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Author's Chapter Notes:
I give no guarantees on the spacing in this, I post it spaced. it previews spaced, but it shows up not when it goes live. It just ignores HTML altogether...heavy sigh.






"You got the keys," Spike asked as he checked his pockets making sure he had everything.




"Yes, I’ve got them."




"Where exactly is it?"




"I don't know, exactly. Uh, catty-cornered from a demon bar, not the closest one…maybe second closest?"




"Flashy techno-type or more like Willy's?”




"More like Willy's."




"I know it; ‘bout a forty minute drive." Spike looked at her for a moment then reached out a hand to smooth Buffy's hair. His hand brushed her cheek and she instinctively leaned toward his touch. His fingers lingered intertwining with the loose tendrils behind her earlobe.




He slowly pulled his hand back revealing a tiny errant orange cube. "Carrot," he said.




"Argh," she sighed.
"



Not as bad as broccoli," Spike said with a chuckle as he deposited the offending vegetable in the trash. "Come on." They headed for the garage.






__________________________________________________________




It was the Saab that chirped and flashed when he clicked the key.




"Saab? Not what you usually drive." Buffy commented.




"First one I ever had to pay for, Love, usually just nicked 'em." He started the engine.




"Spike, how did you ever end up here," she asked as soon as they pulled out of the garage.




"Long story, Pet. How much of it do you already know?"




"Just what they told me, the official report…I guess."




"Yeah, ha, right," he scoffed.




"They said…Andrew said, you were working with Angel at Wolfram and Hart. He told me what went down when he came to get Dana…" Buffy looked at Spike to make sure he knew who she was talking about. It was obvious he did.




"Ah, yeah, Miss Psycho Slayerette with the hacksaw, like to forget that one, Love, but the arms still twinge now and again."




"Sorry, bad?"




"Not as bad as burning up or…other things."




"Andrew should have told me then, he shouldn't have waited two years."




"I asked him not to."




"Why," Buffy asked.




"I dunno… champion…sacrificed to save the world, blah, blah… it meant something, but not…"




"Spike, it means something, it means a lot…and you should have told me."




"I know," he said quietly.




Buffy realized she wasn't going to get any more explanation so she changed the subject.




"You worked with Angel, that's hard to believe, I mean you don't like each other. The only times I've ever really seen the two of you together you were pretty much trying to kill each other."




"Great, you taking his side now," Spike commented.




"No, no…just trying to understand how you got tangled up with Wolfram and Hart. They told me about the amulet and about the ghost thing, I just didn't expect that you would..."




"I didn't, not right away, got played by this ex-Wolfram and Hart cowboy lawyer for a few months first. Never really fell in with that fighting evil from the belly of the beast crap. I didn't…join up until Illyria, ‘til Fred."




"Illyria? That's some demon god, one of the 'Old Ones'. It killed Fred," Buffy continued hesitantly, not entirely sure of the facts in that matter.




Spike nodded. "Killed her, hollowed her out. Destroyed her soul and used her body to walk the earth again."




"You killed it, you and Angel," she asked.




"No…" He laughed. "She joined the team."




"Wow, no wonder nobody trusted you guys back then."




"Nobody trusted Angel," he corrected her, "…we didn't either, so smart move, Love. Cordelia,” he began before she interrupted.




"Cordy was there, I thought she was in a coma or something?"




"Cheerleader’s all dead now." Spike paused, he didn't know if Buffy knew that, and by her face, she did not. "Sorry," he added quietly then went on."Cordelia came out of it long enough to help us call out cowboy lawyer Doyl…Lindsey, and gave Angel some vision or whatever about taking down the Circle of the Black Thorn, the senior partners' lackeys on this plane."




"And you guys did it, took them all out,"




Spike felt the need to correct her again. "Well, except for one," he said.




"There's one left," she inquired.




"Angel."




"Angel was a member of the Circle?" She was stunned by that revelation. They had left that part out when they recounted the story to her.




"Got himself inducted, all part of the plan, of course," he added more or less sarcastically.




"You gotta be major league bad for the Black Thorn to…" she started to say. Spike just looked at her with his 'I told you so' look.




"Anyway," Buffy said trying to route the conversation away from a place she did not want to go to right now, "…the Senior Partners retaliated."




"Yeah, don't remember much after the battle, falling down and passing out mostly. I think it was Illyria who brought us to the Mission. They found Gunn…" He noticed from her puzzled look that she did not know who he was talking about and added, "Charles Gunn, a mortal...one of Angel's Avengers. They found him, uh, what was left of him anyway, on the street in front of the Mission; at least they got him to a hospital. He's still alive, sort of. Last I heard he was learning to talk again, but he'll never… They found Angel and me smoldering in the sun by the back retaining wall, where the courtyard is now, three or four days later, it was an empty lot then. There's a month, month and a half, that I don't remember much of anything, pain…chained down in the basement of the rectory, brown and black robe-types tendin' us…"




"Obviously, they got you back to health," she said.




"Obviously. Five or six months later Angel left, went after…you know about his mongrel, right," Spike was hoping that she did.




Buffy nodded, "Nina? Yeah."




He went on, "Angel went after his mongrel. I left about a month later."




"And…" she probed.




He sighed. "Bad move…no place to go, no money to get there, and having a soul severely cramps the vamp lifestyle, about six weeks later…you get tired sleepin' in alleys and eating rats. Ended up in all the wrong places at all the wrong times."




She just looked the 'and' at him this time.




"…like in hand cuffs at the county jail and not willingly."




"You coulda got out easily enough."




"Pet, a hundred and thirty plus years of running, angry mobs, Slayers, demon hunters, other demons...gets old. It was time to stop running. I had one phone call, I used it, and the Mission was the only number I knew. The rest…well…" he left it at that, "...and you," he began again before she could ask him to go into detail. "The little boy said you went to Europe, rounding up stray Slayerettes, never figured you for the ex-patriot type, Love. Why'd you stay?"




"Ran into Dad in Rome," she said, not elaborating further.




"Big family reunion, yeah," Spike probed.




"Huh, yeah." She answered unconvincingly.




Spike gave her the 'and' look again. She tisked then sighed.




"Mom never told us, when Dad went …incognito, he remarried."




He still had the 'and' look on his face when she looked over.




"Hate her. Dawn hates her, too. At least Dad put a better roof over our heads than I could and he got Dawn back to school. She hated that too, at first, had to repeat tenth grade after she failed the placement test, but she got through it okay, college too," she added.




"What about you?"




"What, school? I tried for a couple semesters, too distracted, so, yeah, still 'too dumb for college' Buffy.'”




He laughed a little at the comment. "Too distracted," he asked.




"…with the slaying, and the rounding up, and the long-distance conferencing," she explained. “Jet-setting, er, Metro-ing’s more like it, across Europe after stray wanna-be’s, extremely tiring.




"Ah-huh, Dad doesn't know, does he? Thought you learned that lesson with your Mum."




"Mom at least understood the Slayer thing…well, eventually, sorta…Dad would never…and Step-Bitch, that's what Dawn and I call her behind her back, ha…she was constantly getting on our case, especially Dawn's, and not just at first, she kept at it. They were always fighting." Buffy scoffed then went on, "I really wanted to bring Dawn back here, but…he's our dad." She was starting to get misty-eyed.




Spike decided it was time to change the subject before the water works started. "You said something about issues, Slayer-type issues…pending apocalypse, yeah," he asked hopefully.




"No. I wish."




"Yeah, so what then?"




"It's not that simple."




"So explain it to me, Love."




"Guess we've got the time," she conceded, taking a moment to organize her thoughts before continuing.




"It’s just, it’s too much, we don't have the resources, we don't have the Watchers, we don't have…okay, it’s like there are too many girls, too many Slayers to…manage…control…guide, keep track of, train…not just physically… the power is too…" Buffy sighed.




"Oh, I get it, Pet," he said, glancing her way while negotiating the turn on to the freeway.




Buffy wondered if he really did or if he was just humoring her.




"Giles can't do it all, I mean, he tries…but even what he's teaching them, the Slayer doctrine, whatever…it was never…entirely right. He's not using the old Watchers Council guidelines, thank God, but…" She glanced at him checking if he was getting it.




"Still right there with you, Love," he nodded.



"Unless we're monitoring their every move, they're going off in their own directions, following their own rules. It’s like they don't have the judgment to be a Slayer…not without, making it worse, or hurting themselves or the people around them, or getting themselves killed, for the stupidest reasons…and what's left of the Watchers Council, the few that survived and the former Watchers, they…" she trailed off with a scoff.




Spike finished for her, "…they can't really help you, Love, cause they're not onboard either, and some of them are against you."




"Right. I shoulda just asked you," she said.




"Wouldn't hurt once in a while," he added.




"Yeah, I know," she said quietly, then continued, "…and the Power, the Slayer power… it’s not consistent, it’s fading in some and…"




"Like ebbs and tides," he commented.




She nodded, "and organized evil, here at least, after Wolfram and Hart pulled out of L.A. …"




"…too busy scrambling for the crumbs, but… crumbs are almost all swept up now, Love."




"Yeah…and the First: scrunched, but not gone and definitely not the only source of evil in the world." She let out a long sigh.




"That's the nature of evil…"




"…and the Hellmouth…"




"…put a stopper in it, just blows out somewhere else…"




"That about covers it, and I miss Willow and Xander…and Giles," she scoffed, "…even though we haven't been…close, in a while…and I missed you."




"Yeah, right. Is this the place," he asked.




"I think so, uh, looks like it."




"…and I'll wager it's the one with the big orange boot on it," Spike said nodding at the sedan parked across the street from the space he pulled into.




"Oh, shi…”






________________________________________________________






Rupert tossed in bed unable to get to sleep again. He blamed the August heat and a late night of pouring over the compounds bills for tonight’s bout of insomnia. Willow, Andrew and several of the girls who had good bookkeeping skills did the actual accounting; the figures were always accurate, that was the problem.




There simply was not enough money generated by the trusts to sustain the main compound let alone the satellites. Just in the past three years, they had to reduce health insurance coverage four times, to where it was now virtually worthless for a group of young women who were often prone to injury simply by the nature of their calling and required more than the normal amount of trips to the emergency room. In addition, caring for the institutionalized Slayers and Potentials, though their numbers were dwindling in proportion with those being called, was also fast becoming an issue. They would soon have to look further into the possibility of handling that task in-house, which they were damn ill equipped to do adequately.




Rising fuel costs had severely limited travel reimbursements as well, and the whole organization was on a “no non-essential personnel movement authorized” restriction for the last eighteen months. Even Faith, who had been visiting rather frequently in recent months…why is she here this time…he wondered, had been taking the bus and paying for it out of pocket. Not to mention the phone and internet bills.




He had already called in all his markers and fairly begged all his contacts who had the means for help, with some success; but it was still not enough. It seemed as though they could handle all the evils that the world could throw at them, but not their creditors.





Buffy was finally coming home and the last thing he wanted was for her to arrive to a financial disaster; she had enough monetary woes after Joyce had passed away. There were enough other things for her to deal with.





Damn, it’s bleeding hot! He thought, flinging off the sheet and tugging at his t-shirt. He cursed the main house’s lack of central air.
The small unit in the window was virtually worthless.





Reluctantly, he arose, depositing the sweat damp t-shirt on the bed post. Intent upon adjusting the bloody thing to its highest setting, electric bill be damned; he’d tap his retirement fund again to pay it next month.





“Bloody Hell!” He suddenly scowled picking his bare foot up off the soaked carpet nearly half way from the bed to the window. As if on cue, the unit began to vibrate and rattle. Gingerly, Rupert tried to skirt the wet carpet that was squishing water between his toes…that’s going to smell horribly before it dries in this heat, another sodding thing we can’t afford to fix…to unplug the bleeding thing.





Succeeding with only a minor electrical shock from the outlet when he yanked out the cord, he proceeded to the balcony door. There may be some breeze off the sea tonight… he thought fumbling in the moonlight with the latch. Opening it, he supposed he had heard something fluttering in the leaves of the rubber plant on the balcony and stepped outside to check. Nothing there… not even a wisp of breeze, sleep deprivation taking its toll, Ripper… he thought. Spying the unopened bottle of Glen Livet on the dresser, he headed across the room for it. There would be no going back to sleep tonight in any case. He would forgo the glass, taking the entire bottle with him down the stairs to the study.





He turned on the desk light and swiveled his chair round to face the credenza behind the desk. He pulled the cover off the mirror Willow had presented him with as a gift years ago.





While she was pregnant with Tara Rose, Willow had taken a sabbatical from teaching; she had spent a lot of her spare time scouring the thrift stores and antique shops around the Bay Area looking for whatever called to her. The mirror was something that had called to her; though she recounted to him that she hadn’t expected it to do so literally, and certainly not to call her by name and plead with her to buy it and give it to him, which is precisely what it did.





After gazing into it for a moment to no avail, Rupert gave it a hearty slap on the side of its frame.





“Wake up you sot!”





The glass misted over slightly, giving off a faint glow and then dimmed again. “Wesley!” He shouted at it.





It responded with a string of slurred British slang worthy of a merchant marine.





“Oh-ho,” he scoffed,”…quit your complaining, you dozy berk, you’re dead, what bloody reasons do you have for always being pissed?” He took a swig from the bottle and set it down on the credenza.





The spirit of the late Wesley Windom-Pryce in the mirror sobered somewhat, “…looks like you’re well on your way to joining me…”






_______________________________________________________






Spike pulled into a parking space across from the booted rental. "Couldn't have found a better space, Pet," he asked, noting the twenty minute parking restrictions on the signs on that side of the street.





“It was out of gas," Buffy said, "…I was lucky I got it out of traffic…I can't afford this." She took the stack of tickets off the windshield and looked at the boot. "We could…" she began.





"No. We couldn't" Spike said taking the stack of tickets from her. He sighed, "I'll take care of it. Get your stuff." He squinted to read the tow notice stuck on the driver's window. "Get the paperwork too, the rental agreement…" He sighed heavily and pulled out his phone. "It was scheduled to get towed about two hours ago…good for us they‘re running late." He punched in the number from the tow notice, "…paperwork, Love…" he said holding out his hand.





She handed him the envelope. Spike popped the trunk on the Saab as the call connected, and the tow truck had turned the corner and was backing into position as he was hanging up.





He put the towing and impound fees on his credit card. Buffy had to sign for the receipt of the vehicle. They gave her the forms with the information to get it straightened out with the rental company. All she could do was stare at it. She sat down on the curb. Spike took them from her and put them in the envelope with the rest, throwing it all on the dash.





"I can't afford this; there must be four hundred dollars’ worth of tickets…."





"Closer to six," he interjected.





"…and towing…"





"Paid it," he said.





"…overdue fees…"






"Did you have a security deposit?"





"Uh, yes, thirty five hundred," she said.





"Credit card," he asked.





"Cash, don't have a credit card."





"That…might be a good thing," he said half under his breath before he asked, "how much overdue was it?"





"Uh, almost three weeks."





"Over mileage," he asked.





She nodded.





"Out of gas, towed and impounded, kiss that cash goodbye, Lamb, then some."





"That was all I had," she said.





"I'll get the difference, Love, and the tickets. It'll be okay."





"I can't pay you back…"





"Don't worry about it, Pet. I got it. Come on, promised you dinner, let's go."





She snuffled and wiped her eyes as he helped her up from the curb.






_______________________________________________________






Faith hung up the phone and sighed heavily. Not too serious… they‘re gonna be alright… Cops! Humgph! She was relieved that Stacy and Janice hadn’t been hurt badly, but she was extremely annoyed that the Boston P.D. thought it necessary to haul them in for a drug test. Dumb assess, they spend half the night saving your sorry assess from things that you take one look at, drop your doughnut, and head for the station shrink and what, you see them on the street obviously in need of some medical attention, limping home...so, they were a little wobbly on their feet…had good cause.





Stopping at the fridge on her way back to the bedroom, she drained the last of the milk straight from the container; giving it a toss at the trash. Two points for me… she thought as the milk container settled in on top of yesterday’s Thai take-out boxes. She scanned the contents of the refrigerator …no more Thai?… and settled on half a ham salad sandwich left over from Xander’s lunch and a handful of grapes.





Padding lightly into the bedroom while popping the last grape into her mouth, she carefully got into bed and reached over Xander to put the phone back on the hook. Xander took the opportunity to give her a surprise tickle in the ribs as the phone settled into its cradle and she jumped, nearly knocking him out of bed.





“Don’t do that!” She shrieked and gave him a playful slap.





“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” he said, shifting position and not bothering to turn on the bedside light as Faith nestled in next to him, “…everything alright on the Boston front?”





“No, well…yeah,” she said settling back onto her pillow, “…nobody’s seriously hurt, just two of the girls had a run-in with Boston’s boys in blue.” Again…she added to herself.





“They doing anything to deserve it,” he asked, knowing that most of Faith’s own clashes with the police were self-inflicted.





“No, just walking home after a fight, couple of Bvashkavars, cops thought they were a little wobbly, hauled them in for a drug test.”





Demon’s got them that bad? He asked





No… yeah, they did a little damage, but…Janice said somebody was shooting darts at ‘em…after,” she said,”…one nicked Stacy, made her a little… stoned.”





“Bvashkavar’s using dart guns now,” Xander asked.






________________________________________________







"So, how's everybody...the Scooby's," Spike asked once they had settled into the booth.





Buffy shrugged. "Umh...Willow's a mom now."





"Yeah!" Spike was surprised yet happy for her, "...how'd she manage that, she still...she still with Kennedy?"





"Off and on, with Kennedy, so they say, and sperm donor, I guess...really don’t know. Tara Rose, she’s...almost five now. Kennedy spends most of her time away, South America, Asia and Australia."





"Wil’d make a good mum," he chuckled a little,"...and Xander?"





"He’s doing okay, has a small construction business on the side, but mostly he helps Giles run the place. I guess he and Faith are sorta together, off and on, when she’s here. She’s in charge of the east coast squad; they’re based out of Boston."





"And Anya," he asked wondering where she was in all this.





"You didn’t know? No, how could you know. Bringers got her; she didn’t make it out of the High School."





"Sorry, Love. I didn’t know. How’d the boy take it?"





She shrugged again. "He was tore up, wouldn’t admit it, but a few months later, the calls...it was pretty bad, but he...”





"Don’t say ’got over it’, Pet," Spike commented.





"I won’t, he didn’t."





"Giles," Spike asked changing the subject.





"Giles is...Giles. Overworked."





"You said you two weren’t that close anymore, what happened," he asked.





"You know what happened."





Spike hoped that was not the real reason, but her eyes said that it was.





"I’m sorry," he said with a heavy sigh.





"It’s not your fault," she said.





"Yeah, how’d you figure that," he asked knowing a lot of the distance between the two was because of him. "Buffy, you need him, he’s more your dad..."





"...than my Dad," she finished for him. "Yeah. I know. Wasn’t just that, I mean…he knew and he didn’t tell me. There’s been a lot of that and not all of it lately."






"I’m sorry," he whispered and nursed a sip of his drink. "What about the little boy, Andrew," he inquired after a slightly uncomfortable silence.





"Uh, he’s still with us...work in progress," she said. They both had a faint laugh. "Actually, he really does a lot to keep us all together."





"Wood?"





"He has L.A., about thirty to forty girls. I’m surprised you two haven’t..."





"No, we haven’t. Most of the Slayerettes I’ve run across ...well, they’re pretty much...rogue."





"Yeah, seems to be an issue," she said quickly under her breath. She was getting tired of talking shop and was ready for a topic change.





Slowly she leaned close and kissed him. He felt her tongue slip between his lips and glide across the edges of his teeth.





After a prolonged moment of wondering if she tasted like sweet almond or cyanide, he pulled away, deciding on both with a hint of wormwood: intoxicating, addictive and deadly, and simply looked at her.





"Was that confusing," she asked. "I can clarify it," once again she leaned close and he did as well.




A little later, the sound of plates being set on the table broke the spell of the moment.





Spike took a sip of his drink and exhaled slowly, with the second sip he downed it.





"Argh...woo."





"You okay," Buffy asked taking a sip of hers.





"Too fast," he said his voice hoarse from the straight whiskey or the kiss or both.





"That’s what you get when you slam it," she commented reaching for one of the empty appetizer plates and a fork. She started poking at the hot selection of goodies on the platter that had appeared on the table a few minutes ago while they were preoccupied.





"No, not the drink," he said still raspy, vocal cords still stinging, "...long time." He cleared his throat and reached for the other plate.





She looked at him with a little half smile and said, "yeah, right." There was more than a hint of sarcasm in her voice.





"No...really," he said cutting his eyes toward her as he speared a shrimp.





"Really," she asked with sincere surprise.





"Well, yeah," He said.





She laughed. “You mean, seven years and you haven’t…” Buffy began popping half a spring roll into her mouth.





“No”





“Not even once,” she questioned, “…with anybody? “





“Well…half,” he added quickly turning his attentions back to the plate of appetizers.





Buffy noticed his evasive shifts in position, the subtle sullenness of his tone and she couldn’t resist it, an opportunity to make him uncomfortable, like manna from heaven …must be the Slayer in me that makes me jump on every opportunity to torture him, neah…he’s just so cute when he squirms.





“Half,” she said carefully timing her next tidbit for maximum effect and almost losing the entire mouthful in the process. “What do you mean half…” she paused, “there is no half. You either did or didn’t.”





He wobbled his head slightly and scoffed as he thought how he would say it. “Harmony, and yeah… Half.”





Harmony she could handle, but the half was puzzling her.





“Half?” She asked again.





“We were under the influence of supernatural forces, started, didn’t finish. She tore into me. She wasn’t herself and I sent her arse end over…” he paused eyeing the prawns, “… appetite,” and settling for a stuffed mushroom instead after sniffing it for stray garlic.





“Just once or…” Buffy began, eyeing him sideways while picking at her plate. She had never considered Harmony a threat in any way, mortal or vampire, but Harm and Spike did have a thing going for a while.





“Pl-ease, “he said, “Harmony?” He scoffed lightly. “Half,” added ardently and speared another shrimp.





She gave the little half-shrug that meant she was satisfied with that response, but kept staring at him.





“What?”





“Aren’t you going to ask?”





“No.”





“Aren’t you curious?”





“No.”






“Why not?”





He sighed. She was not going to let it alone until he answered.





“Cause it makes me crazy to think about you with….anyone, so I try not to think about it at all,” his voice tapered to a whisper. “So, no, rather not know.” He was extremely happy to see their meals on their way to the table. Food, one of her best diversions, he thought, relieved at getting off the hook.





The trays no sooner hit the table when the pager went off.






To be continued...


Chapter End Notes:
The next posting has some major rewrites in progress so it may take a while for me to get it ready to post, but rest assured it is coming.



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