He May Be Your Dog But He's Wearing My Collar by Minx DeLovely
Summary: Drusilla tests Spike and he fails spectacularly. What will he do now that he has nothing left but his obsession with the slayer?


Begins during the summer between seasons three and four. Turns into a complete season four rewrite with little resemblance to the events in the series. Finally Finished!!!!







Winner At the Sunnydale Memorial Fanfiction Awards for best Angst, best original character and best original character pairing. Thanks to all who voted!!!



Categories: NC-17 Fics Characters: None
Genres: Angst
Warnings: Adult Language, Character Death, Violence
Challenges:
Series: None
Chapters: 27 Completed: Yes Word count: 96592 Read: 37971 Published: 09/05/2011 Updated: 05/16/2012

1. Chapter 1 by Minx DeLovely

2. Chapter 2 by Minx DeLovely

3. Chapter 3 by Minx DeLovely

4. Chapter 4 by Minx DeLovely

5. Chapter 5 by Minx DeLovely

6. Chapter 6 by Minx DeLovely

7. Chapter 7 by Minx DeLovely

8. Chapter 8 by Minx DeLovely

9. Chapter 9 by Minx DeLovely

10. Chapter 10 by Minx DeLovely

11. Chapter 11 by Minx DeLovely

12. Chapter 12 by Minx DeLovely

13. Chapter 13 by Minx DeLovely

14. Chapter 14 by Minx DeLovely

15. Chapter 15 by Minx DeLovely

16. Chapter 16 by Minx DeLovely

17. Chapter 17 by Minx DeLovely

18. Chapter 18 by Minx DeLovely

19. Chapter 19 by Minx DeLovely

20. Chapter 20 by Minx DeLovely

21. Chapter 21 by Minx DeLovely

22. Chapter 22 by Minx DeLovely

23. Chapter 23 by Minx DeLovely

24. Chapter 24 by Minx DeLovely

25. Chapter 25 by Minx DeLovely

26. Chapter 26 by Minx DeLovely

27. Chapter 27 by Minx DeLovely

Chapter 1 by Minx DeLovely
Author's Notes:
The words Drusilla recites and the title come from the song: "He May Be Your Dog But He's Wearing My Collar," written in 1923 by Rosa Henderson. I like to think Spike and Dru danced to that song when it was new.
The first thing Buffy saw when she woke up were the two vampires lying on the decaying bed. The one on top had blond-white hair and was murmuring in a familiar way while the dark-haired girl below was babbling. Shredded lace hung like cobwebs from the four posts of the bed and everything smelled of ash. There were white pillar candles burning around the room, but they did nothing to cut into the cold as Buffy was barefoot, wearing the clothes she'd put on for bed.

'That's Spike and Drusilla,' Buffy thought, in the same way a person might recognize two acquaintences having dinner at a restaurant.

'What happened to my bedroom and why are Spike and Drusilla here? Where's my mom?' Buffy thought.

Buffy remembered having gone to bed like normal after patrol and wondered for a second if she was dreaming. She wasn't, though. Dreams didn't hurt this much.

Buffy's arms and legs felt incredibly heavy. Aside from that, her wrists were bound in metal handcuffs and her ankles were tied. She glanced down and saw that Spike had used his belt to bind her feet. If she were at full strength she could've torn the leather easily, but he'd done something to her . Buffy was lying on a pile of tatty, dirty dresses and there was a broken china doll sitting opposite her on the stone floor. It seemed to be watching over Buffy, staring at her with its glass eyes. They were in the warehouse where Spike had taken Willow and Xander last year.

'Super-original,' she thought. It was slightly comforting to know that if any of her friends had seen him drag her away, this would be the first place they looked.

Dru's torrent of nonsense picked up pitch, becoming audible to Buffy from her debris nest.

"I thought I could save you this time, but you won't let me. I should've listened to the stars, but I wanted you. Wanted you more than all the screams and sighs. Why don't you love me anymore?"

"I do love you, pet, you've just got to settle first—"

"Can't settle! I'm burning up and I can smell her so close. She's all jelly babies and sunshine. Bring me the slayer, Spike. Bring me her blood—"

"Take mine, first, love. It always calms you, you said it made the fire stop. Then I'll bring her over I swear. I stole her just like you wanted—"

"You lie! The bloody squiggles glimmering like pretty, red snakes. You might be my doggie but you're wearing her collar—"

"No, Dru, never—"

"How am I to keep you home? You'll follow her, do your tricks, you'll eat from my hand but she makes you beg and you will, by the time she's done, you will beg—"

"Don't be cruel, plum, I love you—"

"Love? No, Spike. It wasn't the poison arrow that stabs at my heart; you're the killer of the dead—"

When Buffy finally unwound Drusilla's twisted words, she had to suppress her panic.

Buffy was certain she was about to die.

The killer of the dead was the poison that nearly destroyed Angel. The only cure for the strange toxin that could end the existence of a vampire was to drain the blood of a slayer. When Angel had been afflicted, Buffy had done terrible things to save him, things which still gave her nightmares.

She'd tried to murder Faith.

Granted, Faith was a dangerous psychopath but she was also a human being, a sister slayer and once she'd even been a friend. Buffy hadn't considered any of those things when she realized it was Faith's blood Angel needed; she'd just tried to make Faith into a take-out lunch. When that didn't work, Buffy had bared her own throat, nearly dying in the process, all to save the one she loved.

If she was willing to do that for love, what would Spike do? He didn't have the benefit of a soul or a solemn duty to protect humanity, so Buffy figured she was about to become slayer sushi.

Spike was in game face, straddling the thrashing Drusilla and holding down her hands with one of his own. He brought his right wrist to his mouth and tore open his own flesh on the edge of his fangs. Then Spike shoved the wound against Drusilla's mouth, as much to ease her suffering as to shut her up, it seemed. The sounds they both made were eerily erotic; Spike was gasping and Drusilla's sucking was punctuated by her moaning. Buffy remembered what it was like when Angel bit her. The pleasure of it haunted her more than the pain. She'd never told him either, worried Angel would think she was a freak. Apparently she wasn't the only one who enjoyed being bitten, though.

Buffy was trying to wriggle against the restraints and found with all her concentration, she was able to scissor her legs and make some leeway on the belt.

The feeding seemed to go on and on as Buffy attempted to escape without drawing their attention. It was incredible that Spike could have any blood left in his body, Buffy thought. It didn't seem to hurt him, but the drain must be making him weak. He looked paler than usual, almost gray. When he came to her, Buffy knew she would have that much of an advantage.

He finally pulled his arm away. The injury Drusilla had been suckling was clotted with black blood.

"Help me, Spike. Help me," Drusilla said.

Spike bent down and kissed Drusilla's forehead, then his chin dipped to his chest in a nod. He stood up and Buffy ceased her efforts at loosening the leather band. He approached with slow steps instead of his usual sweeping stride. Without his coat he looked less imposing, almost vulnerable. He knelt before her and their eyes met. Spike looked just as fearful as she felt. Buffy still didn't have the strength to move much, but she scooted away from him. Spike grabbed her by the throat, a move that stopped Buffy cold.

"If you hurt my mom, I'll make you pay," Buffy said, flinching as his hand tightened.

"Never touched Joyce," Spike said. He actually had the nerve to sound offended. "She's probably still snug in her beddy bye oblivious you're gone," Spike said.

At least knowing her mom was safe was something. Spike hadn't lied about that—she'd been threatened by him often enough to know when he was telling the truth.

"Doesn't trying to kill me ever get old, Spike? I mean how many times have I handed you your ass?" Buffy asked.

He squeezed her neck until she coughed.

"Shut your gob," he said. There was no smirk to accompany the command, no playing or flirting. It was nothing more than a cold dismissal. Buffy decided she could not let Spike scare her. Up until this point they'd almost been...not friends but they were certainly chummier than one should be with the average arch nemesis. The way he was looking past her made Buffy feel professionally offended.

"I should have known the whole fearless warrior, slayer of slayers thing was an exaggeration. You drug the others while they were asleep, too, or did you just let Drusilla finish them off?"

"Those other two bints I done weren't stupid enough to give me free reign of their houses."

"Maybe I just know you can't follow through," Buffy croaked.

He seemed startled and let go of her. Buffy's first response was to try to clasp her hands to the sore spot. Unfortunately, her hands were trapped behind her back.

"You insufferable bitch, can't you give a man some peace so he can think?" Spike asked.

"Think?" Buffy asked. In Buffy's mind there was nothing to think about. If their positions were reversed, if it were Angel slowly dying on that bed, Spike would be a tidy pile of dust.

"This'll leave a mark," he whispered.

Spike cupped the back of her neck and she thought he was going to bite her. Instead, Spike started stroking the fresh bruises on her throat. The intimacy of his gesture sent shivers of revulsion through her.

During their exchange Drusilla had been laughing maniacally, writhing on the bed like she was trying to put out invisible flames springing up on her dress.

"Could turn you after she's cured," Spike said, more to himself than to Buffy.

"I won't let you, I won't drink," Buffy said.

"No letting me, pet, no choice in it. Instant my blood touches your lips, you'll drink," Spike said. His eyes traveled over her and then he brought Buffy close to him, nose to nose.

"You'd be mine then," Spike said. The thought sliced a smile along his face and she tried to turn her head away so she wouldn't have to see. Spike stopped her, then leaned slightly to breathe in her ear. "You'd want me, never get enough of me then. I'd bathe you in blood and then lick it off. I'd take you every way I could imagine. You'd be begging for me. It'd go on and on until the day I'd stake you because I couldn't stand looking at the thing I'd made; remembering what you weren't, what I'd destroyed."

"Let me go, Spike."

He yanked her hair and Buffy's breath caught in her chest. He dragged the point of his tongue along a vein in her neck, making her squirm with discomfort.

"Could take a mouthful, feed her baby bird-like. Would that work? If I hand you over she'll just drain you but if I parcel it out, maybe. Keep you here all week and then we'd let you get a running start. Kill you properly, then. What do you say to that, slayer?"

"Sounds like torture," Buffy said.

"You're right. Dru enjoys torture, though. What about you, slayer? Something tells me you like it rough."

"You're digusting," Buffy said, shuddering.

"Can be. Sometimes I even disgust myself," Spike said, shoving Buffy away and releasing her hair. Spike turned around and stood with his back to her, hands on his hips, bowing his head. Spike exhaled needlessly, the sound remarkably like a sob. Buffy looked at the tense slope of his shoulders and the way the candlelight collected in a crescent on the curve of his neck.

Until Drusilla screamed, Buffy had nearly forgotten anyone else was in the room.

The sound left a cymbal crash in Buffy's ear that chimed long after the female vampire had stopped. Spike ran to the bed and took Drusilla's hand. Dru smiled at him and then, in an instant, her solid form became a mist choking the air.

Spike's eyes were wide and his lips fell open, letting out a startled whimper. The following roar that escaped from Spike's mouth made Buffy wince, made her roll to the wall. Buffy was certain the noise he made shook more rust loose from the ceiling girders. It was clear in his grief Spike was going to do something to her, something very bad, she just had no idea in what order he'd start. The way he'd touched her made Buffy believe death wouldn't be the only violation. He might rape her before damning her out of spite, just to have the privelage of killing her again.

Spike hovered over the bed where Drusilla had been. He didn't have the comfort of a body to bury and there was nothing to touch or hold so he could say goodbye. His hand drifted to the bedspread. The import of what he'd done swallowed him. He'd tarried too long trying to keep them both and now his black goddess was gone. His love, his reason for being of more than a century had suffered incredibly because he couldn't kill the slayer.

Because he loved the slayer.

Dru had dosed herself with the poison as a final test for him. After their reunion in Rio, consumated with lots of bodily fluids, hardly any of them theirs, Drusilla had promised to be true.They'd been driving to Los Angeles to have a go at Angel. Apparently Dru was in cahoots with a law firm that existed almost solely to fuck with the sorry old sod. Drusilla had somehow gotten on the payroll. Spike had been imagining all sorts of nefarious deeds when he noticed Dru taking something from the pocket of her dress.

She'd poured the bitter vial down her throat with a giggle. Afterward she'd explained what it was and what he'd have to do. Spike had torn up the highway, concocted his plan to snatch the slayer and carried it off smashingly. It was only after he had Buffy in the trunk of his DeSoto that he'd begun to have second thoughts.

Spike had carried Dru into the factory first, making her as comfortable as possible before returning to collect Buffy. As he held the sleeping blonde, something inside of him faltered. For twenty minutes he'd been powerless to do anything but caress Buffy's face and breath in her scent while they stood in the freight elevator. His tender obsession with the slayer was repulsive and sad, even to him. When he returned to Drusilla, he couldn't hand Buffy over. For more than an hour he watched Drusilla slowly die, pleading with him to provide the balm for her fever. The tension within him mounted unbearably until Spike snatched the glass container which had housed the interfector mortis. Like Juliet, he'd hoped to share in the death of his lover, but found the bottle cruelly empty.

He wished Buffy hadn't made him feel things he didn't want to remember. If he could just be rid of her once and for all; if he could just burn the love out of himself. But that didn't matter anymore, Spike thought as he fingered the crumbling ash on the coverlet. Drusilla was irrevocably beyond his reach.

Spike stalked toward his captive. His eyes were dry and his jaw was clenched. Spike stood over Buffy, his filthy, black boots nearly touching her cheek.

"You're nothing, a footnote in history, you know that, yeah? She was eternal and I sold her out...for what? What have you got left? Two good years, eight changes in the weather, before you run into a big who's too bad? Your kind are disposable. Tear one down and another pops up like a bleeding tissue. Christ, you're already ancient by slayer standards and you're only nineteen. You're nineteen and you've shattered how many lifetimes? How many eternities have you shortened, Buffy?" Spike asked.

"Not enough," she said. She looked him in the eye, her words even and powerful though she was flat on her back.

"That's right, not enough. You should've stuck me, kitten," Spike said, his voice going creaky and soft at the end.

"Give me a minute," Buffy said.

He squatted in front of her. Buffy knew he'd have to undo her legs to get inside of her. If he did, Buffy was going to kick until Spike's chest was nothing but a bag of blood and bones.

Spike adjusted her so she was flat on her stomach. Then she heard the sound of metal clicking, felt the vibration of a key going at the lock and Spike's cool hands removing the handcuffs. Strangest of all, he rubbed her chafed skin a moment before standing and walking over to the bed where Drusilla had been.

Cautiously Buffy pushed herself onto her back and sat up, never taking her eyes from Spike. In a fleet second her legs were loose. She still felt wrong, even though she was free. Every movement seemed like she was making it through water. Buffy braced herself and slid up until she was standing, then crept along the wall to the dark doorway.

"You're going to do it, right?" Spike asked without sparing her a glance.

"What?" Buffy asked. She was scanning the area for a something she could use as a stake but couldn't see any wood handy.

"Kill me," he said.

Then he was flying toward her, like a gust of wind that solidified into a pair of hands on her arms.

"End my life. It's what you're made for, isn't it?" Spike asked.

She struggled against him but floundered, and Buffy's knees buckled. Spike steadied her, staring into her eyes as he lowered her to the ground. They both knew Buffy was too weak to stand, let alone kill Spike. He began smoothing her hair from her defiant eyes. She tried to swat him away, but her hands were as forceful as paper planes sailing through the air.

"Don't."

"Can't help myself, can I?" he asked with a half smile. Then the smile slowly gave way and tears were coursing down his cheeks. Buffy's first instinct was to back away, but she was up against a wall. Spike crumpled into her lap, hoarsely keening as he wept.

Buffy thought of when Giles had broken apart in front of her after Jenny died. Then she'd been responsible, but Buffy didn't feel that weight now. She couldn't fault herself for living, even if Spike could. Still, she didn't quite feel relief at being rid of a dangerous master vampire, either. Looking down at Spike wrenched her heart, but who he was and whom he was mourning complicated her sympathetic inclinations.

Aside from Angel, Spike was the only vampire who'd ever had any power to disappoint her. Buffy knew Spike had feelings, she'd exploited them before to save lives, but she'd seen first hand his emotions didn't work like a regular person's. He killed people to live, and took a dozen different kinds of pleasure in murder, yet there had always been something about Spike that involuntarily made her respond.

Buffy lightly touched his hair with one hand and stroked his back with the other. He didn't cease his cries; not to repel Buffy or to acknowledge her caress. He just kept going, his wet face buried in her stomach, his arms wrapped around her waist.

Distantly, Spike felt her touching him and was soothed immeasurably by the gesture.

As he lay in Buffy's embrace, Spike remembered a girl who hadn't crossed his mind for more than a hundred and fifty years. He hadn't thought of Madeline Fromme since his death; she was part and parcel to the impotent life he'd put behind him when he was turned.

Then he'd been William and Madeline had been his third cousin. He was five years her senior and she worshipped him. Madeline had been the only woman to look upon William with any sort of romantic inclinations, but he was entirely blind to her regard. For one thing, though William had affection for the girl, it was the type of love one might bestow upon a younger sister.

For another, Madeline had been plain, alarmingly so, if William's mother was to be believed. Her hair was a nondescript shade between brown and blonde. It was straight as sticks, which was not the style at the time and her brown eyes were too close together. Her skin was olive-toned, another strike against her. Also, she had the misfortune of a thick pair of eyebrows that touched in the center of her forehead. William had noticed these things, too. He also noticed that when she laughed, these flaws seemed to become rather inconsequential.

Unfortunately, William was the only one who could make Madeline laugh. Her father had promised his eldest to a family friend when she was of marriagable age, sensing no other suitors would materialize.

The family friend was in his late forties and Madeline was thirteen when they wed.

William had been repulsed by the match and the family's haste to be rid of his favorite cousin, but told no one so as not to alienate his relatives. A week before Madeline's marriage, William and his mother had visited for a picnic on the grounds of the Fromme estate. The revelers were gathered beneath a tent near the house, playing badmitton and chatting. William felt particularly awkward in groups, so he'd sought out his amiable companion, Madeline. She was always game to read his poetry or show him some of hers and she loved to learn of the books he was reading. He'd been chagrined to find her in isolation, crying amid the family's small apple orchard.

William had approached Madeline carefully, not willing to touch her for fear it would reflect poorly on thier reputations. He'd asked her the source of her dismay. Madeline had turned her close-set eyes to him an instant before casting them demurely down.

"I'm afraid to go with that man," Madeline said.

William had cleared his throat a few times before he mumbled something about discussing her trepidation with her mother.

"What am I to do?" she asked.

William produced a handkerchief from inside his jacket and handed it to her. Madeline had taken it with a smile.

"You will be a wonderful wife because you are a good, loving soul, Madeline. You've nothing to worry of on that account," William said.

Neither of them could express what was truly on her mind. William wished he could hug his friend as he had when they were both younger, but things were too different. It would be indecorous. After she'd composed herself, William and Madeline returned to the party.

More than a year passed before they saw one another again. Madeline was pregnant and about to start her confinement. Her husband had been away on business and William's mother had been ill but had urged William to visit anyway.

William and his cousin were alone with one another and he noticed a change in his companion. She had a sensuality that came with being married and knew more than William did about one of life's fundamental secrets. Madeline's sexual experience, and the roundness of her form due to pregnancy, made her seem much more womanly than before.

As they sat sipping tea, William found himself tongue-tied around his cousin for the first time ever. They sat in silence for awhile before Madeline spoke, her fingers twitching on the handle of her tea cup.

"I kept the handkerchief you gave me that day. I know I should return it, but I often carry the token with me. It's a comfort," Madeline said.

"It's an honor to provide comfort to my friend," William said.

"Thank you, William," she'd said, giving him a look that made him turn away so she wouldn't see the blush on his cheeks.

They'd said their goodbyes. It would prove to be their last farewell as Madeline died during childbirth.

When William had gotten the news, he regretted not taking her hand in the apple orchard and placing a kiss on her lips. Ruining her would have preserved her life and they could've married when she was old enough. Though he'd never be passionate about her, William knew he could have been happy with Madeline as his wife. William had always longed for a great romance; it was why he formed attachments to stunning women who were just out of reach. But in his more honest moments he knew that Madeline had loved him while the others did not. Love would have been enough and would have spared so many. William would have never been turned, and his potential never fully realized, but he would have been happy just the same.

Buffy looked nothing like Madeline, they couldn't be more different inside, but they did have one thing in common.

They both made him wish he was a better man.

After awhile his thoughts returned to the current calamity. Spike slowly composed himself and stopped making any noise at all; his body ceased to pulse with his sobs. Buffy's clothes were wet and her fingers had gone limp against his hair.

"You alright, love?" Spike asked.

The question startled her awake. Buffy's head shot up and her legs jerked, but Spike held on for the ride. She realized the muscles in her lower half were painfully stiff under his weight.

"What did you inject me with?" she asked.

"Sedative, triple strength for somebody your size, but I figured, slayer," Spike said.

"Right."

"It'll probably take a day or two to get you back to normal, love."

"Until then I guess you've got hot and cold running slayer blood on tap, don't you?" she asked.

"Never cold, not you. Besides, it's a little late for all that, isn't it?" Spike asked.

"Then what are you going to do?" she asked.

"Hadn't thought about it."

Spike went quiet again. She tried hard to inch her way out from under him but Buffy was having huge difficulty simply staying awake.

"Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance?" she asked.

"Bit obvious, isn't it?"

"Enlighten me, I'm not really at my best seeing as you injected me with enough sedative to roofie an entire sorority house."

"I love you, Buffy."

"You always try to kill girls you love?"

"Apparently," Spike said with a wet chuckle. He sat up and pulled her into his arms.

"Please, Spike, don't," Buffy said, as her head rested against his chest. She felt his legs wrapping around her.

"Don't what?"

"Any of it. Whatever you're planning on doing to me, I don't want it," Buffy said.

He held her for awhile, not making another move. Buffy tried to stay awake, but even with the adrenaline coursing through her, she was still scrabbling on the precipice of consciousness. He was rocking her back and forth, softly singing a lullaby. The tune was one she didn't recognize, but soon she couldn't help succumbing to the darkness.

When Buffy woke up the sun was bathing her bedroom and for a second she wondered if it had all been a nightmare. Then Buffy noticed she was lying on top of her covers, draped in Spike's leather duster.

~*~*~*~


Giles had his hand on her shoulder as they sat on his living room couch. The physical contact was very un-Giles of him, but Buffy didn't care; it soothed her. After making sure her mom was alright that morning, she'd dressed quickly and run over to his flat. The story of the night before had poured out, each detail etching another line in her Watcher's face.

"And you're sure it's not some kind of ruse, a feint to get you to trust him?"

"This is Spike we're talking about. He's straightforward, like a...railroad spike. Angelus was the evil mastermind with the twisty plots. Spike is more of a smash and bash guy," Buffy said.

"Then you believe he has some sort of feelings for you," Giles said.

"I do. But that's kind of scarier than if he still hated me. After all, he loved Drusilla, but had no qualms about choking her and dragging her off with him against her will. Punching is like second base for him," Buffy said.

"So you think he's transferred his obsession to you?"

"Yeah. He talked about turning me—"

Giles sighed and unhooked his glasses from his ears.

"I hope this isn't an empty reassurance, but he could have turned you when you were incapacitated, and didn't. Perhaps he was just trying to intimidate you."

"It wasn't a threat, it was more like he was trying to talk himself into it. What if he changes his mind? He's totally unpredictable. He was this close to making me into a slayer snack for Dru," Buffy said, holding her fingers together in an inch size pinch to indicate the closeness.

"Willow will be able to complete a disinvite spell tonight. I know you'll find him soon and deal with him."

"The weirdest part in all this might be that I almost don't want to stake him, Giles. I mean on the one hand I really, really, want to after that whole sneaking into my bedroom thing, but I wish I could figure him out first, you know? He didn't have to bring Anyanka to us to tell us about the ascension and before that he helped me save all those babies while you were playing Lindsay Buckingham to my mom's Stevie Nicks."

Giles smiled, his eyes wrinkling.

"I can't speak to the reasons he relayed Anyanka's story to us, but I'm sure they were self-motivated. As to the babies, I recall you paid him for that. I do know that no matter how...accustomed...we are to Spike, you still must kill him, Buffy. If he's as unstable as you say, there's no telling how many people he could harm. When vampires near starvation they can become quite mad. You mentioned Drusilla nearly drained him? His behavior could be ascribed to a lack of sustenance," Giles said.

"You're probably right. I'll go to the warehouse, see what I can slay."

"Are you sure you're up to it?"

"Yeah, I had a double mocha with an extra shot of espresso this morning, I'm good," Buffy said.

She left Giles' and did a sweep of the dilapidated building where she'd been trapped the night before. Spike was nowhere to be found. Buffy pressed on and searched several other obvious places a vamp might hide, but there was no joy. Or rather, there was no painful confusion seeing as Spike didn't turn up. However, Buffy did find a vampire nest and something Giles would later identify as a Gora demon. Even as she was stalking her prey, Buffy was comforted by the idea Spike had left town.

He wasn't stupid enough to stick around, right?
End Notes:
P.S.: I haven't forgotten about "The Secret of the Boy You Never Kissed." Brick Frog had some computer issues and Real Life to deal with, so we're held up there. Otherwise, it's nearly finished.
Please leave a comment. I appreciate your feedback both good and bad.
Chapter 2 by Minx DeLovely
Xander hadn't been able to face his friends since slinking back into Sunnydale. He knew they probably wouldn't judge him, much, but it still hurt his pride that his cross country road trip of self discovery had ended just outside Oxnard when his car broke down. All he'd discovered about himself was that he never, ever wanted to ply his trade as an exotic dancer again.

Besides, Willow and Buffy seemed to be getting along fine without him. Buffy had only called him a handful of times because she was so jam-packed with the thrill of slaying. From Willow's e-mails, Willow seemed to be having the best summer of her life without him around. Willow had Oz now to fill up the hours with lots of sex and bass playing...not that he was remotely jealous in any way. At least he could console himself with the fact that Buffy was still lonely and miserable now that Angel had bailed on their forever love.

'No wonder they don't miss me, I'm a terrible friend,' Xander thought, bitterly.

Xander was walking home to his awesomely depressing parents' basement from his awesomely depressing job at the gas station. He was carrying a bag full of soft pretzels renderd unsaleable because they'd reached their expiration date. Xander figured if he froze them and parceled the stale-ish food out for the next two weeks, he wouldn't have to buy groceries. As he considered stopping by the Double Meat Palace to swipe some mustard packets, Xander heard a scream coming from the alley beside the Magic Shop.

Grabbing the stake he kept in the pocket of his brown, leather jacket, Xander ran into the alley headlong, tossing the bag of pretzels behind his back. Beside a green dumpster a male vampire had a girl with long, strawberry blonde hair pinned against the brick wall. She was shrieking to beat the band and thrashing so the monster couldn't get a good latch. Xander shoved the stake home through the vamp's woven hemp henley. The creature disinitigrated in a shudder of pukka shells and dust. After the debris settled, Xander found himself facing a girl with enormous brown eyes, full lips and a round face. They stood there staring for a moment.

"Hi," Xander said.

"Hi," she said, panting. Xander thought the breathlessness looked very good on her. He wondered if she had freckles underneath that bulky, purple sweatshirt or if they were just on the tip of her nose. Her eyes traveled over his face and she licked her lips.

"What was that thing?"

"Vampire, we're sort of living on a Hellmouth and they like to hang out near here."

"Like stoner kids and Pac Sun?" the girl asked.

"Right, except, you know, evil."

Xander stuck his hand up in between them.

"I'm Xander Harris. I fight monsters," he said.

She shook it. The instant their bare skin touched, Xander felt a spark.

"My name is Dav Devis, it's short for Davinia, but you can just call me Dav. So that guy was a vampire?"

"Yup."

"I thought vampires were like European and wore capes and weren't real."

"Nope."

"God, I should've known the only reason a cute guy would want to get me alone was either to suck my blood or to tell me about how Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior," Dav said.

"I don't know about that," Xander said with a smile, "I'd like to suck...and I'm so not going to finish that sentence because you seem to like me right now and I don't want to ruin it by coming off as a pervert."

"You saved my life, it's going to take more than a terrible pick up line to ruin my opinion of you, Xander Harris," Dav said, then her face flushed. "You are wanting to pick me up, right? I'm not just imagining that, am I?"

"No, you're not imagining. You're really pretty," Xander said.

The pair were trading shy smirks when Spike walked into the alley, startling them both.

"Oh for the love of god, just shag already. You two are sweet enough to induce diabetic coma," Spike said.

Xander jumped in front of Davinia and she cowered behind him, but the way the evil creature before him looked made Xander stop his flight or fight.

"Spike, you look horrible and not just in the usual, poor haircolor choice kind of way," Xander said.

Spike's bluish skin had taken on a powdery consistency. His cheek was a gout of blood and his knuckles looked shredded, as though his flesh were fingerless driving gloves. The red, silk shirt he was wearing had several scorch marks and his black t-shirt had a stake-sized hole through the gut.

On top of all that, Spike's roots were definitely showing.

"Haven't been eating right. Now get out of my way, whelp, I got business with the bint behind you," Spike said.

"I'm not going to let you kill this girl," Xander said.

"Thank you," Dav said, quietly.

"Not her, you berk," Spike said, pointing further down the alley, "Her."

"Like I'm fallin' for that—" Xander said, when he suddenly felt an arm choking him.

"Think I can do 'em both at once, Spikey?"

Xander craned his neck to the side. He and Dav were being strangled by a petite blonde vamp with kooky hair horns perched atop her flowing mane. What an idiotic way to go, Xander thought.

"What, can't get the slayer so you go after a tubby bit of fluff and the Scooby team mascot? Thought you were queen bee, Tuesday?" Spike asked.

"I'm Sunday, you dick. At least I'm not a lapdog for the corn princess," Sunday said.

"Corn princess?" Xander choked.

"Tubby?" Dav asked.

Spike rolled his eyes and then punched Sunday in the face, forcing her to momentarily release her prisoners as she sprawled backward.

"Run home kiddies, live to snog another day," Spike said, as Xander and Dav scampered away. Sunday recovered quickly and hopped back on her feet, circling Spike.

"You are so going to—" Sunday started to say, not realizing Spike had already staked her. He watched her lips form the word, die, as they melted on the air.

"Too late, love. Already dead," Spike said.

He stuck the stake in his back pocket and slunk out of the alley. The abandoned house Sunday had been lurking about was a cherry location for keeping an eye on the slayer and Spike was keen to start making himself at home.



~*~*~*~

Xander woke up with Dav still dozing on his chest. He smiled fondly thinking of the night before. It had been so different from his other two sexual encounters. Those had been frenetic one night stands, once with Faith and the other time with Cordi after they'd broken up. Faith had been pretty clear that he was just in the right place at the right time; she couldn't care less that it was him she'd been fucking. The hour with Cordi was totally panic-induced on her part. They'd cut fifth period together and gotten freaky in the janitor's closet on the last day of school, both convinced they would be dying on graduation day. He made her come in less than five minutes using an oral technique he'd researched on the internet, which made him wonder how nervous near-virgins like himself had ever figured anything out before computers. Maybe it was just years of trial and error or information conveyed through tattered Hustler magazines passed down from generation to generation. Anyway, after he gave her the twirl Cordelia got on top and worked him like a cattle driver until they both finished. It had been magical despite their proximity to that orange stuff the janitor used to clean up barf until she'd looked at him all dewy doe eyes and said: "That was surprisingly decent. Thanks."

Then she'd put her panties back on and scuttled out of the room, leaving him gasping on the floor with his cock still hard.

Xander was used to degrading when it came to the lovin.' He figured it would always be that way, until he met Dav.

After he saved her life, she'd invited him up to her pretty apartment. The living room was decorated with posters from broadway plays and squishy, plum-colored furniture. There were wooden book shelves built into the back wall and a curved archway on either side.

"The rent here is so cheap compared to San Francisco. I don't even need a roommate and this place is kind of huge," Dav said as they entered.

She set her keys on a table by the door that was underneath a huge mirror with a pink and white abalone frame. Xander glanced at their reflections and silently high-fived himself because she cast one. They went into the glorious, modern kitchen with the gray granite countertops and the silver appliances. Dav had a ridiculous amount of culinary gadgetry and he wondered if she was into cooking. That question was answered when she made him a, "snack." He'd been expecting a sandwich when she'd invited him to sit at her dining room table and then she brought out a vegetable ratatoille over long grain rice with duck wrapped up in some light pastry crust.

"Did you make this?" Xander asked in wonder after he took a bite.

It made his stale garbage pretzels taste like stale garbage. She smiled at his question.

"Yeah, but it's left over and it was my first try. I'm having my parents over for dinner next week and I wanted to make something challenging. They can be kind of...not that they aren't great, but they've been everywhere and it's hard to impress them, you know?"

"I really don't. The furthest my dad's been was when he got sent to county for that DUI," Xander said.

She put her hand over his.

"I'm sorry. That's hard."

"It's even harder because I live with them. You should know that I'm not just a roving heroic type. I'm also a convenience store employee and someone who pays rent to abode in his parents' basement, so if you want to revoke my invitation, I can totally see that."

"I lived with my parents until last year. Half my stuff is still at their place and they're the ones who helped me furnish this apartment. There's nothing to be ashamed of," Dav said.

"So what, you lived with your parents until you were eighteen?"

"I'm twenty-four, Xander. Wait, how old are you?"

"Um, nineteen."

She looked relieved.

"O.K., so you have even less to be embarrassed about. I never paid them rent. I work as a costume mistress at the playhouse and I make so little doing that I have to have a second job doing alterations for Bristol's, that over-priced dress shop downtown. Without the extra income we'd probably make the same."

"You're sure you're not a demon?" Xander asked.

"Fairly. If you want to check me for a tale I'd be up for that," Dav said, arching her brow to highten the effect of her smile.

After he'd eaten, they had a glass of wine, then two and then he kissed her. They went to her bed and she seemed more anxious than he was, though his anxiety was plentiful.

"I don't normally...I don't want you to think I'm...but I need you tonight," Dav said.

"Dav, I like you and I honestly don't care. My love life's been less than stellar."

"Mine too. In fact, I haven't really had much of one at all, lately. Xander, I'm not expecting you to be committed to me after this, although I'd really, really like to date you. I can understand if you might not, but I hope you're going to be here when I wake up. Please don't sneak out because if you are planning on doing that, just tell me now so I'm not shocked when I wake up alone," Dav said.

Xander tilted her chin up with his hand.

"I won't. And I'd like to date you, too," Xander said.

They'd taken it slow and afterward fallen asleep, replete with happiness. Xander couldn't believe how easy it had all been. Save a pretty girl, eat some awesome duck, drink delicious wine and then have the best sex of his life. The likelihood of her turning into a giant insect at this point was remote, but it all seemed too good to last. It was like a page from somebody else's life, someone who wasn't constantly evading apocalypse or getting screwed over by magic or shaking vampire dust out of his clothes—Holy cats! He'd totally forgotten to tell Buffy about the Spike weirdness and that could be very bad. She'd told him Spike had kidnapped her and then let Drusilla die rather than feed Buffy to his lady love. It was all too weird with overtones of Angel, which made Xander nervous. Not to mention the last time he'd seen Spike, the guy had knocked him unconcious. That had been another pointlessly menacing kidnapping where Spike accomplished nothing.

Xander jostled Dav until her eyes opened and she snuffled against his nipple.

"Baby, I need to get up," Xander said, softly.

Dav opened one, large, brown eye.

"Why come?"

"I need to talk to Buffy."

Suddenly, she had both eyes open.

"I-is that your girlfriend?"

"No, she's my best friend. That vampire who came in at the last minute and helped us—"

"The scabby one that looked like Billy Idol?"

"The very same. He's got a history with my friend. She'll want to know he's around," Xander said.

"You're a unique fellow, Xander Harris," Dav said, closing her eyes again, "why don't you give me a pen before you leave so we can exchange phone numbers."

Xander gave her a peck on her swollen lips, that blossomed into an intense kiss. Xander decided they could probably go one more time before he had to tell Buffy about Spike.

~*~*~*~

"So to recap, Xander is back, YAY! But Spike is also back, Nay!?" Willow asked. She was perched on Oz's lap and Giles was trying valiantly not to notice where the young man's hands were going. Giles took off his glasses and rubbed a cloth into the lense with his thumb.

"Essentially, yes. Buffy needs to find Spike as there could be something larger afoot," Giles said.

Buffy sat on the other end of her mother's couch, her stomach feeling like she was in freefall.

"I just don't understand why he'd come back, I mean he's got to know I don't want to see him in a here's-the-end-of-a-wooden-stake kind of way," Buffy said.

"You are talking about Spike, right Buffster?" Xander asked as he came in from the kitchen carrying a huge bowl of popcorn. Buffy smiled, her eyes glowing and silly.

"Yes, I am. By the way, how long have you been home?"

Xander plopped down next to Buffy.

"Long enough to get a girlfriend," Willow said, like a little sister needling her older brother.

Buffy took a handfull of popcorn.

"Girlfriend? Is she a demon?" Buffy asked.

"Don't think so, but it's early. She could still morph into a lizard or string me up over the Hellmouth but I'm trying to stay positive," Xander said.

"I'd love to meet her, not just to make sure she's not some evil entity, either, but because I care," Willow said. Oz, who'd been silent for the duration of the conversation made eye contact with Buffy.

"Speaking of evil intent, I'm not real keen on Spike running into Wills again. There's no need to repeat the bottle-in-the-face moment," Oz said.

Willow blushed at the memory and snatched a fistful of food. Xander also stiffened. Buffy knew why they were so uncomfortable. When Spike had dragged her friends to the factory, they'd gotten...close. Spike had found Buffy at the library when he started to sober up and basically confessed that he'd screwed up. He told her unless she helped him cast the love spell he wouldn't lead her to her to the place where he was holding Willow and Xander. Buffy had been furious at his half apology, half bribery. They'd collected a bag full of magical ingredients from Giles' stash, Buffy intentionally screwing up the ingrediants so when Willow cast the spell it would harmlessly fizzle. When Buffy had went into the factory with a remorseful Spike in tow, she'd found Willow half naked on top of Xander.

Buffy was glad she'd told Oz and Cordelia to wait at school while she rescued their significant others, sparing them from seeing their lovers entwined. It was strange that she'd told them to wait; maybe Buffy was just afraid that one or the other would lose it and stake Spike. Which would be bad because? Buffy couldn't finish the rest of that sentence. Angel had asked her afterward why she hadn't ended Spike after she'd rescued the rest of the gang, and she hadn't known what to say.

"I'll make sure Spike doesn't hurt anybody," Buffy said.

"Are you sure he wants to hurt us at all? I mean he saved Xander and Dav, it is Dav, right?" Willow asked.

"Yeah, short for Davinia, which is just so cute," Xander said, dreamily, "the rescue thing might have been enough to make me forget that concussion he gave me last year, except the resulting brain damage did that for me."

"Giles, what do you think?" Buffy asked.
Giles shrugged and continued his slow pace across the room.
"Could be any number of schemes ranging from the benign to the deadly. He might be exactly as he appears, adhering to his truce with Buffy while residing in Sunnydale. Or, he could be trying to resurrect Drusilla. There is a spell that can be used to reanimate a vampire, very dark, very dangerous magic. Spike would have had access to this spell, given that it was in the manuscript by Josephus du Lac he pilfered to restore Drusilla's strength. It requires the blood of the sire, Buffy," Giles said.
Buffy stood.
"Angel," she said.
Giles went to her, putting a hand on Buffy's shoulder.
"Use caution, contacting Angel and bringing him here could simply hasten Spike's plans."
"Why wouldn't he be in Los Angelus, go to the source of the broody?" Xander asked.
"I don't know. That's why you must find Spike as soon as possible," Giles said.
"How am I supposed to know if he's telling the truth?" Buffy
"I'm guessing you don't, ergo, slaying," Oz said.
"Ergo slaying," Buffy said, softly, "it's still daylight. I'll go on my own, see if Willy knows anything and then I'll find Spike."
~*~*~*~
It had only taken a few threats in her growly voice to get Willy to spill about Spike's whereabouts. William the Bloody had taken out a vamp called Sunday who'd been hunting on Sunnydale University campus with her cohorts for about twenty years. Demons were upset, as it was understood that you don't usurp another vamp's turf, especially one as insular as Sunday had been. She and her tightknit group carved out a niche killing college freshmen, never taking enough to raise suspicion and never bothering anyone else.

"She was kind of a bitch, but all in all, a good nieghbor," Willy said.

Buffy really had to keep from punching him when he said that.

Sunday's place was an abandoned frat house and Willy was kind enough to give her the address. Buffy still had an hour of light left, so she made her way there. The structure was degenerate, the white clapboards gone grey with neglect, the windows broken and covered over with plywood. The door was intact, though, until she kicked it open.

In the living room stacked with disparate junk she found Spike asleep underneath a Lion King blanket. He looked dreadful. His skin was chalky, his hair patchy and falling out. The wound on his cheek had gotten worse and she could see his teeth behind the hole. His hands were bloody tatters.

"Spike," she said, more gently than she'd originally intended.

He jerked and sat up, opening his eyes.

"Fie knew shoe were comin' I'dda baked a cake," he slurred.

She squatted beside him, resting a hand on his ruined jaw. He smiled and she saw his blue eyes were still vivid despite everything.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Got some new digs. You like'em? Might fix it up nice. Those kids were living like rats," Spike said.

"Why are you still in Sunnydale?"

"Keep an eye on the slayer. Bird who used to lurk here had it in for you. Thought I'd clear out the trash, make it easier."

"Again, Spike, why?"

"Told you why. I love you.You know it, you have for a long time. Besides, something happens to you, Dru's death's for nothing, innit?" he asked, turning over.

"You haven't eaten since she dusted, have you?" she asked.

"Whelp tell you that?"

"I have eyes. You're falling apart," Buffy said.

"Yeah, well, tried but it doesn't work anymore. Not going to play by your rules, not going to bag it so I grabbed a ripe, little morsel off the street. Smelled just like fresh milk, but when I went to do the deed I saw your face. Disapproving. Figured this was the better way. Hunger makes some of us go mad, makes another of us sentimental. Me and Dru, we were the sentimental sort. All filled with regrets. When we were outside of Prague I'd never seen her more lucid. She told me she hadn't committed suicide when she was alive because it was a sin, then she'd laughed, said if only she'd known. By the end of the night she was begging me to stake her, I had to force feed her. Now she's not around to return the favor, but you are, aren't you slayer? I know you'll do it for me, love. Beautiful, Buffy.You'll finally finish me up once you see me suffering. Your heart's too big to watch even your enemy continue on like this."

"You still want me to kill you, Spike?"

"God, yeah. " Spike said.

"I can't, not when you're helpless," Buffy said.

"Not helpless," Spike said.

Then he was springing on her, pinning her to the floor with his fangs hovering above her throat.

"I'm the monster now, no pretty looks to soften it. I'm the dead man who sucks at your life. Kill me, Buffy. Kill me before I do you," he said.

She could easily throw him off, his body was more or less a pile of bones knitted with some torn skin. Buffy didn't, though. She waited until Spike collapsed on top of her. Then she sat up and he slid into her lap, the same way he had after Drusilla's death. Buffy took the stake from her back pocket. As she jostled him, Spike looked up at her, joy on his face. Then she shoved the sharp tip into the plump part of her hand just below the thumb.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his expression anguished.

"Drink," Buffy said.

"You're daft," he said.

He tried to pull away but she was stronger. Buffy held him fast by the throat and dripped the blood onto his mouth. At the first drop, he couldn't resist. He was lapping at her palm like a grateful dog.

His coarse tongue felt amazing against the tiny injury and the sounds of his moans made her feel something she never associated with Spike before: arousal. Buffy turned red, her whole body tingled with shame; it was bad enough to feel that way, but especially bad when he was in this state.

By the time Spike was done, the wound had sealed up and there was nothing there but a small, white scar. Slayer healing was good, but it wasn't that good. Spike lifted his head from her thighs and saw Buffy examining her hand.

"We can close cuts with our saliva. Good for keeping pets. Is that what you want to be, slayer, or were you thinking this would be the other way around? Can tell you liked my mouth on you," he said. His face already looked better. The pallor was gone and the gouge was healing before her eyes.

"Don't get too excited, that was just a pity suck," Buffy said.

He laughed.

"Filthy girl. So what's your angle?"

"If you're serious about helping me, I could use your strength. You'd have to bag the blood, of course," Buffy said.

"Keep existing for you? Not exactly a tantalizing prospect, slayer."

His words would have had more impact if he hadn't been snuggling her lap when he said them.

"Think about it. I'll come by tomorrow with some take out," Buffy said, slowly disentangling from his grasp. She rose, leaving Spike a puddle on the floor. Before she walked away, Buffy brought the blanket up over his thin shoulders. He snatched her hand with his skeletal fingers, holding it while he stared into her eyes. Then he released Buffy wordlessly and covered his face, not sparing her another glance as she left.
End Notes:
Dav is not an original character. She's actually one of Sunday's vampire cohorts. I just imagined what she'd be like if she'd never been turned. Also, my roommate in college had a Lion King blanket our freshman year, so Spike's comforter is a shout out to her.
Chapter 3 by Minx DeLovely
Author's Notes:
Thank you to the lovely Sanityfair for her work editing this piece.
The day was going to be a dazzler, all cerulean skies and sparkling sunlight. It seemed odd to be carrying a bag full of blood to the undead on such a day, but really, Buffy thought, what in her life could be considered odd anymore? Her errand to feed Spike reminded Buffy of when Angel had reappeared in her life and she'd played nurse Buffy. Not in the fun way, in the literal way. Buffy decided that unlike then, she would tell Giles tonight that she was choosing to extend some trust to Spike.



She knew what Giles would say. Of course she could never fully trust Spike; he didn't have a soul, his moral compass was limited to people he valued while others were expendable, he might abandon her when he was recovered, returning to his sinister ways. All these facts were a consideration, but the benefit of having a master vampire at her disposal seemed to outweigh them. Angel had left a hole when he'd left...in the team, Buffy reminded herself, hastily. Buffy wanted to have someone as strong as she was just in case something happened to her.



Buffy stepped onto the craggy steps of Spike's new lair, falling under the shadow of the structure. She tentatively opened the door and then walked into the murky darkness. It felt like walking into a dim movie theater and it took a moment for Buffy's eyes to adjust. When they did, she saw Spike had cleaned up a bit since the night before. The living room was cleared of the collected detritus once belonging to twenty years' worth of college freshmen.



"Spike?" Buffy shouted.



A few seconds later he creaked down the stairs, his black boots thunderous. Spike looked marginally better. His face was completely healed and he was wearing a clean t-shirt. His hands were still a mess and his crowning glory of peroxided locks were gone. Instead there was a velvety, brown nap.



"What's with the hair?" she asked.



He hopped down the final step, standing a few feet in front of Buffy. He rubbed a ragged palm against his fuzzy scalp.



"Fallin' out anyway so I decided to go gracefully and shave it all off. Try to work the football hooligan look for awhile," Spike said.



Without thinking, Buffy reached out and stroked the top of his head. His eyes shut with a flutter and he seemed to savor her touch, like a stray that had been starving for a little love. Buffy withdrew her hand when she realized what she was doing and neither of them spoke for a second.



"Brought you some blood," she said, holding up the bag.



"Brilliant," he said.



They walked into the living room and sat down on a plaid futon in the middle of the floor. Spike took the paper grocery sack from her and went to lift out one of the plastic bags of blood when he found something that gave him pause.



"What's this?"



"Gloves. I figured you could wear them until your hands heal, maybe keep them from getting more banged up," Buffy said.



Spike lifted the black, leather gloves out of the bag and slipped them on. He made a fist, testing the material and then nodded to her.



"That's good. Thank you."



He took out the blood and impaled the thin membrane, turning his face away so she wouldn't have to see his angry bumpies. Buffy couldn't help thinking of how it felt when he drank from her hand and shuddered involuntarily. Spike's back arched slightly; he could smell her moods shifting on the air. Her eyes spanned the grimy walls. Every few feet there was a poster of Monet's "Waterlilies," or Gustav Klimt's, "The Kiss."



"Quite a collection. Were they selling it by the pound?" she asked, pointing to the paintings.



Spike unhooked his fangs from the bag and swallowed.



"Not exactly. Just wanted to cover up the holes in the walls to keep the light out before I had the chance to do a bit of spackle and patch. Spent most of the night covering the skylight with plywood," Spike said.



"It's funny, I guess Klimt's work was supposed to be obscene and Monet was this revolutionary who started a whole art movement but now you can get their stuff on coffee mugs. It just doesn't seem right," Buffy said, crossing her legs. Spike looked at her bouncing foot, his eyes brightening.



"Time does that. Art that's shocking gets assimilated, the original meaning is sanitized and lost. Like punk used to be the Sex Pistols and the Ramones, now it's bloody Blink 182 and Green Day."



"Hey, that one song about masturbating is pretty good," Buffy said, immediately wishing she hadn't.



Spike grinned lasciviously, teasing the edge of his sharp teeth with his rough tongue. She could've sworn it got longer when he was all vampy.



"Now I know a little more about the slayer's hobbies. No whipping up cunning sweater sets for you, eh? Got a better use for those clever fingers I 'spose," he said.



"You...just...get your brain out of there, buddy! Even though I'm doing the Florence Nightingale thing you should remember my hobby is shoving wooden implements into vampires," Buffy said, standing up.



"Touche, love," Spike said, returning to his meal with a grin.



Buffy began circling the room, trying not to pay attention to sounds of him gulping the blood. She decided to change the subject.



"Probably a lot of lucre here. I bet there are whole rooms of stuff from their victims. I guess that's yours now," Buffy said.



Spike nodded. Buffy went to the mantle above the disused fireplace in the far end of the room. There was a wooden statue of a man doubled over, the round sculpture no bigger than her fist. She ran her finger down the smooth ridge of its back and thought of how decimated Spike had been when she'd seen him the day before. She heard him rise and move toward her. He was standing so close if she turned, Buffy would have bumped into his chest.



"The weeping yogi. He bears your troubles for you when they become too great," Spike said.



"He also makes a nifty paperweight," Buffy said.



"That too," Spike said, then took a breath. She wondered why he always did that when he didn't need to breathe. It was just another Spikism that made him seem more human, like his enjoyment of hot cocoa and daytime t.v. Another piece of subterfuge making you forget what he really is, Buffy thought.



"We need to talk about last night, love. What you did for me was beyond generous, but I can't feed from you anymore—"



Buffy whipped around.



"Well yeah, that was just a one time thing because I was afraid you wouldn't make it through the rest of the night," Buffy said, defensively.



"I know, but sharing blood can get addictive. For both of us."



Buffy didn't know how to respond, so she started walking away when he grabbed her arm.



"Spike—"



"Hear me out you bossy, little bint. I felt you, I know it got you off."



"I so don't want to talk about this," she said, jerking her arm free and striding to the exit.



"It's supposed to feel good," Spike said. Buffy stopped and looked at him shyly over her shoulder.



"So it's normal, I'm not a freak?"



"Wouldn't go that far," Spike said, giving her a leering grin. She faced him and smacked his arm softly, the way she would have when Xander teased her.



"The pleasure keeps most of those sorry sods from struggling. It's why I didn't when Dru did me. That blend of ecstasy and pain. I know how you're feeling, slayer, because I felt it, too, except I wasn't strong enough to fight it," Spike said.



"Thank you for telling me. All this time I thought I was some kind of vampophile, like I needed to put my name on a registry pledging I wouldn't get closer than twenty feet to any cemeteries or something," Buffy said. Spike smiled at her quip and she found herself smiling back. "Why wouldn't Giles have said anything?"



Spike crossed his arms over his chest and bounced on his heels.



"I expect he doesn't know. Most who come as close to death as you don't report back to headquarters. The few who do would probably be a bit embarrassed, like you were, kitten. Anyway, the drawing of blood is an intimate act of power. If you started tapping a vein every time I get peckish, we'd cease to be equals. If I were to bite you, it would be a mark of possession. Taking a sip here and there blurs the lines but a bite is different. There's no going back after a bite. You'd lose yourself to me until I ended up killing you one day, even if I didn't want to. It's an ugly relationship the pet and the master. It's not what I want for us and the temptation is strong there already because of this," he said, dragging a gloved finger along the scars Angel and the Master had made on her neck.



The contact sent shivers through Buffy and her nipples hardened under her thin, blue t-shirt. When his caress receded, she clapped a hand over the place he'd touched.



"Don't do that again," she said. She'd never reacted like that to anyone else touching her there before, except for Angel. Spike's eyes took on a hint of sadness.



"I won't, if that's what you want. Just had to show you the spark there. You've been marked by two of my bloodline. There's a connection between us because of that. It's obvious you feel for me, you offered me your blood. Not all of that is under your control. You've been branded by my family and it makes you feel like you're part of us. It's the same for me, that attraction, but it makes me feel like you're a possession," he said.



"I-is that why you think you love me, because Angel and the Master got all bitey with my neck?"



"No, the blood connection...it's the opposite of love. That link through the blood makes me feel like possessing and destroying what you are to create what I happen to need at the moment whether that be a lover, a servant or a snack. I shouldn't feel anything else when I look at you, which is why my loving you is so...so fucked. I should've wanted to kill you a thousand times over and I just can't. I don't want a world without Buffy Summers."



"That's not super-reassuring when it comes to me not staking you, Spike," Buffy said, trying to keep her voice strong.



The benefits of having Spike by her side in a fight suddenly seemed paltry in comparison to the potent risk. Still, Buffy couldn't bear the thought of dusting him, though she knew her friends would spare her the task. Spike probably wouldn't resist, either and for some reason that twisted her heart.



"Not here to be reassuring, just trying to be honest, love. Don't know why the great git didn't warn you about it prior to him taking a chunk out of you or, you know, before you opened up the dimpled knees," Spike said, causing Buffy to wince.



"Don't talk about Angel like that—"



"He's my grandsire, I'll talk about him any way I damned well please,” Spike said, his voice rising, “it would have been the decent thing for him to let you know your eternal love might've been a side effect of big daddy getting chompy." Spike was moving closer to her, causing Buffy to back up. "And don't kid yourself about him not knowing. Who do you think taught me to keep pets—"



"Spike, don't push me—"



"Or what, you'll give me what I'm beggin' for?" he asked, getting so close his words stirred the tendrils of hair that had fallen out of Buffy's ponytail. She reflexively shoved him a bit too hard, sending the weakened vampire sprawling across the room. Buffy didn't check to see if he was alright, even when he landed with a sick thunk. She ran out of the darkened house, gulping fresh air and basking in the sunlight like it was the last time she'd get the chance.





On her way to Giles,' Buffy re-examined her whole relationship with Angel from beginning to end, trying to figure out exactly when they fell in love. It wasn't the first time they kissed. Buffy remembered what that felt like, the thrill of it and the lure of the forbidden. That wasn't love but the sugar rush of new infatuation. She'd adored him before the Master's attack, though. Hadn't she? Now she wasn't sure. The first time she'd told him she'd loved him it had come in response to his demand. Now Buffy was wondering if she would have said it otherwise; felt it otherwise.



Buffy reached Giles' house and he let her inside with an embarrassed grin. She noticed his guitar lying against the couch and figured she'd caught him mid-practice, which explained his abashed expression.



"Would you care for some tea, Buffy? I've just put the kettle on," Giles said, gesturing for her to sit. She felt grateful to sink into a squishy chair. Giles' house always smelled like sandalwood, cannabis and just a hint bacon; very comforting especially after everything Spike had revealed.



"Tea would be good. Tea would be great, actually. I found Spike," Buffy said.



Giles looked over his glasses at her and his brows shot up in alarm. He opened his lips to speak when the kettle started to whine. Giles nodded and ran into the kitchen. When he returned with two steaming mugs and a plate of oatmeal cookies, Buffy relayed her story. She was prepared for Giles' stern face, not his excited face. In fact he was so excited, Buffy's feelings felt a little sore.



"Do you realize how invaluable a resource Spike might be to us? His cooperation could save lives. My relations with the council are far from warm, but sharing this information with them may protect many, many people," Giles said.



Buffy put down her uneaten cookie and the drink that had grown tepid through the course of her story.



"And the part where my first love might be a symptom of vampiric possession, that doesn't even warrant a mention?"



Giles' mood deflated considerably and he put his hand over hers.



"You need to speak with Angel, that's for certain. If what Spike says is true, you should not be near Angel again, under any circumstances."



"What about being around Spike?"



"That will also be problematic, but Buffy, you are the strongest young woman I know. If you feel like interaction with him is beyond the scope of your comfort, then by all means, avoid him. But should you decide to utilize Spike's skills on patrol, there's no need for you to ever be alone with him," Giles said.



Buffy sighed.



"I don't think I need a sitter, thanks. I was able to control the lusties with Angel...not that I'm attracted to Spike except for the feeding stuff. So I can control the blood lusties just fine," Buffy said, coloring like a cherry tomato.



Giles smiled.



"Buffy, shame is a luxury we can ill afford. If you have...um...romantic inclinations toward him, it's alright. Just be aware of them and file them away with the types of feeling that should be controlled. If your affection for him could develop into something deeper, you must be aware of your own mind. The danger is grave and myriad. We were both naive when it came to Angel but in my case there was no excuse. I should have protected you better," Giles said.



Buffy looked down at her hands.



"There are some areas of the Buffyverse where I don't want your protection, Giles, my love life being the biggest. It's weird talking about this with you."



"I was hoping to ameliorate your discomfort by using really big words to make it all sound slightly clinical. Did it work?" Giles asked.



"Kinda," Buffy said, her face breaking into a smile.



~*~*~*~



Spike had been working on the house all day, pausing only at dusk to go out and get himself a day's supply of blood from the butcher. Sunday had stolen electricity to power lights and a couple mini-dorm fridges set up in the kitchenette. Those were more than enough for his food and some soda for Buffy, should she stop by. He was sure either she or the watcher would inevitably, if only to finish him off.



He'd gone through all the rooms in the house, taking a summary inventory of their contents. One was stacked almost to the middle with purses and wallets. Spike emptied a few of the pocketbooks where he found more than enough money to keep him in blood and smokes for a year. With that merry bundle of cash he could fix things up, make the house look nice. Why he had that impulse, Spike couldn't tell. Perhaps it was the same longing that made him buy all that Diet Coke.



Other rooms had other treasures. Stacks of mini-fridges. A museum of television sets ranging from the late seventies to the present. There were video game consuls and box upon box of jewelry. Most of that was costume but there was probably at least one good piece in every jewel case and there were easily two hundred of them. He could plunder and pawn at will. Another of the rooms upstairs was filled with mirrors, some broken, some intact. Spike held his breath when he walked through there, wondering what on earth they'd saved them all for. The emptiness in the mirrors when he walked through the room chilled him to the core. Spike ended up barring the door from the outside.



In the living area he unfurled a deep, red Persian rug that was probably someone's pride and joy. He found a decent wing chair and wooden, rolltop desk that he dragged downstairs, too. Perhaps they'd offed a dean of students somewhere down the line, Spike thought. He placed the biggest telly from the ones piled in the basement on an orange crate along with the best video cassette player and a few bins of films in one corner of the living room. It was not terribly posh, but with a good-looking, black, velvet comforter over the dingy plaid futon, it was alright. Spike decided he had kind of a look going.



There were some plusher sheets and blankets along with a real full bed instead of one of those extra long twins. He set that up in his bedroom with some of the nicer bookshelves and better books. He also hung two poster-sized, framed photographs of Tinturn Abbey on the wall, not to cover up any holes but just because he liked them.



At around two in the morning he collapsed on the wing chair with a mug full of blood, thoroughly exhausted. His hands hadn't fully healed and they were sensitive beneath the black gloves. As he sipped at the heated blood he could feel the itch of new skin forming. Spike knew he should get to patching the walls, but he figured it could wait another day. He'd set the glass on the floor and begun to doze, when he heard someone banging at the door.



"Hold onto your knickers," Spike shouted. He pawed beneath the futon until he found the samurai sword he'd stashed there. It was one of the few real weapons he'd unearthed in his perusal; the rest were shoddy flea market finds or replicas one could order from one of those ads in the back of Spin magazine. Spike had hardly tottered to his feet when the door burst open with a shower of splinters and Angel stepped inside.



"Hello to you, too, Peaches," Spike said, leaning on the sword like a cane.



"Spike, what the hell are you doing here?" Angel asked, trying to swing the gaping door shut. It wouldn't close properly so the bigger vampire just left the entrance ajar.



"I'm here to help Buffy. Did she phone you about our conversation or something? Before you start tossing blame around, let me remind you I was just being truthful with the girl—"



The dark haired vampire's prominent brow gathered in confusion, clouding his brown eyes.



"Conversation? Buffy hasn't called since...ever. I wrote her a letter with my contact information in L.A., but she hasn't used it. The last time I saw her was two months ago, on graduation day," Angel said, sadly.



"Then why the hell are you here?" Spike asked, plumbing his front shirt pocket for smokes. He produced a pack and teased out a thin, white cylinder of tobacco with his lips, his left hand never leaving the sword. Angel seemed to be watching his movements with particular interest. Spike shoved the pack back into his pocket, then took a few steps backward to the mantel. He felt around for the box of wooden matches, found one and then snapped the match into life by dragging it against the wall. He brought the tremulous light to the end of his cigarette with shaky fingers.



"What happened to your hands?" Angel asked, striding closer to Spike.



Spike sucked in a lungful of smoke, raising his eyebrows at the same time. He exhaled as he spoke.



"Poor nutrition. Again, why are you here, Angelus?" Spike asked, relishing his grandsire's grimace of disgust at the use of his older name. Angel was continuing to advance, so Spike decided to stand his ground.



"You're dining on pig's blood and having chats with Buffy. Why do I find it hard to believe you're as innocuous as you seem, William?" Angel asked, stopping a foot in front of his grandchilde.



"I don't know, because you're a stupid git? I lost Dru not too long ago. It did a number. Now all I've got left is makin' sure the slayer's life isn't cut short. That's all this is," Spike said.



"If you couldn't protect Drusilla, what makes you think you'll have a better shot at protecting Buffy?" Angel asked.



Spike gripped the pommel of the sword so tightly it opened up the new flesh webbing around his knuckles, soaking the leather glove with his blood.



"Got to try, that's all I can do. You gonna deny me three times, or are you gonna tell me why you're here?"



"My colleague had a psychic vision that Buffy was in danger and you were there."



"So did Miss Cleo say I was the one puttin' her in harm's way?"



"Actually, his name's Doyle—"



"Never mind," Spike said.



"He said you were with her and I figured you were the threat," Angel said.



"I know nothing about that, except that she's always in danger, but I'll pass on the info. Maybe the Watcher or the little witch will have a clue."



"What were you talking about before, Spike? Why would I need to blame you?"



For the first time since he entered the house, Spike gave Angel his full appraisal. His grandsire looked quite well-to-do; a nice black leather coat and tailored trousers the same color. The shirt Angel wore was heavy, white silk. Who knew virtue could pay so well, Spike thought.



"I warned the slayer about the dangers of blood. She didn't know what wearing your bite-mark meant. I was worried because she let me take a nip when I was doing poorly—"



Angel struck with fluid speed, clutching Spike by the neck of his t-shirt.



"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now?" Angel asked through clenched teeth. Spike slapped Angel's hands away with a flip of his sword.



"The only reason I'd care is if me dying inconvenienced the slayer. I feel like she ought to be the one to decide when it's time for me to shuffle off, seeing as Dru dusted saying I was to be put to Buffy's use."



"So you bit her? How's that supposed to help her?"



"I tasted her, big difference. I wouldn't bite her no matter how sick I was," Spike said, pointedly, leaving Angel's face a boiling crimson. Spike walked casually across the room, wanting to put distance between himself and his enraged grandsire.



"I told her you have a power over her she doesn't understand, and I do as well. She's not a child. This is her life we're talking about and she deserved to know," Spike said.



"Turning her against me never crossed your mind?" Angel asked, as he put his hands on his hips and did his best intimidating smile.



"I'd take that as a happy accident," Spike said.



"What do you think is going to come of this, Willy? It's not like she could ever love you. You're a soulless monster."



"And you're so much better because you've got that bright, shiny soul?" Spike asked, poking Angel's chest with the tip of the blade. Angel swatted the offending object. "Didn't stop you from nearly draining your sweet girl dry, did it? Then when she happened to survive, you didn't tell her that you could turn her into a blood slave with the touch of your hand, did you?"



The two vampires were so deeply engaged in their mutual glaring, they didn't notice Buffy standing in the ruined door frame until she spoke.



"What's a blood slave?" she asked. She looked and sounded very small, so much so both vampires wanted to go to her and provide comfort. Buffy's blonde hair was pulled into pigtails, she wore jeans with sparkles on the pockets and a red t-shirt that had an anthropomorphic black cat riding a Vespa emblazoned on the front.



"Tell me, Angel. What does Spike mean?" Buffy asked.



Angel appeared to be drowning, his mouth opening and closing like he was trying to draw air where there was none. Buffy stared into Angel's eyes as though she could find her answer there.



"Tell her, Ang. Tell her that until you dust she's going to feel you weighing on her heart. Tell her how when she tries to be with another man, all she'll feel is your absence. Tell her how you condemned her to a life of loneliness or servitude. Hell, if it weren't for you she would have let me die. Tell her why she's got a bond with your self-described soulless monster."



"Shut up, Spike," Buffy said, softly.



"As you wish, love," Spike said in equally hushed tone, taking a last pull on his cigarette before pinching out the cherry with his fingertips. He stuck the butt in his jeans' pocket because he didn't want to leave a pile of fag ends lying around. It was a bit low class now that he had a proper house.



Angel and Buffy didn't look at Spike, continuing instead to stare at one another. Spike gripped the sword with both hands and waited with a patience he'd just recently acquired. When Buffy finally spoke again, her voice did not crack and the tears hovering in a pool above her eyes didn't fall.



"Did you manipulate me into thinking I loved you, Angel?"



"Spike, could you leave us alone for a minute?" Angel asked.



"I want him here. If you do have power over me, what's to stop you from using it?" Buffy asked.



Angel's brow got even crinklier and he conceded her point with a double dip of his chin.



"What we felt, what I felt was real. I loved you from the first moment I saw you, before I even spoke to you. You loved me too, I'm sure of it. I never used the family connection to make you do anything. You've always been your own person I mean, God, Buffy, you sent me to hell. If the Master's bite had that much sway over your emotions, you couldn't have done that to me," Angel said.



"Thanks for not holding a grudge about that," Buffy said with a twinge of a smile.



"You, too."



"But what about the one you gave me?" Buffy asked.



Angel looked at the ground. Spike shifted, getting into a stance that would make it easier to lop off his grandsire's head should the older vampire try to attack Buffy.



"I didn't ask you to do that for me, Buffy, I mean, I wouldn't have, but you forced me—" Angel said.



Spike scoffed and Angel's expression continued to curdle. Buffy seemed to be holding back until Angel was finished.



"What Spike said is true. If I were to touch the mark and say your name you'd be at my disposal until I released you," Angel said.



"What about the rest of it? Do you see me as less than you?" Buffy asked.



"I fight it, but the inclination...it's there. Which was why I left, because hurting you was too potent a temptation," Angel said.



Buffy pressed her eyes with the tips of her fingers and sniffed loudly. Both vampires watched her until she put her hands on her hips and tilted her chin up defiantly.



"Do it."



"What?" Angel and Spike asked in unison.



"I won't believe you're capable of this until I see it for myself."



"You trust him with your life, love?" Spike asked.



"I do. Plus, I trust you with that samurai sword," Buffy said.



Spike smirked at that, but Buffy's face stayed neutral. Spike slid the blade out of the scabbard and then lifted it with both arms. Spike let the cold steel rest in the crook of Angel's shoulder. Angel reached out his hand to Buffy and she walked over until she was within arms reach. Buffy waited as Angel trailed a light fingertip along the raised crescent-shaped scar that marred her neck.



"Buffy," Angel said.



Instantly, she fell to her knees and angled her head to expose her throat. The two vampires silently watched her folded in supplication. Spike could sense Angel's excitement and fear; he wasn't sure which part of the situation he could ascribe each reaction. Spike wondered what an outsider would think of the three of them locked in their disturbing tableau. Buffy was frozen like a doll and Angel was stroking the mark affectionately, making blood rise to the surface of her skin. Spike was the one who looked like the threat with his brightly burnished steel digging into Angel's flesh.



After awhile Buffy's skin started to chafe under Angel's hand.



"I think you proved the point, mate," Spike said.



Angel seemed to return to the present.



"You're released," Angel said.



Spike retracted the weapon from Angel's shoulder, but kept it ready at his side. There was something off about his grandsire, like a man who'd had a bit too much to drink and was hoping to pick a fight.



Buffy darted to her feet and backed away.



"Are you alright?" Angel asked.



"Get away from me and don't come back," Buffy said.



"Buffy—" Angel said. Buffy held out both her hands as though repelling him.



"Now. Go away now before I kill you again," Buffy said.



"I never wanted this for you," Angel said, and walked out of the house. Spike would have described his particular mode of retreat as skulking.



Spike and Buffy looked at one another for a long moment. He thought of offering her a soda, but realized that was idiotic.



"I've never been that powerless before," she said, rubbing the vulnerable scar.



"And you never will be again. Peaches loves you, he won't use it," Spike said.



"What about Angelus?" Buffy asked.



Spike swallowed, hard.



"There's got to be a spell to reverse it somehow. Red is dead useful with that type of thing. I'm sure it will be alright," Spike said, lamely.



Buffy walked over to him and put her arms around his waist. After the brief surprise of her embrace, Spike returned the hug.



"Thank you,William," Buffy said, giving him a squeeze before letting him go. Before he could respond, Buffy had retreated into the night.

End Notes:
Miss Cleo was a telephone psychic who had a fake Jamaican accent. Her commercials ran late at night and during daytime television in the nineties here in the United States. I figured Spike would be familiar with her work.
Chapter 4 by Minx DeLovely
Author's Notes:
Thank you to the glorious Sanityfair and to Puddinhead, for letting me bounce ideas off her puddiny head.
Drusilla was hovering just out of his reach, suspended by white cobwebs. They were in that dance hall with the sawdust on the floor, the sweat of the collected crowd hanging in the air as the people churned against each other. Spike could taste the grain alcohol. He'd always liked the bootleg stuff because he had to drink so much less before it took hold. Dru was dangling like a dusty tear drop while the dancers kept moving underneath her, singing with that other woman's voice, that blues singer Rosie always liked. She sounded clear like a honeyed bell.

"Papa if you can't do better, I'll let a better papa move right in—"

Then suddenly he was back in the wheelchair again, half his face a mask of burns while Drusilla fucked Angelus in what had lately been their bed. This was a memory twisted by the dream to heighten his pain. Instead of being downstairs in the mansion as he had been at that moment he was watching them twist in the gold linens, her white limbs long and thin and wrapped around Angelus' waist. Drusilla's dark hair was fanned out on the pillow and her light, blue eyes seemed to burn into the male vampire's hooded gaze.

They would have been beautiful if they'd only been strangers.

"Sssh...don't wake lovely William—"

"But that's the best part, making you scream. When was the last time that nancy made you wail, Dru?"

"Not like you, papa, never like you—"

As he watched them Spike felt someone sitting beside him and realized it was Drusilla. Another Drusilla just as pale and perfect as the one writhing on the bed.

"Does it make it easier remembering me this way?" she asked, tilting her head, sucking in her narrow cheeks and pooching out her lips like a duck's bill. It was a face she'd pull when Drusilla wanted to make him laugh.

"It's not funny, Dru. Besides, you know nothing makes it better," Spike said.

"Nothing but her. She was already part of you then, making your heart squish and smash against your chest like a real boy. But you're not my brilliant, broken thing. You'll never be more than the knife that hangs above her head," Drusilla said.

Just then the other Drusilla, the one on the bed riding Angelus's cock, shrieked to rouse the dead.

Spike dutifully woke with a jolt. He was on the fine double bed in the dark bedroom he'd chosen. A blade of light was searing through the edge of the boarded window, so he knew it was still daytime. After Angel had left, Spike repaired the door, then wandered upstairs. He'd shed all his clothes but the black, leather gloves. Must look a bit kinky he thought with a half smile. The injuries on his hands were mending slowly and they itched. He could almost feel each thorny cell divide.

Spike got up and dressed slowly, minding his hands. After pulling up his jeans and arguing with the fly for a few, painful minutes, Spike decided to remove the gloves. He tugged them off with his teeth and had a look at his hands. The underlying skin was chalk white, striated with hot, red slashes. He fastened his slacks, opening the wounds again, then pulled on a black t-shirt. Spike eased the gloves back on and made his way downstairs.

He'd just heated up a mug of blood and tucked in when he heard a polite knock. Spike knew by scent who he'd find before he dragged open the door.

"Hello Rupert," Spike said.

"Hello Spike," Giles said, coolly with a hint of command.

Giles was dressed in his casual clothes, a pair of light, beige slacks and a gray sweater. In one hand he held a worn, leather briefcase. Incongruously, in the other the watcher gripped a wooden walking stick with a glass bulb for a handle. Suspended in the clear bauble were what looked like long, thin pearls. After a moment, Spike realized they were fangs.

Spike gulped.

"Feeling a tad infirm?" Spike asked, glancing at the dark, wooden cane.

The watcher grinned.

"Just wanted to be prepared. May I come in?"

"Sure, here for tea?" Spike asked, stepping aside to let Giles pass. Giles went inside and surveyed the room.

"Not exactly, but I did bring biscuits," Giles said.

"Chocolate?" Spike asked, his interest genuinely piqued.

"And raspberry filled," Giles said happily, as though he'd been waiting all day for an excuse to eat the cookies, "has Buffy mentioned my wish to interview you?"

Spike scuffed his toe on the floor, wondering how long it would take him to pull up that rust and gold colored, diamond patterned rug.

"No, last time she was here we didn't get much of a chance to talk," Spike said.

The stricken look on Buffy's face when she pulled him into a hug made Spike want to go to her right then, damn the sunlight. It had taken all his composure not to follow her the night before, but he sensed another member of the undead tribe would be the last thing she wanted for comfort. The vampire glanced up, realizing that the watcher was reading into his silence.

"Welcome to my abode," Spike said, then swept his arm grandly toward the living room.

Giles walked to the futon and sat down.

"It's very um, tidy, in here and dare, I say, cheerful?" Giles asked.

"Nothing about me has every been remotely cheerful," Spike said as he glided into the room and took a seat beside Giles.

"'Spose not. I had a list of questions for you," Giles said as he rummaged through his satchel, "starting with something Buffy mentioned, about hunger making a creature such as yourself 'sentimental.' I believe that's how you put it."

Giles plucked a red, leather bound notebook and a Mont Blanc pen easily worth three hundred dollars out of his bag. Spike didn't even have the urge to nick the pen, which he figured probably meant he wasn't long for this world.

"Right," Spike said, patting himself down in search of his cigarettes and settling onto the lumpy futon cushion, "now this is a bit like when magicians give up the mechanics of the trick. If another vampire found out I was spilling to you lot, I'd be dust."

"Would you prefer I didn't put your name to this?" Giles asked.

"S'alright, Rupert. I'll go on record, just don't go singing from the mountain tops," Spike said as he slid his pack of smokes out and retrieved one of the cigarettes with his lips, "you probably know most vampires that don't eat go mad, but what no one likes to share is the small number of us who get a raging case of empathy. It's a crap shoot, really, which type a vampire will be. Not sure if it's to do with the personality of the person or of the demon who takes up residence. Most of the gentle ones don't make it past the first few days anyway, seeing as they wake up famished and don't want to eat. Then the hunger drives the cycle on and they CAN'T eat. Most of them wander into the sun or get cacked by their sire."

As he spoke, Spike was trying to ignite the silver Zippo he'd picked up off the floor, but the gloves wouldn't allow for finesse. Giles casually took the lighter, worked the mechanism and lit Spike's cigarette without comment. Spike nodded his thank you as he pulled in lungs full of smoke. Spike could feel the sting of the burn going on inside and later the tingle of it healing, making smoking a double pleasure. Triple, if Spike counted the disapproving look on Rupert's face.

"Dru would have gone that route if she hadn't been force fed. I may have, too, but Drusilla coaxed me into drinking from her own vein. Once I was fixed up good and proper, she took me out, showed me what to do. After that I was only hungry once in my life before we came to Sunnyhell and your girl dropped a pipe organ on me. That's how Buffy was able to get to me—after Angelus came back," Spike said, noticing the watcher's heart rate increased at the mention of the vampire who'd wreaked so much havoc on his life, "Dru stopped bringing me blood. I had to get it myself or do without. Buffy started taking root then, a tiny light slowly nudging at the dark. Didn't know what it was until Drusilla made me choose, though."

"This other time of hunger sounds significant. Can you elaborate?"

Spike exhaled a white plume.

"It was a long time ago."

"Do you have an approximate date?"

"Nineteen twenty three. I remember it being hot, so probably summer. Dru left me for the first time. Said I wasn't...she said some things which don't need to be cherished in your spindly hand for posterity. Can't remember how the tiff started, just how it ended—with me on my ass, thrown in broad daylight from a moving train. At least she tossed my luggage after so I could cover up a little before I roasted. Somehow rolled under the porch of a farm house. Couldn't move so well because of the burns. I lived on rats and other animals unfortunate enough to share that shadow with me. When I finally looked like a man again I crawled out and made my way into the city. Rented a room and fixed myself up. Realized I was in miserable, bloody St. Louis. Met a girl," Spike said, taking a long drag.

"I expect you met a lot of girls," Giles said, softly, looking at Spike over his glasses.

"Not then. Rosie was the only one for a long while," Spike said, realizing with a stab of guilt he hadn't said Rosie's name in almost seventy-five years. Another trip down memory lane, courtesy of the slayer Spike thought, ruefully.

"Was this another vampire, then, because there's no record of you, um, partnering with anyone but Drusilla."

"Rosie was human," Spike said, crushing out his cigarette with his fingertips. Spike felt along the floor and picked up a metal peppermint box. He opened the lid and stuffed the butt inside before snapping the top shut again. Throughout, Giles stared at him with his mouth sagging in shock.

"How did you meet the young lady?" Giles asked, his pen doing a lolling step across the page.

"Does it matter?"

"It would be best to have as much detail as possible," Giles said.

Spike rubbed his forehead and looked away.

"She was a prostitute. Didn't mean she wasn't a good girl. Just had a hard life. She was only seventeen when I found her and already a widow. Her husband was older and beat her. Rosie would run away and he'd drag her back until she ended up braining the worthless berk with a fire poker one night. She couldn't really love a man after that...probably why me bein' the way I was didn't matter to her."

"She knew you were a vampire?"

"Yeah, but I never bit her if that's what you're wondering. I ate only bagged blood when we were together because I knew if I had a taste of the good stuff it would end with my fangs in her throat. First night I saw the girl she was standin' there in this tawdry purple dress with fat, blue roses smattered over it. No stockings, no shoes. I thought she'd be an easy meal, get me back into the swing of killing. But she was so good when she shouldn't have been. After breaks like those she could still give. Was amazed that I was English, thought it was the cat's meow seein' as she'd never been anywhere. She was so...soft. Made me sick to think she'd pawned her body every night, so I took Rosie out of that life. I stole for her, treated her like a queen and she would have done anything for me out of gratitude," Spike said.

He could imagine Rosie in sharp detail; her dark brown skin with her pale palms, her wild black eyes and wide, red grin. Her lips were always red, even when he'd rub away her lipstick. Her hair had been such a pleasure to touch, when she'd let it out of her pin curls. Spike remembered the way she'd rest her head on his chest and he'd stroke her hair, drawing in the scent of her. Rosie smelled like saffron beneath her honeysuckle perfume.

"How long were you with her?" Giles asked.

"More than a year. We'd move from place to place which was why it took so long for Drusilla to find me."

"Did you kill the girl, Spike?"

Spike let out a scoffing laugh.

"Might as well have. We were at this gritty, little speakeasy, one of the few black and tans in the state. Normally we'd just hit the demon bars when we went out because the monsters were much more tolerant of our little affair than the human population, but she wanted to see her favorite singer. We were dancing when Drusilla and Darla walked in the place. I sent Rosie back to our boarding house and told her not to invite anyone into our room. She took one look at Drusilla and knew somehow, knew I was gonna fail her. Rosie asked for all the money in my wallet and I gave it to her. The way she looked at me when she was walking out the door...like the last part of her heart had died.

'I should've followed her, but seeing Dru knocked me flat. She was more beautiful than anything I'd ever seen. Had on this white costume with fringe and spangles; like she was dressed in new fallen snow. Dru said she wanted me back and at first I tried to play it cool. Then she kissed me with blood on her mouth and fed me from her own wrist, just like the first time. Darla came up to us, I thought she was going to say something cruel but she offered me her throat. She'd never, ever done that when we were scourging Europe, her secrets were only for the great git. After that, I crumbled. The three of us ended up slaughtering the whole room."

Giles' eyes took on a steely aspect and he clenched his jaw. Spike's smile creased his cheeks in an ugly way and his chin bucked subtly, as though offering Giles a challenge.

"That's right, I was every bit the demon after one swallow. It wasn't just the blood though. It was wanting back that life with Dru. Rosie was delicate. I could never really unleash it with her, you know, the full strength of what I was. I was living like a petty con man, but I'm a warrior, a bruiser. I was always spoilin' for a fight. Could only be half myself with Rosie and the rest was aching for an outlet. So I left without sayin' goodbye, like a right prick. She was arrested two days later. Died of tuberculosis while she was in prison serving a life's sentence for her husband's murder," Spike said.

Giles was quiet and his face became a grave contortion of rough brow and pursed lips.

"If you were to taste human blood again, would you revert back to the hunt?" Giles asked.

"Didn't Buffy tell you she fed me from her own hand a few nights ago?"

"She did."

"So you're asking if I've killed since then?"

"Yes, I am."

"No, I'm still baggin' it."

"Why?"

"Cause I'm not gonna hurt Buffy, and killing other people hurts her. The slayer's all I've got left of Dru, if that makes any sense. I'm not still muddy behind the ears like I was back then. My control is stronger, I don't get a hard-on every time a pretty neck waltzes by," Spike said, with a shrug.

Giles swallowed a smile and continued scraping out his notes.

~*~*~*~

Out of all her friends, Willow had been Angel's biggest booster. That "kick his ass," comment not withstanding, Willow had even championed Angel after he was evil. She'd saved his soul, nearly killing herself in the process. Maybe for those reasons as Buffy sat on Willow's brightly colored bed and told her about what had happened the night before, Willow looked just as crushed as Buffy felt.

"It was like I didn't exist anymore, Wills. There was only Angel's voice in my head telling me to stay still and wait for him. The worst part was being perfectly content to kneel there. Not happy just, you know, completely accepting my fate. He did that with one touch," Buffy said.

Willow smoothed her red hair behind her ears, tears magnifying her large, green eyes.

"But Angel loves you," Willow said, plaintively.

"That didn't feel like love," Buffy said, quietly.

"What are you going to do?" Willow asked.

Buffy didn't know how to respond. She looked away from Willow's pained expression down at the pale blue, glass ring she'd stuck on that morning. The front of the ornament covered an entire joint of her finger and was incredibly fragile. One, swift slay and the band would crack in half. The accessory was something Buffy had worn a lot before she came to Sunnydale but had put away because it didn't fit with her life anymore. She wasn't sure what had compelled her to retrieve it from her jewelry box, but looking down at the ring made her feel silly now.

"Spike suggested there might be a spell to remove the blood bond. I would need your help—"

Willow was nodding, excited to finally have something tangible to work on.

"Easy peasy, I mean, I'm getting so much stronger with my magic. We could definitely find a spell that would fix this. Giles will know something," Willow said, taking both of Buffy's hands. The gesture made Buffy pull her friend into a hug.

"He's already on it with Giles-like efficiency. I guess he's interviewing Spike right now," Buffy said. They untangled from the hug and Buffy looked at Willow's changing expression.

"What's with the scrunch face? Normally that signifies confusion," Buffy asked.

"That's very perceptive of you Miss Summers," Willow said, using her substitute teacher voice, "I was just thinking that before Angel went all Svengali you trusted Spike to be the one to protect you. The feeding stuff could be explained away by the naughty tingly inclinations, but I don't think...I mean you let SPIKE hold a sword to ANGEL'S throat. I don't know how this blood bond stuff works but shouldn't you have been more trusting of Angel seeing as he's the love of your life and the one who, you know, actually bit you?"

Buffy's hand flew to cover her scar, as though Willow had just walked in on her changing and Buffy was moving to conceal her breasts. Willow's eyes widened at her friend's obvious discomfort.

"I'm sorry should I not have said?"

Buffy waved both hands in a universal gesture of no.

"Not at all. I'm not used to being all open about the way I feel. Normally, I like to be, you know, private but now, again, my love life is a public safety concern," Buffy said.

"Hold on, love life and Spike in the same sentence?"

"No, I mean, I don't—there's not going to be any Spike and me lovin' in my life because I know the way he makes me feel isn't real, it's like a trap. Not that he even set the trap, though, in fact he's helping me get out of the trap—"

"Explain to me when the trusting him started and try using words other than trap," Willow said.

Buffy took a deep breath.

"After the truce with Spike, I knew how far I could count on him. Like there was this line in the dirt that I couldn't cross, but as long as Drusilla was at stake, he'd work with me. Then, he showed up out of the blue when all the adults were getting their adolescence on and rescued a room full of babies. The line moved a little farther, and I knew we could trust him when money was a factor. He brought us Anyanka and the line kept scooching."

"Alright, there's been some line creep, when did you decide to trust him with your life and Angel's?" Willow asked.

"I didn't...I didn't think Angel would be able to control me that way. I thought I'd be strong enough and he would love me enough that the evil mojo wouldn't work. So I guess I wasn't convinced about Spike until after it was all over and he was holding me," Buffy said, her face burning red at the shame of her naivete, "Spike saved both of us."

"Wow," Willow said.

"Yeah, and now I'm more certain of a soulless vampire than I am of myself. All of you guys are looking to me to stop the random apocalypse and I can't believe what's in my head," Buffy said.

"Yes, you can," Willow said, patting Buffy's hand, "we'll make it right, promise and Oh!," Willow smacked the hand she'd just been caressing as her eyebrows shot up and her eyes got a glow, "I know exactly where to start. The Vampyrica and Demonic Dialectics."

"Diuretics, what, like coffee?"

"Dialectics, goof, although I prefer silly Buffy to nervous breakdown Buffy," Willow said.

"Me too," Buffy said, turning the garish ring on her finger.

~*~*~*~

Buffy and Willow were about to knock on Spike's door when he answered.

Buffy noticed immediately his shirt was splattered in red. Buffy's heart lurched and she was swallowed by panicked self-recrimination. How could she have let Giles be alone with Spike, what was she thinking? Spike seemed to read her and his smile disappeared. In the next instant, Xander was suddenly behind the vampire wearing a Bananarama t-shirt also speckled in red and holding a roller saturated with the same shade. Of paint.

"Hey, I was just helping Spike with the vampire gentrification," Xander said, grinning.

"Since when were you Mr. Helpful when it comes to Spike?" Willow asked.

"Since he gave me a PlayStation and any games I wanted for slapping up some semi-gloss."

"I'm still trying to wrap my brain around the you stopping by Spike's house part," Buffy said, not able to pull her eyes from Spike's and wanting to apologize, but not knowing why.

"Giles asked me to stop by after work to pick up some book. Anyway, let me finish cleaning up so you get the full effect," Xander said before moving away from the doorway and resuming his work.

"Would you mind stepping in, ladies, discretion is the better part of valor. No need to alert every beastie in earshot I'm keeping house," Spike said.

"I think they know already. Willy said the demonic neighborhood watch isn't pleased."

Buffy passed the threshold with Willow in tow. Spike shut the door after them and nodded.

"Had a welcoming committee. They didn't drop off a fruit basket, but that's all part of bein' big bad. Take enough of them out and everyone will be afraid to follow," Spike said, putting a gloved hand on the small of Buffy's back. The touch was so comforting that Buffy's initial reaction was to melt into his side, followed by the violent rejection of the urge as she remembered it was a trick of the bond. She moved away from him as tactfully as she could.

"So what do you think of the new digs?" Spike asked, pretending he didn't notice the distance she was so keen on putting between them.

"Actually, it's pretty cozy," Buffy said.

"And a whole lotta red," Willow said.

"There was more red, but I decided to put the Persian rug in the bedroom, it sort of clashed with the carpet," Spike said.

Buffy wondered briefly what Spike's bedroom looked like, before she focused greater attention on the room where they stood. The walls were a shade of brick red that actually made the carpet bearable. The wall sconces that resembled candles had seemed so garish before, but contrasted with the new color they took on a warmer, old-fashioned quality. The railing leading up the steps was still white, but looked better without the Christmas lights. All the Klimts and Monets were gone,too. The house was beginning to look like a space where a grown up would live.

Xander finished throwing the used painting implements into a black, plastic garbage bag and rejoined the group, standing next to Willow.

"I've got some floor length, gold curtains, very posh. Once it's dry in here I'll hang them up, pretend I still have windows," Spike said, unconsciously drifting closer to Buffy.

"Where did you get paint?" Buffy asked.

"Found it in the basement. Why they stole paint is anybody's guess, but I figured since it was here I might as well sort the place out," Spike said.

"It's so weird that you're nesting, I'm wondering when you're going to send out cards letting us know you have a registry at Pottery Barn," Buffy said.

"Just 'cause I'm a vampire doesn't mean I want to sleep in a coffin mounded with dirt. Did you get down on Angel 'cause of all the pseudo Japanese art he had? I mean that git lived in a bloody mansion," Spike said, gesturing with one flailing hand.

"I'm not getting down on you," Buffy said, tapping Spike's chest lightly, which calmed him,"it's cute in a bizarro kind of way."

Spike grinned.

"So you think I'm cute, do ya?"

Buffy opened her mouth and closed it again, then looked across to her two best friends. For their part, Willow and Xander couldn't hide their puzzlement. Willow turned away from the vampire and slayer to face the dark haired boy at her side.

"Right, so what book did you need to pick up for Giles?" Willow asked.

"The one by that du Lac guy," Xander said.

Buffy pegged the request as Giles' attempt to suss out Spike's intentions.

"I left it at the warehouse, had to go through the tunnels. Won't do a bit of good without the key, but I 'spose we can search for it in the ruins of the church some night," Spike said.

"Why did Giles say he needed that?" Buffy asked.

"The bite on your neck. He thought there might be something in there. He's welcome to look, but that thing was so convoluted, like reading scripture off the head of a pin," Spike said.

"Spike, we were hoping you could come patrol with us," Buffy said.

"Love to, kitten," he said, almost bashful.

"What about you, Xan, up for a little slayage?" Willow asked.

"No, I've got a date with Dav, she's making Moroccan tonight," Xander said.

Spike turned from Buffy to shoot Xander a smile.

"Dating that bird from the alley?" Spike asked.

"You make it sound so naughty when you say it like that," Xander said with his own, much more satisfied grin.

"I keep forgetting you've seen her, what's she like? Xander's afraid to introduce us," Willow said.

"I'm not afraid," Xander said.

"She was a pretty, lots of red hair, about yay high," Spike said, holding his arm up to demonstrate the height of Dav.

"And she can cook, so what's the deal? Are you afraid I'm going to reveal embarrassing stories from your kindergarten days because I promise I won't. I mean she can't be any worse than Cordelia, can she?" Willow asked.

Xander gave her a reproachful look and then brought his hands together index finger to index finger as though it would better explain his point.

"I just want to make sure things are alright with me and Dav before I subject her to the full Scooby experience. Some people love the danger of nightly cemetery jaunts whereas others just want to stay home and watch Iron Chef," Xander said.

While they spoke, Buffy continued to think about Spike's rough, elongated tongue traveling over her throat and wished she knew how to make it stop.

"So, are we ready to head out?" Buffy asked.

The others nodded in agreement and headed out the door. Buffy stopped Spike with a touch to the arm before he could leave.

"I have something of yours," she said, slinging the black backpack from off her shoulder. Buffy unzipped the bag and pulled out his leather jacket. Spike whipped the heavy coat on like a cape.

"Still smells like you," he said, softly, looking like he might puncture the distance between them to give her a kiss.

His presence made Buffy completely flustered.

"We should go kill something ancient and evil now," Buffy said. She scurried out to join her friends who were waiting with dwindling patience in front of the frat house.

"At your service," Spike said, more to himself than to her.
End Notes:
The song lyrics are from another Rosa Henderson tune, "Papa If You Can't Do Better."
Chapter 5 by Minx DeLovely
Author's Notes:
Last updated Sept. 16, if you haven't read, do. Thanks to Sanity Fair for her patience and skillz. Check out her lovely story, "And It Spread," if you haven't and the glorious Puddinhead's "My Elizabeth." Both these ladies have helped immeasurably with this fic.
LAST TIME:

His presence made Buffy completely flustered.

"We should go kill something ancient and evil now," Buffy said. She scurried out to join her friends who were waiting with dwindling patience in front of the frat house.

"At your service," Spike said, more to himself than to her.



~*~*~*~
Dav was rearranging the green, paper napkins from a plain stack to a fan shape. It was the third time she'd messed with them in the past few minutes—fanned then stacked and now fanned again—and it was driving Xander nuts. He grabbed her wrists.

"The napkins are good. You need to leave the napkins," Xander said. Dav looked up at him.

"Is it too late for me to make a chocolate cake? Maybe I should run out and buy one, I mean what was I thinking with lemon? Chocolate is the money cake."

"The cake is fine, you are fine. Calm down."

Dav hugged Xander and laughed.

"I'm sorry, I just really want your friends to like me and I may be going overboard," Dav said as she relaxed in the circle of his arms, looking up into his face.

"Maybe just a smidge. They'll l-like you, I mean what's not to passionately, devotedly like?" Xander asked, stroking her hair and gazing into her huge, brown eyes. They hadn't said the love word yet; neither of them wanted to rush that part. Dav had been in a long-term relationship with a guy who turned out to be a snake. Not an actual snake, though that could've easily been the case. He was just a rotten guy who'd asked her to get married, then had sex with her first cousin at the engagement party because Dav was starting to "box him in." After that, she hadn't really dated much.

"I know how it is with your best friends. I put every girlfriend of Gary's through the ringer until he met Pammie. I'm sure you do the same thing with the people Willow and Buffy date," Dav said.

Xander had already met Gary and Pammie, Dav's two closest friends. The couple had visited from San Francisco and they were extremely cool. They'd all gone to see the play Dav had worked on. It had been a grown up night out with good food, great conversation and no talk about vampires. In the month they'd been dating, Xander had met all of Dav's Sunnydale friends here and there, but he'd been reticent to introduce her to the gang. Doing that would make the distinct break from normal girlfriend/boyfriend relationship to indoctrination into a crime-fighting cult. Xander wasn't sure the tender normalcy they'd cultivated could survive the shift. Xander realized that might be why Dav was so anxious; she may have misinterpreted his reluctance to Scooby her up as something else entirely.

"I wouldn't be worried, baby. My objections to their boyfriends had little to no impact on their decision making processes, so a little naysaying won't go very far with the Xan-man," Xander said.

"Xan-man? God, you're such a dork," she said with a grin, before she kissed his cheek, "I'm mostly afraid Willow will hate me and show her displeasure through liberal making out with you."

"O.K., in that scenario I'm nothing more than a receptive man-lump who would totally accept the making out with—"

"So you're saying you're more than a receptive man-lump?" she asked, her eyebrow arching devilishly as she brushed against his...receptive man-lump.

"Exactly," Xander said, drawing in a shuddering breath before capturing her roving hands, "I'm your boy. No amount of disapproving gal-pals will change that...which won't even matter anyway because they will like you."

Xander kissed her hands to reinforce his point and hugged her again.

"This is the last insecure question for at least the next few minutes, anyway. Should I change my outfit, or is this alright?" Dav asked.

She stepped back to show off the gold, velvet, v neck with black lace accentuating the bustline that Xander had bought her. She'd put it with a long, black skirt that had a teasing slit up the side.

"You look gorgeous," Xander said, before kissing her again.

He'd decided against asking Spike along for this particular Scooby meeting because Xander didn't want to be responsible for Dav inviting a vampire into her house. Spike was surprisingly understanding about the whole thing. Xander had explained when they were out sweeping the cemetery the night before that Dav was a regular, non-magical, non-slayer type of girl. Buffy was stronger than anyone and Willow could kill a vamp with a freakin' pencil but Dav's self-defense skills were limited to pepper spray and running.

"Look, I'm sorry for the rudeness, but Angel was all friendly for awhile, too, before he murdered Miss Calendar," Xander said.

Spike had nodded.

"Not looking for admittance to your little, monster-fighting clique and you don't need to explain because I get it, mate. She's your girl and you've got to protect her," Spike said.

"I really think you do, man," Xander said, which brought a sad smile to Spike's lips.

In that moment Xander realized he kind of liked Spike. William the Bloody was invaluable in a fight, seemed loyal to Buffy and was someone with whom he could talk about girls. Also, Spike was actually pretty funny in a snarky, British sort of way. Angel's idea of a joke was threatening Xander's life, making Spike a huge improvement over the last demonic dead thing Buffy crushed on.

At least this time Buffy was too wary of the blood bond to get cuddlesome with Spike. She was relying on the other Scoobies for protection; either he, Giles or Willow always went out with the two super beings on patrol. In a way Spike had brought them all closer together. Xander almost regretted Spike wouldn't be joining them.

Almost.

There was a knock at the door and Dav jumped in his arms.

"Calm down, sweetie," Xander said.

"I'll try," Dav said.

They went to the door together and Buffy was standing on the other side. Xander saw Dav's eyes widen.

"Hey, I'm Buffy, you must be Dav," Buffy said.

"I made some cake but it's not chocolate," Dav said.

"Good thing I'm an equal opportunity eater," Buffy said, with a dazzling smile as she walked into the apartment, "you have a beautiful place."

"Thanks, my parents helped me out a lot with decorating," Dav said as they walked into the living room and sunk down on the comfy, sectional couch.

Dav grabbed one of the pink and white geometric, patterned pillows up from the couch, hugging it like a security blanket. Xander put an arm around Dav and she snuggled into his embrace. His gesture seemed to take the edge off. Buffy complimented the decor some more and then the girls began talking about Dav's work. Xander watched his girlfriend get comfortably animated when discussing the historical research she did to properly dress the cast of, "The Seagull." To his relief, Buffy was genuinely interested. Once they got talking about clothes, the two looked like old friends. Buffy really didn't have anyone to discuss fashion with since Cordi took off to make it big as Angel's receptionist. Even then, Cordi's contribution to the discussion was usually a brutal insult about dumpster diving.

"Right now I'm kind of obsessed with Edith Head, she was a costume designer who created some of the most iconic looks in cinema history and she could rock a weird hat," Dav said.

Buffy giggled.

"Would you think I was twelve if I told you her name sounded kinda dirty?"

"I know, right? I'm glad you think so, too!" Dav said.

When Willow showed up, Dav got extremely quiet. Willow didn't seem to notice because she and Buffy were caught up in discussing their Sunnydale U. classes, which started next week. By the time Giles showed up, Dav had gotten up and started rearranging the napkins again. Dav left that task and answered the door.

"Hello my dear, you must be Davinia," Giles said, extending his hand. Dav grinned and took it.

"Mr. Giles," Dav said, ushering him inside. It was a chilly evening and Giles was shrugging out of a brown, leather suit coat.

"Please, no need to be so formal," Giles said.

Dav took his jacket.

"May I call you Rupert, then?" Dav asked as she hung it in the closet by the door.

"I don't think he meant that informal," Buffy said from where she was seated.

Giles shot his slayer a glare and then smiled sweetly at Dav.

"Of course you may," Giles said.

"I baked with you in mind, actually. I made a lemon cake and flavored the icing with clotted cream. It's supposed to be an English recipe, but the internet might have been lying," Dav said.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Willow said.

"I'm sure it will be lovely," Giles said, putting his hand on Dav's back. She smiled up at him and the girl looked so grateful that Giles couldn't help giving her a hug. Buffy exchanged a look of mutual surprise with Willow as Dav sat next to Xander and Giles stood in front of the television set.

"So, what's up, Rupert?" Buffy asked with an impish smile.

Giles ignored her cheek.

"I'm afraid the remedy for the blood bond we had such hopes for is untenable. Davinia, are you familiar with this situation?" Giles asked.

"Xander filled me in," Dav said.

Giles nodded.

"What's wrong with the Cheez Whiz spell?" Buffy asked.

Willow turned to face Buffy, pulling her legs into an Indian style position.

"Cheerweitz spell," Willow said.

"I like Buffy's better. It sounds way safer," Dav said.

Willow twisted to look at Dav, her head slightly cocked.

"Has Xander been telling you about my spell misfires?" Willow asked.

"Um, no, I just thought—"

"Because I'd never do anything to put my friends at risk, least of all Buffy," Willow said.

"Whoa there, Wills, I think you need to dial it back a little. Dav was just making a joke," Xander said.

"Well, I guess Cheez Whiz is kinda funny," Willow said with a grudging pout.

Giles surveyed everyone with irritation, using a handkerchief to burnish his glasses.

"Does anyone want cake? I'll go get cake," Dav said, jumping up.

"I'll help you, baby," Xander said, starting to rise off the sectional.

"No, no, you stay, listen to the debriefing," Dav said, dashing into the kitchen before anyone could stop her.

"So tell me, what's wrong with the whosits?" Buffy asked.

"It would wipe your memory of Angel away entirely, which would alter you in ways we couldn't imagine. Aside from that, he might not be the only aspect of your personality that would be swept away," Giles said.

"It's way too dangerous," Willow added.

"What about the other one you were looking into, the Vampyricon spell?"

Giles put his glasses on and Willow sat back on the couch.

"The spell would require Angel's death," Giles said.

"No," Buffy said, crossing her arms over her chest. Giles and Willow seemed grim. Xander's eyes traveled from one to the other, his worry over Dav heightening his readily accessible Angel anger.

"Why not?" Xander asked, "he's a time bomb. The guy is a chocolate eclair and a hand job away from absolute evil."

"Xander!" Willow shouted.

"There's no need to be crass," Giles said, but Xander could swear the librarian was fighting off a smile.

"Killing Angel is not an option, Xander. End of story. Now where else can we look?"

Xander decided not to belabor the point.

"What about that spellbook we got from Spike. I haven't heard anything about that since we excavated that key thing," Xander said.

"Yeah, and I broke a nail sifting through all that rubble," Buffy said.

"That wasn't a fruitful source of information," Giles said.

Willow smoothed her hair behind her ears.

"I found an expert on vampire cults. She was a friend of Miss Calendar's," Willow said, lowering her eyes at the mention of the teacher's name. Giles inhaled sharply, like hearing the words caused him physical pain. Xander felt a fresh surge of anger that cooled when Dav touched his shoulder. He looked up at her and she handed him a slice of cake.

"Thank you," Xander said, and she nodded in response.

"This woman, Thalia Avenolie, is like top in her field, I mean if vampire cult research were a recognized field," Willow continued, as Dav went to Buffy and bestowed a plate, then set another on the coffee table for Willow, "she also lives with a coven. They're working on translating some older texts. Believe it or not, you're the first person to survive a vampire bite who wants to get rid of the blood bond without killing the vampire."

"Does this Avenolie woman know the vampire she's working to save is pretty much the same one who killed her friend?" Xander asked.

"No," Giles said, as he took the dessert Dav offered him, "and I'm uncertain of the ethics in this situation. Buffy's is a peculiar case to say the least, one unlikely to be repeated. However, removing the familial bond from other victims could leave them less likely to fall under the sway of another vampire. It's invaluable. At any rate, we need Thalia's help, but she may feel ill-used when she discovers the truth."

Buffy set her treat on the coffee table, untouched. Dav noticed and tried not to look hurt, but Xander knew her well enough to see his girl was sort of offended. Xander was the first to take a bite and couldn't contain his moan of pleasure. Buffy looked at him with amusement plucking up the corners of her mouth.

"Do you and the cake need some alone time?" Buffy asked.

Dav blushed deeply and Xander glanced at her, licking the tines of his fork.

"What can I say, Dav's really, really good...at cooking."

"Oh for heaven sakes. Could you at least pretend to care about the moral quandary for a few moments," Giles asked, before absently taking a bite of cake, "good lord, that is phenomenal."

"Really?" Dav asked.

"It's like the first time I listened to 'Ziggy Stardust,'" Giles said.

Dav beamed, a huge smile replacing all the trepidation on her face. Willow shifted on the couch and snatched up her portion.

"Alright, I definitely have to try this," Willow said, before shoveling in a mouthful, "mmm, it's like joy, with icing."

"I'm so relieved you guys like it. Next time I'll make my chocolate eclairs. Everybody says those are my best dish," Dav said.

Buffy suppressed a giggle and Giles let out a goofy smile.

"Um, yes, well, about Ms. Avenolie—"

~*~*~*~

Spike knew he shouldn't have been in Giles' house when the watcher wasn't there, but he was certain there was something Rupert was hiding. The librarian had made such a point of getting the du Lac book, then had them panning through the remains of that church to get the bloody key, only to speak nothing more of the whole thing the instant both objects were in his possession. The only reason had to be that Giles wanted to get the volume out of Spike's hands.

And hadn't that been a bitch to be standing next to Buffy in that bloody church where she'd beaten him the best, all the old hurts mingling with his shame? Buffy had been pained by the whole thing, too, showing it the way she always did by getting cold and quiet with him. Knowing Buffy could destroy him to save her lover, but he couldn't do the same made Spike feel strangely unworthy to be in her presence, like he was less of a man. Of course he wasn't really a man at all and recently not so much a vampire, either. Spike was just less.

He'd goaded the slayer about Angel all the way home from that expedition until she was nearly ready to sink the stake into his chest. Spike wanted her to do it so badly, seeing as she was the only one he'd give the power to dismiss him from this life. Then something made her pull back; made her eyes go all soft for him. If the whelp hadn't been there Spike wasn't sure what would have happened. Spike might have slid his hands under the hem of that impractical tank top she was wearing and tasted her mouth.

Spike's ambivalence toward Buffy had grown along with his desire for her. To actually touch the girl was tantamount to spitting on Drusilla's ashes but keeping their relationship platonic was hardly working, either. Chaste, courtly love was something Spike hadn't tried on since he died. Frankly, it looked tragically ridiculous on him, like a single lady of a certain age taking her poodle out in a pram. Spike would watch Buffy exercise her deadly grace by dusting some sorry, stupid sod and want to take her right there in the cemetery. Her smile drove him out of his mind and when she was gentle with him it was the worst. When Buffy was kind she was everything he'd always wanted but been unworthy to keep.

It was all just...fucked.

Spike moved like a ghost through Rupert's house, locating the du Lac book in the watcher's study underneath a pile of other tomes. The key was thrown into a box among various precious relics which were such a part of a watcher's everyday life Rupert had cast them with the care an office worker might bestow upon paperclips or ballpoint pens. Spike wore the gloves Buffy had given him to protect his hands from being burned by the cross-shaped key. He stuffed the artifact and the volume into the knapsack he'd brought. The backpack had a bunch of buttons and patches on it for some pretty decent bands, and Spike regretted that its original owner was probably long dead.

Spike slung the bag over his shoulder and as he gave the place a parting glance, saw a school picture of Buffy. Judging by the highlights in her hair, it was probably taken her junior year. The snapshot was stuck in the corner of a large, framed map of the Hellmouth hanging above the watcher's scarred, wooden desk. Anyone who didn't know might have thought the photograph was placed there absently, but Spike realized it was the first thing Rupert would see when he glanced up. If Spike were to follow his impulse and snatch the keepsake, Giles would notice immediately.

Spike slipped out of the house wondering how Giles dealt with having to hide his love for Buffy for so long. It probably killed the watcher that the closest thing he had to a daughter was placed in harm's way every night by his own hand.

It wasn't something Spike could ever ask.

Now the next task was to try to fumble through du Lac's text using his incredibly poor grasp of Latin. Spike decided that he really should have paid more attention to Angelus when his grandsire was torturing those nuns.

~*~*~*~

Dav's first foray into supernatural problem solving had turned out to be a resounding success. Everybody exhausted themselves of metaphors about how great the cake was and together they'd decided to tell Ms. Avenolie the truth about Angel. Buffy suggested the spell could be affected depending on the vampire line. Giles agreed and decided to ask Spike more questions about the other surviving descendants of the Master.

"Beside that, she deserves to know everything if she's helping us," Buffy said, hers being the opinion which mattered most when it came down to it because she was the one with everything at stake.

By the end of he night, Dav had convinced Giles to play them a song on her guitar. For the first time ever, a Scoobie meeting included a rousing group sing-a-long of "Little Red Corvette."

His friends had left a lot later than they usually would from a Scooby meeting and Xander was sure it was because they were having a good time. He was helping Dav wash the dishes before he went home.

"I told you everyone would like you," Xander said as he wiped the last mixing bowl and set it on the tippy top shelf Dav couldn't reach without a step stool.

"They're great people. I feel bad that Buffy didn't really touch the cake, though," Dav said.

Xander turned around and smiled at her, leaning on the counter.

"Well, her mom dated this guy who turned out to be a murderous robot that was controlling us all with drugged pastries. She probably just wanted to keep on her toes, but don't worry. She told me on the way out you were a sweetheart," Xander said.

"Of course. I figured it was either a homicidal automaton or she had a gluten allergy," Dav said, vigorously scrubbing the already immaculate sink."You could've mentioned all your friends are insanely hot. After seeing them, especially Willow, I'm no longer on the fence about taking that Pilates class."

"What are you talking about? Willow's cute but she's not like a model or something," Xander said.

Dav threw the sponge in the basin and faced Xander so fast her hair hadn't time to settle back down on her shoulders before she resumed speaking.

"Are you nuts? I know your ex-girlfriend was an actual model, but Willow is not your mousy best friend. She's gorgeous and Buffy is breathtaking and even though it's kind of beside the point, Giles is—"

"Whoa, hold up," Xander said, trying to direct his words with his hands like his sentence was a traffic jam, "you think Giles is hot?"

"He could be the spokesman for inappropriate librarian fantasies," Dav said.

Suddenly Xander felt a flare of jealousy where before he'd only been baffled.

"He's old enough to be your father!" Xander said, his voice dropping to a scandalized whisper as he pointed at her.

"Hence the inappropriate," Dav said, putting her hands on her hips, "besides, quit changing the subject."

"What was the subject? I thought we were talking about how I'm going to lose my girlfriend to a stuffy accent and a set of leather elbow patches?"

"No, we were talking about how the girl you surreptitiously made out with and the girl you had an intense, years-long crush on are so much prettier than me that it's only a matter of time until you realize you're a fucking knockout and you leave me for one or both of them."

"Wait, what? You think I'm a knockout?"

Dav's eyes were so big they would've given an anime character a run for its money, so when she rolled them Xander could almost hear a gust of wind accompanying the motion.

"When you look at me through your eyelashes like you're doing right now, I still get nervous even though we've seen each other naked. You make me feel like I did in ninth grade when the boy I liked let me borrow his pencil. You've got these glamorous friends and this incredible life and I can't understand why you're even with someone like me," Dav said.

"My life is so not glamorous, my parents are drunks and I work in a convenience store."

"You're a hero, my literal savior."

"Buffy is the hero. I'm the wage slave with no prospects or education."

"She is a hero, but that doesn't mean you aren't. Your job has no bearing on who you are, baby. The amazingness of you is more amazing given what's going on with your mom and dad. Xander, once you get a few years under your belt and figure out who you are you're going to realize you are smart enough to be whatever you want. You don't have to settle for anything or anybody," Dav said.

Xander put his hands on her shoulders, his fingers spanning their narrow curves.

"Look, I love you and I know it's a little soon to say that, but I've never felt like this before. This argument is stupid so let's stop having it, please Dav. There's nobody else I want to be with," Xander said.

She dove into his arms, hugging him tight.

"Except with Amy Yip at the waterslide park," Dav said with a giggle.

Xander smiled, wide and silly.

"Right, except for Amy Yip."

"I love you, too, Xander," Dav said.

He kissed her, and they staggered to Dav's bedroom. For the third night in a row, Xander didn't go home to the basement, but stayed to make the most of the dark there with Dav. When Xander came home the next morning, not even the fact that his parents hadn't noticed he'd been gone could bring him down.

She loved him, too.
End Notes:
That line about Amy Yip is from the episode, "The Dark Age."
Chapter 6 by Minx DeLovely
Author's Notes:
Thank you to the lovely Sanityfair for her work on editing this chapter.
Previously:

When Xander came home the next morning, not even the fact that his parents hadn't noticed he'd been gone could bring him down.

She loved him, too.

~*~*~*~

Darla always had a thing for expensive perfume. Spike was sure it was a lingering habit from when she was alive. As a prostitute she'd put a dab of fragrance right under her nose so she wouldn't have to smell her clients. The scent was like a bubble that could help her escape; a small way to control her world and maintain dignity. Perfume was always something she'd pay for, which irritated Spike to no end, but he was fourth down on the chain of command so there was fuck all he could say to the queen bitch.

Darla was the coalescence of beauty and ruthlessness. Though she was a formidable predator, her lethality wasn't perfect. Angelus was her weak spot and the only creature Spike had ever met that could hurt her at all. When his grandsires fought, words would escalate to blows like lightning. Spike couldn't understand why they bothered to argue when they always wanted the same thing anyway, but again, no one asked him.

Usually Darla would give as good as she got, but there was once when Angelus beat her so badly, Darla wouldn't leave her bedroom afterward. She'd refused to see anyone but Drusilla. When Dru didn't come out, Spike started to get nervous. He knocked on the door and in response, Darla shoved Dru's limp form out to him. Darla had fed from Drusilla, draining her almost dry and leaving Spike's sire a twitching, grief-filled mess. Spike had to force-feed her and then fight Angelus off because the older vampire wanted to take Dru when she was in that diminished state. Angelus said Dru's pleas for mercy evoked a lovely sense of nostalgia.

Spike spent the rest of the day in a locked room protecting Drusilla until she was herself again. The second night Darla tried to send for Dru again, Spike barged into the room instead, breaking all sorts of established etiquette both vampire and human. He was raging and indignant even though seeing the ruin of Darla's incomparable face made Spike wince. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut, the delicate features like smashed clay matted with blonde hair. Darla was sprawled on the pearly, white, satin bedding in a white, lace peignoir. She hissed at him like he was brandishing a crucifix.

"Not you, you're beneath me—"

"I'm beneath you? Bloody whore. Time was if I had two copper bits to rub together you'd be beneath me. You nearly killed Dru last night and your darling boy tried to have a go when she was too weak to refuse him—"

"She wouldn't have refused him and you know it," Darla said, lurching toward him, her hand curled like a claw. Spike caught her by the wrist.

"She would have then," Spike said, twisting her arms behind her back before pulling that broken face near his. Spike spoke softly to the other vampire, his grip on her nearly a hug. "We will feed you, Darla. I'll fetch you someone fresh to eat, but if you have another taste of Dru tonight she'll spiral. You'll kill her."

"I can't be seen."

"We'll pluck their eyes out first," Spike said with a grin.

"Don't want their skin near mine, or their smell," Darla said.

Then with the speed of a viper striking, Darla not only broke free from Spike's hold, but flipped him onto the mattress. Darla was suckling at his neck before he even felt the penetration of her fangs. His great-grandsire could've made it feel good, but she didn't. The strangest part was when she'd taken nearly everything he had, leaving gentle William sinking in remorse for all Spike had done, Darla dragged his flaccid body on top of hers. She rested his head on her breast and stroked his hair.

"Tell me I'm beautiful."

"You are beautiful, my lady," he mumbled against her cold flesh. All this, he thought, all this because she couldn't bear to ask for a little comfort. There were things Darla couldn't have anymore; she could only take them.

Spike distantly felt her tear at more flesh before he finally passed out. He came to in his bed with Drusilla's bloody mouth against his.

"Someday we'll do this with silly straws," Drusilla said.

"What's a silly straw, love?" Spike asked.

That night, Darla felt confident enough in her restored appearance to receive dinner guests. Spike and Dru brought her three young, stunning women. Along with the girls, Spike purchased a vial of Darla's signature scent. On the receipt Spike wrote, "Yours for the asking."

Despite knowing her for more than a century, Darla never took Spike up on the offer.

Perhaps it was being so close to another formidable, little blonde with a weak spot for Angelus that made Spike dream of Darla.

She was sitting before an empty mirror wearing nothing but a pink corset, her light hair piled in curls atop her head. The room they were in was indistinct, all shadowed with only her pale body emitting light. Darla looked over her shoulder at him and extended her hand, palm up.

"William, my reflection's vanished. Come find it for me," Darla said with a smile so sweet she didn't look like herself.

As he got closer, Spike could see that it wasn't Darla at all sitting before the blank looking glass, but Buffy. Spike knelt at her bare feet and turned his face up to hers.

"I'm so cold, please make it stop," Buffy said, tears glinting in her eyes.

Spike dragged his splayed hands across the soft lines of her outer thighs until they were cupping her ass. He pressed his face into the hard rounds of her knees.

"You're still warm, heat pours off of you. The mirror must be a trick of the light," Spike said.

Buffy was looking down at him with such anguish that her pale face recalled the pieta.

"Look again, my darling," Spike said.

She turned to the glass and squinted.

"I can see myself now but it's so far away," Buffy said.

"Let me taste you and I'll bring it closer," Spike whispered.

She nodded and then looked down at him, fear evident in her emerald eyes. Spike pushed her legs apart and watched the petals of her sex open. Being a dream, her pussy really did look like a panting, red orchid. Spike kissed his way along her skin to the pulsing flower. Then he leaned into her and licked her cunt from top to bottom. Buffy made wounded animal sounds, whimpering and pulling away at first before settling into the sensation. She tasted like a storm rolling over the ocean; violence, electricity and great, waves of salt dragging him under. Her heels were digging into Spike's bare back and she was pressing his head, urging him. Spike was irritated by the stiff fabric of the corset bumping into his forehead so he stopped tonguing her to unthread the ribbon tying her garment.

The rigid material fell away, leaving her rosy skin exposed. There were red indentations in her flesh from the boning on the underwear. He rubbed the markings gently until they faded away, then licked along the underside of her breast. He marveled at her warmth and softness. He bit into her nipples until they wrinkled into delicious points. Buffy held onto the edges of her chair, letting him have his way. Spike realized he missed her touch guiding him, so when he brought his mouth to her pussy again, he placed her hands on the back of his head. He lapped at the quivering bud of her clit and the ruffled calyx surrounding it until she was roiling. Her head was heavy on the stem of her slim neck and her eyes were following her reflection in the mirror.

"I can see myself now and you're here with me, William. Oh, William mine—"

The orgasm woke him up.

Spike grunted, felt the wet spot against his stomach and cursed the fact that he'd just soiled the only pair of sheets in the entire house that would fit on his bed. He tumbled out damp and embarrassed, then stubbed his toe on the way to the bathroom. Spike showered, missing his longer hair as he lathered the shampoo he'd picked from the myriad bath products stuffed in the bathroom closet. He'd thrown out the opened ones and there was still enough to stock a drug store.

Amid the other spoils was a room full of clothes, so he'd padded his wardrobe, too. There was a bright blue shirt that had caught his fancy even though it wasn't the type he'd normally wear. Spike wondered if it was something Buffy would like on him. Xander and Dav had gone through the rest of the clothes, taking some things for her job and donating the rest. When Xander had been occupied elsewhere Dav noticed Spike deliberating over the shirt. She said he should keep it because the blue would make his eyes, "pop." Spike had sneaked off to hang the new garment in his closet before Xander could see.

After his shower he put the blue shirt on and then pulled it off again, feeling foolish for trying to impress Buffy. For him clothes always started out as costume, then became a habit. He'd pick up a shiny totem along the way, a keepsake from a particularly good fight like his leather coat, but that was the extent of his fashion focus. Drusilla had never dressed him in all their years together and Spike had never thought, what would my girl like? He already knew. Dru liked him naked, bloody and hard.

With the slayer there was so much beyond him and his usual approach. He shouldn't even want her; that was the worst part. He should have been dreaming of Dru.

Spike didn't know how long he'd been sitting naked on his bed when the knock came from downstairs. He snatched his faded, black jeans from the floor and hopped into them on his way to answer. Spike zipped up his fly, wished he'd thought to grab a shirt, then opened the door anyway.

"Hey, usually you get here before we even knock," Willow said, grinning at him from beneath her floppy, red and orange hat.

"Sorry, was just in the bath," Spike said.

His smile was fleeting until he glanced at Buffy, who was standing by her best friend's side. Buffy was staring at his chest, her lips parted half way to a grin, like the magnetism of his body had paused her mid-sentence. That inspired a wide leer on Spike's face and he practically had to pry his tongue off of the back of his front teeth to aim the proper sarcasm in her direction.

"Eyes up here, sweetheart, I'm more than just a piece of meat, you know," Spike said, pointing to his face.

"Um, I wasn't," Buffy mumbled.

"Sorry, Buffy, you were totally sautéing him with your eyes," Willow said.

"Well, it's been a pretty epic dry spell, like 'Book of Revelations,' epic," Buffy said.

Mentioning the last time Buffy had sex made Spike feel a lot less playful.

"Right, so why don't you girls come in," Spike said.

"We'll be late for Giles' and you know how he is with the punctuality," Buffy said.

"Should've called you, slayer, but I was so knackered I just passed out. Actually need to head down to the Laundromat," Spike said. Because I jizzed all over my bed linens like a hair-trigger adolescent after having a naughty dream about you, Spike thought to himself. He wondered if the unspoken part was written all over his face anyway.

"We were going to go to the Bronze, sort of a goodbye to summer thing, if you want to stop by after," Willow said.

"No, I'll patrol, but you two go ahead," Spike said.

"You don't have to do that," Buffy said.

"Yeah, come with us," Willow said.

"No, I insist. Have a night out, my treat," Spike said.

Buffy smiled gratefully at him; he wasn't sure if that was because he'd offered to take over her responsibilities for the night or because she didn't want to see him. He decided not to dwell on either prospect. He'd do the wash, take a swing around Sunnyhell, then come home to have another round with translating the tortuous du Lac book.

"Thanks Spike," Willow said, giving him a brief, bouncy hug.

Then it was Buffy's turn for a goodbye squeeze. The farewell cuddles were a new bit now that they were buddies. She didn't have to do that and God sometimes he wished she wouldn't because then her scent clung to him, haunted him like a specter. Buffy embraced him, her hands sliding sensually against his bare back. She probably had no idea how that affected him, Spike reminded himself.

Buffy withdrew slowly, then tried to cover the way he unsettled her with a smile. Willow saw; the little witch saw everything. It was an artifact from her wallflower days.

"We'll see you later," Willow said, taking Buffy's arm. The slayer started to go along with Willow but then she stopped.

"Oh Spike," Buffy said.

"What's that, love?

"If you're having trouble getting that Polgara demon blood out of your clothes, use a little club soda. Totally saved my favorite jeans," Buffy said, giving him a smile so sunny he thought his skin might ignite.

"Thanks."

She kept walking away from him. Spike realized as he watched her perfect hips sway that Buffy Summers had reduced William the Bloody, a fourth of the Scourge of Europe, to a perky puppy waiting on bated breath for her Hints from Heloise.

God she was a hell of a woman.

~*~*~*~

Buffy and Willow were walking with their arms linked. Buffy was half-heartedly sucking on a cherry Tootsie Pop and Willow was filling up the space between them with lots of words.

"It's weird that Spike has to do laundry now. Demonic creatures seem so above mundane chores," Willow said.

Buffy took the lollipop out of her mouth and tilted her head.

"I guess the less evil you are the more housework you get stuck doing."

The redhead hesitated a moment before moving on with forced cheeriness.

"So, what's going on with you and Spike?"

"All that awkwardness you just witnessed is what's going on."

"Really, because you didn't look awkward to me. You looked kind of natural, like scary natural," Willow said.

"Things are complicated,” Buffy said.

They walked on for a few steps without talking.

“Remember how you said you weren't allowed to shut me down when I asked Spike questions. This is me not allowing you to shut me down now,” Willow said.

Buffy sighed.

“O.K. Being close to Spike is comforting and scary all at once. It's like when I first met Angel. There's this sense of inevitability about him," Buffy said.

"Are you talking about destiny?"

"I guess, except now I know that feeling isn't about romance and butterflies and moonbeams," Buffy said. They passed by a garbage can on the corner before Giles' block and Buffy chucked her candy in the metal bin with a clang. "It's about power. I hate it and I think he does, too. None of it is real."

"How do you know?" Willow asked as they came up to the courtyard in front of Giles' house.

"Because it can't be until whatever's controlling us is gone," Buffy said. They walked up the front steps and knocked on his door.

Giles answered with a smile and ushered them inside.

"I have some good news and some better news," Giles said. Willow and Buffy followed him into the living room, which smelled lushly of curry and saffron. Xander looked up from setting the dining room table to give them a wave and a grin. Buffy went to stand beside Xander and put her hand on the chair back.

"So what's the good and better?" Willow asked.

Dav came in the room carrying a steaming tureen and when Giles saw her a teasing look sparkled in his eyes.

"Well first off, our Davinia has made the most incredible vegetable curry I've ever tasted," Giles said.

"He's kidding," Dav said as she set the food down on a potholder in the middle of the table. Giles put his hands on her shoulders and she looked up at his face.

"I most certainly am not and I lived in India for four months during the early nineteen eighties," Giles said, giving her a squeeze before letting her go. Xander looked irritated by the display of affection and grumbled nonsensically to the napkin he was trying to fold. Buffy caught the words British, geriatric and my Kool-Aid.

"Why didn't you ever tell me about when you lived in India for four months?" Buffy asked, feeling a stab of envy that resulted in a slight pout.

"It just never came up."

"You never had to debase the beef canoe?" Dav asked. Dav and Giles erupted into laughter at their private joke. Xander went into the kitchen, apparently too annoyed to be in the same room as them. Willow looked at Buffy and mouthed the words, "beef canoe?" Buffy shrugged, hands imploring the heavens, in response.

"Happily, no," Giles said, as he took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to get his chuckling under control,"but I genuinely have something important to tell all of you. I'm going to England to meet Ms. Avenolie in person. She's found some promising avenues of research on reversing the bond and I thought it best to join her."

"Score one for Buffy being in charge of her brain again," Buffy said.

Giles put his glasses on and Xander came back into the room carrying a basket of naan.

"I see the giggle twins have calmed down enough to divulge the life altering information," Xander said, setting the bread down with a spiteful thump. Giles looked at Dav, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Yes, well, I have a jar of homemade chutney in the basement a friend of mine sent from London that would be lovely with this. I'll be right back," Giles said, before departing. The moment the watcher was gone, Xander picked up his anger.

"Why do you have to be all cute girl with him?" Xander asked.

"I am not being any cuter than normal," Dav said, blushing as she began filling glasses with water.

"Willow, back me up, was Dav being charming with Giles just now?"

"Um, I'm opting out of this discussion on best friend grounds."

"That's not a real thing," Buffy said.

"It is now," Willow said as she dashed toward the basement. "Giles, do you need help?" Willow called before she thumped down the steps.

"Buffy?" Xander asked, glaring her way.

"I don't know. You did seem awfully chummy but on the other hand Giles is old," Buffy said, smoothing her skirt with the palm of one hand while adjusting one of the forks Xander had set down so it was perfectly centered on the bright, orange napkin.

"You think Giles is old? I thought your ex was a contemporary of George Washington," Dav said.

"Angel's a couple years older, actually, but I mean it's not like they hung out," Buffy said.

"So, you don't think Giles is too old for you?" Xander asked.

"Xan, can we not do this?" Dav asked.

"Dav's right—" Buffy said.

Xander just ignored her.

"I mean what would you do if I said Buffy looked incredible in that outfit?"

"I'd agree, you look super-pretty tonight, Buffy," Dav said, smiling at her.

"Thanks, I figured since I'll be dancing more than slaying I'd go for the hotness instead of the utility," Buffy said. She'd worn an ankle-length black, leather skirt and a sheer, red shirt over a tank top the same shade.

"Fine, bad example. What if I kept trying to get a spoonful of Willow's chutney?"

"Xander, do you know what chutney is?" Dav asked.

"Not really. Just answer the question," Xander said.

"Maybe you guys should go outside or something," Buffy said.

Xander crossed his arms over his chest and marched to the door. Dav maneuvered around the table and gave Buffy an apologetic look as she followed her boyfriend. Dav's long, purple dress billowed behind her. Giles and Willow returned from the basement shortly thereafter.

"Are they done?" Willow asked.

"They went outside so Xander could jump to a bunch of insane conclusions in relative privacy," Buffy said.

"I hope he stops this foolishness," Giles said, as he opened the jar of chutney. He left them momentarily to search his cupboards for a serving bowl.

"Maybe I should go outside and talk to Xander," Willow said, moving toward Giles' front door. Willow peeked out the bars on the pressed tin door and stopped short.

"They are totally making out on one of those benches," Willow said.

Giles returned, bearing a white, ceramic bowl dotted with blue flowers.

"What say we give them five minutes before we start dining without them?" Giles asked.

Willow looked out the square cut in the door again.

"Xander just went for third base, I think we should just eat."

"If I can stomach it with that image in my mind," Buffy said.

"Hey, that's mean," Willow said.

"It's mean that I don't want to watch my best friends doing each other?"

"Oh, right. Me either," Willow said, darting away from the door like a startled fish. Giles opened his mouth, shook his head, and then gave up trying to add anything more. Instead he took his glasses off and cleaned them on the hem of his t-shirt.

~*~*~*~

Spike sat on the orange counter in the Laundromat watching the dark blur of fabric and white suds mashing against the window of the washing machine. There was a time when cleaning everything would be a day long affair, but now in a couple hours all his clothes were washed. Downy freshness—yet another cheap miracle the world kept coughing up through the course of Spike's long existence. Only recently had he become blunted to the wonders of human ingenuity and Spike scolded himself for getting as numb inside as the great poof. Maybe it was the lack of human blood that had dulled him to his unlife or maybe it was just missing Drusilla. And he did miss her, desperately, despite the inconstancy of his dreams.

Spike dropped down from his perch and began to pace.

He was certain the du Lac book had something to do with Dru. Spike wished he saved the notes Dalton had made or better yet, Dalton himself. He needed a bloody translator, that's what he needed. There might be something on campus, perhaps he'd go to the library and look up the Latin Department, Spike thought. Universities still had Latin Departments, right? Then Spike paused abruptly in front of a cork bulletin board near the front of the Laundromat. Amid the bills posted for Oz's band, Dav's play and a missing sign for a small, black kitten was a red banner printed in baroque script.

The sign read: "Translations, spells and discreet forays into the Occult. Contact Andrew Wells." Beneath the words, Andrew Wells' phone number was written a dozen times on easy tear tabs fraying the bottom of the page. Spike ripped down the ad and stuffed it into his pocket, ignoring the pang in his gut warning to beware of the thing that he most wanted appearing at the moment he most wanted it.
End Notes:
The line about debasing the beef canoe was stolen from, "What's My Line, Part I."

Thanks so much for reading and feel free to let me know what you think.
Chapter 7 by Minx DeLovely
Author's Notes:
Thank you to Puddinhead and Sanityfair for their help on this chapter.
Previously:

The sign read: "Translations, spells and discreet forays into the Occult. Contact Andrew Wells." Beneath the words, Andrew Wells' phone number was written a dozen times on easy tear tabs fraying the bottom of the page. Spike ripped down the ad and stuffed it into his pocket, ignoring the pang in his gut warning to beware of the thing that he most wanted appearing at the moment he most wanted it.

~*~*~*~

The first week of school had been traumatizing for Buffy but not in the easy-to-deal-with guts and gore kind of way. She'd waited in line for two hours to get a hideous photo i.d., brained the adorable teaching assistant for her psych class which couldn't be good for her grades and gotten lost four times. One of her professors had actually screamed at her for talking out of turn and accused her of hoovering up all the energy in the room. It was a big auditorium, too, implying a huge amount of sucking on her part.

What was worse than feeling totally out of her depth was the sense that everybody else was finally finding their place.

Xander and Dav had made up. A lot. And publicly. In fact, Buffy couldn't get the visual picture of them making up out of her mind the entire time she was trying to take notes in her metaphysics class.When he wasn't working at the convenience store, Xander was with Dav or pitching in at the playhouse. One of the carpenters there was helping Xander become certified in woodworking so he could get in with the union. Xander said he'd finally found a job he really liked, something that produced a tangible result and didn't require him to wear a sandwich board on Tuesdays.

Buffy was happy for him, but she wished he was around more so she could bask in his reflected bliss. Xander didn't like to include Dav in patrols and by consequence, Buffy hardly ever saw him.

Willow, too, had pulled a disappearing act. Even though she and Willow were roommates, the redhead spent every night at Oz's place. If Buffy had her own boyfriend, the situation would have been worth it, but she had decided to put dating on hold until Giles got back from England with a spell to break the blood bond.

Despite her best efforts, though, the not-having-a-boyfriend part of her life was refusing to be ignored. Everything was making her miss Angel and she wasn't sure if it was because she wanted his company or because he was asserting tacit control over her. Talking to the cute guy with the caterpillar eyebrows in the lunch line made her want to call her ex and after seeing a random man with dark hair and a square jaw at the Bronze she spent half the night looking up fares to Los Angeles.

Being around Spike was the only thing that quelled her Angel-lust, but Spike had been avoiding her all week.

When Spike first ducked out of patrolling, she worried the vamp had set aside their partnership to get his nefarious deeds on. The next night when she asked him to come out and play, Spike had ground the toe of his boot into the dirt and jammed his hands deeply in his pockets.

"Can't bear to be alone with you during your monthly, kitten. It's the scent of the blood," Spike said, unable to look at her face.

It was funny that someone who'd taken down two slayers could be so coy about a little bit of blood.

They'd agreed to patrol separately until her cycle was over. The Spike embargo was up that evening and though Buffy no longer had the personal license to eat as much chocolate as she wanted, at least she could look forward to killing things with her vampire buddy again. Unfortunately, they'd be doing that on their own. Giles was oversees, Oz was a werewolf, Willow was watching Oz and Xander was meeting Dav's parents.

Buffy decided to stop off at the on-campus coffee shop before patrol. They sold a hot chocolate spiced with cayenne Spike loved and Buffy needed something caffienated to get her through the next few hours. On her way inside, Buffy saw her friend Eddie. Eddie Alvarez was the one bright spot in her otherwise crummy week. They'd met while being lost at the same time next each other. They had psych together and he'd introduced her to the works of Somerset Maugham. True, she and the works of Somerset Maugham hadn't really hit it off, but she and Eddie had.

Eddie ran a hand through his hair and then smiled at her.

"Just getting my espresso fix before I have to wrassle with the duality of man," Eddie said.

"Good thinking, especially since it's two against one, or maybe only one against one. Never mind," Buffy said.

They walked into the coffee shop and Buffy was surprised to see Spike sprawled out in a delicate cafe chair looking twitchy. He was sitting beside a boy with dyed, spikey blond hair who was gazing at Spike adoringly. As soon as they walked in, the vampire spotted Buffy. He sat up straight and crossed his legs. Then he seemed to remember he didn't ever cross his legs and let them splay.

"Friends of yours?" Eddie asked, sticking his thumb toward Spike.

"One of them kind of is, I should probably say hi," Buffy said.

Buffy walked over to their table and Eddie followed.

"Hello, love," Spike said.

"Buffy Summers, at last we meet," the boy beside Spike said, cocking his eyebrow and offering his hand, "I am Andrew Wells. Occult specialist and one who studies the Vampyr."

Buffy shook Andrew's hand and the young man winked at her knowingly.

"Um, this is Eddie he studies...we didn't really talk about that did we?" Buffy asked, glancing at Eddie. He smiled in response.

"Actually, I'm leaning toward history. Do you mind if we join you?" Eddie asked.

Spike kicked the chair out opposite him and it slid until Buffy caught it with the toe of her boot.

"Have a seat, kitten," Spike said, widening his eyes for a second so his long, dark lashes seemed to snap. Buffy gave him a sharp smile and her chin swayed from side to side.

"My pleasure," Buffy said.

Eddie eyed the two of them, the tension between Spike and Buffy registering to everyone at the table except Andrew.

"So how do you know each other," Buffy asked, looking at Andrew.

"We're travelers on a similar journey," Andrew said.

"What does that mean?" Buffy asked.

"I answered his ad," Spike said.

"What...like a personal ad?" Buffy asked, her eyes bulging as she said the word, personal.

"Um, I," Andrew stammered.

Spike smiled wickedly, his mouth twisting up on one side.

"Yeah, a personal ad. What of it?"

"Nothing, I guess," Buffy said.

She really had no idea what to say next, which was so not usual. Spike had thrown a spanner in her thought process and all she wanted to say was, "I thought you were in love with me."

Eddie smiled and looked sympathetically at Andrew.

"So, Andrew, what's your major?"

"C-computer programming," Andrew said, his expression contracting.

It took a moment before Buffy could get past her irrationally hurt feelings and become analytical again. Spike was like the distillation of sex, he was sex essence, so it made sense that he wouldn't be able to contain all that pulchritude to one gender. But Buffy was certain he would never need to answer a personal ad, not when he'd honed his ability to seduce people for more than a century.

Spike's eyes bored into Buffy's and she returned his glare measure for measure. It felt like their mutual intensity had largely insulated them from the other sounds in the room. Buffy noted distantly that Andrew and Eddie were still talking and knew she was being rude. Spike was the first to break their staring contest, glancing away from her in a deliberately casual way to smile at each of the boys.

"Does anybody want a drink? My treat," Spike said.

"You don't have to," Buffy said.

"I insist," Spike said, standing up, abruptly.

"Thanks, man, I'll have a double espresso," Eddie said.

"Decaf pumpkin latte with a shot of hazelnut and chocolate drizzle," Andrew said, looking at his hands.

"I'll help you carry. Cups can be, you know, heavy when filled," Buffy said, jumping to her feet as well. Spike turned around and walked to join the long line at the counter with Buffy at his heels.

Eddie leaned closer, his encouraging look drawing a shy smile from Andrew.

"How long have you and Spike been together."

"We're not...um, we're not together," Andrew said.

Eddie made a hmm, sound in the back of his throat.

"So, why don't you tell me a little more about yourself," Eddie said.

~*~*~*~

Buffy and Spike were inching forward in line. Spike refused to look at her, scanning the chalk board above the register instead. Buffy might have thought he was trying to decide what he'd like to drink, if he didn't get the same thing every time.

"Are you really with that kid?" Buffy asked.

"Are you seeing Fast Eddie over there?" Spike asked, his hands jammed resolutely in the pockets of his jeans.

"He so doesn't look like Paul Newman," Buffy said.

"Didn't think you'd get that one," Spike said, his chin nearly at his chest and a gentle smile briefly softening his features.

"My mom's a fan. Besides you know I'm not dating him just like I know you're not trying to form a love connection with Mr. Occult over there," Buffy said.

Spike shrugged.

"What's the matter with Andrew? I've had worse. Your ex comes to mind," Spike said.

"You...and Angel?" Buffy asked. Images of glistening, sweaty wrongness bombarded her brain and Buffy felt slightly swoony. She grabbed onto Spike's arm to steady herself and though he didn't grace her with a glance, he didn't pull away.

"What, he never mentioned the bisexual, inter-demonic species orgies when he was takin' you out for milkshakes and squiring you to the prom? Big shock there," Spike said.

His voice was just loud enough that the girls in front of them glanced over their shoulders.

"Stop being all distracting and tell me the truth. Are you feeding off of that boy?" Buffy asked in a rasping whisper. Spike's lip was poised in a snarl when he finally looked down at her.

"Thought you trusted me, Slayer?" he hissed.

"I did before you started lying to me," Buffy said, gripping his arm so hard it would probably bruise.

"Did ya? Then tell me when you knew that book I gave your watcher had a spell that could bring Dru back."

Buffy felt her gut lurch but thought she covered her panic well with a prim poker face.

"Spike—" Buffy said, when the ladies in line ahead finished and walked away. The cashier looked at them expectantly, her eyes scary-perky from oversampling her own wares. Spike nodded and Buffy relayed their order, trying to remember the intricacies of Andrew's drink preferences when all she really wanted to do was scream or hit something. Buffy had no idea what Spike was going to do with the new information about Dru, but she had a pretty good guess. After Buffy fumbled through her mental list with their cashier, Spike paid. Buffy tried to pitch in for her iced mocha but he shoved the money back into her hand. They drifted over to the other end of the counter to the spot where they could pick up their beverages.

"Are you telling me you didn't know?" Spike asked, quietly.

"I did. But I don't think we should talk about it here with all these people around, do you?"

"Plannin' on raising your voice?"

"A little bit."


~*~*~*~

Eddie's and Andrew's knees were bumping together as they talked. Andrew realized he really liked the feeling. When Spike threw out that cover story about being on a date he'd felt kind of violated, like somebody had read his dream journal out loud to a room full of people. It wasn't like Andrew was gay, but everybody kind of thought he was just automatically and sometimes he'd wonder what that was all about. Maybe because he wasn't that interested in girls, but most of them weren't that interesting. They didn't like Sci-fi or magic so it was more of a compatibility thing, Andrew thought. Girls that were into those things were cool to talk to but most of them just looked normal and then the really pretty ones usually had boyfriends. So again it was all about compatibility. Unless maybe it wasn't.

Eddie was looking at him with his dark, beautiful eyes, a sincere expression on his angular face and Andrew's heart felt like it was melting.

"Can I tell you a secret, Andrew?" Eddie asked.

It felt like they were two conspirators in a movie, maybe French Resistence fighters sitting beneath a single light bulb making plans amid the smokey haze of their cigarettes.

Andrew took a deep breath and nodded.

"Sure, I'm really good at keeping secrets."

"You've got to promise not to judge me and please, please don't laugh. I don't think I could take it if you laughed."

"I promise, you're safe with me."

"I feel that, I really do. It was almost like we had this instant connection."

"I did, too. Like I think we'd be totally compatible. As friends. Please tell me your secret."

Eddie bit his lower lip.

"Well, when I was growing up my parents were really religious. They didn't let me do a lot of stuff other kids got to do and there were some things I never even knew existed until I was much older. Anyway, it's something I don't tell a lot of people. I've never really told anyone but you, actually," Eddie said and then leaned in closer, "I have never seen the original 'Star Wars.'"

Andrew gasped and covered his mouth with both hands.

"But, how old are you?"

"I'm nineteen. I mean after I realized what it was, there were a lot of people who I could have watched it with, but I wanted to wait for someone really, really special, you know? 'Star Wars,' is this huge cultural force and it didn't seem right to watch it with just anyone. You seem like it's really important to you and I'd love it if my first time was with you."

"That's the most beautiful thing anyone's ever said to me," Andrew said, clutching his chest.

It took him a second to compose himself, but when he did, Andrew's voice was resolute.

"We'll go to my dorm as soon as they give us our drinks," Andrew said, then inching his chair closer, added, "I've got surround sound."

~*~*~*~

Buffy and Spike waited in silence until the coffees were done. They didn't even notice when Eddie came up behind them until he grabbed his espresso and Andrew's loaded pumpkin latte.

"Hey, Andrew and I are taking off, I hope you don't mind," Eddie said, more to Spike than to Buffy.

The muscle in Spike's jaw leaped before he pasted up a smile.

"S'alright, don't mind you cuttin' in Eddie," Spike said, before sweeping his gaze across Buffy's body, "I think my dance card's filled tonight, anyway."

Eddie smiled, then leaned in to give Buffy a hug and kiss goodbye on her cheek.

"Good luck with bi-curious," Eddie whispered against her ear.

Buffy looked up at Eddie and smirked, still beneath the shelter of his arm.

"He's way past bi-curious. More like bi-thoroughly explored," Buffy said, softly

Eddie laughed and then glanced at the door where Andrew stood. Andrew grinned and then did a little shimmy, mouthing the words, "Surround Sound."

"Have fun," Buffy said. Eddie said goodbye and joined the other boy, handing Andrew his drink. Andrew turned and gave them a short wave before the pair left.

"Bi-thoroughly explored?" Spike asked, his eyebrow peaked.

"How?"

"Vampire hearing. Let's go have that chat, shall we?"

~*~*~*~

Buffy and Spike had hunted through campus quickly. Most vamps had heard about Spike moving in and after the first week, they'd begun to avoid Sunnydale University. The whole area had been written off as a death zone and there were rumors the slayer and Spike were running some kind of extermination camp. Even still, they staked two newbies casing the freshman dorm.

On the way to Restfield Cemetery Buffy dusted three more vamps terrorizing a woman out walking her dog. Spike seemed irritated that she was hogging the kills but he didn't raise his complaints. They didn't really speak at all except for the basic, "Hey, toss me Mr. Pointy," type stuff until they were well within the privacy of the graveyard.

"So how long you been playin' me, slayer?" Spike asked, kicking a clot of dirt that exploded when it hit the back of a stone crucifix rising crookedly out of a nearby plot.

"I never played you, Spike. I had no other choice," Buffy said, concentrating on the uneven ground.

"You let me suffer all the while knowing I could get my girl back. Are you trying to say it's for my own good, not so the great git can continue to ruin your fucking life?" Spike asked, his hand clenching around his stake.

"It has nothing to do with Angel," Buffy said.

"Right," Spike said, cocking his head and drawing the word out. Buffy stopped, and as though on a tether, Spike did, too.

"I don't want to be your enemy again," Buffy said, clutching the stake to her chest, her arm curled tight.

"We wouldn't be enemies."

"The minute you take up your old habits I can't let you exist any more. Don't you get that?" Buffy asked, taking a step toward him.

"So you feel nothing for me then, that's it?" Spike asked, his hands on his hips.

"You know that's not true."

"I know no such thing, slayer. From here it looks like I'm just a convenience."

Buffy threw her head back and let out a short, forceful laugh.

"There's nothing easy about being near you or not near you. If I wanted convenient I would have staked you when you asked and never given you a second thought. I care about you."

"If you care about me so bloody much you'll let me have Drusilla."

"No, Dru is way, way too dangerous. She's almost ended the world twice since I've known her and you helped," Buffy said.

"Just the once, and it's not one of my shining moments, but that was before. I've changed."

"And she won't have. It would be cruel to try to keep her sane and I can't just let her be crazy," Buffy took another step, shrinking the distance between them even more.

"She comes back you're not harming a hair on her head," Spike said, getting into her space so their chests were bumped up to each other.

Buffy put the flat of her hand against his chest, the other not budging from the stake. Spike was panting, why the hell was he panting? Buffy couldn't stand the way he was looking at her, challenging her with his wounded eyes.

"You really want to leave me that bad, Spike?" Buffy asked, her voice catching in a completely involuntary way.

"Just want to be whole again," Spike said, pressing his forehead to Buffy's.

Being close to him was overwhelming and she could only concentrate on the present moment. She shut her eyes and parted her lips. Spike's hands coasted up her arms and trailed softly up her neck, until he was cupping Buffy's face. Then he pressed a kiss to her forehead and suddenly his touch was gone. Her eyes were still closed when Spike began walking again. She opened them, exhaled and then continued at his side.

They listened to their boots on the earth and the thrum of crickets; the susurrus of Spike's leather coat against his legs. Buffy moved closer to him to avoid a stone bench. Spike put his hand on the small of her back to steady her, but then left it there. She was wearing a pink, cashmere sweatercoat and by the way Spike was stroking it, he seemed to like the material. Several topics of conversation went through Buffy's head ranging from the sale where she'd picked up the sweater at half off to the vivid erotic dream she'd had about him when she'd fallen asleep in a nook at the library that afternoon. For some reason she thought saying, 'Hey, I dreamed I was getting it on with you on the hood of Principal Snyder's car during the St. Vigeous Day parade,' seemed insensitive. She looked askance toward him and smiled.

"So," Buffy said.

"So," Spike said. He tilted his head at her.

"We're probably not done with this, are we?"

"Not hardly, kitten," Spike said.

Buffy's head shot up in response to hearing a tussle in the distance.

"Sounds like trouble," Buffy said, sad that the realization was such a relief, "we need to get over there."

“Alright, Slayer. Let's go be heroes,” Spike said, casting a smile at her over his shoulder before breaking into a run.
End Notes:
The movie Spike is referencing with the Fast Eddie joke is called, "The Hustler." Paul Newman's character was called Fast Eddie.
Chapter 8 by Minx DeLovely
Author's Notes:
Thanks to Sanityfair for her awesome betaing skillz and to Puddinhead for letting me run this story by her.
Previously:

They looked away from each other, both dropping their eyes to the ground. Suddenly, Buffy's head shot up in response to hearing a tussle in the distance.

"Sounds like trouble," Buffy said, sad that the realization was such a relief.

"Alright then, love. Let's go be heroes," Spike said.

~*~*~*~

Spike watched her running through the obstacle course of marble headstones, gliding like an arrow. She was exquisite when driven by purpose, ceasing to be an individual and instead engendering her whole line. It wasn't Buffy's hand that drove the stake in again and again, it was the hand of the Slayer. Spike shook himself from his reverie as they neared the source of the commotion. Buffy looked to him and hunkered down, creeping along the corner of the crypt so they could approach undetected.

Within the heart of the graveyard a group of about thirty vamps was ringing a stone altar. The undead were kitted out in crimson, feathered headdresses reminiscent of Mayan costumes. There were three, young, blonde girls wearing long, white gowns cowering in chains beside a vamp standing before the ceremonial table. The leader raised a dagger with a foot of squiggly, silver blade that glowed blue in the light of the full moon.

"Looks like they're doing your classic virgin sacrifice," Spike said.

"Great. Killer clichés," Buffy mumbled.

"It is a bit camp, yeah, especially with them bein' dressed like one of those low rent Vegas shows that come with a free buffet," Spike said. Spike didn't add that there was a time in his unlife when he would've loved the kitsch value and had to get in line to tap an unspoiled vein. He was pretty sure Buffy would've been disgusted by that revelation.

"And how do they even know the girls are virgins, anyway?" Buffy asked, warming to the topic.

"Taste test. Virgins have an astringent finish."

"Ew," Buffy said.

Buffy turned to Spike, putting her hand on his back.

"I'll take the one dressed like Cher and free the girls. You kill the rest at will," Buffy said.

"Sounds good," Spike said.

Buffy was off, his sexy, little wrecking ball, plowing through two vamps who didn't even notice her as she made her way to the rescue. Spike tumbled after her, getting the undead who saw their compatriots dust before they could begin to attack Buffy. The Slayer cut a gray line right to the altar, felling vampires like blades of straw. Spike got caught up in his own battle, which was kicking up more feathers than a pillow fight.

Spike wasn't tiring, if anything, the violence was invigorating him. He loved the crunch and the smash of a brilliant brawl. He loved the victory. Combat was much simpler than puzzling out Buffy.

"SPIKE!"

Buffy's voice tore through all the screams of the crowd. He looked up and saw that Buffy had the chosen victims standing up on the table above the fray while she punched a vampire, then used his body as a club to defend the virgins.

More than half of the collected acolytes were dead and the rest, save for the bloke Spike was wailing on, were swarming Buffy. Spike staked the creature he'd been toying with and ran to Buffy's aide. In ten minutes, they dispatched them all. Buffy and Spike stood gasping surrounded by a cloud of dust, leaning back to back.

"God, that was...you were—"

"No kitten, that was all you. And you were bloody amazing—"

"Spike, you were so good—"

There was a polite cough above them. Spike looked up and saw the girls who'd narrowly escaped being human sacrifices illuminated in the silvery moonlight. Their white gowns were translucent, so fragile looking, like cherry blossoms scattered by the wind. The shortest one squatted down and extended her arms which were bound at the wrist.

"Hey, maybe you could cut these ropes so we could leave?" she asked.

Buffy hurried to them and grabbed the shortest girl's hands.

"Sorry, sorry, just basking in the afterglow. How'd you get here, anyway," Buffy asked as she slit the bonds and helped the young lady to the ground. The tallest girl went next.

"They offered to buy us beer," the tallest girl said, taking Spike's arm and jumping to the ground. She smiled at him and he detected the barest batting of eyelashes, which proved that some people never learned. He fanged out for a second and she yelped, then grabbed her friend's hand.

"Didn't they teach you anything in school? Don't drink, don't take gifts from strangers and definitely don't hang out with evil vampire cults," Buffy said. The last girl scooted to the edge of the platform.

"Yeah, I'll certainly keep that in mind," the last girl said as Buffy freed her.

The three virgins linked arms and began running across the cemetery toward the road.

"Thank you!" the shortest one shouted over her shoulder.

As Buffy and Spike watched them recede amid the monuments, their forms like stone angels come to life, he wondered if the girls would make it home alright given that they were traipsing on the Mouth of Hell. Spike turned to Buffy, the question on its way, when her eyes went wide.

"Werewolf," Buffy said, pointing behind him. Spike whipped around, seeing a furry beast with claws and fangs hunkered down before them as though preparing to strike. The creature leaped at them and Buffy tackled Spike. The beast's claws just missed the top of his head as they fell and rolled, stopping when they landed against the marble mausoleum. Buffy was lying on top of him when the werewolf turned around, digging up massive clumps of earth with its paws.

"Jesus, it's the bloody monster mash tonight," Spike said.

"I am starting to feel like Abbot to your Costello. I don't think that's Oz, but if it is be extra careful. We'll contain it in one of these crypts until morning," Buffy said, jumping to her feet and then offering Spike her hand.

"Alright, I'll herd, you find a corral," Spike said, letting Buffy help him up.

"You want me to call you cowboy, don't you?" Buffy asked with a brief slash of a grin.

The werewolf was barreling towards them, saving Spike from admitting that he did want her to call him cowboy. They were about to make a gambit, Buffy running left and Spike going right when the furry animal stopped in mid-leap, crackling with blue sparks. The werewolf fell down motionless with a loud thunk. Spike looked at Buffy, his eyebrow cocked. He was certain his expression was just as confused as hers. In the same instant, Buffy's face contorted with pain. Spike caught her as she fell and that's when he saw the black-garbed man standing behind her. Anyway, Spike figured it was probably a man seeing as he was standing on two legs and all, but his face was covered so there was no way of knowing for sure. The strange weapon in the attacker's hand looked like a giant ray gun. It must've been terribly powerful to take out a raging lycanthrope and he'd zapped Buffy with the thing. God knows how the blast scrambled her brain.

There were more of them dressed in black, stalking carefully around Spike and Buffy; the men's backs were bent and their guns were drawn. Spike knew he wouldn't be able to keep hold of Buffy and fight them off, but the second he set her down they could take her away.

"What's all this then?" Spike asked, softly, cradling the Slayer against him with one arm. She was so light, so terribly light.

One of the men made a hand gesture, like he was pulling the break on a subway car. Out of the corner of his eye, Spike saw another come up behind him. The vampire didn't hesitate. He kicked the stranger's leg, breaking it just below the knee. Spike scrambled around the prone form of the howling man, Buffy held tight to him. He didn't make it past the shadow of the mausoleum before his body was wracked with pain and he lost consciousness.

~*~*~*~

Buffy woke up on a hard floor. She could tell it would be too bright before she even opened her eyes because her lids had a red glow, like falling asleep outside on a sunny day. Except it wasn't a sunny day, not where she was. She was in a room that had rounded sides lined with silvery foil. The walls were smooth save for a rectangular door inset into the far right side. Buffy looked above her. The ceiling was massive and made of corrugated, white metal like an airplane hangar. At the mid-point of the room were spotlights spaced evenly along the top of the curved enclosure and she sensed movement behind the blaring lamps. She was in some sort of amphitheater without seats. Then a buzzer sounded near the door and a chute opened. A terse, feminine voice was amplified overhead as the door came down.

"Hostile Nineteen interacting with Hostile Fourteen."

Out tumbled a mud-covered vampire dressed in a filthy, brown suit. He came at Buffy fangs bared and she grabbed for the stake she always kept in her back waistband. It wasn't there. She reached for the one in her boot and took it out just in time to dust the vamp. No sooner had its remains landed than they were sending in another monster.

"Hostile Nineteen interacting with Hostile Number Five."

Buffy figured she must be Hostile Nineteen. The next comer was a blue demon that kind of looked like the creature from the Black Lagoon. Lucky for her, a stake to the heart did it for him, but he was a lot harder to subdue than the fledgling vamp. She wondered if that was intended as some sort of warm up. Each demon they sent out got progressively more difficult to kill. There were two older vampires, a monster in a black cloak with a face that looked like he used way too much self tanner and a creature with scales that reminded her of the much-despised potato chip cookies her grandmother used to make for Christmas.

They all had hearts, someplace, and Buffy was able to stake them, though each one sapped a little more of her strength. Buffy was tiring, not just physically but also growing weary of the scenario. She didn't like being out of control. Buffy figured with the formality someone was either taping the fights or betting on them or both. She'd heard of fighting rings being conducted with demons. Maybe that's what this was, some insane sport.

"Hostile Nineteen interacting with Hostile Eighteen."

The werewolf she and Spike had seen at the cemetery came bounding into the room. It scented on Buffy immediately. All Buffy had in way of defense was Mr. Pointy and the enormous creature was locking eyes with her. Looking at it in bright light, Buffy couldn't be sure the lycanthrope wasn't Oz. It was running at her, slavering with its teeth bared and one bite would change her forever or rip her apart.

But it was a person. It was a person when it wasn't overtaken by the dictates of its nature a human being like—

There wasn't any more time, the werewolf charged her with a guttural snort and Buffy rolled out of the way. When the beast tried to turn, it skidded. While the werewolf was attempting to gain footing, Buffy jumped onto its furry back. She plunged her stake through its ribs and pierced the monster's heart. The werewolf shrank as it careened to a halt and Buffy was thrown forward from her perch. Buffy landed on her shoulder, feeling the joint pop out of place. She stopped herself from careening across the floor with her other arm and curled up on her side, protecting the injury. Buffy found she was staring into the unblinking eyes of the girl she'd just killed.

The woman was on her stomach, naked save for being enrobed in her own blood. Her arms were spread out and so were her legs, her chin-length, blonde bob was matted to her head and her round, blue eyes were sightlessly bulging out of her head. Buffy gradually pushed herself up to a sitting position using one arm. Gingerly, she tugged her sweater coat off and then dragged it over the dead girl. Buffy knelt beside the corpse, holding her injured arm and tilting her face up.

"Are you done yet?" Buffy screamed out at the invisible onlookers.

Her question called up only an echo in the cavernous building. She scanned the balcony for some type of response on the other side of the blinding lights. There was silence for a long moment, allowing all the pain, all the weariness to descend on her. Buffy knew the next monster to come after her would be the last because she could not continue the struggle any more.

Without any forewarning, the portal opened and four men in identical, close fitting, black uniforms entered, approaching her tentatively. They looked like action figures come to life. Earlier in the evening if she'd seen the group of them out at the Bronze, Buffy would have thought they were attractive. At that moment, though, she only saw their guns.

Given her wounds and fatigue, Buffy knew she wouldn't be able to escape, but reasoned she could probably hurt at least one of them very badly. She glanced up from the strange weapons they carried to assess each of her captors. Buffy started back when she recognized the leader.

"Riley?" Buffy asked.

It was the cute teaching assistant she'd smacked with books on the first day of school. Now she wished the objects landing on his head were much, much heavier, like a few buildings. Riley had a round, boyish face with wide-set eyes. Those aspects, combined with a prominent jaw line, gave him a contradictory look. When she first saw him, Buffy thought he seemed wholesome and sweet with his sandy, blond hair flopping on his forehead, but in this light she saw the hard contours of his features. His mouth fell open as the man recognized her.

"You're Willow's friend," he said.

"Buffy," she said as her good arm snapped up, punching his face. The two other people beside Riley zapped Buffy and she blacked out.

~*~*~*~

"You didn't have to do that," Riley said, resting his gun at his side and pinching the wide bridge of his swollen nose.

Mitchell had the girl's arms and Graham had her feet.

Forrest gave Riley a smile.

"Come on, she's an animal. Besides, you're not supposed to engage with the hostiles," Forrest said, inclining his head to the door as an indication that the other men should begin carrying Buffy to the exit.

"She's a freshman who likes taking notes with shiny, purple ink. Also, she was injured," Riley said, following the other two soldiers. Forrest fell in line last.

"Still managed to take a swat at you," Graham said with a smirk.

"Right, and I'm sure you're going to let me live it down," Riley said.

They made their way out into the corridor, lugging Buffy. Riley looked at her face, so delicate and pretty, having trouble reconciling the ninety pound klutz with the woman he'd seen take out half a dozen monsters using nothing but a piece of sharpened wood. He hadn't been on the mission that had retrieved Buffy and the other hostiles that night. It had been a rare evening off and Riley had used the time to catch up with his parents on the phone before turning in early.

Apparently, he'd missed an event.

According to Forrest, prior to capture the girl had taken out nineteen vampires. A feat like that was peculiar to the point of maddening. She seemed human but she couldn't possibly be, not with that sort of strength. In addition to her own powers, the woman was cooperating with a vampire who seemed to have turned on his own kind. Graham said they saved a trio of girls who were picked up and judged to be uncontaminated after quarantine. Before their memory wipe, the civilians' exit interviews reinforced what the team had witnessed.

The vampire she'd been captured alongside was another disquieting case. He'd regained consciousness several hours before and would have taken Mitchell's head off if it hadn't been behind a field of electricity and three-inch thick Plexiglass. All the while the hostile was screaming for his girl, claiming he could smell her on Mitchell's clothes. It was curious and unsettling. Riley wanted to talk to the prisoners, try to figure it out what was going on, but that wasn't his place. He was just a soldier at this stage in his life, not the boss like Professor Walsh or Dr. Oliver.

Professor Walsh had been intrigued by Buffy's combat skills while Dr. Oliver wanted to see her interacting with the vampire. Riley was more inclined to agree with Dr. Oliver. They already had video of her fighting, they knew what Buffy could do. The relationship with the undead, though, that was an unknown quantity. Riley reserved judgment, given that Maggie was his mentor, his superior and the one who'd already agreed to give him a letter of recommendation guaranteeing him a spot in Harvard's psychology program next fall. Aside from his self-interest, Riley admired Maggie; she'd taken him under her wing when he was a lost and lonely undergrad. Maggie had been the one who'd convinced him to go into the military in the first place. He owed her everything.

"Hey, where we dumpin' this bitch?" Forrest asked, bringing Riley out of his thoughts.

"Respect, private," Riley said. Forrest was his friend, but he could be sort of crass sometimes. Forrest rolled his dark, brown eyes.

"Fine, where are we placing Hostile Nineteen?"

They were passing by rows of hostiles in their glass cells so reminiscent of aquariums. The demons perked up as they walked by, probably because of the blood on the girl's clothes.

"There's only one room with a toilet. It's adjacent to the cell where Doctor Oliver had you put Seventeen," Riley said.

Mitchell shifted Buffy's weight from arm to arm.

"So it's gonna be like 'Three's Company,' with monsters?" Mitchell asked.

"I only count two, did you want to get in there, too, Mitch?" Graham asked, annoyed that he was bearing most of the load between them.

"He wants to be Chrissie!" Forrest said with laughter, piling onto poor Mitchell who was erubescent up to the roots of his red hair.

"I just meant because of the adjoining rooms, you know what I meant, Finn."

Riley was looking at Buffy, thinking he should ask Doctor Oliver to take a look at her arm.

"All right you two, lay off. I've never caught Mitchell in the middle of a suck and stake, which is something I can't say for either of you," Riley said.

Graham and Forrest became silent. Riley had found them taking turns with a female vampire, letting themselves be bitten before dusting the creature. It had made Riley a little sick that the girl was chained up and helpless. He wasn't sure what else they'd had her do in an effort to be set free and wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"No one touches Nineteen without authorization, is that clear?" Riley asked, as they came close to Buffy's designated containment unit.

The men all nodded yes.

"We're clear," Forrest said.

They passed Hostile Seventeen, who was pacing like a penned jungle cat. When the vampire saw her, he stopped and his eyes went soft, like they'd melt into tears.

"Bloody right you're not gonna touch her," the vampire said.

Riley slapped the glass like he was taunting a puppy in the pet store window.

"We don't respond to threats from hostiles," Riley said.

The vampire cocked his head and then brushed his palm over the brown stubble on top of his head.

"Really, because that sounds like a response right there."

"Keep talking and we'll finish you," Riley said.

"Try it, soldier boy," Spike said, getting closer to the glass and glaring up at Riley.

"Why are you talking to that thing, Riley?" Graham asked, as he slid a white card through the silver scanner to unlock Nineteen's prison.

The door opened and the men carrying Buffy walked inside. Riley gave Seventeen one last look before following the others. They were dropping Buffy on the bunk in the corner. Riley resisted the urge to cover her with the white blanket bunched at the foot of the bed.

"Something about that guy really bugs me," Riley said shrugging the strap of his stun gun closer as though preparing to shoot.

They walked out of the cubicle and Riley glanced at the silver sliding door segmenting the two white rooms. He knew it could only be opened from a control panel in one of the other rooms where Dr. Oliver was watching on a closed circuit camera. Still, Riley shuddered knowing Hostile Seventeen wasn't going to be chipped. It wasn't so much that he was afraid of a single vampire subsisting on drugged pig's blood. It was more the way Seventeen called Buffy his girl. Riley didn't like the idea of her alone with the vampire, despite her strength and their alliance.

Riley and the other men saw the capsule close automatically behind them. They were nearly to the exit when Riley heard the door keeping Hostile Seventeen from Buffy slide away. He ignored the urge to run back and make sure the diminutive blonde was safe.

~*~*~*~

Spike knelt by the cot and brushed his fingers against Buffy's face. There was blood on her, most belonging to other creatures, but beneath the clothes he knew there were scrapes and bruises.

Before he could fathom what was going on, Spike's attention was drawn to the exit by a buzzer. On the other side of the clear partition stood a man in a white lab coat flanked by two commandos Spike recognized as being called Mitchell and Riley. Mitchell was runty, probably got picked on a lot when he was younger so compensated by working out. Riley was a behemoth and looked suspiciously German. The bloke in the medical trappings looked twice the age of the men with him, but still able-bodied enough to operate in a fight. He had a weak chin that withered into his neck, thin cheeks that hung from high, round cheekbones and straight, gray hair heaped on his head. On either side of his beakish nose were flat, brown eyes.

The three of them had a gurney, which Spike didn't like the looks of at all. The lab coat wearer had one hand in his pocket, the other carried a black, leather bag. The door beside Buffy's cot opened and the older man spoke into a stippled circle cut into the glass wall.

"Step into your own room or I won't attend to the young woman's arm."

His voice was deep and sonorous. It reminded Spike of molasses fermenting into rum.

"If I stay?" Spike asked.

"We'll let you take your chances. If she's dislocated her shoulder do you think you can snap it back into place without severing her axillary artery? Should a break have occurred would you be able to properly set it?" the man asked, primly.

Spike didn't want to concede defeat, but there seemed to be no other way to help Buffy than to let them take her again. He gave the Slayer one last look, kissed her forehead then went back into his room. A second later the door closed. Spike could hear the men enter on the other side.

"It's squared off. I can manipulate it back into the socket, but we'll need X-Rays. Mr. Finn, hold her still."

Spike heard boots shuffling on the ground.

"Like this Dr. Oliver?"

"Yes, son."

There was a soft pop and Buffy moaned. Spike punched the white wall, accomplishing nothing but splitting open his own knuckles and smearing red blood against the sterile-looking surface.

"What is that?" Riley asked.

"Mild opiate, it will help her deal with the pain and make her docile should she rally. I watched what she did to that werewolf and I'm not eager for Nineteen to perceive me as a threat," the doctor said.

Soon Spike heard things shifting as they carried her off. Spike began pacing, wondering if it wouldn't have been better to stay by her side.

He was uncertain how long he waited in that blank space, long enough to imagine every disaster that could have befallen Buffy several times over. When they finally returned to her cell, Spike could smell her through the perforations in the glass. It was a huge relief, one dwarfed by the comfort of being able to see her again once the door separating them was opened.

Spike took her hand, resuming his kneeling position at her bedside like a knight attending his lady.A few minutes before he'd been certain she was dead and yet he was touching her. He kissed the curve of her fingers, grateful Buffy was still unconscious so she wouldn't see the tears rolling down his face.
Chapter 9 by Minx DeLovely
Author's Notes:
Thanks to the lovely Sanityfair.
Spike took her hand, resuming his kneeling position at her bedside like a knight attending his lady.A few minutes before he'd been certain she was dead and yet he was touching her. He kissed the curve of her fingers, grateful Buffy was still unconscious so she wouldn't see the tears rolling down his face.

~*~*~*~

Spike had been watching over the slayer since she was returned to him. Buffy's eyes were open, but she hadn't said anything in a long time. He hated the Slayer in silence; it didn't seem right for her to be bereft of a quip and one of those vicious, Summers smiles that made him burn. Instead she was gazing at him with big, empty eyes made of sugar glass, all sweet and ready to shatter.

He squeezed her hand and the corners of her pale, dry lips ticked up for a moment, then her eyes found his. Spike was grateful for the flicker of recognition from her. He grinned at Buffy, elaborating on her slight gesture with a smile that encompassed his entire face.

"Back among the living...well, close enough, anyway. How you holding up, Slayer?"

"Hurts," she croaked.

He moved closer, realizing his legs had cramped from being in the same awkward position for however long it had been.

"Where does it hurt, love?"

"Everywhere."

"There's water here, could get you some."

"Water of the good."

Spike uncoiled from the floor and then went to the sink. There was a stack of paper cups by the faucet, and he plucked one from the top, filling it for her. Spike brought her the water and helped her sit up. She drank slowly, leaning on him to stay upright.

"I saw them leading in a couple Fjarl demons who were mumbling about you. They think we're the ones who set this place up," Spike said.

She choked and Spike set the cup on the floor, then patted her back. Buffy clung to his arms after she stopped coughing.

"Right, like I could build a gulag. I haven't even started the reading this week for Introduction to the Modern Novel."

"I'm sure if you got the right funding you could," Spike said.

"Thanks, I guess."

"Since it's not us, who do you think's doing this?"

"One of the guards here is a teaching assistant in my introductory psych class, so I'm guessing we're near campus," Buffy said.

"Explains why the demon community has been avoiding Sunnydale U like the plague. So what do you think's the point?" Spike asked.

"I don't know. Maybe they want to test cosmetics without pissing off those PETA people," Buffy said.

"If I wake up wearing liquid liner we'll know you're right."

Spike was grateful for her attempt at sardonic humor, though it hardly lightened the shadows gathering around her eyes. Buffy looked at him and lifted her hand to his face, touching along his cheek. Spike winced at the pressure. He hadn't even noticed there was a bruise there, the pain was a distant second to his concern for her.

"Did they hurt you, Spike?"

"No, at least, not bad. What about you, Slayer?"

Aside from her injuries, Spike had noticed her coat was missing, leaving her in a skimpy, pink tank top and some badly ripped jeans. The thought of these strange men taking off her clothes kindled a rage within him that spread from his gut out to the ends of his hair. The way Buffy looked at the wall, her fingers pressing into Spike's arm so hard the pads were turning white, did nothing to reassure him.

"They did some kind of experiment with me. Someone kept sending in different demons to see if I could fight them. They called me Hostile Nineteen, so I'm guessing that number has to do with the order we were captured in. They sent the girl in, too, the werewolf we were trying to save. I had to...I had to kill her, too," Buffy said, refusing to meet his eyes.

"You didn't have a choice, love."

Buffy blinked back her tears and finally looked at him. She rubbed her thumb against his lower lip and the friction made the thin skin tingle.

"I did have a choice. I picked me."

"Anybody would have done the same."

"No. Willow wouldn't and neither would Xander. I'm supposed to be the chosen one, but they're so much better than me when it comes to doing the right thing. I pick me an awful lot and when I do, somebody else usually has to pay the price."

Spike gave her a gentle shake.

"Not true and you know it, Slayer."

"Isn't it? I killed that girl, I let Miss Calendar die, I almost murdered Faith to save Angel."

"Who's Faith?"

"The other Slayer. She went bananas and went on a little killing spree, then she infected Angel with the Interfector Mortis. I was going to feed her to him but she escaped. Now she's laying in a coma over at Sunnydale Memorial because of me. You've got a better moral compass you're a mass murderer, Spike."

"You listen to me. You are my conscience, Slayer. Even after everything you can still mourn the death of the creature who was set to rip your heart out. That's goodness, that's purity of spirit. You've screwed up, royal, but you never stop trying. You're my hero, Buffy."

Buffy crushed Spike in a sneak-attack hug.

"Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you right now," Buffy said.

Her words took some of the warmth out of his warm and fuzzy.

"Funny that, them leaving the pair of us. Even drugged and restrained they've got to know we're stronger together," Spike said.

Buffy withdrew from the embrace, her expression thoughtful and her hands regrettably in her lap.

"They might be trying to play us off each other."

"To what end?"

"Seeing as I'm not an evil commando guy, I have no idea, but if you see a chance to escape, take it, Spike."

"No, like you said, we're stronger together."

"But you can get help."

"Unless they move you. You're more valuable than me, don't think they'd risk you for anything. Besides, I've been in tighter spots than this. These piddling little upstarts have nothing on the Nazis."

Her contemplation of him nearly brought a smile to her lips.

"Sometimes I forget how old you are," Buffy said, her voice soft and full of awe."Let's put this in the column of things we'll argue about later. I'm seriously tired."

Spike could see she wanted something she could never ask for, something he desperately wanted to give. She held his look for a long time before she spoke.

"So tell me how you beat the Nazis," Buffy said, pulling the white blanket around her .

"Well, I recovered the Ark of the Covenant, melted their faces off and got the girl," Spike said.

"Wow, somebody should totally make that into a movie," Buffy said.

~*~*~*~

On his bank of screens, Lloyd Oliver watched the vampire and the creature who appeared to be a young woman talking together. The girl made a joke and the boy on the screen laughed, causing Dr. Oliver to smile in turn. He heard Maggie Walsh sweep into the darkened room, pen clicking against her clipboard.

"Your interest in those two is bordering on prurient," Maggie said, squeaking past him to get to one of the gray filing cabinets lining the wall. She smelled like the cloying, pink hand sanitizer hanging near every doorway in the complex.

"For a psychologist, you have always had a shocking disinterest in human beings and their behavior," Lloyd said.

Maggie rattled open the metal file cabinet, treating him to the view of her stiffly styled blonde hair.

"Those aren't human beings," she said, sticking her folder in and slamming the drawer shut.

"One of them used to be and the other most likely is. I'll know for certain after her bloodwork comes back," Lloyd said. He turned to face Maggie. Her arms were already folded across her chest and she was smiling at him. It was an expression devoid of warmth, merely a mechanical exercise executed to get her point across.

"You were right there with me watching her fight. There's no way she's a regular girl."

"Being extraordinary doesn't preclude her from humanity. She's simply attained what you're trying to accomplish with your boys."

Maggie's smile dropped away, the creases in her face calcifying into a grim frown.

"What are you talking about?"

Lloyd moved closer to her, speaking in hushed tones.

"I know about the enhancement regimen, the drugs. You're not authorized for human trials, Maggie," Lloyd said.

Maggie's thin lips were going thinner.

"My soldiers all signed waivers, they're property of the U.S. Government. We won't assume any liability if they get sick."

"When they get sick. Have you taken a look at Finn's echocardiogram? You don't think the U.S. Government won't be upset that you're destroying their valuable commodities? These boys are not grunts who barely scraped through high school. They're all on track to be officers, the cream of the crop. Mitchell's father is a senator, don't you think that will bite you in the ass? I'm coming to you as a friend," Dr. Oliver said.

"I don't believe for an instant you have my best interests at heart."

"Fine, but you've got to know the only reason I'm here is because General Lancaster has a soft spot for you and wants me to help with damage control before the brass comes down on this whole project. You really think you'll be able to justify kidnapping a cute, blonde co-ed no matter how strong she is? And what about the money, Mags? There's a quarter of a million dollars that's still not accounted for."

"My results will be worth the cost," Professor Walsh said.

"I hope they are. For your sake and my own. We're civilians and they won't think twice about throwing us to the wolves," Dr. Oliver said.

"Are we done here?"

"We are, Maggie."

Professor Walsh walked out of the room, her white lab coat swirling mercurially around her. She stopped in the doorway without turning to look at Dr. Oliver.

"We aren't friends anymore. Refer to me as Professor Walsh."

She resumed her tread, leaving him behind. Dr. Oliver's attention lingered on the empty hallway a moment, the tips of his fingers resting on the black consul desk. He returned his focus to the bank of screens. The other hostiles were pacing, screaming or passed out but Nineteen and Seventeen were still conversing peacefully. Buffy and Spike. He sat down at his desk and turned on his computer to continue researching Buffy. After an hour, he'd mostly caught up on her escapades throughout high school when Dr. Oliver noticed Maggie and four of her soldiers were approaching Buffy's prison. They were pushing a gurney and they were heavily armed. Dr. Oliver jumped up, leaving his office chair spinning.

~*~*~*~

Spike was asleep beside her cot, his head resting against the wall. He was so still in repose she almost wanted to wake him because his lack of presence made her feel so terribly alone. As if reading her mind, Spike snorted and stirred. She stroked his hair, taking comfort from the feel of him being alive-ish and awake. His eyes remained closed, his long, dark eyelashes dusting the severe incline of his cheek. Spike sighed and his nostrils flared. Buffy realized that she found the softness of his nose in contrast with the harder lines of his face incredibly endearing.

Then she felt foolish for thinking such a thing about her vampire.

"Nodded off there," Spike said, looking at her.

"It's not like there's much else to do but sleep," Buffy said.

"Right," he said, a lurid smile tickling up the edges of his mouth, "there are other things could maybe take up a few hours."

She gulped. Time to play dumb.

"I don't think I'm up for anything more strenuous than a cat nap and maybe some light sipping."

He cocked his head.

"Still feeling poorly?" he asked.

Before she could answer, Buffy saw a cluster of guards collecting in front of their cell, among them her psychology professor. If she ever got out, Buffy resolved to drop that class. Professor Walsh spoke into the circle of holes in the door. The divider in the wall segmenting Buffy's cell from Spike's opened.

"Hostile Seventeen, exit the enclosure," Professor Walsh said.

"Piss off," Spike said.

"We'll seal up your quarters and cut off the oxygen if you don't comply," Professor Walsh said.

"You're bluffing," Spike said.

"Try me," Walsh said.

Buffy looked at Spike and shook her head, hoping he'd understand.

"Go," Buffy said.

Spike searched her eyes and then nodded yes. He stood and then disappeared through the portal. The silver door slid shut after him.

"Stand up and come to the entrance, Miss Summers," Walsh said.

Buffy dragged herself to her feet, holding her arm rigidly at her side. She swayed slightly as she approached her captors. Professor Walsh was holding a syringe and Riley was at the teacher's side with a gun. There were three others, all about the same, hulking size as the teaching assistant and similarly armed. One of the men used a key card and the glass receded. Riley reached for Buffy's wrists.

Before he could make contact, Buffy had already grabbed Professor Walsh around the neck and jabbed the needle into Riley's arm.

"Ow, what the hell?" Riley asked.

Buffy headbutted Riley and shoved him, sending the tall blond colliding with the person standing behind him. Both men clattered to the floor. The sound reverberated throughout the complex, inciting the captive demons into a frenzy of whooping and shrieking.

Buffy backed out into the corridor, her injured arm (which was feeling a whole heck of a lot better) clamped around Professor Walsh's throat. Buffy made eye contact with the Captain America clone who had a key card attached to his belt. He went sallow beneath his tan.

"Unlock Spike's cell or I kill her," Buffy said.

"What?" he asked. The name embroidered on his jacket said Private Graham Miller.

"Hostile Seventeen. Set him free or Miss Minchin here intimidates her last student," Buffy said, tightening her hold to make Maggie jump.

The bald, coffee-colored man Riley had knocked over had regained his footing and was glaring at Buffy with murderous intent. His jacket labeled him Forrest Gates. A fourth fellow with red hair and stark freckles on his ghostly pale skin was kneeling over Riley. The man with the key card, Graham, looked swiftly from Buffy to Professor Walsh.

"Do it, soldier," Walsh said.

Graham was reaching for the white, plastic rectangle attached to the retractable lanyard on his hip when Buffy heard Spike shouting at her.

"Behind you!!!!!"

Buffy jerked her head in time to see two more soldiers rushing toward her. She grabbed the gun barrel of the nearest commando and shoved it back, smacking her would-be attacker hard enough to break his nose. When he went to clutch his bloodied face, Buffy snatched the weapon. She aimed it at the hesitant Graham.

"Unlock the fucking door," Buffy said, her voice nearly spilling over into a scream.

With a swick and a beep, Spike was free. She tossed her vampire the gun and the fellow named Forrest took a step closer to them. Spike shot him with the weapon, producing a blue rope of electricity. The blast planted the soldier on the ground where he lay twitching in a spreading pool of his own urine. Buffy shook her head

"You didn't have to shoot that guy," Buffy said.

"Yeah, but it was fun, besides the wanker deserved it," Spike said with a laugh as he and Buffy took off through the artery of the building. Buffy was dragging Maggie sideways and looking ahead while Spike covered the remaining soldiers who were following them. As they reached the end of the hallway, Maggie stumbled, nearly taking Buffy down with her. Buffy righted herself and her hostage, while Spike went on ahead.

When she heard the crackle and saw the sparks out of the corner of her eye, Buffy's stomach flopped. Beyond the mouth of the corridor stood an older man wearing a lab coat. Spike was unconscious at his feet. The person in the lab coat also had a gun with a wooden bayonet pointed at Spike's heart and was bracing his foot on her vampire's rib cage.

"Give me Professor Walsh, or I kill your friend, Buffy."

Buffy stopped dead. She shifted and Maggie whimpered.

"How about this. You give me Spike and I don't kill you and Professor Walsh."

"You don't want to kill me or Maggie. More to that, you won't. I saw your face after you bested that werewolf, the way you covered her up. There's no way you'll strangle an unarmed woman. Besides, he's not waking up for at least a half hour. You think you can carry out a hundred sixty-three pounds of dead weight?"

"You weighed him? Did you weigh me? No, don't answer that. I can wait until he's bright-eyed and bushy tailed."

"There'll be a whole infantry in here by that time."

"Then I'll fight them, too."

"You're quite the fighter, aren't you Buffy? You're lucky you have such advocates in Mr. Giles and your mother. They seem to have intervened on your behalf several times in the past. Without them it seems unlikely you would have graduated from High School at all. Don't think they'll help this time, though. Perhaps I should have someone fetch them, Buffy, or your roommate, Willow? That's a strong friendship, isn't it? She's protected you, too, when you were accused of attacking her. All these people you care for as much as you do Spike, in some cases more, I'm sure. Do you think you'll be able to get to them before I do?"

The tears that she'd been holding in were pressing on the back of Buffy's eyes. She felt like she couldn't breathe. This psycho had just threatened her mom, her watcher and her best friend so casually. Demons never seemed to do stuff like that, unless they were Angelus. The man before her had a kind, ordinary face, but she couldn't be certain he wasn't capable of that kind of cruelty. She couldn't be sure of anything.

"You don't touch any of them and you get your tacky, Payless Express shoe off of my friend's chest. Now kneel down and pick up Spike. If you care so much about the professor here, you can be my hostage," Buffy said.

"You're serious?" he asked, a half smile cinching up his cheek.

"Deadly," Buffy said.

The man dropped his weapon and knelt down. He scooped up Spike smoothly and hoisted him over his shoulder.

"Let Maggie go," he said.

Buffy released Maggie's throat and shoved the older woman from the shelter of the corridor. Professor Walsh took a few unsteady steps into a wider atrium. Buffy could see soldiers positioned around the floor and the tantalizing prospect of the elevators on the far wall. She snatched the discarded gun from the ground and then put it to the man's back.

"Move," Buffy said.

They stepped out into the open room, which was just as white as everything else. She wondered if their decorator was the set designer for "2001." As she reminded herself to tell Spike that joke when they were all safe, Buffy felt a sharp sting in the back of her neck, followed by another and another. She lost control of her legs and spilled to the floor like a chain. Buffy saw the sniper perched on a balcony above the exit.

"I told you not to put them in the same room," Walsh said.

"Duly noted."

"Be careful not to damage it," Walsh said.

Buffy didn't know if the it the professor was referring to was her or Spike. She had very little time to consider things before inexorable darkness took her under.
End Notes:
Please leave a comment. I'd like to hear what you think of this turn in the plot.
Chapter 10 by Minx DeLovely
Author's Notes:
Thank you to the lovely Sanityfair.
Previously:

"Be careful not to damage it," Walsh said.

Buffy didn't know if the it the professor was referring to was her or Spike. She had very little time to consider things before inexorable darkness took her under.

~*~*~*~

Riley stopped dead when he saw her. Hostile Nineteen was unconscious, face down and shackled to a gurney in the sick bay. Buffy's eyes were taped shut and her hair had been cut to within an inch of her head. On her bare back was drawn a grid in black ink and in each square was a puncture wound pooling with blood. Buffy was naked save for a paper sheet draped over her bottom half. The worst part of seeing the girl like that was the enthusiastic way Professor Walsh was measuring the holes and photographing them. He forced down his revulsion and stepped into the room.

"What took you so long, Agent Finn?" Professor Walsh asked from behind her camera. There was a bright flash that was amplified by the silvery white room. Dark spots drifted before Riley's eyes from the after image.

"It took longer to contain the hostile than we'd initially anticipated because it had engaged with a civilian outside the Bronze."

Professor Walsh probed one of the wounds with a slim glass rod and Buffy whimpered. Riley's eye twitched, and his breath caught in his throat.

"Were you seen?" Professor Walsh asked, snapping another picture of the bloodied dowel.

"Um, no. The girl's, the civilian's boyfriend repelled the vampire before contamination could occur. The hostile is scheduled to be chipped this morning," Riley said. He noticed Buffy was hooked up to a catheter bag and an I.V. Drip, both half full. He wondered how long she'd been subjected to the professor's scrutiny.

"Good work. Are you finished grading those papers, soldier?" Professor Walsh asked with a smile, as she set down the camera and picked up a scalpel.

"Yes, ma'am. Permission to speak freely?"

"Granted."

"What are you working on?"

Professor Walsh's eyes lit up and she beckoned him over with her index finger. Riley overcame his reluctance and joined her.

"You remember the disaster which occurred when we tried to retrieve the hostile? Doctor Oliver had assumed her injuries would make her easy to contain. However, his mistake led me to an interesting discovery. She has advanced healing capabilities. I'm measuring her recovery speed," Professor Walsh said.

"Um, what's the purpose?"

She looked at him quizzically.

"To know."

"Where's the hostile who was captured with her?" Riley asked, staring as Buffy's flesh healed before his eyes.

The professor rolled her eyes.

"Doctor Oliver is interviewing him, God knows what he hopes to learn, but you know sociologists."

Riley really didn't know, but he smiled politely at his mentor as though he understood and excused himself.

~*~*~*~

There was a clock behind the good doctor's head, so Spike knew they had been sitting in silence for a half hour. They were in another white room, devoid of decoration save two silver chairs and a desk. Dr. Oliver said he could smoke, but Spike's hands were bound. The pack lay on the metal table between them like a stripper behind a peepshow booth. Spike wasn't sure if the offer was meant to insult him or if Lloyd Oliver was a sadist.

"You know I would kill you for a cigarette right now, but I'm not going to roll over and be your bitch for one."

Dr. Oliver had been drawing a very shapely, nude woman sprawled in the margin of his yellow legal pad.

"Just tell me what she is, Spike," Oliver said, not looking up from his obscene doodle. They were the first words the doctor had spoken since he'd mentioned the cigarettes.

"Sod off."

"You're in no position to bargain," Oliver said, giving his pencil drawing a baroque set of tits.

"Not intending to."

"Whereas I have something you want quite desperately," Oliver said, grinding the lead in circles to scratch out the hard, little nipples.

"The only thing I want right now is to feed you your own entrails."

"We both know that's not true," Oliver said. He put down his pencil and reached into the pocket of his lab coat, producing a mechanical gadget. It looked like a tablet with a television screen for paper. Oliver touched the glass surface and it came to life, then he turned the device so Spike could see the show.

What Spike saw made his eyes wet and caused a tiny, anguished cry to escape his throat.

It was Buffy, strapped down and asleep with her back a mass of blood, like someone had stepped on her with football cleats.

"What are you doing to her?" Spike asked, his voice rough.

"Professor Walsh is trying to figure out how quickly the young lady can recover. She has other tests in mind, more invasive and equally pointless. If you can give me some of that information perhaps it could help Buffy."

Spike tilted his head and looked at the Slayer, his lower lip trembling.

"Why did she cut off her hair?" Spike asked, his fingers swirling impotently.

"I believe Maggie said it was getting in her way. I can intervene on Buffy's behalf. I can make this stop and put her in the cell beside yours again if you answer some of my questions."

Spike dragged his eyes from Buffy and looked at Oliver, all the warmth in his gaze ebbing swiftly away.

"I'm going to kill you."

Dr. Oliver smiled.

"We have technology that will make it so you can't pick flowers without feeling debilitating pain. You can't lay a hand on me unless I wanted you to. When you make threats like that it just makes me sad for you, Spike. You and Buffy."

"Thanks mate, I can feel the love. I really think we've made a breakthrough."

The doctor's pencil was grinding against the paper again.

"I've only been on this project for about a month, and it's come to light that some of the soldiers have been using the hostiles for untoward purposes. We have cameras in every room but no one seems to know who's doing it."

"Wouldn't be too hard for you to set something like that up, too, would it? Something untoward?" Spike asked, glancing down at the picture and realizing the naked woman's face resembled Buffy's.

"All I'd need to do is allow it to happen," Oliver said, putting the finishing touches on the Buffy doodle by drawing in waist-length hair.

Doctor Oliver smiled at Spike as though he could actually hear the vampire's resolve snapping.

"What is Buffy?" Dr. Oliver asked.

"You know what she is, you've seen it."

"She's the Slayer."

"And you win the prize."

"What's a Slayer?"

Spike's mouth suddenly went dry recalling when he'd asked that same question himself. Angelus had throttled him for being too much the animal and too eager to fight. If only old Peaches could see him now. Spike would beg for Buffy; he'd scrape, and he'd bow to save the Slayer. He'd roll over and be Lloyd Oliver's bitch.

"A Slayer is powerful, good. Buffy. She fights the demons and saves the world. You, me, everything on this planet owe their existence to that girl several times over and you want to what? Count the midi-chlorians in her blood? Vivisect her? Let your soldiers use her for a whore?"

"I don't want to hurt her, I want to understand. Who chose her for this undertaking, how was she imbued with such strength?"

"Fate. Magic. Even though you lot deal in it every day, I don't see you putting much stock in the mystical. You think you can cut it out of her. Buffy's power is her own, you can't bottle it, and you can't control her. There are people who love that girl, real people, not like me. There's hundreds of them placed globally who belong to an ancient and powerful organization willing to destroy lives to insure she's safe. You think you can just whisk her from the face of the earth without repercussions?" Spike said, hoping Oliver wouldn't see through the finely spun bullshit.

It was mostly true, except the protecting her part. If Oliver knew another Slayer rose when the current one snuffed, everything could be lost. Hell, Spike thought, everything might already be lost. Might as well lie big.

"Right now there is a massive search underway for that girl. It's only a matter of time before they close in and find you. When they do, my threats are going to seem like bed time stories in comparison," Spike said.

~*~*~*~

"Hey, when was the last time you talked to Buffy?" Dav asked as she folded back the down comforter and got into bed.

It was Sunday night and they'd just gotten back from dropping her parents off at the airport. Sharon and Mike Devis were handsome older people who dressed well and hugged freely. They even complimented Xander on his choice to go into carpentry. They were the polar opposite of his parents. The four of them had managed to play an entire game of Jenga without anyone accusing the other of being a failure or getting drunk. It was sort of amazing.

Xander put his arms around Dav and she snuggled in, looking expectantly at him with her large, brown eyes.

"Um, Friday afternoon we had lunch together and yeah, I don't know," Xander said.

"I thought she was going to call you about dinner tonight, it's not like her to just flake like that," Dav said.

"You're right, but she's been under a lot of stress with classes. Honestly, I was so into meeting Sharon and Mike I didn't think," Xander said.

"They love you, by the way. Mom said you're nothing like Reggie," Dav said.

Reggie was Dav's ex-fiancée, the lawyer who'd given her a flawless, one carat diamond solitaire that still sat in a black velvet box at the bottom of her underwear drawer, because Reggie refused to take it back after their engagement ended.

"What, like wildly successful and rich?"

"Um, no, like a huge douche-bag. The fact that you didn't mention Ayn Rand, business regulation or my weight all weekend went over huge with mom. She said you didn't even need to be sweet and funny on top of that," Dav said.

"Have I told you how much I like your mom?" Xander asked with a goofy grin.

"Yes you have. So did you want to call her?"

"Sharon? She's probably still in the air—"

"No, my brain's still a few clicks back in the conversation. I meant Buffy. I'm a little worried about her."

"Well, it's late, plus I was kinda, sorta hoping I could get some touch. It's been so long, what with your parents here."

"Wow, two whole days. What did you do before you met me?"

"I wore out my copy of, 'Sex and Zen,'" Xander said, before planting a kiss on her smiling lips.

~*~*~*~

Monday morning, Willow stopped by the dorm to change clothes and shower before class. The weekend with Oz had been kind of intense. He always needed her so much more during a full moon, not just to watch over him while he was all wolfy, but during the day, too. This time he didn't want to leave the bed for anything but meals and potty breaks. He'd spent most of the time just holding her. Willow felt a bit overwhelmed. She really wanted to talk to her best friend about the whole thing but when she got to their room there was no Buffy. In fact, it looked exactly as Willow had left it on Friday, right down to Buffy's book bag resting on her own, neatly made bed.

Willow felt a chilly panic sweep through her whole body. Buffy had reassured Willow she would be fine on her own over the weekend and if she needed any help, she'd call. But what if Buffy couldn't call? There were ditches all over the city that her best friend could be lying in at that moment, and it wasn't just irrational panic like when Willow couldn’t find one of her fish right away but they were just hidden in that fake castle at the bottom of the tank. Buffy fought monsters, one of them may have fought back.

Willow picked up the phone and started calling.

Joyce hadn't heard from Buffy; no one answered at Spike's place, and Xander hadn't spoken to Buffy since Friday. Talking to Xander did not with the feeling better make. His voice got really low, like it always did when he was very upset.

"I should have called when she didn't get back to us about dinner," Xander said.

"It's O.K. I mean, we're talking about Buffy, right?"

"Right," Xander said.

Neither of them sounded convinced.

Willow reflexively dialed Giles' number before she remembered he was still in England. She sat on the floor between their double beds, her shower caddy beside her, and the phone in her hand. Willow was cursing herself for being so selfish. There was only one person nearby left to call, Angel, and Willow was dreading that conversation. She decided to go to psych class. Maybe Buffy was there, and this had all been a big misunderstanding. Maybe she'd met Mr. Right and spent the weekend having torrid smoochies, although that probably wasn't what happened given everything with Spike. Unless the torrid smoochiness was with Spike, in which case giving into temptation was way, way better than her best friend being dead.

Willow grabbed her bag and left without changing her clothes. She got across campus in record time and waited by the red, brick archway at the entrance of the auditorium where they were having class. The ginormous T. A., gave Willow a look like he was picking up her mom for a first date and had accidentally smooshed the family dog with his car. It was making her uncomfortable and she wondered what his issue could be. The teaching assistant walked over to Willow, and she struggled to remember his name.

"Hey, have you seen my friend Buffy? She was the petite blonde who Brainy Smurfed you the first day of classes," Willow said.

"Smurfed? Um, I—"

While he was searching for his words, the forbidding Ms. Walsh came up to them.

"Please proposition the undergrads on your own time, Riley," Professor Walsh said, as she wrapped her hand around his considerable upper arm.

"I'm sorry," Riley said and then left with the teacher. Professor Walsh and Riley went over to her desk, speaking quietly over some of the homework that would be handed back to the students.

Riley being smitten with her explained the furtive glances and the somewhat guilty air. He might know she already had a boyfriend. Willow couldn't help feeling proud that a hulking, footballish guy like that would find her attractive, but he was so not her type.

Willow glanced around the room. Most of the seats were filled and still no Buffy. Buffy's friend, Eddie, was approaching with his arm around a shorter boy who had messy, blond hair. Their coziness made her smile. Willow grabbed Eddie's sleeve as he was passing.

"Hey, Willow, what's up?" Eddie asked.

"Eddie is my boyfriend!" the boy beside Eddie said, with a giddy grin. He was practically vibrating and the kid's excitement would have been contagious if Willow hadn't been so worried.

"This is Andrew," Eddie said.

"Hi, have either of you seen Buffy?"

"Um, yeah, on Friday," Eddie said.

"But not since then?" Willow asked.

"No, why?"

"She's been M.I.A., all weekend," Willow said.

Andrew's ebullient expression sank into a pensive frown.

"Maybe we should talk after class. I can meet you guys at the cafeteria," Andrew said.

Eddie looked down at his boyfriend.

"What is it?"

"Matters of the occult and the arcane," Andrew said, with a touch of embarrassment. Andrew gave Eddie a peck on the lips and then left them with a wave.

"Do you have any idea what he's talking about?" Willow asked.

Eddie watched Andrew go and then turned to Willow.

"I think I do," Eddie said.

They entered the lecture hall and took their seats by the front. Oz was the last to straggle in before Riley shut the doors. He sat beside Willow, and Doctor Walsh began the lesson. It was hard for Willow to pay attention, though, but she still managed to take four pages of notes. All through class Riley kept staring at her through his floppy hair, until it passed flattering and became downright creepy.

When Professor Walsh had finished delivering her last pearl of wisdom, Willow took Oz's hand and practically ran out into the hallway, explaining things as they went. Eddie caught up with them when they were partway to the cafeteria. They finished up the walk and Eddie told them how he'd met Andrew through Buffy's friend Spike. They reached the lunchroom and spotted Andrew sitting in the corner, sipping on a juice box. They walked over.

"So Andrew, what do you know about Buffy?" Willow asked as she sat beside him. She was glad Oz was next to her. Eddie turned his chair backwards and plopped down with his legs far apart.

"Well, I actually was a year behind you guys. My brother was Tucker, the guy who had all those demon dogs trained to ruin your prom, so I know Buffy's the Slayer and stuff."

"How is Tucker, by the way?" Oz asked.

"He's good. He's Mormon now so he's, like, better. That's not important right now though," Andrew said, casting the idea of his brother away with his hands as though he were dispersing smoke, "I translated a spell for that vampire, Spike. It could be used to resurrect another vampire from the dead. Or like the undead. I'm not really sure how they roll with that, anyway, he swore me to super-secrecy, but now that Buffy's missing I'm thinking it could be the reason. He didn't want her to know what he was doing and maybe she figured it out."

Willow covered her mouth.

"Oh my God! If Spike's going to resurrect Drusilla, Angel's in danger. I have to call him and Giles, too," Willow said.

Oz gave her a sympathetic squeeze.

"Wow, Drusilla, like Caligula's sister? Is Angel her sire or something?" Andrew asked.

"Yes, to the sire thing and probably not to the first question you asked seeing as Angel's only about two hundred and fifty," Willow said.

Throughout the conversation, Eddie had the same expression. His head was inclined and his mouth was open, his chin pointing from one conversant to the next like the tip of a planchette moving around a Ouija board. At the disclosure of Angel's age, Eddie interrupted.

"Hey, which one of you dosed me and how long will I be tripping?"

"What?" Willow, Andrew, and Oz asked simultaneously.

"This conversation about hell hounds and vampires and an incestuous Roman emperor cannot really be happening leading me to believe I've been slipped some L.S.D." Eddie said.

Andrew smiled and put his hand over Eddie's.

"I have much to teach you my young Padawan," Andrew said.

~*~*~*~

Spike told the doctor everything he knew about Slayers. Spike supposed he'd done a good job because when he'd finished spilling his guts, Oliver stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lit it for him.

It tasted like ashes.

Oliver stuffed the pack into Spike's front pocket but didn't include a lighter.

"You'll certainly be able to figure something out, Spike. I've got limitless faith in your ingenuity," Dr. Oliver said.

Then the good doctor handed him over to one of the soldiers so Spike could be returned to his cell. He was still strapped in the chair, which had wheels on the bottom and some sort of mechanism that could release the restraints via remote control. It wasn't the magnetized boot thing like in that movie, "Face/Off," but the chair was still kind of cool, or it would be if Spike weren't imprisoned by it. Just as Oliver promised, Spike's prison was the one adjoining Buffy's. The door separating them was closed and her cell was empty, but it was something.

Once they were inside, Spike expected the guard to leave, but he didn't. Instead the young man squatted beside him and grinned.

"Hey, don't think you remember me. Do you? I'm Forrest. You shot me yesterday, thought it was funny to make me piss myself."

Spike was still pinching the burning cigarette in between his lips when he turned to his captor.

"Yeah, that WAS funny."

Spike spat the butt at Forrest and it landed on the soldier's cheek, glowing like a firefly. The scent of singed flesh filled the room.

"Shit!" Forrest hissed, swatting the stub away. The fag end left a raw welt in its stead. Forest touched the spot and then punched Spike in the jaw, bloodying the vampire's
teeth. Spike laughed, sounding like a playing card stuck in the spoke of a bicycle wheel.

"You think that's funny? This should have you rolling on the floor then," Forrest said as he plunged a stake into Spike's heart. Just like the first time he died, there was no life flashing before his eyes, just pain. Spike coughed and gasped, straining against his bonds in a futile attempt to clutch at his chest. A few seconds later, Spike regained his ability to speak.

"Why am I still here?" Spike asked.

"Fuck if I know. Didn't really pay attention in philosophy class. But you're not a pile of dust because that stake was made of plastic. I knew a girl who stretched her earlobe with one of those spacers. When she took it out her ears looked like they melted. You think your chest will look like that if I just leave that stake in there? Let's find out," Forrest said. Then he walked out of the cage, closing the glass behind him.

Spike wasn't sure how long he was sitting there in agony before Riley Finn happened by on rounds, dressed in black like a cat burglar. The soldier saw Spike and the bright, red blood pooling on the white floor. Finn's head jerked and he stopped dead, then used his key card to make the wall recede. The tall man went to Spike and wrenched the stake out of his chest, making the vampire grunt and his whole body curve in on itself. Riley looked ashamed, avoiding Spike's eyes.

"Can't believe someone would leave a weapon in here with you. Who did it?"

"That bloody wanker Forrest."

"I'll have to remind him of protocol," Riley said, tightening and loosened his grip on the stake so that it bounced in his hand, casting off droplets of Spike's blood. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Spike's pride wouldn't allow him to thank the soldier. Besides, he wasn't certain if the magnanimous display wasn't another trick.

Riley cleared his throat and glanced at Spike.

"Is she safe?" Spike asked, cursing himself for laying himself bare before one of the pricks imprisoning him. The soldier looked surprised and then nodded once.

Yes.

Riley departed, sealing Spike inside. A few seconds later, the shackles opened, leaving Spike slightly freer. He took the cigarettes out of his pocket before his blood could soak through the cellophane wrapper on the pack. Spike stared at them a moment.

It was time to train his limitless ingenuity on the puzzle of making a fire.
Chapter 11 by Minx DeLovely
Author's Notes:
Thanks to Sanityfair and Puddinhead for their beta skills.
Previously:
Riley departed, sealing Spike inside. A few seconds later, the shackles opened, leaving Spike slightly freer. He took the cigarettes out of his pocket before his blood could soak through the cellophane wrapper on the pack. Spike stared at them a moment.

It was time to train his limitless ingenuity on the puzzle of making a fire.


~*~*~*~
Thanks to much trial and error, Spike had finally hit on a system that would allow him to light his cigarettes. He'd detached a snap from the arm of his coat and tied a strip from the bottom of his jeans to it. When he threw the retrofitted button against the electrical field protecting the glass wall in the cell, it caused a spark and the cloth ignited.

This discovery had taught him several other things.

First off, there was always someone watching him on a hidden camera, no matter what time of day he happened to try his trick. Usually the terse, female voice belonged to Professor Walsh. Sometimes he'd get Riley Finn, who would always preface his request to extinguish the deadly fire with a "Please." When he tried to smoke on Forrest's shift, he'd get no warning, just an unpleasant visit. If he only thought to wear a watch he might have even been able to figure out whose shift was when, but he was existing in a world without that context.

Second, no sprinklers. Third, they really could stop pumping oxygen into his room. They'd finally gotten sick of his shenanigans and shut it off. After awhile he couldn't get his ciggy to spark and the scent began to sour. Whoever shut it off did it as either a warning or to simply be rid of him for a few hours, because after Spike had slept the stale air was circulating again. Fourth, it took four hundred and three recitations of "One Bloody Mississippi," before Forrest could get to his cage. Fifth, when this was over he was going to kill Forrest.

Spike couldn't be sure how long this drama played out; he thought it might have been two days but it could have been more or less. In this dubious stretch, Buffy had not been returned to her cell. Morbid thoughts consumed him like the tenuous flames that devoured his supply of cigarettes. His paranoia was spurred by a conversation he caught between Mitchell and another soldier named Jones when they were doing their rounds. Spike had been lying flat on the floor, fondling his last cigarette, when he heard the soldiers clomping by and caught a whiff of Mitchell's Old Spice.

"Oh, the chips work. Trust me, Graham and Forrest would've been dead six times over since they started fucking the new blonde they've got down in holding," Jones said.

"No way! You think they'd let me get a piece?" Mitchell asked.

"They're pretty possessive of her. None of us have even been allowed near the cage, but I saw her, man. She's hot. I don't know if it's the chip or what but she's docile, too, not like when they caught her."

"Just think, we're witnessing a new dawn in prostitution," Mitchell said, causing the other soldier to chuckle.

"I don't know, I think I'll stick to the old-school ways of banging your mom," Jones said.

Then they traded cracks about each other's mothers and Spike realized he'd been gripping his last smoke so tightly that it had crumbled beneath his fingers.

~*~*~*~

Willow and Xander had gone into full-blown panic mode with Giles still intransit from England. Joyce had filed a missing person report with the police and Willow had insisted on calling Angel, who'd agreed to drive up from L.A. Xander really, really didn't want to include Angel in the search, but it seemed like the only option. Xander wasn't sure if he was relieved or upset that Spike hadn't contacted Angel over the weekend. Spike not calling sort of discounted the theory their vampire pal had turned all evil, but it left them with absolutely no leads on where Buffy could be.

In situations like this, Xander normally turned to Buffy. Not being able to made everything that much worse.

Xander and Willow were hoping a locator spell would just fix things, showing them where their best friend was so they could get her back. When Xander went to pick up Willow to help her with the spell, she had a kid named Andrew in tow. To Xander's surprise, Andrew was dating Buffy's friend Eddie. Xander had no idea Eddie was gay, or that his taste in guys was so geeky. After buying a bunch of supplies at the Magic Box, Willow and Andrew set up everything on Dav's living room floor.

Dav had insisted they use her place as a base of command even though Xander didn't like the idea. Xander genuinely hated the idea a few minutes into the proceedings. He, Dav, Oz, Andrew and Willow were all sitting around the map. Wills said she'd gotten everything right, but somehow everything was wrong. The map that was supposed to show Buffy's location just caught fire, ingniting the hem of Dav's skirt. Luckily, Dav was wearing knee-length, leather boots, so she wasn't hurt, but it was touch and go until Xander smothered the flames using the throw draped on her couch.

"Oh my God, Dav, I'm so sorry!" Willow said, swatting out the charred map. Oz ran to the kithen and came back with a glass full of water which he dumped on the smoldering paper.

"It's fine, I got that blanket at Target, plus I don't think my landlord will care. He said a Chaos Demon lived here before I moved in and as long as I didn't drip slime onto the hardwood, we were good. I thought he was kind of wizened or something but Spike told me that's a real thing."

Andrew took the blanket off of Dav's lap and used it to wipe up the mess.

"Did anybody see where the dot of light started?" Oz asked as he sat down beside Willow. Willow knelt back on her heels. Her big, green eyes looked like they were verging on deluge and Oz put a hand on her shoulder.

"It was a ginormous fireball," Andrew said, turning to Dav who was halfway sitting on Xander's lap. "Do you maybe have a hamper I can stuff this in?"

"I'm thinking the garbage can will work," Dav said, standing up and taking the bundle from Andrew's arms. Her red, ankle length skirt was cobwebbed with burn holes all the way up to her knee.

"I like your skirt like that. It's kind of Cindy Lauper meets post-apocalypse. You look like Mad Max is about to pick you up for Homecoming," Andrew said.

"Um, thanks," Dav said as she looked down. The sight made her gasp. "I better go change," Dav said, gliding out of the room.

"Willow, can you try the spell again?" Xander asked. Willow was about to answer when the new kid interrupted.

"Her emotions are all over the place, she shouldn't do any magic until she's calmed down," Andrew said.

Willow looked at Andrew, giving him full bore resolve-face.

"I can do this, listen to me, I'm not going to screw up again. We just need another map," Willow said.

"Maybe we should take a break for a minute, I mean your hands are still smoking," Oz said.

"Plus I need to find a fire extinguisher first," Dav shouted from the other room.

Willow stood up.

"You guys, I can do this!" Willow shouted.

Xander got to his feet.

"Willow, I know you can, but I'm thinking we should wait until tomorrow for Giles."

"But what if Buffy doesn't have until tomorrow? We've already lost so much time, and now Monday is almost over and Giles won't be here for another whole day. We'll get another map and this time I'll do the spell at my dorm room," Willow said.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea," Andrew said.

"Then you don't have to come. You can help Eddie put together missing posters or update your Doctor Who fan site," Willow said.

"It's a Thundercats fan site and that's not relevant anyway, I'm realizing. I want to help YOU. I'm good at the magicks," Andrew said.

"Well constant saying of the nay is not helpful," Willow said.

"Look, let's argue about this on the way, guys. Meet me downstairs by my car," Xander said.

Willow arched her eyebrow at Xander and her voice got softer.

"Sure," she said.

"That sounds good. I saw a vending machine with Good & Plenty's in the lobby," Andrew said as he began walking toward the door.

"Candy names like that come from a simpler era. You really know what you're getting with the Good & Plenty," Oz said, following Andrew.

"I know, right, I mean what the hell's a Skittle?"

Willow went to Xander and gave him a hug.

"Are you alright?" she whispered.

"Of course not. I need to talk to Dav, if you could give me a few," Xander said.

"Anything."

Willow smiled at him; combined with her teary eyes the expression made Xander want to weep. She left with the boys and then Dav poked her head out of the bedroom door. He could tell she'd been listening. Dav had sensed there was something he'd been holding back since they found out about Buffy.

"I should probably put on pants, in case it works and we go patrolling, huh?"

"No," Xander said. He walked through the living room, the hall and then entered her bedroom.

"We need to talk," Xander said. Dav was wearing a t-shirt and nothing else save a pair of tiny, black underpants. He wished that he'd let her finish getting dressed, but he'd already started the talk thing. Dav gave him a nervous smle.

"Not about pants?"

"I think we need to spend some time apart," Xander said. Her smile seemed painted on.

"O.K. What brought that on?"

"I don't think if I can be the kind of person you deserve without letting down my friends. Buffy needed me and I wasn't there for her. I can't shake this feeling that if I'd been with her she would be safe right now. We all knew the risk of leaving her alone with Spike."

Dav folded her arms over her chest and her voice got higher.

"Well, we still don't know if Spike did anything to her. He might have gone down fighting—"

"Don't say that! That's like saying she's gone."

Dav rubbed her hand lightly over her forehead.

"That's not what I meant. I'm saying something might have happened you could have never predicted."

"Except that I could. It's a given Buffy's going to be in a fight to the death every day. I shouldn't have let her go alone."

"You didn't. Just because you're not the one missing right now doesn't mean you're to blame."

Xander put his hands on her shoulders.

"You don't understand. I didn't even think about Buffy until you mentioned calling her last night. I just wanted to be with you—to have something safe and good and not mixed up with the multiple apocalypse."

"What's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong is I might have let Buffy die. Baby, I hate this, but I don't want you to get hurt," Xander said.

"Then why are you hurting me?"

Xander cupped her face and she put her hands over his.

"It's not emotional pain I'm worried about."

"But I live here, it's not like I can pretend we're not chillin' on the mouth of hell."

"Yeah, but you can move away. You're not enmeshed in this like I am. I can't fail my friends again."

"Xander, I want to help. Buffy's my friend, too."

"I know, but if something happened to you I'd...I'm always going to care about you more and that makes me worthless in a fight."

"This doesn't make any sense."

Xander let go of her. He couldn't stand the way her eyes were quaking with tears or the tremble in her lip. He turned and walked to the bedroom door, feeling an ache in his chest.

"Fine, it doesn't make sense, but it's how I feel."

"I guess there's nothing more for me to say, then."

"I guess not," Xander said.

She threw her arms around his back and buried her face in his neck. Knowing that it would be the last time he'd let himself be touched by her, the last time he'd see her apartment, which felt more like his home than the place where he lived, made Xander feel hollow. She kissed the back of his neck and it nearly broke him.

"I love you," Xander said.

"I love you, too," Dav said.

Xander shook loose from her embrace and left her standing there with her bare legs. He couldn't turn around to see the utter devastation on her face. He was certain he didn't need to because the way she looked would stay with him forever, anyway.

~*~*~*~

After Xander left, Davinia watched, "Now Voyager," and "All About My Mother," in order to thrash all the tears free, but when she was finished, there still seemed to be some left. It was selfish of her when one of her friends was missing, but she didn't know what else to do. Xander had made it clear he didn't want her help. She'd called Joyce and offered to bring over dinner. That was pretty much all she was good for, meal preparation. Dav felt like the chef on the Titanic. Joyce had thanked her but politely declined, so Dav had curled up on the couch with her arms around a pillow.

When the knock on her door came, hope flooded through her.

"Baby, you know you don't have to knock, just come on in," Dav said, scrambling to her feet. The smile on her face dropped when instead of seeing Xander, she saw a dark haired stranger standing in her foyer. He was big and his features were agressively masculine: a heavy brow, a square jaw and a broad chin with thin lips. His brown eyes were gentle, which was encouraging, but only mildly so.

"You should really lock your door, it's not safe. And you definitely shouldn't let someone in without knowing who they are," he said, putting his hands in the pockets of his long, leather jacket.

"Thanks for the tip. So did you mean that to be vaguely menacing or are you here for a reason other than murdering me?"

His eyebrows shot up.

"I'm not here to hurt you, Dav. I'm Angel. Willow called and said Buffy was in trouble. I wanted to meet with the rest of the group."

"I don't think she told you to meet them here. In fact, I don't think she told you my name."

"Well, no one was at Giles' place or the dorm."

"That doesn't explain why you know me."

"Look, I'm not trying to be scary or anything. I worry about Buffy and I have someone watching out for her here. I like to know the company she keeps, make sure they're good people."

"You have her followed?"

"Well, yeah," he said with a shrug.

"And do background checks on her friends?"

"When you say it like that it does sound creepy. But I run a detective agency. It seemed like a natural thing to do because I already have all that software installed on the computers," Angel said.

"You're right. That's not weird at all. So does that mean you know where Buffy is?"

"Well, no, my guy said he was following her and Spike one second, the next he was sitting in the bus station without any pants."

"Bummer. Anyway, the gang's not here. Also Xander and I broke up, so they probably won't be meeting up at my place any time soon. I hope you help them find Buffy," Dav said, with terse cheerines as she shooed him from her entryway. Angel backed up and then walked into the hallway.

"I mean it, Dav, I'm not evil."

"Good," she said, shutting him out. Dav locked the door, and then leaned against it, cursing herself for being stupid enough to invite a vampire into her house.


~*~*~*~
Buffy woke up not knowing where she was. The first thing that hit her before she could open her eyes was the smell, that weirdly sweet soap smell over the equally unnatural scent of new electronics.It took her a second to register the padded shackles on her wrists, the cot, and the white walls. She was being held prisoner by her psychology teacher and, apparently, an accompanying band of merry mercenaries. How many times in the past six months had she been zapped and kidnapped?

"Wow, this is really starting to be a habit with me," she mumbled. She was almost as bad as Giles was with the getting knocked out every other week.

"What's getting to be a habit?"

Buffy scrambled on the cot, facing the source of the question. It was the doctor who'd thwarted her earlier escape attempt. He was sitting in the corner of the room on a small stool with his legs crossed. His drab, brown hair looked like he'd spent the night running his hands through it until the strands were greasy. Buffy could see that beneath the flaps of his open, white lab coat he wore a cheap, black suit.

"How long have you been making with the creepy? No wait, don't answer that. I'm sure you've got an extensive history of creepiness and I have a nonexistent desire to be near you long enough so you can recount it all."

The doctor turned his weary, watery brown eyes to hers and gave her an oddly comforting smile.

"My name is Dr. Oliver, Buffy. I think in all the commotion we never got to the introduction stage. I brought you some food," he said, lifting a box of army rations, each sealed in silver bags, "Maggie has forgotten you need to eat, she's so used to dealing with vampires."

At the mention of the undead, Buffy's mind returned to her vampire.

"Where's Spike?" Buffy asked.

"In the room beside yours. Probably has his ear pressed to the door right now.You were the first thing he asked about, too."

Buffy looked down and felt her skin flush. She hated hearing a stranger disassembling her feelings; the doctor's insight made her feel even more out of control.

"Now I've made you blush. I'm sorry. I just find your relationship fascinating. He's not like the other creatures we've captured, as you probably know. He's special and so are you."

"Thanks. Being treated like a criminally insane person makes me feel extremely special."

"This must be terribly familiar for you seeing as you spent that time in White Oaks when you were fifteen. Did they restrain you then, Buffy, or were you allowed to walk around? Your violent tendencies were just coming to the fore then, so I bet they did. Christopher was heading up their adolescent ward and he was always a bit Draconian."

Buffy wanted to make a crack about dragons or something, she honestly did, but she felt too sick to her stomach.

"So what next, are you going to tell me how old I was when I got my first cavity? I get it, you're a real doctor. I wonder how long that will last when people find out about the torture and kidnapping," Buffy said.

"We're not talking about me, Buffy. We're talking about you. When I was examining you, I noticed that scar on your neck. Did Spike give that to you?"

"He would never bite me."

"So that was the result of an attack?"

Buffy looked away from him, concentrating on her hands.

"Was it another vampire you trusted, one like Spike? Is that why you're refusing to talk about this further?" Dr. Oliver asked. He studied her for a moment."I think it is. You've got a very expressive face."

"You're not my doctor."

"Seeing as the only way to get a second opinion is to consult Maggie, I'd posit talking with me is the better route."

"How about we skip to option C and I stare at you until you leave?"

Dr. Oliver propped up the corners of his mouth in a smile, which withered quickly.

"We'll talk later," he said, stood up, then walked to the edge of the glass partition, "by the way, Buffy, I'm very sorry about the hair."

The barrier parted momentarily to allow Oliver to pass, before returning to its original position. A second later Buffy's shackles popped open. She touched her hair and realized it had been shorn. She tugged on the inch-length hair to keep herself from crying, then stood on wobbly legs and took a few faltered steps toward the rations. She dropped down before the box and tore open one of the silver packets. Dried apricots? Nope, turkey jerkey. Whatever, she was devouring it, even if the stuff was laced with poison. Which it could very well be. Next she scarfed down some peanut butter and crackers followed by a Snickers bar that didn't look like Army issue. When she'd gorged herself, Buffy crawled to the door separating her room from Spike's and placed an open palm on the cool surface.

"Spike​? Are you there?" she asked.

"Right here, love. Can feel you burning me through the wall, my hot, little Slayer."

Buffy laughed, covering her mouth.

"You're seriously trying to talk dirty to me right now?" she asked, fondly. It was nice to have one thing normal and steady in bizarro land. She could count on Spike's libido the way she could gravity or the freshness of a twinkie. It was just always.

"You thought that was dirty, you poor, sheltered child? You should hear what I've been thinking about while I've been in isolation here."

"How long was I gone?" Buffy asked.

The teasing quality left his voice.

"Not sure, only that it was too long. I know there were five guard changes, but I've no idea what the intervals in between them were. I think it may have been a day. They don't let me watch my soaps, so there's no way to tell for sure."

"Did they hurt you?"

"Not unless you count boring me to death. And you, Slayer. What did they do to you?"

"Well, they gave me an Anne Heche cut, which could be worse, I guess. I have scars and I'm not sure where they came from. The last thing I remember was almost escaping."

"There are worse things than looking like Anne Heche. She was really good on 'Another World,' playin' those twins," Spike said.

"I have no idea what that means," Buffy said, smiling.


~*~*~*~

Forrest had her over his lap and was spreading apart her perfect ass. He was kind of obsessed with her ass, it was so pale and full. So clean. He could bury his tongue inside and taste only her satin skin, bury his cock and it stayed so tight, no matter how many times he or Graham took her.

And wasn't it weird as hell how hot it made Forrest to see his best friend getting head from her, their blonde sex goddess. Graham's erection was sliding in and out of her red lips, and she was moaning like it was the best thing she'd ever had in her mouth. Maybe he just loved it because she did and he loved pleasing her.

"God, I'm coming, Semper Fi!" Graham moaned, his body jerking. Graham's eyes rolled back as Harmony released his softening penis. She flipped over, looking Forrest in the eye.

"There's my chocolate warrior," she said.

Graham must have noticed him wincing at her comment.

"Hey, Harm, that's not really cool," Graham said.

"Yeah, that's kind of insensitive," Forrest said.

Harmony pouted and he had the urge to bite her bottom lip.

"I'm sorry, but you know how it is. I'm a vampire. I'm sort of evil," Harmony said.

"No you're not," Forrest said.

"He's right, you're sweet," Graham said.

"You guys are the best. I would have so dated you both when I was alive. Now who wants to go first?" Harmony asked.

"Me," Forrest said. He took the knife out of his boot and then brought the blade to his bare chest, slicing a gash above his nipple. Harmony wiggled on his lap and licked the wound, plunging Forrest into an ecstacy he'd never known with a human being.

"Mmm, yummy," Harmony said with a giggle.
End Notes:
"Another World," was a soap on NBC. After its cancellation it was replaced with "Passions."
Chapter 12 by Minx DeLovely
Author's Notes:
All mistakes are mine this chapter.
~*~*~*~
Buffy was lying on the ground beside the door that separated her cell from Spike's. She'd grabbed the blanket and pillow from the cot but they did little to make the floor less floor-like. That hardly mattered, though. Being close to him was a lot more comforting than sleeping on a mattress.

"You asleep, Slayer?"

"No. Tell me another story," Buffy said, tracing a circle on the surface between them.

"Don't know any more, unless you count old episodes of Falcon Crest."

"Liar, you're like a hundred."

"Most of the stories I haven't told you have bad endings," he said, the regret giving his voice a weight it hadn't had before.

"What about the first time you fell in love? If you tell me yours, I'll tell you mine," Buffy said, failing to rationalize her interest in Spike's love life and then immediately deciding it didn't matter.

"I know yours, it's the poof."

"It's not Angel," Buffy said, smiling sadly at the blank wall.

"Well now I gotta know," he said. She could hear him shifting on the other side and imagined he was lying on his back. For some reason that included an image of him stroking his stomach, teasing up the hem of his black t-shirt.

"His name was Pike and he was the first guy who knew about my Slayer stuff. He was older than me, not like a century older, just a couple years. We burned down the gym at my old school together to destroy this vampire."

"I heard about that, you snuffed Locos. I was kind of raw about that seeing as the pillock owed me money."

"Him and Dracula, huh?"

"Yup, although I'm still hoping to get my ten pounds out of that smarmy, little ponce. So you fell in love with a fella with a name shockingly close to mine. What happened then?"

"We went to Vegas, beat up some conjoined twins and he dumped me for my own protection. That last part is kind of a leitmotif," Buffy said.

"It is a classic maneuver for noble gits. Was he taller than me?"

"Nope. He was just about your height."

"Handsome?"

"Well, duh. Now you go," Buffy said.

She still thought of Pike often; he was her shot at something normal before Angel came into her life and wiped that notion away. Not that there was much of a future to regret losing. Her life seemed to be slipping away. The only things resembling a foothold of hope was Spike's voice and his simple belief they would escape.

"Well, this was back when I was alive. Her name was Cecily."

"What made you love her?"

"Aside from the glowing beauty? Not much. She was kind to me when other people weren't. Why'd you fall in love with fishy?"

"Fishy? Oh, Pike. Funny, that's what I said when we first met. He was the first person to really see me for who I was and he made me laugh. That combining with the handsome pretty much clinched things."

"Peaches was never funny, unless you think sodomy is riot."

"Ew. Angel has a few other things to recommend him besides his sense of humor."

"Right, the tall, handsome mysteriousness."

"You're kind of hung up on that size thing, aren't you?"

"At least I got Magical Misery Tour beat in one area when it comes to length and girth. I'm surprisingly disproportionate for someone my height."

"Are you talking about your gigantimous, Dum-Dum Pop cranium?"

"Not that head, love."

"And again I say, Ew. Now tell me the rest of what happened with you and glow girl."

"I've never told anybody this before," Spike said, his voice so soft she had to press her ear to the wall to hear it. "She was kind to me, right? She'd tolerate my poetry—"

"What do you mean?"

"If you laugh at me, Slayer, I swear I'll let that git, Forrest, dust me."

"Not laughing. Go on."

"I wrote very, very bad poetry which is much worse than other kinds of failed writing. It kills the soul the same way good poetry makes it soar. When I was alive I didn't understand that you could make plain words extraordinary. It was always too much, you know?"

"I've only ever written in my diary, so I kind of don't. That and Giles is always saying I abuse the English language like a fishwife beating a ginger stepchild."

"Rupes is exaggerating. I like the way you talk. It's playful."

"Thanks. It's hard for me to imagine you that way, with the poetry."

"It is sort of ridiculous; the Big Bad writing poncey verse and pining after a woman I wasn't fit to stand beside."

"I'm sure you were fit and non-ponchy. Your abs rock so they must have been hot when you died."

Spike chuckled.

"You're too kind," Spike said. He didn't speak for a second. "So the sad ending with Cecily. She and I ended twice. The first time I asked her to marry me and she said no. The worse part...I asked her to see me, you know, the way Pike saw you. She said she did, but what she saw wasn't worth very much. Not enough to throw in her lot with me, anyway. There were people around when it happened. Back then you couldn't be alone with a woman, at least one you weren't paying for her time. I left the party and met Dru. You know how that turned out.

'Wish I could tell you the story was done, but years later I found Cecily again. I saw a girl in the street who looked just like her, so I followed the bird. Couldn't keep away. She led me to Cecily's old house and I thought there had to be some magic afoot; like she was a demon or something. I tried to enter the place but I couldn't get in. Had to trick a maid. I can do a thrall when I need it; not so good as Dru. She used to say my face did most of the work. Turns out the girl I saw wasn't Cecily at all. It was her granddaughter. Cecily was upstairs in one of the bedrooms so I went to her. Snuck into her chamber and hid from the others in the house."

"You didn't kill them?" she asked.

"Wanted to savor, wanted to make Cecily watch. Didn't end up like that, though. When I finally confronted her, this girl who'd loomed so large was a frail, elderly woman. Her hair had gone silver and was spread out on the pillow. She was still beautiful but the light inside of her was guttering out. Her mind was nearly gone, too, but when she opened her eyes, Cecily recognized me. It was like the intervening years hadn't happened. She thought it was only a few days after I proposed. She put her arms around me and cried; said she blamed herself for my death. Then she said that she changed her mind. Losing me made her realize she wanted to spend the rest of her life with me. So she did. I held her and we made plans for two lives that were already over. When she fell asleep, I drained her. It wasn't out of spite, just wanted to let her leave this world with a little happiness. If it means anything, when I slipped out before the dawn I didn't touch anyone in the rest of the house."

There was long stretch of silence. Her rules about killing were rigid to keep herself from going all vigilante Punisher-Buffy. Spike was another type of creature entirely and hearing the tales of his warped, intermittent morals through the years always left her at a loss. She was starting to understand him more and more, though. Even though his experience with Cecily was horrifying, Buffy could appreciate the idea of death being a blessing sometimes.

"Spike," she asked.

"Yeah, Slayer."

"Tell me another story."

~*~*~*~

All Giles wanted was to have a bath and collapse into bed. It had been a long flight and he was jet-lagged. He'd been forced to re-wear a pair of dirty socks and he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. He had to check in with Joyce first, of course and talk with the children. He picked up his battered, brown suitcase off the metal carousel and walked to the passenger pick up area. Xander and Willow were waiting there for him. Xander popped the trunk of his black Buick Skylark; Giles had always thought the car was shaped oddly, with the bumper in the front jutting like a petulant child's chin. No matter. He threw his bag in the back, shut the trunk and got into the backseat.

"G-man!" Xander said with forced enthusiasm. The boy maneuvered his car into a space in the line of cars exiting the airport; adding another link in the chain of lights. Willow twisted around in her seat and reached out a small hand to take his.

"Giles we missed you so much! How was your trip?" Willow asked.

He could see she'd been crying; her large eyes were webbed in red and there were dark crescents beneath them. Giles took her hand and gave it a squeeze before letting go.

"As pleasant as these things can be. Have you learned anything since last we spoke?"

"Um, a few things. I can't seem to get the locator spell to work. Every time I try, the map goes poof! Extra flamey. I'm hoping you'll have better luck."

"Yes, well, I'm a bit worse for wear. Let me have a cheese sandwich and a cup of tea first, unless Davinia cooked," Giles said, hopefully.

"Um, Dav and I...I broke up with her," Xander said.

"That's unfortunate," Giles said, softly.

"Well, it was probably for the best. Now to radically shift topics, our buddy, Angel is here," Xander said, biting out the words. "I guess being the charming stalker he is, he was having Buffy followed. His guy blacked out before he could see what happened to Buffy and Spike. The last thing he remembers they were in Restfield Cemetery rescuing a bunch of virgins from some vamps who were dressed up like extras from 'Congo.'"

"They donned the skins of apes?" Giles asked, removing his glasses and pinching the place where his nose met his brow.

"No, there was a dance sequence with some villagers in that movie. I haven't seen it in awhile. Never mind. What's important is that we searched the cemetery and came up empty. On the plus side, Angel talked to some of the demons at Willy's and they filled him about some kind of prison camp for the undead," Xander said.

"Prison camp?"

"Demons have been disappearing enmasse and the rumor is Buffy's behind the whole thing. I guess most of them went missing around the Sunnydale University campus. Angel talked to a vampire who said he knew someone who knew someone who escaped from this gulag for ghouls. The last thing the vamp remembered before waking up in a white cell was fleeing from a fight with Buffy and Spike," Willow said.

"We were thinking because of the fighty and extra-strong pummel action she sports, Buffy might have been picked up by whoever is capturing demons," Xander said.

"Good lord," Giles whispered. Several panicky notions were competing to form in Giles' mind; he squelched them all before they could take shape.

"Angel has another theory," Willow said, nervously.

"Which is?"

"What do you think it is? Tall, dark and broody is convinced Buffy's disappearance is all a ruse so Spike could lure him here for the resurrection spell. I mean don't get me wrong, Spike is still a vampire. When Buffy first let him into the gang I thought it was going to be Evil Dead Part II, but at least Spike respects the group. He gets why those of us who aren't super-powered and who've been almost killed by him before would be a little skittish in presence. Angel acts like we're the ones who are tools because we can't seem to get over all the murder," Xander said, his hands flailing from their position on the steering wheel for a second to give extra punch to the word, "murder."

Willow put her hand on Xander's shoulder.

"It's O.K., big guy," Willow said, before turning back to face Giles,"This is his last chance to vent before we have to make nice."

"I take it we're going to meet with Angel soon."

"He's waiting for us at your place," Willow said.

"Lovely," Giles muttered. Being near Angel made him tense, to say the least. Giles put his glasses on. Gone a week and the world falls apart. Giles supposed it was good to be needed, though.

~*~*~*~

Angel was waiting in the courtyard for them when they arrived at Giles' flat. The vampire was wearing his ankle-length, black coat with dark trousers underneath; as always he was dressed in mourning. Perhaps now it was finally appropriate. They said their hellos. It struck Giles what a polite monster the vampire could be when he tried. Giles tried to forget how similar Angel's smile was when he was greeting people pleasantly to the one he wore as he tortured them. He couldn't help wondering if Angel had smiled at Jenny the same way.

They went inside the house and Giles went upstairs, leaving the others in his living room. He hoisted his bag up onto his bed. He unzipped the case and took out the clotted cream, loose tea and licorice toffee for Dav, setting them on his dresser so he wouldn't forget to call her in the morning. Even if he couldn't help his Slayer, he could at least comfort the young woman he'd grown to see as a good friend. Looking at the other souvenirs he'd brought back made him feel like a delusional, old fool. They had been impulse buys, but now it seemed especially insulting to present Willow and Xander with bobble heads that looked like the guards at Buckingham Palace. The tank top emblazoned with a sequined Union Jack for Buffy winking at him through the opened zipper of his bag made Giles want to cry.

When he came back downstairs, Xander and Angel were sitting at either ends of his couch, glaring at one another. Willow poked her head out of the kitchen.

"I put the kettle on and I found some bread in the freezer. You definitely want a grilled cheese sandwich?" Willow asked.

"That would be splendid, thank you," Giles said.

He went to the phone and called Joyce. She hadn't heard anything, just as he'd suspected. He filled her in and she seemed genuinely grateful. In the middle of the conversation, Willow placed a plate laden with a toasty sandwich in front of him. He ate mechanically, trying to sound reassuring between mouthfuls. Willow had mercifully plopped down in between Angel and Xander. Xander stared off into space while Angel and Willow spoke quietly about Cordelia. Joyce's voice sounded distant and tinny through the receiver. Giles realized he was far too exhausted to audit either conversation properly.

"At least they're together, wherever they are," Joyce said.

Giles shook his head.

"Pardon me?" he asked.

"Buffy and Spike. At least they're together wherever they are."

Giles was uncertain if Joyce was terribly naive, or if she understood something fundamental the others had missed. He hoped it was the latter.

"Yes, well, good night. I'll call you as soon as we get word."

"Good night, Rupert," Joyce said.

He placed the phone back in its cradle. The others became silent as they noticed Giles had finished his chat. Someone, most likely Willow, had placed the proper accoutrements around the room in order to conduct the spell.

"If you're ready, Giles, maybe we could try it again," Willow said. He nodded and they linked hands.

Just as it had for Willow, Giles' attempt ended up in flames as well. Giles doused the fire with his tepid tea.

"Alright, I've no bloody idea what to do next," Giles said, instantly realizing this was the worst thing to say. Willow looked like she might cry again and Xander seemed ready to pop.

"Don't you see, it's dark magicks disrupting the spell. That's proof Spike is doing something with the du Lac book," Angel said.

Xander rubbed his brow with a vaguely flailing motion.

"Right, because on the Hellmouth no one ever uses dark magicks and also doesn't Spike need your blood to work the mumbo jumbo mojo?" Xander asked.


Angel got close to Xander's face.

"Why are you defending Spike?"

"I'm not. I'm defending common sense and rational thought," Xander said.

Willow got in between the two, putting a hand on either of their shoulders.

"Hey, Xan, Angel may be right. I got a copy of the translation from Andrew and there are multiple parts to the spell, culminating with a sire sacrifice. Also, it's not just Angel's blood Spike would need; it would be his whole body," Willow said. Giles had no idea who Andrew was, but decided to save his question for another time.

"Where there any areas required by the spell; a holy place, a graveyard?" Giles asked.

"Why didn't I think of that! That church Buffy destroyed was mentioned and also he needs the skeleton of an orphan between the ages of six and seven."

"That du Lac was eerily specific with the horrible," Xander said.

"See, he could be using a spell to control Buffy right now to tailor make that orphan," Angel said.

"He'd hardly need her for that; besides, if Spike had the inclination, he'd bite her," Giles said, looking pointedly at Angel until the vampire ducked his head. "At least now we have a place to begin. We'll do a sweep of the church ruins, the graveyards and the University. However, I must insist on turning in for the night. You all understand?"

"Of course, thanks for your help, Giles," Willow said, walking to him and giving Giles a hug. The others followed, Xander subbing a handshake for the hug and Angel a curt nod. When they left, Giles sank onto the couch and promptly fell asleep.

~*~*~*~
She couldn't believe he was finally doing this for her, after so much pleading and begging. Buffy was curled up on the floor, draped in her blanket, concentrating on Spike's breathing on the other side of the wall.

"You're sure you want this, love?" he asked.

"Oh yeah. Give it to me."

He inhaled deeply.

"My soul is wrapped in harsh repose
Midnight descends in raven-colored clothes
But soft. Behold! A sunlight beam
Cutting a swath of glimmering gleam
My heart expands, 'tis grown a bulge in it
Inspired by your beauty... effulgent."

"Wow, you really let her read that right before you proposed?"

"The last two lines, yeah. It was that terrible?"

"No, just, I mean, I thought Victorians were more staid with their social mores and stuff, it makes sense that she'd be a little flustered—"

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" he asked, his voice rising.

"Your expanding...heart."

"It was about how I felt, it wasn't literal, haven't you ever heard of poetic license?"

"Replace heart with another part of your anatomy, lower down. You know, the one that tends to dominate most of your decisions."

"Oh....Ohhhhh," he said, and she could almost see him nodding, "no wonder she said I was beneath her, she thought I was writing an ode to my dick."

"The top of it's good, kind of like Edgar Allan Poe with but less lugubrious and no plutonium shore. Do you have any other poems?"

"We must be scraping the bottom of the conversation barrel if you want to hear more of my poetry. I think before I go again, you should have to compose something for the entertainment of the room."

"I can't—"

"It won't be worse than mine, love."

"Yours is actually a real poem though!"

"The next words I hear better follow an AA BB CC pattern or the well runs dry; no more Spike's shameful moments for your enjoyment."

"Wah! Give me a second."

Buffy thought on it, wishing she had a pen and paper. While she put some phrases together in her head, he hummed the tune from Jeopardy! So not helpful.

"This one's called, 'Spike,' because you're my creative inspiration."

"Aw, that's sweet," he said.

"Spike's a vampire who stalks the night,

He's fairly decent in a fight.

He's maybe evil and probably bad,

But if he left I would be sad.

When prowling the streets he wears all black.

Something, something, blam, Attack!

(Still working on that part)

His eyes are pretty and his abs totally rock.

Now if only he'd stop talking about his...heart.

So what do you think?"

"Fairly decent? I saved your pert, little ass more times than I can count and my eyes aren't pretty. They are piercing and should fill you with erotically-charged terror."

"Hey, you gave me like, two minutes to come up with something here. At least it rhymed!"

"True. But your stanzas are all out of whack, you've got syllables in there where they ought not be."

"What are you, an English professor?"

"When I was alive, yeah. So now I can kick ass and get pedantic."

"That's so..." Buffy almost said cute, but caught herself. He'd be apoplectic if she called him pretty and cute in such quick succession. But he was. Her duplicitous enemy turned uneasy partner was adorable. She longed to know the man who was shyly poking out from behind the monster. "What was your full name then? Your last name wasn't bloody, was it, or were you from Bloody like Leonardo da Vinci was from Vinci?"

"You get silly when you're tired, don't you, Slayer? It was William Wesley Pratt, which was sadly appropriate."

"If we live through this, you've gotta help me with my modern poetry class."

Her words stopped their merry back and forth.

"We'll live, Buffy. I promise you."

"You can't promise—"

"I can. I do. There's nothing more to worry about because I've decided we'll live, or at least you will. We're winning the bloody day, no arguments and don't roll your eyes at me, I can hear them swiveling in their sockets. Now get some rest," Spike said.

"Not before you recite another poem for me. You can't see it, but I'm pouting really hard over here."

"You know I can't resist that pout, naughty, little thing. Fine.
'Where true Love burns Desire is Love's pure flame;
It is the reflex of our earthly frame,
That takes its meaning from the nobler part,
And but translates the language of the heart.'"

"That's really pretty. You should have led with that one, I might have tried harder on mine," Buffy said.

"Would've loved to, but Samuel Taylor Coleridge wrote it, not me. Now sleep, darling. I'll be right next to you," he said.

"Good night," she said. The cot was marginally softer, but she didn't want to be that far away from him. Besides, if he really could feel the warmth of her body through the wall, she didn't want to deny him that small measure of comfort; not when he'd given so much to her.
End Notes:
Yes, I know the Cecily story contradicts canon, but I took a shine to it a long time ago, before I found out she was a vengeance demon. I suppose it could still work in canon if Hallie was only taking Cecily's guise, changing her response to William, then giving those memories of rejecting him back to the real girl. My version makes his proposal much less foolhardy but all the more crushing.

What's everyone think?
Chapter 13 by Minx DeLovely
Author's Notes:
Thanks to Puddinhead for editing this piece and for talking me through putting up the Sunnyd Awards button.

By the way, thanks so much to whoever nominated this one! It means so much to me!

Also, much happens in this chapter that you may dislike.
"Good night," she said. The cot was marginally softer, but she didn't want to be that far away from him. Besides, if he really could feel the warmth of her body through the wall, she didn't want to deny him that small measure of comfort; not when he'd given so much to her.

~*~*~*~

Giles awoke to the sound of the doorbell. He'd slept in his clothes without even bothering to take off his shoes. Frankly, he felt disgusting, but decided the visitor might be important. He shambled to his feet and answered the door. On his front landing stood Davinia. She looked as though she were valiantly trying to appear alright, despite the fact that she'd rapidly dropped about ten pounds since the last time they'd met. She was freshly-scrubbed in her lilac-colored dress and pink sweater, but the clothes pouched around her. Her large eyes were sunken as well. She was carrying a Tupperware container that looked like a small, toy drum and a paper grocery sack.

"Good morning, my dear," Giles said, taking the bag from her arms. He poked his nose in and was rewarded with the scent of spanakopita. He also noticed some grape leaves on top and his mouth began to water.

"Hey, Rupert. I stopped by to see how you were and to bring the gang some food. I hate to think of everybody just going back to ordering pizza all the time," she said.

"Yes, well, come in," he said. She entered and kicked his door shut. Then she went to the kitchen and placed her container on the counter before taking off the plastic lid. The fragrance of the pastry inside unfurled, causing him to sigh.

"Caramel apple cake. If my breath weren't atrocious, I would kiss you right now," he said.

"You're too nice to me," she said, dismissively, as she did every time he complimented her. Dav was rooting around the kitchen cupboards for one of his piece of his blue china. She slid the top dish off the stack. Then she went about finding a knife and fork in the drawers. She served him a slice and closed the lid without taking any for herself. With efficiency, she began putting the other food into his refrigerator. Giles stared at her, holding his plate at waist level.

"Go, sit, eat," she said.

"I'm sorry. I'm a bit dazed," he said, before following her instructions. After a few moments she followed him into the living room and sat on the couch. She began twisting a few stray strands of yarn on her frayed cuff. He savored the cake in silence until it was nothing more than a spray of crumbs on the plate. Giles was surprised that he actually felt a better. He set the dish on his coffee table and then put a hand on Davinia's shoulder.

"I'm sorry about you and Xander," he said.

Much to his shock, she hugged him. It only took a second for Giles to hug her back. They sat with his arm around her shoulders as though it were a regular habit, which it certainly was not. He never would have been so physically familiar with one of the children. Even though Davinia was about eighteen years his junior, she felt like a peer. He smiled at her, feeling a sense of inexplicable gratitude that there was an equal with whom to commiserate at that moment.

"I feel helpless about everything so I've been cooking up a storm. That's my solution when things get tough; braising sides of things. My mom thinks I need to have babies or adopt a lot of cats to work off all that maternal energy. I don't want to tell her I only get this way when I'm really, really upset. Sorry for being so bossy," she said.

"I could use a little mothering just now, so don't worry," Giles said, patting her hand, "also, kittens on the Hellmouth tend to be possessed by the demon Bastet, so it's imprudent to take in strays."

"Good to know. Is there anything else I can do to help Buffy?"

"You're doing enough already and now that Angel's here to aid in the investigation, we've got plenty of hands," Giles said.

She cocked her head and looked at him with embarrassment.

"Is Angel, like, still okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"I...he creeps me out."

"There's nothing to worry about. The two of you would have no occasion to interact."

"See, that's what I thought, too, but Angel stopped by my apartment the other night. I-I accidentally let him in. It's stupid. I know he's not all evil anymore, but I'm kind of freaked out."

"Why was he at your apartment?" Giles asked, tensing at the thought of them alone with one another.

"He was looking for the gang."

Giles squeezed her more tightly and felt an irrational urge to never let go. Davinia's dark eyes were so like Jenny's. She was an innocent, even more so than Xander or Willow. She shouldn't have to live in fear of the moment when a trusted friend could use his privileged knowledge to destroy her.

"I'll speak to him and make certain he doesn't bother you again," Giles said.

"Thank you. So...how is Xander doing?" she asked, innocently.

"Dreadfully."

"That's a relief," she said, smiling against his shoulder.

~*~*~*~

Spike and Buffy were so exhausted, they didn't hear the footfalls of the soldiers approaching their cells. Buffy whimpered as the tranquilizer dart sunk into her neck, but the noise did not rouse the vampire. Agent Schuler and Agent Blake clomped into Buffy's room. They picked her up and placed her on a gurney they'd brought. By the time Spike sensed her loss and called her name, she was already being prepped in the surgical ward.

~*~*~*~
As he stared at her bare back, Xander was transfixed by the way Willow's waist tapered. She was fastening her bright, blue bra and her short, red hair was dusting along her shoulders.

"You're so beautiful, Wills," Xander said. He was lying on his stomach, his head pillowed in his folded arms.

She glanced at him over her shoulder and a shy smile touched her lips.

"Really?" she asked.

"Really."

"You shouldn't say things like that," she whispered.

Xander felt his skin flush. Even though he and Dav had broken up, touching Willow still felt like cheating. If he were being brutally honest, it was cheating; he still loved Davinia. He loved Willow, too, but it wasn't in the same way. Willow knew it and so did he—this was nothing more than a band-aid on a bullet wound. Still, as he slid on his goofy, gold and black parachute pants, he felt proud knowing Willow could get hot for him even when he was dressed like one of M.C. Hammer's back up dancers.

Xander stood and walked over to her, still feeling dizzy. After they'd scoured campus for three hours searching for anyone or anything that could help in their search for Buffy, they'd gone back to the dorm to take a nap. The nap led to frantic sex, the kind that felt almost like punishment until the orgasm split open the pain. Xander had taken solace in Willow's body, but his satisfaction had fled the moment she'd gotten up to set herself right.

"I think Angel suspects something because of his vampiric smelling abilities. He pulled me aside when we were out on patrol and asked if I wanted to talk," Willow said. She stood at the mirror beside the dresser and dabbed perfume on her wrists. It filled the air with the scent of vanilla.

"Doesn't Oz?" Xander asked, trailing a light fingertip along her arm. She glanced over at him.

"I put the brakes on things with Oz before I started the smoochies with you. Thanks for the vote of confidence," Willow said.

"You didn't say anything—"

"I didn't think I'd have to. He and I broke up the day after we figured out Buffy vanished."

"Because of me?" Xander asked, kissing the spot he'd just touched.

"No, it's more because he's been scaring me a lot lately with the possessiveness." She was combing her hair and gazing sadly at her reflection.

"That sounds very un-Oz-like," Xander said, wondering why he was defending a guy who was essentially his romantic rival.

"I know. Hence the scary. He wants to talk about him and me again, soon," Willow said.

"And what are you going to tell him?"

"It's over. But I don't want you to think...like I'm not expecting you to be my boyfriend. I know this whole thing is more of us reacting to losing Buffy. And I know you're still in love with Dav. Plus I was really rooting for the two of you, even though I sound like a big hypocrite pants. She's good for you," Willow said, setting down her comb. Xander realized he's left a wicked hickey on her pale chest.

"You're not wearing pants," Xander said, leering at the ruffled, pink undies that so didn't match with her bra. There was something unbearably sexy about the incongruity. Xander knew she was right. He couldn't picture himself staying with her as his girlfriend, or she with him. Everything about their furtive couplings felt transitory; the choice to do it seemed to fade in importance faster than the bruises left behind.

They were scheduled to meet with Andrew and Eddie in about a half hour to go over spell research, which meant they had about twenty minutes. He wound his arms around Willow's slim, bone-china white waist. He felt as though he'd snap her in half if he squeezed her too tightly. His chin fit neatly in the crook of her neck and they stared at their reflection framed in the rectangular mirror.

“I feel like a complete monster for doing this,” Willow said.

"Don't, sex is just another way of doing what we've always done. We're being here for each other," Xander said.

"You make it sound so nice," Willow said, her smile brightening and her eyebrows rising on the last word. Xander slid his hands into the cups of her bra, plucking at her nipples until her flesh puckered with goosebumps.

"Nice?"

"No. Not nice," she said and then tilted her mouth to his for another kiss.

~*~*~*~

Angel had been staying in the mansion again despite the bad memories. He figured Spike would look for him there first even though he was beginning to lose hope of ever seeing either him or Buffy again.

The ruins of the church hadn't been disturbed or transformed into a site for ritual. There'd been no grave robbing and no missing orphan reported, which was good, but left Angel wondering where to go next. The whelp and the tiny witch were focused on the prison camp, but there was no evidence of such a place beside the loose talk in the demon underground.On top of that, Angel was certain the old friends had insisted on patrolling campus alone because they'd begun sleeping together. He could pick up their scent on one another and the odd, guilty looks the redhead kept casting at her friend.

Sometimes it felt to Angel as though he was the only one taking Buffy's disappearance seriously. He knew Buffy was still alive, knew it with his whole being, but he also sensed she was in pain. None of the others were connected the way he was; none of them had his sense of urgency.

Giles had been a disappointment in helping with the search. The old man was falling apart without Buffy. Angel could hardly cast a glance at the Watcher because part of Giles' decline fell squarely at his feet. As Angelus he'd zeroed in on Giles' because he was Buffy's one protector. Now that he was himself again, Angel knew if the Watcher was of no use to his pupil in her hour of need, the fault was his, not Giles.'

There was a knock summoning Angel from his contemplation. The vampire rose from the marble floor and answered the door. The Watcher who had just been occupying his thoughts was standing on the other side, holding a leather satchel and fingering the end of a walking stick. It saddened Angel to think the man, who was not half-way to fifty yet, already needed a cane.

"Please come in, did you hurt yourself?" Angel asked. The man gave him a curt nod and limped past him, relying heavily on the stick.

"Yes, I was digging through some books and took a nasty spill off of my step ladder. It was foolish, really, I was exceeding my reach. At any rate, my back is sprained."

Angel realized he'd invited Giles to the same place where he'd tortured him; where Dru had convinced him his beloved Jenny was still alive. The vampire's stomach clenched. He wondered how the soul could do that when his stomach hadn't really moved in more than a hundred and seventy years. Giles hobbled to stand by one of the wing chairs scattered by the fire and waited. Angel glided over to him and gestured for the Watcher to sit.

"No thank you. Believe it or not, being upright helps more. Where are the others?"

Angel took the less comfortable seat near the hearth, in case Giles changed his mind. He folded his hands in his lap and crossed his legs.

"Xander and Willow are on campus. Their friends, the boys, I guess they're looking into a refining spell. It would cleanse the ether of dark magic. I'm not sure what's going on with Davinia," Angel said. Giles took off his glasses and cleaned them with a handkerchief.

"She's safe, she's staying with Joyce tonight. I set some wards on Buffy's home before this debacle began," Giles said, sliding his spectacles into his front pocket.

"That's good. Have you heard anything from Spike?"

"No. At this point I'm not counting on an appearance from him. It would be simpler, but I believe we're dealing with something a great deal more organized than William the Bloody could have ever hoped to be," Giles said.

Angel's smile barely indented his cheeks and left his eyes flat.

"That's what I feared. At least with Spike, I know I can take him in a fight," Angel said.

The memory of his first fight with William came back to the vampire unbidden. He'd goaded the fledgling vamp by fucking his woman, then demanded young Willy fight for her. Poor Dru had been so confused that their fun and games had so displeased her new creation. Angel had pummeled William; breaking his flawless skin and spilling all his stolen spoils on the ground. Then he'd taken the fledgling vamp as William begged Drusilla not to watch.

Literally taken him.

What a poor choice of words, Angel thought, with a shudder. Perhaps that's why he'd always resented Spike. The only place Angel could ever see his reflection was in those clear, blue eyes. What he saw staring back at him was vile.

Giles noticed Angel's distress, but luckily didn't ask him to elaborate.

"I wish I could tell you this was some new information that would help us find Buffy, but I wanted to speak to you about the blood bond. I found out a great deal from Mrs. Avenolie on my visit."

Angel shifted in his chair.

"Go on."

Giles began shuffling behind him toward the oak table where there sat a decanter of Scotch. Angel kicked himself for not offering the Watcher anything to drink. He looked at the flames creeping over the cedar branches in the grate and listened to liquid being poured. Giles took a sip and sighed, the liquor sloshing gently in his glass.

"She thought there was a cure to rupture the connection without taking drastic measures, but it proved to be a very old, very elaborate hoax. Through the additional research, we discovered Buffy will likely become more and more compromised as time goes on, especially if you continue to be near her," Giles said. Angel heard him down the rest of the liquor, then set the empty vessel on the wooden table.

"You're sure?"

"Yes, unfortunately. There are steps to ameliorate the pull you have upon her, but they are difficult," Giles said, moving closer.

"I'll do anything for Buffy. I love her with all my soul," Angel said. The words caught in his throat and the vampire choked back a sob. He felt the Watcher's hand on his shoulder.

"I truly believe that," Giles said.

A second later Angel felt something stabbing through his chest. Then all the love, all the pain and all the regret of two centuries disintegrated into a pile of dust.

~*~*~*~

Giles stood over the crumbling ash that had been Angel a few seconds before. He returned the glass ornament onto his grandmother's cane concealing the sharpened, wooden stake once more. He wasn't proud of his kill, as Grandmother would have been, so Giles didn't regret that he wasn't able to make a prize of Angelus' canines. She was the first—the only—female to head the Watcher's Council. She had bigger bollocks than his and Giles had told her as much on her sick bed, back when he was an angry, young man.

Grandmama had met death with a peal of laughter.

Giles supposed there was a bit of Ripper left within him to take such pleasure in seeing his former torturer gone. The idea to stake Angel had formed when Giles learned the blood bond would pull Buffy down until the vampire's final day, making her more and more vulnerable to his advances with time. Then learning that Spike could use Angel to bring back Drusilla added more urgency to the choice. But the last straw had been the fear in Davinia's eyes. Giles couldn't stand to see her that way, looking so much like Jenny.

God, Jenny.

Maybe it had just been about Jenny. If that were true, it would be more than enough.

Giles had played the wounded lamb and convinced the wolf he was less than a threat. Then he'd simpered close and stabbed the beast in the back without qualms. Jenny was worth that hit to his dignity; so were Buffy and Dav. At least now his Slayer had a fighting chance. Giles took his eyeglasses from his pocket, wiped the lenses clean and put them back on. He walked gracefully to the door, twirling the cane in his hand.

It was time to find Buffy.

~*~*~*~

Maggie was watching the bank of monitors with one arm wrapped around her waist and the other hand supporting her chin. Two of her soldiers were cavorting, nude, with the former Harmony Kendall. Maggie had carefully documented the progression in the boys from sexual aggressors who were intent on forcing themselves upon the creature to virtual slaves to the vampire's beck and call. She'd deduced their willing supplication had to do with the blood they gave to the hostile.

Perhaps, Maggie thought, she could use this information to hasten results in another difficult case.

Installing a behavior modification chip in Buffy Summers had been an utter failure. The little spitfire had no physiological reaction to the stimulation. The girl's body ignored the highly specialized military weapon as though it were nothing more than an earring and Maggie immediately removed the thing. Buffy's DNA proved she was a human being, but her body chemistry was definitely foreign to Maggie's expertise. Perhaps it wasn't the so-called Slayer gene. Perhaps the chip only worked on men; after all, Maggie hadn't tested it on any females.

No matter; Professor Walsh had another avenue to pursue. She pressed the intercom button and brought her lips close to the microphone.

"Agent Schuler, Agent Blake, I need you to bring me Hostile Nineteen from the recovery room."


~*~*~*~

Agent Finn had no idea his shift would begin with such upheaval. Professor Walsh and Doctor Oliver were having words in the darkened control room with its wall of television screens.

"Why can't you ever leave well enough alone, Mags? You've got to keep pushing until there's nothing left to break," Lloyd said, his hands secured to his hips. Professor Walsh stood within an inch of the doc, her finger in his face.

"I do what needs to be done."

"What needs to be done, what needs to be done? That's a riot. We surely needed this genocide."

"Genocide! That must be hyperbole—"

"No, Mags, there's just one Buffy Summers and you may have destroyed her—"

At the mention of Buffy's name, Riley's eyes darted to the surveillance system. He watched as Blake and Schuler wheeled Buffy down the detention hall. The image jumped from screen to screen as they moved. The hostiles were going mad; banging on the glass walls of their cages and shreiking as she passed. Riley noticed red stains soaking through the white sheet that covered her. The animals could smell her blood. The soldiers wheeled Buffy past Spike as the vampire screamed nonsensically on the screen.

Blake swiped his card and waited as the glass wall retreated. Then he rolled the prone girl into her cell and dumped her on the cot. Without the sheet she was stark naked. Riley's color rose at the sight of her and he tried to focus on her face. Her eyes were closed, her full lips were lax and chapped. Blake left, trapping her inside the room that was separated from Spike's enclosure with nothing more than a retractable wall.

A second later, Spike darted from his room to hers; it registered to Riley as a character moving from one monitor screen to another. The vampire knelt beside her and then lowered his head to the oozing wound on her upper arm. Dr. Oliver stopped screaming at Professor Walsh and gaped.

"So we're going to watch him eat her, is that it?" Oliver asked.

"He's sealing the cuts. Their saliva has a coagulant that's released at will," Riley said, softly. Riley normally wouldn't have intervened in a discussion between two superiors, but he was so upset he momentarily forgot his place.

"Very good, Finn. I'm glad at least one of you is paying attention. Hostile Seventeen is reacting just as I predicted. All that observation you go on about has actually proven useful, Lloyd. Her wounds are superficial, but I knew the hostile wouldn't be able to resist her blood. We'll give Nineteen some time to recuperate and then test the results," Maggie said. She turned on her heel and began walking toward the exit.

"Don't walk away from me!" Dr. Oliver shouted. He seemed immediately ashamed of what he'd said. Shock dropped his mouth open a fraction and his eyes got rounder. Professor Walsh looked sternly at the doctor, her profile harder than one of the craggy visages from Mount Rushmore.

"Pull yourself together, Lloyd. We have a meeting with Lieutenant Colonel Adset in an hour," Professor Walsh said. As Maggie brushed past Riley, he had to suppress a shudder of revulsion. He'd never felt anything remotely negative about his mentor before, but at that moment he could hardly look in her direction. When she breezed out of the room, Dr. Oliver must have noticed that Riley had steeled himself at her touch. The doc passed by and gave Riley a sympathetic look.

"You're in charge until we return, soldier."

"Yes sir."

Dr. Oliver patted his shoulder.

"You're a good man, Agent Finn," Doctor Oliver said before he left.

Riley was alone in the control room. Even though he knew he shouldn't, Riley couldn't help himself. He looked at Buffy on the monitor. Spike was crawling along her body, gently lapping up her blood. There were three, long gashes—one on each arm and the last on her abdomen. Riley felt a thrill trickle up his spine at the way her nipples hardened and her soft moan when the monster dragged his tongue along the edge of the wound. He was disgusted with himself for spying on something so incredibly intimate, but just as compelled to watch. When the vampire had finished tending to the seemingly unconscious girl, he wrapped her in his black trench coat.

"Can you hear me, love?" Spike asked, staring into her face.

Her lashes fluttered and she touched his ruddy mouth. She nodded. He kissed the tips of her fingers.

"Please talk to me," Buffy whispered

"Don't know what to say. Maybe sing something? My mother liked it when I'd sing to her when she was ill."

She smiled and then closed her eyes again.

Spike began rocking her and gazing into her face. Tears were glossing the vampire's eyes and spilling onto her chest. His voice cracked as he began the tune.

"The other night dear, when I lay sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms. But when I awoke dear, I was mistaken, so I hung my head down and cried. You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray, you'll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away...don't know the rest of the words, love—"

Of all the things he'd seen in his short, strange life, Riley never imagined he would witness a monster singing a lullaby. He went to the control panel and shut off the feed from their cell.

"Yeah, I'm a good man," Riley said, bitterly.
End Notes:
So, how much do you hate me? Let me know in the comment section!
Chapter 14 by Minx DeLovely
Author's Notes:
Sorry this chapter is so short, but I thought we could use a bit of a breather after all the action of the last one. This is unbetaed, all mistakes are mine.
Previously:



Of all the things he'd seen in his short, strange life, Riley never imagined he would witness a monster singing a lullaby. He went to the control panel and shut off the feed from their cell.



"Yeah, I'm a good man," Riley said, bitterly.



~*~*~*~



The New Dog

by Linda Pastan



Into the gravity of my life,

the serious ceremonies

of polish and paper

and pen, has come



this manic animal

whose innocent disruptions

make nonsense

of my old simplicities--



as if I needed him

to prove again that after

all the careful planning,

anything can happen.





~*~*~*~

She'd woken up to the pain of a scalpel cutting into her skin and Professor Walsh's pensive face looking down at her. Buffy had been paralyzed by the lingering affects of anesthesia. She couldn't scream or move as her teacher sliced her open with the blade. Then she was wheeled down the corridor under the scant protection of a sheet while the inmates howled for her blood. The indignities mounted and she didn't wonder why Walsh took her clothes away. It was all designed to make her feel like she was less of a human being.



That's why the soldiers stood outside their cell watching Spike tend to her wounds. That's why someone was probably still watching them.



Tears were snaking out of the corners of Buffy's eyes and she didn't know how to make it stop.



None of it would stop.



Spike was kneeling on the floor beside Buffy's cot, holding her left hand in both of his. He felt hot; not just normal body temp, which would have been strange for Spike, but like a man with a fever. After he'd finished his song she'd begged him for another. He gave up after singing all the tracks from, "God Save the Queen," and they'd just been staring at each other.



"Say something to me, Slayer," Spike whispered.



"Angel is gone," Buffy said. The dreaded certainty had settled in her gut before she'd fully regained consciousness.



"I know. Family connection and all that."



Buffy reached over and hugged Spike. It was a comfort not having to explain how she'd felt the loss through her blood. She withdrew from the embrace and leaned back on the mattress.



"Do you...do you miss him? I know you two never got along even when you were both evil, except for the orgying part."



Spike's head dipped and he gave her a sneer.



"Sometimes not even then."



"But like you said, you were lovers. I mean you must have felt something for him, right?"



His eyes seemed to expand and his lips were pressed tightly together.



"It was complicated."



His expression and the veneer of snark every time he talked about sex with Angel finally brought her to an obvious conclusion. Buffy felt ashamed of her own naivety.



"He forced himself on you, didn't he?"



"Buffy, he's dead now. It doesn't matter."



"It does to me."



Spike took a breath and gave her a level gaze, the overhead light catching his eyes so they turned glacier blue.



"I never knew the person you fell in love with. Angelus was a different man."



"That's not totally true though, is it?" she asked, her voice pitching higher, "Sometimes I feel...I felt like he manipulated me, he'd go behind my back for my own good like I was this little school girl with a crush." Buffy covered her face with her hands."God, I sound like I don't even love him."



"No, you don't," Spike said, collecting the upper half of her body into his arms. He spoke quietly at her ear while he held her. "Yeah, at first it was punishment; establish the pecking order. But whose to say I wouldn't have done the same if I'd been the stronger one? You know what sort of creatures vampires are. They just take what they want. In the end I gave as good as I got with him and he taught me a few things along the way. We made a good team. He helped me get Dru back when she was kidnapped by a rival clan in St. Petersberg. He fought by my side, had my back. When the three of us were together again it was almost sweet."



Buffy loosened her hold on him and studied Spike's face.



"So you were like all together all together?" she asked, her eyebrow arched.



"You've got a filthy mind, Slayer, but what else should I expect from a bloody teenager. What I'm saying is that yeah, there were seeds of your Angel in my Angelus. And I've no doubt he loved you. Never seen him care for a woman the way he did you, not even Darla."



"Really?"



"Really."



"When he left it was the worst, but in this weird way I was grateful, too. It almost hurt more to be near him than it did to be away," Buffy said.



"So close but you can't touch."



"Yeah."



"That's a special kind of hell," Spike said.



They gazed at one another for a pregnant moment. Suddenly Angel was not the vampire foremost in her mind. Spike touched her cheek and bit his tumescent lower lip in a way that he had to know would drive her crazy. She raised a shaky finger and traced the outline of his soft, red mouth. The neon lighting in her too-white cell made his skin translucent and he could see the delicate blue veins swollen with her blood winding just beneath his flesh. Even though it was wrong, she liked knowing part of her was inside of him.



Spike let her continue to explore his face with light fingers. She touched the scar above his left eyebrow that twigged like the tributaries of a river. His long lashes swept against the underside of her arm as she caressed the mark, sending ticklish sparks through her body. His nostrils flared when her hand passed over the bridge of his nose. She brushed his throat and he swallowed hard. Buffy took her hands away for a moment and then leaned over to slide them under the hem of his t-shirt. He stilled, deliberating, then helped her lift the fabric up over his head. He didn't make a sound, but his eyes seemed to be speaking. They looked terrified and hopeful all at once.



Buffy sat up on the cot, which made the metal frame squeak. Her legs were far apart and dangled over the edge of the mattress. She didn't know how to say what she wanted from him. It might have been different if they were alone but to expose her need further in this horrible place was too much humiliation. She wanted her body back. She wanted the ache of each incremental loss to cease, even if it was only for a little while. Buffy told herself this wasn't giving up even if it was giving in. She spread the coat open, offering her body to his conflicted gaze.



Spike's dark brows crumpled together. He rose slightly and then hugged her close.



"Are you here with me, Buffy?"



"What?"



He held her at arms' length, both hands spread out on the sides of her face. His fingers threaded through her short hair, reminding her of something else she'd lost.



"Is it you who wants this or is me needing you so bloody much?" he asked, giving her head a gentle shake. Buffy closed her eyes.



"Spike, please—"



"You have to drink some of my blood."



Her lids opened and she wrenched herself away from him.



"No!" Buffy said as she scuttled backward until her back was against the wall. "I'm not letting you turn me."



Spike leaned back on his heels.



"Wouldn't turn you, just trying to even the score."



"Why would I need to do that?"



"You're too much temptation all alone like this. I don't want to bite you, love."



"So don't."



"It's not that simple; not when they're forcing me to feed from you."



His words reached Buffy through her fear. She knew he was being starved and understood to what purpose; they knew about the bond and would use Spike to control her. Goading him into biting her was probably the ultimate goal. Buffy couldn't let that happen but wished there was some other way. She remembered how quickly his body began to disintegrate after Drusilla drained him.



"I'll hurt you," Buffy said.



"You won't. It'll feel good to me, like it did for you," he said, cocking his head at her.



"Spike, I need you strong if we're going to get out."



"Please, love. Trust me. This is the only way we'll both make it."



She thought of what he was offering and felt revolted, even though she had been pretty eager to get cozy with some of his other bodily fluids a couple seconds before. This was way more intimate than sex, though, and the dangers were tenfold. It had taken nearly all her courage to offer herself to him and Buffy wasn't sure how much more she had left. His caution meant a great deal to her, though. He wanted her to be Buffy, not a shadow of herself. In that moment, she realized Spike's love for her was one of the few things she could rely upon there.



"I do trust you," Buffy said.



Spike placed a soft peck on her lips before he let her go. His face shifted into a series of lumps and ridges. He brought his wrist to his fangs and bit into the tapered joint, just as he had for Drusilla. Then he reached his arm toward her. Buffy fought back her repulsion and held his wound to her mouth, licking the red blood cautiously with the tip of her tongue. It was coppery with an odd, spicy undertone that reminded her of incense. Taking from him was making her wet and the more she took, the more she wanted. All the initial ickiness was gone. Buffy latched onto the broken skin and drank deeply. Spike stifled a groan and cupped her head. She took one more long pull and then let go. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.



"Was that good?" she whispered.



He lunged at her and kissed her open mouth. She sucked on his tongue and then teased it crudely without self-consciousness. He was on his knees in between her thighs and her pussy was brushing against his bare stomach as they kissed. His skin was still hot. The heat against her exposed sex made her feel dirty, dirtier still when he ground his belt buckle against her clit. The jolt of cool, sharp metal made her want to cry out. Buffy bit her lower lip instead.



She leaned away just long enough to undo his belt and take down his zipper. She reached into his pants. Her fingertips scraped against his pubic hair as she grabbed his cock. She'd never been so bold before, with the grabbing, but her desire for him exceeded her shame. His whole body shuddered as she squeezed his erection and she held him tight against her to keep him from falling over. She rested her head against his chest and stroked his length. Her tongue darted out from between her lips to taste his nipple. She blew on his wet skin and Spike gasped.



He grabbed her wrists and shoved her flat on the thin mattress. Spike brought her arms up over her head as he pounced on top of her. She landed with her legs splayed. His mouth moved over hers and he drove his cock inside of her damp, narrow slit. When he penetrated her, Buffy buried her face in the crook of his arm, biting his bicep to keep from screaming. The friction from his body was burning her from the inside and her tears returned.



Spike stopped moving and abruptly let go of her hands. He propped himself up like he was doing a push up and looked into her eyes.



"You tell me when to move, love," he said.



"I can't, not when they can hear," she said.



"Then show me," he said, taking her hands and placing them on the hard curve of his ass. She slid his jeans further down. Buffy closed her eyes and willed herself to let go. As she relaxed the walls of her vagina seemed to shimmer and bow to accommodate his invading flesh. She gave him a slap on the bottom and he smirked down at her. His hips started churning slowly against hers in time with the way she kneaded his ass. He went faster and faster until his cock stirred up so much moisture their bodies met with a splash.



She kissed his eyes and his clenched jaw. All the muscles in his neck and shoulders were sharpened by his concentration. His chin was thrust out and his lower lip was curling under smugly, like it was taking all his power not to start bragging about how good he was at getting her off. She wished he would, but they were both trying to be quiet. Silence was the last form of privacy they had.



He pounded into her and she was eddied by the overwhelming sensation until the orgasm finally crashed through her body. Spike sped up his pace as she spasmed around him. His body jerked and then he collapsed on top of her, panting like a drowning man who'd just clawed his way to shore. Spike was gone a moment, before settling back on top of her with the blanket. Buffy petted his short, soft, brown hair and he nuzzled against her chest.



She was hovering near sleep when his hands on her breasts became more insistent. It felt almost too much but still good. She looked down at him and smiled at the way he was gazing at her nipples. He seemed to think making them hard was an incredible accomplishment. He bit the tip of her breast and her back arched off of the cot.



"Love the way you look in this coat with your tits out. Like a dream come true," he whispered.



"Dirty," she said, a sleepy smile poured on her face.

Chapter 15 by Minx DeLovely
Author's Notes:
Thank you to the lovely Sanityfair. Sorry for the delay in posting.
"Love the way you look in this coat with your tits out. Like a dream come true," he whispered.





"Dirty," she said, a sleepy smile poured on her face.





~*~*~*~


Buffy never gave Spike's flesh a chance to grow cold again; once she started touching him, she hadn't stopped. They were naked underneath the white blanket. The light seeping through the weave of the fabric left a crosshatched shadow on Spike's pale, unmarred skin. She kissed his hip, then licked the shallow, concave spot just below the bone. He was hugging her waist and his cheek was pressed against the slope of her stomach. She'd lost count of her orgasms since they started and was too sore for him touch her between her legs, but she couldn't bear to be separated from him. Even an inch felt too far away.





In some ways Spike was a being stronger and stranger than she; he soaked up her caresses like a stone in the sun. His penis was warm and hard under her hands. She folded down his foreskin and dragged her tongue along the tip, drawing out a white pearl of fluid from the narrow slit. His back arched and he sucked in an unneeded breath, just as he had the first time she'd done this to him. She swallowed his engorged cock until his pubic hair was scratching her lips. His taste and scent had become a balm to her in their captivity. He smelled like dusty silk and the ash of a long-ago smoked cigarette.





She wished he could moan for her, but his stifled whimpers had to be enough. He let her roll him over onto his back, so she was lying on top. Throughout the maneuver she didn't let his erection slide out of her mouth. She spread his legs wide so his ass was vulnerable and open for her. She pushed her finger into the tight aperture of muscle and felt his whole body buck. The opening was so tight it was almost cutting off her circulation. She started to fuck his ass with her finger in time with the rise and fall of her mouth. The head of his penis was hitting the back of her throat while his anus throbbed. She added another finger and he finally moaned. His pace became more frantic.





She could feel his semen surging beneath the thin skin under her lips as Spike came again, choking on her name. His cum tasted like salted caramel. She milked him until his body stopped palpitating, then slid her fingers out gently before releasing his cock. He was panting so she repositioned on top of him in order to listen as the air pulled in and out of his otherwise silent chest. After he calmed down and was entirely still, she ran her hand lazily along his body. When it snagged on his hard penis, she gave him a languid smile.





"I can't believe you still want me," she said, softly.





"Never have enough of you," he said.





"It's more than that. You're amazing," she said.





"I just love you."





Buffy was grateful his eyes were closed, because she wasn't sure how to respond. What he'd done for her had been incredible, but what he was had not changed. She'd loved a vampire before, but Angel's move toward goodness was innate while Spike only cared for her. His moratorium on killing would likely end when she did. Without her acting as his leash, she knew he'd get bitey real fast. She didn't know if she was able to love someone who could disregard right and wrong when her existence was about fighting for the good.





Spike's hand approached her face and his fingers grazed the short tendrils of her hair. He opened his eyes and gave her a tender smile. When he looked at her that way, she felt like her chest was being squeezed, and her stomach was a heavy stone. Her indecision must have been plain to him.





"Didn't say it to hear you parrot back. Only thought you could stand to hear it."





Her eyes were wide and wet; her lower lip trembled. Buffy crawled on top of him. She pinned his hands above his head with one of her palms and impaled herself on his rigid cock. He hissed and turned his head against the pillow. She rocked her hips, letting his tireless cock massage the bruised, aching flesh. She didn't have the strength to support herself over him very long and her arms gave out. Their chests slapped together as she landed and the stubble on his cheek scraped against her forehead. His mouth was open and, his eyes were screwed up as he squelched a groan. She didn't know if it was an expression of pleasure or pain.





He shook off her hands and wrapped his arms around her waist.





"Sleep, pet. It's alright."





She couldn't move in his embrace. She stopped trying to please him and just sprawled across his chest, her ear over the place where his heart should have been beating. She wished with every part of herself that it was still beating—that he was still alive. What she held in her arms was only the husk of a man; he was something else inside. The longer she knew him though, the harder it was to remember he wasn't human. Unless she had her ear pressed to his chest. Buffy wanted to succumb to her exhaustion, but she was afraid he'd be gone when she awoke. It might be the last moment they had together; it might be the last moment of her life. Even though Buffy wasn't sure, she decided she had to say the words anyway.





"I love you, Spike," she whispered. His hands tightened on her arms but he didn't speak. She'd finally made him speechless. He kissed her forehead and soon after she drifted off, still holding him inside of her.





~*~*~*~





Oh, I don't know what love is, I never will



But when you're gone from me I know I'll still



Want you to be with me and wonder why



There never was a love for you and I



"I Don't Know What Love Is," by Vashti Bunyan





~*~*~*~


Riley didn't know why he'd decided to stay until Hostile Nineteen woke up. After all, he knew she would not be happy to see him. Riley supposed she deserved to have her pain seen up close, not through the distance of a monitor.





He'd switched on the television feed from her cell before Professor Walsh returned from her meeting. Riley wanted to skip the dressing down his boss would give him if she knew he'd shut it off. The sight of Buffy and her vampire had been—enlightening. He'd never known he could get bored with watching a beautiful girl have sex, but he had. The Slayer and the monster had gone at it for pretty much eight hours straight, which was a full workday without a coffee break.





There was something so desperate and so tender about the way they fucked that the whole spectacle left Riley feeling like the worst kind of pervert,; especially following the exchange of "I love you's," at the end. Riley had never felt anything like that for anybody or anything before. For some reason, watching them made him doubt he ever would.





Professor Walsh had come into the office soon after the hostiles had fallen asleep. She was agitated and demanded Riley be the one to pry them apart so she could continue the experiment on Spike. He was so close to telling her no, it almost shocked him. Riley included Graham and Forrest in his retrieval mission because he knew they'd be respectful to Buffy. Mitchell and some of the other soldiers had made comments about her Riley didn't like.





They'd brought a gurney and some sedative, although Riley doubted they'd need the drugs. He didn't warn the other two guys the state Spike and Buffy would be in when he went into the white cell. There were a few titters from Graham when he saw the couple fast asleep. The white blanket had slid off of Buffy shoulders, exposing them both from the waist up.





"I get Nineteen, you guys grab Seventeen," Riley said.





"Right, you hold onto the fine as hell naked girl, Riley, while we tussle with the vampire who has an erection. That's fair," Forrest said.





"Just do it."





"Fine, pull rank."





"Fine, I will."





Riley injected Spike first, which caused the vampire to grunt. Then he stuck Buffy. Riley picked up the blanket and wrapped it around Buffy before scooping her up into his arms. Graham and Forrest took Spike at his hands and ankle respectively. They swung him onto the gurney and then fastened his wrists to the sides with handcuffs. Riley set Buffy down again. His friends were about to wheel the naked hostile into the hallway when Riley stopped them. He scooped up the black leather coat from the floor and draped it across the vampire's nude form. That bit of discretion caused Graham to snicker some more.





After the three of them had delivered Spike to one of Doctor Walsh's examination rooms, Riley couldn't stop thinking of Buffy. So there he was, sitting beside her cot on a metal stool, watching her eyes shift beneath her lids. Buffy suddenly woke, her body jerking beneath the blanket. Her arms met resistance when she tried to move them. Riley put her in the restraints so she wouldn't pummel him to death. She looked down at her body and clenched her fists.





"Where is he?" she asked.





"With Professor Walsh."





"She's torturing him, isn't she?" Buffy asked. Her eyes seemed to convey heat and weight, causing Riley's skin to prickle with shame. Riley ducked his head a moment then tried to refocus on her furious, green eyes.





"I don't know. Probably."





The muscles in her jaw flexed.





"Why are you here, Riley? Are you just gloating or did you rummage around my bathing suit area when I was passed out?"





He turned bright red, from chin to hairline.





"I didn't touch you, like any more than I had to."





"Had to?"





"Your hands. I touched your hands. I brought you some shampoo and soap so you can shower when I go. I don't know where your clothes went, so there are some scrubs you can wear. There’s more food, too. Mostly Snickers bars. That's all they have in the vending machine besides Paydays, and I always thought those were gross."





"You were the one who gave me the candy?"





"Yeah. Chocolate always cheers my sister up when she's down."





"I'm not down. My lover is being tortured, I've been kidnapped, and my mom doesn't know if I'm alive or dead. I don't think a couple Snickers bars are going to cut it."





"Buffy, I'm just doing my job."





"So I'm supposed to sympathize because you're not enjoying yourself? If you want me to make you feel better, you're coming to the wrong person."





"I'm sorry."





"Unless your mode of expressing regret is helping me and Spike escape, I don't care."





"I can't."





Her voice was low and seemed to scrape its way out of her throat.





"Then go to hell," she said.





Riley winced at her tone and stood up. His boots hit the floor hard and in a few steps he had returned to the corridor.





He felt humiliated for even trying to help her.





Riley walked down the hall, passing the examination room as he went. A man's scream coming through the wall stopped him. He turned and looked through the circular window in the door to see Spike. The vampire was naked, speckled with leaking, red gashes and suspended by his arms. Even though his eyes were swollen shut with black bruises, Spike was still smirking.





"I can go all night you fucking viper, but you might want to take a break, shave off that five o'clock shadow," Spike said. Then he let loose with a mad man's cackle.





Riley kept going before he could see what Professor Walsh was doing. He reminded himself that not only did he not want to know, but that it wasn't any of his business.





He was a soldier.





~*~*~*~





Giles had tried to pretend the macaroni and cheese Davinia brought over was good, but she could see he had forced down each polite forkful. She'd come by to help the gang with research and thought everyone would enjoy something simple. Comfort food. Davinia realized she should have tasted it herself before she brought the casserole, though. When she was upset she tended to screw things up; sort of like the main character in "Like Water for Chocolate," except instead of her food creating empathetic sorrow of epic proportions it just tasted bland. Andrew and Eddie both took two bites before neglecting their plates on Giles' coffee table. Willow had devoured three, heaping servings of the noodles, which made Dav think something was definitely up. The way Willow was avoiding her eyes and jumbled her words when they spoke reinforced Davinia's suspicions.





Xander hadn't stopped staring at Dav since he'd walked in the room. Cold tension seemed to radiate off of his normally warm, brown eyes. She wondered why she'd signed onto all this humiliation and discomfort when her gifts were severely limited in the realm of derring do. At least the work had paid off; she was the one who finally discovered a spell impervious to dark magic they could use to find the source of all that chaos.





Andrew, Willow, and Giles had arranged themselves according to the spell's instructions.


Andrew and Willow were sitting in the middle of the room on the floor, Indian style. Their knees touched and they were holding hands while Giles sat above them on a stool. The way they were seated was supposed to form a conduit.





Eddie tilted his head and whispered to Xander.





"Is it weird that seeing them do this always leaves me feeling kind of jealous and just a little bit turned on?" Eddie asked.





"Not really. I kind of feel the same way," Xander said. Eddie shook his head, slightly, as though uncertain he'd heard right. Then Eddie glanced at Dav. His look of sympathy was all she needed by way of confirmation that Xander had moved on to Willow. Giles didn't hear the conversation, but he caught the sadness muddying Dav's expression. He gave her a short, encouraging smile and then cleared his throat.





"We must have complete silence. Let's begin," Giles said from his perch. He lit the bundle of dried sage in his hand and began intoning the spell in Latin. Andrew and Willow joined in the chanting, and the smoke took on shape. It looked remarkably like a puffy, cartoon kitten with its bulbous eyes and rounded form. Then the vapor solidified into a realistic-looking brown, black, and white-striped mackerel tabby. The cat was suspended in mid-air before jumping to the ground, padding gracefully to the window, and nudging it open.





The cat was like a furry spyglass and dark magic divining rod in one. Willow's eyes were closed in the effort of piloting the creature and she was swaying gently. Suddenly, her lids popped open; her pupils looked like black grains of rice slicing lengthwise through the middle of her momentarily golden irises.





"It's Ethan Rayne. He's at the, ew, Sunnydale Motor Inn," Willow said before she began to collapse. Andrew caught her before she landed on the floor. Giles hopped down and knelt beside the pair as Xander ran over to them. Xander snatched the limp redhead from Andrew's arms. Her lashes fluttered and then she looked up at him, smiling. Her eyes had returned to their normal green.





"Are you alright, Willow?" Giles asked.





"I'm good, but I think I need a few minutes before we bring the pain to Mr. Rayne. See, I'm fine. I'm rhyming," Willow said, settling against Xander like she belonged there. While the others were gathered around Willow, Dav began collecting the dirty dishes because it was the only thing she could think to do. She carried them into the kitchen and then stood by the garbage, scraping the remains of the unwanted food in the bin. She could hear the others talking as she cleaned the plates.





"I'm not sure if we'll all fit in my vehicle," Giles said.





"Well, maybe only the magically inclined should be going," Xander said.





"Are you bailing on us, Xander?" Willow asked.





"No, I meant the other non-magical people."





"I go where Andrew goes," Eddie said.





Dav set the plates in the sink with a clunk and re-entered the room.





"He means me. I was heading out anyway," Dav said, snatching her coat from the bamboo stand by the exit.





"Dav—" Xander started to say.





She held up her hand.





"See you," Dav said. She yanked the door open and walked out, wrapping her red scarf around her neck as she went.





Xander gently set Willow down and rose to follow his ex-girlfriend. Giles stopped the younger man with a glare.





"We need to move quickly if we're going to intercept Ethan. Xander, you stay with Willow, Andrew, Eddie, come with me," Giles said. He scooped up Willow and set her on his couch. Her small hand drifted up and wavered. Andrew stood and went over to Eddie who was watching the situation unfold with his arms crossed over his chest.





"Giles, I can help you," Willow said. Her voice was thready and high. Giles gave her a short, benevolent smile and squeezed her hand.





"The boys will be sufficient. You've done your part, my dear," Giles said. He stood up and went to his weapons chest. "Do you have those glass components prepared, Andrew?" Giles asked as he lifted the heavy, oak lid.





Andrew had created a few "spell bombs," using stoppered glass test tubes. The vials were loaded with spell ingredients and when thrown on the ground would shatter. Coupled with some magical words spoken at the same time, the bombs created an instant, potent weapon. The early prototypes had initially turned the boys' hair blue, but they'd perfected them soon after.





"I've got a bunch in my bag. I was thinking of getting like a utility belt for them, though," Andrew said. Xander walked over to the couch and knelt beside his oldest friend.





"That would be a good look for you," Eddie said.





Xander looked over his shoulder at Andrew.





"Ooh, and you could have a grappling hook," Xander said.





"Could we focus, please?" Giles asked. He retrieved an ax from the chest and tossed it to Eddie, who caught the handle gracefully. Giles took out a stun gun and lobbed it at Andrew, who juggled the thing from hand to hand before dropping it on the floor. Eddie snapped up the gun and handed the item to his boyfriend.





"The three of us will go to the hotel, find out what Ethan's up to. We'll return here to gather up Willow and Xander. Then we'll find Buffy."





No one contradicted Giles' optimism. Not only did he sound more certain than they had ever heard him before, they wanted to believe. This was the first lead they'd had since Buffy disappeared and they were desperate.





"What should we do in the mean time?" Xander asked.





"Take care of Willow and if you're both feeling up to it, you could fetch some doughnuts for the group. I'm partial to the jellies."





"Dav makes these doughnuts using sunflower oil and cinnamon. They're like the most amazing thing I've ever tasted," Xander said. Willow looked sheepishly at her hands, examining her short fingernails intensely.





"Yeah, her doughnuts are good," Andrew said cocking his head to the side and getting an expression on his face as though he were literally savoring the memory.





"Yes, well, you fucked that up for everyone, didn't you Xander?" Giles snapped, as he hoisted a cross bow over his head and slammed the lid down. Everyone jumped as wood hit wood, not just because of the noise, but because of Giles' startling use of profanity.





"I'm sorry for the harsh words, but if all of you hadn't descended like a pack of vindictive locusts upon my kitchen last night and eaten the last bit of caramel apple cake I might be in a better mood."





Giles strode out of the house with the boys in tow, while Willow and Xander just stared at him awe-struck. Eddie closed the door behind them, giving Willow and Xander a smile before he left.





"I'm thinking Giles knows," Willow said.





"I'm thinking yeah."





~*~*~*~





Dr. Oliver had finally found the records regarding the two-hundred fifty-thousand dollar project being housed in room three-eighteen. He'd had to break into Maggie's apartment and go through her personal effects until he found the squat, black floor safe where she'd placed her notes. Luckily, Lloyd remembered the combination.





Oliver had spread the file on her glass desk and read with increasing horror; all the while snapping pictures to send to his superior, General Lancaster. Lloyd had started passing on info in order to build Maggie's case. Unfortunately, everything he'd sent out thus far seemed to damn her further. The information he was now chronicling defied explanation and definitively proved Maggie's insanity.





Aided by a Halliburton consultant of dubious repute named Ethan Rayne, whose list of qualifications included warlock, Mags had built a super-soldier. She'd used a mish mash of cadaver parts from hostiles like she was a little kid throwing together a dessert at a Sundae bar. Worst of all, she'd utilized human remains. There was no documentation proving she'd received any sort of consent, either, as the body in question didn't belong to a soldier. When he finished with the papers, Lloyd stacked them neatly and returned them to their hiding place knowing he had to see Maggie's creation for himself, just to confirm it was real. The patchwork homunculus was going to be the final nail in her career crucifixion, and Oliver had to know if he was damning her fairly.





There were supposed to be two guards on duty at the door of room three-eighteen. Graham, the other soldier scheduled for duty, was absent; probably fucking that undead tart of his. Lloyd had no idea why Maggie let sex with hostiles go on, other than the obvious fact she'd completely lost her mind. Mitchell was the only man on guard. Just like his dad, the senator, Mitchell was amenable to being bribed. Dr. Oliver slipped Mitchell a fifty and the soldier unlocked the door for him. Lloyd made his way into the chilled room.





The first thing he saw, beside several machines presumably keeping the thing alive, was the most grotesque perversion of the human form Dr. Oliver had ever witnessed. It was lying on a silver dissection table, its arms strapped down. Half of its face was covered in poorly stitched, green skin leading down to a mottled torso, misshapen like clumped paper mache. Its hands were covered in the same demon flesh and ended in claw-like nails. Pieces of metal poked out of its body at odd intervals. To his dawning dread, Lloyd recognized the beast's face. Suddenly everything made sense.





It was the corpse of Maggie's son, Adam.





Right before she embarked on the Initiative project, Adam had died in a car accident. That was when everyone noticed the change in Maggie Walsh. Every word she spoke was gilded in ice and her bitterness had desiccated into sadism. It was like Maggie had perished, too. The abomination on the table might as well have been her own, dead heart.





After reading her notes, Dr. Oliver realized there was only one way to save Maggie. He collected the rest of the I.V. Packets originally destined for Adam and threw them in a cooler. As he left the room with his burden in tow, Dr. Oliver swept a tear from the corner of his eye.





"Oh, Maggie May, what have you done?" Dr. Oliver whispered.





End Notes:
This is the song I couldn't stop listening to when I wrote this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eVBgTjL2nKE
Chapter 16 by Minx DeLovely
Author's Notes:
Thanks to the lovely Sanityfair for all her help on this chapter. All mistakes are my own.


Previously:



As he left the room with his burden in tow, Dr. Oliver swept a tear from the corner of his eye.



"Oh, Maggie May, what have you done?" Dr. Oliver whispered.



~*~*~*~



No living thing could withstand the punishment Spike's body had taken. Luckily, he'd been dead long before Maggie began her grim interrogation, but it was clear that if she continued Spike's existence would finally end. The vampire was suspended from the ceiling in the examination room like a slab of meat in a butcher's shop. His red flesh was the only spot of color in the white room. Maggie wasn't sure if the vampire still had the capacity for speech. The session had been going on for two hours and in that time she'd removed his fangs, twice. Perhaps they'd stopped growing back. She'd become so frustrated with his silences that she'd stopped using the tools and had beaten him with her fists.



When Lloyd walked in to check on her, she was hiding her face in her hands. At the sound of the door opening, she looked up at him with two, bloody prints staining her cheeks. Lloyd's lower lip gaped for a moment as he drew in a sharp breath. Maggie looked like she was painted for war, cloaked in the effluvia of the enemy. Her light eyes were blank in her sanguine mask, but she was still smiling. Lloyd walked to her and gently cupped her elbows.



"Let me take over the questioning for you," Lloyd said.



"No, it's not necessary. I'm perfectly capable of getting him to cooperate."



"But this might require a different approach."



She wrenched herself away from him, her smirk sharpening to something dangerous.



"You never believed in me for a second."



He followed her, grabbing her upper arm.



"I always did. I still do. That's why I want you to let me fix this. Please."



"You're lying again. The whole reason you signed up for this project was to catch me in a mistake—to relish in my failure."



"Maggie, I'm trying to save you. I know where you've channeled your missing funds. I know about Adam. Unless you can find another way to account for that money, it's your career."



She looked away from him and ran a soiled hand through the blonde lock that had come loose from her stiff mass of hair. Her fingers left a streak of scarlet behind.



"What did you have in mind?" she asked.



Lloyd let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.



"We could use the serum on the vampires, starting with this one. If it works you have something that will change life on this earth."



Professor Walsh forced out an ugly laugh.



"That's lunacy."



"I know, Magpie. But I can't lose you again," he said, hoping the use of her childhood nickname would remind her of what they'd meant to one another and convince her of his sincerity. He could see each side of the argument sniping back and forth behind her eyes. She turned and cast a glance at the ruined form of her prisoner. Her shoulders sagged and she seemed resigned.



"Do it," Maggie said, before flinching out of his grasp. She went to the sink in the corner of the room and began scrubbing her hands and face. When she was free of gore, Maggie stripped off her lab coat. Even though the process took several minutes, neither of them spoke. Lloyd was worried another word would reverse her choice. Before she left the room, Maggie stopped.



"You've got blood on your hands," she said, then swept out into the hallway. He looked down and sure enough, they were stained to his formerly white cuffs. He didn't bother to wash, though. Before the day was through, Lloyd knew he’d just get dirty again before the day was through.



Dr. Oliver went to Spike and wrapped an arm around the creature's slim waist. Lloyd strained to unhook the vampire's bound wrists from the ceiling-mounted ring. Spike was slippery with blood and Lloyd nearly lost his grip. Lloyd finally eased the creature to the floor. He noticed the zip ties had cut down to the bone of the vampire's wrist. Lloyd grabbed a scalpel off of a spattered tray and sliced through the bonds. He dragged Spike to a cot by the wall, leaving bloody streaks along the white floor. Dr. Lloyd left his patient alone long enough to gather the supplies he'd left outside in a cooler by the door. Then he tended to each wound Maggie had made, until Spike looked like a morbid sticker book. The doctor set up an I.V. He slid the needle into Spike's arm and watched the fluid begin dripping.



If Maggie's notes were accurate, her concoction would bring Spike back from the brink of disintegration to full health within the hour. Of course, Adam's organs could not function on their own; he needed a constant injection of the brew to sustain his vitals. The vampire might not respond at all. Then Lloyd knew Professor Walsh's last chance would be so much dust sifting through his fingers. At least he couldn't be charged with murder or torture since William Wesley Pratt had already been dead one hundred and twenty years.



He pulled up a chair beside the prone creature and was heartened to see its eyebrow twitch. Dr. Oliver stared at Spike for a while, musing about the way his life's work had plummeted as of late. Then he shook his head.



"This is not science," Dr. Oliver said.



~*~*~*~



The motor lodge was rather desolate, which was just Ethan's style. He was always a bit cowardly and tended to be lurking under the nearest dank rock. The mackerel tabby apparition was curled up in front of Ethan's hotel room. Giles scattered the ghostly cat with the toe of his shoe. With his gesture he was certain Willow's strength would swiftly return.



The watcher decided he'd start simple with a knock to the door. After two, short raps he heard a shuffle and then Ethan's familiar voice.



"Coming, love," Ethan said, as he opened the door, "I thought your shift didn't end until nine—"



The other Englishman's smile dropped when he saw Giles. Ethan was wearing a quilted, red robe that hung open to show he had on nothing but black boxer shorts decorated to look like the album cover for Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon.



"Bugger. What are you doing here, Ripper?"



"Where's Buffy?"



"I don't know anything about your Slayer. I'm legit this time around. I've got a bloody government contract now," Ethan said, tilting his chin up and crossing his arms over his chest. "You can't touch me."



With the speed of a mousetrap snapping shut, Giles punched Ethan in the face. Ethan yelped as he staggered back and clutched his nose.



"And yet I just did," Giles said, pushing his way inside. Eddie and Andrew followed, exchanging an impressed look. Andrew covered the side of his mouth with his hand like an old time stage actor and whispered to his boyfriend.



"He's like James Bond without the rocket shoes or misogyny," Andrew said, in awe.



"Definitely a Roger Moore quality from back when that meant something, like pre-'Moonraker,'" Eddie agreed.



Andrew looked into Eddie's dark eyes.



"I love you," Andrew said, his voice catching.



"Ow! You filthy wanker!" Ethan shouted, drawing their attention back to their purpose. Ethan sank onto the crummy, brown bedspread that smelled of mothballs. Giles stood over his old friend; Rupert's mouth was a neat line and his eyes appraised the other man coolly. Eddie began looking over the possessions scattered on the dresser in the corner.



"Now let me ask you again. Where is Buffy?" Giles asked.



"I.Don't.Know."



Eddie picked up a shoestring attached to a laminated card. He squinted at it for a moment.



"What's the Initiative?" Eddie asked.



"I'm consulting for them. I do a bit of this and that."



"Including dark magic?" Giles asked.



"Just a little. I slapped together something that could reanimate dead flesh using demon blood and a touch of liquid smoke."



Andrew scrunched up his face.



"Liquid smoke?"



"The hickory flavor has many mystical properties. Plus it's cheaper than brimstone."



Giles shook his head.



"Yes, the way you manage to dupe the unsuspecting is fascinating, but I'm more interested in the breed of demon."



"I don't know what they're called, really. It's sort of like the Mohra demon but instead of a red jewel in the forehead it's more of a purple. Also, most of them go into theater arts instead of assassination. Much easier to kill," Ethan said.



"That's fairly despicable," Giles said.



"And perfectly legal. In fact you three are the ones breaking the law, so if you don't mind. Piss off," Ethan said.



Eddie sauntered over to the group, his ax held with both hands at waist level.



"Do a truth spell on him, baby," Eddie said.



Andrew adjusted the strap on his backpack with a shrug of his shoulder.



"Yeah, I'll get right on binding him in my golden lariat. I just have combat spells in here," Andrew said.



"Quite the crack team you've assembled Ripper. You really are at a loss without that delicious, little blonde," Ethan said.



"I think you ought to choose your words more carefully," Giles said.



"What, she's a hot young thing. I'm sure you're quite lonely without her."


"Eew, gross, she's like his kid you weird old pervert," Andrew said.



"Just tell us what we want to know," Giles said.



"You think I'm scared of a couple nancy cocksuckers and an over the hill librarian?"



Suddenly Ethan's body jerked and he screamed before falling over onto the mattress. Eddie and Giles simultaneously followed the electrodes sticking out of Ethan's chest to the Taser Andrew was holding. Andrew shrugged.



"What? He was being a total tool. I figure I can do a stasis spell on him until we can get all the truth stuff together. It will keep him quiet for about two hours."



Giles and Eddie nodded in agreement.



*~*



Giles felt guilty for adding kidnapping to the list of crimes he'd made Andrew and Eddie partake in, but the boys seemed rather excited. They'd suspended Ethan between them and dumped him in the back seat, apparently very much like characters from a film called "Weekend at Bernie's," that Giles had no urge to see. The return drive to his flat was uneventful, though Giles tensed when they passed by a police car. Once home, they carried their prisoner discreetly to the house.



Eddie unlocked the door and then pushed it open while Andrew and Giles kept Ethan on his feet. As they walked in they saw Willow's head draped over the arm of the couch. Her eyes were squeezed shut, she was moaning softly and she was biting her lower lip. Giles slammed the door shut and her lids popped open. Xander's head darted up from behind the back of the couch. His shoulders were bare and when he saw them, the brunette shrieked. He immediately dove back down and wrestled on his yellow t-shirt. Simultaneously Willow disappeared behind the protection of the couch back.



"Were you guys doin' it?" Andrew asked.



"Geez, babe, state the obvious," Eddie said.



Giles dropped the half of Ethan he'd been holding, leaving Andrew straining with the brunt of the weight. He whipped off his glasses and began rubbing at the lenses with enough force to snap them in half. Xander buckled his belt as he stood.



"Um, would you believe we were practicing some homeopathic medicine?" Xander asked.



"Nope. Did you at least remember to pick up doughnuts?" Eddie asked.



"Nope," Xander said.



"Xander, if you don't leave right now I'm going to do something regrettable," Giles said.



Xander jammed his feet into his sneakers. Willow's tiny hand darted out and snatched up a green, lace bra that had been tossed on the floor.



"Right, I'll be back in like fifteen—" Xander started to say, then realized Giles was shaking his head from side to side stonily at him—"Forty five minutes with an array of doughnutty delights. And extra jellies. With sprinkles. Please don't kill me, Giles." Xander's hands had not stopped moving since he started to speak and his plea ended with them pressed together as if in prayer.



"Yes, that should be sufficient. And while you're out there's an upholstery shop that steam cleans furniture. Make an appointment to have my couch cleaned. I'm sure you and Willow can work out the bill," Giles said.



"Got it G-man," Xander said, as he scrambled toward the exit looking like a jumble of too long arms and legs. When he grabbed the doorknob, it stuck and Xander flailed for a second before he was able to make his escape. Eddie sighed and walked over to Willow, who was cowering in shame.



"How you doing, little tree?"



"Is there a convenient hole where I can curl up and die?"



"Not so much."



"Then I've been better," she said.



"Are you dressed and back to full capacity, dear?" Giles asked, shoving his spectacles back into place.



"Yes."



"Then let's forget this episode and try to make some use of Mr. Rayne. We need to dispatch a truth spell."



"Or I could just go into his brain," Willow said, tugging on her bright, orange, cardigan sweater with the little bunches of purple grapes for buttons. Looking at it no one would guess it and her purple t-shirt concealed such racy underwear.



"That's very advanced magic," Giles said. Andrew sighed loudly then.



"Look, this guy is heavy. I'm just dropping him on the wet spot and moving on," Andrew said.



Willow covered her face as the blond boy dragged his human parcel across the hardwood.


"There's no wet spot! We put a towel down! Please don't kill me, Giles!" Willow said.



Andrew dumped Ethan onto the cushion and Willow jumped to her feet as though the man were a hairy spider. The blond looked at his boyfriend and quirked an eyebrow.



"Hey, would you mind helping me get a glass of water in the kitchen? You know I have trouble working Giles' weird ice cube trays."



Giles glanced at the boy quizzically and mouthed the words ice cube trays. Eddie just smiled.



"Sure, Cap."



Andrew and Eddie left the two of them alone with the very unconscious Ethan, which Giles supposed was their intention. He rubbed the back of his neck and took off his glasses again before putting them back on with nary a wipe.



"I'm not angry at you, Willow, even though your actions were, urm, inconsiderate. I'm concerned because you and Xander are plunging into distraction. Your decisions are splintering the group when Buffy needs us to present a united front."



Willow hugged herself and looked her mentor squarely in the eye.



"I know. I'm messing things up and every time I try to stop there's just more messed-upness."



"I need your strength now, Willow. You are the one I trust the most. Tell me, honestly, can you enter his mind?"



"Yes. I've been practicing on my own and the last time, Xander let me have a look around cabeza de Harris."



"And what did you see?"



"What I expected to find," Willow said. Her eyes were downcast and her voice soft.



"Then begin. We're searching for a way into something called the Initiative, located on the University Campus," Giles said.



Willow knelt down in front of Ethan and set her fingertips on his forehead.



*~*



Ethan's mind was a slippery place. Willow saw images flitting through her own consciousness—Giles as a young man breaking a shop window, Ethan choking a demon with a purple jewel in its forehead, lots and lots and lots of girls. She had to skip through four different Led Zeppelin concerts before she finally found the Initiative.



Willow followed Ethan through silver, metal doors which opened to a long, winding, white corridor. She could hear Professor Walsh's efficient voice fading in before she saw the teacher in step beside Ethan.



"I was very pleased with your results Mr. Rayne, but I need your data if we're to replicate the outcome."



Ethan trailed a finger along the glass walls, a gesture the demons contained within found incredibly irksome. Willow felt the man's pleasure at their distress.



"Can't do it, love, state secret, but I can tell you it's not a pacemaker keeping Mr. Cheney alive."



"Interesting. I might think you were simply boasting if I didn't have privileged information."



Maggie used the key card hanging from a chain around her neck to open a door at the end of the hall. Inside was her office, with a sleek, steel desk and a wall of monitors on the side. Ethan plopped into a chair opposite Maggie's. Ethan glanced around the room until one of the images onscreen caught his eye. It was Buffy, lying naked on top of Spike. Both of them appeared to be asleep, at least, Willow hoped they were asleep. The surprise of seeing them, especially in that state, nearly cost Willow her grasp on the spell. The images began to shimmer, but she recovered her composure and stabilized Ethan's memory.



"Quite a coupe capturing the Slayer and her pet," Ethan said, casting his hand toward the television.



"You know her?" Professor Walsh asked as she sat down in her ergonomically designed office chair.



"She and that vampire are infamous among people who travel in my circles."



"We've contained another slayer, Faith Lehane. I was able to reverse her coma, and she's been much more cooperative than Miss Summers."



"I can imagine. Buffy's not much of a joiner," Ethan said, crossing his legs, "Unless you can get the pet to bite her. Vampires hold incredible sway over their victims."



Maggie smiled.



"I may have to pursue that avenue."



Willow scanned through the rest of the memory looking for what she needed. She saw Ethan using a white key card to access an exit in Maggie's office behind the screens. He stood in an elevator listening to an instrumental version of, "It's the End of the World as We Know it and I Feel Fine," until the doors opened on the student commissary. She'd bought sandwiches from a machine right across from the super-secret initiative entrance and never known.



*~*



Willow's pupils seemed to disappear, making her eyes look like peeled, hardboiled eggs. They only held that eerie countenance for a second. Then she blinked and smiled at Giles.



"We can use Ethan's key card and I can navigate using Tabbytonton," Willow said.



"Tabbytonton?"



"It's my name for the cat manifestation."



"Ah."



Andrew and Eddie walked back into the room, as if on cue.



"I always called it Whiskerella. You know, like Barbarella but with being a kitty cat," Andrew said.



"I called it Miss Mittens because that was my grandma's cat. We could never have pets when I was a kid because my dad's allergic," Eddie said.



Andrew put his arms around Eddie and planted a kiss on his nose.



"When we get a house we'll have two cats in the yard," Andrew said.



Giles went to take his glasses off, gave up the effort halfway and just left his hand poised in mid-air.



"Yes, it will be a very, very, very fine house, now can we all try to concentrate on saving Buffy's life for at least five consecutive minutes," Giles said.



In unison the three young people said, "Sorry."



"Good. Now, the spell is going to leave Willow vulnerable, so I'll need you to stay with her here, Andrew. We can communicate remotely using your and Eddie's mobiles," Giles said.



"Like Mulder and Scully!" Andrew said.



"I don't know what that means," Eddie said.



"My God, the worlds I'll show you before this night is through," Andrew murmured, which made Eddie blush. Willow opened her mouth and then closed it again before she brought her intelligent, green eyes to Giles.



"The people inside were dressed in all camouflage and this black body armor. I recognized some of them—they're students."



"Excellent. Xander has that sort of paraphernalia leftover from the rocket launcher debacle. After we collect him, he and Eddie will dress as military personnel and I'll impersonate Ethan Rayne."



"Were you going to do a spell to make you look like him?" Willow asked.



Giles pursed his lip and tilted his head.



"I was thinking of just wearing a garish shirt. We're middle-aged British men of similar build and hair color. I doubt anyone was paying that close attention the first time," Giles said.



"What are we going to do with Mr. Poopyhead, by the way?" Willow asked, giving the prone warlock a poke on the arm, which caused him to groan.



"I'll return him to his hotel before he regains consciousness while you three wait here for Xander."



"Um, is it really a good idea to let this guy go without, you know, making sure he won't talk? I mean he could have us arrested for kidnapping and assault," Eddie said.



"Ethan wouldn't dare try coming after me. There is a history between us that even he has to respect," Giles said.



"That, and I might have wiped out some of his short term memories while I was futzing around in his head," Willow said.



"Good Lord! You're capable of such a thing? That's—"



"Super convenient! Great job!" Andrew said.



"I was going to say terribly alarming, but yes, convenient is also accurate," Giles said. He resolved to have a serious talk with Willow about her use of magic once they had Buffy back.





~*~



Two Hours Later



~*~



After Riley left and set her free to roam her cell, Buffy had showered. The stall was clear glass and she figured the soldier was probably watching her. Just to spite the guy, she'd worn Spike's t-shirt while she washed up, then changed in a hurry behind her towel so no one else would get to see any more of her body. When she was finished, Buffy hung the damp, black shirt over the top of the glass door. Not knowing what else to do, she cleaned the rest of her lover's clothes. It was oddly domestic—a taste of something they weren't ever going to get. She had to laugh at how he'd react if he could see her keeping house in their cell. Whoever was watching her would've thought she'd finally lost her mind as she giggled maniacally while scrubbing out a pair of socks in the sink.



The magnetism of Spike's blood had started to fade. She could sense him less and less. It was different than the absence she'd felt with Angel, but no less crushing. She felt so distant from Spike and with each second he seemed to drift away. She was trying to contain her panic with her fruitless movement when the sight of a cat sitting on the other side of the glass partition made her stop. The feline tilted its head and Buffy could swear it was almost smiling.













End Notes:
Hey, let me know what you thought of this chapter, good or bad. Also, I wrote a one shot called, "So Like Candy." It's a bit dark, but if you're enjoying this one you may like it anyway. I'd love some feedback/constructive criticism on that story.
Chapter 17 by Minx DeLovely
Author's Notes:
Thanks to the lovely Puddinhead and lovely Sanityfair.
Previously:
Buffy sees a kitty cat sitting in the hallway outside her cell.

'I must be going crazy,' Buffy thought. She dropped Spike's hoary socks in the sink with a splash and turned off the tap, then she wiped her hands on the pants of her pale blue scrubs. The feline glided through the glass and began to purr. Buffy walked over to the delusion in a half crouch because she had an irrational fear of scaring it away.

"Good insanity kitty, nice insanity kitty," Buffy said, as she smothered one of the nervous giggles that bubbled from her mouth.

When she'd first been institutionalized, just after she'd told her parents about her calling, Buffy had not broken with reality and seen apparitions. Maybe her current psychosis was from the stress of not being able to help Spike or perhaps it was the pain of losing Angel. Or it was possible she'd never left that place and her whole life in Sunnydale was some elaborate fantasy.

Buffy knelt on the shiny, tiled floor in front of the cat. When Buffy brushed her fingers along the creature's sleek forehead, the animal popped like a smoke-filled bubble. Bereft, she looked up and saw Xander smiling at her through the glass. Giles and Eddie were right behind him. Buffy started rocking forward and back in an attempt to hold her hopes in check as Giles fiddled with the card lock. When the door opened, she sprung to her bare feet. Buffy was about to hug Xander until their eyes met and she remembered they were yet far, far, from home.

Instead, Eddie and Xander took her upper arms. She wobbled, more from sheer intensity of feeling than anything else. To the casual observer looking down from above, though, she appeared to be struggling. The four of them walked down the corridor, passing by restless demons glaring out from their aquarium-like cages.

"We have to find Spike," Buffy said, softly.

"There is very little time, Buffy," Giles said without turning to face her.

"Two minutes at most," Eddie said. It was then Buffy noticed her new friend was wearing an earpiece. Xander was silent at her right, and she knew if worse came to worse, he would be on her side. Xander wouldn't let the others abandon Spike.

"I won't leave until I know what happened to him," Buffy said.

Giles sighed.

"Perhaps another spell, done quickly—"

They were nearing the end of the hallway when Riley stepped in front of them. He was holding his gun across his black armor-clad chest.

"I know where he is. I can take you to Spike," Riley said.

Buffy and the others froze. She searched Riley's round, wide-set eyes. There was a sincere quality to his voice and his open expression. Then again, he always sounded so deadly earnest.

"You deserve more than a candy bar," Riley said, a smile deepening the lines in his cheeks.

There was no time to analyze; Buffy decided to move on instinct.

"Show me where he is," she said.

The men held their protests and followed as the soldier led them to an examination room in one of the hallways shooting off from the main atrium. The boy guarding the door looked at Finn quizzically. Before either could speak, Eddie stepped forward and dropped a glass cylinder on the floor while whispering a few lines in a language that might have been Latin. The guard became completely immobile and Buffy shoved him aside like a potted plant.

She threw the door open and found Doctor Oliver sitting on a stool beside the table where Spike was lying. Spike appeared to be asleep and his nude body was covered in bandages. His face looked like it had been spared most of the violence. In fact, his flesh had a pink, just-fed flush which was the closest vampire pallor could come to being considered healthy.

"Oh shit," Oliver mumbled.

The middle-aged man, who was garbed in a blood-soaked lab coat, stood up and advanced on them. Buffy ran at Oliver and he tried to stop her by extending his arms, but Buffy caught his wrist. She twisted until his cheek was kissing the floor.

"I can't let you take him," Oliver said.

"That's alright. You're not letting me do anything," Buffy said. She held her right hand up in the air and looked from one man in her company to the next. "Handcuffs."

Xander shook his head as though casting off a fog and then unlooped a set of shackles from his belt. He tossed the cuffs to Buffy and in a flash of silver she'd snapped them onto Dr. Oliver's wrists. She dropped her captor and he bellyflopped at her feet, landing with a slap that had to sting. Then Buffy was at Spike's side, easing him from the surgical table. Xander darted to the corner of the room and picked up Spike's crumpled, leather coat. Together, he and Buffy eased the limp vampire into the duster while Giles, Riley and Eddie watched in silence.

Eddie touched the device attached to his ear.

"We have to go. Now," Eddie said.

Xander conferred noiselessly with Buffy, reading her large, glistening eyes the way only close friends could. Then he hoisted Spike over his shoulder as gently as possible. Riley went out first and nodded them each out of the room, with Buffy bringing up the rear. They left Dr. Oliver straining against his bonds on the floor.

"She'll kill you all," Lloyd said as the door slammed shut.

Buffy and the others ran down the corridor, then went single file through the vast, empty atrium. She wondered where all of the other soldiers were, but figured since Willow wasn't among the band of rescuers, her magical friend was creating an epic diversion. Buffy was trying to concentrate on potential threats but her eyes kept traveling to Spike's face. His head was lolling just above the small of Xander's back. Her vampire was oblivious and serene in his thick sleep.

Giles guided them into an area Buffy had never seen before. Her watcher opened a door and entered. The rest followed suit. Inside the room, which had few pieces of furniture aside from a glass desk and three black chairs, was a screen of television monitors alive with images of soldiers running in the same direction through the hallways. They swarmed like black ants past the cages of captives.

Behind the televisions was an elevator embedded in the white wall. Giles scanned a key card dangling from his neck and the silver doors opened. He strode inside, then Eddie went in, helping Xander with his burden. Buffy stepped into a small pocket of space amid the group before she noticed Riley hadn't moved.

"Come with us," she said, positioning her body to keep the doors to keep them from shutting.

"I can't," Riley said.

She nodded.

"Thank you," she said.

His mouth was open, on the verge of responding, when Professor Walsh walked into the room. Maggie was leveling a gun at Buffy's head. Before Buffy could react to what was happening, Riley stepped between them. Buffy heard the gun rather than saw it fire. The report of the weapon was so loud in the tiny office it left a high-pitched ringing in its wake. Something hot splashed Buffy's face and Riley's throat was torn away. Then he staggered into her arms, shoving them both backward into the crowded elevator. Buffy looked over the soldier's shoulder to see Maggie's stricken face. The professor's lips were tracing Riley's name. The silver doors met, blotting out the scene with a hard line. Buffy looked at the chalky, lifeless face of the man in her arms.

Riley's blood was filling up the elevator like water gushing from a busted pipe, making the floor slippery. Buffy started sliding until she was steadied by a pair of warm hands on her back.

"What's, what?" Buffy asked.

Giles was holding her and she could hear his voice dimly through the buzzing. She didn't know what the others were doing, but she felt them hovering close.

"Riley is dead. She must have hit a major artery, Buffy."

"We have to carry him with us Giles. He died saving us, we can't leave him here."

"Buffy, we can only take one," Giles said.

His words left her with a sense of resignation. Leaving Spike was an impossibility. By the time the doors opened again, revealing a bright, orange room with vaulted ceilings, Buffy was ankle deep in Riley's blood. The pool of gore flowed out, staining the yellow carpet in a grotesque cascade that spilled all the way to the vending machines on the opposite wall. Buffy held Riley's body up as the others ran past, until they were the only two left. Reverently, she set his body down in the bottom of the elevator and fled, following the red footprints Xander, Eddie and Giles made on their way out of the building. She burst outside into the night.

They were on Sunnydale University Campus, just outside the Student Center. She'd suspected they were close, but she had no idea the demon gulag was concealed beneath the place where she'd had her freshman orientation seminar. They stomped fleetly over the pavement and then tore up clods of earth as they tramped across the grass. The world jangled by her eyes in bright streaks of light skittering through the dark.

Eddie and Giles stopped ahead of them, near a clump of bushes before the two seemed to vanish. Buffy looked quizzically at Xander who was struggling to keep pace next to her while carrying Spike.

"Tunnels. I thought it would be smart to try and lose them. Plus if the soldiers use dogs to find us, the water will throw off the scent."

"That's awesome."

"Army guy training," he said with a goofy smile and a self-deprecating shrug that made Spike bounce.

They made it to the cluster of brush which concealed the open manhole. Buffy went down the ladder first, then reached her arms out so she could take Spike. Xander lowered the dead weight into Buffy's embrace.

"I can carry Spike the rest of the way. Just don't tell him I did it when he wakes up," Buffy said as she delicately draped the vampire over her shoulder. Xander slid down the ladder like a fireman then landed before her with a splash.

"No problem there. I think it would be vaguely emasculating for both of us if he found out."

They fled in the opposite direction of the University and during their trek, Buffy's worry over Spike only increased. He was incredibly warm and insensate. He was sleeping like her arms were a queen-sized bed or at the least, a fairly good-sized hammock. They surfaced in the alley next to the Magic Box after ten minutes of jogging through the underground labyrinth. Xander's car was parked on the street out in front of the store and they all piled inside. Eddie sat in the front seat while Buffy sandwiched herself between Spike and Giles in the back. Xander started the car and did a u-turn on the quiet street. Buffy glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard. It was two-fifteen in the morning. She wasn't when she'd last known the time.

"How long have we been gone?"

"Nearly three weeks. I feared I'd never see you again," Giles said, his voice sounding like a guitar being strummed. He enfolded her in a proper cuddle, with his head resting on top of hers. Suddenly, Buffy felt like she was safe, even if she wasn't, and the contact made her want to break down. She didn't, though, because she wasn't certain of Spike's safety. Buffy had to make sure he was alright before she indulged in tears.

"Me too."

"Seriously, Buffster, never, ever do that again. From now on we're talking buddy system. Nobody goes anywhere without their buddy," Xander said.

Buffy reached out and ruffled Xander's hair.

"Okay, buddy. Eddie, I can't believe you're here. I mean, I can't really believe any of us are here, but especially you. I've only been gone like a month and now you're a full-fledged member of the gang."

"And no unsightly neck tattoos. It's kind of a win," Eddie said, tossing a rakish smile over the curve of the bucket seat.

"So where are we going?"

The muscles in Xander's neck jumped and his hands tightened on the driver's wheel.

"A safe house. Davinia's apartment, actually. She volunteered to have some protection spells placed upon her home that will render us invisible while we're under her roof," Giles said.

"Wait, you can do that? Why didn't you ever do it to my mom's place, Giles?"

"It's difficult to explain. I believe you'll understand once we arrive."



~*~
Once they got to Dav's place, Buffy understood exactly what Giles meant. To find the flat, he had to recite several indecipherable words over a wooden statue of Demeter. When they got inside, the walls and floor of every room were covered in elaborate, squiggly, black tribal designs. Davinia, who was wearing a pink, terrycloth bathrobe, hurried to meet them at the door while Eddie, Giles and Xander squeaked by the girls. Giles sealed up the apartment and began mumbling incantations. After saying thank you to Dav, Eddie went into the living room and dialed his cell phone. Xander just watched the two women with a wounded expression on his face.

"You're bloody, are you alright?" Davinia asked. She brushed the crown of Buffy's head with her fingertips. Buffy nodded yes and Dav lowered her left hand while her right clutched the halves of her robe to her chest.

"It's not from me. One of the guards who helped us didn't make it," Buffy said, her voice dwindling to a whisper by the end of the sentence.

"Is Spike okay?" Dav asked.

"I don't know," Buffy said.

"We can put him in my bedroom for now. Do you need help carrying him?" Dav stepped closer to them both.

"No. I can do it," Buffy said, propping up her smile as best she could. She'd carried him this far and she didn't want to let him go, even though her arms were starting to quake. Dav tilted her head, studying Buffy.

"Why did they do that to your hair?"

"I don't know that, either."

They went into Dav's bedroom and she helped Buffy lay him out on the bed. Xander lingered by the open door, watching them. When Spike was tucked in beneath the plum-colored comforter, Buffy took Davinia's hand.

"Thank you for all of this—the hideout, the welcome. It's amazing."

"I just wanted to do something to help you. My skills are seriously limited so I thought the least I could do was give up my security deposit."

"That's not true. You're just as important as anybody else and you're my friend. I don't know if I ever told you that. Even if you and Xan break up, which I totally hope never happens, you'll always be my friend."

A grimace flashed across Dav's face.

"We kinda did break up," Davinia said.

Buffy grabbed Dav in a tight hug. The other girl patted her back in what she thought was simply an affectionate manner until Dav said, "I think my rib just cracked."

The Slayer let go with a mortified smile.

"Sorry, just used to snuggling with the undead," Buffy said.

Dav rubbed her sides.

"No problem. So you and Deadly Do Right are an item? That makes so much sense."

"You think?" Buffy asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

"Definitely. He can back you in a fight and he's funny. Plus he's older than women's suffrage, which you seem to like for some reason."

"Hey, it's not nice to tease the kidnap victim."

"I just wanted to bring back a sense of normalcy," Dav said, smiling at Buffy through the wavy curtain of her long, strawberry-blonde hair. "Why don't you take a shower. I have some clothes that I've been hanging onto in case I lose weight again that will totally fit you."

Davinia didn't wait for an answer. She let go of Buffy's hand and went to her dresser.

"I can't leave him," Buffy said, looking down at Spike's face. He looked cozy as a cat.

"I'll watch over him until you get back," Dav said. She dug through the drawer until she pulled out a pair of black jeans and a hot pink, cashmere sweater that looked about Buffy's size.

"Thank you," Buffy said.

She stood and then took the fashionable bundle from Dav's hands. Buffy tiptoed past Xander, giving him a confused smile. She had no idea why her friend would screw up the best relationship anyone in their circle had ever found, nor did she understand why he'd gone from witty, quipping guy to a broody lurker of Angel-like capabilities. Dav also seemed baffled from the way she avoided Xander's persistent glare.

Buffy stole down the hallway to the bathroom, not wanting to nibble on another heaping portion of awkwardness. She went into the bathroom and secured the door with the little slide lock so she wouldn't be interrupted. Then she stripped off her bloodied clothes. Bare, she stepped into the pale-pink shower painted with columns of runes, then turned on the taps. When the stream hit her face, she let her tears go. Buffy counted on the sound of the warm, steamy water bouncing off the tiles to cover her sobs. She didn't want the other occupants of the apartment to know she wasn't strong.

She ticked off the tally of losses while she tried to scrub herself clean with a cake of blackberry-scented soap.

Riley, the guy she'd thought was a coward, was dead because he'd saved their lives. Until he was bleeding out in her arms she'd never really seen him for what he was—a hero.

Angel died not knowing she still loved him. She'd never get to apologize for the way she reacted when she learned of the blood bond. It wasn't his fault that she'd forced him to bite her. What he'd said at the time was the truth—Angel never wanted to drink her blood. Even if she'd known about the bond, Buffy would have done it anyway.

Spike was with her, but he might never wake up again. Buffy couldn't dwell on that one for long. Spike had to wake up again, that's just the way it had to be.

In addition to their losses, there had been smaller sacrifices in her absence. Xander and Dav had ended. Eddie put his life on the line for her. She had no idea how her mother or Willow were faring. God, her mother must be going crazy.

Buffy sniffled and squirted a dime-sized drop of pearly, cocoanut shampoo into the palm of her hand. It was selfish, but thinking about the stump of her hair brought fresh tears. When she'd finished rinsing, Buffy shut off the water. She dried herself with Dav's fluffy, green towel and then dressed in the borrowed clothes. Her shorn locks were mostly dry by the time she finished tugging on the sweater. She combed her hair, trying to make it seem like there was more there, until she finally gave up.

Buffy left the bathroom and rejoined her friends. They were all standing in a circle speaking over each other in the living room. Giles had his hand on Dav's back—a touch Buffy thought was a bit proprietary and totally un-Gilesy. Eddie was stroking his non-existent goatee and Xander's hands were in full flail.

"How is that even vaguely possible?" Eddie asked.

"If you don't believe me feel his chest—" Dav said.

"It's not that I don't believe you—"

"Why the hell were you feeling his chest?" Xander asked.

"Because it was rising and falling which seemed weird for somebody who isn't supposed to be breathing."

"It might not be a permanent condition, to say nothing of his soul," Giles said.

Buffy folded her arms and worked up a stern look.

"What are we all talking about?"

Four pairs of eyes swiveled to her. Giles took his glasses off.

"Spike seems to be...urm...alive."

Any response she might have been contemplating dried up in her throat.
End Notes:
Please let me know what you think, good or bad. Constructive criticism welcome just as much as effusive praise. Although, let's be honest, effusive praise is pretty great.
Chapter 18 by Minx DeLovely
Author's Notes:
Thanks to the lovely Puddinhead for her work editing this piece.

There's a warning--go to the end notes if you want to be despoiled.
Previously:

Four pairs of eyes swiveled to her. Giles took his glasses off.

"Spike seems to be...urm...alive."

Any response she might have been contemplating dried up in her throat.

~*~

Buffy stared at the four of them for a moment and then dashed into Dav's bedroom. Spike was where she'd left him. His profile stood out on the purple pillow like a tooth against dark lips. His short hair had grown a little and was just starting to curl. Buffy had never noticed how gentle the slope of his nose was amid the severe angles of his cheekbones or the small scar on his chin. She touched his face, which was warm and slightly tacky from sweat.

Spike didn't sweat.

Normally his skin felt like sturdy silk, but now the texture of his flesh was softer and more vulnerable. He felt alive.

She sensed someone standing behind her and Buffy nearly whirled around to throw a punch out of sheer frustration.

"Buffy, do you have any idea how this could have happened?" Giles voice asked from over her shoulder. Buffy didn't look away from Spike's face.

"Can I get a hand mirror?" Buffy asked, ignoring his question.

"Sure, hold on," Dav said. The other girl shuffled around and a few moments later, handed Buffy a small, black compact. Buffy opened it with a click and put the glass near Spike's mouth. She almost dropped it when she noticed his reflection.

"Oh my God," Dav said next to Buffy's left shoulder. They watched as Spike's breath made a streak of fog.

"Good Lord," Giles said.

"He's not a vampire, which means no one is going to hurt him."

"Buffy, that was never our intention. I simply wanted to determine if Spike has a soul—"

"No more tests. No one touches him anymore."

Dav and Giles began to speak when Xander's voice cut them off.

"Do you want us to leave you guys alone for a while? You know, get some sleep? It's been a long night for everybody. Maybe things will make more sense in the morning."

Buffy swallowed hard and nodded. Giles patted her back.

"We'll figure things out tomorrow," Giles said, as he and Dav left the room.

"No matter what happens, you're among friends, Buff. You both are, even though I know I haven't always been a booster of you coupling up with the undead. The situation is different now, obviously. It's not just the pulse, either. You two have been through something none of us can imagine," Xander said.

Buffy turned around and saw him standing in the doorway with a half smile hanging from his cheek. Xander looked exhausted. His longish, brown hair was hanging limply around his face and there were dark crescents under his eyes. His back was bowed, as though his head had grown very heavy.

"Thank you," she said, tears suspended over her eyes like a watch crystal on a timepiece.

Xander nodded and then left, closing the door behind him. Buffy crawled into bed next to Spike, still wearing all her clothes, and put her head on his chest. His heart was beating an even rhythm. Her arms wound around his waist and she squeezed him, but he didn't respond. It seemed like a good idea to sing to him—his voice had grounded her when she'd been hurt and scared.

"The other night dear, when I was sleeping, I dreamed I held you in my arms. When I awoke then I was mistaken, so I hung my head down and cried. You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray. You'll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away—"

Her voice creaked along the words again and again until she finally joined him in sleep.

~*~
After Xander closed the door he fixed Davinia with a hangdog look that made her terribly uncomfortable. Eddie was sitting on the couch, his dark brows clutching together as though he wasn't sure what to say.

"It would be wise for all of us to get some rest," Rupert said, moving closer to her.

"I have a spare room with twin beds and the sectional sleeps two. I'm taking the couch, since you are my guests, but if none of you want to lay down near my feet there are two cots in my attic room. You'll have to go through my bedroom to get up there, though," Dav said.

"I'll sleep out here with you, then," Eddie said. Dav was grateful he spoke up before the problem of where she fit among the sleeping arrangements descended into an argument. Xander was acting like she was the one who'd broken up with him and Rupert had become super-protective of her lately. That combination had sparked more than one fight over the last few weeks.

"Where are the others, by the way?" Dav asked Eddie. Willow and Andrew were supposed to be collecting Joyce.

"They should be here in the morning," Eddie said, his eyes going distant. Dav was certain he was worried, but trying not to let it show. She waited for him to elaborate on his conversation with Andrew, but he didn't. Rupert and Xander were oddly silent. It made her wonder what had gone wrong and why they'd decided to conceal it from her. Dav was used to the half-fledged Scoobie treatment, though, so she didn't say anything.

She'd already made up the couch with blankets and sheets, so there seemed nothing left to do but shoo everyone off to their respective places. After Xander and Rupert had said their goodbyes and shuffled away to the guest room, Eddie wearily unlaced his boots.

"So when it gets to the point where I'm taking off my jeans, please contain the awe-struck panting. It's flattering and all, but I'm spoken for," Eddie said with a smirk.

She was grateful somebody was in a joking mood.

"I'll do my best, as long as YOU can restrain yourself," she said, grandly letting her robe drop to reveal a pair of sky blue pajamas dotted with stars. They were about as sexy as the average great-grandma's underpants.

"Damn baby, I can almost see your clavicle," he said, as he pried off his left boot.

"I know. There's also some hot ankle action down below," Dav said. She made a point of getting beneath the covers and closing her eyes before he could take off his jeans.

"Good night, Dav. Hopefully I can sleep after your little strip tease."

"Same here," she said, smiling into her pillow.

They settled in their spots. Even though it was late, she could not fall asleep.

Perhaps ten minutes passed before she heard bare feet padding on the floor. She sat up and saw Xander lurking near the kitchen. He was wearing nothing but the boxer briefs she'd given him to replace his "wacky" novelty underwear. It wasn't fair, the way he looked. His torso was rippled in a perfect way and his arms were all muscley from carpentry work. That contrite look burning in his brown eyes was the kicker. She knew he'd never have had the courage to confront her in his nearly naked state before they started dating, but she'd made him feel confident in his body. It was a brutal irony.

"Are you watching me not sleep?"

"Sorta. Yeah. Could we talk?"

"Fine, let's go to the bathroom so we don't bug Eddie," Dav said as she struggled out of the blankets. Eddie's eyelid twitched, indicating he was obviously not asleep, but he said nothing. Dav stood without taking the hand Xander offered to her. They walked silently down the hall, then hung a right into her smallish bathroom. Dav sat on the edge of the pink tub and Xander took the distractingly fuscia toilet.

"So," she said.

"So." Xander rose, putting her in the odd position of being exactly crotch level with her ex while he was wearing his super-snug, black underwear. Dav also got to her feet.

"Sorry, just didn't want to say this while I was sitting on the can."

"Gotcha."

"I think we should get back together. I made a mistake."

"What about Willow?"

He glanced down, abashed, like a little boy caught stuffing mud into his mother's lingerie drawer.

"She's my friend."

"Okay, let me be me specific, what about how you've been boning Willow?" Dav asked in a harsh whisper.

"Who told you?"

"I'm not an idiot. Do you realize you're screwing the one person who makes it impossible for us to ever date again? There's no way I'm going to make you cut your best friend out of your life and there's no way I can trust you around her."

"You can trust me—"

"Tell that to Cordi—"

"That was high school. Things are different now. You're different," Xander said, his voice hovering just below normal speaking tone. He reached out to touch her. Dav backed away until the cold, porcelain tub bumped against her calves and brought her to a wobbly stop. Xander's hand fell back to his side.

"Rebounding with the girl who's adored you since kindergarten is unconscionable, especially since she ditched her two year relationship for you."

"She didn't—she and Oz were having problems—"

"Come on—she ended things with him the day after you dumped me. Has she told you she loves you?"

"Yeah, but it doesn't mean she's in love with me."

"Were you naked when she said it?"

Xander's lower lip twitched and he put his hands on his hips.

"I'll take that as a yes. I bet you said it back to her, didn't you?"

"That has nothing to do with me and you."

"It's everything, Xan. You love her, she loves you. Go and be with her before you screw that up, too."

"The way I love her is totally different than the way I love you. She's more like—"

Dav's voice came out like a hiss.

"Shut up! I'm the last person who wants to hear this. You picked the absolute worst time to
have a heart-to-heart and now you want to tell me about how you love Willow? What next? You're gonna tell me what she was like in bed compared to me?"

"No! I mean, you were pretty much the same, so this isn't a sex thing—"

"You are such a-a-a freaking—boy! Leave me alone. Please."

"I'm sorry," he said. He slunk out of the room.

The wooden door was swollen from years of dampness, so Xander had to wedge it shut, making his exit more pathetic somehow. Dav sat on the lid of the toilet and took the box of tissues from the back of the tank. She set it between her legs and worked herself into a good cry. Her tears had dwindled to a case of sniffles when she heard a discreet knock.

"I'm sorry, I'll just be another second," she said, hopping to her feet. She plucked up the soiled Kleenex scattered around the floor.

"Urm, Davinia, it's Rupert. I just wanted to see if you were alright."

"I'm fine."

She stuffed the garbage in the waste basket, set the tissue box on the floor and then ran some cold water. She washed her hands and splashed cold water on her face. Dav snatched a towel and was scrubbing her cheek with it as she yanked open the door. Rupert stood on the other side with his hands in his brown, corduroy trouser pockets. He'd ditched the gold, silk button-down which had been the whole of his Ethan Rayne disguise and had on a white undershirt. Even though he was completely dressed, it felt strangely intimate to see his bare feet.

"Hi," she said, throwing the towel in her hand over the rack.

"Hello. May I come in? I'd like to talk and I wouldn't want to disturb Eddie."

"I guess...sure," she said, moving out of his way. Rupert stepped into the bathroom, making the walls even closer by his presence.

"Xander was upset when he got back into the room."

"Is he okay?"

"He's fine. How are you?"

Dav crossed her arms over her chest.

"Sad, but I'll be okay. You really didn't have to check up on me, Rupert."

"I know, dear, but I thought you might want to talk."

"What's there to say? He's with Willow now. He just doesn't realize it yet."

"He is very young," Rupert said, running his hand through his sandy, brown hair.

"I get that this whole mess wasn't malicious. He just doesn't know what he's doing or what he wants. I should be grateful we only wasted months instead of years."

"I think losing you will be one of the great regrets of his life."

"Did he tell you to say that—"

"No, he didn't have to. I was a young man once. I know the sorts of mistakes they make."

"Stop talking about yourself like you're Methuseleh. You're not an old man. You're in better shape than me—"

"It wasn't my intent to fish for compliments."

"Then what is your intent?"

Giles sighed and took off his glasses. Instead of cleaning them, he set the frames on the edge of the sink.

"When I told you about Jenny, there were some things I never said; things I've never told to anybody, really. She and I had both lived a great deal before we met. When I was younger, before I really understood myself, I would rush into things with women—try to pretend my heart wasn't a consideration. It always was, though. I'm not quite as pragmatic as I like to believe. With Jenny, we took things slowly at the beginning in order to spare us wasted time in the end. We never did anything rash."

"I understand. I should have waited with Xander."

Rupert cocked his head at her and his eyes narrowed. His smile had the fine point of a hook.

"No, Davinia, I don't think you do understand," Giles said.

He put his hand on the indent of her waist and pulled her body into his. His other hand twined through her hair and tilted her head up before she could patch together a sentence. Then he kissed her. His mouth tasted like liquor and she decided he had to carry a flask because the only booze in her house was cinnamon schnapps.

Dav's arms relaxed and she was kissing him back even though everything in her brain was screaming: 'Halt! This is really complicated, your house is full of people including your ex-boyfriend whom you still love and this guy is twenty years older than you. You're tripping into incorrigible slut/epic daddy issues territory! Why aren't you listening to me?!?'

Her internal monologue continued to screech as Rupert's hand slid under her pajama top. He cupped her breast and his fingernails bit into her nipple. She let out a sharp "yee," and then broke away from the kiss.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, clasping her hands to her chest.

His continued to hold her waist beneath the hem of her shirt. As he spoke, his thumbs traced distracting circles on the bare flesh.

"Because I've wanted to for a long while," he said, his lips coiled into a grin. "I love you. It's sudden, I know, but it's real nonetheless. I didn't want to get in the way of you and Xander, but I believe that's over now. Am I wrong?"

"No, but your timing is still horrible."

"Yes it is. This is a terrible position to put you in and I'm sorry, but I'd regret keeping silent much more. I couldn't bear it if you left without knowing the depth of my feeling for you."

"Leave?"

"Why would you stay here when there's nothing but danger and pain? You could make a life anywhere."

"I haven't thought about it."

"I have, a great deal. Davinia, this is selfish of me, but if given the chance I could give you a reason to build a home here. I could make you happy."

"I can't be your girlfriend. I just got out of this thing with Xander and he's like—I'm not sure what you guys are. Your crime fighting subordinate? I don't want to mess that up."

"Xander is like family."

"See. This is crazy. I can't do this to him," she said, shaking her head. She stepped closer to the door, but he blocked the way. He moved in on her until their bodies were flush.

"Even though he didn't show you the same consideration?"

"Using you to get back at him isn't something I want to do, alright? I care about you too much."

"So I've utterly misread you? You feel nothing for me outside of friendship?"

Her eyes skittered over his expression, taking in his tight mouth and the sadness in his eyes. Dav was at a loss. She did feel something more than friendly towards him. On more than one occasion she'd stopped herself from stroking his hair when he looked exhausted or offering to rub his shoulders. She believed wholeheartedly that he loved her and she'd dreamed of him touching her the way he was at that moment.

"You didn't misread," Dav said, surprising herself with her own honesty.

He kissed her and slid his hands up to caress the heft of her breasts. Her shirt was gone, suddenly, and the rush of cold air made goosebumps pucker her skin. He bowed to taste her nipples and tease them with his teeth. She held his head to her chest and thrilled at how his mouth looked; his quick tongue darted out, leaving a sheen against her skin. This was definitely wicked, in an eat an entire box of chocolates during the course of an afternoon kind of way. He moved lower down her body, kissing along her sternum, all the way to the felted waistband of her aged pajamas. He whisked them down her legs. She widened her stance to give him better access to her pussy while her internal chastising monologue slowly went hoarse. He pressed his mouth to the soft, red hair at the top of her thighs and then brought his hands into play. Rupert dragged his fingers over her clitoris until she whimpered and then slipped them inside her body. His tongue found her clit and in a few moments her conscience committed seppuku rather than continue to exist in dishonor. The way he moved had her close to orgasm fast. She didn't want to come yet, though. She tugged on his hair until he stopped sucking and looked up at her with dazed eyes. She noticed that his right eye had a wedge of brown in the green iris, a flaw that made the whole even more beautiful.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing, but, did you want to make love?"

"I don't have any protection."

"There's some in the medicine cabinet," she said, feeling another flash of shame. Xander had bought the rubbers and put them in her bedside table. She'd moved them to the bathroom because they'd made her too depressed. Rupert smiled at her and then kissed the soft round of her stomach. He sprung to his feet and rifled through the mirrored cupboard until he found the prophylactics. He was slackless and condom-wrapped before she could blink. His body was startingly lean and long-limbed, like a teenager.

She was trying to figure out the logistics of sex without a bed when he picked her up and rested her ass on a wooden shelf beside the sink. She tried not to remember that Xander had built that shelf for her. She ran her hands along the elegant taper of Rupert's waist. He pinned her against the cool, tiled wall and speared her in between the trembling wings of her legs.
This was happening and it couldn't go back. Rupert was pumping inside of her and she was officially a very, very bad person. His thumb ground against her clit while he lapped at her breasts. She was getting closer and closer with each thrust.

"You taste like carameled apples, just like I knew you would," he muttered against her neck.

"You're such a liar, but I like it," she chuckled.

"See for yourself," he said, dragging her into another kiss.

~*~

Xander looked up when the bedroom door creaked and a rectangle of light spilled across the floor. He expected to see Giles but instead Eddie was stealing quietly into the room.

"Hey, what's up?" Xander asked, not even pretending he had been asleep.

"It's kind of...um...noisy out there. I'd be more comfortable in here," Eddie said, drawing back the rumpled sheets and sinking into Giles' abandoned bed.

"Is Dav okay? Do you think I should go out and talk to her?"

"No, definitely not. Giles is taking care of her. I think you're probably the last person she wants to see right now," Eddie said, his gestures so twitchy they reminded Xander of a guinea pig cleaning itself.
End Notes:
Yes, so, Giles and Dav have sex. Graphically. I did not intend to write the hell out of this scene when it was first conceived. However, it just kept getting more and more elaborate until you have what you see here. My apologies to Anthony Stewart Head. My one consolation is he will never read this story. Please leave a comment--grossed out, turned on, ashamed for me? Let me know.
Chapter 19 by Minx DeLovely
Author's Notes:
Thanks to the lovely Puddinhead for her betaing skillz.
Previously:

"It's kind of...um...noisy out there. I'd be more comfortable in here," Eddie said, drawing back the rumpled sheets and sinking into Giles' abandoned bed.

"Is Dav okay? Do you think I should go out and talk to her?"

"No, definitely not. Giles is taking care of her. I think you're probably the last person she wants to see right now," Eddie said, his gestures so twitchy they reminded Xander of a guinea pig cleaning itself.

~*~

Sun streamed through the windows in Dav's bedroom and shone harmlessly on Spike. The sharp edges of his face were blunted by the natural light and Buffy couldn't believe how much younger he looked. She kissed his forehead, but he didn't stir. She frowned, certain he hadn't moved at all through the night. That didn't mean he wouldn't wake up though, and having the sun in his eyes would drive him into a panic. She went over to the window and closed the curtains before leaving the room.

Her friends had to be closer to solving Spike's snoozy problem. Snoozy problem sounded much less scary than coma.

When she stepped into the hall, a delicious, maple smell wafted over her. She followed the scent and the murmuring voices to the kitchen. Giles was standing by the granite counter lifting something golden and fluffy out of a red waffle iron. He was dressed in his clothes from the night before, just like Xander and Eddie. Dav was between the boys at the white, wooden table in the corner. She was freshly scrubbed and kitted out in a cute, green top that showed off her cleavage. Her hair was plaited in a French braid with soft ringlets falling out to frame her tastefully made-up face. While the others were grubby and careworn, Dav looked like she'd prepped for a first date. Her back was to her ex and was completely ignoring him.

"So at least Joyce is safe," Eddie said, then noticed Buffy. He smiled at her, his brown eyes sparkling, and got to his feet.

"What about my mom?"

Eddie walked over and gave her a quick hug.

"She's with Andrew and Willow."

Buffy's face crinkled and she tilted her head.

"Andrew? The translation guy from the coffee shop?"

His chest puffed up slightly and he grinned.

"Yup. We're an item."

"Wow, I disappear for a few weeks and Sunnydale turns into the set of 'All My Children,'" Buffy said.

"You have no idea," Eddie said under his breath. She glanced at her friends and noticed Xander's facial tic was back, Dav was examining her nails and Giles was blushing. Giles was BLUSHING. Things were definitely weird. She went to the table and had a seat. Her Watcher set a plate in front of her that was loaded with a throw pillow-sized Belgiun waffle.

"Dav, this looks amazing," Buffy said without making a move to actually eat. Even though the aroma was delectable, she was waiting on Eddie's story.

"All Rupert," Dav said, tilting her head up and giving Giles a dazzling smile. He didn't quite return it, opting for a nod instead before walking back to the counter. Dav's face fell and she resumed studying her cuticles.

"I didn't know you could cook," Xander said as he busied himself screwing and unscrewing the lid on a salt shaker. Buffy had the urge to reach across the table and stop him.

"You pick up a few things along the way," Giles said and plopped a dollop of batter onto the iron with a measured hand. Dav gnawed on her thumbnail and Xander began fiddling with the jolly, red sugar bowl. Buffy's patience with all the agitated behavior was reaching its end. She looked at Eddie.

"So, you were going to tell me about my mom," Buffy said. She folded her arms over her chest.

"Sorry, of course." Eddie shifted on his chair so he was sitting sideways and facing her.

"Andrew and Willow went to get her last night while we were breaking you guys out of the Initiative. The whole idea was to bring Joyce here, but while they were packing her stuff, a bunch of soldiers descended on the place. Willow did a concealment spell and they hid until the bastards took off. Willow and Andrew spent the night there with your mom because the house was being watched. Here's the crazy part, though."

"There's a crazier part than that?" Buffy asked.

"Oh yeah. Around five in the morning, there was an explosion. The commando dudes surveilling your mom's house got into their Humvee and peeled out a couple seconds after they heard the big boom. It was all over the news this morning—a gas main beneath a frat house on the Sunnydale University Campus exploded. You guys probably know it. The fraternity has that Toys for Tots/Jello Wrestling night right before Christmas break every year."

"And what about me makes you think Jello wrestling would be a handy point of reference?" Dav asked.

"I thought everybody knew about that. I mean, I'm not even a student there and I got a flyer," Xander said.

"Save the quips till the end. Was anyone hurt?" Buffy asked.

"You'd assume that at five in the morning a frat house would be full of guys sleeping, right, but there was only one fatality."

"Take a guess," Xander said.

"Riley Finn," Buffy said softly.

"Yup. Local police aren't handling the investigation either. Since the frat was affiliated with R.O.T.C., it's the military's deal."

"What does it mean?

"We don't know," Giles said.

The metal mixing bowl he was rinsing clanged against the stainless steel sink. Dav jumped when she heard the sound.

"There is some good news, though. Willow called with some information about the stuff that probably transformed Spike," Dav said, glancing at Giles. "I'm not really sure of the technical jargon. Maybe Rupert can explain."

"We have reason to believe he was injected with Homra blood. They are closely related to the Mohra demon," Giles said. He kept washing the dishes without turning to look at them.

"Which would be great to know if I had any idea what a Mohra demon was," Buffy said.

"Wow, Buff, you must be serious about the no-quip thing. You just pronounced Mohra demon correctly," Xander said

"Yes, well, according to the book of Kelsor, Mohra demon blood has regenerative properties as does the blood of the Homra. Both can heal wounds and bring life back to the recently deceased. Vampires are forever suspended at the instant of death, which is why the blood had its restorative effect on Spike."

"He'll be a regular human being."

"We're still not certain of that," Giles said, wiping his hands on a dish towel and slinging it over his shoulder.

"You mean he won't have a soul?" Buffy asked.

"He'll have a soul. However, we aren't sure what was mixed in the blood."

"Besides liquid smoke," Eddie said.

Buffy cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Okay, Spike's barbecue flavored now, so what?" Buffy asked.

"I guess we'll know when he wakes up," Dav said, patting Buffy's back. Giles began scraping dried batter off of the waffle iron.

"Food and me seem like unmixy things right now." Buffy pushed her plate away. At the same instant, Eddie and Xander reached for the waffle. Eddie rolled his eyes and cut it in two with a butterknife, then flopped half onto Xander's empty dish.

"Would you want an omelet instead?" Dav smiled encouragingly at her.

"No. My stomach's all blah. I just—"

"Want him to wake up again?" Dav asked.

Xander and Eddie stopped eating to look at her with shiny, sympathetic eyes. Seeing the concerned faces of her friends, who'd risked their lives to save her, finally proved too much for Buffy's frayed nerves. She began to cry. A moment later she felt Giles' hand on her shoulder. Her friends enclosed her in their arms; Buffy was the blubbering center of a group hug.

Consequently, none of them noticed that Spike was shuffling across the tiled floor completely naked. He reached the refrigerator, opened the door and took out a plastic tub full of blood. With wobbly hands he tore off the lid and brought the container to his lips.

Everyone turned around in time to see Spike gagging loudly and spitting a mouthful of pig's blood in the sink.

"That's bloody disgusting! It must be off or something," he said, wiping his scowl on the back of his hand. He noticed all five people were staring at him with wide eyes and lips agape. He cocked his head. "What?"

"You're awake. We weren't sure you would and now you're grumpy and saying bloody and you're alive," Buffy said, with a wet laugh.

"Yeah, got that, love," Spike said, the corner of his mouth curling up.

"You're not wearing anything," Dav said.

Spike looked down at himself, confirming that he was nude aside from several bandages stuck to his torso. He lowered the large, plastic cup to cover up his shame.

"Suppose I should do something about that, but it's not like I have anything you lot haven't seen before."

"Actually, you kinda do," Xander said, his gaze stealing downward before bouncing back up to meet Spike's face again.

"Glad you mentioned it, Xan. It would have been sorta gay if I did," Eddie said.

"Alright, enough ogling my dazed boyfriend," Buffy said, almost leaping out of her chair to usher Spike back to the bedroom.

"Boyfriend?" Spike asked, his grin so enormous the back molars showed. She put her arm around his waist.

"Not that I want to have this talk in front of everybody, but since you decided to overshare, why not. Yeah, boyfriend. Is that okay?"

"Yeah," he said, letting her lead him away from the group.

"Dav, do you have any clothes that would fit Spike?" Buffy asked over her shoulder.

"Um, I have a black, plastic garbage bag full of stuff in my closet. There's bound to be something that'll fit. You can figure it out."

"Thank you," Buffy said.


~*~


Buffy went to Dav's closet and dragged the garbage bag out. She rifled through the castoffs, while Spike watched wearing a bemused expression. She held up a faded Cookie Monster baby tee and some yellow stirrup pants.

"What do you think?"

"I think it's cute to watch you amusing yourself."

"C'mon, C is for Cookie. Ooh, and lookie, there's a sundress and some bike shorts. I've always wanted to see you in drag," she said, snatching the items up for his inspection.

"Not my color, love. Are you gonna tell me what the hell's going on?"

"As soon as you get dressed. You look cold," Buffy said, gently.

"I am," he said, with mild surprise as he cocked his head at her.

She picked out a pair of crisp, blue jeans and a black sweater. He dressed quickly, with none of his usual teasing.

"Here, I want to show you something," Buffy said, taking his hand. Spike nodded and together they walked over to the window.

"When the doctors were torturing you, they injected you with some Mohra blood. Do you know what that is?"

"Not a clue."

"It changed you."

"Am I dying, love?"

"No, no, I mean yeah, I guess in the same way we're all dying. You're human now, Spike. It healed you."

He shook his head.

"Impossible."

"I'll show you. Let me pull the curtain back."

She went to part the fabric, but he stayed her hand.

"No."

"Trust me."

They had a stare off until Spike let go of her wrist. She yanked the curtain aside and his spine stiffened as the sun hit his body. When there was no sizzle or smoke, he began to examine his hands as though he'd never seen them before.

"Can hear the thudding in my ears now," he murmured. Buffy touched his chest and he held the flat of her palm over his heart. His other hand drifted through the light while shadows cast by the runes painted on the window skated over its contours.

"How do you feel?"

"I don't know."

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

His eyes had never been more vivid and a goofy smile took over his face.

"We could go to the beach," he said, patting the back of her hand. "Oh, yeah, and you could wear one of those tiny bininis. I'd love to see you in something all skimpy swimming through the surf."

"You've already seen me naked. Why would you want to see me in a bathing suit?"

"It's different in the daylight, isn't it?" he asked, tilting his head at her. That was too much adorable in one place. Buffy launched herself into his arms and kissed his lips. Right away she noticed that he had morning breath and almost laughed. Before his transformation, Spike's kisses always tasted sweet. Halitosis was a side effect of humanity that they don't like to put in the brochure. She wondered how he'd react to the other indignities of being alive. Buffy ended the kiss and he was still smiling.

"Are you really okay with all of this?"

He touched her cheek and she nuzzled into his hand.

"'Spose I have to be. It's permanent, isn't it?"

"We think so. I mean, I guess you could get somebody to vamp you again."

"I don't want that," he said, the giddiness on his face ebbing away.

"Even though I'm stronger than you now?"

"You were always stronger than me."

"It's different now," Buffy said.

"Yeah, it's different, but it's where we are. When I said I'd die for you, I meant it. Just thought it would be in a blaze of glory saving the world, not from a heart attack while I was shoveling the front walk. And yeah, I'll probably miss the dark in ways I can't imagine yet, but I've got the chance to be more than your dog—"

"You were never—"

"I was. I was your pity suck. Even when it changed we could never be anything like equals. Not until now. This is my chance to be my own man."

Buffy dove across the space between them and wrapped her arms around Spike's shoulders. He hugged her back.

"I love you," she whispered.

~*~

After Buffy and Spike left the kitchen, the others settled into an uncomfortable silence.

Xander looked at Dav expectantly as Giles began clearing the table. Rupert reached over her to grab the maple syrup and she looked up at him, but he didn't acknowledge her glance. Dav stood, abandoning the rest of her food. She crossed the floor and began drying the dishes. Xander snatched the remainder of her breakfast. When she smiled at Rupert, his lips quaked for a second before resettling into a blank line. Dav and Rupert continued cleaning without talking.

Finally, Xander spoke.

"Well that left me feeling all kinds of inadequate."

"I'm not sure how to feel, humbled or priveleged," Eddie said, shoving a forkful of waffle into his mouth.

"I've seen bigger," Dav blurted out. She instantly wished she hadn't. Her ex-boyfriend had twisted around in his chair and was looking at her like she'd confessed to killing and eating Santa Claus. Giles had his back to her as he set her flour sifter in the cupboard so she couldn't gauge his reaction. She was thoroughly humiliated anyway.

"Did you have a career in animal husbandry?" Eddie asked.

Dav opened the refrigerator door as much to hide inside as to get some food. She grabbed a bunch of random items.

"Spike's probably hungry. He hasn't eaten in about a hundred years," Dav said.

Giles began whistling "Ziggy Stardust," while he finished putting away the silverware.At least it was some recognition of their night together, but Dav hoped the others wouldn't pick up on his newfound cheeriness. Xander didn't pay attention, but Eddie's eyes expanded to bulging, making Dav wonder what else he'd noticed.

"I'll be in my room, doing...magic," Eddie said, then darted away. Dav hustled out of the room right after him, lugging an armful of sundries.

Dav walked through the open door to see Buffy and Spike holding each other. The redhead looked at the floor.

"Sorry, I can come back later. Just wanted to give you some food."

"That's brilliant, kitten. Come in," Spike said, waving her in as he withdrew from Buffy's embrace. Dav gingerly set her armful of goodies on top of the dresser.

"Um, there's clotted cream and some scones I baked yesterday," she said, then looked skeptically at one of the jars. "Why did I bring pickles?"

Buffy revolved in Spike's arms so she was leaning against him and facing Dav.

"Pickles are yummy. Are there any waffles left?"

"Unfortunately, no. Xan and Eddie are stress eaters. But I do have some chocolate pudding, bottled water and one peach."

"Gimme the peach, sweetheart."

Dav lobbed the fruit to Spike and he caught it easily. When he bit into it, the sensual overload was such that he moaned and closed his eyes. Buffy looked up at him, her mouth trailing open.

"Gah...good?" Buffy asked.

"And I'm suddenly very conscious I shouldn't be watching this. Enjoy the food," Dav said as she retreated a step.

"Stay. Seriously, there's nothing untoward going on. It's all toward," Buffy said.

"Speak for yourself, love," Spike said, shooting a wink at Dav before he took another luxurious bite of the peach. Buffy was eying the juice dripping down his chin like she wanted to lick it off.

"Just remember to change the sheets when you're finished eating," Dav said, then left, closing the door behind her before they could breech further argument. When she turned around, Dav nearly bumped into Rupert. He dipped his chin down when he saw her and had his hands shoved deeply into his pockets.

"Might we talk?" he asked.

"I don't want to disturb anyone," Dav said as she peered down the hallway. Xander was on the couch with his feet up on her ottoman and the remote in his hand. She could hear the television playing quietly. It sounded like he was watching a football game.

"Perhaps we could go in the pantry, then," Rupert said.

She considered him for a moment. Rupert had tense folds around his mouth and a puckered brow. Dav thought he reserved that face for impending apocalypse, so seeing it then didn't bode well for their conversation. However, she'd never been one for living in a state of suspense.

"Sure."

They went into the small closet in her kitchen where she stored her dry groceries. Happily, it was all neatly organized, so at least she didn't have to worry about being embarassed for that reason. She was pretty sure there would be lots of other things to be humiliated about soon enough.There was less than a foot between them and Dav doubted they had space to turn around.

"I should've guessed you would make your own preserves," he said, almost to himself, as he glanced at the wall of jars behind her.

"My mom did most of the work. We can together every year. She has a bunch of plum and cherry trees on her property, so we pick the fruit ourselves."

"That's lovely."

He looked at the floor for a beat.

"Your shirt is ridiculous. I'm sure I can find something better for you," she said, tweaking his top button. He didn't have on an undershirt and she couldn't resist sliding her index finger through the placard to feel his bare skin. He drew in a sharp breath as though her touch had hurt him. Dav pulled away and clasped her hands behind her back.

"What did you want to talk about?" she asked.

He took off his glasses and rubbed them on the hem of his ugly, gold shirt.

"Last night we acted, urm, impetuously. I said some things to you that in the harsh light of morning seem rather inappropriate, especially given the circumstances. I fear I took advantage of you."

"Did you mean them?"

He stopped cleaning for a moment and met her gaze.

"Of course I did."

"It doesn't matter, then. We took advantage of each other."

"Why's that?" he asked. His voice was casual but his eyes crackled with anxiety.

"We should've taken things slow. I just ended things with Xander and honestly, I'm not sure if I love you. It was wrong of me to take advantage of your feelings when I'm so uncertain of mine."

"Well, I shouldn't have pressured you, knowing all you're going through. I thought I'd outgrown impulsive behavior but evidently not when it comes to you. To put it kindly, you make me feel young."

"That's not such a bad thing," Dav said.

"It's quite wonderful, actually." Rupert put his glasses back on and beamed at her. Suddenly, he enfolded Dav in his arms. His hands rubbed her back lightly and she sighed,abandoning herself to the comfort of his body. Dav tilted her head up and gave him a brief peck on the lips.

"We shouldn't do that anymore until everybody's out of the apartment. I don't want to hurt Xander."

"Neither do I. Just one more kiss, then?" he asked, a slinky grin sneaking up his face.

"Okay," she said. He put her soft kiss to shame, taking her mouth with such fervor she could hardly breathe.

"Now you go out first and if anyone sees us you were helping me look for the popcorn," she said, snatching a package from behind his head and shoving it into his hands. Rupert left wearing a smirk. She waited until her legs stopped shaking before she followed him out.
End Notes:
You probably know "All My Children," was the soap where Sarah Michelle Gellar got her start.

Please let me know what you think, good or bad.
Chapter 20 by Minx DeLovely
Author's Notes:
Thanks to Puddinhead for all her beta skillz on this chapter. Hope your holidays were wonderful and warm.

Special thanks to everyone who voted for this story at the Sunnydale Memorial Fanfiction awards. It won best Angst, best Original Character and best Original Character pairing with a few honorable mentions in other categories. I'm awed and touched by the love for this story. Thank you so much to Sanityfair, too, for all the work she's done on earlier chapters.

Wait--they're playing the music, I think that means I gotta get off the stage. One more thank you. Thanks for reading this story. It means a ton when you comment but even if you don't, thanks for letting me bend your ear.
Previously:



"Neither do I. Just one more kiss, then?" he asked, a slinky grin sneaking up his face.



"Okay," she said. He put her soft kiss to shame, taking her mouth with such fervor she could hardly breathe.



"Now you go out first and if anyone sees us you were helping me look for the popcorn," she said, snatching a package from behind his head and shoving it into his hands. Rupert left wearing a smirk. She waited until her legs stopped shaking before she followed him out.



~*~



Buffy and Spike were cuddling together on Dav's bed after decimating most of the food she'd given them. Having him awake had totally restored Buffy's appetite and she'd devoured half the scones. The only item left to eat was the jar of clotted cream. Since their hostess hadn't included a spoon, Spike had brilliantly decided to use his hands. He swirled his index finger in the container until it was covered in thick, white cream.



"Taste?" he asked, arching his eyebrow.



All she could do was nod and open her mouth. The flavor was so sweet it almost burned her tongue. He slid his finger out slowly and then stared into her eyes.



"I'm going to need a dentist now, aren't I?" he asked.



"That was literally the last thing I thought you were going to say."



"Sorry, I was just looking at your teeth and thinking how nice they look. I'll probably need someone to fiddle about with my molars, make sure I don't get cavities. That and a doctor. I haven't even got a social security number, though. They'd probably turn me away at hospital."



Buffy tried not to be grumpy that he'd ruined the mood by being practical. It was probably for the best, anyway, seeing as the whole gang was trapped in the apartment with them. Even though she'd inadvertently put on a show for the Initiative's cameras, she was still too shy to subject her friends to the sound of them getting their freak on. Especially Giles.



"I take it you've got serious thoughts?"



"Yeah. Haven't you, kitten?"



"I'm still basking in the love and relative safety."





He sat up and set the jar of clotted cream on the bedside table, officially ending any further hope of sexy time.



"S'pose we're not as safe as we seem?" he asked as he laid back down beside her. He put his arm around her waist and looked into her eyes.



"Then let's talk," Buffy said, putting her hand on his cheek. He kissed her thumb and a smile curtsied across his face. "What has you worried?"



"Aside from the obvious?"



"Actually start with that. Sometimes it isn't so obvious to me."



Spike sighed and brushed the hair from her forehead.



"Well, with the heartbeat comes a need for all the meaner things in life, starting with an identity. That's gonna wipe out my whole nest egg, unless of course somebody's already moved into my old haunt and taken all that lucre. Then I don't know what we'll do. We'll have to find a way, though, can't work or travel without papers. There's no way we're going to be separated again."



Buffy's eyes widened.



"Why would we be separated?"



"You can't go back to that school, love, not with Dr. Mengele teaching there. God knows who else is in on it besides her."



The enormity of their situation finally hit and suddenly she couldn't lie still anymore. Buffy jumped up from the bed.



"The military industrial complex is in on it," Buffy said, wrapping her arms around herself. Spike also stood and watched her solemnly. "God, I'm dense for not thinking of this before."



"Not dense. Just hopeful."



"There's got to be a way we can fight this," she said.



"You're the Slayer, love, but there are some things that you can't take out with a stake to the heart and a swift kick to the stones."



"Why not?" Buffy asked, giving him a crooked smile. He smirked at her and she doubly regretted that sexy time was over.



"Rupes will know something. Maybe the safehouse is just the start of the plan. I mean they can't expect to stay here forever," Spike said.



"Good point. It's already getting kinda weird out there."



~*~



Dav was sitting on her couch equidistant from Xander and Giles, trying hard to pretend she cared about the movie they were watching. Neither of the men were touching her but Xander's gaze seemed to be a physical presence. She could feel him looking at her just as much as she could feel Rupert purposely not looking. Xander had polished off an entire batch of popcorn and he was slouched, resentfully munching on a second. Eddie was still hiding in the bedroom. Dav wasn't sure what was happening with Buffy and Spike, but she could hear their muffled voices through the wall. Rupert took his glasses off and let them dangle from his fingers as he closed his eyes. It had been a long night for everyone, but she and Rupert hadn't gotten to sleep until the rosy dawn was creeping across the floor. It had been so hard to leave his embrace and curl up on the other part of the sectional. Dav longed to lift up Rupert's arm and slide under its weight. She was lost in her thoughts when Xander spoke.



"I guess Giles' cultural education will be tragically incomplete."



"Huh?"



"He'll never know who won the Cannonball Run," Xander said, setting the tomato-red popcorn bowl down on her coffee table. A smile quivered on the corners of Dav's lips.



"I'm so spaced right now that I totally thought we were watching, 'Pretty Woman.'"



"Are you kidding? Julia Roberts wasn't even invented when this classic of cinema was made."



"It's frightening to think such a world existed."



"We've come a long way," Xander said with a sage nod.



They pretended to watch television for a bit. Dav took the spectacles from Rupert's lax hand and set them on the table. She covered him with a mauve throw she'd bought to replace the one that got singed by Willow's locator spell. As she arranged the soft fabric around his shoulders, she resisted the urge to kiss his forehead.



"You and G-man have a good talk last night?" Xander asked. His voice sounded hesitant.



Dav tried to remember the stuff she learned in the one acting class she took so she could successfully fake a sense of calm. Her main take-away from the instructor was that she should rely on a childhood memory to lend credibility to her acting and to lose at least twenty pounds if she wanted to be cast as the lead. She tried to think of her grandmother teaching her needlepoint instead of the way Rupert's mouth felt against her skin. She sat down next to Xander, making sure their knees didn't touch.



"Um, I guess. It was nice of him to stay up with me."



"He's good like that, with the advising. Did he say anything, you know, about us?" Xander asked as he watched her.



Dav grabbed a pink throw pillow and hugged it to her chest.



"Xander, I don't really want to talk about this. I think we've already said everything."



"So you didn't change your mind."



"I'm sorry, Xan."



"No, I'm sorry," Xander said, patting her hand. "I still love you, no matter what I did to screw things up."



Dav wasn't sure how to react; she gnawed her lower lip but didn't take her hand away.



"I love you, too, but everything's different now. I'll always be your friend, though," Dav said.



Xander looked at their twined fingers for a moment.



"Maybe—"



The knock on the door cut off Xander's words. Giles woke with a jerk and tapped around looking for his glasses. Eddie opened the bedroom door and stuck his head out. Dav stood and went to check on who was outside, with the others following closely behind. Peering through her peephole, she saw, Willow, Joyce and Andrew looking nervously around them. Dav unlocked the door while Giles spoke a spell to lower the wards momentarily. The newcomers filed into the room saying, "Hi," "Hello, Dear," and "What's up?" Eddie bounded over to his boyfriend and picked up the slightly shorter man.



"I was so scared," Eddie said, his lips against the crook of Andrew's neck. Then they kissed like the world would collapse if they stopped. At the same moment Willow nearly tackled Xander.



"We were all scared. I thought I was never gonna see you again," Willow said. Xander didn't react at first; instead he found Dav's eyes. She smiled at him, hoping to make him understand that Willow needed him then. He nodded and hugged his oldest friend.



"I wasn't scared for a second. Not when the team was led by the indescribable Rosenberg."



"Pshaw, I say and also phew," Willow said, nuzzling against Xander's chest. The slim redhead peeked over their tangled limbs and gave Dav an embarassed look. Willow's face was all squished forehead and fearful eye. Dav couldn't help smiling sadly at the other girl. Dav tried to blot out the couple and focused on Joyce.



"How are you?"



"Exhausted," Joyce said, then looked over Dav's shoulder, "Hello Rupert. Where's Buffy?"



Dav turned around and saw Rupert smoothing his rumpled hair and bumping his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger. Joyce made him nervous and Dav remembered he'd had sex with Buffy's mom once. Xander, cringing and laughing at once, told her Joyce said Giles had gotten it on like a stevedore. Dav remembered because she'd had to look up the word—it was a fancy term for someone who loaded and unloaded ships. For the first time since she'd known her, Dav felt incredibly short and just a little bit angry in Joyce's presence.



"Urm, she and Spike are," Rupert began, when the pair in question walked into the room. A second later Buffy was edging Dav out of the way and wrapping her arms around her mom. Buffy and Joyce clung to one another and tears tumbled out of the corners of Joyce's eyes.



"Mommy," Buffy said, softly.



Joyce reached out and her fingers hovered around the crown of Buffy's head.



"Your hair."



"I know."



"What did they do to my baby?"



Spike hung back, with his hands in his pockets and his eyes trained on the floor, as though it would be impolite to intrude. It was another moment that revealed that the long-dead English gentleman he'd been hadn't quite disappeared. What was he now, Dav wondered. Their eyes met, and he seemed to know what she was thinking.



Joyce lifted her head and smiled at Spike.



"I didn't have a chance to tell you, I'm so glad to count you among the living," Joyce said.



"Glad to be back," he said, smiling warmly. Buffy opened her eyes and reached out toward Spike without letting her mom go. He took Buffy's hand and she folded him into the hug with her mother.



"I knew you'd keep each other safe," Joyce said.



Dav regarded the group; Eddie's and Andrew's hands had vanished under each others' clothing; Willow and Xander were whispering and cuddling; Joyce, Buffy and Spike were all huddled together in a teary knot. Only she and Rupert were acutely alone. She'd never wanted to touch him more, to reassure him he was part of the joyful reunion, but Dav was afraid that everyone would know what she'd done. She could shatter thier makeshift family if she chose either of the men who were in love with her.



Everyone slowly disengaged and drifted to the couch. Somehow, all of them fit on the sectional. Joyce took the end beside Buffy who sat on Spike's lap, then Willow and Xander smooshed together in the bend. Eddie and Andrew were next with Dav perched on the arm. Rupert stood, because he always did. His eyes alighted on hers, and she read ambivalence in them.



"So what's been going on with you guys since last night? Eddie filled us in on the commandos and the frat-go-boom," Xander said. He tweaked Willow's chin and Dav had the distinct urge to retreat to the kitchen so she wouldn't have to watch their easy affection.



"We went to the mansion, to see if Angel was there. I thought he'd be able to protect Joyce—" Willow said.



Buffy and Spike looked at each other; her face stilled and he held her clenched hands.



"Angel's dust, kitten. Buffy and I felt it," Spike said.



"I'm so sorry, honey," Joyce said, patting Buffy's shoulder. Buffy just nodded in response.



"We thought so, but we weren't sure. There was a pile of ashes on the chair in front of the fireplace," Willow said. Xander said nothing, which Dav took as a sign of maturity.



"You're certain because of the blood bond," Rupert said, as though he'd discovered something interesting in one of his aged books. He was the only person in the room who didn't seem shocked or upset. Dav's stomach began to roil with her dawning suspicions. She was glad she hadn't eaten much of her breakfast because it was threatening to come up again.



"Yes," Buffy said through clenched teeth, "so you guys spent the night in the mansion."



"Basically, yeah, after all the death-defying we holed up in that fancy manse. And by the way, I've lived in Sunnydale all my life and didn't realize we had an original Carey Meyer building within walking distance of my house."



"Oh my God! I didn't know you were into architecture," Eddie said, planting a kiss on the back of his boyfriend's hand.



"My geekiness is eclectic."



Buffy didn't smile at Andrew's joke.



"We need to get our hands on Walsh. Maybe surprise her at her flat. Get her to call off her dogs," Spike said.



"That's a good idea. She shouldn't be too hard to find," Buffy said.



"Locator spell?" Andrew asked.



"Actually, she put her address in the syllabus. That should've been the first indication she was a complete nutcase," Willow said.



"There's a couple things you should know before you talk to her. Ethan Rayne was killed in a mysterious, single-car accident this morning along with someone named Lloyd Oliver," Willow said.



"The good doctor," Spike murmurred.



"You know this person?" Joyce asked.



"He tortured Spike," Buffy said, her voice calm and even. "He said she'd kill us all. I thought he was just being all villiany and melodramatic, but I guess she started with him. What does Ethan have to do with any of this anyway?"



"The serum that made Spike a mortal man was a concoction of Ethan's," Rupert said as he snapped off his glasses and gave them a rough polish. "We mustn't jump to any conclusions about the crash until we have more information. Willow, how did you find out about the deaths? Was it a spell?"



"No. I get e-mail updates from the paper about mysterious deaths in Sunnydale. You'd be shocked how fast my inbox gets clogged. Actually, no, you guys probably wouldn't," Willow said, wringing her hands. Xander put his arm around her.



"What was the other thing we needed to know before we head out?" Buffy asked.



"When I was in Ethan's mind—"



"When were you in Ethan's mind?" Eddie asked.



"You guys were in the kitchen, after the whole thing with the couch and—anyway it doesn't matter! Walsh kidnapped Faith and she's not comatose anymore. Faith's a fully operational slayer super-soldier," Willow said.



"Poor Faith. God knows what they've done to her," Joyce said.



"Poor us. If Faith's gone way roguer, then the first people she's coming after are us," Xander said.



"We can't let them do this to her. We'll head over to Walsh's now. Xander, you drive."



"I've got a plethora of weapons options in my trunk. And some jumper cables, but we hopefully won't need those unless I left the headlights on again."



"Always good to be prepared," Buffy said with an indulgent smile. She pointed at the boys. "Eddie, Andrew stay here with Giles, Dav and my Mom. If anything should happen to the rest of us we're going to need the cavalry. Besides, Andrew hasn't been spotted by any of the Initiative yet and I want to keep it that way."



"Aw, thanks Buffy. That makes my heart cockles go all warm and fuzzy and I don't even know what cockles are."



"They're like the valves and whatnot that do the pumping," Spike said, earning an, Oh-my-God-could-you-be-more-adorable look from the girl on his lap. A red blush crept up his hollow cheeks like fire climbing a curtain. "What? I looked it up once so I could use the word properly."



"Right," she said, arching her eyebrow at him before turning to the rest of the group. "So we're all set for objects both pointy and blunt. We have transportation. Giles, what am I forgetting?"



"You seem to have things in hand."



"But honey, you're safe now—" Joyce said, grabbing her daughter's thin arm.



Buffy smiled at her mom and her voice got soft.



"Not really mom. None of us are until we deal with Maggie."



"You could wait one more day—"



Buffy absently fingered the stubby ends of her blonde hair.



"Faith doesn't have that time."



Buffy got to her feet and the others rose. Joyce snatched her daughter into a close hug.



"Mom, you've got to let go sometime. I'm not carrying you like a backpack."



"Are you sure? I used to lug you in that baby Bjorn."



"Positive. I love you, though."



"I love you, too."



Buffy released her mom and they walked to the exit saying goodybyes. Dav noticed Xander tentatively took Willow's hand after they passed over the threshold. Once they were gone, Joyce lost the will to fight her weariness. The taller woman seemed to diminish as she leaned against the tattooed door.



"Will they be alright?"



"Buffy has defied all odds and so has Spike for that matter. I think they'll fare better than anyone else in this world could," Rupert said.



"Buffy's the slayer. She's totally made of magic. They're gonna be great," Andrew said, giving Joyce a pat on the arm.



Joyce smiled at him and then ran her fingers through her heavy, blonde hair.



"I think I could use a cat nap. We didn't get much rest last night."



"You can have my room," Dav said.



"That's alright. I'll just curl up on the couch."



"Joyce, before you sleep I'd like to talk to you about Buffy," Rupert said. He glanced at Dav over the tops of his glasses, and she understood that he wanted to talk to Joyce alone. Dav worried her lower lip.



"I could use a nap, too. What do you say, baby?" Eddie asked, turning to Andrew.



"I'm too tired for a nap."



Everyone looked at him quizzically.



"Oh, you mean a nap-nap, not a nap," Andrew said, punctuating the last word with a hearty wink.



Eddie rolled his eyes and grabbed his boyfriend's wrist.



"You're such a dork," Eddie muttered as he led Andrew into the guest room.

Chapter 21 by Minx DeLovely
Author's Notes:
Sorry to everyone who wrote the first incarnation of this chapter. I posted, had regrets and then took it down an hour later. This chapter was completely rewritten, so if you did read it the first time, please give it another look.

Thanks to Puddinhead for her awesome beta skillz. Thanks for Dorian's Kitten and Science who gave needed feedback to improve this chapter immensely.
Dav sprinkled salt into the massive crock pot full of turkey stew she'd prepared for dinner. After everyone left, went to bed, or entered into a conversation they didn't want her to hear, there seemed to be nothing left to do but cook. The stew wasn't fancy, but the meal would probably last a little while. At least she might be able to serve it for lunch, too. Her pantry would be emptier than an East St. Louis strip mall in a few days if she had to keep hosting the gang, so it was important to make food stretch.

She washed up in the silver sink, watching the bubbles slip off her hands. Dav thought about the discussion she'd snuck down the hall to eavesdrop upon, like a kid sneaking around after bedtime to hear the grown-ups talk. Rupert and Joyce had been drinking from his flask.

"What are our options? I mean, besides bad," Joyce asked.

"The Watcher's Council has operatives all over the world, including the highest echelons of the U.S. Government. Their resources could be utilitzed to help Faith. If it comes down to it, they would offer Buffy and yourself a safe haven in England."

"For a price."

"Naturally. It's up to the two of you, but I would go with you to act as an intermediary. I'm not an employee of the council anymore, but I know how they operate."

When she heard him say that, Dav scurried back into the kitchen. She tried to ignore the lump in her throat as the clear water ran down the drain. Someone reached around her and shut off the tap. Startled, she looked up and saw Rupert smiling at her. He gripped the counter on either side of her, so she was essentially caught.

"You've been standing here for five minutes. I counted it off on your cow clock."

The clock he referred to had a picture of a bored-looking Holstein floating on a white and blue tassellated background. It didn't match with anything else, but she'd never bothered to buy a new one.

"Um, that was here when I moved in."

He handed her a red and white checked dish towel and Dav took it, bumping his hand away with her hip as she slid along the counter. She had to move away from him—he was just too close. When Dav finished drying her hands, she stuffed the towel over the handle of the stove and snagged the apple-scented lotion from beside the sink. She squeezed a dab into her palm, set the tube down and kneaded the moisturizer into her skin. He gently took her by the wrist and began rubbing the cream into the back of her hand. Somehow it felt better than the professional, full-body massage she'd gotten for herself as a birthday treat. A happy, little moan snuck out of her mouth.

"Ohh," she whimpered, before she realized her lashes were sinking. "What are you doing?"

"Helping?" he asked, his eyebrows rising along with the edges of his lips.

"We need to talk."

She slipped her hand out of his, turned around and led him to her bedroom. Once she insured them some measure of privacy, Dav decided to ask the question that had become a gnawing ache in her stomach.

"Did you kill Angel?" Dav whispered. All of Rupert's mirth drained away. His forehead was a craggy precipice and his mouth was pulled tight like a drawstring.

"I destroyed him, yes. Was it that obvious?"

"To me, yeah, but I don't think any of the others noticed. Did he attack you?"

"No. I daresay he was friendly and rather kind. He offered me a drink and a comfortable chair before I stabbed him in the back. "

Dav sank down on her bed and rested her face in her hands. A second later the mattress crunched with his weight and she felt his touch on her back.

"It's like I don't know you, Rupert."

"Davinia, please listen to me before you decide to...dismiss me from your life. I'm still not sure my choice was right, but I don't regret he's gone. Angel was not just a threat to Buffy, but to all of us."

"He was helping us."

"Yes, but for how long? According to Ms. Avenolie's research, the pull of the blood bond between Angel and Buffy would only increase."

"That doesn't mean he would turn into Angelus again. Maybe he'd have left on his own if he understood the danger."

He flinched and took his glasses off.

"Perhaps. However, he knew about his curse and his past, yet he continually tempted fate when it came to Buffy. His behavior towards her was obsessive; having her followed. Having you followed."

Davinia brought her knees to her chest, compressing herself into a ball, desperate to create distance between them. Suddenly, brushing against his leg seemed tantamount to sharing his guilt.

"Please tell me it wasn't about that."

Rupert's shoulders dropped as he exhaled. He polished his glasses on the hem of his ugly, gold shirt and then stuck them back on.

"If it was?"

"Oh God."

"We're talking about a creature you were terrified of allowing into your home."

"Yes, but Buffy loved him. Are you going to keep this from her for the rest of her life?" Dav noticed her hands were shaking, and so did Rupert. He reached to calm her.

"Davinia—"

She withdrew from him further, hiding her fist in her lap. He moved closer anyway.

"Davinia, trust me when I say no one knew him as I did."

"How can I trust you?"

"Yes, that's the heart of this, isn't it?" he asked, his eyes moving as he gazed at her. "Did Xander ever explain what Angelus did to Jenny's body after he broke her neck?" His words were barely perceptible in the quiet room.

"No, it was too much for him, I think. He only told me the basics."

"Angelus carried her to my house and posed her corpse in my bed. He set a scene downstairs with two glasses of wine. There was a trail of rose petals going up the steps with little candles. You can imagine what I thought. Then to find her like that. I dream of it nearly every night. Except after you told me about his visit, your face replaced Jenny's."

Dav couldn't respond; she felt cold and heavy inside, like she was slowly turning to stone.

"When he was torturing me, he told me all the things he wished he'd gotten to do to Jenny before he'd killed her. In my nightmares, he succeeds in that purpose with you."

"He tortured you? Like literal torture?"

"You're surprised?"

She nodded yes. The idea seemed so foreign to her. Before she met Xander and his friends, torture was almost a joke in her world—a way to describe reading, 'The Fountainhead.' There were treaties and conventions prohibiting its use. Torturing people was supposed to be a barbaric practice that died with the Middle Ages.

"What did he do?" Dav asked, uncurling from her guarded position and inching closer to Rupert.

"I suppose I was lucky he hadn't time to prepare for our session. He'd spoken of dismembering me with a chainsaw, but all he had on hand was a plastic bag, a box of straight pins and a lighter. He started by covering my face with the bag but stopped short before I blacked out."

Dav made a strangled, "Gah," and was compelled to enclose him in her arms. The thought of anyone suffering in such away, especially Rupert, brought out her protective side. He was stiff at first but then settled against her. Davinia stroked his hair and felt his voice rumbling through her chest as she held him close.

"When he tired of that, Angelus took my shoes and socks off. Shoved needles beneath the nails then heated them up. The metal acted as a conductor, of course, and the pain was excruciating. It felt like my flesh was burning. Angelus was very particular about not leaving marks, though. He wanted the others to know how easily I capitulated to his demands. All the while he was talking about how he planned on killing the children. He wanted Buffy to choose who died first. The psychological aspect was as much a pleasure for him as the violence, I suppose. He enjoyed hurting me a great deal on both fronts."

"God, baby, how can you be so calm talking about that?"

"I'm English?"

She snorted and the hard plane of his jaw softened against the crook of her neck.

"There are volumes on how he tormented his victims; violations one dares not speak aloud. I ignored my instincts once and had faith he'd be able to keep himself in check. Because of my naivete, I lost Jenny. Horribly. I wouldn't recover if the same happened to you."

He leaned back in her loose arms and put his warm hands on either side of her face, as though cupping the bloom of a sunflower. Rupert was seeking a reassurance she didn't know if she could give.

"I love you, Davinia."

She wasn't sure how to respond and his eyes dimmed. Dav was about to tell him she understood when Rupert pulled her into a kiss. His tongue parted her lips and began doing coarse, thrilling things inside her mouth. Rupert grabbed her breasts and molded the soft flesh, pinching the tips through the material covering them. She slipped her hand under his shirt and ran her fingers over the smattering of hair on his chest. When she got to his nipples, Dav used the same amount of intensity he had on her. The mewling sound he made was its own reward until Rupert grabbed her wrists and stopped her from touching him. Before she could protest, her fluttery, green top was whipping over her head. In the next instant he had her flat on her back.

"Hey, slow down," Dav said as Rupert wrenched open the fly of her jeans.

"Don't you want me?" he asked, looking up from his task without a change of expression.

"I do—"

He lifted her lower half effortlessly and yanked her jeans down her thighs, dragging her panties with them before she could qualify her consent. Dav felt awkward in nothing but her black, lace bra while he was still fully dressed. Rupert opened her legs firmly with the palms of his hands and looked at her. The room was bright with sunlight and she was suddenly shy under his appraisal. She brought her knees up to her chest and turned her face against the pillow, but she didn't tell him to stop.

"Could you love a man like me, knowing what's been done to me and what I've done in kind?" he asked, his eyes obscured by the glare on his eyeglass lenses.

He was only sitting on his heels but he seemed to be towering over her. The fingertips of his hand coasted over the slickness that had dripped over her labia. He stuck his fingers into her ragged slit. She bucked up from the bed and whimpered.

"You're so wet, Davinia," he whispered. Rupert was the only person who ever used her full name. She loved the way he said it like the words belonged to him. He massaged her g-spot and ground her clitoris in circles while she shook beneath him. She scrambled to find something to hold onto and ended up with a fistfull of rumpled, purple sheet.

"Look at me. Don't hide from me," he said. Dav acquiesced to his demand by tilting her head. His silk shirt clung to his torso and the roots of his hair were dark with sweat. There was fine stubble on his cheeks and he was breathing hard. Seeing him that way, overly hot and straining to please her, made her open her legs wider and lick her lips.

He wore dirty very well.

Rupert took a condom out of his trouser pocket and she wasn't sure if she should be relieved or angry that he'd assumed she'd give in so easily. One-handed, he unfastened his zipper and brought out his penis. There was a disconnect between her mind and voice as she watched him tear the foil packet—she wanted to slow down but the words couldn't break free. Rupert took his wonderful fingers away and used both hands to roll out the condom over his erection. He was going to keep all his clothes on, denying her the intimacy of his flesh on hers. She sat up to undress him, but he pressed her shoulders down until she was supine. Rupert crawled over her without actually letting their bodies meet. When she sought to touch him he held her arms above her head with one of his hands. He was poised on top of her like a string strung over the neck of a guitar. Their only point of contact was where he pinned her down. He looked down at her with a mixture of awe and despair as he guided his cock into the clutching heat of her pussy with his free hand.

The question he'd asked hung over them as he thrust into her. His lips were suspended out of her reach, so she arched her back trying to get closer to him. He responded by grabbing the tail of her french braid and wrapping it around his hand. He dragged his sharp tongue along her elongated throat. Then he sunk his teeth in and she let out a moan that had to have roused someone in her overcrowded apartment. The first bite led to another and another until she wore a choker of ruby-red hickies. She'd never come from vaginal intercourse alone before; when the orgasm finally engulfed her it was the most intense of her life. Dav couldn't control the sounds she was making and she would have been flailing if Rupert hadn't been holding her so tightly. A smug smile spread over his face and he pounded into her. His equivocal mask broke when he came and for just a second, he seemed absolutely blissful. When it was over he opened his eyes. They blinked at each other, like two people adjusting to the light. Timidly, he unthreaded his fingers from her hair and released her wrists. She enveloped him in her arms and kissed his still-gasping mouth. They moved slowly and gently, as though becoming reacquainted with one another after a long absence. Their lips broke apart with a soft smack and he eased his penis out of her.

He looked at her shamefaced as he took off the condom, propped himself up on his arms and tucked it in the garbage can by her bed. Rupert reached across her and grabbed a corner of the comforter, draping it over them. Neither spoke as their breathing evened out. Dav touched his face.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yes. I'm fine."

"Should we...do you want to talk about all this?"

He let out a sad chuckle, unhooked his glasses from his ears and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.

"I think I've said quite enough tonight, don't you?"

"But, you can't close up on me now, not after what we just did."

"What did we just do?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Do you love me or were you just letting me fuck you because it's what we both needed?"

"Why are you acting this way?"

"Because it's plain to me that I've only got you on lend until you can be shot of your houseguests."

Dav jerked her hand away and flopped over. She wasn't certain, but 'on lend,' sounded like 'slut,' in librarian-speak. Dav clutched the blanket fiercely, not caring that he was half uncovered.

"You're the one who's talking about leaving, Rupert, and you shooed me out of the room to discuss it with Joyce like I was a little kid."

"Perhaps I couldn't bear having an audience should I ask you to come with me, because I'm fairly certain you would refuse."

The truth struck her dumb. He was absolutely right. There was no way she could leave her jobs and her parents to live in another country with a man she'd had sex with twice; a much older man with a dangerous life that had forced him to do terrible things.

He shifted on the creaky bed, then smoothed the coverlet away. Dav craned her neck and watched him kiss her naked shoulder.

"You needn't worry, Davinia," he said, his green eyes focusing on hers for a flash before he lowered them, "I would be a fool to push you to live with me when you can't even tell me what this means to you." He rubbed her breast and she shuddered. "Just now that wasn't me asking you to come with us, so your silence couldn't possibly be your way of saying no." She felt his touch skating across her stomach and then his fingers wedged between her upper thighs. He teased her clit with three strong taps. "If this is all you'll allow me, then I'll take it until you tell me to stop."

"Please don't stop."
Chapter 22 by Minx DeLovely
Author's Notes:
Thanks to Science and Puddinhead for their beta Skillz!
When Xander, Spike, Buffy and Willow got into the hallway of Davinia's apartment, Buffy practically hopped on her friend. The little redhead giggled and let go of Xander's hand. Spike shrugged at Xander who shrugged back as if to say, "Bah, ladies and their human emotions."

"Hey best friend who I haven't hugged yet," Buffy said.

"You have no idea how much I missed you! Everything’s been terrible and there's SOO much we need to talk about," Willow said, looking sideways at Xander. He grinned sheepishly.

"I know, right?" Buffy said, briefly entertaining the idea of planting a kiss on Willow's cheek because she was so grateful to see her again. "You first. How's Oz?"

The girls clung to one another as all four of them walked down the corridor.

"We sorta broke up. But I think it's a good thing. I'm kinda seeing somebody else—"

Xander clapped his hands.

"Hey, don't we have more pressing issues to discuss than who's dating who?"

"Whom. Also, Buffy and I are dating," Spike said, scooping the two, tiny women up in a quick hug.

"That's so great!” Willow said, as they disentangled at the top of the stairwell, “I mean now that there's no threat of getting all chompy, why not? How are you feeling with your burgeoning humanity thing by the way?"

"It's amazing. I forgot how brilliant it feels not having to piss anymore after really having to piss."

"God, gross, honey!" Buffy said, sticking out her tongue and making a yuck face while she bounced downstairs.

"What? She asked."

"I was referring to your connectedness to society and your reintroduction to morality, but I guess your bladder is pretty important, too."

"This is all fascinating and really disgusting, but we've got big, juicy evil to fight and I for one want a game plan before we go in there," Xander said. They finished trouncing down the steps and stopped in a clump by the glass double doors that separated them from the outside. Buffy could see Xander's car parked on the street.

"Should we just take our chances and run for it?" Buffy asked.

"I can do a concealment spell," Willow said. She muttered a few words and a silver light flashed over her eyes. Then she grinned, her expression bright enough to blanch paint. "We're good."

They stepped outside into the sunlight and Buffy scanned the area for suspicious people or cars that might be casing the building. Not seeing any, she jogged with more confidence. She turned to ask Spike if he saw anything when she noticed his smile was bringing out dimples she didn't even know he had. Her face began to hurt and she realized her grin was just as big. Spike looked down at her as they reached the vehicle.

"You think I'll freckle?" he asked with a wink, yanking open the back door. Buffy dove in after him and so did Willow. Xander got into the front alone.

"I feel like a cab driver," Xander grumbled.

Spike laughed as he buckled up.

"Gonna have to get used to wearing one of these. And I'll have to get a driver's license. Shouldn't be hard, right?" he asked.

Buffy fastened her own seatbelt.

"The written part is kind of easy but the actual driving/driving not so much."

"I'm sure you'll ace it. You've got a leg up seeing as you've been driving since before they had cars," Willow said. She was sitting behind Xander and when she thought Buffy wasn't looking, traced the shell of his ear with a sharp, red nail. He jumped and accidentally hit the horn.

"Bloody hell, we're trying to be sneaky here."

"Sorry, I just—I think it's great that you're alive, Spike, seriously, but if you and the rest us are going to stay that way we need a plan."

"Xander's right. Willow, you look like you haven't slept all night and baby, you're not so much with the superhuman qualities anymore."

His smile shrank and he no longer looked like a school boy who'd just been let out on summer break. Buffy hated to see his ebullience checked. She wanted to tell him that his diminished power didn't matter to her—what he gave her was something much more than help in a fight. Her emotions about him were still so overwhelming, though, that she couldn't put them into words, especially not in front of her friends. Instead she gave his hand a squeeze and hoped he'd understand. He looked at her sincerely.

“Even without the bells and whistles, I still know how to fight.”

"I know, but we need a plan of attack," Buffy said.

"Willow can't do her stealth kitty without fainting, so we're going to have to go in blind," Xander said.

"That cat in the Initiative was you, Wills?”

"Andrew helped,” Willow said, shrugging her shoulders.

"Big thanks for the heroics," Buffy said, relieved to know it hadn't been a figment of her weakened mind. "Spike, can you get us into the house?"

"Should be easy. 'Spose I can break in anywhere now, can't I?" he asked, a sinister gleam of realization in his eyes. Buffy lowered her eyebrows, giving him a disapproving glance.

"But you won't," Buffy said.

"'Course I won't. Won't steal, shouldn't fight, can't bloody earn a living. Guess I'll have to get used to being a kept man," Spike said.

“You're a fancy lad,” Xander said.

“Can still kick your narrow ass. Plus, I can pull off the lace cuffs and eyeliner.”

"You really can,” Buffy said, kissing Spike on the nose. “Alright, once we're inside, I'll do the subduing. You guys keep an eye out for anything useful. We'll need to find where she's holding Faith. Willow, are you strong enough to do the mind-meld thingie?" Buffy asked.

"Yeah, that's not like some of the other spells, it's sorta second nature for some reason, like the way I still remember the capitals of all fifty states because my mom taped those flashcards to the slats of my crib, which isn't really relevant now I'm realizing, so yes. I'll meld her good."

"Great. Looks like we have a plan."

They were silent for a moment; Buffy toyed with Spike's fingers, Willow gazed out the window and Xander focused on the road.

“North Dakota,” Xander said.

“Bismarck! Dammit, Xan. Now that I reminded him, he's going to be doing this all day.”

~*~
Maggie Walsh's place was a normal, clapboard house painted light blue. It had a neat lawn and a plump, red, gnome statue guarding the front walk. Buffy had expected Professor Walsh to live in a white pod cleaned by a robot butler; a dwelling that screamed “menace from the not too distant future.” They parked down the street and rummaged through the trunk for weapons. Buffy took the crossbow because it was the most intimidating. Spike chose an ax and slung it over his shoulder. Xander got a stun gun. They walked with confidence under Willow's concealment spell to the back door. Spike pulled out the lockpick kit he found in the car and was about to go to work, when he tried the doorknob.

"It's open," he said.

"Why does that seem both foreboding and ominous?" Xander asked.

"Because you're having one of those rare glimmers of common sense?" Spike asked.

Xander tilted his head.

"You know, I'd like to argue with you, but me and common sense haven't been simpatico lately," Xander said.

Spike swept his arm out, inviting Buffy to go first. She obliged him. Willow followed Buffy closely, then Xander and finally Spike. Buffy could hear the shower running upstairs and exchanged looks with her friends.

“She must be upstairs,” Willow said.

“And I have no qualms about catching the bitch unawares,” Spike mumbled.

They walked through Maggie's empty kitchen. The efficient, clean space looked like an IKEA show room. The living room was decorated with spartan, Shaker furniture. Professor Walsh had gone so far into the aesthetic she'd eschewed couch cushions; there was just an anemic-looking bench with spindles for a back. The only nod to comfort was a yellowed patchwork quilt, but it was tacked on the straw-colored wall, so Professor Walsh probably didn't have many cozy movie nights.

“What kind of freak doesn't have a telly?” Spike asked, glancing around the room at the empty bookshelves.

Apparently, Walsh didn't have ANY cozy movie nights.

“Proof she's evil, and not in the good, demony kind of way,” Buffy said as she mounted the wooden steps. The polished wood creaked under her footfalls, and she grimaced. Her friends followed, and Spike's hand hung above the small of her back as though waiting to catch her should she fall. She was grateful she didn't have to face Walsh again without him. Spike had been a haven during their captivity, and she still felt like he was safekeeping everything that made her Buffy.

Once they reached the top, Willow and Xander fanned out to briefly check the other rooms. Buffy tiptoed along the gold wall, pausing a moment when she noticed a photograph of Dr. Oliver standing beside Professor Walsh there. They were posed on a beach in front of a bright, blue kayak. Both wore muddy shorts and enormous grins, their skin peeling from sunburn. Buffy glanced at Spike  and he nodded.

“She's not the sentimental sort, if she got rid of old Lloyd so easily,” he said.

“Stay close.”

“Um, guys, there's some weirdness here,” Willow said. They turned to see her standing nervously in the door frame of one of the upstairs rooms, the light from the windows making her red hair glow. Xander pivoted and was at her side.

“What's the deal?” Xander asked.

“All the bookshelves are empty, just like the living room, and there's all kinds of dangly wires where her computer should be,” Willow said.

“Looks like we didn't beat the cleaning crew,” Spike said.

Buffy couldn't help the sick feeling tingling through her as they traversed the final, short patch of hallway. She flung open the door, aiming her crossbow at the blue, plaid shower curtain. Hesitantly, they entered the steamy room. Whoever was in the bathtub didn't stir. Buffy swept the water-beaded plastic aside.

Maggie Walsh was lying in the tub, blood collected around her head. Buffy was certain the professor was dead because she wasn't blinking away the droplets hitting her hazel eyes. Willow peered over Buffy's shoulder, stiffening when she saw the corpse.

“Maybe she slipped?” Willow asked.

“Then how do you explain the tiny bullet hole in her forehead? May I suggest we partake in some fleeing,” Xander said. He had one hand on Buffy's shoulder and the other on Willow's.

“The water's still warm, so whoever did this is probably still around,” Buffy said.

“Hence, the fleeing.”

“He's right, there's nothing here, pet. If there were, they'd be on us by now. The police will show up any moment, no doubt, asking what we know.”

“We should wipe things off we touched. You know, fingerprints and stuff,” Xander said.

“Done and done,” Willow said. She said some words and a snapping sound crackled through the air. A second later her hair was standing on end. “All clean.”

They exited the house in a rush and ran to the car. Once they were safely inside the vehicle, a pall settled over them. Buffy had no idea where to go next or what to do to find Faith. They were all waiting for her next command.

“I guess we should head back to Dav's,” Xander said.

“There's a stop I need to make first,” Buffy said.

*~*
Willow and Xander opted to wait in the car while the other two went to collect Angel's ashes from the mansion. The sun was bright and Willow was pretty sure she hadn't seen the mansion in daylight. It was funny sitting with her oldest friend and not knowing how to tell him what was on her mind. They'd never had that problem before. Now that they were alone, she felt nervous. Xander to feel the same,, so Willow decided to start there.

“I guess now our only option is to talk to Maggie's students,” Willow said.

“I bet you any money none of them will be enrolled in school tomorrow. If somebody is trying to wipe out evidence of the Initiative, they'll reassign those guys before you can say 'Big Brother is Watching.'”

“Where's that leave us? We can't stay at Dav's forever. How was that, by the way? Weird for you?”

She could tell he was hiding something huge by the way his hands wouldn't stop moving on the steering wheel. He seemed to be afraid to look at her.

“I don't know.”

“Xander, did something happen?”

He scrubbed a hand over his face.

“This thing between us was a mistake, Wills.”

“Really? Because to me it was sort of inevitable.”

“So are summer sequels and liver cirrhosis among Harris males, that doesn't make them good. I wondering if, maybe, I should have stayed with Dav.”

“Does she want you back?”

“No, actually she said we're done. But she still loves me. Maybe if I showed her that she could trust me.”

“If she doesn't want to date you, why don't you want to give us a shot? Was it...was I bad or something?”

“God no, it's not like that at all. You're great, in all the ways a person can be great—“

“Then what is it? I know this whole situation isn't ideal, but if you give us a chance, I think we could really be something.”

“I don't,” he said, staring coldly ahead as though any deviation in head position would transform him into a pillar of salt.

Willow knew her eyes were doing the shiny thing that made her look like a Precious Moments figurine. She'd been stupid to believe that this time he would finally need her the way she wanted him to.

“That sounded harsh and I'm sorry, but I don't want to keep leading you on. I just don't think we make sense as a couple.”

“You know what I think? I think you never want what you already have. I was inside your head, Xander. I felt everything you felt.”

“Willow—“

“You would die for me.”

“Yeah—“ he said, his hands flexing on the wheel.

“You'd kill for me, too. Your love is so powerful it felt like wielding magic. How is that not enough?”

“I don't know. All I know is I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Then stop hurting me!”

“That's what Dav said.”

“You never learn. When I was begging for you to notice me you were all, 'Oh, she's not the kind of girl whose lips I think about,' but the minute I found Oz you tried to get very lippy indeed,” she said.

Willow twisted around in the front seat so that her body was facing Xander, causing him to finally turn his head and look at her. His lips were trembling and his sad, brown eyes were extra remorseful. She couldn't stop herself from reaching out to him. Her hands conformed to the round of his shoulders and at her touch the tension wrinkling his brow dissipated.

“Not the VERY minute,” he said with a self-deprecating smile.

“Practically. All I'm saying is you changed your mind so many times before, what makes you think that if you're with Dav you won't change your mind again?”

“I can't know that I wouldn’t, but—“

Willow's fingers went to his temples and power surged through her body. Xander moaned and his lids fell shut.

“I can,” Willow said, as her eyes clouded over.
Chapter 23 by Minx DeLovely
Author's Notes:
Thanks to everyone who stuck with this story. I know it's been a lot of subplots lately, but this is a return to form with the Spuffy.
Thanks to Science and Puddinhead for their help with this chapter.
Spike trailed Buffy through the dim rooms of the mansion in her search for something nice enough to hold Angel's ashes. Spike wasn't talking much, just watching her through his lashes and making unimpressed little “Hmm,” sounds each time she rejected a container. She went along the upstairs corridor toward the place where her ex used to sleep. Even though the thought of it made her want to cry, she needed to see his bed once more.



“There was an Art Nouveau jar that I always liked. It has a silver top with pretty, whorly designs,” Buffy said. Spike wrinkled his nose.



“I recall some Tupperware in the kitchen, sweetheart. All you'd need to do is burp the lid and he's fresh for another couple centuries.”



“He deserves more respect than leftover spaghetti sauce.”



“Yeah, right,” Spike grumbled.



When they got to Angel’s room, she was immediately drawn to the king-sized bed. The red and gold leaf-patterned comforter was rumpled, as though Angel had just gotten up to take a shower. The pillows still had indents in them. Without thinking, Buffy stroked the cool sheets still redolent with the scent of the vampire she’d lost. Spike huffed theatrically and tromped over to the dresser behind the bed, snatching up the clear, glass vessel Buffy had been seeking. He tossed the shiny object from hand to hand, lobbing it higher with each throw.



“This the one you wanted, kitten?”



“Yeah. Do you think he’d like it?” she asked.



“He kept this thing for a century. I'm pretty sure it’ll do. Let's finish sweeping up the old poofter before the commandos get wind of this place.”



“Can you give me a minute?”



“Sure, reminisce. I'll just be downstairs looking for a Dust Buster.”



All the bitching finally got to her and Buffy raised her voice.



“Spike, what the hell is your problem? He's gone and you have everything he ever wanted. You won, alright?”



“It's not about that, is it?"



He passed her the faceted jar and she looked down at the intricate design cut into the glass, then back at his sullen face.



“Then what is it? You know what it's like to love two people at the same time. I'd never get childish over Dru, even though she was a skanky ho.”



“Hey now!” His nostrils flared, his eyes winnowed to bright, angry darts and his whole face seemed to get sharper. One corner of her mouth snuck up her face in response.



“Hurts, doesn't it?”



He scoffed, but his expression lost some of the hard edges and he smiled.



“Point taken, love. Still, you can't blame a fella for being worried. How long before you wish you had a vampire at your beck and call again instead of a squidgy, dying man?” He looked at her timidly; a dog readying itself for a kick. His apprehension made her ache to comfort him. She went to Spike and encircled his neck, then rested her forehead on his.



“You still don't know what you mean to me, do you?"



"Tell me."



"You loved me enough to change. That's huge, but it's just the start. You gave me back my heart and when we were in that place, your voice kept me sane."



His reaction to her words shifted across his face.



"Buffy."



He pulled her into a soft kiss that lingered deliciously as he stroked her back. Dragging herself away from him was like trying to roll out of a warm, comfy bed on a chilly morning. She knew he wanted to take things further, but she couldn't do that—not in Angel's bedroom.



"Let's go downstairs," Buffy said, tugging on his hand. He sighed and she saw his eyes flicker toward the ceiling.



"Sure, kitten."



Together they went to the main room of the mansion where Angel's ashes were scattered around a chair near the fireplace. Tears pressed behind Buffy's eyes, but she didn't let them spill. Their footfalls echoed against the marble floor, each step a clanging emphasis on the emptiness. When they stopped, Buffy contemplated the mess and listened to the silence.



"So, how do we...you know. Get him in here?" she asked, holding up the makeshift urn.



Spike suppressed a shrug.



"'Spose we could use the broom. It's what they're for, sweeping up ashes."



She glared and he tried to remain impassive while tittering with repressed sarcastic gestures, before searching his pockets for a pack of cigarettes that wasn't there.



There was an epic scraping sound when she yanked the metal-handled broom free from the rack beside the hearth. She picked up the wrought iron dust pan and knelt down. The hard stone dug into her knees as she cautiously scooped up the fine grit. Life could begin dramatically but it always ended in the most banal of terms, no matter how the person went out. Even the most heroic death left a mess afterward that needed to be cleaned. With each pass of the bristles against the ground, the pile of dust mounted. Buffy wondered how she would transfer the remains, when Spike, who'd been quietly watching her, walked away. It was the first time he'd left her alone, except to go to the bathroom. She was pretty sure he wasn't doing that, as he was so proud of his new bodily functions, he always announced when he had to make a potty break. Without his presence, she felt oddly vulnerable. The muscles in her neck and shoulders were winched tight by her sudden uneasiness. She hunched closer to her work and tried to ignore the discomfort.



A few moments later, Spike came back downstairs carrying two sheets of heavy parchment. She arched an eyebrow at him as he picked up the container from the floor. =He went to a long, oak table which was laden with a decanter of alcohol and positioned just behind the collection of wing chairs scattered before the fireplace. She was surprised when he ignored the booze and began forming the paper into a cone. His tongue poked out of his mouth as he concentrated on folding the edges just so. He was so funny and dear that her chest ached—she wanted to laugh and sweep him into her arms all at once. Spike arranged his creation on the mouth of the jar and walked over to her. He handed her the vessel, being mindful not to knock the funnel loose.



"Look at you with the ingenuity," Buffy said, accepting his gift.



He grinned bashfully and his ears turned pink.



"It's no trouble," he said. When he looked sweet and embarrassed she had the urge to call him William.



She set the jar on the tile and emptied her bin into it carefully, but pouring still kicked up a puff of particles. She wondered if they were breathing Angel in—if he was going to be part of her for just a little while longer.



"It seems like there should be more, even though I know better," she said.



Spike laid his palm on her her short, blonde hair and she relaxed, slightly.



"More what, darling?" he asked, with a sigh.



"More of him. I scatter vamps to the four winds every night, so I should know there's almost nothing left. It just feels wrong, somehow."



"Yeah. It does."



"Who do you think did this to him?"



"Hard to tell. He wasn't exactly Mr. Popular with the human or demon community. Could have been one of his victims from the last time Angelus came out to play. Or maybe one of the helpless he was trying to help in L.A. didn't get their money's worth, so they bootstrapped it over to Sunny D and registered a complaint with a stake."



"Angel let the person who killed him in and sat with his back to him, so I'm guessing it wasn't a stranger."



"Soon as this blows over, we'll talk to your friend, Cordelia. She'll know something." Spike kept his hand right where it was, reassuring her with its warmth and weight. There'd always been something dangerous about the coolness of Angel's touch. It had given her a thrill to be close to the death his hands signified, yet remain unscathed. That felt like a long time ago, but it had only been a year since she'd lain with Angel on the very spot where she was gathering up his ashes.



They listened to the scrape of the broom and dustpan against the marble for awhile. Buffy hated to think the sound would be Angel's only requiem.



"Should we maybe say a prayer or something?"



Spike snorted and stopped stroking her hair, choosing to fold his arms over his chest instead.



"After what the old boy did to all those nuns it doesn't seem appropriate."



"I would have thought out of everybody, you'd understand what he went through. And he was trying to make amends—"



"Sorry, kitten. Still, you know as well as I do he wasn't really the praying sort."



"Yeah. Maybe a poem then? You've got all that stuff memorized."



He shifted from one foot to the other and angled his head.



"There's one that springs to mind when I think of Angelus. He made me learn it. Said it was written about him."



"Go ahead," Buffy said, tipping the last salvageable part of Angel into his final resting place. She screwed the lovely lid on while Spike took a deep breath and glanced down, trying to dredge the words from his memory.



"Je te frapperai sans colère. Et sans haine, comme un boucher—"



She used his arm for support as she stood, then resisted the urge to pat the dirt from her jeans.



"Wait, is that French? I totally flaked on all things Franco during high school."



She hugged the jar to her.



"Could translate it for you, but it would lose something of the spirit. Plus, it might not be the best verse for the occasion, anyway. What did he fancy when you knew him?" Spike asked.



"He gave me 'Sonnets from the Portuguese,' for my birthday one year, but I just sorta skimmed it. There was one, though, that I really loved. It always made me cry."



Spike grinned.



"Number forty-three, of course. That bloody, sentimental git. Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Barry fucking Manilow. Fine, I'll say it, kitten, but don't say I never did anything for you." He held the sides of her face and trained his eyes on hers. "I love thee with a love I seemed to lose with my lost saints—I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life—and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death." Tears collected on the corners of her lashes like pearls of rain cradled in a spider web. He kissed her forehead and then wrapped her in a hug.



"Thank you," she whispered against his chest.



He made a soft, "Mmm Hmm," sound in the back of his throat. She looked up at him and saw he was on the verge of crying, too. She swept the drop from his cheek with her thumb.



"Will you miss him?" she asked.



Spike let out a short, gurgling laugh.



"No chance, love."



"Then why—"



"Just hate seeing you sad. Now let's take leave of this place."



He put his hand on her waist, and together they crossed the floor. They went outside into the vibrant daylight and wound through the garden. Buffy listened for danger, but she only heard the birds chittering and water tinkling in the fountain beside the mansion. She glanced at her companion and noticed the look of absolute wonder had returned to his face. It seemed impossible that he was the same person who'd once tried to kill her. Then again, everyone close to her had tried to kill or assault her, even her mom. One of the perils of living on a Hellmouth.



"What's it like, thinking about what you used to do? Angel wouldn't talk about the time before he got his soul."



Spike considered her question as they moved from the shadow of the house to the steps cut into the hill.



"You know the stupid stuff you did as a kid? It's a little like that. I'm the same person, but only technically. I can recall how it felt, but I can't imagine ever making the same choices again. I was disconnected—nobody's pain mattered but mine and Dru's," Spike said.



"And now?"



"I want to save puppies and Christmas, just like you."



"But why?"



"Because I love you, and I might be of some use," he said. He pulled her close and kissed her forehead.



"I can think of a couple uses for you right now."



"Saucy bint."



They ambled companionably down the hill with their hands interlocked until reaching Xander's black Skylark. Buffy gasped when she saw what was happening in the front seat and Spike laughed. Xander sat behind the wheel and Willow straddled him. Her head was thrown back, her mouth was open and her eyes were shut tight. Xander's head was between her breasts. Luckily, Willow's shirt was hiding most of his face, but the entire situation was still nothing Buffy wanted to see. The redhead shrieked in a paroxysm of pleasure and one of her hands pawed at the window.



"Wow, this is deja vu all over again," Buffy said.



“Bloody hell. We're gonna be stewing in their juices the whole ride home,” Spike mumbled.



Buffy and Spike waited until Willow slid off Xander's lap, then waited a little more while the pair fixed their clothes, before knocking on the window. The rap startled the couple. Willow trembled like a snared rabbit and Xander's eyes got huge before he waved at them. Buffy and Spike got in the back seat.



"Hey," Buffy and Spike said at once.



"Hey," Xander and Willow replied.



"So you guys are..." Buffy let the sentence hang, hoping either of her friends would finish it for her.



"We're together now," Willow said, smoothing her hair.



"That was a bit obvious," Spike said.



"Okay. So you're dating?" Buffy asked.



"Nope. We're engaged," Xander said, looking proudly at Willow. "I know what you guys are thinking, but it's not because we could die any minute. This is something I've wanted for a really long time."



"Actually, that wasn't what I was thinking at all," Buffy said.





~*~*~*~



Author's Note:



The poem Spike begins to recite is called, "The Man Who Tortures Himself," or "The Self-Tormented," by Charles Baudelaire. In the Angel episode called, "She," the character of Angel implies that he knew Charles Baudelaire and the poem, "The Vampire," was written about a real vampire. However, "The Vampire," was clearly written about a female. This one seemed to fit Angel's character a great deal more. Enjoy!



The man who tortures himself or the Self-Tormented

By

Charles Baudelaire



I shall strike you without anger

And without hate, like a butcher,

As Moses struck the rock!

And from your eyelids I shall make



The waters of suffering gush forth

To inundate my Sahara.

My desire swollen with hope

Will float upon your salty tears



Like a vessel which puts to sea, 

And in my heart that they'll make drunk 

Your beloved sobs will resound 

Like a drum beating the charge!



Am I not a discord 

In the heavenly symphony, 

Thanks to voracious Irony 

Who shakes me and who bites me?



She's in my voice, the termagant! 

All my blood is her black poison! 

I am the sinister mirror 

In which the vixen looks.



I am the wound and the dagger! 

I am the blow and the cheek! 

I am the members and the wheel, 

Victim and executioner!



I'm the vampire of my own heart

— One of those utter derelicts 

Condemned to eternal laughter, 

But who can no longer smile.

End Notes:
Let me know what you thought, good, bad or somewhere in between. All feedback is welcome and valuable.
Chapter 24 by Minx DeLovely
Author's Notes:
Thanks to Puddinhead and Science and Dorian's Kitten.
'*~*

The first time he'd attempted to leave Davinia, Giles had failed. He blamed his lapse on her insistence that he needed a clean shirt. She'd risen from the bed with the sheet trailing behind her like the train of a bridal gown. Tendrils of coppery hair had fallen from her braid and there was a collar of red bruises around her neck—all from his ill use of her body. The sight of her in that state hit him like an unexpected wave and he nearly toppled. When she’d handed him the button-down, he'd kissed her again to keep from crying. She'd started to undress him without breaking the kiss. He let her, because there was nothing else to hide. Then he gave her what was left of himself.

That was over, though.

It was plain by the rigid set of her shoulders Davinia was pretending to be asleep. Perhaps she was trying to make things easier on him, but it only served to make him feel worse. He crawled off of the mattress and scooped up his clothes. As he tugged on the striped, Oxford shirt she'd chosen for him, he noticed it smelled of sweet starch, like Necco wafers.

"Davinia," he said.

She didn't stir, yet somehow she seemed to move further away. He waited for a breath.

"Please don't ask," she said.

The bottom of his stomach dropped down to his feet, landing with a sad, dry sigh. He didn't have it in him to give her a response with either jagged wit or reassuring blandishments. There was just nothing now.

He finished dressing and slipped out into the hallway, noticing immediately how unnervingly quiet it was in the corridor. His sense of alarm intensified as he passed by the kitchen and saw Eddie soundlessly munching on a bowl of cereal. For a moment, Giles feared he'd gone deaf. When he crossed the threshold and joined the young man, Giles could suddenly hear the clang of the spoon against the ceramic bowl.

"What's going on?" Giles asked.

"Kashi. I ate all the Fruit Loops last night."

"Urm, I meant—there seems to be an odd phenomenon—"

"Before he fell asleep, I asked Andrew to cast a dampening spell. It isolates noises to the room in which they occur. I figured it would be better for all of us, since voices carry."

"Yes, quite," Giles said, as he took off his glasses and plucked a handkerchief from his pocket.

"No problem." Eddie set his spoon down and gave Giles the full impact of his dark, brown eyes. "There are some things that should stay private, don’t you think?”

“Indeed,” Giles said. He returned his spectacles to their proper place and gave Eddie a slight bow as he headed toward the bathroom. “Thank you.” The words seemed inadequate given that Eddie had preserved the last tatter of Giles’ dignity.

“No problem.”

Eddie gave him a short, wry smile and returned to his food.

~*~*~

The car ride back to Dav’s was turning out to be super-epic-awkward. Spike held Buffy’s hand the whole time and he kept casting her sidelong glances that seemed to ask, 'Are you getting a load of this?' From the moment they got on the road, Xander hadn't stopped talking about Willow and their fantasy wedding. The fawning had gone on so long that Spike had gotten bored of making lewd, mocking hand gestures.

“Of course we’re not getting married until I get her a ring and convert,” Xander said.

“Xan, you don’t have to convert--that’s nuts--and I’m not in any rush to make this official.”

“Come on, I’m not going to spend the rest of my life listening to Ira and Sheila griping about me being your goy toy.”

Willow let out a piping laugh.

“So did you guys get everything you were looking for?” Willow asked.

“Yeah, we did,” Buffy said, glancing down at the container of ashes on her lap.

“Buffster, is it too soon to discuss the next plan of attack? I want you guys to be in the bridal party and that’s not going to work if you’re both on the lam. Temple Beth Israel will probably be free next spring, so if you could be out of mortal peril by then, that’d be tops,” Xander said.

“Um?”

“I think Buffy needs at least one night to decompress,” Willow said. Xander tempted fate by turning his focus from the street to give his fiancee a smile.

“You’re right, Will. I’m just excited. I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life.”

Willow scrunched down in her seat, seemingly humiliated by his zeal. Buffy wondered if Xander's enthusiasm was the product of a botched spell, like the time he tried to make Cordi love him again and turned every girl in town into a murderous nympho. At least neither of them looked violent, but Xander did seem way too shiny and happy. And way, way into floral arrangements. Spike leaned close and whispered in her ear.

“Did someone lobotomize him when we were gone? Maybe replaced the whelp with one of those Stepford robots?”

Buffy arched her eyebrow and shrugged. Then she nuzzled his neck.

"We'll ask Giles, he'll know what to do."

*~*

Giles didn't know what to do. Buffy had been gone for nearly three hours, and he was on the verge of leaving the apartment to search for her. Joyce was used to subsuming her anxiety in mundane action. She was in the kitchen helping Davinia bake bread. Eddie and Andrew, though good people, were far less invested in the situation. They were on the living room couch watching something called "Dawson's Creek." Giles had been moving throughout the flat, never being able to settle in one area for any length of time. The nattering of the television made him want to smash the blasted thing and being near Davinia was killing him. He couldn't bear the way Davinia's voice got higher in his presence or the forced smile upon her face. Instead of looking him in the eye when they had to speak, she'd cast her eyes away demurely and adjust the red scarf tied around her throat. When he filled the kettle for tea, she hid in the pantry. Joyce hadn't seemed to notice anything amiss, but her powers of denial were extraordinary.

As his restlessness took foot, he ran through his threadbare justifications. It had been the reasonable thing to stay behind, in case something went wrong at Walsh's flat and the others needed to be rescued. Reasonable, but so terribly wrong. He hadn't exactly been waiting for their return with bated breath, either. Instead he'd stolen one more moment for himself. Leaving it at the kiss in the pantry would have been better. Davinia would have been able to retain something sweet and loving rather than having to endure the depths of his character. These thoughts preoccupied him as he made another pass by the sectional.

He overheard the boys talking about how dreamy someone named Pacey was, when somone knocked on the door. He ran to answer. Much to Giles' relief, Spike and the children were standing in the hallway, uninjured.

"Buffy," Giles said, hugging his slayer as she stepped inside. In his periphery, he noticed Xander and Willow were clinging to one another like sticky monkeys. Spike closed the door behind them. Xander nuzzled Willow's ear with his nose like he was rooting for truffles; the redhead blushed scarlet and giggled. Spike and Buffy were also discomfited by the couple. Giles felt his pulse leap with anger at the disrespectful public display of affection.

"It's so good to be here," Buffy said as she withdrew, but stood within arm's length.

Eddie and Andrew popped their heads up from behind the couch. Andrew got up from the comfortable seat reluctantly, like someone trying to drag himself out of a pool.

"Hey guys! Let me go get Joyce and Dav," Andrew said, stretching before he sidled off to the hallway.

"Hail the conquering heroes!" Eddie said.

"Not so much, mate. Whole thing was a bit of a bust," Spike said, leaning against the filigreed wall. The former vampire caught his reflection in the pink-framed mirror by the door and a grin passed over his face.

"Someone murdered Maggie Walsh before we got there—like ten minutes before—and stole all of her records. We're thinking cover-up," Buffy said, her fingers skimming through the remains of her hair. Her nervous gesture, and the distance in her eyes when she remembered, yet again, that her hair was gone, broke his heart.

"I had anticipated this situation and unfortunately, our best option may be soliciting asylum from the Watcher's Council."

"Solicit asylum, what does that mean? Like go to England?" Buffy asked. She was searching his face and he couldn't help but feel a pang of regret remembering why she distrusted the council. His hands rested briefly on her shoulders.

"Yes. It would be the safest option. We can't take the chance the government won't be hunting for you and Spike."

"But I'm the Slayer."

"Which makes it imperative your talents aren't warped to someone else's agenda."

Buffy opened her mouth, on the verge of responding, when her attention shifted to something just left of his shoulder.

"Mom!" Buffy said, dashing from him to greet Joyce. Andrew was beside Mrs. Summers. The blond boy smiled when mother and daughter were reunited.

"So what did I miss?" Andrew asked Eddie.

"Evil hell bitch is dead. Buffy and Spike might have to go to England," Eddie said, as he rose and arched his back.

Buffy stood with her arm around Joyce's waist, still in mid-hug.

"There's no way I'm going to let them order me around, like some kind of monkey butler," Buffy said.

"Monkey butler?" Andrew asked.

"Honey, Mr. Giles thinks going to England is the safest bet right now, and so do I."

"But mom, I need to fight this."

"Buffy, you know I'll respect whatever decision you make, but retreat is a valid stratagem in war," Giles said.

"If the council finds Faith, who's to say they won't try to kill her again?" Buffy asked.

"We could skip telling them that part of things—just try to find her on our own," Spike said, unable to stop scrutinizing himself in the mirror.

Willow wrested herself from Xander's attentions to join the conversation.

"Well, what about everybody else? We've all risked our lives," Willow asked.

"Accomodations could be made for the group, though there will undoubtedly be expectations placed upon us."

"Look, whatever Willow decides, I'll go with, but I don't have a passport," Xander said.

"Nor I, obviously, unless Red can magick something up for me," Spike said.

Willow warmed to this suggestion, her eyes bugging and her hands moving from Xander's neck to flutter through the air.

"I could totally find a spell to do that."

"Urm, that's not necessary," Giles said, perhaps too harshly, because Willow quailed at his words and pressed herself closer to Xander. Giles took off his glasses so he wouldn't have to see her big, sad eyes glisten. "There is a coven in Hampton which could teleport the lot of us. Once we're in England, it wouldn't be difficult to procure papers of some kind."

Davinia shuffled in, looking unbearabley small. When she saw Xander wrapped around Willow, she diminished further, receding against the wall like a shadow. Giles became lost to the surrounding conversation in his desire to sweep her into his arms, but he wouldn't permit himself such a thing. Afterall, she'd made it plain—he was leaving and she was not.

Willow had also noticed Davinia and was trying to extricate herself from Xander's grasp, but the boy was utterly oblivious. He kept kissing the tiny redhead's neck even as she tried to swat him away. This observation stuck out through the noise in Giles' head. Xander was wildly clumsy, but never intentionally cruel. There was something wrong with the situation, and Willow's expression told him everything. She'd done something to the young man—something she had not intended. Willow had tinkered in Xander's brain, just as she had wiped away Ethan's memory, but hadn't realized what the consequences would be.

Giles put his glasses back on and the room was suddenly back in sharp focus. He raised his voice above the din.

"There is a great deal to consider. I suggest we have dinner and then make our decisions after a good night's sleep," he said.

"That's an excellent idea, Rupert," Joyce said, taking Buffy's arm. Davinia looked at him, then turned away as though the sight of him hurt. Spike walked by and paused for a moment before him.

"Has my nose always looked like this?" Spike asked.

"Urm? Yes, I believe it has."

"It felt different," Spike said, wandering after the Summers. Andrew and Eddie were at Spike's side.

"I think your nose is great," Andrew said, a bashful smile peeking out.

"Standing right next to you, you little flirt," Eddie said.

"Don't worry, mate. I'm spoken for—"

Giles caught Willow's arm before she and Xander could retire to the kitchen.

"Willow, if you'd be amenable I'd like to attempt a spell to locate Faith. We'd have to leave the safe house to get supplies," Giles said.

She grinned and shrugged out from the weight of Xander's hands. The brunette pouted, but let her go.

"That would be great. Ooh!" she said, tapping Giles' chest, "We could use an array of maps in case she's all international."

"Map array—sounds complicated. While you guys are doing that, I'll be in the pantry eating the rest of the fiddle faddle," Xander said.

"Perfect," Giles said, as he watched the couple go.
Chapter 25 by Minx DeLovely
Author's Notes:
I am sorry this has taken so, so long. Lacked some inspiration and had another project that needed to be written. Hope you're all still on board.
Thanks to Puddinhead, Dorian's Kitten and Science!

Last time, Giles was going to confront Willow about her controlling Xander's mind.
Giles thought dinner had been at turns warm and awkward. Joyce had argued with Buffy throughout the meal, applying all the tactics used by mothers since the dawn of time to sway the opinions of their children. Giles avoided being dragged into the fight.Spike was still at loose ends, unable to join the conversation. He just kept telling Davinia how incredible the food tasted and generally seemed lost to the sensory pleasures of eating. The way Spike moaned when he took each bite of stew made Andrew's ear's turn pink. It was both humorous and unnerving to watch. Eddie and Andrew were like an old married couple, bickering over the heel of the bread. Xander was not himself, groping Willow in front of everyone. And of course, Davinia, with her furtive glances and broken smiles. She wouldn't eat when she was miserable. Xander ended up snatching her cool bowl of stew away.

When dinner ended, Willow seemed excited to be away from her new fiance. Giles couldn't help thinking of Dr. Frankenstein fleeing across the frozen steppe in hopes of escaping his monster. He glanced at Davinia on his way out and felt a measure of sympathy for Willow. Love hadn't fixed a thing for any of them.

Willow took him by the arm as they left the flat, a strange gesture given that she hardly ever touched him. They walked through the hall and down the steps.

It was a relief to step outside after being confined to the apartment. The wind carried a chill and the lush scent of rain. Willow moved closer to him, seeking protection from the uncharacteristic weather. She seemed utterly defenseless, the tiny girl he'd met that first day of school who could not fathom that vampires were real. Of course she hadn't been defenseless then, or now. The diminutive redhead was brilliant and sometimes he forgot how that type of intellect can mislead. She was so bright, he'd assumed she had prudence in all things. Willow was still largely a child.

He'd always thought it was important to give the young space to fail. It's what his mother had done with him. But Willow, Xander and Buffy weren't his children. Funny how he'd thought of them as his charges for so long. They'd all been orphaned in one way or another by their dads, either through benign indifference, drink or complete abandonment. Giles had effortlessly assumed the paternal role. He'd spent years running away from parenthood, engaging in only casual entanglements and one long affair with a very married woman. At middle age he'd become a childless father. Despite how dangerous his life was, it dawned on him he wanted to have kids. With Davinia. He smiled bitterly imagining the birthdays with plump, ginger, near-sighted children. How could they be anything but chubby with the way she cooked?

His conventional dream was not to be. He'd taken advantage of the woman he loved, and utterly failed Xander due to his own selfishness. Giles didn't deserve to be with her.

Sentiment and love had blinded him to the real dangers Willow's untrained power engendered. There was no way of knowing how long the novice witch had been projecting her desires onto the lad. Xander might not have chosen to leave Davinia at all; Willow might have decided for him. The redhead might be so out of control as to affect others unconsciously.

They trudged to Davinia's car and separated once they'd reached the vehicle. Once they were safely within the indistinct, blue Camry, Willow took his hand. Together they whispered the incantation that would render them invisible. When they finished, and he felt a surge of power locking the spell in place, she slowly let go of his hand.

"What are you thinking about?" Willow asked. He could see she wanted his help, but didn't know how to ask. It was time to play the father, and put away his own disappointments.

"Xander seems very excited about your engagement. Much more so than you."

She shifted in the passenger seat, sitting cross legged and facing him.

"I'm excited. I'm super-excited. I've wanted this since...always. I used to plan my dream wedding to Xander when we were little kids. I made a bunch of teeny roses out of tissues and then my mom took them away because they reinforced gender stereotypes."
She grinned up at him, and he knew she was trying to charm. He gave her a fleeting smile.

"Sometimes things we want are different once we acquire them."

"I get that."

"Did you know he attempted to rekindle his relationship with Davinia last night?" Giles asked. She nodded, her fiery hair swaying against her face.

"He told me but he changed his mind about things."

"Did he change his mind about things, or did you, urm, manually?"

Her lashes bounced apart and her brow scrunched up.

"I might have given him a little nudge," Willow said, huddling deeper into her coat. "But I would never hurt Xander. He's everything to me."

Giles took off his glasses and stared into her face, barely able to keep his rage in check. He could see her lips quivered and her chin took on the cratered aspect of a peach pit.

"Do you realize the gravity of what you've done? You've violated the person you loved and changed him fundamentally. There is a name for coercian of this type, Willow."

Her voice was high and squeaky, a helium balloon being squeezed.

"It wasn't like that. I just grew him up a teensy bit. Like a semester at sea, but you know, in a second."

He couldn't listen to her justifications for another second, not when he desperately needed to know the extent of his own guilt in this tawdry drama.

"I know first hand magic is not a power to be used lightly. Simply treading through his thoughts may have altered them, Willow," he said, trying to balance his stern tone with concern.

Wind picked up outside and the sky was darkening.

"What...how?"

"You carry all your longing with you when you enter into someone's mind. Emotions have vast impact on the execution of a spell. When did you practice on him for the first time?"
He clutched the steering wheel hard enough to bruise his fingers.

"The day after he broke up with Dav."

"Tell me what happened after you completed the spell. Was his behavior toward you different in any way?" Giles asked, already knowing the answer before she spoke.

"That was the...." She covered her mouth with her hands and her tears started in earnest. "Oh my god, Giles. I made him do it, but I didn't mean to."
His heart felt cracked and broken. It was clear they'd both taken advantage, both wanted something so much they willed it to happen even though it was wrong. His words to Davinia right before he seduced her for the first time returned mockingly, how losing her would be one of the great regrets of Xander's life. Giles hated himself for not preventing this situation.

He took hold of Willow's shoulders, covering them easily with each hand.

"When I was about your age, I destroyed someone I loved by misusing magic. I still bear the mark."

"Eyghon," she whispered.

"Yes. I know what it is to be seduced by one's own power. My focus has been on Buffy, as it must be, but this is in part my fault for recognizing your need for a mentor to guide you. In England there is a coven equipped to help you train responsibly."

"But Xander, what about Xander? Can we fix this?"

"You can. However, I must warn you, he will remember everything that was done."

"I guess I deserve that," Willow mumbled. "When we get back to Dav's place I'll unwhammy him."

Giles pulled Willow into a hug. She collapsed against him, feeling even smaller than she looked. He allowed her to hold on for as long as she wanted, before she withdrew. She tilted her head down and looked at him through her smudged lashes as she fastened her seat belt.

"Thank you."

"Yes, well we should be off," Giles said, starting the car.

They drove to his flat in silence, Willow staring out the window at the gray clouds fattening in the sky. When they got to his place, she shook herself out of her contemplation.

His heart jumped when he noticed the door was ajar, and he stepped in front of Willow, sheilding her slightly as they walked through the courtyard. They entered the apartment and she gasped. His couch had been ripped open and the stuffing was flung around like chicken feathers after a plucking. Someone had dumped a container of yellow, spiral macaroni on the brown kitchen floor and the cupboards were flung open. Worst of all, his entire book collection was missing. Giles ran to the shelf and gaped at the cavernous shelves. Willow touched his shoulder.

"My god," Giles whispered. He dragged his fingers along the wood. "My god."

"We should get out of here," Willow said, with soft urgency. "It might not have been the Initiative, but we can't take the chance."

He looked around the rest of the room. The drawers of his desk were open and empty, everything overturned. Paintings were torn off the walls. His weapons chest had been emptied. He staggered when he let go of the shelf, then picked his way upstairs, Willow following behind him with a steadying palm on the small of his back.

His study was similarly destroyed. The only thing of value left amid the torn papers was Buffy’s photograph. He went to the spot where it lay face-up on the floor amid the ruined manuscripts and retrieved the picture with his unsteady fingers.

The bedroom was in no better shape than the other rooms.

"Why did they slice apart my bloody mattress?" Giles asked. Willow's jaw wheeled aimlessly.

"They're mean?" she asked.

The contents of his dresser were upended, and some jewerly was scattered over the top. He snatched up his grandmother's diamond engagment set, a Saint Christopher medal that had belonged to an old lover, and a pair of ruby cufflinks that had been his father's. Then he set about packing his clothes into a duffel bag he kept in the closet. To his deep regret, the people who'd destroyed his home had also stolen his grandmother's cane from its place of honor by the bed. Willow hovered near him while he did this. She was uncommonly quiet. When she was genuinely distraught, he knew she couldn't speak much. Her tendency toward incessant chatter was for regular nerves.

Giles scraped together his possessions, feeling the loss of his books as though they were an extension of himself. It felt like his hand was missing. They went down his stairs and surveyed the living room one more time. He wondered if his Tiffany lamp was smashed on purpose.

"Are you okay?" Willow tilted her head up to him, her eyes plaintive.

"I shall be. I must be," Giles said. She nodded and took his elbow, leading him away.

~*~*~

Willow wasn't sure if she had the strength to do this. She looked into Xander's brown eyes and finally saw everything there she'd always craved. The way his pupils dilated and the soft edges of his eyes made it seem like she was silmultaneously the sexiest, cuddliest thing he had ever seen. They were alone in Dav's guest bedroom.

When Willow and Giles had gotten back, the watcher had explained to everyone what they'd found at his flat, allowing her to lead her soon-to-be-ex fiance into seclusion. Xander bent down and kissed her. She gave herself over to the sweetness for a moment. He ended the kiss, breathless and shaking, just like she'd imagined so many times before. Willow wondered if he really kissed like that or if she'd been the one to orchestrate his reaction.

"I was so worried about you. Never leave me like that again, okay, Wills?" Xander asked, rubbing his nose with hers and stroking her hair back.

"Okay. Close your eyes, baby," Willow said.
He obliged her with a slight curve of his lip, just like she knew he would. She took his broad hands in her small ones.

"Let the spell be ended."
Chapter 26 by Minx DeLovely
Author's Notes:
Thank you to Puddinhead and Dorian's kitten. If you haven't read the previous chapter, please do.
~*~*~



Xander shook for a moment and when he opened his eyes again, they were sparkling with tears. He yanked his hands away from Willow's and ran them through his dark, brown hair. She stepped toward him, but he moved back.



"Don't," He pointed his finger at her. "Don't touch me."



She drifted closer anyway, feeling like a ship cut free of its anchor.



"Please, Xander, I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't even realize what I was doing the first time. It was a total accident."



"And the last time? What was that about?"



"I just wanted us to be together."



"Even though that's not what I wanted?"



"I thought—" Willow extended her arms in a pleading gesture, palms up.



"You thought you knew better. But you don't. It's a given when the universe needs a chump, I'm going end up a hyena-infused Mantis-snack. That's just my life. I'm used to destiny making me its butt monkey, not my best friend."



"Let me fix this. I can explain things to Dav."



He shook his his head.



"No!" He stopped dead and put his balled fists on his hips. "Just leave her alone."



She inched toward him, wondering what he saw when he looked at her. Did he think she was a rapist, a monster or that pathetic little girl who did all his homework in middle school?



"But none of this was your fault. It was me and my big, selfish...self. I can tell her that."



"There are some things you can't fix, Wills. This would be one of those things."



"Do...do you hate me now?" she asked.



"You're Willow. Even though I don't like you very much right now, I could never hate you." His face lost some of its tension and his eyes were like melting brown sugar.



She touched his chest and he sighed, lifting her fingers off of him and holding her wrist firmly at her side.



"I'm going to be staying when you guys go to England. We shouldn't be near each other for awhile, not until I feel like I can trust you again."



"But it's dangerous. Giles' place was like Auntie Em's farm after the cyclone."



"I called my parents. My mom and dad didn't even know I was gone. Eddie's roommate said there was nothing weird happening at his place either. Even though we were on the tape, I don't think we got made by Big Brother and his little brother underlings."



"Brotherlings?" she asked, venturing a slight smile. Xander smirked back.



"Right. Dav, Andrew and Eddie are planning on going to San Francisco. I think I'll go, too."



"Where will you stay?"



"Dav has a few friends there willing to put us up and so does Eddie. I figure for the first few months I can couch hop until I get my bearings. It can't be any worse than living in my parents' basement, plus I'll finally be doing the Kerouac thing."



"What about us? Me and Buffy?" Willow asked.



"Buffy will understand. She has Spike now. You'll both have G-man, and you won't have to worry about the demonic energy convergance thingie in England. You won't need me."



"I'll always need you."



"I used to think that, too," Xander said. He walked out the door, leaving Willow alone. She crumpled up on the unmade bed. Her back shook and her tears puddled on the pink sheets. Somehow she'd lost everyone all at once. She wondered if Buffy or Xander would ever forgive her the way Giles had. She scrubbed her wet eyes with the back of her hand and then dragged herself to the door.



The others were sitting in clusters. Buffy was on the couch, her head on Joyce's shoulder. Spike was holding Buffy's hand. All three were silent, almost resigned. Eddie smiled at Willow and she returned his greeting with a wave. He was talking to Andrew. Giles was alone. He nodded to Willow as she smoothed her hair behind her ears. A few seconds later, Dav and Xander came out of the hall from her bedroom. Both of them had red-rimmed eyes and were holding hands. When Giles saw them, the lines in his face seemed to multiply. He took his glasses off and rubbed them on the hem of his shirt, then stuck them back on the bridge of his nose.



"It's time to go," Giles said.

~*~*~



Three Months Later~Bath, England



Buffy kicked a clod of dirt with the toe of her brown riding boot. The cemetery was dark and the ground was covered in crunchy frost with mushy, unfrozen mud beneath. The air was scented with wood smoke wafting from some distant chimney. It made her wish she were at home infront of a fire with Spike. Giles was picking his way carefully beside her, his gaze on the white, stone church in the distance. They were patrolling the quaint village that boardered Giles' family grounds. For the past few months he'd been letting her and Spike stay in his Carriage House. Buffy was humbled when she realized her Watcher was loaded. He had throngs of servants, three huge houses and a stable full of horses waiting for him in England. Giles had traded all that in for a dusty flat on the mouth of hell so he could be close to her.



"Where are the others tonight?" he asked, avoiding a coffin-shaped sinkhole.



"Willow has a final tomorrow and I didn't let Spike come because of that cracked rib thing."

Giles sighed.

"When I first became your watcher, I broke my floating rib four times in a single year. It comes with our work."



She couldn't stop her jaw from clenching, thinking about the bruises marring her lover's skin, or the way he'd wheezed as he tried to lie in bed. True, Spike was almost healed, and he was quick to remind her every day. She still didn't want to see him in another mellee.



"I just want him to be safe. What's wrong with that?"



"Nothing. It's actually rather fortunate that we're on our own tonight. There's something important I need to speak to you about."



"What's up?"



"When we were in Sunnydale, before we fled the Initiative, something happened. I was less careful than I'd thought and now the consequences are coming to light."



"How not careful? Do they know where we are? Did they get Xander?"



"Nothing like that. It's rather personal." Giles got quiet, almost shy. They tromped along for a bit before he spoke, ducking his chin to his chest. "Davinia is pregnant."



"Xander's Davinia?"



"My Davinia. She is having my child," Giles said gently.



"But...did she know you were...you?"



"It was well established before the circumstances took place." Giles' lips twitched up in an expression that would've been a smile if it weren't so disapproving.



"But what about Xander? Does he know?" Buffy asked, her white breath hanging like a ghost in the cold air.



"I'm not certain she's told him the news yet, but their relationship was quite finished before all this happened."



"He's still carrying an Olympic-sized torch for her. He's going to be crushed," she said.



"And I'm sorry for that, but it was ultimately her decision. She wanted me to live with her for a few months in San Francisco, but I'm still wanted for extradition on unspecified charges, so she'll be staying with us here, in Bath. If things work out, she's agreed to marry me—"



"Wow...that's just. Wow. When did that happen? Not the actual happening that led to the..."



"Baby?"



"Right. God that's so freaksome."



"I'm trying very hard not to be offended, but you're making that rather difficult."



"Sorry! I can totally see a woman your own age going in for the tweed and the stalwhart jaw, but she's only a few years older than me."



"I've never been attracted to a younger woman before, if that's what is troubling you."



"It was, maybe a teensy, tiny, ton. Plus the Council is breathing down my neck and we still haven't found Faith. This is going to leave you M.I.A., for awhile just when I need you the most."



"Yes, but you're well-equipped to deal with Quentin. You always have been, far better than me. Spike can keep up your training regimen. It's not ideal, but I can continue instructing him and he's a quick study. I never thought I'd say this, but there is no one I trust more." Giles searched her face, desperate for some kind of approval. She wondered if he would actually stay if she forbade him to leave and knew instantly that he would. He'd give up his whole life for her if she asked. Buffy shook her head once as though casting out the ringing his revelation had left in her ears. Then she smiled at him, a grin with the power to thaw frozen earth and make flowers grow.



"There's no doubt you're going to be a great dad. I'm on board with this, whatever you need."



Relief transformed Giles' face, his grin setting off ripples from cheek to forehead. He took her gloved hand and gave it a squeeze.



*~*~*





Spike turned on the stove and listened to the burner tick. He dipped his head down and ignited the gas with a wooden match. A blue wreath of flame appeared with a hiccuping woosh. He set the kettle on top of the grate and then took a mug out of the cupboard. He sat down at the table with a Latin translation book, intent on learning the language that had eluded him for a better part of a century. Anything to make himself useful to Buffy.



After the first flush of joy over his newfound humanity, he had quickly discovered his limitations in reference to his girlfriend. He couldn't throw himself into the fight and allow his body to take damage the way he used to. Since his accident, she'd treated him with such a timid hand, it filled him with shame. All his existence he'd craved tenderness, but getting it under those conditions made him feel like he was coercing her. When she looked at him, he didn't feel like she was gazing at the man of her dreams. He felt like she was looking at another person she was burdened with protecting.



He knew she wasn't satisfied with him in bed, either. It was a rude awakening, finding that his mortal body couldn't keep up with a slayer in her prime the way his vampire flesh could. Making her come once wasn't enough for her and the slayer muscles that had provided endless delight when they were in capitivity hurt him. The first time he'd come away from making love to her in his human form, he looked like he'd narrowly survived a beating. After that, she'd held back and gone patrolling after she thought he was asleep.



The kettle began to whine and he got up to make tea, wincing as he drew in a deep breath. He wore nothing but his pajama bottoms and a thick, white bandage over his middle. Spike fixed himself a cuppa with honey and cream, glancing out the window over the kitchen sink. The sky was glowing crimson on the horizon, like a hint of blood spreading in deep blue water. He plopped down on the wooden chair feeling like a cuckold waiting for his wife to come home with another man's scent on her skin. She was just doing her job, but he couldn't help the way he felt.



By the time she tumbled through the door, filthy and exhausted, the sun had risen. When she saw him with his mug of congealed tea, she started.



"There was a nest of vamps. It got kinda dicey, but then I got slicey, so it was all fine. What are you doing up?" Buffy tossed her ax on the floor and kicked out of her mucky boots.



"You were gone. Couldn't sleep."



She shrugged out of her muddy denim jacket and hung it on the peg by the door. Her back was bloodied and there were claw marks by her left shoulder blade. He was on his feet in an instant, rummaging under the sink for the first aid kit. She saw what he was doing and stood with her hand on the curve of the chair, waiting for him. He set the container on the table and withdrew supplies to clean her wound. Silently, she sat down. He opened a plastic bottle of rubbing alcohol and tipped it onto a cotton ball. Buffy bit her lower lip when he dabbed the slashes. Funny how she had to steel herself for a little sting even though she never flinched when she took a hit.



"I'm losing you, Buffy," he said.



She drew in a breath and her carriage got straighter.



"That's not true," she said, quietly.



He peeled the paper off of a square of gauze and laid it against her back.



"Can feel you pulling away from me when we make love." He taped the material down.



She bowed her head and her voice was constricted.



"I don't want to break you," she whispered.



Spike touched her slim neck, her short ponytail barely brushing against his knuckles. He remembered how excited she'd been when it was finally long enough to pull back.



"Not a china doll."



He kissed her shoulder.



"I know—"



"But I'm not a vampire, either." He cast a sidelong glance at her pained face, the thick awning of her lashes nearly resting on her cheek.



"You think I want Angel?" she asked.



"No. I think you want it to be like it was between us," Spike said.



"Maybe that's what you want."



He let out a heavy breath.



"It is. I feel bloody useless here. Getting hurt, being nothing more than a liability to you. And I can't...don't feel like a man so much in the bedroom."



She turned around so he could get the full force of her glare.



"So you're leaving me," she whispered.



His stomach plummetted and his voice dwindled.



"Is that what you want?"



"No, but that's what usually happens when I fall in love."



He pulled her closer, taking both of her small hands in one of his.



"I'm yours. Don't think you'll ever, really be rid of me while I'm still breathing, and maybe not even when I stop. If you'll let me, I want to be your man. You've got to tell me what you need."



"It's not one thing...like I think we're fine and then there's this feeling. Like a...like I'm empty and alone. Like I'm in this place where you can't touch me. Nobody can. Nothing's safe."



Her words offered a toehold, a way to scale what looked like a smooth fortress made of rock. He cupped her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb.



"I can make you feel safe."

End Notes:
Let me know what you think.
Chapter 27 by Minx DeLovely
Author's Notes:
This is the end!!! Thanks so much to Puddinhead and Dorian's Kitten for editing this chapter. Thanks to them and Science for help in developing the story. Thanks to Sanityfair for all her work on the earlier chapters. Thanks to all who voted for this story at the Sunnydale Memorial Awards. All your support has been a life changer.
Her words offered a toehold, a way to scale what looked like a smooth fortress made of rock. He cupped her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

"I can make you feel safe."

The tears in her eyes made them look even larger. He smoothed her hair back.

"How can you do that?"

"Do you trust me?" he asked.

"You know I do."

"Then follow me and I'll show you."

She gave him a half smile that conveyed her skepticism, but capitulated with a nod. He tugged her away from the kitchen through the hall to their bedroom. Spike was nervous as she sat down on the bed. He stood over her and she looked up at him expectantly.

"Would you give me control tonight? I could show you that you don't have to hold back when we're together." He touched the wrought iron finial on the footboard of the bed.

"What do you mean?" she asked, as though she already knew the answer but needed him to articulate his intentions so that she could rightly tell him to fuck off.

He scrubbed a hand over his dark brown curls.

"Did some research and I found something when I was poking around the Council archives. Handcuffs and chains enchanted so they can hold slayer."

"You stole from the Council?!"

"Figured you'd rather I have them than Travers," Spike said, giving her a half smile. She went pale at that. Paler. He noticed since they'd been away from the California sun, her skin had gotten fairer.

"I get that," she said, her hands kneading the blue and white quilt. Silence tightened around them and he wondered if she was thinking of the other time he bound her hands. Then he'd been trying to kill her and there was a chance she'd flash back to that moment. See him as her tormentor rather than her liberator. He hated to ask her for this, but he could think of nothing else that would get a look of bliss back on her face. Finally, she said, "So you want to chain me up."

"Does it frighten you?" he asked, tilting his head and giving her what he hoped would be a reassuring look.

"That the Council has special chains to lock up a slayer or that my boyfriend wants to use them on me?"

"Both, I 'spose," he said.

"I trust you, Spike. You can do the bondage thing." She still looked reluctant despite her firm words.

He nodded too fervently and then went to the closet to retrieve his tools. He withdrew the box containing his gear. If the scene went bad, it seemed as though their relationship would collapse. He walked to the bed and set down the small, wooden chest. Buffy hadn't moved; her palms were against the coverlet and she was following him with her eyes. Spike knelt in front of her; still her knight and her servant even as he was getting set to tie her down.

He didn’t know how his roles had become so muddled, he didn't know.

He threaded his fingers through her hair and pulled her into a kiss. While his mouth moved against hers, he undid the fastenings on her jeans. She bucked up and let him slide them off, along with her white panties. He lifted off her t-shirt and unhooked her plain, white bra. Her underwear told him she hadn't planned on sex that night—the knickers had come in a plastic pack instead of on one of those fancy hangers and the bra looked like it was constructed from a protective mattress cover. The way she kissed nearly made him lose his nerve. Her body was in play, but her head was somewhere else.

He eased her back on the mattress anyway.

They broke apart. He went to the wooden box to withdraw the restraints. The shackles for wrist and ankle were attached to long, silver chains that were as thin as a necklace. She looked skeptically at them while she arranged herself in the center of the bed.

"I've seen gum wrappers that look like they have more tensile strength than those," she said, eyebrow hoisted for full effect.

Spike crawled over her on his knees. He stretched one of her arms up to the headboard and clapped one of the silver circles around her wrist.

"They're magic. Why bother making them conspicuous, too?"

She wasn't able to shrug because he was fastening her other hand in place, but she managed a shoulder twitch.

"I guess. When Giles was injecting me for that Cruciamentum thing, he was big on the sneaky. If you wanted to kill a slayer, handcuffing her in something that looks like it came from Claire's would be the way to go."

He smiled down at her before creeping over to bind her legs. Bringing up her watcher's biggest betrayal and downplaying the cuffs told him she was terrified. He was too, but for different reasons. If this didn't please her, he had nothing left in his arsenal.

Buffy's arms and legs were drawn out far enough that she would have very little movement, but could rest without tensing any of her muscles. She looked magnificent, and he couldn't help admiring his work from where he laid beside her. Her breasts thrust out while her arm muscles sharpened, showing off her power and softness all at once. Her stomach was taut and domed out slightly, like the back of a spoon. The soft, golden triangle of hair between her strained legs glowed in the low light trickling through their curtains. Her hair wasn't damp, though. This wasn't getting her off, which meant he'd have to try twice as hard to overcome all her self-consciousness. She craned her neck to watch him, but she didn't speak.

"May I blindfold you, love?"

She sucked in a shaky breath.

"W-why?"

"When we were trapped, you said my voice got you through. Wanted to talk you through this."

She considered him.

"I guess I can't say no, can I?"

"Course you can. That's why I asked. Any time you want me to stop, you just say so."

She licked her lower lip and took a deep breath. He noticed sweat beading on her forehead.

"Do it. Blindfold me."

He hopped off the bed and fetched a piece of black satin from his box of tricks, then tied it around her head. Once she was completely helpless, he laid down beside her, his mouth against her ear.

"Before I met you, I was dead," he whispered. The words got a reaction; her thighs quivered. He traced the lips of her labia with the lightest pressure of his fingertips."I took what I wanted, thought I was enjoying it, thought I was feeling things. Thought I felt love. Now I know those pleasures and pains were only echoes of the real thing." Her hips tilted toward his touch, trying to increase the stimulation, but he didn't oblige her. It was gratifying to know he'd finally gotten her attention. He gave her clit a soft tap and she squeaked.

"It was like all this time I'd been skating on the lip of the universe, hovering above the planet and all the people in it. Ruler of all but possessor of nothing," he whispered.

Her nipples were so hard they had to be tingling. He licked the one closest and blew on it, making her back arch. "Then you gave me your hand and pulled me back to earth. Made me a part of something for the first time. Dru promised me everything in the world, but all she did was take it away. You gave it back. Your love did that." He pinched her nipple, hard.

"Spike!" Her head ground into the pillow, lengthening her neck in a way that made him feel unaccountably guilty. He kissed the vulnerable skin on her throat and felt her swallow.

"No. When we're in bed like this, I'm William. I'm your man." He slipped his finger inside of her and began to stroke her clitoris with firmer turns. She rose and fell like a bellows as she dragged in each breath. Her limbs tensed at their silver bonds, but that was all. She couldn't break free.

"What are you doing to me?" she mumbled.

"Do you like it?"

"Yeah. Oh my god, yeah."

He worked her faster and faster with his fingers, until her moans were one, long note.

"I would trade eternity for you, Buffy. You're worth living and dying for. No matter what happens, I'll always be yours. You give me the pain and the fear, you let me shoulder it. Give it all to me. I'll never leave you if you want me to stay."

Her breasts were too much temptation, so he dipped his head down and sucked her nipple into his mouth. He teased it with his tongue and kept his deft fingering. She was so tight in her bonds, her body was suspended, like she was levitating. Then she screamed and more moisture surged out of her pussy, drenching his already slick hands. He let her nipple go. Her orgasm seemed to stretch on and on, like honey being poured from a jar, but as those things go it was only a few seconds. All that buildup and only a flash of ecstasy. She sagged back down to earth and he cradled her shoulders.

"Was that good?" he asked.

"So good."

"Fancy another go?"

"Um...if you give me a second," she panted. He smiled for no one but himself.

"Got you another present," he said.

"Did you steal that one from the Watcher archives, too?" She nuzzled his chest with her forehead.

"No. Got it from the Hustler store. It's one of those vibrating deals. Got one that's a bit smaller than my cock, because I didn't want to be jealous of an inanimate object, but it should make you feel very good. Almost had a heart attack when your mum brought the package in from the post office the last time she came round. Luckily it was wrapped in plain brown paper, so she didn't realize what she was holding."

Buffy let out a loud laugh.

"She said you were acting super suspicious the other day. She thought you were either evil again or planning on proposing."

Spike leaned over her and took the device. It was sleek and black with a soft sheath around the metal core.

"Am still a little evil, seeing as I love watching you writhe and twist. Love watching you come over and over. You ready for more?"

"Give it to me."

He switched on the vibrator and pressed it against her mound. Her body moved like a curtain fluttering in a sudden gust of air. He nosed the tip around the opening of her vagina before easing it inside. It was exciting finding all the new spots that caused her to moan and her hips to rock. She came so fast it shocked him. The device nearly bucked out of his hand as her internal muscles clenched.

She was still screaming when he crawled between her thighs and started licking around the vibrator that was impaling her. He wrapped his arm around her hips, sucked on her clit and kept pumping her with the dildo. Even though she was tied down, it was still like riding a wild horse. If the cuffs hadn't been deadening her strength, she would have torn the bed frame apart. That meant she wasn't controlling herself anymore. She was completely lost to the way he was making her feel.

Buffy came for a third time with a shriek that felt like it could splinter glass. He let her go and slipped the vibrator out. She collapsed on the bed. Her whole body was sheened with sweat and her breathing was ragged.

"You want more, kitten?" he asked.

The chains creaked and she tried to lift her head toward the place where she’d heard his voice, where was curled up on the bottom of the bed.

"I want you. It's so your turn."

He smirked at her.

"Do you want to keep the blindfold or get rid of it?"

She brought her breathing under control and licked her lips.

"Would you think I was a complete freak if I asked you to leave it on? When we were...it was so bright then, you know?"

"I know." His voice came out in a rumble. He unfastened her ankles, rubbing the skin to ease the red chafe marks. Then he sprang from his crouch to set her wrists free.

"Roll onto your belly," he said.

She complied, though he could tell by the way she had to flop around that moving was difficult for her at that point. Spike leaned over her and took a bottle of massage oil out of the box. His cock was heavy and painfully, diabolically hard, but none of this was about him tonight. He could wait a little longer. She gasped when he poured the golden liquid into the valley of her spine. It cascaded thickly down to her ass and he dragged his thumbs through the rivulet, rubbing in sweeping circles. With each pass, he covered more and more of her back. Her skin soaked up the oil like it was thirsty.

Slowly, her body relaxed under his hands, the friction making her melt. He rubbed her from waist to head, from shoulder to each delicate, deadly finger, then caressed her from hip to toes. She went silent during his ministrations and afterward, when he cleaned up the toys. He took off his pajama bottoms and tossed them in the hamper by the door. When he walked back to the bed, he thought she was sleeping until she turned around.

Buffy reached her wavering arms out to him.

"Make love to me, William."

He crawled on top of her. His cock was pulsing as he slid it inside of her. Even after everything she was still his perfect fit. She wound her lax arms and legs around him. She was exhausted from his efforts, making her body pliant and soft. Even if she wanted to, she wouldn’t be able to hurt him.

He looked into her face, half concealed by the blindfold. She could protect the whole world, but in this place she'd entrusted him to be the only man to protect her. He cupped her cheeks and kissed her forehead.

"I love you," Spike whispered. She tugged off the fabric obscuring her vision and smiled sleepily up at him.

"I love you, too," Buffy said.


~*~*~

At that same moment in Mexico...

Harmony tapped her pink, glittery nails on the bar and let out a frustrated sigh. Back before she was chipped, she could've just eaten the guy, but that wasn't an option anymore. She hated Vera Cruz. It was dusty and there were all kinds of jerks. The bartender was not as good looking as he thought he was and his black, handlebar mustache had passed ironically self-aware into serious leather daddy territory.

"Look, just tell me who's been killing all these people and don't say the cartels because, well, duh," Harmony said, trying to look menacing while she adjusted the top of her white mini-dress so her gals didn't spill out.

"Why don't you suck my dick," he said.

Just then, Graham came in and strode through the crowd toward her. She'd never been more grateful to see him in her life. If he was coming to get her, that meant a whole bunch of tanks were rolling into the city. It was so cool fighting for America. The good old U.S.A. had way more exploding things than any other country she’d helped to invade.

Harmony glared at the bartender.

"I told you not to be mean to me. My boyfriend is totally gonna kick your ass."

Suddenly, someone slung an arm around Harmony's neck. She knew by scent exactly who it was, and her grin got bigger.

"To say nothing of what her girlfriend's gonna do to ya," Faith said with a wide, red smile and a toss of her dark hair.
End Notes:
Please let me know what you think!!!!
This story archived at http://https://spikeluver.com/SpuffyRealm/viewstory.php?sid=37065