything--he’s managed to avoid that pesky sunlight.” Buffy looked towards Spike, who was doing his best to pretend not to be listening. “No, we haven’t had time to do any sightseeing; we just went to Council headquarters-- ugh, you don’t even want to know. That Travers is such a... well, you know what he‘s like. Then we came to our hotel, which, by the way, is not a five-star deal. Actually, it’s really embarrassing--they’ve got us set up as honeymooners. No, it is *not* cute--it’s gross! At least the bed’s huge, so....“ Her eyes grew as she realized what she’d just said. “No! He’s sleeping on the couch. No sleeping with Spike!“ She got up and walked to the window, parting the blind. “Look Mom, I’ve got to get going. This call’s probably costing a fortune and the Council isn’t exactly paying us a mint while we’re here. No, I don’t need you to call them for me--we’ll do fine with what we have. Say hi to everyone for me. Uh huh, I have to call him too. I know, Mom--I’ll be careful. I love you too. Uh huh. Yup. Ok then, I’ll talk to you soon. Bye.” She hung up the phone and groaned.

Spike looked up from the television. “You know, pet, mothers are like that ‘cause they care so much. Joyce is just worried, ‘s all.”

Buffy came over to the couch, and sat beside the blonde vamp. “Was your mom like that?”

Throwing an arm over his face in a dramatic gesture, Spike laughed. “Was she ever--couldn’t leave the house without tellin’ her where I was going, when I was comin’ back. She was the quintessential mother hen. I was twenty-five and she still insisted on making sure I was wore a scarf when I went out.”

That made Buffy laugh. “Wow--there’s a mental image: Spike wearing a scarf.”

The vampire became serious. “No, pet. William wore the scarf. Not Spike.”

Buffy bit her lip, pondering a question. What the heck--worst thing he can do is laugh at me. “Is it that you don’t feel the cold, or does it just not bother you?”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Well, yeah, I can feel it; it’s just that it doesn’t bother me so much--not like it would for you. If I have a choice, though, I prefer warmth. Didn’t your Watcher cover any of this?”

“Well, no--not exactly. We got to ‘vampires bad--kill vampires’ and that was about it. It’s not like I’m gonna ask a vamp if he’s cozy before I stake him.”

Standing up, Spike stretched. “Pfft. Figures. Why don’t you call Rupes and get that out of the way so we can head out? I don’t plan on having to carry a snoozing Slayer back here.”

Buffy did just that, and proceeded to recount all that had happened at Council headquarters.

The vampire made his way to the bedroom to get dressed. As he walked by his flatmate’s open suitcase, a sudden urge hit him. Listening carefully, he heard that she was still on the phone. Typical woman--she’ll be on that thing forever. Peering into the bag, he saw that it contained the Slayer’s underclothes.

Holding up a pair of red silk panties, he nearly hit the floor. They had lace at the waist, and a small lace heart on one of the sides. He put those to the side and pulled out a satin thong that had ’I Chase Boys’ printed on the front--he let out an unnecessary breath. “Christ...”

“Spike! What are you... Argh! Is that my underwear? What the hell are you doing in my underwear?”

Although lying had never been his forte, Spike, for once in his unlife, came up with a quick valid excuse. “Hmph! Get off your high horse, Slayer. I was just tossing your bag off the bed when the bloody thing opened up on me. Figured you wouldn’t be too keen on having your knickers lying all around the bedroom.” He stuffed the two pairs back into the suitcase and shoved it towards their owner, who eyed him suspiciously but didn’t say a word.

Leering, he cocked an eyebrow at her. “Not my fault you packed a suitcase of naughty knickers--don’t know what you were plannin’ on doing here, but maybe you could...”

He didn’t have time to finish his sentence before a hairbrush was thrown at him rather harshly. Grabbing whatever clothing was close at hand, he ran out of the room, secretly high-fiving himself for the first believable save of his unlife, doubled with a well-placed taunt.

***

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” Buffy sat on one of the kitchen chairs, tying up the laces on her sneakers.

Throwing on his duster, Spike wished for the first time in a long, long time that he had a reflection. The Council video camera had reminded him of just how damn good he looked in that coat.

“Figured we’d head over to the Calico. It’s pretty tame for a demon joint, so it’s a good place to start. We can probably get the lowdown on these Pelorak and what they’re up to.” He looked at the Slayer up and down, and frowned.

“And then we’ll go get you some decent clothes. The Calico’s about the only place you’ll get in dressed like that.”

Buffy looked in the mirror. She was wearing a pink knit top and light blue flares. “What’s wrong with this? At least I’m not dressed like the Grim Reaper.”

“Think of where we’re going, pet. I’ll blend in, but you’re just screaming ‘Hello, human! Please kill me now!’ You look like an Old Navy ad.”

She didn’t know why his words were bothering her. It’s not like it was a personal attack, and it was certainly not like he’d never insulted her before. “And what’s wrong with what I look like? You’ve never had a problem with how I’ve dressed before!” What does it matter what he thinks? Stupid vampire--it’s not like I wore this for *him*...

Fuck... Don’t cry, whatever you do... Spike had no idea why he felt bad. Insulting the Slayer was on his daily top 10 things to do, but her reaction this time got to him. Bloody sentimental poof... “Look, there’s nothing wrong with what you’re wearing *if you’re in Sunnydale*. If you’re trying to get into some of the seediest demon bars in London, pink won’t cut it.”

Buffy began to feel a little less self-conscious. “Well, it’s not like we can go shopping tonight--it’s after 11pm. I doubt even the Goth stores are still open.”

“You just don’t know where to shop, pet. Look, why don’t we just head out and we’ll talk about clothing later.” He got up and headed for the door.

Buffy looked at him for a moment and not for the first time took note of the blonde vamp’s clothing. Watching his muscles move, even from under his duster, she thought to herself: Yeah, the Big Bad look definitely works for him. She creased her brow. Where’d that come from? Ugh, God help me; he insults me and all I can do is check him out...

***

On the way to the Calico, Buffy made a point to stop at a bank machine. Taking out £50, she bemoaned the fact that that sum was exactly one tenth of their total spending money for this mission.

As they passed a street vendor, the young woman realized just how hungry she was. When was the last time she’d eaten properly? “Did you want to grab something to eat? I’m starving.”

“Sure--we can share; you can have a hot dog and” he waggled his eyebrows “I’ll have the vendor. Sound fair to you?”

The Slayer stopped dead in her tracks and faced the blonde vampire. Dragging him into an alley, she pointed a finger in his face. She spoke slowly and menacingly. “Spike--we’ll get this straight right now. You will not, under any circumstance, feed off humans while we’re on this mission. I don’t care if you have to brown bag it like Angel--find a way around it.” She backed up a step and crossed her arms.

The vampire sneered. “’S a bit late for that, Slayer. Had a bite to eat at the airport.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes. “You’re lying--you were with me the whole time. You didn’t leave my side except to go...” her face paled “...to go have a smoke. Oh, tell me you didn’t...”

Smug, Spike straightened his stance and reclaimed some of his ‘Big Bad’. “’Fraid so, luv. Had myself a bit of a snack in the bathroom. Some pudgy middle-aged bloke...”

The stake was pressed against his heart before he knew it.

“Anything you want to say before you leave this world, Spike?”

In the four years he and the Slayer had fought, Spike had never let her get the upper hand quite to this extent. Sure, she’d won a few rounds and so had he, but never, ever, had any of their fights ended with his unlife so seriously on the line.

“Yeah. I didn’t kill him.”

“Huh?” Buffy had expected him to fight back, or to goad her into going through with it, but his quiet confession took her by surprise. “Did you say you didn’t kill him?”

“Yes.”

His eyes met hers in an unwavering gaze and she knew he was telling her the truth.

“Why not?” Her question was just a whisper.

His eyes left hers and darted around. It was obvious that not only was he trying to decide whether or not to tell her, but he was also searching for the answer.

“I don’t know why. He was pleading for his life--they all do that, you know, if they’re conscious--anyway, prattled on about a wife and girls that he hadn’t seen in weeks. He kept crying the whole time. Bloody wanker, I am. Look, if you’re going to kill me, just do it--don’t stand there with that thing poking into my chest.”

Buffy looked into his clear blue eyes and, pulling the stake away from him, lightly pressed her lips to his. “Thank you.” She turned away and walked back to the sidewalk.

The Slayer part of her was going ballistic. What in the world was that?! Slayers do *not* kiss the undead! You thanked him for not killing someone--great incentive there, Buffy. Maybe he’ll be expecting kisses for all the people he won’ t kill from here on in. Another thought came to mind, however. Or did you thank him for not having to kill him? She didn’t know why she’d kissed him, and at that moment she honestly didn’t want to know why.

Spike remained with his back glued to the wall, eyes round like saucers. Buffy Summers, *The* Slayer of vampires, had kissed him. Maybe he had been staked after all and this was some weird afterlife. He brought his left hand up to his right forearm and pinched himself hard. “Shit!” Ok, so he wasn’t dead... again. He pulled away from the wall and filed this incident under ‘things to revisit later’.

He caught up to the Slayer and fell in step with her as she made her way down the sidewalk.

Author's Note: Wow. I can't believe we're onto chapter 14 already! I hope you guys are enjoying the banter between Spike and Buffy--that's so much fun to write :) As usual, thanks to all those who left reviews. It warms the cockles of my heart, it does.
Please keep 'em coming.

Spike led them through a maze of old factories, stretching out his senses, pausing every now and then to cock his head and listen or to sniff at something in the air. It had been a long, long time since he’d made his way through these buildings and he never thought he’d ever forget the way to Calico. Not that he’d spent that much time there, but when one’s a vampire you tend to remember places like these because, well, because you could be around forever...

Buffy watched her ’guide’ as he tried to suss out where this bar was. She’d never actually watched him in full vamp mode, and was secretly contemplating the display. She wondered if he realized that he’d vamped out--his body probably did it automatically to heighten his senses. Sight, hearing, smell--she imagined that with his demon in the forefront, they had a much better chance at finding this place before dawn. She hopped over some toppled wooden skids and nearly tripped.

“Why do these places always have to be in industrial areas? I mean, even *you* are having trouble finding it. This is so stupid...”

For a moment, Spike had almost forgotten that he wasn‘t alone. Her voice brought him back to his current situation, which at the moment was kind of close to ‘demon bar bloodhound’. “’Cause if we set shop up on main street, I gather folks would do more than raise an eyebrow. Imagine that--coupla Fyarl demons rolling out in the wee morning, right snookered--something tells me that might just make the front page.”

He stopped suddenly and looked to his left. He sniffed a bit and turned. “This way.” When he saw that she was still following him, he resumed. “Demons scope out this kind of location because we can mind our own business and not be pestered by humans. Cops know better than to come around--those who do, well they don’t come by twice. Most folks can’t deal with seein’ stuff they’ve only ever seen in scary movies.”

Buffy couldn’t help but agree, easily remembering her own reaction to first meeting all that goes bump in the night. “That might be true for people from most cities, but not in Sunnydale. I swear, they must put something in the water over there. People see a Grauk demon--you know, those big insect-like things that are, like, yea tall” she stretched her arm as high as she could above her head, and waited for Spike to nod in assent “and they think it’s something that’s escaped from the zoo. Makes my job easier, in a way--no having to try to make up some crazy story to cover my butt. They do a good enough job with their own imaginations.”

“Yeah--always wondered about folks in Sunnyhell. I thought it was too much sunshine. You know, the heat an’ all--makes people a bit barmy.” He stopped and turned to his left. “Ah! Here we are--the Calico!”

Buffy followed the vampire to the front of the building. It didn’t look all that much different than any other bar she’d ever seen, although it looked a bit odd sitting there among scores of abandoned factories. It had a blue neon sign near the top that had ‘Calico’ written in cursive and had billboards and a menu posted on the wall near the door; the only difference from most bars is that it didn’t have any windows. Guess that eliminates any stragglers from getting dusted by the sunrise...

In an unusual display of manners, Spike held the door open for the Slayer. She looked at him oddly, but accepted his gesture at face value. He followed her into the establishment and saw that it hadn’t changed much since he’d last been there. The owner had added a few electronic gambling machines and there was now a cigarette dispensing machine near the bar, but aside from that it was pretty much the same. Same chairs, same tables, same owner... “Edward!”

Buffy’s immediate reaction to the bar was that it reminded her a lot of the cantina scene in Star Wars. Lots of weird looking beings speaking very loudly in lots of different languages, with some really funky music playing in the background. She looked in the direction that Spike was hollering and noticed a floppy-eared demon. Its face lit up at the sound of his name and he practically pole-vaulted in their direction.

“Spike! Good Lord--I never thought I’d see you again. How are you, old chum?” He came over and grabbed Spike in a bear hug, nearly squeezing the unlife out of the blonde vampire.

“Ugh--I’ll be fine if you haven’t broken any ribs there, Eddie. Place looks the same as it always did--looks good ‘s what I mean.” He looked around once more and smiled. It was nice to be back home, back with people he actually liked.

Eddie looked at Buffy and nudged Spike. “Have you lost all manners or are you going to introduce me to your friend?” He smiled at Buffy, who felt herself relax just a little.

“Oh, sorry ‘bout that. Eddie, this is Buffy. Buffy--Edward. Buffy’s from Sunnydale--in California. It’s where I’m staying right now.” He pulled back and lit a fag. He appreciated being able to light up wherever he wanted--he didn’t have to worry about icy stares. Not that that usually stopped him, but it was an annoyance nevertheless.

“Nice to meet you, Eddie. This is a nice place you have here; very homey.” Buffy smiled and shook the demon’s hand. He had a heck of a handshake that belied his friendly demeanour. Here was a demon that was probably strong enough to take her on and do a bit of damage, but had the personality of a puppy dog. She also appreciated the fact that he was yet to ask where Drusilla was; he must have been wondering, but at least he was keeping it to himself.

Eddie’s face fell and he put one of his floppy hands to his mouth. “Oh dear! Where are my manners? Would you like to sit down? I do hope that you came in for a short while, at least? Enjoy a bit to drink” he looked at Buffy and quickly added “alcohol, drink alcohol that is, and maybe a bit to eat?”

Spike smiled at Eddie. “It’s alright, mate. She knows what I drink--might not be too ok with it, but she knows. If we can find a booth in a corner somewhere, I actually need to speak to you.” He gave his friend a serious look, letting him know that he wanted to do more than catch up on old times.

Buffy followed the two demons, looking around her as she walked. Upon closer inspection, the bar was a little more peculiar than what she was used to--not that she hung around in bars, mind you. A gang of short beige demons, who kind of reminded her of that Alf thing from TV, were sitting around a large table playing some games involving spinning rocks and hitting each other with sticks. Ookay--mental note not to join in any demon games. Weird. The walls were adorned with photographs, which in itself wouldn’t be weird if the people in the pictures didn’t have two heads, or blue skin, or weren’t covered in scales. She slid in to the booth, seating herself next to Spike.

Eddie waved one of the barmaids over. “Cora! Come here, please, luv.”

The tall woman walked over to their booth and smiled at her boss. Buffy wondered what a human woman was doing working in a demon bar, even one that wasn’t half bad; that was until she took a closer look at her. The barmaid’s eyes were like a reptile’s and she had a forked tongue that made her lisp when she spoke.

“Ssure, Eddie. What can I get for you?” She gave Spike a wink and smiled at Buffy.

Spike spoke up first. “I’ll have a vodka and O-Neg and the young lady here will have...” He looked at the Slayer expectantly. When she shrugged her shoulders, he ordered for her. “Something sweet. Easy on the alcohol, though.”

Buffy’s brow creased. “What’s that supposed to mean--‘Easy on the alcohol’? Just because I’m not a career drunk like you are doesn’t mean that I can’t have a drink like a regular person.”

Spike sighed. “I know, pet--it’s just that most demon bars a regular serving of alcohol is double that of human bars--and Eddie here doesn‘t water it down like that pillock Willy. I just ordered you what you’d get at the Bronze.”

The young woman relaxed a bit. “Oh. Okay.”

“So, Spike--you had something you wanted to discuss?” Eddie leaned in, and crossed his arms on the table.

Spike and Buffy both leaned in and aped the other demon’s pose. “Yeah--we’re keepin’ an eye out for some Pelorak. Wondering if you’ve had any come in recently--say, the past month or month and a half.”

Eddie became very serious and remained motionless. “Must be serious, if you’re looking for Pelorak. I haven’t seen any, but I’m not always here. If you don’t mind my asking, what’s this all about?”

Just as Spike was about to answer, Cora returned with their drinks. She handed the vampire his drink, making sure he got a good view of her cleavage. Turning to Buffy, she handed her a punch-coloured drink with an umbrella in it. “Ssweet--hope you like it.” She watched as the young woman took a sip of the drink.

Something was off. Buffy smacked her mouth, trying to figure out what the drink tasted like. She presented it to Spike. “Here--taste it. There’s something weird in it, and I can’t quite place it.”

“What, am I your taste-vamp now?” Spike grabbed the drink and took a sip. His face broke into a wide grin, and he leaned over Buffy, handing the drink over to the patient barmaid. “She’s human, love. Why don’t you bring her a pina colada or something fruity?”

After the waitress nodded and left with her drink, Buffy’s curiosity got the upper hand. “Ok, I give. What was in the drink?”

Spike and Eddie threw a glance at each other, before turning their gazes to the young woman. “I think it’s best for my health if I don’t answer that, pet. Believe me--you don’t want to know.”

“What do you mean, I don’t want to know?” Then it dawned on her--she looked at the colour of Spike’s drink and remembered her own drink’s colour. “Oh. Oh--ewww!” She took her napkin and frantically wiped her tongue. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” As she put her napkin back down on the table, Cora returned with her new drink. Buffy pushed it over to Spike, who rolled his eyes. He took a small sip, and made a face.

“Ugh! Yeah, it’s a pina colada all right. Don’t know how you can drink that sugary crap.” He took a long swig of his blood/vodka mix and made an appreciative ‘aah’.

He turned back to Eddie, and the conversation resumed from where it left off. “The Pelorak--they’ve kidnapped a baby and we have to find it. I know it sounds poncey, but this is some serious shit--you know: prophecy, sacrifice, inter-dimensional bleeding, end of the world, yadda yadda yadda.”

The floppy demon nodded and was temporarily lost in thought. “If any Pelorak came in, Cora would have seen them. I’ll send her over. As nice as it is to see you again, Spike, I do have to tend to my little business.” He got up, and took Buffy’s hand, giving it a light kiss. “It was nice to meet you, Buffy. I hope we get to meet again--good luck with the baby. These apocalyptic threats are never good for business.” He hurriedly made his way behind the bar and said a few words to Cora before disappearing into a back room.

Buffy’s Slayer senses were on overdrive. “Ok, am I the only one who thinks that Eddie beat it a little suddenly after you mentioned the baby and the prophecy?”

Spike looked at where his friend had gone and frowned. “Eddie’s not involved, Slayer. Believe me when I tell you that.”

“Oh yeah? Well, people can change after 50 years, you know. Maybe he found out that there’s more money to be made working for the bad guys. Gee, and he seemed like such a nice demon, too.”

Spike leaned in to Buffy, close enough for her to smell the blood and vodka on his breath. “Listen here, Slayer. Eddie lost his wife and kids to some quack warlock who wanted to start a demon breeding colony in some other dimension. This psycho didn’t take the time to notice that the gravity over there was about 500 times as strong as it is here on Earth. I doubt it makes him feel any better to know that they probably didn’t feel a thing before their bodies were crushed by the pressure. So if his reaction to our mission is less than enthusiastic, you’ll have to forgive him.”

“That’s horrible! Poor Eddie...” The young woman threw an apologetic glance at the door through which the demon had passed.

***

Cora was making it nearly impossible for Spike to concentrate on the task at hand.

After his talk with Buffy about Eddie, the Slayer had moved over to the other side of the table. They both felt more comfortable facing each other, instead of sitting hip to hip in the dimly-lit booth.

The barmaid had seated herself next to the blonde vampire and was now practically on his lap.

“You assked to ssee me?” Her tongue flicked out, tickling Spike’s ear. His mind went blank as he began to make a mental list of what that tongue of hers could probably do. He doubted that this is what his mother meant when she warned him against women with forked tongues.

He tried to speak again as she pressed her ample chest into his arm. He smiled warmly and brought his arm around her shoulders. “Yeah, I need to know if you’ve seen any Pelorak come in here in the past month or so. They’ve got something of ours and we need to get it back.”

Cora brought her hand down to his lap and began to draw circles on the vampire’s thigh with her sharp red nails. “Pelorak? Yess, a group came by for a drink about 3 or 4 weekss ago.” She pouted and leaned in closer. “They weren’t very nice, not like you. They kept to themselves--I didn’t hear much of what they were ssaying.” The circles she was drawing were getting closer and closer to their target. “The only thing I made out was the Pulchra Nex and the name Blakeford.”

“How can you even remember this conversation? It was over a month ago.” Buffy wasn’t impressed with the reptilian barmaid, especially the way she was fawning over the blonde vampire who, in her opinion, was enjoying it a bit too much. “Do you remember all your patrons’ conversations?”

Cora took her eyes off Spike for a moment and set them on the young woman sitting across from her. “Honey, I’ve worked in bars like thiss for over 60 years. If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’ss that Pelorak are bad news--they’re always up to no good. I always keep an ear open to their converssations--jusst in case ssome handsome bloke decides to pop in and have a chat.” Her attention once again diverted to Spike, she leaned in and whispered in his ear. “What ssay you sstick around until closing? My place isn’t far from here.” Her yellow gaze turned to Buffy. “Maybe your lady friend can join us, too.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed and her patience waned. She didn’t understand why Cora’s flirting irked her; it wasn’t as if she and Spike were seeing each other. They were just travelling together, and staying in the same hotel room... and sleeping in the same bed. It didn’t mean that she had any feelings for him! So he had made chocolate-covered strawberries for her, that didn’t mean anything! Stupid bleached vampire, she’ll show him. With a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes, she addressed the barmaid who seemed to have more in common with octopi than lizards. “Sorry Cora, but I don’t share. Isn’t that right, Spikey?” She followed through with a good kick to his shin.

“Ow!” What the heck was the Slayer doing, anyway? He was the one being molested--not that he minded, but still... “Sorry, luv, but I’m a one-woman vamp.” He kept a wary eye on the Slayer and pulled his legs under his bench.

Cora pouted, but slid off the seat. “Pity. All that stamina for just one woman. Lucky...” She fixed her apron and smiled at them as if nothing had conspired. “Would you like something from the kitchen while you’re here?”

Before Buffy had time to open her mouth, Spike ordered for both of them. “Yeah--two fish and chips. It’s been ages since I’ve had proper fish and chips.” He watched the barmaid walk away, hips swinging alluringly, and readjusted his pants. It had been way too long since he’d had any...

Trying to shake the stamina comment from her mind, Buffy tried to veer the conversation to safer grounds. “So what’s our next move, then? I say we go to that Nex whatever and shake some information out of a few slimeballs. I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to, and anyway--every moment that we waste is extra time that Blakeford has to get further away.” She frowned, as she tried to remember something else that she’d wanted to tell him. “Oh yeah--” she slid down the seat a little, and reached out with her foot, kicking him again “I don’t need you to order for me. We’re in the 21st century--I can order for myself.”

“Bloody hell, woman--are you trying to cripple me?!” Spike rubbed at the bruises forming on his shin. “First of all, we are not going to the Pulchra Nex anytime soon--you’re not ready for that place just yet. Second, if Blakeford wanted to leave London, he would have done so by now, so either we’ve missed him or we’ll find him soon enough. Third, I ordered for you because I knew you’d order something ‘healthy’ like a salad or something. You need some flesh on those bones of yours, Slayer, and a good English diet will do just that. And lastly,” he returned an equally harsh kick to her shin, making her yelp, “stop hitting me.”

***

As she polished off her last french fry, Buffy got to thinking about what Spike had told her earlier. “What was it that you said about me not being ready to go to the Pulker Next? I’m a way better liar than you are, and I can kick your ass any day.”

Spike sighed. Sometimes... make that almost all the time, he really couldn’t believe that Buffy Summers was the Slayer. Was she truly that thick, or was she just short on attention span? Or... did she simply like pushing his buttons? Of course, she was just a young girl from California--barely twenty years old, if that. What had he been like at twenty? A stuttering bookworm whose heroes were Wordsworth, Coleridge and Tennyson. A young man who still clung to his doting mother’s coattails. He shuddered as the memories rushed back, of his mother’s illness and his worry for her condition, and of what had transpired... No, don’t go there, mate. You’ll never be ready to go back there.

Snapping fingers brought him back to the there and then, and he shook his head. “Sorry ‘bout that. Guess I must’ve wandered. Where were we?”

“Ugh. You were going to tell me why we’re not going to that other bar. Are you sure you’re ok? You look paler than usual...” Buffy took a hold of the lamp that hung over their table and shone its light in his face, trying to get a better look.

“Look, I’m fine.” The vampire grabbed the lamp from the young woman’s grasp and set it back in place. “And don’t shine that in my face--you almost blinded me.” He took a deep breath, shaking away the residual emotions of his memories. “The bar’s name, once again, is Pulchra Nex. There are a few reasons we’re not going just yet. We’ve already established that you don’t have a wardrobe fitting for such a place, but the main reason is that the only humans to get into Pulchra Nex are either on the menu or part of the entertainment. And don’t think that that means stand-up comedy, pet. The owners of the Nex could give the Romans a run for their money when it comes to entertaining their patrons.”

“So what does Pulchra Nex mean, anyway?”

“Loosely translated, ‘Beautiful, Violent Death‘”

Slayer back in the driver’s seat, Buffy sat straight and looked Spike in the eye. “Ok, so potentially bad for me, human and all. We get me new clothing and... and that gets me in? Just like that--or is there something else?”

“Haven’t gotten quite that far, yet. Clothing’s only the first step. I haven’t thought of a way of getting you in there--well, one that won’t get me staked upon suggesting it. Give me a bit of time--I always think of something.”

Buffy snickered at that. “Yeah, like all those plans to kill me and the Scoobies? Those always worked out so well.”

Spike made a motion to get up. “Ha bloody ha, Slayer. Sit tight for a moment--I’m gonna go say goodbye to Eddie, and then we’ll be on our way. We’ve got a bit of shopping to do and I don’t feel like being out all sodding night.”

Author's Note: Hidely-ho! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I had a blast writing Cora--original characters can be so much fun. Anyhoo, thanks to those who took the time to review. Please keep doing so--it always gives me a happy :)

“So what’s the name of this store we’re going to?” The cool air was a welcome refreshment to the Slayer, who felt a bit sluggish after having eaten the biggest portion of fish and chips she‘d ever laid eyes on. She took in many of the sights and sounds they passed, trying to get a feel for this city that had been ancient even before Spike’s time. She regretted not having time to stop and read the plaques that spoke of the history of the old buildings and landmarks--maybe, she hoped, she could come out sometime during the day and see London in the sunlight.

“It’s called Divine Opulence.” Spike had appreciated the comfortable silence that had accompanied their walk. He found it refreshing to be able to be in someone’s company without having to fill every moment with senseless banter.

“Divine Opulence? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s not supposed to mean anything. That’s just what it’s called. It’s not very far from here, if I remember correctly. I know it’s around here somewhere...” He stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes. He’d been here numerous times, but that was before the McDonald’s and the Gap that now occupied this intersection were even a notion in their creators’ minds. He opened his senses, reaching out to feel the pull of the other demons.

He opened his eyes and looked at Buffy. Nodding his head to his right, he confirmed his suspicions. “It‘s right over here.”

Buffy looked at the building they were facing. She cocked her head and stared at the golden arches for a second before glaring at the vampire. “Ok. Am I missing something, or are you implying that you’re getting me dressed at McDonald’s? ‘Cause uniforms so aren’t my look right now.”

Spike groaned. “Have you learned nothing yet?” He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her down a pathway that lay next to the restaurant. The rank smell of grease and garbage hung in the still air of the alley, which was unlit save for the moonlight that trickled in between the two brick buildings. Buffy felt as if she was being coated in a layer of stench and quietly wished that for just once, her life would lead to somewhere normal like the Gap.

The path opened up onto a small cobblestone courtyard over which about half a dozen storefronts faced. Two small Japanese Maples were growing in the center of the court, and miniature white Christmas lights decorated many of the storefronts. Buffy’s eyes scanned the stores, curious as to what kind of stores upper class demons might frequent. There was Dvelia’s Chocolates and Confections, Savannah Beauty Salon, Silk and Lace Garments and, of course, Divine Opulence.

Scanning the selection at the chocolate shoppe, Buffy was impressed. “You guys are really set up, aren’t you?”

Spike tore his eyes from the lingerie display and shrugged. “Well, if you’ve been around long enough, you’re going to develop an infrastructure. It’s bound to happen.”

“Ah—the joys of demon capitalism. Anya would be proud.” She walked through the door as Spike held it open for her, and found that the store looked like any other fashionable boutique she’d ever been to. Although she hadn’t really known what to expect, she never really thought it would be so... normal. She made her way to one of the racks and looked at a pair of jeans. “Ooh--these are nice!“ She turned the price tag over and felt faint. “Uh, Spike? We can’t afford to shop here! Look at the price of this stuff—what, does it come from another dimension or something?”

“’S possible, pet. Lots of work to be had making clothes for the filthy rich, even in the demon world. We just haven’t got the same resources you humans do—not like we can enslave 8-year old Chinese kids to make our shirts.” He peered around, as if he was looking for someone in particular. “Look, I’ll go find some help for you. And don’t worry about the money—I’m cashing in on a favour so you just choose whatever you like.”

As Spike walked away, heading towards the closest salesperson, Buffy busied herself by looking at the clothing on the racks. She’d forgotten that the store catered to the non-human variety until she found a beautiful green dress that had four armholes. Wow—this is worse than not finding my size...

A piercing shriek brought her attention to the back of the store, to where Spike was being attacked by a squat demon in a bright yellow dress. Well, it looked like he was being attacked but the vampire wasn’t fighting back so Buffy could only assume that it had been a happy kind of shriek. Making her way to where the commotion was taking place, she nearly doubled over in laughter.

Right next to the cash register, a short, rotund demon had Spike in a bear hug. Although he seemed royally embarrassed, he was returned the embrace; that was until he spied the Slayer.

“Right, then.” Pulling away from the hug, he straightened his duster and tried to regain some of his Big Bad. “Zairah, this is Buffy. She’s a... friend. From California. Buffy, this is Zairah; she owns Divine Opulence.”

The demon turned to Buffy and gave her a warm, matronly smile. She didn’t seem to have any body hair, and the Slayer found it a bit disconcerting to be speaking to someone who didn’t have any eyebrows or eyelashes. She was reminded of the time that the football team had gotten their clutches on Xander--they’d duct taped him to a bench in the change rooms and had shaved his eyebrows. Not a fun time for Xander, no siree...

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Zairah. You’ve got a really nice store here.” Buffy was genuine in her feelings towards the demon. She gave off a feeling of warmth and kindness that the Slayer didn’t encounter often--either in demons or humans.

“Thank you, dear. I’ve worked very hard to get it to what it has become, and I have William to thank for that.” As the large demon spoke in a thick Eastern European accent she beamed at the vampire, who tried his best not to look abashed. “It is always in difficult times that you know who your true friends are.”

Before Buffy had a chance to ask the demon what she was referring to, Spike spoke up. He didn’t feel like taking another trip down memory lane. If Buffy really wanted to know what the older demon was talking about, he’d tell her when they got back to the hotel. “Reason we’re here, Zairah, is Buffy needs a bit of a makeover in the clothing department. We have to pay a visit to Pulchra Nex, so she needs to have something less bubble-gum.”

The demon’s eyes grew round. “The Pulchra Nex? William--you’re not still associating with those people are you? After all these years I would have believed you’d grow out of getting into trouble.” She seemed truly disappointed and clucked her tongue. “And bringing a nice young girl like Buffy in such circles--you should be ashamed of yourself!” She smacked him upside the head and continued her castigation. “I should have known when I saw you with your hair all white and the long black coat...”

Buffy stifled a giggle. It must have been horribly embarrassing for William the Bloody to be chastised like a ten year-old in front of the Slayer, especially when he was not at fault--for once. Man, where was Zairah when he kept coming up with those plans to kill us? The thing that surprised her most, though, was that he just sat there pouting instead of defending himself.

She decided to save him from further torment. “As funny as it is to see you tear a strip out of Spike, Zairah, this isn’t quite what it seems. We’re going to the Nex for business purposes, and I’m more than able to take care of myself around vampires and demons. Now, if you want to continue blasting him for his hair, well--be my guest.”

Zairah sighed. “There’s no stopping you young ones once you’ve set your sights on something. I will help you--I owe William as much.” She snapped her fingers and turned with a flourish, yellow dress flowing after her. “Come! Let the transformation begin.”

Buffy looked at Spike questioningly, not sure what kind of ‘transformation’ she’d be undergoing. As if he’d read her mind, he reassured her. “Don’t worry, pet. She won’t make you do anything you don’t want to. She might try real hard, but she won’t force you. Go on, now, before she smacks you upside the head too.” He rubbed his head where he’d been hit earlier. “She doesn’t hold back--that’s quite a backhand she’s got there.”

Buffy nodded in understanding and turned to follow Zairah to the back of the store. “Um, I don’t know what deal you and Spike have--he mentioned some sort of favour or something--but I’d feel much better telling you that we don’t have much money and can’t really afford any of this. You know, just in case he was pulling my leg...”

“Tut, tut! There will be no speaking of money. William is correct. He helped me many years ago and I promised him that he could come and claim any favour he wanted, as long as I was alive. You must be a very important young woman in his eyes, for him to use his favour for you.” She winked a lash-less eyelid at the Slayer and turned to a wall of clothing. “Now, let’s have a little fun, shall we?”

The young woman looked up, and gulped. The wall displayed what could only be described as a fetishist’s wet dream. “Oh, no... I can’t wear any of that! Not in public--and not in private either! Does that skirt even have a rear end?” There was no way on earth that this demon, and Spike to boot, could get her to wear clothing that had holes in all the wrong places. She backed up until she hit a rack of pants. “I’m sure Spike might be able to cash that favour in sometime in the next century...”

“Don’t worry, love. We won’t be too risqué, especially if you’re shy. There’s still lots of clothes to choose from. Now, let’s see if we can find you a few delicious outfits...”

***

While the women busied themselves with clothing, Spike browsed the footwear section of the store. He’d had his boots for a long, long time: they’d been with him in New York when he’d killed his second Slayer, they were there when he and Dru first set foot in Sunnydale and now they were with him on his first visit to London in over 50 years. He felt a pang of sadness at the thought of parting with them, but he knew that all good things must come to an end.

A pair of 10 hole Doc Martens caught his eye. Black and shiny, they reflected the overhead lights like a mirror. He rifled through them until he found his size, and picked them up. Yup, definitely time for a change. He looked down at the boots he was now wearing. “Sorry, boys. Looks like you’ll be retiring tonight.”

New boots in hand, he made his way over to the back of the store. There he found Zairah in by a row of dressing rooms, an armload of clothing in hand. He pressed his index finger to his lips, quietly asking her not to acknowledge his presence. Eyeing the clothing on the wall, he pulled down a Chinese-style dress. It was made of red silk, and had fabric-covered buttons up the front. He handed it to the demon and watched her pass it over the top of the door.

The vampire leaned towards the other demon. “Has she decided on anything yet?” He tried to make rhyme or reason of the piles of clothing that were scattered across the chairs lined up against the wall, but gave up.

Zairah sighed. “No--she hasn’t even come out of the room yet.” She smiled at the vampire. “Maybe you could convince her to come out. You know, try a few well-chosen words...” She assumed that there was a potential ‘something’ brewing between William and the nice young woman. No harm in trying to help a bit, was there? She watched as Spike winked at her and walked up to the cubicle door.

“Buffy?” He called in a patient, calm voice.

“What?!” Exasperated and embarrassed, Buffy couldn’t believe that they expected her to leave the dressing room wearing some of this clothing; there was no chance in hell she was showing up in some demon version of a biker bar wearing a few straps of leather.

Flexing his hands into fists, Spike tried to keep his voice even. He didn’t know how she did it, but the Slayer could deflate a good mood quicker than Harris could down a jelly doughnut. “Why don’t you come out so we can see what you look like? Zairah’s working hard out here tryin’ to find some clothes for you--the least you can do is come out here and show her how you look.” Ugh. He was reduced to coaxing Buffy Summers out of a dressing room; his life was going down the shitter.

She might have considered acquiescing if she’d believed even a word of what he was saying. Why on earth would Spike want to see what she looked like, unless it was to laugh at her? “Don’t try to butter me up, Spike. I am *not* leaving the confines of this cubicle. I can see for myself if what I’m wearing looks good. I don’t need you to try to coax me out of here just so you can ogle me.”

That’s it. “Ok then, we’ll play by my rules. If you don’t come out here in thirty seconds, I’m coming in. I am going to find you something to wear--I don’t care what you think of it--and that’s what we’re leaving with. Choice is up to you, pet.” Enough molly coddling--threats always worked much, much better with the Slayer.

Buffy didn’t doubt for a moment that he would have the audacity to rip the door off her dressing room--even with Zairah and a few other customers present. She grabbed the red dress that had been passed to her last and slipped it on. She took a quick peek in the mirror that lined the inside of the door, and smiled. Okay--maybe I’ll keep this one...

The door to the room finally opened, and the young blonde stepped out. She cast a threatening look towards Spike and turned to Zairah. “Well? What do you think? I guess it’s nice--it’s sexy” she admitted shyly “but it’s classy.” She walked around a little and looked herself over in the mirrors that were on the wall. The demon agreed that it was very flattering, and encouraged her to hang on to it. “Yeah, I think we can put it in the ‘keep’ pile.” She turned to go back into the cubicle when her eyes met Spike’s. He hadn’t said a word as she and the shop’s owner had fussed over the dress; he’d just stood there and stared. His gaze unnerved her--she wasn’t sure if he was regretting the whole plan. Maybe she wasn‘t choosing the right kind of clothes. He didn‘t really expect her to wear a leather bustier, did he? “Spike? What do you think--is it a Pulchra Nex keeper?”

She was speaking to him, but he didn’t hear a word she said. Spike stared at the fabric as it slid over her curves and caressed them. How he wished he was the silk at that moment--wrapped around her warm body, hugging it tightly in all the right places. Why did she waste her time with blues and pinks when she looked absolutely smashing in red? The dress stopped at mid-thigh--just the right length to tease--and showed off her lean legs. So much power in such a delicate-looking package... She approached him, and spoke again.

“Spike? Earth to Spike!” She snapped her fingers in his face, and watched as he took a deep breath. Why does he do that? He doesn’t need to breathe, but it’s so damn erotic when he does... Whoa! Stop right there--Spike and erotic in the same sentence? She cursed her libido as it caused her to look up into his face and see the lust that burned in his eyes. She licked her lips and watched as his own lips parted. She smiled coyly and whispered. “So, what‘s the verdict?”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck. I have to share a bed with her after *this*, and I can’t touch her. Her hips and breasts call out to be traced by my fingers, her lips are begging to be kissed... “You look beautiful, pet.” He tentatively drew a finger down her side, sliding it along the soft fabric, and found himself burned by her heat. He had to snap out of it before he took her right there in front of the whole store. Clearing his throat, he stepped back and tried to regain a semblance of control. “Now, why don’t you actually try some of these clothes on instead of just staring at them?”

There was no malice in his voice, and she didn’t take offence to his words. The silent moment they’d shared bolstered her self-esteem. If the dress had this kind of effect on him, what would that short leather skirt do? The Slayer smiled as something within her awoke; all of a sudden, displaying her sexuality was no longer daunting or dirty but freeing, in some sense. Buffy Summers, you’re one good looking woman--why not show it off? If you’ve got it, flaunt it... And to think that it took Spike for her to realize this...

***

By the time they were ready to leave the store, Zairah had convinced Buffy into getting the red dress, a black leather mini-skirt, a pair of very low-waist red leather pants, a couple of stringy tank tops that didn’t leave much to the imagination, and a pair of high Victorian-style granny boots. It might not have been as daring as Zairah would have liked, but it was more adventurous than Buffy would have seen herself agreeing to.

As the Slayer juggled with her shopping bags, Zairah pulled Spike aside. “William, my dear, we’re now even. You’ve made good use of my offer; Buffy’s a lovely young woman.” She threw a glance at the diminutive blonde, who was still struggling with all the bags. She smiled warmly. “I want you to make me a promise, William.”

Spike raised an eyebrow, following her gaze. “What’s that, luv?”

The older demon took a hold of Spike’s sleeve and held it tight. “Don’t let this one go.” She put her finger over his lips to stop whatever he was going to say. “Tut! I see how you are around her, how you look at each other. She may not be from our world, but she has a spark inside her and she can bring out the best in you.” She turned him towards the Slayer and gave him a push. “Now go, and remember--next time you decide you need clothing, bring your wallet. I can’t afford to clothe all your lady friends.”

Buffy handed her bags to Spike and bade Zairah goodbye. “Thanks for everything. The clothes are beautiful, and... are you sure we don’t owe you anything?”

Nudging the young woman towards the door, Spike grumbled. “Hurry up, Slayer, before she changes her mind.” Throwing one last glance at the other demon, he smiled. “See you ‘round, luv.” He waved with the hand that wasn’t laden with bags and left the store.

Zairah was left there with a puzzled look on her face. “Slayer? My, how times have changed.”

***

Back at the hotel, Buffy busied herself with putting her new clothing away. Humming, she put her dress on a hanger and hung it in the closet. She turned her eyes to Spike, who had been quietly sitting on the couch watching her putter around. He hadn’t said a single word on the way home, and she was getting a little worried. Not that the moment of blissful silence wasn’t appreciated, but she needed to know what thoughts were turning around in that demonic mind of his.

“Ok, spill.”

The vampire snapped out of his daze. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

The young woman took a seat next to him on the couch, and crossed her arms. “Spike, you haven’t said a word (since you told me I was beautiful) since we were at the store. Something’s bothering you, so out with it.” She leaned back a little and tried to mimic Willow’s resolve face.

The Brit’s mouth opened, then closed. I’m attracted to you--you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on and I want to make you mine. And I hate myself for it. “Sorry pet, just thinking, ‘s all. Got caught up in old memories while we were out tonight.”

Buffy’s heart sank a little. “Oh. Thinking about Drusilla and lost love?”

“Something like that.” You don’t know how close you are.

They sat there on the couch, listening to the tick-tock of the clock. Spike stared straight ahead, not really focusing on anything, while Buffy kept stealing glances at the bleached vampire.

“Spike?”

“Hmm?” The vampire turned his gaze to the young woman sitting beside him.

Buffy bit her lip. How could she remain lucid around someone who spoke volumes with barely a glance? His clear blue eyes seemed to bore into her soul--she should have felt violated, but strangely enough she felt comforted. Gone were the cold, calculating eyes of a killer; what she saw were the eyes of a man who had loved someone for over a century, who had fought a Slayer to find a cure for the woman he loved. She had to find her voice before she did something very un-Slayer like...

She cleared her throat. “Do you think we’ll have time to look around while we’re here?”

Spike chose to ignore her pause--for the moment. “What, do you mean patrol? ‘Cause I’m not helping you kill any demons...”

“No, no. I mean like touristy stuff. I don’t think I’ll ever get the chance to travel overseas again--you know, because of the slayage--and I’ll kind of feel like I missed out if I don’t take a bit of personal time.”

The vampire didn’t look too certain. He lay back on the couch, remote in hand, in a slouch that would have made Al Bundy proud. “You mean go on a tour group?” The last two words dripped off his tongue like they were poisoned.

Here goes--get the charm out. Buffy gave him a 100 Watt smile. “Well, I was thinking of asking this certain blonde vampire if he wanted to play tour guide for me. Betcha he’d be much more fun than your average tour guide.”

The Brit barked out a laugh and sat up straight. “You know, Slayer, kissing ass always gets you what you want. So, did you have anything in mind? Big Ben, Tower of London, Piccadilly Circus? I don’t think I need to mention that all places of worship are off our list...”

Buffy leaned back and pulled her feet up onto the couch. “Why don’t we just go out and see where we end up?”

Author's Note: Halloo again, readers! Before anyone says anything--I know that in the show, Buffy wore very slinky clothing, but since this fic isn't 100% canon, I figured I could take a bit of creative liberty. Let me know if you still like the story--Spuffy coming up in a few chapters, so keep reading. And thanks to those who review!!

Spike slowly drifted into consciousness and quietly registered his surroundings. In that lazy place between sleep and wakefulness he momentarily forgot where he was. Fluffy pillow, soft feather blanket, comfy bed... he opened his eyes ...surrounded by heavy draperies. Ah yes, the Sheffield Arms. He pulled himself into a sitting position and leaned back against the headboard.

From the direction of the kitchen he heard the clanging of pots and pans, followed by muffled cursing. He pulled the curtain aside and looked at the clock on the nightstand. Quarter to five--pretty good day’s sleep if I might say so myself. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, the blonde vampire caught sight of the Slayer in the kitchen. She was puttering around, seemingly unaware that she was putting on a show. A smile formed on his lips as he saw her cutting something up and drop it into a pot. The Slayer in a kitchen--not something he ever dreamed of witnessing. His stomach grumbled as he caught a whiff of what was cooking. Whatever it was, it smelled good. It may not have been blood, but it would do nicely in the meanwhile.

Spike had always been singled out by Angelus and Darla because of his affection for human food. Demon or not, his stomach grumbled at the smell of pot roast and he still craved a good beef curry every now and then. Oh, and then there were those deep-fried onions he always got at the Bronze. Heck, he’d take up killing his own kind if he could get his hands on one of those every meal.

He hoisted himself off the bed and padded barefoot over to the counter that separated the kitchen from the bedroom/living room. Seating himself on one of the stools, he reached over and stole a slice of the carrot that Buffy was cutting.

Frowning as the bleached vamp helped himself to another slice, the young woman moved her cutting board out of his reach. “I thought you were just going to sleep all evening, too.” She dumped the remaining vegetables into the pot and placed its lid back on.

“Well, I must admit I was tempted, but the smell of cooking always dragged me out of bed.” He tried to stretch over the counter to peek in the pot, but was thwarted by its lid. “What’s in the pot?”

Buffy smiled shyly. “I’m trying to make soup. I’ve never actually cooked anything more complicated than Kraft Dinner on my own, so you’ll be my guinea pig.”

The vampire hopped off his seat an walked around to the stove. He pulled the lid off the bubbling pot and inhaled. “Well, it smells bloody fantastic. What d’you put in it?”

The Slayer seemed to make a mental list before rattling it off. “Uh, carrots--obviously” she gave the vampire a pointed look “celery, onions, some of those mixed herbs you buy in a bottle and... and I’ve got some beef cooking in the oven. I put some of the herbs on it too. Do you really think it smells good?” She looked hopeful.

“Slayer, you know me well enough that I wouldn’t say it smells good if I didn’t think it did.” The bleached blonde began to rummage through the grocery bags. “Where did you go for this? Were you out all day?”

“Pretty much, yeah. I went out around one and took a walk around. I went to some war museum--it was full of cool old weapons. They had this really cool sword--it must have been about 6 feet high--Scottish, I think...”

“That would be a Claymore, pet. Pretty impressive--does some good damage.”

Buffy nodded at the clarification. “Anyway, I could have walked around in there for days... On my way back, I passed a small grocery store and figured I might as well get some food, since I doubt we’ll be lucky enough to live off your friends’ generosity the whole time we’re here. Oh--I also got you some blood from the butcher’s, since there won’t be any biting while we’re here.”

The vampire grumbled. “Bleedin’ pig’s blood. Next thing you know, I’ll be buying some poofy hair gel and become all broody...” He poured himself a mug of the blood and nuked it. He took a drink and made a face. “Ugh! How can Peaches drink this crap?! Yech!”

Buffy tried to hide a smirk. “Listen here, Drama Queen. You’re having some soup in about 10 minutes. Put up with it until then.”

As he rinsed out the mug, an idea came to Spike. “You wouldn’t happen to have bought some canned tomatoes eh, luv?”

The Slayer’s brow creased as she opened a cupboard door. “Yeah--I was going to use them for some pasta.” She pulled it from the shelf and handed it to him. “Why do you want these, anyway?”

Spike rifled through the drawers until he found a can opener. “I figured we could add them to the soup.” Upon seeing her lower lip jut out, he added: “Not that it doesn’t look or smell amazing, but tomatoes in soup are like hot peppers on a plate of nachos--they bring it that much closer to perfection.” He looked up from the can opener and found that Buffy was watching him with a wry smile on her face. “What?”

The sight of Spike, clad only in flannel pj bottoms, hair still tousled from sleep, standing there holding a can of tomatoes was a sight to behold. “This.” She waved at them, in the kitchen. “This whole scene is surreal, Spike. Step back for a sec, and take a good look at us. You in your slouchy pants, helping me make dinner. It’s... it’s, domestic.”

Spike furrowed his brow and paused to observe the strange scene. Slowly, a grin appeared on his face. “Yeah, kinda looks like a scene from the Hellmouth’s version of the Odd Couple, doesn’t it?”

Buffy grabbed one of the bar stools and propped herself on it, watching as the vampire cut the tomatoes and dropped them in the simmering soup. “So--did you stay up late last night?”

“Yeah--went to bed just around sunrise.”

Jumping off her seat, the Slayer walked up to the pot and peeked under the lid. “Wow--that does look great. Ten points for the Undead Galloping Gourmet.” She replaced the lid and watched her temporary flatmate rinse a knife off. “Why were you up so late, anyway? Did channel 5 have a Passions marathon?”

I tossed off half a dozen times so I wouldn’t impale myself when I crawled into bed beside you. Didn’t work very well, though. “Just thinkin’ ‘bout how we’re going to get you into the Nex. I haven’t been able to come up with anything workable that you’ll like.” Truth was, he had come up with the perfect plan, the only viable plan, but its mere suggestion would get him damn near staked.

“Pass me those oven mitts, will you?” Buffy removed the beef from the oven. Yup--it was cooked. She knew she came off as the dumb blonde type and, well, she often made it rather easy for folks to get that idea, but she was actually more than capable in the kitchen.

After her parents divorced, she and her mom had lived at her grandmother’s until Joyce was back on her two feet. Buffy would help her grandmother cook dinner and bake all kinds of sweets. She took to cooking quickly, but after the great muffin fiasco baking on her own was a big no-no.

As she began to cut up the meat, she returned her attention to the interrupted conversation. “Well, give me your ‘best’ idea. Worst thing, I shoot it down and we keep brainstorming. Just like we do at the Scooby meetings. You know, soup is good brainstorming food--it’s a scientific fact.” She gave him a smile as she turned the heat off on the burner and let the soup simmer. “So--shoot.”

Spike threw a glance around the Slayer, taking a quick inventory of potential weapons. Damned kitchens, he thought to himself, just chock full of sharp things. “I’ll tell you, but first I want you to hand over that wooden spoon. I’m not taking any chances.”

As she handed him the cooking utensil, the Slayer’s senses were humming. Spike wasn’t usually cautious around her. If anything, he did anything to egg her into a fight. She couldn’t even count the times that he pissed her off to the boiling point. Now, he was making sure she didn’t have any stakey implements of death within reach, and he seemed to be pussyfooting around telling her this master plan of his.

Wooden sticks out of the way, Spike took a deep breath. “Remember when I told you that the only humans at the Nex were either on the menu or part of the entertainment?” He waited for her to nod before continuing. “Well, I may have neglected an other... category... of humans present.” She raised an eyebrow, and he wondered what he was nervous about. This plan of his had been a secret fantasy for some time (well, aside from the whole ‘and she lived happily ever after’ part of it), and now that there was a possibility that it might actually take place... Why was he hesitating? More so than that, why the hell did he care?

An impatient clearing of the throat brought him back to the issue at hand. “Sorry ‘bout that, luv. Where was I?”

Hand on hip, the Slayer was getting more impatient by the second. “The part where you were saying that you lied to me.”

Damned selective hearing. “Ah, right. There’s one other way to get you in there, but I really don’t...”

“Oh for God’s sake, just say it!”

“I’ll have to bite you.” The blonde vampire braced himself for impact, but nothing came.

Buffy laughed. Hard. “Spike--of all the lamest plans you’ve ever come up with, I think this one takes the cake.” Wiping away a few tears, she shook her head. “Thanks for the laugh, though. I really needed that. Come on, let’s get this soup on the table.” She turned around, shaking her head, and reached into a cupboard for some bowl.

She jumped when a strong hand gripped her arm and swung her around. She found herself staring into cold blue eyes specked with gold. That was when she realized that he hadn’t been joking. She repressed a shiver at having the demon so close to her.

Spike didn’t like to be mocked. As a vampire with an ok sense of humour, he could take a jab as good as he could dish one out, but he never put up with being laughed at. Buffy’s reaction to his idea, after the effort he put in it to cushion the supposedly touchy subject, caused something in him to snap. He’d barely held back the demon, that was more than happy to sink his fangs in her right then and there.

“Really simple plan, Slayer. You let me drink from you. We go to the Nex and we both get in because I’ve claimed you. No bite, no entry--it’s as simple as that. Don’t think I’m lying when I tell you I was up until sunrise trying to think of something, of anything else. There. Is. No. Other. Way. Unless your sharp wit can come up with a more brilliant plan...”

“Shut up, Spike.” Buffy was mad. Not because the vampire had the gall to suggest what he was suggesting, but because she knew he was right. The thought had come to her mind but she had pushed it aside, hoping for a less intense proposal. She pulled the bowls out of the cupboard and walked to the stove.

Spike followed her, still irritated. “Look, pet, you can’t just ignore this. I can’t believe I’m the one saying this, but we’re on a bit of a mission here and we have to make some decisions. That baby...”

“Don’t you think I know that?” How dare he imply that she’d lost sight of their mission! “A decision’s already been made. We’re going ahead with your plan.” Still unable to look him in the eye, she shoved a bowlful of soup at him and sat at the counter.

***

Their dinner had been spent in silence. It had probably been the longest they’d ever been in each other’s company without saying a word. Even when they were angry at each other, there was the verbal sparring, the insults. But right now, they sat at each end of the counter, sullenly eating their soup.

Buffy was reminded of those dinners when her parents were fighting, before the divorce. Neither would say anything--her mom would slam the dishes onto the table while her dad would hide behind his newspaper, pretending to be anywhere but there.

If her parents’ doomed relationship taught her anything, it was that silence never fixed anything. It didn’t heal wounds, it didn’t take the hurt away. Not that she considered Spike to be anything near a spouse, but she’d reluctantly begun to see him as a friend. And friends, of course, did not share meals in uncomfortable silence, avoiding each other’s gaze.

“I’m upset because I’m scared.” There. She broke the silence. Now it was up to him to do his part.

Spike’s attention was diverted from his dish. Good--he was getting tired of staring at an empty bowl of soup, anyway. He lifted his head and turned his attention to the young woman at the other end of the counter. “Come again?”

Sigh. “I’m scared--about the plan. That’s why I snapped.” When the only response she got was an inquisitive stare, she felt compelled to continue. “My parents did this, this not speaking thing, for years. Instead of talking things out, or yelling, or fighting, they just sat there ignoring each other. It was horrible. I felt guilty for years because I was actually relieved when they split up. No more strained meal times.”

The vampire reached out and awkwardly patted her arm. “Your mum’s proud of you, you know that? She told me about your pillock of a father and how you came out of the whole thing as a stronger person. I’m starting to see what she was talking about.”

Buffy blushed at the compliment. “Thanks. Hey, are we still on for tonight?” Quick, change the subject before this gets too mushy for comfort.

Spike hopped off the stool and took his dishes. “Don’t see why not. Why don’t we take advantage of that car the Council provided us? We could drive down to the Tower Bridge and take a gander at the sights around there. Then maybe we can take a walk by the Thames--’s pretty at night, with the lights reflecting off the water. So, what do you say--sound good to you?”

She piled her dishes into the sink, on top of Spike’s, have to wash those later--ugh, why couldn’t we have a dishwasher? “As long as I don’t get a running commentary of where you and your crazy ex killed people, I think it sounds great.” She smiled at him to show that she was just teasing him.

***

To any passers-by, the young couple looked like they were admiring someone else’s parked car. The man whistled as he inspected it, while his companion seemed to be more interested at the vehicle’s inside. Hands cupped against the window, eyes squinted to make out the interior, she squealed. “Try the key! This can’t be it...”

As if in a trance, Spike walked to the driver’s side of the car, pushing Buffy aside. “Get in on your own side, pet. This is the driver’s side, and you’re not getting within ten feet of the keys. I’ve heard the stories about your driving.” He pushed the button on the key, and the doors unlocked. He let a ‘bloody hell’ escape, before opening his door.

They had expected... well, they hadn’t really known what to expect. Sure, the key had BMW on it, but with the Council and their tight purse strings it could have been one of those 15 year-old rust heaps that only University professors drove. But no--they seemed to have been entrusted with a current-year model. A shiny, black BMW with chrome accents and, to Spike’s joy, a stick-shift transmission. He leaned in a placed a kiss on the steering wheel.

Buffy rolled her eyes. Give any man, or vampire for that matter, a hot car and he turned into ’Neanderthal man’. “Would you prefer I leave you two alone for a while?”

The vampire growled. “Look, jus’ give me a minute here. ’S not every day I get to drive something as powerful as this baby.”

“Look, just start the engine, ok? Everything’s gonna be closed if we just sit here all night.”

“Yes ma’am.” Spike saluted the Slayer, revved the engine and peeled out of the parking lot.

***

Spike had been right. Night time London was beautiful. All the old buildings were lit, and it all seemed to reflect into the wide expanse of the Thames--which led her to think, not for the first time, why they pronounced it Tems, and not Thaymes. Huh--she didn’t think she’d ever figure out the English.

She brought her attention back to Spike who, after a few close calls, had heeded her warnings to slow down. No more weaving in and out of traffic, shifting gears like some sort of race car driver. She wanted to be able to walk out of the car in one piece. When he pulled into the Tower Bridge‘s parking lot, there didn‘t seem to be many cars there.

“Spike--do you think it’s even open?” Buffy looked around. The place wasn’t exactly bustling with tourists.

“Of course it is. It’s only what, ‘bout six thirty?”

The Slayer looked at her watch and nodded. “Yeah, it’s six twenty five. Let’s go see what’s going on.”

When they reached the ticket wickets, they saw that they were closed. The bleached blonde kicked a lamppost and cursed. “Six?! It closes at six? Do they even know how much business they’re losing--there’s a whole other world out here at night! Bugger this--we’re goin’ in anyway.”

“No we’re not.” Buffy put a hand on his shoulder. “How about we make our way over to the Tower. I doubt everything closes this early. Anyway, it seems like a bit of a walk. You can just play tour guide for me.”

As they walked along the bridge, Spike found himself at ease reminiscing about his past, and the city in which he had lived. “Actually, pet, the bridge wasn’t even built until after I was turned. I didn’t pay much attention to it--being a relative fledgeling, I didn’t care much for the sort of thing, you know--but Dru and I did attend the grand unveiling or whatever it was called. Angelus and Darla laughed at us, but Dru was always a sucker for fanfare...” He noticed that his companion had stiffened, and paused until he clued in. “Ah. Sorry ‘bout that--no more Dru stories.”

As they approached the other side of the bridge and approached the Tower, Spike stopped. “Now the Tower, on the other hand... My Da used to bring me here all the time. He was a bookish sort of gent, and would tell me all kinds of stories about all the history behind it.”

Whether he had temporarily forgotten who he was with, or whether it was in childish glee, he took the Slayer’s hand and pulled her the rest of the way, running towards the Tower’s main entrance.

“Buggery hell! Are the bleedin’ hours dictated by housewives? Argh!” Spike couldn’t believe it. Over 50 years after he’d left the mother country, here he stood, his latest chance at seeing the ol’ Tower again quashed by early closing times. The powers that be had some wicked sense of humour.

Although she didn’t show it with as much flair as Spike did, Buffy was also upset. She saw this as her only chance at taking in some of the sights--sure, she could come during the day, but what fun was there in sight seeing on your own? “Look, I know this sucks and I’d actually be tempted to take you up on breaking in, but it looks like it’s still guarded--how weird is that, by the way? Anyway, why don’t we find ourselves a bench to sit on--like that one over there--and you can be like your dad and tell me all about the Tower, since you know so much.”

Resigned to having to obey the law, once again, Spike acquiesced. Wanker. “Alright then. Guess it’ll have to do. Let’s find ourselves a bench that’s not so close to a light. The one you were pointin’ to looked bright enough to torch me.” As he began to walk away, he looked down and realized that they were still holding hands. Untangling his fingers from hers, he wondered: since when does holding hands with the Slayer feel so natural that I don’t even notice it?

When they’d found a bench that suited both their tastes, Spike began to regale Buffy with tales of the Tower. He talked about its ancient beginnings, Henry the VIII and Thomas More, about the young princes who were murdered in one of the towers. “...An’ back in 1830, they’d drained the moat that surrounded it--it’s all covered in grass now and looks like a culvert--they found loads of human bones. Guess it was all the folk that never made it across to the Tower.” He noticed that Buffy’s eyes were closed. Speaking to himself, he muttered. “Good going, you git, you put her to sleep.”

“No you didn’t, git--whatever that means. I’m just resting my eyes. You know, you’re very good at telling stories--I could sit here all night and just listen to you talk about all this history.” Buffy opened her eyes and looked up at the blonde vampire. “You ever consider being a History professor? ‘Cause you’d be good at it, you know.”

“Sorry, but I don’t believe it ever crossed my mind. I was more into... other things.”

Spike had a past. She’d never really stopped to think about that. What had he been like? Buffy figured that it was about time she found out. “Spike? Tell me about what you were like--before you were turned.”

Author's Note: Mwahahaha---left you with a bit of a cliffhanger, did I? Next chapter's got a bit of everything in it, and I'm sure you'll like it lots. And... Spuffy coming real soon... Thanks to all who reviewed. Please keep feeding the author :-)

The colour--whatever colour there was--drained from the vampire’s face, and his mouth was making a funny fish-out-of-water motion. Buffy repressed a giggle. Okay, this might be a little different than I’d imagined. “So, were you a ‘big bad’, like you are now?” By his reaction she doubted it, and damn it her curiosity was piqued.

Spike tried to regain his composure. Taking on an air of nonchalance, he scoffed. “It’s not important, is it? What’s past is past. Can’t really change it now, can we? How about we go by the docks over there and see if anything interesting’s going on...” Please don’t make me do this.

“Nah--this bench is too comfortable. Anyway, you seem to be on some sort of storytelling streak, so now’s a good time to talk away.” She loved doing this to him. Every squirm, every nervous tic--the Slayer was soaking it all in. Maybe the big bad had been a bit of a pussy cat... She decided to play a little with him. With a serious look on her face, she wondered out loud. “Oh my God! You weren’t Jack the Ripper, were you?”

Now he knew that she was teasing him. Letting out a laugh, he retorted. “Fuck off, Slayer. I’m not tellin’. A guy’s gotta have his secrets.” Yeah and the big secret’s that you were a wanker, a mother’s boy. A floppy-haired bad-poetry-writing geek. “I was just different.”

“Different in what way? Were you a priest? Were you in the army?” She wasn’t going to leave him be until she had every little detail. This was all too good to pass up.

Spike was getting nervous--mostly because his defences were beginning to fall. “Look, pet. The last thing I need is to give you more ammo to use against me.”

Buffy placed a hand on his arm, leaning in towards him. This was her last chance at getting him to talk. “Aw, come on, Spikey. How bad can it be?” She whispered in his ear, pressing herself up against his side. “Just tell me--it’ll be our little secret.”

She wants to play this little game, does she? Alright--let’s show her that two can play at this. “Ok. I’ll tell you--but only if you give me a kiss.”

The young woman shot away from him as if shocked. From the other end of the bench, she asked him: “What? Spike, you’re crazy if you think I’ll even come close to you.” Well, closer than I was, anyway.

Smug, the vampire smiled. “Have it your way, Slayer. I’ll just keep my sordid past to myself.” He knew that that would get her off his back. There was no way in hell that she would kiss him just to find out about William.

Buffy was pouting. When had this game turned in his favour? Sordid? That’s so not fair! She crossed her arms against her chest and pressed her lips together. Trying to keep her eyes anywhere but on the blonde vamp, she scanned her field of vision: there was an older couple out for a walk; she spied a small gang of teenagers near a lamppost, smoking and laughing; she even spent a while watching some workers unload crates off of one of the large ships. But her mind kept going back to Spike and his dare--or was it an offer?

She felt like pulling her hair out. Kiss Spike and find out about his past, or don’t kiss him and never know what he was like... Argh! “Fine! This is killing me. One. Kiss. And if you try anything funny, it’ll be ‘Hello Dustville’--got it?”

Wha? He’d been in mid-thought when she blurted it out. Was she really going for it? Was it worth divulging his last secret, just to get a kiss in return? Hell, yeah! “Ok, pet. Why don’t you slide down here--I don’t think it’ll work if you’re way over there.” He watched her intently as she made her way closer to him, trying her best not to touch him or his coat. When she sat still, lips in mid pucker he snorted. “No, luv. You kiss me. That can’t happen if you’re just sitting there doing your best impression of a sucker fish.”

The young woman opened her eyes and groaned. “Fine--get technical.” She placed her palm on his cheek, and brought his lips to her own. As her lips met his, she felt like an electric current passed through them.

This was all wrong. She meant to press her lips to his and to pull away, disgusted. She never expected his lips to be so soft, so inviting. He returned the kiss, cupping her neck with his hand. The embrace intensified, but remained chaste. After all, a kiss was all she promised--not a petting session.

They pulled away from each other, both in a daze, and stared at each other. Buffy’s cheeks were flushed, and Spike’s mouth had opened--he even seemed to be breathing hard.

“Ponce.”

Buffy’s brow creased when her mind worked out what he’d just said. “What? What did you just call me?”

The vampire chuckled softly. “No, pet--I’m talking about me. That is the reason behind our lip lock, isn’t it?” Not that it wasn’t bloody amazing.

The young woman relaxed, but didn’t distance herself from her companion. She remained pressed up against him, comforted by his proximity. “Ok, so you were a ponce. What’s that, anyway? Is it like a jerk, or something?”

“Nah, more like a... uhm... a nerd.” He hid his face in his hands as he waited for her reaction. One kiss wasn’t worth this--almost.

Buffy’s face was deadpan--until she burst out in a fit of laughter, losing her balance and falling off the bench. “You?! A geek?! That’s too rich!” Dusting herself off, she almost missed the slight change in his body language. He seemed to be sitting a bit stiffer and he was looking away from her. He couldn’t be taking it this bad, could he?

That’s when it hit her. William the Bloody, Spike the ‘Big Bad’; in his demon life, he had been overcompensating for what he’d been as a human: a wimp. Probably got beat up, or teased. Probably wasn’t very popular with the ladies either. Buffy felt sorry for him; she sat back down and put her hand on his shoulder. When he turned to look at her, she could see the anger and the humiliation in his eyes.

“I’m really sorry, Spike. It’s just, it’s not at all what I expected. I was bracing for, you know, you being a criminal, or something horrible.”

He took a deep breath, and accepted her apology without a word. “Well, William was horrible enough.” Raising his gaze to the skies, he went on. He knew he couldn’t continue if he was looking at her. “I was about as far removed from being a criminal as I am right now from being a priest. I had no friends--I only had Mother, whose coattails I hid under. I always had my nose in a book and I...” He moved his head away from her and mumbled, hoping she didn’t hear him. “andIwroteawfulpoetry.”

Buffy couldn’t help but smile at Spike’s shyness about the poetry. Funny enough, it didn’t surprise her. He just seemed like the kind of person to write poetry, now that she knew him better. “Really? You wrote poetry? I think that’s sweet--it’s romantic!”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to suffer through it.” He paused a moment, and found the strength to face her. “No one else seemed to have such heartfelt notions about my poetry back then. The night that I was turned, I’d been to a party. There was a girl there--Cecily Addams. I was in love with her--or so I thought, anyway. Bleedin’ wanker I was, I bared my soul to her and she crushed it. She told me I was beneath her.” His voice seethed with the bitter memory. “So when Dru gave me the chance at finding my inner psycho, I thought ‘Hey, why not? My life can’t get any worse...’”

The Slayer bit her lip. “So... is that why you’re such a ‘big bad’? Is that just an image you got with the demon, or was Spike somewhere inside of William, waiting to be released?”

Her question floored the vampire. Was this the same girl who thought that he was going to dress her at McDonalds? “That’s a damn good question. I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to that. I don’t think that there was much of a brutal murderer in William, but he was headstrong, he didn’t follow what everyone else was doing, he simply wasn’t a conventional fellow. He was also a bloody sentimental fool--the demon never quite managed to quash that quality, though.”

“That’s the one thing about you that’s always puzzled me. I get the killing, I get the posturing, the duster--I get all the doom and gloom. But I never got the faithfulness, the romance, the love. I’ve never met a vampire like you--you’re so...” Buffy waved her hand around, frustrated because she couldn’t find an apt word. “...sentimental. No, that’s not it...”

“Dead sexy?”

The young woman raised an eyebrow. “Uh, no. Not that you’re not... Um. That’s not what I meant” Oh, God please stop blushing... “Passionate! That’s it!” She smiled, proud of herself.

“Passionate...” As the vampire sat there, mulling the adjective over--and whether or not it fit him (which it did, of course), he watched Buffy get up and walk to the railing at the edge of the river. She described him as passionate, and what he felt at that moment was nothing short of it.

He was sick of second-guessing his instincts. Yes, she was The Slayer. But she was also Buffy Summers--and whether or not he wanted to admit it, he was falling for her. No longer wanting to hold back whenever he was around with her, he walked out to where she was. They would never be Romeo and Juliet, all doe-eyed and innocent; they would be more like Benedick and Beatrice, with sharp tongues and a wit to match, forever duelling. He walked up behind her and placed his hands on the railing, capturing her between his arms.

Her Slayer senses were sounding the alarm. Surrounded by Spike, a powerful arm on each side and his solid chest in behind, barely touching her, she tried to gauge her own reaction. Was she afraid, as she should have been? No. She wasn’t fully at ease, either, though. Body tense, she felt a shiver pass through her as he pressed up against her. She pressed back, giving her assent, and his arms pulled in to circle her.

How desperate for affection was she, that the found herself in the arms of her mortal enemy? Oh, can it, she told her inner Slayer, that one’s getting old. They had been mortal enemies at one time, but as everything in the world evolves--nothing can remain unchanged by the tides of time--so had their relationship. Were they friends now? Yes, she thought so, at least. Did she have feelings for him? A definite maybe, bordering on yes. Did he have feelings for her? She hoped so.

The young woman turned to face him, the million questions in her head reflected in the vampire’s blue eyes. They stood there, intertwined by the edge of the Thames River, looking for answers in each other’s eyes, but finding only more questions.

The moment’s silence was broken by Spike, who was never really known for his patience. “Oh, bugger this!” He crushed his lips to hers in what he hoped was an effective display of the passion she saw in him.

Buffy tried to think, tried to react, but the feel of his soft, cool lips on her own erased all coherent thought from her mind. All that remained was something between ‘Oh God’ and ‘Yum’. She brought one hand to his face, tracing the sharp angle of his cheekbone; the other hand trailed to his waist, where she hooked a finger in one of his belt loops pulling him closer to her. She felt his erection press against her stomach and smiled into their kiss as she heard him moan.

Ok--so far she hadn’t punched him, kicked him, pushed him away or staked him. Better yet, she was returning the embrace with a zeal that matched his own. Spike’s tongue slid against her lips, seeking entry into her mouth. She parted her lips and welcomed him in. Their tongues duelled as the intensity of their kiss grew. It was no longer the fusion of two mouths, but of two bodies.

Buffy felt the railing press into her back, but she ignored it. All she wanted to think of was how good it felt to let go. She was having a major gropefest with an incredibly sexy vampire out in public, and she didn’t care who saw. She dragged her fingernails down his back, reaching for his rear end. She paused for a moment when she felt his face shift--she didn’t know if she was quite ready for that yet--but relaxed when his face took its human guise once again. Impressed at his self-control, she pulled him closer to her.

They pulled apart and rested their foreheads together, both panting. In between breaths, Buffy managed to find words. “Spike?”

“Yes, luv?”

“What was that all about?”

Pulling back a little so he could look her in the eye, the vampire searched for the right answer, to tell her what she wanted to hear. “Don’t rightly know, but I can tell you that I don’t for one moment regret it. That given the chance I’d do it all over again.” That must have been the right thing to say, because she smiled and hooked her arm around his waist.

As they made their way back to the car, Buffy decided to bring out into the open an issue she’d been mulling over. “So... when are we going to go to the Nex?”

Spike paused only briefly, the question surprising him. “I guess we should plan on going there pretty soon. We need to get on this guy’s trail before it goes cold. Why do you ask?”

The Slayer slipped her arm out from around him, and turned to face him, walking backwards. “Well, I’ve been thinking. About what we argued about earlier.” Seeing a ‘oh, not again’ look cross his features, she quickly continued. “No, I’m not up for another fight. Actually, I’ve been enjoying the getting along more than the fighting. What I’m thinking is that since we’re both in a good mood tonight, maybe we should go through with the biting when we get back to the hotel. That way we could go there tomorrow night.”

Although Buffy’s proposal shocked him, he didn‘t show it. He had expected to be the one reminding her, asking her night after night if she was ready yet; he never believed that she would be the one to bring it up, especially not that same night. Attempting to seem unaffected, he answered her. “I s’pose it makes sense. The bites wouldn’t be too fresh tomorrow night, and we are here for a higher purpose than shooting the shit at the base of the Tower of London.”

He unlocked the car doors with the remote, and opened the passenger door for her to get in. Before she had time to sit down, he took hold of her arm. “I’ll only go through with this if you’re comfortable. Last thing I need is for you to panic, or even worse to stake me.”

Buffy no longer doubted in her heart that Spike felt something for her. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t balk at the chance to sink his fangs into her neck. Rising on the tips of her toes, she kissed him on the cheek. “I am comfortable. I am ready. Now if we wait too long, my resolve may just break...”

“Right then. In the car you go.” With a smirk, he gave her a little shove, and she fell into her seat. “We’ve got a very important task to work on. No need dilly-dallying in empty car parks.”

Author's Note: I hope you liked their first kiss :) The next chapter is strongly rated R and involves bloodplay, so please be warned. I also have a challenge for my dear readers. I know that waiting for yummy chapters sucks, so for every 5 reviews I get, I'll move the post day one day sooner. Does that sound good to you?
And thanks to all who have been reviewing. The Spuffy Realm readers are by far the most generous of all site readers.

Well, here you go--13 reviews; Spuffy Realm readers rock! I just hope this lives up to your expectations...

They’d discussed this. Maybe not in much detail, but they had. She told him that she was ok with it, that she was ready and, strangely enough, willing. This is for the mission. Stop acting like it means anything more than that, you git.

Spike was pacing back and forth at the foot of the bed like a caged animal. He needed a smoke more than anything, but she’d warned him--if he smelled like tobacco, she wasn’t going anywhere near him. Fuck! He needed to calm down, take a few deep breaths. He sat on the couch and stared at the bathroom door.

Slayers had been his fascination since the day that Angelus had mentioned them. He’d never heard of them before that, of course. But from that day on, he’d made it his business to hunt them down and kill them. He’d found many of them, and had fought them. Only two had died at his hands, though. Closing his eyes, he tried to recall the Chinese girl’s face--if he tried hard enough it came to mind. He really wished he knew what she’d told him before he’d snapped her neck. For all he knew, it may have been anything from ‘Say goodbye to my family for me’ to ‘Try the hot & sour soup at Lo Bu’s--it’s really good’. Most likely the former.

Then there had been that black girl in New York. Now she’d fought like a Slayer. She had attitude, she had fought tooth and nail, and she had died. Did he feel bad? Did he have regrets? No. It had been an equal battle. It could have just as easily been her who walked off that subway car, still wearing that black leather coat. His remains would have been swept up with the crumpled passes and cigarette butts.

And now, almost twenty-five years later, he found himself sitting on a couch in a hotel in London, waiting to bite the current Slayer in order to save the world. He broke out in a grin and licked his lips: he wouldn’t have it any other way.

***

Buffy stared at her reflection. God, I look like crap. Why can’t my hair stay up? She didn’t really want to stop and wonder why she was primping just minutes before going against all she’d ever learned as a Slayer. Why was she letting him bite her? Oh, yeah--another possible apocalypse. Sounds like a good enough excuse. However, she knew that if at that very moment, she had to explain it to Giles, it would come out all wrong, and it would sound like the stupidest excuse in the world.

Well, time to face the music, bite the bullet and all that crap. She pulled her hair into a ponytail--the only way her hair seemed to want to stay, and walked out the door.

She saw that Spike had changed into his flannel pants. He’d been perched on the couch when she walked out, but he stood up when he saw her. Her heart skipped a beat as she thought ahead of what was to come--she remembered her body’s reaction to Angel’s bite, and she didn’t know if tonight would lead to a repeat experience. Would Spike laugh at her if it did? No, she had this crazy feeling that he would be too busy enjoying his part in it to stop and mock her.

In his eyes, she would never be more beautiful. Washed clean of any makeup, hair up in a ponytail, and dressed in some silly cotton pajamas--‘Yummy Sushi’? What the heck was that?--she smelled of vanilla and everything that was Buffy Summers. He could see the apprehension in her eyes, as she found the nerve to break the silence.

“So--how are we going to do this?” It was easier to leave the finer details up to him. After all, he was more experienced in this sort of thing. She blushed at the way he stared at her, emotions no longer hidden. He wanted this, he wanted her and she felt something in her gut warm at the thought of such an intimate moment with him. They were hiding behind “The Mission”, but she knew that this was going to mean much, much more to both of them. She walked to him and let him take her hand.

How ‘bout I throw you on the bed and shag you into oblivion?--no, that wouldn’t do. You deserve more than that. “It’s really up to you, pet--however you feel more comfortable. We could do it standing up, which I don’t really recommend with the blood loss an’ all. We could lie down on the bed, but I don’t know how you’d feel about that... Or I could sit down here on the couch and you could sit on my lap.” He really hadn’t given it any prior thought. There was probably a more honourable way of going through with it, but he preferred the close physical contact. After her displays of affection out by the Tower, he was certain that she wouldn’t shy away from a little touching.

Buffy reflected on the options he was presenting her with. She didn’t even pause to consider the standing option. He was right--the last thing she needed was to humiliate herself by fainting and bumping her head on the coffee table. Lying down? Way too close to sex--actually could lead to sex if the usual sparks happened between them. They’d hated each other until what, a few days ago? And now, they couldn’t seem to hold hands without some serious sparkage. What was the third option, again? Oh yeah, sitting on his lap on the couch.

She knew she was doomed when the lesser evil was straddling him. “Ok, Monty. Looks like it’s gonna be door number three.”

He nodded in assent and sat down in the middle of the couch. Still holding his hand, she stood before him and climbed up onto his lap, one knee placed on either side of him. He couldn’t help but hold his breath as the heat from her body transferred to his own. Every point of contact between them, from her hands on his shoulders to the apex of her thighs against his lap, burned him. His voice was rough from his need for her. “Ready, luv?”

She tried to remember the calming methods that Giles had taught her. Breathe in... Breathe out... Calm air in... Stressed air out... It wasn’t working, however. Underneath her, she felt the vampire’s tension at their proximity. Buffy closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to slow the beating of her heart. She leaned in closer and placed her lips by his ear. A whisper was all that was required. “Yes.”

Spike cupped his hand to her neck, pulling it to his mouth. Although she outwardly seemed calm, the demon felt her pulse quicken and her muscles tense. He couldn’t bring himself to bite her like this--he wanted her to crave the bite, not fear it. Bringing his lips to her neck, he placed an open-mouthed kiss over her artery.

Slow, wet kisses trailing down her neck. A strong hand splayed against her hip, brushing lazy circles under her top. That wasn’t exactly what the young woman had been bracing for. What was he doing? He finally had his chance--how long had he been jonesing to bite her, and now that he had his chance he seemed to be... seducing her? Not that she was complaining--nope, not at all. This was much better than the sit and bite she’d imagined. The things he was doing with that tongue of his--slowly tracing a line up her throat, across her jaw...

She couldn’t help but let a groan escape when she felt his teeth on her earlobe. It had been so long since she’d... “Oh God, Spike.” She felt him pull her even closer to him, until there was no space between them.

When she slid down on his lap, stopping only when chest met chest and pelvis hit pelvis, Spike had to stop. He rested his forehead on her shoulder, panting. Could she feel his need for her? Of course she can, you git! She’s sitting right on top of it. And she’s so bloody hot... He pulled back and stared into her eyes.

He wanted her so bad, and she could feel his need--the hard reminder was wedged right under her. When he pulled back and simply looked at her, she realized that he obviously meant for this to be about her. Why else didn’t he have her pinned on the couch, teeth in her neck?

But she wasn’t one to have all the fun--she could make this about him, too.

A wicked grin on her lips, she began to grind her pelvis down into his erection. The fire in his eyes told her that he needed her as badly as she needed him. When he tilted his head back, moaning, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his throat. Through her ministrations, she heard him mutter ‘Fuck’ under his breath; in response, she lightly bit his neck.

Spike had lost the moment where this had gone from “Biting for the Mission” to a full-fledged snogging session. Maybe the Powers That Be were paying him back for not having killed that portly salesman--why else would he be sitting here, with the Slayer nibbling on his neck, rocking her pelvis against his and... trying to pull his shirt off? Every joke he’d ever said about her being frigid died right there and then. He lifted his arms, helping her remove his T-shirt.

Figuring that she’d had the upper hand long enough, he brought his hands up to her side, sliding them under her top. He cocked an eyebrow, silently asking her permission.

Okay, Buffy. This is the moment. There’s no going back at this point--do you say ‘yes’, or do you say ‘no’? She had no doubts that if she shook her head, the issue would be dead. He would move on to something else and not pressure her about it. On the other hand, she was sure that if she said ‘yes’, her life would branch into a totally different direction, which may not be so bad after all. She nodded, giving him her assent.

Spike lifted the garment slowly, wanting to memorize every inch of her taut stomach, her tender breasts. He’d never been intimate with a human before--he didn’t know if he’d ever get over the heat that it produced. He found his own skin tingling as her warmth transferred to his body. Unable to resist any longer, he leaned in and took one of her nipples in his cool mouth and cupped the other in his hand.

Buffy damned Angel and that poophead Parker. Why hadn’t they shown her that sex could be so intense? Here she was, with Spike, enjoying the best sexual experience of her life--and they still had their pants on! She realized that he had begun to thrust his own pelvis up towards her rocking motions. When had that started? Oh, great--I’m so busy over-analyzing everything that I’m missing out on stuff. Bad Buffy--no more thinking!

At that moment, where she bid herself to stop thinking, Buffy felt the beginnings of her climax. It was still far enough, but there was the twisting in her gut, the heat pooling between her legs, the need for more contact. She pulled the blonde vamp from his ministrations, smashed her lips to his, rocking against him with an increased fervour. Their tongues duelled and he began to pant in between kisses. Why does he do that? No! No thinking--concentrate on... ungh...

Spike pressed his hands against her hips, trying to slow her down. If she keeps this up, I won’t last... He pulled his lips away from hers and saw his raw need reflected in her hazel depths. The scent of her arousal surrounded him. He knew that he wouldn’t last much longer--not like this, especially not if she let him...

There it was. Her breath hitched, her body froze and she whispered “Now”.

Lost in his own fight against release, Spike’s muddled reasoning didn’t quite grasp what she meant. “Huh?”

The young woman leaned her head back and pulled his face to her neck. “Oh my God, Spike. Now!” When she felt him hesitate, she added “Please.”

Her release hit her as she watched his features change—she knew that the demon was finally free. When his teeth sank into her neck, she felt a rush of heat spread throughout her body. She felt like she was on fire as he drank deeply, pulling her life force past his soft lips. She didn’t understand why the sensation was so sensual to her. Logically, he was performing an act that was meant to kill her; but it was more than that to her—she felt as if they now were sharing an intimate bond.

As her climax ebbed, body still shaking from the aftershocks, she realized that she had let out a long, drawn-out moan. Funny, she’d never imagined herself as being very vocal during sex. It had always seemed over-dramatic, like that horribly funny porno she’d watched once, late at night. However, she had the feeling that the release of that wail, at that particular moment, had added to the sensations that had ripped through her small frame.

The grip Spike had on her hips tightened almost to the point of being painful—gonna have some serious bruises there tomorrow, and she felt rather than heard him growl. The feral sound he made was so primal that it traveled straight to her centre. She held him tighter as she felt his body begin to twitch.

He didn’t belong there. No creature of the night, who had killed so many people without mercy, deserved a place in Heaven. Because that’s where he was—he had no doubt. Her golden hair, tanned limbs, the heat that was sure to burn him, the life that he was presently draining from her soft neck. The power contained within her blood was nothing like he’d ever tasted. As it traveled in his mouth, down his throat and through his veins he felt invincible; heck, he’d even try to walk out into the sun—he almost knew that with the force of the Slayer running within his body, he could take on that pillock of a sun and come out of it alive… er, undead.

Colours began to dance at the back of his eyelids as he heard her wail. He tried to hold back, make it last forever—or at least until Buffy had finished her own release. His body hummed with the pent-up energy of his building climax, and he knew that he couldn’t hold on for long. When he felt her pulse slow a little, and that instead of pushing him away, as he expected, she held him closer, he gave in.

His body felt as if it was being reanimated. He’d seen all those old movies, where the evil scientists tried to bring the dead to life—usually with a bolt of lightning or some rot. Well, that’s what it was like at that moment—it was as if he had a good dose of electricity running through his limbs. He wished more than anything that he was buried in that heat of hers, instead of still being half-clothed. But he would take whatever he could get. And it didn’t get much better than this, he thought as his muscles twitched their post-coital staccato. He pulled his teeth from her neck, lapped at the wounds until the bleeding slowed, and lay his forehead down on her shoulder.

He was panting. Now why did she find that so sexy? And why the hell was she still turned on, after having the best close-to-sex of her life? She felt him lick her neck again, guessing that he was probably not going to waste whatever blood was still trickling though. She felt a little faint—no big surprise, with all the blood he had taken. She pulled back a little and found that he was still in demon guise.

Strangely enough, she didn’t feel compelled to pull away, hide her eyes from the demon and the reality of what she’d shared with it. With him. His amber gaze was as naked and tender as his blue eyes had been--and they were just as expressive. Of course, she thought to herself, they’re both Spike--man and demon. It’s not like there was a switch inside of him--man/good, demon/bad. The man could have done some pretty damnable things, and right now the demon was looking at her with tenderness. Boy, did the Council have it all wrong, or what?

Spike felt a little ill at ease with the way that Buffy was looking at him. Maybe it was the warmth in her eyes--he wasn’t used to that. Anger, yes. Hatred, yes. Compassion, no. Love? No, not even Dru--she’d always been in her own world, and he’d been part of that but he wasn’t sure if she’d ever reciprocated his love. As she gently drew her finger across his ridges, he realized that he was still in his game face. She didn’t pull back, she wasn’t disgusted. She seemed to accept it, and that meant more to him than she could ever imagine. Taking her hand in his, he placed a chaste kiss on her lips before pulling her to him in an embrace. It felt so right to have her in his arms. He could only hope that this would last longer than their mission.

Surrounded by his strong arms, Buffy felt safe. For the first time since she’d become the Slayer, all her worries temporarily disappeared, replaced only by the comforting rumbling of her lover’s purr.

***

They sat there, both panting, bodies still closely connected. When he felt her shiver, Spike pulled a throw blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around the young woman. He didn’t know what to expect after what they’d shared. People did things in the heat of the moment--things they regretted. Was this how she’d see this? When she sighed and snuggled against his chest, he knew that he was worrying himself over nothing.

Although she’d now been with two vampires (what kind of Slayer did that make her?), Buffy still found it odd to lean her head against a chest that contained no heartbeat. It didn’t mean anything, strangely enough, as the only human she’d ever been intimate with proved to be a jerk. Smiling to herself, she broke the silence. “I guess ‘wow’ would be an understatement, wouldn’t it?”

Spike let out a chuckle. “I reckon’ so. I’m thinking more along the lines of ‘bloody fucking amazing’.”

The Slayer laughed out loud. However, a small part of her couldn’t help but wonder just how ’bloody fucking amazing’ it would be if they weren’t wearing any clothes. She leaned closer into him, laying her head on his shoulder. Her eyes grew wide as she felt something grow... again. Her head snapped up and she pressed her pelvis down. “Are you... already...”

With a sexy smile, the vampire nodded. “Vampire stamina, luv. Don’t worry, though--I’m feeling kind of gross right now--I’m gonna go clean up a bit. Change my pants, if you catch my meaning.”

Buffy slid off him, noticed the distinct wet spot at his crotch and squeaked an embarrassed “okay”.

When Spike was in the bathroom, the young woman ran to a mirror. Tilting her head to the side, she pressed her fingers to the new bite. It had closed off and was no longer bleeding--Spike had seen to that, as not a drop of blood had been wasted. She rolled her eyes as she noticed that he’d placed his own bite over that of his Sire’s. Great, she thought to herself, now I’m part of their pissing war.

She turned the lights off around the small apartment and crawled into bed. Not like Mr. Vampire needs lights to get to bed. Lying down, she pulled the covers up to her neck; would he expect anything else? Shaking her head, she reminded herself that she wasn’t supposed to be thinking--just bask in nice warm after-sex feelings. Except that it wasn’t really sex... Argh! Where was Mr. Gordo when she needed him...

***

He had never, ever, come in his pants. Not his first time, as a fledgling, did he lose control like that. Not even when he and Dru had shagged in the Chinese Slayer’s blood. In all honesty, though, Spike was proud that he lasted as long as he did, with the Slayer’s hot, tight body writhing on top of him... Stop it or you’ll never get out of the bloody bathroom! He looked at the crumpled flannel pants that were thrown into a heap by the wall. If things kept up, he’d run out of clean clothes--fast. Gotta find a launderette somewhere.

He put the toilet lid down and sat on it. Cupping his chin in his hands, he stared ahead. Why was he acting like such a poof? The worst thing was that not even the demon felt bad--hey, it had gotten its blood, why should it complain? Then it hit him... Nonono--it couldn’t be. He was horny, he was obsessed with Slayers, it was the call of her blood... anything but love! Master vampires did not fall in love with Slayers in less than a week; hell, master vampires did not fall in love with Slayers, period.

But master vampires didn’t drool at the smell of homemade soup or leave victims alive or help avert any apocalypses, either. Shit.

When he walked out of the bathroom, Spike saw that Buffy had turned off all the lights. He knew she was still awake, though, as her breathing was still too quick. That and she wasn’t snoring... He made his way to the bed and slipped in under the covers. Yeah, he could fall asleep anywhere--crypt, dirt floor--but nothing beat a nice soft bed.

He slid behind the Slayer and spooned her. “You alright with this, pet?”

There was a pause, as the young woman gave it some thought. “Yeah, I am. It’s weird, you know, ‘cause I know this shouldn’t be. I mean, it’s not exactly normal for either of us, but I’m beginning to realize that logic doesn’t really have a place in sex and love, and everything in between.”

The blonde vamp let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Why, after everything that had conspired, did he still doubt his Slayer? “Mmm... I remember some smart bloke saying something to the effect that ‘Love isn’t brains’ or some rot like that. It’s about time that you figured that out for yourself.” All he got as an answer was an elbow in the ribs.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, kissed the back of her neck and they both fell into a peaceful sleep.

Author's Note: Well, there you go. Please let me know what you thought. And again, thanks to all those who reviewed.

The bell over the door jingled as the Scoobies made their way into the Magic Box, weary from another night of patrolling. Exhausted, they all dropped in the chairs surrounding their favourite research table.

“Ok, was there a memo that we missed? You know, one that said ‘Slayer out of the country, free-for-all on the Hellmouth, BYOB?” Xander grimaced at the pain in his left shoulder, the result of being thrown more than once against a mausoleum. His better judgement told him that he shouldn’t be involved in these patrols--he didn’t have the training Giles had, Willow’s magical resources, or Anya’s ability to confuse demons with her distinctive verbal barrage. He was just some guy. But no, he went along anyway and always came out of it with more bruises than anyone else. That‘s if he came out of it conscious. “And anyway, how the heck does she go out and do that every night?”

Anya moved behind him and began to massage her boyfriend’s shoulder. An achy Xander meant little or no sex. And no sex meant no orgasms. Very logical, very calculated and very scary. Yep--she had to make sure he was in top physical shape. “Well, she’s the Slayer, Xander. She has all these powers that were given her...”

Giles interrupted what could have been a very long and disorienting discourse. “I believe that was a rhetorical question, Anya.” He went back to rubbing his sore leg. Since when did vampires kick people in the shin, anyway? I’m getting too old for this.

“I wonder how Buffy’s doing, anyway?” Willow, the only one who seemed to be unscathed, voiced the question they were all asking themselves (except for Anya, who was still gauging her chances at having many orgasms). Her eyes got a twinkle of mischief in them as a thought occurred to her. “Ooh! Maybe she’s met some hunky English guy. Like if she’s visiting Westminster Abbey and can’t find something, so she has to ask someone and--hey--why not ask the cute guy that’s right beside her? Then he asks her to dinner... That would be so romantic. Well, until the part where she has to leave, and they share a kiss at the airport and then she goes back home and feels sad because she misses him...” The redhead had to stop before she passed out from lack of oxygen.

Nimble fingers still working the knots out of Xander’s shoulder, Anya felt she had the answer to Willow’s babbling. “She already has a hunky English guy--she has Spike.” When she was met with three incredulous stares, she frowned. “Oh, please. He’s got that whole ’bad boy’ thing, with the bleached hair and the leather coat, and he has all those tight, rippling muscles...” Ok, sex could no longer wait. “Come on, Xander. We have to go to your basement. Now.” She grabbed him by his injured shoulder, eliciting a yelp from the young man.

Xander did not budge from his seat. He was still trying to follow the link from ’wonder how Buffy’s doing’ to ’Spike is a sex god’ to ‘Xander let‘s go home‘. “Ok, am I the only one who’s thinking “eww” right now? I don’t even want to know how you associate the idea of Spike with our having sex!”

The ex-vengeance demon, tired of being looked at like she’d said Hitler was a hero, became defensive. “Well I don’t see what’s so strange about that. Spike happens to be the embodiment of the ideal male physique. He also has that accent, which is also very sexy. I don’t find it very strange at all that thinking of him leads me to think of orgasms.” She grabbed her flummoxed boyfriend’s hand and hauled him towards the door. “Come, Xander. We’re wasting time.”

Beet red, the brunette smiled nervously. “Uh, same bat time, same bat channel tomorrow night, kids?”

Relieved at finally seeing an end to hearing Anya discuss sex and Spike, Giles nodded. “Yes, of course. Good night, Xander.” When the door finally closed, he removed his glasses and began wiping at one of the lenses. Shaking his head, he exhaled. “Sometimes I wonder about her...”

“Well, she does have a point...” Willow’s eyes grew and her mouth clamped shut. What had she just said? And to Giles, of all people?! She needed to make a save--quick. “So... have you heard anything else from Buffy?” There. That was on nice, safe, conversation territory. The last thing she needed was for the Watcher to know that albeit deathly afraid of the vampire, she had noticed his finer attributes.

Glad that the young woman had steered the discussion away from the annoying vampire--the pillock manages to get under my skin even when he’s clear across the ocean--Giles answered. “No, not since the first night. I suspect she’ll contact us if anything of importance occurs. Long distance phone calls are too expensive to make just to tell us nothing’s happened.”

The Wicca couldn’t hide her disappointment. “Oh...”

Her downcast eyes and pout spelled it out to the Watcher. Of course she wanted to contact her best friend. Bonding over telephone calls is what young women did, wasn’t it? Smiling knowingly, he stood up and pulled his wallet out of his pants pocket. “She did give me the number to her hotel room, though, if anyone wanted to reach her...” He waved a piece of paper under her nose.

Willow squealed and grabbed the number. “Oh, Giles! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” She jumped up and threw her arms around him, nearly dragging him down.

“Ow! Please watch the leg. I do believe that Tar’groth demon gave me a charlie horse.” Giles winced, and sat back down.

The witch couldn’t help but smirk. “Yeah, he was a pretty dirty fighter, wasn’t he? I think he even tried some of the Three Stooges’ moves on Xander. Bad move, though--he knows them all.”

“Well, yes. Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

There was a quiet pause before Willow grabbed her bag of magic supplies. “Thanks, Giles. This means a lot to me.”

Slightly abashed, the Watcher smiled. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear from you, Willow. Just make sure you don’t call her tonight--there’s a 6 hour difference to London.” He got up off his chair, and groaned. “I suppose we should be off, then. I’ll give you a lift home.”

***

The pale yellow glow of diffused sunlight peeked between the heavy curtains. As she slowly came to, Buffy felt well rested. No tossing and turning, no Slayer dreams; just a deep, peaceful rest. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes, trying to focus on the alarm clock that had been moved to her side of the bed. 10:30am. Wow. Think that‘s the longest I‘ve ever slept. She tried to move, but found herself pinned down.

What the? Buffy looked down, and saw an arm. A very pale, muscular arm. And it was wrapped around her waist, holding her gently but firmly. Spike. Spike, the evil undead who had given her the best almost-sex of her life, who hadn’t turned all Angelus afterwards, and who was now spooned against her back. She smiled as her thoughts ventured to the night before and what had happened between them. Her whole world was about to be turned over, and she was looking forward to it.

The young woman managed to turn around under the vampire’s grip. Finally facing him, she was again amazed at how peaceful he looked when he was sleeping. His hair was ruffled from sleep, his lashes rested against his cheeks, and his soft lips were slightly parted as if he were breathing. How could someone who was so irritating when awake seem so angelic in sleep? Angelic and Spike. Not two words she would have ever imagined using in the same sentence, without the presence of ‘not’.

She lifted the blanket a little, careful not to wake him up. Looking under the sheets, she let her glance slide down the vampire’s well-defined chest, onto his abs, and then to... Damn! He owns another pair of those flannel pants... Pouting, she dropped the cover back onto them. Guess that’ll have to wait ’till another day.

Deciding that she’d lolled in bed long enough, she wrested herself from the sleeping vampire’s grip. As she slid out from under his arm, Spike rolled over onto his other side, away from her. She took a quick moment to memorize the play of the muscles in his back as he fidgeted to find a comfortable position. She closed the bed’s drapes before being tempted back into bed.

***

His head was ringing, but he didn’t remember drinking the night before. Squeezing his eyes shut, Spike turned over and tried to ignore it.

It didn’t stop, though--the ringing kept... well, it just kept ringing. Cursing, the vampire sat up and tried to shake the cobwebs from his sleep-addled brain. Concentrating, he finally figured out that it must be the phone. But who would be calling them? He pulled the curtain aside, and, reaching for the phone, fell off the bed. “Bugger!”

Grabbing the phone that Buffy had left on his night table, he pressed the ’on’ button and issued a curt “What?!”

There was a sharp intake of breath at the other end. “Spike?” A woman’s voice, that he could almost recognize.

“Who’s this?” Bloody gits, calling at any hour of the day.

“It’s... it’s Willow.”

Huh? He narrowed his eyes. “Who?”

A sigh. “Willow, you know--bottle in the face...” That should jog his memory.

Spike straightened up and a smile quickly came to his lips. “Red! Why didn’t you tell me it was you?”

“Well, I sorta did, but you were kinda sleepy and not really with the understanding.” She paused. What did one say to a half-awake vampire that you didn’t really know well? “So... how’s everything? Are you having a good time back home?”

The blonde vamp was genuinely happy to hear from the redheaded witch. She was the only one of Buffy’s friends he could actually stand. She was so much fun to tease and she didn’t treat him like a second class citizen. “Everything’s peachy, ducks. Met up with some old friends, visited an old haunt or two, had me some real fish and chips. (Had a wicked snogging session with the Slayer.) All in all, it’s been a couple of good days.”

Why was he so talkative? Willow felt like saying ‘who are you and what have you done with Spike?’. He almost sounded happy to hear from her. Weird. “Well, that’s nice. I’m happy you’re having a good time.”

After a long pause, Spike’s good humour at hearing a familiar voice ebbed. He frowned, got a little impatient and shifted. He was missing some good sleep for this. “Look, you want to speak to the Slayer?”

“Yeah, actually, that’s why I was calling. She’s not in bed, is she?” She wasn’t sure if she’d calculated the whole time difference thing right and she didn’t want to have to speak to a sleepy Buffy. It could be much, much worse than a sleepy Spike.

Looking back at the bed, which still called to him, Spike sneered. “Not unless I squished her rollin’ out of bed to get the bloody phone...” Still groggy, he hadn’t realized how much he’d revealed to the witch. “I think I hear her in the loo. Hold on a sec.”

The door to the bathroom was ajar, which to the vampire meant ‘hey, open me!’. He did so, and both Slayer and vampire simultaneously screamed. Spike dropped the phone onto the carpet, and neither heard the faint “Hello? What’s wrong?!” coming from the receiver.

Pulse racing, Buffy cringed. Great. Figures he’d walk in right now... She was embarrassed beyond words... almost. “Spike! Don’t you know how to knock? What were you doing, spying on me?”

The vampire clutched his chest, breathing hard. “Bloody fuck... let a bloke gather his wits, will ‘ya? And what’s with that stuff on your face?” He reached out a tentative finger but pulled away before touching... whatever it was.

Fuming, the Slayer put her hands on her hips. “This ‘stuff’ is clay. It clears my pores. Some of us risk the chance of zits, Mr. Undead, so we have to take care of our skin.” She looked down at the phone on the ground and raised her brows. “Were you on the phone?”

“Shit!” Spike had forgotten about Willow. “Red--you still there?”

The redhead was relieved to hear that at least one of the two was still alive. She’d heard some screaming, a bang as the phone hit the floor, and then some more yelling. She hoped that they weren’t being attacked or anything. “Spike? What’s going on--are you guys ok?”

Still trying to catch his unnecessary breath, Spike took another look at Buffy before answering. “Yeah. Just got a fright, is all. Slayer’s doing her best impression of a Horgoth demon.”

Horgoth demon... “Oh, the blue clay?” That was actually really funny. Never thought of that...

Spike swallowed a snicker at the witch’s quick answer. He guessed he wasn’t the only one who’d made that connection before. “Yeah, that’s the stuff. Talk to you later, pet. Ta.”

“Bye Spike.“ Ok, so this Spike seemed happy to hear from her, he’d sounded like a 10 year old when he was talking about what he’d done, and now he was being all nice, calling her pet and ducks. Willow’s brow furrowed. She’d get to the bottom of it. Buffy Summers always caved in against Inspector Rosenburg...

***

Buffy grabbed the phone from Spike before giving him a final glare. She wasn’t really that angry at him--she just felt compelled to go through the motions. Fighting with the peroxide wonder was too much fun to stop. She brought her concentration back to the phone. “Will--is everything ok? Are you alright?” She realized she was a little worried--they wouldn’t call unless it was an emergency, would they?

Sensing her friend’s worry, the witch used a calming tone. “Buffy, everyone’s just fine. I missed you, that’s all. Giles gave me your phone number so I could call you.”

The Slayer felt the tension ease off. “Ok, I guess I can breathe now. So, how are the patrols going? No one got seriously hurt, did they? I mean, apart from Xander.”

The two girls giggled at their friend’s usual luck with patrolling.

“Well, I think that every demon within a 50 mile radius knows you’re out of the country, so it’s been pretty hectic. But we’re holding our own. How about you? You’re the one in London. How is it there? Have you made any progress finding your baddie?” She smiled and added, in a teasing voice “Meet any cute guys?”

The young blonde bit her lip at the last question. She hadn’t actually met her cute guy here, but they had certainly joined together while in London. Joined together--how appropriate. “London is great, Wills. You’d love it, with all the old buildings and the neat history. Spike took me to the Tower of London yesterday and told me about all the murder and torture and backstabbing. But it’s so beautiful, we’ll have to come back some day.” Yeah, like I’ll ever get the chance. “As for our mission, it’s not as much a hot trail as a grape freezie kind of trail. Spike and I are going to some creepy demon nightclub tonight--we’re hoping to get a lead. Seems that the guy’s henchdemons hang out there.”

“Well, I hope you find some good information. It’s best if you find that baby sooner rather than later.” Something nagged at Willow, some previous comment. Yes! Spike’s slip-up about the bed! She decided it was time for Inspector Rosenburg to make an appearance. “So, how’s the whole ’staying with Spike’ thing coming?”

Buffy felt the blush creep up her neck. “Coming?” Yeah, we were coming, all right. “Uh, it’s ok. We haven’t killed each other yet, so that’s always good, right?” Please, don’t ask any more questions.

The squeak in her friend’s voice let the young witch know that her best friend was hiding something. “Mmm hmmm. Spike said something about you two sharing a bed?” If that didn’t work, nothing would.

“Oh, of course he would! Figures he’d be gloating--betcha he also told you about us...” Oh, crap. Inspector Rosenburg 1, Buffy 0. “Oh, God.”

Ha! I knew it! Willow did an internal Snoopy dance, but kept her voice sober. “Buffy, is there something going on between you and Spike? Because, you know, best friend here...” Guilt her into talking--that always worked.

Great--first the Spanish Inquisition, and now the guilt. Where had meek Willow gone? Buffy was quiet for a moment--should she tell all, or keep it a secret? Ah, hell. She’d never kept secrets from Willow. No use in starting a bad habit now. She coughed, clearing her voice. “Will--if I tell you something, promise not to tell Giles or anyone else?”

“Of course! I can do that--I’ll be secret girl. That’s in the ‘best friend’ job description, you know. Anyway, I’m sure you want to let some of it off your chest.” She sat back on her bed, clutching a teddy bear, and waited for the story to begin.

The Slayer took a deep breath. “Oh, Will. I don’t even know where to begin. I mean, Spike’s been completely different on this trip--right from the start. He even bought me a stuffed animal at the airport!”

Willow couldn’t help but interject. “Oh, how sweet!”

“Yeah, I know--I mean, this is the guy who’d been trying to kill me--kill us--for two years and now it’s, like” she faked a horrible English accent “’Did you want to get something to eat?’ and he actually said that we had to work at getting along, since we were on the same mission. I mean, when did he get all mature?”

The redhead was impressed. Who’d have thought that if you stuck the childish vampire into a situation, he’d be the one to come out with smart ideas? “Well, it sounds like good advice to me. I guess it’s better than having him try to kill you, or ditch you.”

Buffy’s voice rose an octave. “That’s what I mean!” She lowered it again, afraid that Spike might hear what she was about to say. “It’s like being with a Spike look alike. He’s been such a gentleman. They have us booked as honeymooners at the hotel--don‘t even start on that, by the way--and he insisted on carrying me over the threshold, and then he made me some chocolate covered strawberries--very yummy, by the way. But it’s just so... unexpected. I figured we’d be at each other’s throats, but now I’m finding that we’re getting along, and I don’t know how I feel about it.” She sniffled. “Pathetic much?”

Willow didn’t know what to say. This was Spike they were talking about. For all she knew, this whole seduction could have been part of a plan of his. However, she didn’t think so--maybe for some crazy cosmic reason, Buffy and Spike were meant to be together. “No, Buffy. Not pathetic. You’re right to be confused. Your reality just got twisted, and you’re trying to figure things out. It’s normal. Has... has he tried to kiss you yet?”

The young blonde let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, Willow. You don’t know the half of it. We practically had sex last night. The only thing between us was our pants.” The following confession was made in a whisper. “And I let him bite me.”

“Oh Goddess!” Ok, this was getting curiouser and curiouser. “Did it hurt?”

“No, actually it was pretty good.” The Slayer banged the back of her head against the wall. “Hell, who am I kidding? It was amazing. The only way I can get into that bar tonight is if Spike pretends to ‘own’ me--humans aren’t allowed in on their own. He had to bite me so we could get in. It seemed like a good plan, until we got to the biting part. It started out with kissing, then it moved on to some touching, then it moved on to some grinding. It, uh, it got really serious.”

“Did he make you do anything you didn’t want to?” She had to remain logical and keep her friend on track. “Buffy, please think of it. Do you regret anything?”

There was a pause, and the Slayer found herself seriously considering the redhead’s questions. “No, I don’t regret any of it, and I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to. He’s really good that way. Gentle, takes it slow--he made sure I was ok with everything. He was really considerate.”

“Ok, I must really be lacking in the romance department, because I’m soo jealous right now, Buffy.” The Wicca cleared her thoat, not really believing she was going to ask her next question. This was Spike, after all. “So... is he good?”

“Willow! What happened to the shy girl who blushed every time someone mentioned sex?” Buffy couldn’t believe her best friend. She was proud.

“She grew up, Buffy. And got a sex drive, which is doing absolutely nothing these days. So ‘fess up, so I know that at least one of us is having a grand old time.” There. Not so hard, was it? Oh, I can’t believe I just said that out loud.

“Ok, Wills--we‘re going to delve into the TMI land that only best friends dare travel.” She took a deep breath. “Imagine someone spending 120 years perfecting sex. That‘s what he‘s like. Just one kiss and you‘re reduced to a puddle of water. All the energy he has, all the passion, he puts it into kissing. His lips are soft, and his tongue‘s like velvet. It‘s like being kissed by silk, Will. And while he’s kissing you, his hands are drawing little circles on your back, not groping you like some big college stud. He just uses the tips of his fingers, tracing down your spine, and it feels like electricity--you know, like when you stick your tongue on one of those weird batteries, and your tongue gets all tingly? It’s just like that, but everywhere he touches you.” Pausing to catch her breath, she realized that there was absolutely no sound coming from the other end of the phone. Just my luck--watch the line be disconnected and I’ve just been sitting here talking to myself. “Willow? Are you still there?”

The young witch opened her eyes and inhaled deeply. She felt faint, but convinced herself it was because she hadn’t slept much the night before--not because of what Buffy was saying. Her voice squeaked. “Yes! I mean yeah, I’m still listening.”

The Slayer was curious. Her best friend was acting a little weird. But, then, Willow was always a little odd, so she brushed it off. “Ok, just thought I’d lost you for a sec. Didn’t want to be sitting here talking to myself, or even worse--to some operator or something.” She fidgeted--the bathroom floor wasn’t the most comfortable of seating areas. “Look, Will. I need you to tell me if I’m insane. I mean, I’m talking to you about macking with the undead--again. And this one doesn’t even have a soul! Maybe it‘s a Slayer thing--I‘m on a course for self-destruction, or something.”

“Buffy, I don’t think it’s a Slayer thing. Well, not entirely. I think it’s a Buffy thing.” The redhead was choosing her words carefully--sometimes it was difficult broaching certain topics over the phone, as you couldn’t rely on your facial expressions to get your point across. “You’re the Slayer, Buffy. That’s something that’s unique--unique in the way that you’re special, but also unique in the way that there’s only one of you. Well, except for Faith, but that’s beside the point, ‘cause she‘s pretty much out of commission right now. Anyway, you lead a lifestyle very different than anyone else’s. Where most girls your age are dreaming about boy bands, trying for the cheerleading squad or working part-time jobs at the local mall, you’ve got this whole other world thrown at you, where you have to deal with things that people can’t even come up with in their nightmares. You’ve got this enormous responsibility, with the weight of the world on your shoulders.” She sighed. “This is coming out all wrong. What I’m trying to say is that your life involves things that go bump in the night. Maybe it’s not normal that you fall for two vampires, but taken into the context of your lifestyle, it‘s not that surprising. Whether you’re aware of it or not, you’re probably looking for someone who understands and accepts what it is that you do, and who it is that you really are. Is any of this making any sense, or am I just babbling?”

Now she knew why she had opened up with Willow. Always the voice of reason, always the one with soothing words. Buffy thanked the powers that be that she had such a caring, intelligent person to turn to when she felt like she was at her wits‘ end. “Yeah, I think I do. What you’re saying is that because I’m the Slayer, I’m drawn to people who are close to what I do. Hence, Angel and Spike. But Angel had a soul, and Spike is evil, or was evil...”

“But Angel without his soul was much, much worse than Spike, wasn’t he? Spike is... well, he’s Spike. What you see is what you get. He is who he is because he chooses to be that way, not because it’s forced onto him. Buffy, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but maybe Spike really is trying to be a better person, or vampire, because of you. Maybe he really does have feelings for you. Just don’t do anything rash--let things go slowly and don’t second guess yourself. If it feels right, go with it.”

Buffy felt a tear roll down her cheek. Sniffling, she smiled. “How did I get such a good best friend, Willow?”

The Wiccan smiled back, although it couldn’t be seen through the phone. “Oh, I don’t know. It might have to do with how good a friend you are too. That and how many times you saved me...”

The two girls shared a comfortable silence, each absorbing what had been said. Willow was confident that Buffy could work out this situation she was in, and come out of it stronger. Buffy took the redhead’s words to heart, and vowed silently to try and listen to her heart a little more. She knew that as a Slayer she didn’t have that long to live--what good would it be to push away a chance at happiness?

“Look, Wills, I have to let you go now. My butt cheeks are falling asleep from sitting on this cold floor. That and I have to pry this ‘mask of Horgoth’ off before it permanently sticks to my face.”

As they said their goodbyes, neither heard the click that closely preceded their hanging up.

***

Spike hung up the kitchen phone and sat on one of the stools. He cupped his hand over his chin and tried to absorb everything the two girls had discussed. He had expected the bit about their little snogging session--after all, that’s what girls talked about on the phone, wasn’t it?

But he’d never expected the Slayer to reveal that he’d bitten her, or that she’d enjoyed it--he assumed that she would have kept mum, keeping it as a dirty little secret. What had really surprised him, though, was the talk that revealed Buffy’s low self-esteem.

Spike rejoiced in being a vampire. He revelled in the violence, the blood, the darkness. He’d also assumed that Buffy enjoyed her role as the Slayer. She certainly hadn’t let on otherwise. But from what he’d sussed out in that conversation, Buffy was confused and constantly second-guessing herself. Not hard to imagine, since she belonged to two worlds at once: as the Slayer she existed in the dark of night, rubbing shoulders with baddies like him; as Buffy Summers she tried to function as a normal young woman, balancing school, friends, and a rotten romance record. He couldn’t imagine trying to be Spike by night and William by day.

He silently thanked Red for her sound advice--knew he liked her for a good reason--and vowed to make sure that whatever it was that was building between him and the Slayer didn’t end up in some sort of catastrophe. Maybe, he thought, he should also heed the witch’s advise and just go where fate pointed him to. It had worked so far, hadn’t it?

Author's Note: Wow--three in a row. You guys must be special, eh? ;-) Actually, I'm leaving for camping early tomorrow morning and I don't trust myself to remember to post this. Next update will be on its regularly scheduled Monday post date. A great big thanks to all who have reviewed. I've actually clinched the 100 mark, and it makes me feel all special-like. Have a nice weekend!

Buffy stood in front of the closet, staring at the clothing she’d been given by Zairah. She’d decided on the red leather pants and a black sparkly tank top. Looking through her earrings, she groaned. Great, my wardrobe screams ’vampire ho’ and I’m actually wasting time trying to accessorize. Uh, my life so sucks right now. Managing to avoid Spike, by an unusual stroke of good fortune, she scooted off to the bathroom to change and primp.

As she poured herself into the pants, the Slayer pondered her situation. What had she done, in her too-short lifetime, to deserve this? Maybe it was the time that she’d flushed her cousin Frances’ retainer down the toilet, or maybe when she’d dropped a couple of Alka-Seltzer tablets into the neighbor’s dog’s dish, or then again it could have been that time she put crazy glue on the rim of the birdbath... Ok, so maybe she deserved it. It didn’t mean she was going to enjoy it, though.

Her pants finally done up, she managed to figure out the string of a tank top that she’d chosen. Turning around to look at herself, she noticed a horizontal white strap peeking out from under the top’s back. She shrugged, shimmied out of the undergarment, and tossed it onto the growing pile of dirty laundry. Fine, so I won’t wear a bra, then. Might as well go with the full ’ho’ look.

She opened her makeup case and took out the new makeup she’d bought during her little excursion the previous day. For a little grocery store, they sure had a good makeup counter--yay Maybelline. She had found everything she needed for a good vamp-ho makeup look: deep red lipstick, pale foundation, dark eyeliner. She already had the black mascara--pretty much a standard in any woman’s makeup bag. Well, here goes, she thought to herself as she began to apply her foundation, let’s see what we can do with this makeup.

***

Spike was about to call out when he heard the bathroom door open. He’d been this close to barging in, but kept finding excuses not to. From everything to making sure his black nail polish was perfect (hey, a vamp might be evil, but he shouldn’t be sloppy), to checking his duster for new tears, to knowing that Buffy would be upset if he pressured her. He knew this whole set up was going to be tough on her. Not only because she’d have to act submissive towards him, but also because she’d never been anywhere so dreadful. Yeah, she was the Slayer, and she acted tough, but he didn’t know how even he’d react if they still had that live feeding station they’d installed last time he’d been there.

All coherent thought abandoned his mind, however, at the sight of the Slayer as she walked out from the bathroom. The little top she wore--without a bra, he noticed--was naughty, and her pants--were they painted on? Her makeup was excessive compared to what she usually wore, but she’d blend in at the Nex. He couldn’t help the pull his body felt towards hers. Hopefully, those pants were too tight for her to kick him.

Buffy didn’t know what to make of the look Spike was giving her. Or rather, she didn’t know what to make of her body’s reaction to it--the look of pure, unadulterated lust. Her heart jumped to a staccato beat, her body heated up and her nerves began to tingle as he approached her. She used to cringe at that tingling, the one she’d always felt when he was near--Spike being nearby had never been a good thing. Until now. She opened her arms à la Vanna White and smiled seductively. “So, whaddaya think? Will I get into the Nex ok?”

Think? Who the hell can bloody think around someone so breathtaking? “Bloody hell, pet--it‘s all I can do to stop myself from taking you right here, right now.” Pulling her to him, he lowered his lips towards hers. When he felt her finger on his lips, he looked up, confused.

“Sorry, big bad--you’re going to be wearing as much lipstick as I am if you kiss me. Won’t be too scary going around with ruby red lips, will you?” Buffy had to laugh as she watched his mind process that thought. Her laugh stopped short when she saw a light go off in his mind. His eyes grew almost black as he lowered himself to his knees. Now what was he... Oh!

She was right--he couldn’t kiss her. Why hadn’t he taken advantage of that before she’d entered the loo? Should’ve ravaged her then. He could bite her, but based on last night that would probably mean a change of clothing for one, if not both, of them. There was definitely no time for a wardrobe change. Oh, well--a vamp had to be creative, didn’t he?

He nuzzled his head up under the scrap of a top she wore, edging his way up to her breasts. Latching onto one of her erect nipples, he suckled it, lightly nibbling. When he heard her sharp intake of breath, and felt her hands press his head to her chest, he knew she wanted this as much as he did. Flattening his tongue against the curve of her breast, he began to draw a circle, slowly spiralling towards its tip. His right hand gently cupped her other breast, kneading it.

What was it about this particular vampire--hell, this particular man--that could turn her to mush in seconds? Buffy writhed under Spike’s ministrations, the feel of his cool tongue on her breasts driving her insane, that quiet purring noise going straight to her core. Her desire began to pool at the apex of her thighs, and she knew that if they weren’t on their way soon, they’d never leave the room. Which, if not for a particular mission, wouldn’t be all that bad.

But they had a baby to find, and a world to save.

Her voice broke through his concentration. He felt like he was immersed in cotton--weren’t a vampire’s senses supposed to sharpen during sex? His had dulled and it took everything he could muster to rip his attention from the Slayer’s pert breasts to her face. She was telling him something--well, her lips were moving, but he couldn’t hear anything. Damn cotton.

“Spike? Come on, stand up.” He was looking at her with glazed eyes and she knew he wasn’t hearing a word she said. Good--I’m not the only one who’s being reduced to a vegetative state during these bouts of foreplay. She grabbed him by the lapels of his coat, and hoisted him up to a standing position. “We have to get going--you know, our mission? The Nex?”

She was right, and he knew it. No matter how much he wanted to say ‘fuck the mission’ and take her right there against the wall, he nodded. “Right. The mission.” He walked ahead of her to the door, but stopped. Acting on impulse, he pulled her into his arms, placing a searing kiss over his bite marks. Taking a step back, still holding her hands, he looked her straight in the eyes. “You do know that you’re special, don’t you, Buffy?”

It was more of a statement than a question, and she knew it. But the emotion behind his admission floored her. Had he been listening to her conversation this morning? No, she was pretty sure that he’d gone straight back to bed--he hadn’t seemed conscious enough to be that sneaky. How, then, had he known to say exactly what it was she needed to hear? Those words were all she needed to hear to know that everything they’d done--the talking, the friendship, the intimacy--meant as much to him as it had to her.

Knowing he didn’t really expect an answer, she pulled him back into an embrace.

“Thank you, Spike.”

***

“Well, here it is.”

Buffy looked ahead to where the blonde vampire was pointing. Turning around, she pointed at the empty lot. “This?! I dressed up like a skank so you could take me to some abandoned piece of dirt?” Punching him in the arm, she growled. “Spike, if this is part of some demented trick of yours, to get me out here, dressed like this, you’re toast--literally.”

She tried to only show the anger she felt--it would do her no good to let him know how upset she was at this. All this time, she’d begun to trust this vampire. He’d seemed to have a genuine interest in the mission, in saving the world--whether or not he’d freely admit it--but now it looked like it had all been one big joke. She felt betrayed--all the intimacy, the quiet moments, all for naught. She crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow, waiting to see what kind of excuse the peroxide blonde would come up with.

Spike was confused. “Don’t tell me you can’t feel them, Slayer. Close your eyes and relax--you’ll know what I mean.”

“Relax?! I’m standing at the edge of some empty field dressed like a prostitute, accompanied by a Billy Idol wannabe...” Her voice went up an octave. “...and you’re telling me to relax? Why, I should just...” The vampire’s hand clamped down over her mouth, and although she was tempted to bite him and continue her rant, she let him speak.

“Just shut up for two seconds, will ya? You’re always jumpin’ to conclusions, always tryin’ to find the worst in people. Well here’s a little newsflash for you, pet.” Spike removed his hand from her mouth and put it on her shoulder. He brought his face down to hers and looked her steadily in the eye. “I will not abandon you, I will not leave you, I will not betray you. I’d like to think that after we’ve been through you have more faith in me than that.”

Faced with his admission, spoken straight from the heart, Buffy swallowed hard. He was right. After all the people who’d left her--her father, Angel, even Parker--she’d worked at building a wall around her. It was much easier to take if you played all these horrible scenarios in your head, expecting one of them to come true--that way, when something bad did happen, it was less of a shock.

She looked up to him and smiled. “You’re right. I... I do have faith in you, it’s just hard to let myself truly believe it sometimes.” She looked again towards the lot, and frowned. “I do feel something, like there are a ton of demons, but I can’t see anything.”

His spirits lighter after their brief heart-to-heart, Spike clucked his tongue. “That’s cause there’s a cloaking spell. The Nex is really there, but anyone who isn’t a demon just walks by, thinking it’s an old bit of property.” His face grew serious. “Now, you remember what I told you? Always stand a little behind me, but make sure I can see you at all times. Keep your eyes down--eye contact for a slave is an act of defiance. Don’t speak unless spoken to--and always call me master, don’t move unless I move, don’t sit down unless I tell you to... You get the gist?”

“Yeah, I get the gist.” The Slayer put her hands on her hips. “You’re really going to enjoy this, aren’t you?”

“Every bleedin’ minute of it. Now get in step and hold on to my coat. I don’t know if you’ll be able to cross through on your own.”

***

Buffy’s jaw dropped at the sight that befell her as they crossed through the barrier. About twenty-five feet ahead of her stood a four-story stone building as old as any other in London. She could hear loud music pouring through the open front doors, where two demons the size of brick walls stood sentry. Bouncers--they look the same everywhere...

As they approached the building, the young woman noticed that instead of walking over to the side, where the lineup seemed to go on forever, Spike was leading them to the front doors. She was just about to point out the lineup when she remembered: slave--shut your mouth. Great. This was going to be a long, difficult night.

Spike knew this night would be great. What were the odds of ending up at the Nex, after a fifty-year absence, and knowing one of the bouncers? He took Buffy by the wrist and sauntered up to the closest bouncer.

The larger than life demon didn’t even look up. “Unless you’re looking for a shitload of pain, friend, I suggest you head over and stand in line like the other guests.”

Buffy tried to take a step back, fully acknowledging the underlying threat. Dressed as she was, there was no way she could fight this behemoth. Spike, however, remained in place. The young woman wondered what he was trying to pull--lot of good it would do them if they didn’t even get into the club.

The peroxide blonde smiled. “Now, is that a way to greet an old acquaintance?”

The Slayer watched as the bouncer paused and then looked up, grinning. “Spike! Haven’t seen your arse around here in bloody forever! What you been up to?” He smacked the vampire on the back, almost knocking him over.

Finding his balance, Spike hunched his shoulders. “You know how it is, Tony--same old, same old. Terrorize the innocent, burn down a few cities, havin’ fun.”

Tony turned an appraising look at Buffy, making her feel like a piece of meat. After tonight, she vowed she was going to wear a lot of baggy sweatpants and loose t-shirts.

“Speaking of fun...” He nodded at the Slayer. “You got a new girl?”

Spike stiffened at Tony’s comment. Although the bouncer didn’t seem to have noticed, Buffy did. She wondered if it was because it made him think of Drusilla, or because of how it made her look.

“Nah, she’s just my new pet. Got her down in California--right on the Hellmouth.” He looked at her with soft eyes and twirled a lock of her golden hair in his fingers. “Pretty little thing, in’t she?”

Tony walked around Buffy, eyeing her up and down. He clucked his tongue. “So, you sharin’, or is this one all yours?” He dragged a finger down along her spine, and it was all the Slayer could do not to shudder--that or rip the offending digit off.

Spike’s grip on her wrist got uncomfortably tight, and he pulled her sharply away from Tony’s roving hand. With a bit of a growl, he answered. “Sorry, mate. I’m not sharing her with anyone. She’s all mine.”

Buffy expected a manly show of posturing and fighting for the female--this was, after all, a couple of demons, and she was the tasty morsel. Ugh...he is so dead for this. However, Tony just shrugged and replied. “Suit yourself, mate.” Some little part of her thought wow, I’m not even worth a fight... But she knew that Spike would have fought, tooth and nail, for her. Things had really changed--once, they fought each other, and now they’d fight for each other. What was it that Hamlet guy said? Things aren’t right in the country of Denmark? Whatever, not like she paid attention in English class anyway.

Deciding to veer the subject away from his ‘pet’, Spike threw a glance at the doors. “So, who’s playing tonight?”

“Some band called the Headstones.” Tony let a few more patrons in. The night was cool, and many of them seemed eager to walk into the warm hub of the Nex.

Spike smirked at the band’s name. “Headstones, eh? Never heard of ‘em. They good?”

The bouncer leaned against the building--probably the only thing that wouldn’t cave in under his weight--and lit a cigarette. “They’re Canadian, and yeah--they’re really good. They’ve got the mosh pit in a right frenzy.”

The bleached vamp’s eyes grew. “The Nex has a mosh pit?!” He cursed the Slayer for being with him and he cursed the mission they were on. There was no better place for release of violent energy than a mosh pit. Pushing, fist fights, killing--and a demon mosh pit at that...

Exhaling a plume of smoke, Tony straightened up. “No, there usually isn’t a mosh pit. There is tonight, though. That band wasn’t on for 5 minutes before all the tables and seats had been tossed aside, and about 200 demons were slammin’ bodies. I’d watch your pet closely if I were you, her bein’ such a little thing.” He pulled the rope aside, and let Spike and Buffy by, much to the protest of those patrons still stuck in the lineup. “Come by on your way out, eh Spike? Be good to see you before you disappear for another fifty years.”

Spike clapped Tony on the shoulder. “Will do, mate. Ta.”

The two blondes walked to the entrance, and paid the cover charge. Turning towards the doors, Spike leaned in and whispered in his Slayer’s ear. “You ready, pet?”

She took a deep breath. Ready? That’s a good question. “I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” She looked up at him quickly, momentarily forgetting her slave status, and gave him a quick smile. The softness in his blue eyes comforted her--she knew that she’d be safe, in her role as ‘pet’, as long as she stuck by him.

,Author's Note: Well helloo! Hope you're ready for the 'Nex' chapter (yes, you're allowed to groan) on Thursday. Thanks to all who have reviewed, and a special thanks to whomever nominated Dark Prophecy at the Vampire's Kisses awards. Go out there and vote! There are other great stories to look up and enjoy.