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Author's Chapter Notes:
Author's note: a huge thanks to my friend Mariana who did not only beta this for me, but is the reason this chapter exists.
Chapter 6
Independence Day

Spike sat on a pillow on the floor, tapping his fingers on the expensive wood of the mahogany coffee table impatiently. His business partner was sitting opposite of him, having a strong mocca and smoking heavily. He was considerably older than Spike, his face haggard and worn, with piercing eyes and unnaturally red lips. His teeth were pearly white, like a shark's, which Spike felt strongly reminded of, every time that the man smiled. His political career had started out as a military governor, but he had taken over the rule of several neighbouring kingdoms and proclaimed himself a sultan, carefully establishing his reputation as a fearsome and fearless conqueror. He had had a real name a long time ago, but it had been forgotten, almost as if he was some kind of fallen god, even before Spike was born. Instead, people called him khawandi, "Lord", "Master", yet not reverently, but from fear. Spike had no intention of doing business with him, but he could not outright refuse the khawandi's request to meet him.
The longer they talked, however, the more resolved Spike was not to falter in the face of this man.
"My offer is a good one, Sheik Khari Ahani," the khawandi told him. "You should think about it."
"I am honoured and flattered by your offer," Spike said politely, "But my country isn't big, nor rich. I don't think the few oilfields we have are of any significance to you."
The khawandi chuckled, drawing in more smoke. "Leave it to me what is significant."
Spike indicated a bow of his head. "Of course. If you will permit me to decide what is important to me and who I'm doing business with. I am sorry, if you had told me right away you came the long way just to ask me this question, I would have asked you to stay at home. I'm not selling you any oil fields. They are the only sustenance for a lot of people in this kingdom."
The khawandi sighed and fixed Spike with a burning gaze. "Stubborn like your father."
Spike held his gaze. "I take that as a compliment."
His rival's voice had a sneering tone to it. "A pity you are overlooking a detail."
Spike remained calm on the outside, but was burning with rage from within. "And what would that be?"
The khawandi's expression was unreadable, not openly hostile. In a matter-of-fact tone, he replied: "Your father is dead."
Spike rose from the pillow. "Yeah. But I'm not. Those oilfields belong to my people. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't sell them to you."
The khawandi bowed mockingly. "As you wish, Sheik. Don't say I didn't make a most profitable offer later." He walked toward the window and gazed down at the gardens.
Spike desperately wanted him out of his palace and out of his life, but he could not throw him out without violating the laws of hospitality.
Suddenly, the khawandi's eyes focused on something down below. " Gameel," he exclaimed, pretty. Spike followed his gaze and froze. Down in the gardens, Buffy was sitting next to the fountain, going through some texts for Khari's lessons.
"Who is she?" the khawandi asked curiously, devouring Buffy with her eyes.
"My son's English teacher," Spike said, trying to sound cold and disinterested. If this man found out Spike had feelings for her, he would do everything in his power to take her away from him.
"Moron," he said, "You didn't make her one of your wives, you're such a fool."
Spike straightened his shoulders. "As a matter of fact, I did. She's my wife."
The khawandi turned to Spike with a suddenly benevolent smile. "Tell you what. Let's forget about the oilfields. We wouldn't want such vain materialism come between our people, now would we? It's not worth a conflict among brothers, is it?"
Spike eyed him suspiciously. He did not like the sound of it, he didn’t like it at all. Conflict and brothers in the khawandi's vocabulary had too often spelt W- A -R.
He gestured down at Buffy, asking Spike: "Kam sacri l-layla?"
Spike thought he had misheard him, or maybe it was best to try to remain oblivious, since the truth would be too hard and painful to face. "Lâ 'afham," he said, I don't understand.
"Oh yes, you've heard me. What's the price for one night?"
Spike shook his head, trying not to think about the repercussions his next words could have in the future of his people and kingdom. "Get out of my house," he told him, his voice quiet, yet deadly cold.
"Not so fast, dear sheik. I am sure we can reach an agreement," the Master said. His gaze traveled into the distance. "I even reached an agreement with your father."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Spike snapped.
"About your mother, of course." The Master looked at him, coldly, emotionless. "Don't tell me you haven’t figured it out by now. I could have taken your pathetic resources with my army cadets. How do you think your old man managed to keep his oilfields?"
Spike was sure these were nothing but lies, but it stung nonetheless. "Get out," he spat forcefully.
"You're throwing me out, breaking the laws of hospitality?" the khawandi asked. "Think about it. She's just a girl. Her lips will still taste sweet and her skin will still smell of wild roses and honey when I send her back to you."
Spike headed for the door, opened it demonstratively. "Maca salâma," he said, threat in his every word, Go without fear, firmly restraining himself from uttering some of his more crude thoughts, for the sake of his people and Buffy.
The Master bowed. "Ilâ l-liqâ' - until next time, Sheik Khari Ahani. I gave you a chance once - you won't get a second one."
Spike slammed the door closed behind him. He was shaking, now. He felt humiliated and betrayed, but he had stood his ground. At least for the moment. He felt a wild longing to see Buffy, to tell her all about the danger she had been in, how he had done everything to keep her safe. But he could not say a word, he would not. He had to look cheerful as if nothing had happened. He tore the door open and called a guard, instructing him to summon the leaders of his body guard, the Janissaries. He needed backup for his army.
Buffy looked up at Spike's window. There was no one to be seen. But she felt chills running all through her body as if death had been calling for her.
She shuddered.
"Beautiful morning, isn't it, my lady?"
Buffy turned around. Instinctively, she shied back from the old man with his bloodshot eyes. She pulled her veil over her face a little more tightly and nodded.
"What's your name, child?"
"B... " She hesitated, suddenly seeing a point in the old belief that giving someone your name gave him power over you. The freedom fighters had frightened her beyond imagination, but his man made her feel cold inside. "Buffy," she whispered.
He chuckled. "What a beautiful name for such a noble creature."
"Excuse me," she said and curtseyed politely, then made to bolt for the palace, but he grabbed her forearm and held her with an iron and punishing grip, all the while with a sardonic smile on his face.
"Khari failed to introduce us," he drawled, running a long yellow fingernail along the hem of her veil. "I am called khawandi. Master."
"By whom?" Buffy replied without thinking, regretting her mistake the same moment.
With a sudden movement, the khawandi jerked away her veil and touched the white skin of Buffy's neck. Meanwhile Buffy remained frozen in place, with widened eyes. "Soon," he promised in a whisper.
Then he was gone.
Buffy hastily put her veil in place and fled to her lesson with Khari, suddenly feeling very alone, vulnerable and cold.
*
Buffy's day had passed swiftly as she spent more and more time with Khari. He was a bright, but incredibly stubborn boy, yet she enjoyed teaching him nonetheless. When he frowned at her, tilting his head in disbelief about one fact or another, watching her with his clear, innocent blue eyes, he reminded her so much of Spike that sometimes she had to look away in order to keep focused. Today was one of those days.
"... and the eagle is the American national bird," Buffy explained. "But Benjamin Franklin..." She blinked. "We've talked about him, haven't we?"
Khari nodded. "Yes, we have."
Buffy beamed. "Ok, Ben Franklin didn't want the eagle to be the national bird. He actually saw the eagle as a filthy scavenger and proposed that a different, nobler bird should be used to symbolize the country. Have a guess, which bird did Ben like?"
Khari thought about it for a minute, his face serious and concentrated. "Maybe... the peacock!"
"That would have been pretty," Buffy agreed, "But, no, I'm afraid it wasn't the peacock! Guess again?!"
Khari looked a little disappointed, but he thought again. "How 'bout... the penguin! It's got black and white feathers, like wearing a smoking, that is a bit noble, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Buffy admitted, "But the penguin isn't a bird that can be found in North America, so old Ben wouldn't have chosen that one. So what other national bird would he have liked?"
Khari began to look frustrated. "Who cares? He didn't get what he wanted! Why am I supposed to learn what the Americans didn't do?"
"The turkey," Spike said quietly.
Khari and Buffy turned around, startled by his sudden appearance.
"Daddy!" Khari rushed to the door and hugged Spike's legs. Spike smiled at him and lifted him up in his arms carrying him to the desk Khari and Buffy had been working at, sitting down with Khari on his lap.
"Hi, Buffy," he said.
"Hey," Buffy replied. She frowned as she looked at him. Something wasn't right. "You okay?" she asked.
Spike nodded. "Tough business negotiations. I'm just a little tired." Smiling to himself he felt some weight lifting off from his troubled heart, there was still a glimmer of hope for them since Buffy had been concerned enough to ask.
"It was not the turkey," Khari said reproachfully.
Buffy shrugged. "Sorry, I'm afraid it was."
Khari's face fell. "Really?"
Buffy nodded, handing him a book. "Here. There is a letter from Ben to his daughter in which he tells her that he wanted the wild turkey to be the national bird." She began to read. Khari was listening attentively. "For my own part I wish the Bald Eagle had not been chosen the Representative of our Country."
Spike was watching her thoughtfully. While she was reading, she changed, her voice, the way she held herself. She sounded like an American president.
"He is a Bird of bad moral Character."
That makes two of us, Spike thought uneasily.
"He does not get his Living honestly. You may have seen him perched on some dead Tree near the River, where, too lazy to fish for himself, he watches the Labour of the Fishing Hawk; and when that diligent Bird has at length taken a Fish, and is bearing it to his Nest for the Support of his Mate and young Ones, the Bald Eagle pursues him and takes it from him."
She probably has a hard-working mother who raised her and made her the awesome girl she is, a mother that had been happy to take her kids on a holiday like this one, and then Buffy got taken away from her. Just like that. By me...
"For the Truth the Turkey is in Comparison a much more respectable Bird, and withal a true original Native of America," Buffy finished reading.
"Quite right," Spike murmured.
Buffy blinked. "Huh?"
Spike felt like he had given away some of his thoughts. He shook his head to get the image out of his mind. "Sorry. I just felt he had a point," he said sheepishly.
Buffy shrugged, nonchantly dismissing his answer, trying to seem unmoved by how his presence and boyish charm were affecting her. "I'm not judging or anything, but personally I think it was a wise choice to make the Eagle national bird and eat the turkey for Thanksgiving than vice versa."
Khari chuckled at that. "That was nice! Can we read another story, Buffy?"
Buffy shook her head. "Sorry, I don't want to keep your maths teacher waiting. We can have another story tomorrow, ok? Now you gotta run."
Khari nodded responsibly and got his bag. "See you, Dad. Bye, Buffy."
Spike watched him go.
Buffy gathered the books together silently, avoiding looking at Spike.
"So you're teaching Khari about America," Spike said casually, trying to start a conversation.
"I was going to return to our normal schedule tomorrow," Buffy hurried to say, "But I was thinking, since it's the fourth of July today..." Her tone was apologetic.
"Must be hard for you not to be at home now," Spike said.
Buffy did not reply. Actually, it was hard not to be at home every day, so she tried not to think about it.
Spike drew in a breath. "I mean... on your national holiday."
Buffy bit her lip. "The girls who are from the US are having a little dinner or somethin'," she said, trying not to think of Dawn and her mother.
"Oh," Spike replied with more than just a hint of disappointment to his words. "So you have plans for tonight."
"No," Buffy said quickly, then added: "I mean... yeah, why?"
Spike felt incredibly stupid. They both just stood there, staring at each other. "I was gonna ask you if you'd have dinner with me --- to talk about Khari's education. But if you already..."
Buffy smiled. "Tell ya what. I'm gonna show at the girls' dinner, and then I'll see you in your study."
"Not the study. Outside. In the park. I've been indoors a lot lately, we could take a walk." And I can tell you everything; for everything I've been longing to say will be best told in the dark, just in case I was going to blush like a schoolboy.
Buffy was surprised, but she agreed.
"Good," Spike said, letting out a breath of relief. "I'll see you later, then." He even held the door for her as she left for the serail.
Buffy froze in the movement. "Spike?"
He looked at her expectantly.
"Who was that guy who visited you earlier today?"
Spike stared at her. "What?"
"Old guy, waaay too many drinks, in desperate need for a manicure and some serious plastic surgery? Ka... kadaver or somethin'?"
"The khawandi," Spike said darkly.
"A total creep," Buffy remarked.
Spike felt his heart pounding in his chest. "He didn't... harass you or anything?!"
Buffy shook her head. "No, we just talked. I was... curious, that's all."
Spike drew in a sharp breath. "Good."
"Do me a favor?" Buffy asked, suddenly in a very small voice. "Don't let him get near me again."
He closed his eyes briefly, gathering his bearings. Then with a straight and solemn face, he said, "You're safe with me." And if he told this to himself over and over again, he might even believe it. The truth was that she was by no means safe as long as she was anywhere near him.


*
Buffy had difficulty seeing in the dark when she went down to the gardens that evening after a brief cameo at the girls' independence party.
She spotted a red-orange glow in the distance and began to walk toward it. As she came closer, she recognized the embers of an open fire in the sheik's private garden. Normally, this part was secured by locked gates. The lock had been removed and Buffy could enter. Next to the secured fireplace among exotic plants and palms, there was a huge woolen blanket spread on the sand, several baskets, a curious-looking bucket covered with a tea-towel and a portable ice box.
Buffy gave Spike a quizzical look. "A picnic?"
Spike gestured at the blanket. "It's what you usually do to celebrate the Fourth of July, right? I hope Willow hasn't told me anything wrong?"
Buffy grinned. "Nope. Outdoor cooking and sand and ants on your food, that's Independence Day."
Curiously, Buffy took a peek into the baskets. She tilted her head. "Has anyone told you that the key ingredient to any Fourth of July cookout or picnic is simplicity?"
Spike looked crestfallen. "Something wasn’t right. I knew it!"
"No, no," Buffy hurried to say, "Everything is traditional, but you don't normally have all of it. I mean, those baskets are suitable for 12 people."
"I thought you might like a choice," Spike said innocently.
Buffy's grin widened as she began to unpack the baskets, now and then uttering an enthusiastic little cry or a hysterical giggle. Hamburgers, cheeseburgers, beef ribs, hot dogs, BBQ chicken, cole slaw and potato salad, baked beans, chips and dip, sliced tomatoes, for dessert, cherry, blueberry and apple pie along with three different flavours of ice cream. As Buffy made to lift the tea-towel from the bucket, Spike's eyes flashed briefly in anticipation.
Buffy had a look at the bucket's ingredients and frowned. "You've gotta be kidding me."
Spike didn't look as if he was kidding. "Actually... no. Another tradition to be cherished on the Fourth."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, maybe for Khari."
Spike tilted his head. "So I take it you surrender?"
Buffy smiled and shook her head slowly. "In your dreams."
He shrugged. "I'd rather be fighting you anyway." Without another word, he jumped up and withdrew behind one of the palms, casting off his traditional garments, under which he was wearing a black tee and dark jeans (sorry, ladies!), which allowed for better movement. "Between the blanket and the coconut palm it's the safe zone," he shouted.
Buffy noticed there was another bucket right behind the palm. She reached into her bucket of water balloons and thrust one at Spike, who was still in the safe zone. It hit him in the back, exploding in a gush of icy water. "Safe zones are for babies!" she yelled.
There was no holding back any more as the two of them engaged in a merciless water balloon fight.
Throwing water balloons at Buffy and evading hers almost made Spike forget that their quiet and joyful life at the palace was under a dark cloud. He knew the Master and realized that he would not be by any chance outwitted. He always took what he wanted, and at the moment, that was both the oilfields and Buffy. She was not safe with him, no matter how much he wished to believe so. It was a well-known fact what the Master did to his women. There was a high fluctuation among his harem, to say the least. He had the bad habit of killing those he grew tired of. Spike had no illusions. He had feared that his alliance with the Master was just merely a way to buy him some time when he agreed to marry one of his daughters, Darla. He had anticipated the Master would lay claim on his son-in-law's property once again, sooner or later. It had taken the old wolf less than two minutes to realize that Buffy was his weak spot, and he would use it to break him.
Buffy did not know what was going through Spike's mind, but she noticed his momentary distraction, not really pondering on the reason behind it, and used it to her advantage, hitting him in the face with a water balloon. It was obviously some abrupt wakeup call and Spike's expression was so funny she laughed out loud.
Spike watched her for a moment. "You think you're so clever, huh?" he asked, then launched another attack, causing Buffy to shriek and seek shelter among the plants.
He hid his dark thoughts well. But he had no illusions about the fact that, if Buffy had a choice, she would not be spending this day in a water fight and picnic with him. She had arranged herself with the situation, what human beings do best, adapt. That did not mean she even liked him. Given what she must have been through, her every smile at him was like a miracle... or just good acting, he realized with a sinking feeling. Spike tried to push the thought away, the thought of what he was going to do tonight, what he had to do, what he was about to do. He tried not to think of the satellite cellphone hidden in the folds of the garment he had so leisurely discarded.
*
"I haven't been in a water fight since elementary school," Buffy admitted breathlessly as she fell down on the blanket, wiping a stray and very wet strand of hair from her face. "That was so funny!"
"Glad you had fun even though you lost," Spike teased her.
"I didn't lose," Buffy protested, "Look at you, you're soaking wet!"
Spike looked down at himself. "I guess, yeah. We're lucky it's a mild night. Nights can get very cold in this climate." He pulled the tee over his head, discarding it somewhere in the sand.
Buffy could not help but look at his perfect abs, his pale skin like white marble in the moonlight, his wet hair tousled. She resisted the impulse to run her hand over his body. Her look was not lost on Spike. It made things much more complicated.
His eyes traveled down from her face to her dress, which was not nearly as wet as his clothing, but had suffered a few direct hits in just the right places. He forced himself to look away. "Shall we have dinner?"
Buffy turned her attention to the food. "Good idea." For a moment, she just stared at the picnic undecidedly. "What shall I have? Those hot dogs look delicious, don't you think?"
"Have what you like best, Buffy. The hot dogs are yours, I'm not having any pork."
"You're allergic or somethin'?"
Spike smiled. "No, I'm just not having any pork. But that doesn't mean you can't."
"Tell ya what. Those BBQ wings look tempting. Yeah, I think I'll have those." Buffy nodded and helped herself to the chicken. "What do we have to drink?"
Spike checked the ice box. "Soda pop and tonic water, lemonade, iced tea, and..." He produced an exquisite champagne flute and a bottle of cold champagne.
"I've never had champagne before," Buffy said and took the glass from him. He opened the bottle and filled the flute, then helped himself to a glass of iced tea.
"You're not having any champagne?" Buffy asked disbelievingly.
Spike shook his head. "Sorry, I can't."
Buffy touched his arm compassionately. "I had no idea... I mean, look at you and all you have achieved, who would suspect you take such desperate actions... I'm so sorry, Spike. How long have you been a dry alcoholic?"
Spike blinked. "What?"
"Well, you did say you can't have any champagne, so I assumed..."
He laughed. "Oh, Buffy. That's so cute. No, I've never been addicted to alcohol."
Buffy shrugged and patted, longer than necessary, his muscular shoulder. "They all say that. Don't be ashamed, that happens to so many people."
Spike took her hand and caressed it. "Buffy, you don't understand. I've never had any alcohol. You're right though, it does bad things to many people when drank in excess. That is one of the reasons why we're not allowed to drink any alcoholic beverages."
"Oh." Buffy felt incredibly stupid. "I never thought of that. I'm so sorry." She stared at the glass in her hand.
"Don't look so embarrassed," Spike encouraged her, "Your culture has different laws and customs, you have champagne to celebrate an occasion, and one glass won't make you an alcoholic. As long as you know when to stop, you needn't worry."
Buffy felt suddenly reminded of a certain beer party in her freshman year at college and blushed.
Spike lifted his glass with iced tea. "So... cheers to America."
Buffy still looked doubtful. "I've never had champagne before, and I really wanna try it, but if you don't---"
"Buffy, I was the one who brought it, remember? Try it, and then tell me what it's like."
Buffy nodded gratefully and sipped her champagne.
Spike regarded her silently for a moment. "So?"
"It's..." She tasted the champagne again. "It's hard to describe... it's a bit like a flower, I mean, you see the buds and think they're pretty and that's it, and then the whole flower blossoms, and..." She frowns. "I'm reading way too much for Khari's lessons. It's nice. Really nice."
"I can't really imagine the taste of it," Spike admitted, "Can you describe it? Is it salty, or sweet?"
"Sweet," Buffy decided, then thought the better of it. "And a little sour, with just a hint of bitter..."
Spike looked puzzled. "Uh-huh..."
Buffy gestured helplessly. "It's so unfair you can't drink it, because it tastes like..." An idle thought suddenly flicked through her head. Her eyes locked on his.
Spike held her gaze, his expression attentive, and a little amused.
Buffy ran a hand through her hair self-consciously, not sure if she felt bold enough to make her suggestion without stammering or blushing. "You said you're forbidden to drink champagne... but your laws say nothing about tasting it?"
Spike looked confused. "I'm not sure I can follow." Then his gaze fell on Buffy's lips, still glistening with the wetness of the champagne.
Buffy's breath quickened. Tentatively, her fingers found his arms, drawing herself closer to him, until her lips were an inch from his mouth.
His hands lightly framed her face as he leaned in, painfully slow to kiss her.
She clung to his naked shoulders and closed her eyes to experience the kiss fully, to explore her feelings. She held her breath as she felt his tongue meet hers, her whole world stopped turning, and she even forgot where she was. As much as the little nagging voice in her head insisted that he was her captor and she a traitor to practically beg him to kiss her, her yearning for the kiss became strong enough to beat to death the little voice in the back of her mind, leaving in her skin the instincts she had tried to deny ever since she had seen him, the part of her that had always known she was meant to save him, in every way a man can be saved by a woman, destined to look beyond the walls he had so carefully built around himself, dealt an ugly hand for a purpose, singled out, chosen. He kissed her with such burning desire and at the same time despair, like the despair of a drowning man; that Buffy suddenly realized that it took weeks to build that kind of hunger, if not months or years. She was almost certain he had never kissed anyone like that, pouring all his soul into it.
Spike abandoned thought and opened himself to her. He tried to forget about the Master's sadistic grin and his sneering tone when he asked him for Buffy's price. There was no price and no bargain here. She was all soft lips and wild longing as he felt her fingers against his shoulders. He could not breathe, but it did not matter. Nothing mattered but her in his arms. Spike knew all about desire, and he was fond of all his wives, but this was new to him in a scary sort of way. It took a long moment before he gently broke the kiss, the urgency to come up for air undeniable.
Buffy gave him a shy side glance.
That was when the fireworks started.
Buffy giggled nervously. "Oh God. That's so cliché..."
Spike nodded, chuckling. "Totally cheesy."
Buffy glanced up into the night, illumined by hundreds of colours, reaching every shade of the spectrum, from blood-red to violet in an indigo sky. It was the most perfect Independence Day she had ever had, but in the most imperfect of circumstances. America. Would she ever see it again? Her family? And even if she did, it would not be without a sad good-bye she was not sure now her heart would be able to take. She blinked away her tears and lay back on the blanket, her head against Spike's bare chest.
Spike's mouth was dry. "Buffy... we need to talk."
Buffy avoided his gaze. "Don't you want to see the fireworks?"
Spike no longer cared about the fireworks. "Keep watching. I'll do the talking."
Buffy nodded, her eyes still focused on the sky. Stars exploded, fires rained down to the earth like colourful comets. There was a long moment of silence. Spike shifted uncomfortably. He would have preferred to talk to her later, but he was not sure he could do it at all after THE kiss. It took him several minutes to gather his thoughts. She did not seem to mind. It was easier for him to speak of these things while gazing at the sky instead of her face.
Spike cleared his voice. "Buffy... I don't know how to say this. I had no idea about the circumstances that brought you here. Hell, I don't even know your surname. Anya told me the other day what you went through. I've been telling myself that we had just a bad start and that I was sparing you a life that was bound to be worse than the one expecting you here. For some of the girls in the harem that's true. But for others, it isn't. What I mean to say... I understand you hate me, you think I'm a monster, and in a way I've been. I wanted to thank you, Buffy. For making me see that the world doesn't revolve around me." He paused. "What I didn't expect was that my world would suddenly start to revolve around you. I know you probably don't wanna hear it, so I'm not saying it. I have no illusions about that kiss, I see you're lonely and you've adapted to the situation, I can't blame you." He paused again, getting to the most difficult part. "It took me long enough to figure out that I don't want you to turn to me because I'm the only man available. You need to be able to make your own choices. You don't belong in my world, Buffy, but I got a taste of yours tonight. There are dangers in my world you're not aware of, all having to do with the unbidden visitor I had to receive today. You are not safe here, no matter how much I'd like to pretend you are. And I don't want you to suffer any more than you already have." He drew in a sharp breath. "This improvised celebration is my parting gift for you. This is your Independence Day, Buffy. You're free to go. There is a satellite telephone in my garment, must be somewhere over there on the sand. Take it, call the embassy, or your mother, whoever you want. Tomorrow my helicopter will take you to Cairo, first thing in the morning." That was it. It was finished, over, done with. He had done it. He had given her back her freedom. And though he should feel better, relieved from such a heavy weight such as telling Buffy his plans and feelings, he couldn’t help but suffer as if he was mourning.
But why didn't she jump and get the phone?
"Buffy?" he asked tentatively. "For God's sake, say something!"
Instead of a word, Buffy let out a satisfied snore and shuddered against him in her sleep.
Spike stared at her. She had fallen asleep. Before or during his speech?
"Buffy?" he whispered into her ear.
She stirred. Her eyelids fluttered. Then she sat up straight suddenly, eyes wide. "Happy birthday, America!" she exclaimed, then remembered where she was and stared at Spike. "I wasn't asleep!"
He gave her a chiding look. "You didn't hear a word of what I was saying!"
She stretched her limbs. "Sorry." The fireworks had finished, and an awkward silence settled over the scene.
"Are we going to talk about the kiss?" Spike asked to start the conversation again, though he was not sure how to repeat what he had just said.
Buffy rose, smoothing her dress with her hands. "Thanks. For the evening. For the picnic, the water fight, the fireworks, everything. It was nice of you to do that."
Spike picked up his garments, feeling the cellphone against the soft fabric. "Buffy, there's still something I..."
Buffy ran a hand through his hair, which was still a bit wet from the water fight. Her lips brushed against his lightly. "That guy, the Master or whatever he calls himself... he scared the shit out of me... but I feel... I mean, I know there are one zillion reasons why I shouldn't... but I feel safe with you."
He stared at her in disbelief. "You do?"
"Yes," she confirmed, but the next sentence was a blow he hadn't expected, so it hit him much harder. "That's probably why I kissed you. Don't get me wrong. You've arranged the perfect scenario, you've been kind, saying the right things at the perfect time, I adore your son, I appreciate your efforts at being a good father, and, God, you're probably the best kisser on the planet. Not that I've tried all of them," she hurried to add. But her face was too serious to carry a joke. "If we had been on the beach of some American small town on the coast of California tonight, celebrating my people kicking your people's ass, I could have imagined a lot going on between you and me in the romance department." She took a deep breath. "But the way things are, I know that you're never ever gonna give me as much as one chance to tell my mother I'm alive, and I'm not even talking about wanting to see her again."
Spike's hand closed on the cellphone, hidden in the garment. "You don't know that," he said between clenched teeth.
"Maybe you would," Buffy admitted, "After I slept with you. Don't get me wrong, I know you might just be sort of a nice guy under all that sheik crap. I know you care about me, though that might be a premiere for you. But today is about liberty, Spike. The freedom to make my own choices, live my own life. If that was even possible here and if you really loved me, you wouldn't hold a sheik's garments in your hands now, but a satellite cellphone." She shook her head. "I'm not your wife, Spike, and I never will be."
He froze with an unreadable expression on his face, standing there, amidst scattered leftovers of food, baskets, and two half-empty glasses, his back hot from the fire burning behind him.
It was only after the fire had died down that he noticed she had left.
He sank down to his knees, his hands on his thighs, clenching his pants, shaking his head, again and again, panting heavily to avoid an outburst of anger and frustration.
TBC...





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