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chapter four - physics

Fred was exhausted. After the Zeklar chase, capture and debrief, she headed straight to her apartment the moment Angel gestured for them to get out of his office. Besides, she knew that in a few hours he would call them back to Wolfram and Hart for another round of research and answers. So her game plan was simple: Get some rest and get some food before getting back to the task of locating Charm, and the rest of the Seven Wiccas.

Rest wasn't going to be that easy with Spike hanging around, though. She wondered if Winifred Burkle and vampires were a match made in friendship heaven, or would that image work better if she thought hell instead? Nonetheless, Spike was in her living room as she banged around in the kitchen, looking for something to cook and checking for bags of blood that might be in the refrigerator. Absently, she listened as Spike flipped through the channels on the television, searching for one of those strange shows he seemed to love.

Alone in her kitchen, Fred suppressed a grin as she recalled the first time she'd seen Spike. He had been in Angel's office rising out of an amulet in a swirl of wind, noise and fury. At Wolfram and Hart, Spike's rebirth was not that big of a deal. Yet, he really got to her. There was just something about him. Even with Angel's warnings about this vampire who had killed two slayers and manipulated the trust of another, Fred had never been afraid of Spike. She saw what Angel refused to admit. Spike was important. He was special.

That's when it started between the two of them. To Fred, their connection had been instantaneous, and strong. Overnight, she became so familiar with Spike's quirks; she could recite his daily platitudes about Angel in her sleep. Testing her skills, she whispered in her pseudo-Spike voice, “Working at Wolfram and Hart was the biggest mistake of my un-life” he'd complain. "Peaches is a bloody ponce and a miser," he'd shout. Spike had at least seventy maxims for Angel alone, Fred calculated, maybe more.

“All I do is sniff out Angel's bloody list of demon fugitives. The mates at the pub call me Angel's vampire basset hound.” That was one of Fred's favorites.

Spike was right. He was known as Angel's tracking machine – or hound. With that kind of rep, not too many patrons at the neighborhood strip joints Spike frequented sat down to chat with him at the end of a long night. Course, Fred did. She was his partner, though, so it was expected. And she loved it.

“Fred and Spike, Gilbert and Sullivan, Liz Taylor and Michael Jackson, Mork and Mindy, Batman and…um…Catwoman,” he'd say.

“Spike I get the picture,” she'd respond.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, pet.” It would go on like that for hours, Fred recalled, giggling.

Many things Spike said made her laugh aloud, actually. She really loved his company. Right after he became corporeal and Angel paired them, she began to invite him to her apartment after a successful demon chase. As soon as they arrived at her place, Fred would go directly into the kitchen to grab lots of food for herself and pints of blood for Spike. She started keeping fresh pig's blood regularly in her fridge right after their first mission together. When she was too tired to cook, they'd order take out. He loved spicy, fried foods like hot-sauce drenched chicken wings and deep-fried floured onions. She loved Chinese.

After they'd eaten, the two exhausted demon chasers would plop down on the sofa and laugh about Angel (Spike's first choice of conversation), the latest demon fugitive (Fred's pretend focus), and then finally, about what was really on their minds.

By this time, Fred would be sitting close to Spike and sometimes he'd put his arm around her, and she would rest her head against his chest. They'd watch TV, she would giggle, and he would smirk as he joked about her skinny legs, her Texas drawl and her "big brain inside that pretty little head."

Eventually, Spike would begin talking about Angel, Drusilla, Buffy, torment, or the brutality of immortal life.

Fred would talk about physics.

As she reached for another pot and placed it on the hot stovetop, she came to a realization. If she allowed it, Spike would engulf her completely with his beauty, his kindness and his unwavering loyalty and love. She shivered with the thought. Then she shrugged and concluded, speaking softly, "it's inevitable."

He was so much like Angel. And just like when she first met Angel, Spike was never afraid to show her his passions and fears. Yet, it was fear that controlled them both, she believed. They were immortals, but more afraid of life than any beings she'd ever known.


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Spike sat in the big arm chair in the living room of Fred's apartment thinking about the things that had gone wrong in his un-life while trying to hang on to the memory of the one thing that had gone right.

Fred was in the kitchen, fixing something to eat. He heard pots and pans clanking, and water running. He also thought he heard her singing some song by the Dixie Chicks, or some other girl group she liked. He'd spent a lot of time with Fred since coming back from dust and the Hellmouth. Whether Spike was corporeal or not, Fred was simply easy to be with. She didn't ask for anything, said what she meant and acted on her words. Spike was “special” and a “champion,” according to Fred, and she accepted him for what she thought he was – something worth saving. That should have made him feel, well, good about himself. Most of the time, however, he felt lonely. The rest of time just plain angry.

It had been hard work for Fred and Spike tracking the Zeklar, getting it to talk, and delivering the message to Angel. Spike hadn't done that much on the message delivery end, but just being in the same room with Angel was hard work. In the months since his rebirth, Spike's irritation with his grandsire had no boundaries. Angel just pissed Spike off. They'd been a part of each other's worlds in one form or another since Spike became a vampire – nearly 120 years give or take a decade. Angel knew Spike better than Spike knew himself. Perhaps this truth made Spike the angriest. No, there was something—no, someone—else at the core of what was eating at Spike's soul.

Yeah, it was still all about Buffy.

Spike sighed, and let himself sink deeply into the soft chair. He spread his legs wide, getting even more comfortable as he let his head fall back against the headrest. He stretched his arms lazily and allowed them to fall easily over the chair's arms, which were soft and round and firm all at once. It felt good languishing in this chair. Spike was almost asleep when she knelt before him. He hadn't heard her walk in, but even though his eyes were closed, he knew she was there. She leaned forward, between his legs and reached to unbutton his shirt, the blue one, which he wore rarely these days. This day, he'd worn it with no T-shirt underneath. She moved her hands quickly and skillfully unbuttoning each button one after another. She opened the shirt and placed her hands on his bare chest. Her touch was warm, very warm. Her fingers lingered over the muscles of his chest, and she began to rub her thumbs over his nipples. First tentatively, then firmly; then fast, and then slowly, she moved her hands from his nipples down to his stomach.

Finally, her hands reached the top of his jeans, and she unzipped his pants. He was very hard, and when she freed his cock, Spike's breathing became harsh, needless and necessary all at once.

Caressing him with her hands, she held his cock gently before covering it with her mouth. Instantly, she was licking, kissing, and sucking him feverishly. Spike felt hot and wet all over as she teased him with her tongue, soaking his pulsing erection with moisture. He groaned, and fought the urge to pull her closer. He didn't want to orgasm. Not yet. He needed this to last as long as possible. Then she sucked deeply. His balls tightened as she moved her mouth from the base of his cock to its tip, lapping his pre-cum into her throat. Lifting her head, she gazed into his eyes and swallowed. Spike nearly lost all control as she released him. Suddenly she was standing and leaning forward, placing her mouth on his. The kiss began slowly. She tasted like chocolate and berries. His tongue responded to hers, eagerly entering her mouth, devouring it. He could kiss her for an eternity. All too soon, though, she stopped kissing him, tearing away from his lips as she reached to pull his pants down to his ankles. He helped her by lifting himself, hungry to feel her drenched body around his. She must have felt the same, he thought, as she quickly climbed into the chair and positioned her knees on either side of his hips.

He needed to be inside her. When she slid onto him, he pushed into her as deeply as he could, holding her hips firmly against him while he tightened his ass muscles to increase the force of his thrust. He shuddered as she returned his intensity with her own downward push. Closing his eyes even more tightly, he grabbed her around the waist and spoke from the core of his still heart in a whisper, “Oh god, Buffy, I've missed you so much."

When he said Buffy's name, Spike opened his eyes and saw, nothing.

He could hear Fred, still in the kitchen, and smell Buffy in the big empty room.

Spike heard Fred's voice calling his name and he closed his shirt, and pulled up his pants too quickly for human eyes to comprehend.

“Spike, did you say something.” As Fred walked into the room, he leaned forward in the chair, and placed his hands over his eyes.

“Spike,” she said again.

He looked up, and he knew she understood the look in his eyes.

“Fred, I was with Buffy. Just now. I was with her. Wasn't dreaming. Know I wasn't dreaming." He looked down, shaking his head. "She was here or I was there. Doesn't matter. I just know, we were together.”


to be continued...





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