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Turning the knob, she walked calmly out into the living room. He was there, sitting in the middle of the couch, engrossed in a card game. He didn’t look up.

“Blood’s bad.” He picked up a stack of cards and placed them over an eight of spades.

That wasn’t what she was expecting him to say. Well what were you expecting? Did’ja really think he was gonna come at you with some sexy offer? This is Spike. He of the giant ego. He’s not gonna do that after you stormed out. Which is good. Definitely. All that passed through her head, but all that came out of her mouth was “Huh?”

Now he looked up. “I see you’re back to your witty self, Slayer.” He glared at her before tearing his eyes away and back to his game of Solitaire. He dragged the words out like he was speaking to a child. “The blood. From the fridge. Is bad.”

His snarky tone eased the mood back into normalcy. She flicked a stray hair over her shoulder and marched over to the table, picking up a book at random and flipping it open. “So. You drink dead blood all the time. Don’t be a baby and drink it.”

He grimaced at the thought. “Dead blood and rancid blood are not the same. You eat dead chickens, but not if it’s rotten, am I right?” He paused, unsure if he should continue. Fuck it. “Oh wait, forgot about the Great Poof. You like dead meat.” He grinned. And then yelped in pain as he felt something hard ricochet off the back off his head. A book. The bint threw a book at me! “Oi! What the hell was that for! I'm just playin’!” He turned around, but instead of a scowl, there was a ghost of a smile on her face. Figures she’d have to get violent to calm the fuck down. He rubbed the back of his head. “Feel better now, do you pet? Good. Go get me some more blood.”

“Did you ride the short bus? First off, the power’s out. The blood at the butcher shop’s probably bad too. Second, even if it was good, I would so not go get it for you. You can starve for all I care.” She glared at him, feeling much better now that they were on familiar ground, bickering and throwing things. Her tone turned high and sickly sweet. “What’s gonna happen Spikey? You gonna waste away? Get all drawn and sunken looking? More pale? Oh, poor, poor Spikey.”

Spike stared at her; she was on a roll now. His eyes turned dark. “Well I won’t turn into an anorexic cheerleader.” He got up and walked over to her, putting one hand on the table and leaning in. “Ever been around a vamp who hasn’t fed in days? They’re the ones who are beyond bloodlust. They are nothing but the desire to feed, everything else disappears. And a master vamp?” He chuckled, low and menacing. “You would be begging to feed him just to escape the torture he’d inflict upon you in his wrath.”

Buffy watched as he descended into evil Big Bad mode. He was practically leaning over her, and she would have probably gotten a little nervous if he wasn’t so hot like that and if it weren’t for the simple fact that he was, well, chipped and therefore unable to follow up on his threats. It was kind of pathetic, actually. Besides, how many times had she fought Spike and whupped his ass? She had lost count long ago. God, it was almost funny. No, actually, it was funny.

Spike’s eyes widened as she burst out laughing, and he straightened. He howled through clenched teeth. “Bloody hell, Slayer!” He clenched his fists. “This is bloody painful! Have some sympathy for the bloke with chip, would you? Can’t you at least bloody pretend to be scared? Do you think I enjoy being forced to beg for pig’s blood from my mortal enemy?” He moved to punch her, but stopped himself and instead shoved some books on the floor in frustration.

Buffy tried to stifle her laughter, but tears were starting to leak out of her eyes in her mirth. “Sorry! Sorry.” She covered her mouth and tried to put on her serious face. “You’re very, very scary. The Baddest of the Bad.” She sputtered as more laughter burst out.

Spike groaned, hands on his hips, and stared at the ceiling. He looked back down at her, eyes watering, lips pressed tightly together with the effort of containing her laughter and he broke into a grin. He shook his head, laughing a bit himself now. “Sorry pet. Just sayin’. Don’t like having to ask you for food. Right humiliating it is.” He laughed again, and then had a spark of an idea. “I know somethin’ that’ll take the edge off.”

Buffy’s laughter died and her eyes widened and she crossed her arms over her chest, hiding herself. “What? No! No taking the edge off!”

Spike snickered. “Actually, I was talkin’ about raiding your Watcher’s stash. I know he’s got some good stuff.” He lifted an eyebrow. “But, if you’ve got other ideas…” He let his voice trail off.

Buffy felt her cheeks get hot. “Uh, no. You are so not going to drink Giles’ alcohol. He’d kill me.” She paused. “No, actually, he’d kill you.”

“Yeh, so what’ve you got to lose, luv? C’mon. We’ve got naught else to do. No telly. No decent food or blood. No smokes. We can have a couple an’ play some cards. Innocent like.” He smirked, punctuating the last statement.

Buffy was shocked that she was actually considering it. She hardly ever drank, having had a few bad experiences. But she was here at Giles', not out at some bar or frat party, and it wasn't like Spike could do something to her. She pointedly ignored the part of her brain that was trying to tell her that Spike most certainly could do something to her, if not actually hurt her.

Spike watched her as she had an internal battle with her morals. He really hoped she’d remove that stake from her tight ass and agree to have some drinks. Of course, Spike had exactly zero intention of stopping at “a couple.” If he got hold of the alcohol, he was going to get wasted and hopefully forget about this entire fucked up day.

Spike tried to make his tone light. “Well? Whaddya say, Slayer? Fancy a bit?” She looked confused. “Alcohol.” He sighed. “Where is it?”

Buffy pretended she had already made her decision. “Bookshelf in the corner. On the bottom, behind the statue-thingies.” Spike strode over to the corner and unceremoniously shoved the icons aside.

Ahh yeah. Whiskey. This is the good stuff. He pulled it out and admired it for a moment before twisting the top off and taking a swig, loving the burn as it slide down his throat.

Buffy watched as he drank directly from the bottle. Ew. Spike lips all over the bottle. He walked over and held it out to her. She looked at the mouth of the bottle pointedly and walked back to the kitchen, taking out a couple of glasses.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Oh right. Gotta worry ‘bout those vamp germs. Might catch the snogging disease or somethin’.”

“The what?” She walked over to the couch and sat the glasses on the coffee table. Sitting down, she absently took the stake out of her back pocket when it pinched her, and dropped it on the floor. Stupid vampire. Can’t understand half of what he says.

“Snogging disease. Mono or some such rot?” He watched as she gathered up the cards. “Oi, bloody hell! I was playin’ that game!”

She ignored him. “You said we were gonna play cards. And mono? Seriously? Can vamps get that? Cause I thought you were like, invulnerable to human sickness and stuff.”

Spike sat on the couch, making sure to leave plenty of space between them. “Are you daft? I was joking.” He grabbed the tumblers and filled them both nearly to the brim. Somewhere in the back of his head was this itching idea that he probably shouldn’t be getting drunk with the Slayer right now, not after earlier. And she was sitting there, trying to shuffle, cards popping out, and she was getting frustrated, and now she was throwing them on the table and just mixing them up, and he was momentarily rapt by the little wrinkle her nose was doing, and the sheen on the back of her neck where her hair had been swept aside.

“Stupid cards.” She shoved them back into a stack and put them down on the table, patting the pile. “There. All shuffley.”

He blinked and reached for the cards, expertly shuffling them again once. He cleared his throat and took a swig of his drink, hoping that he’d start to feel a bit of a buzz soon. She picked up her drink, sniffed it suspiciously, and looked up at him. He smirked at her. “What’s a matter Slayer? Can’t handle a man’s drink?”

She rolled her eyes and took a quick drink in reply. Easy Buffy. Just tastes bad. Don’t be a wuss. Despite herself, she grimaced and choked, making a disgusted sound as her throat constricted. “God. I think that’s the worst thing I’ve ever tasted. And I’ve eaten Anya’s cooking.”

Spike laughed. She looked like she had taken a swig of gasoline. “Yeh but it feels good goin’ down, don’t it?” He grinned, but she didn’t seem to catch his double-entendre.

After she stopped coughing, she laughed a little too. She decided then that she was going to have fun. She felt the alcohol slide down her throat and the warmth spread out, overheating her already hot body. She was the Slayer, and the Slayer never, ever got to have fun, not without someone hanging over her head ready to tell her to quit and go do her job. Her Watcher was gone, Xander and Anya were definitely busy with each other, and Willow was probably hanging out with some of her new witchy friends. And that left Buffy alone with Spike, a bottle of top-shelf whiskey, and a deck of cards. Spike at least won’t tell me to leave and go kill something. She sat up straight, looked right at him and took another swig, this time steeling herself enough to at least not cough. Of course, part of her knew that getting drunk with Spike was probably not of the good. Definitely not of the good. Shut the hell up. I’m going to have fun. I can control myself, and so can he. He hasn’t lived this long by not controlling himself. And with that she suppressed her inner voice of faulty reason with another swig.





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