Author's Note: For Fer1213 and Buffy X's Livejournal Spuffy Kink-a-thon. What's Fer1213's kink, you might ask – Buffy and Spike having to rely on each other with much snarkage of course. Must be UST, Spike's lighter included in some way, and no mystical solution to their problem. Fanon and schmoop are out of the question as well.

Decided to do a re-imagining of a story that I loved but my muse had crapped out on long ago. Sort of a fractured fairy tale kind of vibe with a little Lemony Snicket's style thrown in; hope you enjoy it.

**


The Bad Beginning

Dear Reader,

I am sorry to say that the story you are currently viewing on your computer screen is extremely unpleasant.

It tells an unhappy tale in the life of one Buffy Summers and the un-life of one William The Bloody. Even though they are both equally charming and clever in addition to being ridiculously hot, Ms. Summers and Mr. The Bloody have led lives (un) filled with woe and unspeakable danger as far as the ye could see (i.e. gym fires, the rhyming of ‘effulgent' and ‘bulge-in-it', vampire masters, eternal ‘hickeys', giant snakes, 1800s slack English hygiene...).

From the very first sentence of this story when the two are forced to be in close proximity of one another, disaster lurks at their heels. In this short story alone, Ms. Summers and Mr. The Bloody encounter demons with gambling addictions, the dances of joy and disappointment, and a multitude of uncomfortable feelings.

Yes, it is my sad duty to write down this unpleasant tale, but there is nothing stopping you from clicking your browser's ‘back' button and reading a fan fiction about wonderous high school geek-to-chic transformations or miracle, prophesied vampire/slayer babies.

That is, if you prefer that sort of thing.



"...Bloody infuriating bitch!" Spike threw his head back and roared at no one in particular. The sound of which, had enough blind rage combined with the right amount of agonizing hurt and piss and vinegar to unleash a symphony of hell in the form of howls from neighborhood dogs and car alarms.

This was not how his night was supposed to go.

In the fevered delusion version of things, now would be the time when Buffy (ever so thankful to him for rescuing her. Turning his back on his past with Dru and vanquishing his one-time "Black Beauty" in the name of love, and the greater-good and shit like that) would be repaying him for his heroics.

And repaying would of course lead to him trying out that bottle of cherry- flavored motion-lotion and breaking in that new pair of handcuffs.

But no. Oh no.

He had to fall for a blonde, ungrateful, holier-than-thou...

"Bitch!" Spike's boot-clad foot landed a heavy kick on the Summers' front door.

Any sane woman would've fell to her knees and soiled her panties over the things he'd said! Here he was, willing to give up being evil for fuck's sake – and for her! It was all to please her pleasant-self! And she'd spat on it. Wouldn't even allow him to say "I love you", because in the ass- backward, black and white logic of Buffy Summers Land, the words "I love you" only mean something if you're a soul-having pillock or an ex-Soldier with masculine identity issues and a tiny dick.

Sure, a little anger over the situation was to be expected. What with the cattle prodding and the chaining her up with a crazy-ass vampire, but it was the thought that counted.

Hey, she lived, didn't she.

"You really think getting Red to work her mojo is gonna keep me out of your life?! I got news for you, sweetheart – you're stuck with me! I'll always be here, and you know why? Cause, I'm in your gut, Summers! Deep down, you know we have something and one day you're gonna get that rude awakening! You can't shut me out, Buffy – no matter how hard you..."

The click of the porch light shutting off was the last blow Spike's ego could take. Fists clenched and teeth grit so tightly they could crack at any moment, he slowly began the long walk home.

**

Oh. My. God.

Buffy let her head linger on the door, afraid if she moved an inch, she'd redecorate her mom's colorful rug with even more colorful vomit.

Spike's in love with me?!

Was this some kind of sick joke?! What the hell had she done to deserve this! She was a good person – risked her life and the lives of her friends and family to save mankind on a daily basis, that alone should qualify her for a gold, shiny halo in the eyes of the gods or the powers, or whatever. So what was with all of this unnecessary punishment?!

"Oh. My. God," this time the groaning came from outside of the confines of her head.

"Should I even bother to ask how tonight went?"

Her head finally leaving the haven of the front door, Buffy regarded a smiling Joyce grimly. "I don't wanna talk about it. I don't wanna think about it. I just wanna go upstairs, take a long, hot shower and forget this nightmare."

Without another word Joyce looked on as her daughter trudged up toward her room.

Door slamming loudly in her wake, Buffy flopped down onto her bed in a boneless heap and was fully prepared to stay that way. Screw the shower.

Rolling over on her side she shut her eyes and tried to will her body into relaxing but happy, free of Spike-related thoughts, type of relaxing was apparently not in the cards for her tonight. Every time she closed her eyes, there he was – that annoying grin, that grating accent, and stupid, stupid hair...

He could've gotten her killed tonight! All over some twisted obsession.

The thought made Buffy see a special, blind-rage induced shade of red and she bolted upright, quickly climbing to her feet.

She was way to keyed up to sleep. She needed to hit something. Preferably until it was bruised and bloodied.

Spike would do just nicely.

**

"Whenever the world shit-kicks you, you've always got a friend in JD..." Spike solemnly eyed the bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand as he unscrewed the cap. Taking a quick swig, he bent over to pick up the video on the makeshift coffee table. "And Jenna Jameson," he added begrudgingly.

His head whipped around at the sound of the crypt door being practically ripped off its hinges. For a second Spike considered whipping the fifth of Jack at the Slayer's head but almost immediately dismissed the thought altogether –

Not because of the mind-numbing headache (that would've been well worth it) he just didn't want all of that good alcohol to go to waste.

"Oh, so it's perfectly fine for you to come bustin' up in my home!" He glared, taking another drink. "Enjoy the all-access pass while you can, luv 'cause I'll find a spell to keep your scrawny ass out if it kills me. Maybe tack on a little leprosy or make all of that bouncy hair of yours fall out."

"Shut up, Spike," Buffy lamely shot back.

His hollow laughter echoed throughout the crypt and he absently tossed his precious liquor and porno onto the cushion of the nearby recliner.

"That one cut me deep, Summers." He shook his head, chuckling bitterly. "You came all this way just to tell me to 'shut up'? Tell you what, why don't you run back across town and I'll be over to call you a 'Poo-Poo head' in about fifteen..."

Buffy's fist crashed squarely into Spike's nose and he cursed loudly, staggering backward.

"You bleached, idiot!" she spat angrily through clenched teeth. "I could've been killed!"

"I had the situation under control!"

"So, Harmony pumping you full of arrows was all part of the 'Wooing Buffy' process," she said sarcastically, folding her arms over her chest.

"Well..." he began biting his lip, "no but..."

"I don't wanna hear it. I don't want see you; I don't want you anywhere near me, Spike. Do you understand?"

Spike narrowed his eyes and boldly took a step closer. "You came to see me to tell me not to see you...?"

"Damn straight," she answered before landing another hard right on his nose. "Also...the punching you in the face -- doesn't suck."

Loudly sniffing, Spike wiped the bright red blood from his poor, busted nose on the collar of his shirt and managed to send the iciest of glares in the Slayer's direction.

"I mean it, Spike," Buffy began cooly as she opened the crypt door. "Stay away from me."

**

Now, it is required that every story have a villain. An antagonist to keep the protagonist(s) from being truly happy, thus frustrating the audience nearly to the point of suicide (Joss Whedon's Method to Television Writing, Pg 52). This story, is of course, no different.

The Thorine: as underground as super underground organizations tend to be. Membership only extended to the most prominent and elite (the word ‘elite' in this case meaning ‘ridiculously special') figures of the demon world. The Thorine are not merely interested in normal demon activities such as smashing things, killing humans, and smashing things while killing humans; oh no, this exclusive club takes their animalistic instincts to a new level.

"And we have a winner!"

Wild howls and applause erupted from the audience.

Glancing up at the huge projection screen, the scaly, green-skinned demon known to the room as ‘The Ringmaster' smiled brightly. "It took exactly nine hours and forty-five minutes for the good Dr. Green to give up on freeing himself from those shackles and saw his own leg off. Can we get a round of applause for his will to live?"

The room responded with more loud clapping and shouts.

"Who would've guessed he would've lasted that long, huh? Oh, that's right – lucky number 117! A pot of one-hundred thousand kittens is going to you my friend! The freshest tabbies around." Clasping his hands together, The Ringmaster paced the stage. "And if you thought that prize was as big as it gets, then brothers I've got news for you..."

The screen faded to black before a huge banner dropped down in front of it.

"Battle of the Cows ‘2001! With a grand prize of two million kittens!" he announced amidst cheers. "By tonight, the players will be ready and rearing to go; so, gentlemen, place your bets!"


TBC

Author's Note: Apparently I need to stop attempting to write summaries in the English language at 3a.m/ or quit drinking, whatever. Thanks to the person who pointed out my unintentional butchering of Lorne's name (did ya also notice my funny spelling of dimension? Uh, huh. I'm special.)

Here's a link to Buffy X's magical Kink-a-thon: http://www.livejournal.com/users/buffyx/164500.html

Here's Chapter 2. Review if you're feeling charitable.

**

The Terrible Second Act

Slayer of demons. Protector of the most helpless of the helpless. Her beauty burns with the white-hot light of a thousand suns. The strength of a great white and the pure heart of a lioness beats beneath her breast. She was a woman who always focused on the mission at hand – would never dream of allowing frivolous things such as Mr. The Bloody's new found (and utterly disgusting) feelings for her to cloud her judgement. Oh no. Uh, uh. Never, my friends.

Buffy Summers' middle name (in addition to Anne) was ‘ Consummate Professional'.

"Ow!"

"Oh god! I'm so sorry!" Buffy sheepishly apologized as she helped Puffy!Xander back on his feet. Beet-red, the floppy haired boy took in a deep breath as he massaged his poor, newly bruised side.

"That 'ow'," he breathed sharply, "on a scale of one to ten -- ten being Mariah Carey, how high was it?"

She shook her head. "Not high at all. It was a very manly scream of pain, Xand."

"I try." Xander smiled at her sardonically. "I know this tough and rugged exterior can be misleading, Buff, but my ribs are gonna ask that you go a little easier next time around."

"Again with the sorry. I just...have a lot on my mind," Buffy sighed heavily. Absently she picked at the tape on her hands while making her way toward the sandbag.

"The Spike thing?" Xander asked, waddling closer.

He got a withering glance as his answer and the Slayer went straight into throwing left hooks and grunting in disgust.

"Definitely the Spike thing," he mumbled to himself.

"Is there something wrong with me?!" Buffy cried out in between blows. "Is there some kind of neon sign flashing above my head that reads 'Freaks and Losers This Way Please' ?!

"Neon sign?"

"I mean..." she paused mid-punch to make a face, "Spike."

Xander attempted a shrug. "Gross and pathetic factors aside, is it really that big a deal?"

She stared at him wide-eyed for a moment and went right back to assaulting the sandbag with even more power behind her fists.

"I'm saying, since it's 'all chips on deck' in Spike's head, it doesn't exactly do him any good to obsess over killing you..."

Buffy quirked a brow. "This is helping?"

"All of that energy's gotta go somewhere." Xander smiled reassuringly. "This is just a new, yet creepy way to annoy you. It'll go away."

"...What'll go away?" Giles asked as he entered the training room.

"Spike's little 'crush' on her," Xander snickered.

The older man stopped dead in his tracks to sigh heavily and give his charge an 'I'm unbelievably disappointed in you' look, like only he could. "You're still on about that? Here I thought we were supposed to be focused on training to fight a hell god. Silly me."

Buffy rolled her eyes. " I'm focused!" She threw her hands up. "See, this is me, focused. Lets get it done."

Giles nodded, giving his glasses a brief cleaning. "Good. Lets start with some..."

"You really think this is just a stupid crush?" she said suddenly completely cutting off the Watcher. "I got an unmistakably vomit-y feeling that Spike was gonna say the 'L' word."

"I don't know, Buffy." Giles pursed his lips. "But, I'll pass Spike a note in Study Hall and we can find out for sure."

"Not funny, Giles."

**

"Customers will bring you their goods and money, and you will...?"

Fighting an eye roll, Buffy sighed heavily and opened her mouth to speak. Sometimes, though she hoped unintentionally, Anya could treat you as if you were some sort of drooling mongoloid with ‘Idiot Jed' tattooed on your forehead. "Exchange the money for a receipt and kindly ask if they need a bag for that."

Anya folded her arms over her chest. "You forgot, ‘put the money in the register' and ‘thank them for their patronage'. Panicked, she turned to Xander. "I can't leave; we'll be robbed blind with her in charge!"

Xander sent Buffy an apologetic smile. "Everything will be fine. You can't go wrong having a slayer around. Besides, I made these reservations a whole month in advance – this dinner is half of my paycheck! You will eat something French tonight if it kills me."


"I've got you and Giles on the speed dial; if there's a sudden demand for motherwart or I accidentally take a personal check, I won't hesitate to call," Buffy said.

Anya gasped. "Taking personal checks is nothing to joke about, Buffy."

Xander wrapped an arm around his girlfriend and slowly led her away from the Magic Box's front counter. "Thanks again, Buff. We really appreciate this."

"I don't trust her!" Anya shouted as she was pulled out of the door.

The night started off without a hitch. Tuesday nights proved to be achingly slow for the Magic Box, but no less productive for Buffy; she managed to read the latest People, US Weekly, and Cosmo cover to cover the first forty-five minutes (who says our heroine doesn't appreciate fine literature.) And the following fifteen minutes saw an exciting game of ‘waste-paper-basketball' with unusable scraps of gift wrapping tissue. She was unbelievably relaxed (the word ‘relaxed' here meaning bored) and that was exactly the type of climate our second unfortunate event needed.

"I'm surprised Anya didn't drag the cash register out the door with her," Willow snickered loudly over the phone.

"What makes you think she didn't try?" Buffy huffed. "I almost wish I had a ten page art history term paper excuse like you; I was bored out of my mind after the first five minutes."

That got a giggle.

"Here's wishing you a rush of people looking for snail scented candles."

At the sound of a loud crash coming from the Magic Box's basement, Buffy frowned with a sigh. "Thanks for the jinx, Wills."

"Any time."

"Hold on a sec, okay?"

Putting the phone down she slowly made her way to the basement, stopping dead in her tracks at the sudden cry of "Bloody hell!"

Eyes shooting heavenward, Buffy mumbled, "You really hate me, don't you." Rounding the corner she came face to face with the object of her annoyance. "What the hell are you doing?"

With a defiant snort the vampire turned back to the shelf, rummaging through various jars and boxes. "Playing football," was his sardonic reply. "What does it look like, you silly bint."

"It looks like you're stealing."

"I prefer to call it shopping."

"I seem to recall a conversation in which I told you to stay the fuck away from me," Buffy said angrily.

Spike's eyes narrowed. "And I seem to recall this not being your store. Open to the public and all that." He gestured toward himself. "I'm public."

"Not while I'm in charge," she shot back.

That got a raised brow. "You're in charge? Where's the demon girl?"

"Out with Xander," she informed him. "It's Giles's day off and they had plans they couldn't change so I'm filling in."

"How sweet."

"Get out."

Grinning, Spike headed for the steps. "Told you, luv, I'm doing some shopping. Matter of fact, I think I'm going to have a look around upstairs. Got any tagis root?"

Buffy grit her teeth as she stomped after him. "I mean it, Spike! Get your bleached ass out of..."

Buffy was brutally cut off by the sound of a window shattering and the sight of a battered canister rolling toward her feet.

Exchanging confused looks with Spike, she picked up the object. "What the...?"

"Don't really think you should be touching that, Slayer," Spike said.

"Your concern has been noted," she replied sarcastically.

Without warning, the canister's top popped open, emitting a thick, white cloud of smoke that swirled around the two sending them into a coughing fit.

"Buffy, what was that noise? Buffy?! Hello? Are you there...?!"


Depraved demon games, the horrific boredom of retail and mysterious canisters that emit mysterious white smoke. Things only get worse from here on out, dear Readers. I wouldn't blame you if you left for the comfort of a feel-good song fic. After all, Evanescence is a great band.


TBC

"I'm telling you, something's wrong," Willow said worriedly as she walked into the Magic Box with Tara, Giles, Anya, and Xander following close behind. "I know Buffy was bored to death but I don't think she would've just taken off without a word like that."

Off of Anya's look, the redhead added, "Did I say ‘bored to death'? Cause what I really meant was bouncing off the walls with excitement," with a sheepish smile.

"Buffy?" Giles called out.

"I'll check the basement," Xander said.

"I'll check the cash register," Anya said, earning glares from the rest of the group. With a sigh, she finished reluctantly, "I mean, help Xander check the basement because Buffy's well being is more important than the safety of the money on which I make my livelihood."

"You've got a heart of gold, Anya," Willow said dryly.

"Maybe she just stepped out for a minute," Tara offered optimistically as she hung up the discarded phone on the front counter.

Willow looked at her girlfriend disbelievingly. "And leave the store all open for robbery?" She stopped in her tracks to pick up the battered canister. "What's this?"

Turning away from the shattered window with a frown, Giles said, "I'm guessing, the thing that didn't like my front window."

**

Oh. Headache.

Oh. Blinding light.

Headache plus blinding light. As soon as he figured out where the bloody hell he was, the first thing he laid eyes upon would die bloody.

Spike's baby blues reluctantly flickered open and he took an unnecessary deep breath. The banging at the back of his skull only worsened when he made a feeble attempt to sit up. Last thing he remembered was being in the Magic Box annoying the living hell out of the Slayer; did she get so angry with him that she decided to finally and literally knock him out cold?

Noticing her small and rather unconscious form slumped against him, he quickly discarded that idea. The thought of Buffy landing a punch to his head that made him see darkness was not totally impossible, however the thought of her deciding to turn her fist on herself was.

"Slayer?" Just the sound of his own voice was enough to make his head throb, but Spike grit his teeth and continued to gently shake the girl. "Slayer, wake up. Slay – Buffy? Buffy, luv..."

A soft stirring was followed by a loud groan as Buffy opened her eyes. "What...what happened?"

"Good question," Spike said straightening up.

"Spike?" There was a flash of something in her eyes – something akin to relief and real warmth. Of course that disappeared within a nanosecond and was replaced with the standard anger. "What did you do?!"

His eyes widened. "What did I do?!"

"Did I stutter?"

Spike frowned. "Well, Buffy, you just looked so lovely after I knocked you unconscious that I had to join you,"

Cheeks flaming with embarrassment Buffy mumbled an apology.

"What did you say, Slayer? Couldn't quite hear you," he grinned.

Brows knitting in annoyance, she grumbled, "I said ‘I'm sorry'." A beat, "Ass."

The two fell silent the moment they noticed they weren't alone. In the small, bunker-esq room, there were at least eight other people all beginning to wake from their unwanted slumber. Buffy and Spike exchanged confused looks as the door suddenly burst open and a spiny-skinned demon, dressed to the nines, expensive looking sunglasses hiding his eyes, barged inside.

The demon headed toward the desk that sat at the head of the room and without a word, picked up a small, black remote.

"Pay attention," he grunted as a large projection screen lowered behind him.

"Let me start by welcoming everyone." The Ringmaster smiled brightly. "Hey! Wake-y, wake-y people! If you sleep through this bit, you're just going to be kicking yourself later on. I'm sure you all have absolutely no idea how lucky you are to be here..."

"Where the fuck is here?!" someone called out in anger.

"In fact, you're probably saying ‘where the fuck is here' to yourself right now," the Ringmaster continued. "Let me answer that for you; ladies and gentlemen, you have been hand picked – that's right, hand picked, to participate in the Thorine's Battle of the Cows 2001! Everyone, give yourselves a round of applause!"

The room remained deafeningly silent.

"He said clap!" the bulky demon commanded and weak applause scattered throughout.

"As for the ‘where'; you are in Pylea. A cozy little hell dimension where humans are the lower beings on the totem pole – or ‘cows' as Pylea's fine residents like to call them. As slaves in this dimension, humans are forced to do back breaking work and are punished in the worst of ways when they're naughty and don't adhere to the rules."

Teeth gritting in anger, Spike called out, "Some of us aren't exactly human, mate."

"Hey, I know you vampires out in the audience have got to be ready to tear my head off for referring to everyone as human," he laughed. "But, you do have human visages – and that, my friends is the driving force behind this game. Five humans and five vampires battling it out to ultimately see who is the better cow. Humans, you will each be given a weapon..."

As that was said, the spiny demon opened a nearby cabinet and removed five backpacks and dumped them on top of the empty desk.

"Some are admittedly better than others, but all are no less key to your survival. Since the object of the game is to be the last one standing, you're going to have to take out your opponents any way you can. Killing is of course encouraged, but a player can also be knocked out of competition if he or she is caught and enslaved by one of the locals."

Buffy climbed to her feet, fists clenched and steam practically shooting from her ears. "If you think I'm gonna play your little game, then you obviously have no idea who you're dealing with."

The Ringmaster's mocking smirk made the Slayer see a special, deep shade of red. "And if you think you're going to get out of participating, check the bracelets around your necks..."

Hand shooting to her neck, Buffy fingered the tight, metal collar she'd failed to notice earlier.

"These not only allow us to track your every move, but also your life force and they carry a handy feature that lets me communicate with you," The Ringmaster said matter-of-factly. "Amazing how far technology has come, isn't it?" He paused to light his cigar. "The game lasts exactly one week – and moves into sudden death mode if there are three or more players left. Good luck to you all. And remember," his smile widened, showcasing his pointy, yellow teeth, "play hard."

The screen went black and was quickly raised.

"Humans, come and collect your packs," the spiny demon ordered. "Vampires, head out into the playing field; the Ringmaster will let you know when the game has officially begun."

"This can't be serious..."

A sigh. "Sounded pretty serious to me."

"This has to be some kind of fucking joke! I mean... vampires are real?!"

Buffy shot the guy next to her a withering look. "You're stranded in a hell dimension where we're referred to as cattle, and literally told to kill off the people around you – and your brain is stuck on the vampire thing?!"

He shrugged. "I watched The Lost Boys, I just never thought it was based on a true story."

"Well, I don't know about the rest of you clowns, but I'm gonna figure out a way to get out of here," another man spoke up as he hoisted the backpack on his shoulder.

"Yeah, we should all be doing that. We've got to stick together. Come up with a plan of action or something. Maybe we should start by learning each other's names; who wants to go first?" When no one replied, the spindly man continued, pushing his floppy, red hair out of his face. "Okay, then. I'll go. The name's Rob and I'm an accountant in Stockton. I'm less of a Lord of the Flies and more of a Dilbert kind of guy," he rambled. "Although, I did audition for Survivor last year..."

"Hey, Robbie?"

"Yeah," Rob answered him expectantly.

"I know this may come as a shock to you, but no one gives two shits about your name," he said nastily. "But, just to play along..." with a smirk he pointed to himself, "I'm Jase. You, freckles..." Jase gestured toward the brunette girl at Buffy's right, "What's your name?"

"Uh, Kelly?"

He raised a brow. "You asking me or telling me?"

"It's, Kelly." she rolled her eyes.

"And you; the jar-head," Jase continued, "what good Christian name did your mother grace you with?"

Eyes narrowed, the bulky man with the standard military-issued crew cut answered, "Rick."

Jase's smile widened as he turned his attention on Buffy. "Saving the best for last – what's your name, cutie?"

Arms folded, Buffy looked truly annoyed. "It's, Buffy."

"Buffy..." he nodded. "My sympathies." Turning to Rob, he said, "There you have it, Robbie. Kelly, good ole Rick, and Buffy – the people you will be trying to kill. I hope you feel all acquainted." And with a snicker, Jase broke away from the group and headed for the door.

"Hey! Rob's right; we've all got to be in this together!" Buffy called after him.

He turned around to flash a smile, dark eyes focusing in on her,

"Every man for himself, cutie."

Giving an apologetic shrug, Kelly followed and not soon after so did Rick, leaving Buffy and Rob alone.

"Guess it's just you and me, Buffy." he smiled.

**

"So, what should we do first? Wait, stupid question – we should probably find some kind of shelter, huh? Grab something to eat, make a plan of action...?"

Without uttering a single word Buffy stopped dead in her tracks and tilted her head in the direction of a large tree to the right of them. "I guess oaks are good for the lurking, huh?" she yelled.

Spike stepped out, smirking as he came closer. "I wasn't lurking. I was standing about - whole different vibe." Sizing up Rob with one roving eye, he turned to Buffy. "Who's the wank?"

"This is Rob – he's sticking with."

"Oh, goodie."

Exchanging a look from one to the other, Rob's face scrunched up in total confusion. "This guy wasn't a part of our little group just now. Isn't he a vampire?!"

Buffy ignored him. "What? I couldn't just leave the guy to die. Besides, any extra help with figuring out how to get the hell out of here, can't hurt."

"And out of everyone, you pick Opie here to tag along?"

"Hello?!" Rob cried out frustrated. "Vampires equal bad last time I checked!" A beat, "Right?"

Buffy finally answered him, "It's okay; Spike can be trusted."

"So, you're a good vampire?" Rob asked, brow quirked.

"Something like that, yeah," he answered.

"Wow. What do you like have a soul and fight for the greater good or something?" Pausing, Rob added, "Because that would be incredibly lame."


TBC

If you happened to be Sunnydale's finest slayer, England's coolest vampire, or Stockton's um number one greatest bestest most affordable accountant, then you were mucking through the Pylean forest looking for shelter and desperately missing home while cursing your luck.

But, if you happened to be a Ralph Lauren-suited member of the Thorine, life for the moment, couldn't be any sweeter (and by the word ‘sweeter' I mean ‘mellifluous).

"Cigars? Cigarettes?"

Oh yeah. There was no doubt in his mind this match up would prove to be interesting.

Insanely interesting.

The Ringmaster grabbed a finely rolled Cuban from the tray of a nearby waitress and slowly ran the cigar under his nose, savoring the smell of tobacco. Battle of the Cows was undoubtedly the greatest idea he had come up with in years. He'd never seen such a packed house; the bookie was practically being mobbed with people wanting to either get in their bets or change them completely. The word was that so far, most odds were on the Slayer taking it, but The Ringmaster wasn't one to be swayed by the vote of popular opinion.

The Slayer or any other not-quite-human participant was an obvious and safe choice.

Exhaling the smoke he let it slowly curl around his body, before sparing a glance in the direction of the frenetic crowd who had taken to shouting their bets at the top of their lungs.

Yep, The Ringmaster's kittens were all on that annoying human who'd glued himself to the Slayer's side.

After all it was always the underdogs who surprised you.

**

"I'm hungry."

Surreptitious looks were exchanged by Ms. Summers and Mr. The Bloody. Though the two were both equally exhausted and hungry themselves, the covert looks and similar understanding between them had more to do with a secret desire to detach Rob's head from his body than anything else. If it weren't for her pesky conscience and all-around ‘goody-goody' demeanor, Buffy would have wasted the accountant two hours ago; and if it weren't for that buggering chip, Spike would've drained him dry after the first minute and a half of being in his presence. He was a bit peckish himself, after all.

After wandering for hours, our players managed to find a cave to serve as temporary shelter mere moments before the Pylean sun(s) began to set.

Tilting his head to the side, Spike gave Rob a smile that was anything but friendly. "Great! I was just about to step into the kitchen," he said sarcastically gesturing at the vast, empty cave around them. "Tell me, mate, what can I whip up for you?"

"I was just making conversation," he stated with a shrug and added, "I have to pee." while heading toward the cave's entrance.

"I don't know how much more of that ponce I can take," Spike said the second Rob was gone.

"Okay, so Rob's kind of annoying..." Off of Spike's look Buffy quickly amended her choice of words, "alright, there hasn't been a word invented to describe the kind of annoying Rob is, but he's in the same boat we are." She shrugged. "And he doesn't exactly have the super human strength thing to fall back on either. Can't be easy for him."

"Whereas for us it's a walk in the bloody park?" Spike sighed heavily. "Slayer, do you have any idea what it's gonna take to get back to good ol' Sunnyhell?! Portals don't just open up out of the sky, sweetheart."A beat, "Actually, they do – but that's not the point. We've got demons pulling our strings world's away and they're not counting on bringing more than one person back."

"If this is your way of helping - guess what? Not working."

Removing his cigarettes from the pocket of his over shirt, he slipped one between his lips. "Just trying to give you a little perspective."

Green eyes narrowed. "I don't want your perspective, Spike."

A truly lascivious smile curled on his pouty lips. "That right?"

"Keep your perspective away from me."



As night fell, the slayer, the vampire, and the accountant tried to settle in as best they could. When one is used to creature comforts, dwelling in a drafty, musty cave can surprisingly be most uncomfortable (the word ‘uncomfortable' here meaning ‘sucky'). The packs the Thorine graciously supplied were emptied and were found to contain a lantern, two flashlights, a few cans of food (SPAM, SPAM and more SPAM), a canteen, a sleeping bag, one weapon (Buffy's Pack: Trash Can Lid. Rob's Pack: .44 caliber pistol) and most importantly a fifth of Southern Comfort...

Buffy giggled uncontrollably, her head drunkenly lulling to one side as she playfully slapped Spike on the shoulder.

Which they each guzzled down like liquid candy.

Rob took a healthy swig from the liquor bottle and turned his attention on Buffy. "Buffy..." he began, mulling over her name, " is that short for something? Like Elizabeth?"

She scrunched up her face. "No."

Rolling up on his knees Spike stretched over the lantern that designated the circle, and took the bottle out of his hands. "Time to share, wank."

"Hehe, ‘wank'," Rob chuckled. "I love the way you Brits talk; wanker, knickers, shag, bollocks. It's the best accent in the world. What does ‘wanker' mean anyway?" he asked drunkenly.

Spike's grinned widened considerably. "Its our little way of saying ‘friend'."

"Oh," he nodded. "I'm honored you would consider me to be a wanker so soon after meeting one another."

"I've thought of Spike as a wanker for years," Buffy snickered.

The blonde vamp rolled his eyes. "Appreciate the sentiment, luv."

"Just letting you know I care."

"That is really, really cool about you guys," Rob said, his words slurring together. "I mean – you're a vampire, she's like your food source and yet you mange to overcome this major obstacle and be wankers. That's so awesome. It's beautiful when you think about it. Very Martin Luther King-y."

"I hate to bust up the party, but it's getting late..." A frown etched itself on Buffy's face, "at least I think it's getting late. This dimension probably doesn't follow Pacific Standard Time, huh?"

"Yeah, we could all use a bit of shut-eye, Slayer," Spike said stretching.

"I'll stand watch," Rob said, grunting as he climbed to his feet. "Be on the look out for any overzealous ‘participants' and whatnot."

Propping himself up against the hard wall, Spike pulled his duster tightly around him and tried in vain to get comfortable while Buffy settled into her puffy sleeping bag. "Pleasant dreams, luv."

"Spike?"

"Mmm-hmm?"

"I'm kinda drunk so I'm sure I'll forget to say this later – so, I'm just gonna say it now before I get all hungover and forget-y..."

A sigh. "Yeah...?"

"I don't like you. In fact, I can't stand you. I've had daydreams about you tripping and falling on random pointy objects – like, picket fences or gothic wooden furniture..."

"Is there a bloody point in there somewhere?" he said irritated.

"Yes," she said matter-of-factly. "The point is, even though I sort of hate you – I'm glad you're here. I don't think I could get through this alone."

Spike couldn't help the smile that broke out on his face.

"I'm glad you're here too, Buffy."


TBC

“What do you mean Buffy’s missing?!”

As if you didn’t already know – you will never find a group of people more loyal and trustworthy than our heroine’s band of Scoobies.

You’ll also never find a more attractive, dashing, daring, collective of cleverness with SAT scores to die for (if we conveniently forget about Xander, that is) such as they.

“We mean she’s nowhere to be found. Disappeared. Misplaced,” Anya said matter-of-factly, earning a nudge from her boyfriend and a less-than subtle glare from Willow.

Breaking the news to Joyce Summers that her little, Buffy, her cutsie –wootisie – insert your own embarrassing parent/child nickname here, had seemingly dropped off the face of the earth was certainly not going to be an easy task. And yet, the Scoobies managed to make this difficult situation seem effortless.

“We’ll find her.” Willow placed a reassuring hand on the older woman’s shoulder. “Giles and Tara are out checking possible leads…”

“He’s gonna do his scary-British thing and beat the crap out of Willy the Snitch,” Xander supplied trying hard to be helpful. “And, We’ve got Spike out there…” voice trailing off and brows scrunching together, he exchanged a look between the three women. “Wait a minute – Buffy’s missing and has anyone actually seen her not-so secret admirer hanging around?”

Joyce’s eyes widened. “You don’t think Spike had anything to do with this…?”

“Of course not,” Anya began with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Everyone knows that after cattleprodding and chaining someone to a wall, you don’t go and kidnap them.” The ex-vengeance demon shook her head with a snort. “That’s horribly out of sequence.”


**

There was a moment, dear Readers, when perhaps he was in the rim stage of his sleep, that our master accountant was under the impression this was all a dream. That Buffy and Spike were merely figments of his imagination (or possibly the product of too much Nyquil and falling asleep on top of a D&D manual.).

This game, being in Pylea, it was all one, huge, bull shit trick of the mind. And, if that were the case, then he was going to cancel those Comic Con tickets the second he woke up. Dean Stockwell photo-op or not, he’d had quite enough of this sci-fi crap for a lifetime.

Sadly, this one, albeit thin ray of hope, died a fiery death the moment Rob opened his eyes.

The Pylean sun(s) and the banging at the back of his skull courtesy of last night’s Southern Comfort fest, were the first things to greet him that morning.

But, it was the overwhelming urge to pee that got him on his feet to face the day.

Yes, I am aware that for some, the idea of having to do your business in a bush that doesn’t dispense two-ply or come with a bidet would qualify high on the unfortunate event meeter.

And while Rob was hardly what anyone would call a ‘Mountain Man’, not having the privacy of a stall would prove to be the least of his problems.

It sounded like a firecracker. One of those M-80 jobs he and his brother would disregard all sorts of parental horror stories about Fourth of July maimings just to play with.

The pain that radiated down from the top of his ear to the tip of his toes, made him feel as if he had been stung by one, big, pissed off wasp.

Rob capped a hand over his right ear and quickly pulled it away; the sight of his pale fingers stained a deep crimson was enough to –

Another bang rang out, scaring him into not fainting – at least for the moment, and with a scream that was completely south of manly, Rob made a run for it.

Not bothering to find out which direction the shots were coming from.

Not even bothering to pull his pants up.


Heart pounding, Buffy bolted upright and scrambled to get out of her sleeping bag,


Nothing like being jarred awake to the sound of a man screaming “Holy Christ! I’ve been shot!” at the top of his lungs to make one miss the tiny annoyance that was a Scooby Doo alarm clock.

**

“Oh my god, oh my god…”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, would you shut up?” Spike said with a roll of his eyes. “It only grazed you, you’ll live.”

With one hand holding up his bandaged head, Rob threw a nasty look in the vampire’s direction. “Excuse me for being just a tad freaked out over the fact there were fucking bullets whizzing by my fucking head!” Climbing to his feet, he let out a frustrated sigh and turned to regard Buffy,

“Maybe it’s the whole being shot thing, but when did they give vampires guns?”

An eeire silence fell over the trio (the word ‘eerie’ here of course meaning ‘spooky’) as perhaps the chilling realization of what they were dealing with dawned on them.

Yes, our Buffy got a rather unpleasant lump in her throat. If our Rob wasn’t so busy focusing on that head wound, he would’ve been struck by a lump as well. And, maybe if our Spike cared even just a little bit, he too would’ve been overwhelmed with emotion.

Lips pulling in tight, Buffy took a deep breath,

“They didn’t.”


TBC…