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Spike needed to kill something. Soon. That waitress had pushed all his buttons -- the ones that pissed him off and the ones that got him hot.

The two men made their usual shortcut though the abandoned warehouse on their way to their car, parked on the nicer side of L.A. Tom’s Diner and the building they were currently walking through rested smack dab in the middle of the more violent section of the city -- referred to as the District. The District, where Spike and Xander spent the bulk of their time, worked as a buffer between the swank city offices where they went for assignments and ammo, and where most of their business took them, a suburb by the name of Pleasant Valley. It was surprising, or maybe not surprising at all, that the locale that was most willing to pay a ridiculous amount of cash to have their neighbor killed was the same place that golf-outing country club folk called home. Spike supposed that in the District, if you wanted somebody killed, it was considered to be quicker and more satisfying to do it yourself.

“You should see this new gun, man! Cordy let me try it out. It has a silencer and everything. I’m thinking if we could get our hands on a couple of them beauties we could do double the business we do now! I can see it . . .”

“Harris, shut up,” Spike slowed his steps a bit.

“What?”

“Listen,” he commanded.

Xander let a beat go by, “I don’t hear anything. God, Spike, you’ve been in this business too long. You’re getting paranoid.”

Spike tried to scan their surroundings while continuing toward the door at the other end of the building. Granted, drug deals and gang hangouts were not unheard of in this part of the city, but Spike and Xander had gone out of their way to assure the warehouse be left as is. The locals had understood why two men in their profession needed certain places left alone and had easily complied. Well, there was that group of young high school white boys who fancied themselves gangstas, but a few blanks and an easily staged fake execution by Spike and Xander had scared them back into their school uniforms. But other than that, their comings and goings were ignored. Maybe that’s why they hung out so much in the District -- their lifestyle was accepted and not asked about.

The warehouse had a sort of balcony framing the entire parameter about fifteen feet above them. Spike tried to glance up but the platform was sheathed in darkness.

“Spike, for the last time there’s nothing . . .” He was interrupted by the distinct sound of two guns cocking behind their heads, “there,” Xander finished halfheartedly.

“Turn around,” one of the gunman barked. “Slowly and keep your hands up.”

The two men pivoted on their heels to face them. Spike kept his body tense, his hands by his ears. Xander flinched for a second before screwing his eyes at the person with the gun pointed at Spike, Xander flopped his hands back down from behind his head. Shifting his weight to his right leg, he waved his finger at the gun and its holder.

“Spike, why does our waitress from the diner have a gun pointed at you?”

Spike eyed Anne warily, not moving, “I don’t know mate. Why don’t you ask her.”

Anne interrupted them, “You say one word and I blow your fucking head off.” She turned to Xander, “What’s your name?”

Xander looked confused, “But that’s insane hitman logic.”

“Yeah,” Spike agreed, “You see, you just told him not to say one word and then you asked him a question so you can see the contradiction . . .”

“Quit acting like a smartass.” Buffy barked.

Spike challenged her, “Oh but is it considered acting if you really are one? I’ve been told on many occasions by a number of sources . . .” Spike seemed more inconvenienced than upset that this blonde chick and her redheaded friend had guns pointed at them. Having a lot of guns pointed at you in your lifetime did that to a guy. And she was a waitress -- how much damage could she possibly do. Spike kept in the back of his brain the fact that he had been wrong about this girl before.

Their bickering was interrupted by the ringing of Xander’s cell phone. Spike’s eyes raised to the Heavens as Xander fumbled with his phone behind him.

“Harris, is it completely necessary you answer that right now?”

“It might be Anya.

“Oh for the love of . . .” Then turning back to Anne who was glaring at him over the barrel of her gun, “Give us a second, luv.”

Xander turned away from the situation to speak softly into his Mobile -- a fact that made the redhead watching him a little more edgy, but Anne didn’t seem to mind.

Spike turned back to his waitress, “What’s your problem anyway?”

“You forgot to leave a tip.” She answered smartly. She waved her gun at the man on the phone. “Who’s that?”

“My weapons man.” Spike took a glance at the nervous looking redhead holding a shaky 35mm at Xander. “Who’s Red?”

“My computer hacker.”

Spike look at her with feigned confusion, “Now why would a waitress need a computer hacker?”

The waitress didn’t let down her guard, “I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure I know why a man with blood on his pants needs a weapons man.”

Spike shrugged, “It’s hard to find good help these days.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Spike?” Xander called, putting away his phone.

“What?” Spike was getting irritated now -- there was more to this girl than she was willing to give away.

“That’s her,” called Xander.

“That’s who? Honestly, Harris, in this type of situation specifics are really important.”

Xander wouldn’t look the waitress in the eyes, now obviously more concerned for their safety, “That’s the assassin you’re supposed to kill.”

The waitress darted her eyes to Xander, Spike, then Red before transforming back into her cold exterior -- she was getting worried, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Spike as understanding dawned on his face.

“Oh, is that what this is all about? You takin’ me out as a preventative measure? Trust me, it won’t help. I bet Anne isn’t even your real name. Say, what is your name, luv?” Anne said nothing. He angled his head back toward Xander, eyes never leaving Anne, “What’s her name?”

“Summers. Buffy Summers.”

Spike looked her up and down, a predator gleam in his eye, “So, Buffy Summers, I’m supposed to kill you.”

“No, I’m supposed to kill you.”

“Looks like we’re in quite the predicament.”

“I’d say you’re the one in the predicament considering you’re the ones with guns pointed at you.”

“I would say not.”

“Oh and why exactly would you say not?”

“Because unlike your sidekick, mine knows how to shoot a gun.”

Red jumped excitedly, “I do to know how! I mean . . . how hard could it be? You just . . . You know . . . Pull the trigger and then kablewie” She looked to her blonde friend for reassurance, “Right?”

The excitement of the redhead had distracted everyone, allowing Spike to slowly drop his hand to the back of his neck -- inching down his collar. He could feel the cool metal of the revolver strapped against his shoulder blade.

Spike liked Red, you just don’t see that innocent glee in the assassination business anymore. But this blonde one -- more your typical runaway-turned-killer type -- was probably sexually abused by some deranged uncle at one time or another.

Spike’s fingers were wrapped around the butt, one swift motion and it would be drawn and he could fire.

Buffy tore her gaze away from her friend, instantly noticing Spike’s hand movements, “Hey!” she yelled at the instant Spike pulled his gun, aiming it at her. As their fingers weighed down on the triggers, shots rang out from above them. The four immediately hit the ground, everyone with guns ready.

Spike glanced up to see four gunman posted up on the balcony -- reigning heavy shots down on them. The four ducked behind a deserted Oldsmobile, its windows already shattered and offering limited coverage.

Spike turned to Buffy, “I know I’m good honey, but you didn’t need six guns to kill me.”

Buffy motioned to the four gunners, “They aren’t with me!”

Spike studied her face and believed her. Mulling over their ways to get out he sighed, “There’s a side door about sixteen yards from us -- behind those crates.”

Buffy realized he was talking to her again, “What!? We don’t need your help.”

“Do you wanna get out of here or not?” Buffy considered their other options. Finding them lacking, she nodded.

“OK, I’m going to have to blow the lock off the door. You’re going to have to not shoot me in the head while my back is turned.” Buffy took a little longer to agree -- it was give up the mission or get out of here alive. She nodded for Spike to lead the way.

“Xander, cover Red,” Spike spoke, and the brunette got in position behind the scared girl. Sure, she’s seen Buffy hack up a fair share of bodies, but live fire was something she’d never experienced before. “Go,” Spike yelled over the tirade of bullets.

Spike felt a bullet graze past his shoulder. Pressing flush against the wall, he succeeded in blowing the lock. Xander and Buffy shielded themselves behind the crates, shooting up into the balcony. Even Red got in a few close-eyed shots.

Heaving himself against the steel door, Spike succeeded in knocking the rusted thing open. Light flooded the lower level of the warehouse and the four stumbled out and slammed the door shut. Everyone stopped to catch their breathes and gather themselves after a brush with death. Looking around at their present company, reality snapped back into place and all four yanked their guns back into position, each with a barrel pointed between the eyes.

Spike picked at the sleeve of his black t-shirt, lifting it off his skin he revealed an impressive tear, a result of the reign of bullets, to Buffy, “Nice coverage.”

“I didn’t shoot you in the head did I?”

Xander saw where this conversation was headed and didn’t like it. “Look, I know the whole your-job-is-to-kill-each-other thing, but considering we have four guys who seem to want to kill us all what do ya say we consider this a get out of death free card and go our separate ways?”

Spike and Buffy locked eyes, each itching to run the other way and blow each other’s heads off at the same time. Buffy swallowed at Spike’s intense gaze, a mutual agreement flickering though their eyes. Xander and Willow were already set to go, gently pulling their partner in opposite directions. The blonde pair seemed unwilling to break from the force of energy keeping them and their weapons locked into place. Abruptly Spike pulled his elbow back down, clicking the safety back on the gun and hesitated before taking a few steps backward. Buffy allowed herself to be yanked back by Willow. It was a few yards before the two broke their intense stare of each other and ran.

Xander took in his glazed over partner. He motioned back to where Buffy had disappeared, “What the hell was that?” he demanded.

It took a minute for Spike to shake the effect of the little blonde off him, “I have no idea.”

TBC





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