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Chapter 21


Spike slid out of bed and groped for his jeans. Heck, this couldn’t be happening now. Not after all they’d been through. He hopped into them, nearly falling over in his haste to get them on, and opened the bedroom door. Then ran straight into Buffy who was standing right outside.

“Buffy." He had to make her understand that he would never want anyone but her. “Buffy, what you saw...”

She put her finger to her lips to quieten him. “Shh. You’ll wake the whole floor. It’s okay Spike, I knew where Anya was going, I followed her. I just didn’t want her to see me, that’s all.”

“You did? You didn’t?” Spike tried to get his alcohol-fogged brain to work out what she’d actually said. Was she saying that she’d seen him in bed with another woman and she didn’t mind? That she was prepared to forgive him? She was wonderful! He tried to get his arms around her and give her a hug, but she pushed him off.

“Not now Spike, we’ve got to get Anya to her room. She can’t stay in there.”

“You are the most understanding girlfriend anyone could have, do you know that?” He tried for his best puppy-dog look, thinking it wouldn’t hurt to get an extra bit of forgiveness in. “And that dress, did I mention that you look fantastic in it?” He laid his head on her shoulder and gazed at her. “You’re a fairy princess, that’s what you are.”

Buffy pushed him upright. “Quit messing around Spike. What about Anya?”

Spike stood up, feeling a little offended at the way she was brushing off his compliments. Women! There was just no pleasing them. Then he suddenly remembered the comment she’d made about the medieval underwear, or lack thereof. He pasted what he hoped was a sexy grin on his face and took a handful of the dress, slowly sliding it upwards. “Gonna show me what you’re wearing under this thing?”

“Spike!” Buffy firmly removed his hand and gave it back to him. “Just how much did you have to drink?”

“Can’t remember. Aww come on Buffy, you promised.”

“I did not, and someone’s gonna hear us. Keep it down will you.” He felt himself being propped against the wall as he staggered a little. She had promised, he thought sulkily. She definitely said so on the phone. And she had no right to look so gorgeous. He leaned in for a kiss, lips puckered and realised that she wasn’t there any more. She was peering around the door to his room.

“Come on Spike, she’s still asleep. Let’s get her back to her room while the coast is clear.”

“Okay, I’m coming.” He followed her rather unsteadily into the room, the world tilting at odd angles as he moved. Whoa, that mead packed quite a wallop. Just how many had he drunk?

---------------------------

He was in a very strange mood, she thought, tiptoeing into his room and beckoning him to follow. Anya still lay where she’d landed, and she looked pretty much out of it. Buffy wasn’t sure she wanted Spike man-handling Anya back to her room since the girl was all but naked, but given Spike’s current state of drunkenness, he probably wouldn’t remember any of it anyway. His face had been something else when she’d walked in on them. What on earth had Anya been trying to do to him? No, don’t answer that, she thought. It wasn’t his fault. Anya had had this planned from way back. Still, it had been a bit disturbing seeing them together like that. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind as she contemplated the best way forward.

“Can you pick her up Spike?” He didn’t look as if he was listening. Instead he was staring straight at Buffy’s cleavage, which was rather revealing. She waved a hand in front of his face. “Spike, are you with me? You’ve got to pick her up. I can’t do it by myself.”

“Let’s shove her in the bathroom, then you can show me that medieval understuff.” He made another play for her skirt but she slapped his hand away.

“I can’t believe you just said that,” she replied in an appalled whisper. “We can’t put her in the bathroom. What if she wakes up?”

“She won’t be waking up any time soon. Plenty of time for you know what.”

Buffy didn’t know what to do with him. He was in a very silly mood, but they did need to move Anya. She’d initiated this, but there was no telling what kind of trouble she could make for Spike. Especially if she woke up in his bathroom, feeling like a scorned woman. Anya seemed very much the type for vengeance, and Spike seemed totally oblivious to the seriousness of the situation. She contemplated him as he swayed before her, a pleasant grin on his face. He didn’t look capable of carrying anyone anywhere.

“Look, you grab her top half, and I’ll take her feet. And please, keep your voice down.”

As she jumped up on to the bed, very hampered by her long dress, she prayed they wouldn’t meet anyone. Most of the students were still at the banquet, but some had to be in their rooms. She’d had to plead for a trip to the bathroom to get away from the jester, who’d been having a wonderful time groping her for most of the evening. It was a good job that Spike had sneaked out early because his glares had been getting darker and darker as the evening wore on, and Buffy had started to be seriously worried at the prospect of a fight breaking out. She slipped her hands under Anya and tried to roll her to the edge of the bed, but she was a dead weight and refused to budge.

“Don’t just stand there, Spike, help me," she hissed. She really wanted Anya out of there, and she was going to get her out if she had to drag her down the corridor herself. Buffy suddenly found herself getting unreasonably angry at the situation. How dare she throw herself at her boyfriend, wearing what she was, or rather wasn’t, wearing. How could she imagine Spike would go for that cheap get-up? Buffy gave Anya another heave and managed to get her to roll over.

“Catch her Spike, she’ll fall off the bed.” God, she so did not want Anya to leave Spike’s room with bruises. “Spike?”

Spike shook his head, and leaned forward to help, at last. He’d definitely been looking at Anya, Buffy thought , with a slight twinge of jealousy. Staring even. Buffy hadn’t ever seen him like this before. She kept reminding herself that he was drunk, but he would never do anything. Not even drunk And he was a man, after all, not a saint as he’d so recently reminded her. She could cope with this. The main thing was to get Anya safely back in her bed. She slid off the bed and went to take hold of Anya’s feet. Anya chose that moment to semi-wake up and start babbling to herself. Buffy held her breath, and grabbed Spike’s hands as he suddenly started to be helpful and lift Anya’s head up. Anya flopped back down again and, crisis over, Buffy let go of Spike’s hands and indicated that he should pick her up.

She was a lot heavier than she looked. Either that or Spike wasn’t pulling his weight in the picking up department. They just about made it to the door without dropping her, then Buffy heard footsteps coming down the corridor. Oh no, this was turning into a French Farce.

And they couldn’t get back into the room fast enough.

“What are you doing?” It was Andrew, also looking a little worse for wear, and also not talking very quietly. “Is this a private orgy, or can anyone join in?” He grinned widely at his own joke, and then peered very closely at Anya.

“Is that...”

How the hell was she going to explain this?

She wasn’t, Buffy decided, and Spike obviously wasn’t going to be any help to her whatsoever. He was frozen in place, staring at Andrew as if he’d suddenly grown two heads. This was no time for back-pedalling and excuses. She could bluff her way out of this.

“Oh, thank god you’ve come,” she said, putting on her most concerned expression. “Poor Anya, she got the wrong room, and then she sort of passed out, and, well, you can see how it looks.”

She nodded at Andrew, who nodded vigorously back, with the sort of look that told her he had no idea what she was talking about.

“Would you mind?” She indicated Anya’s feet to him. "Just help Spike get her to her room, will you?”

Andrew seemed to notice Spike for the first time, and suddenly Buffy had another staring idiot on her hands. Spike and Andrew, both looking at each other like startled rabbits, Andrew’s eyes squarely planted on Spike’s bare chest.

Buffy tapped her foot and pulled a face. “Now would be good.”

The two men both jumped into action at once and between them they managed to haul Anya into her room, which luckily, she’d left unlocked. They dropped her unceremoniously on the bed and tiptoed out. As Buffy was shutting the door she caught a glimpse of the prof disappearing around the corner with his arm around what definitely looked like a man. She shook her head. This was turning into one strange evening.

“Thank you Andrew. You will umm, keep this quiet, won’t you?”

Andrew nodded, still looking a bit dazed, and still reluctantly trying to tear his eyes away from Spike’s chest. Spike, to give him his due, was starting to look rather embarrassed by the whole affair. Buffy decided she’d already forgiven him for the ogling of Anya, back there, but she couldn’t resist the thought of having some fun at Spike’s expense later on. “Well, goodnight Andrew, and thanks.” Why wasn’t he going? She couldn’t take Spike to her room until Andrew disappeared and he didn’t look like he was going anywhere.

“I’ve got a bottle of whiskey in my room,” he suddenly said. “Would you like to...”

“No. I mean,” Buffy affected a big yawn. “Goodness I’m tired, Sorry Andrew, I’ve just got to get to bed. And Spike, he’s tired too, aren’t you Spike?”

“Uhhm yes.” Spike joined in with the yawning, a little too enthusiastically for Buffy’s liking. She didn’t want Andrew to suspect what was really going on. After a few beats he waved them a goodnight and they all set off for their rooms. Buffy went into hers and decided to wait a few minutes to let Andrew get safely into his. She brushed her teeth and refreshed her perfume. Spike looked so good without a shirt, she thought, feeling all glowy inside. It had really started to get her in the mood.

She peered out, found the coast clear and scuttled into Spike’s room. He was already in bed, cuddled up with his pillow, and, unfortunately, fast asleep. She looked at him fondly, and reached over to smooth his hair off his face. It was stiff with the huge quantity of gel that he’d used. Poor Spike. She’d never seen him look as insecure as he had tonight. She’d seen him sad and vulnerable, angry and sorry for himself, but this was something else.

She slipped out of the dress, draping it carefully across a chair and took off the underwear she’d been going to surprise him with. A rather redundant gesture after Anya, she thought, but never mind. At the end of the day, she was still the one getting into bed with Spike, and staying the whole night. And lot’s of nights after that. Poor Spike. He really didn’t need this after what they’d just been through. She wrestled the pillow out of the death grip he had on it, and pulled him into her arms. He did a quick snuggle and settled back into sleep. Then she switched the light off and held him as she thought about the little boy who’d lost his mother, who had grown into the man who wrote erotic poetry, and computer games. The man who loved her, and who at this precise moment she loved with such an intensity that if she put it all into a hug, she’d be in danger of squeezing him to death.

Lovely, sexy, beautiful Spike. And, she thought smugly, he’s mine, all mine. So there, Anya!

----------------------------

Spike woke up without much of a hangover, which considering how much he’d had to drink, was remarkable. He was however, alone and he couldn’t remember whether Buffy had spent the night with him or not. He did remember the debacle with Anya, though, and he cringed inwardly as he got out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. What the hell had she been playing at? Well, that was obvious, but what was she going to do next? She could make trouble for him, that was for sure. He only hoped that she’d be as embarrassed as he was about it and maybe they could quietly forget about it. And Buffy - was she mad at him? He had to know.

“Buffy?” He changed his phone to his other hand, picked up a comb, and squinted into the mirror. What the hell was wrong with his hair? It had set like concrete.

“No, I’m fine, about last night...” He breathed a sigh of relief as she answered him cheerfully. At least she didn’t sound mad at him. In fact there was a definite giggle in her voice.

“I did what on the stage? I don’t remember that.” Spike felt himself getting hot. “You’re joking, Buffy, please tell me you’re joking.” He heard another giggle and then she went into great detail about something involving a chastity belt and suit of armour. “Christ, Buffy, tell me I didn’t. Please say I didn’t.” The trouble was, that he did remember both the chastity belt and the suit of armour, he just couldn’t make the connection between him and them. And Buffy had lost it totally now.

“Okay, okay, you got me there. Very funny.” He deserved it he supposed, but did this mean that he was forgiven for the Anya incident? “Look, Buffy...You do? God you’re wonderful. See you downstairs. Love you.”

He snapped his phone shut feeling mightily relieved. Not that he doubted that Buffy would believe him, but it hadn’t looked good. And how would he have felt if he’d found Buffy in that position with Riley, or one of the other students? He hoped he’d never have to find out. Now all he had to do was face Anya, who unfortunately was in his group for the morning meeting. He finished dressing, grabbed the folder of handouts and made his way downstairs, hoping that the prof was going to turn up for a change. The students had to be organised into groups and sent off on location to get whatever inspiration they could for a piece of poetry, and they were all going to present what they’d written at the end of the day.

This was at least his chance to get Buffy alone. She didn’t know these parts, so he had a perfectly legitimate excuse to be her escort for the day. There was no way Anya was going to want to go with them, was there? But there was the problem of getting rid of Andrew, who had managed to perfect his leech impersonation and was even now running to catch up with him as he made his way down the stairs.

“Morning, Spike,” he panted. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” Spike slowed down. Andrew may be annoying, but he was an undergrad, and Spike felt kind of responsible for him. “You don’t look so good though. Rough night?”

“A bit.” Andrew grabbed Spike’s arm. "Your secret is safe with me.” He spoke in a very loud whisper, and winked several times.

Oh hell, Spike suddenly remembered Andrew’s involvement in last night, and the poor lad still had that facial tic. “Uhh, last night? You sure you got the right person Andrew?” Denial. That was going to be the only way out of this mess. He’d just deny everything and maybe Andrew would leave him alone.

But Andrew wasn’t giving up that easily. “Last night. You know with...” A light bulb suddenly seemed to go on over his head. “Oh, I get it. Last night didn’t happen. Of course, Spike.” He laid his hand dramatically on Spike’s arm and gave him another knowing wink. “My lips are sealed.”

Spike removed Andrew’s hand and moved hastily away from him. It was suddenly beginning to dawn on him what all the funny looks were about. “Well that’s sorted then. Good lad.” He handed him the folder of handouts. “Look after these for me will you? They’re very important, make sure everyone gets one.”

Andrew beamed as he took the folder. “Sure thing Spike, you want me to go now?”

“Yes please. Umm, I’ve got something to do.” Spike watched him turn the corner of the stairs, giving him a good head start before he followed him. Bloody hell, he hoped those moon-faces Andrew was giving him weren’t what they thought they were. That’s all he needed.

------------------------------

“Alone at last.”

Buffy slipped her arm around Spike’s waist and contemplated the view. Nothing like the Great Lakes, or Niagara Falls, but Lake Windemere was charming in a very English sort of way. And it satisfied the American tourist side of her which had always imagined that England looked just like this. They were sitting on the deck of the boat that took excursions along the length of the lake, and thankfully neither Anya, nor Andrew were with them.

Buffy took the tourist brochure from Spike. “Can we go to the Beatrix Potter Museum? Peter Rabbit is so cute.”

“Yeah, anything you say darling.” Spike leaned in for a nibble of her ear, then trailed a line of kisses down her neck. “After last night, I’m your slave, Buffy. I don’t deserve you.”

Buffy laughed. He hadn’t left her alone for a minute since they’d got on the boat. She’d already said there was nothing to forgive a dozen times, but he seemed determined to prove how contrite he was. She smoothed her wind-swept hair back and reached into her pocket for her notebook. “Okay, inspiration.”

Spike favoured her with one of his sexy grins. “I could help with that.”

“It’s not that sort of poem, got to be about nature and, Spike, stop that, people are watching.”

“Don’t care.” He hooked his arm around her neck and kissed her hard on the lips. “Let them look, I don’t care who knows.”

Buffy kissed him back, she didn’t really want to say no, and then pulled back to look at him.

“But what about the student-teacher relationship. Haven’t we got to be careful?”

Spike leaned his head on her shoulder. “Look I’ll have a quiet word with the prof. He’s the one that counts in this, and the other students aren’t going to say anything, are they?”

“Anya might. Spike, can you imagine how she’d going to feel if she sees us together? You rejected her and then she sees you with me. She could make all sorts of trouble.”

“Yeah, I’d thought about that.” Spike’s head stayed on her shoulder, his hand running lightly up and down her jean-clad thigh. “Would you have a word with her, woman to woman, like? I don’t have a clue what to say to her.”

Buffy’s heart sank. Someone had to talk to Anya. Find out what her take on last night was, and unfortunately, Spike was right. It would be better coming from her. “Okay, but I don’t have to tell her about us yet. Do I?”

“S’pose that can wait.” Spike stood up as the boat started to dock. “But she’s gonna find out.”

Buffy took his hand as he pulled her up. “I’m not looking forward to it, she’s had this planned for weeks.”

“Then you should have told me, Buffy. Why didn’t you?”

“Because I didn’t think for a minute she'd go through with it. My bad. Which way’s the museum Spike? I don’t want to talk about Anya, I’ve got a poem to write.”

“I hate to tell you this, but Wordsworth did not write Peter Rabbit. And you’re getting very good at changing the subject.”

“Well, I learnt from a master.” Buffy took his hand and pulled him after her. “Are you gonna show me the way or not? Cool, a souvenir shop, come on.”

She bought a variety of things that she thought her father would like and paid an outrageous sum of money too have them parcelled and shipped to the States. Her father. That was another conversation she was going to have to have when they got back. It was nice being all grown up at last, but boy, was it complicated at times.

As luck would have it the first person they bumped into when they got to the museum was Andrew. He was still very much in ‘being- discrete-about-last-night’ mode, although Buffy thought he definitely looked a little surprised to see her and Spike together again. Spike actually managed to pay for something, at last, and despite her protests, he insisted on buying her the biggest cuddly Peter Rabbit they had in the shop. And then, as they were leaving, they walked straight into Anya, who was looking very much worse -for- wear.

It took her about five seconds to suss out what was going on. Buffy couldn’t help the glowy feeling she had inside as she walked beside Spike, carrying her big, stuffed rabbit, and even though they weren’t touching it was obvious they were a couple. Anya lifted her sunglasses and stared at them, a range of emotions playing over her face. Disbelief, hurt, embarrassment, surprise and betrayal. Then she spun round and walked away. Buffy made to go after her, but Spike stopped her.

“She’s a big girl, Buffy, she’ll get over it.”

“But she looked so upset, Spike. Let me go after her.”

“It’ll only make matters worse. Let her go.”

Buffy looked from Spike to Anya’s retreating form. She only had herself to blame, really, but she couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. Okay, so last night she’d been feeling smug that she’d got the prize, and Anya hadn’t, but heck, the girl looked so upset.

“She’s gonna win the poetry contest, Spike.”

“How’s that?”

“Angst. Bucket-loads of it. We don’t stand a chance.”

-----------------------------

Buffy was right. Anya turned in a poem of such gut-wrenching heartbreak, while still managing to fulfil the ‘nature’ brief, that even the prof. was moved. She duly collected her prize, stopping on the way back to her seat to give Buffy a look of smug condescension. Oddly enough that made Buffy feel better. She had deceived Anya, so she deserved it, but Anya’a behaviour had been appalling, so Buffy decided to stop feeling sorry for her.

Anya cornered her briefly as the meeting broke up. “You should have told me Buffy. About you and Spike, you made me make a proper fool of myself." She folded her arms and looked as if she was waiting for Buffy to reply.

Buffy didn’t know what to say. Which was lucky because Anya wasn’t going to let her get a word in anyway.

“Had a good laugh behind my back did you? Well, you’ll be pleased to know I won’t be requiring a lift home. I have other friends.” She turned and walked away, leaving Buffy with her mouth still half-open. Then she stopped and turned back. “And I’d be careful if I were you. Spike’s practically your teacher, in case you hadn’t noticed. In this country, it’s just not done.”

Heck, Buffy thought, you’re one to talk, but maybe she was right about the other thing. If she’d told Anya straight out about her and Spike, then this disaster would have been averted. But what if Anya had decided to make a thing of it, and got Spike into trouble? Were they worrying about nothing? Did anyone really care? Spike had said that she should have told him about Anya, and recalling that made her remember that other thing she hadn’t told him yet. About the time Dru had come to his flat. Was that still important? She snapped out of her reverie as Spike came over to her.

“Group of students are going down to the pub. Feel I ought to go.” He looked at her enquiringly. “All cosy and countrified with the log fire and everything, you’ll like it. Yes?"

She nodded absently. She should tell him about Dru. Would he be mad that she hadn’t?

“Okay, Spike,” she picked up her notebook and slung her bag over her shoulder. “I’d like that. I’ll get my coat.” She went back to her room thinking that secrets weren’t a good thing in a relationship. But, she’d been working from the best of intentions, because she really believed that if she had told him there would have been trouble, and Dru seemed crazy enough for anything.

Buffy found her coat and slipped it on. She needed to return the costume too - it was still on it’s hanger. She picked it up and draped it over her arm, intending to hand it in when she went down, but then she hung it up again. She still owed Spike his little medieval fantasy, and perhaps when he was in a very good mood, she’d tell him about Dru.





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