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9. Night Terrors

It wasn’t until late afternoon that Buffy finally got to have her way and dragged a reluctant Spike into the upstairs portrait galleries. Buffy felt that she had been very patient while Spike showed off his knowledge of Egyptian, Greek, Middle Eastern and Far Eastern art, and felt the need to reciprocate with her own version of Impressionism 101 when they finally came to the area where she was the expert.

As she babbled on and on she suspected that Spike was feigning ignorance and disinterest in order to goad her on, much as she had tried to pretend not to be fascinated with the works of art he had shown her. The arms and armor exhibit she had found especially fascinating, and wondered why she hadn’t felt this excited about the earlier periods of art when she had been in college. Of course modern paintings were what she had been most familiar with, and so they had become her main focus.

By the time to two of them finally agreed to leave the museum, they were both staggering. It was only with some effort that they were able to pull themselves up from the front steps where they had sat so contentedly this morning and pile themselves into a cab. Exhausted, by mutual agreement they headed straight back to the hotel where they each returned to their own rooms and immediately fell asleep.

It was several hours later when a somewhat rejuvenated Buffy awoke ravenous. A brief peak into the master bedroom revealed a still slumbering Spike, so she began rummaging through the suite’s refrigerator in search of something worth eating. All she had managed to find so far that was in any way appealing were a few packets of cheese and crackers and some granola bars. Of course the suite came with a completely equipped bar, but that was SO not what she needed right now.

Earlier in the evening they had each been too exhausted to even contemplate eating, and they had made do with a smallish lunch after their mid-morning pretzel break. Contemplating her dinner of crackers and granola, Buffy was seriously feeling the lack of any substantive food.

When she heard his stumbling behind her, Buffy realized guiltily that she must have woken Spike when she turned on the kitchen light. Hair in disarray, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Spike shuffled in wearing only his boxers. He was definitely easy on the eyes, though his voice was a bit cross.

“Hungry again? You’d better marry into some serious money, pet, or you’re gonna eat the bugger out of house and home.”

Blushing at the candid comment as well as Spike’s lack of dress, Buffy managed a quick “sorry” before holding out one of the unopened packages to Spike.

Spike shook his head. “Not gonna eat that. We could try room service if you like.”

But room service was closed for the night. It was past two. They’d either have to wait till morning or go out in search of food. Spike was all for heading back to bed, but hearing the rumblings from Buffy’s stomach he relented.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “This is supposed to be the city that never sleeps – I’ll see what I can find, yeah? Just as soon as I can find my pants…”

“Spike, I didn’t mean you should go out by yourself. I’ll go with you. Maybe we can find an all night diner or something.”

Buffy was dressed before Spike even found his shoes. ‘Must be hungry.’ Spike thought. ‘Haven’t seen the chit get dressed so fast in… well, ever.’

Course she wasn’t really dressed for going out. She had merely thrown on some low cut jeans under her nightshirt and called it good enough. Still, the outfit had a certain charm to it. The lack of a bra was quite alluring, and the jeans rode low on her hips leaving much of her mid section exposed.

He grabbed a jacket from the hook by the door and tossed it to her, with a mumbled, “Might be cold.” There was no way he was letting Buffy traipse around New York wearing only a silk teddy for a top and jeans that looked like they’d fall off given a good tug. If they were going Clubbing that flimsy nothing could pass for a shirt, but at an all night diner? Best not to tempt fate.

The diner wasn’t far, and as always Buffy enjoyed her food. Grateful that he would soon be able to get back to the soft sheets and warm covers waiting for him at the hotel, Spike carelessly dropped a fifty-dollar bill on the counter and they headed back out onto the street.

They hadn’t gotten far at all when Spike noticed that they were being followed. He tried to hurry Buffy along, but it was already too late. The distinctive click of a pistol forced him to stop even before the rough voice rang out ordering Spike to hand over his wallet.

Turning slowly Spike saw the gun first. Warily he considered the four men that were slowly surrounding them, cutting off any chance of escape. They had all been in the diner, either there looking for likely marks or taking a break from prowling the streets in search of trouble. They thought they’d gotten lucky when they spotted Spike’s cash.

Briefly Spike considered resisting. If he’d been alone he figured he would have had a better chance. But four against one was not good odds, especially when the four had a gun, and he was saddled with a girl he had to protect. Too many things could go wrong, and it just wasn’t worth taking the chance. Still, it galled his pride to simply roll over and give in to these punks.

The gang was well trained. Each man knew just where to stand to make escape impossible. They’d obviously done this sort of thing before.

Glancing at Buffy, Spike slowly reached into his back pocket. “Don’t want any trouble.”

Slowly taking the billfold out Spike began to remove the cash from his wallet. If he tossed the loose bills in the air, he was hoping that the punks would scramble after the cash, giving the two of them a chance to get away.

Instead, the leader gestured with the gun, “All of it wise guy. The wallet too. On the ground.”

Spike complied and let the wallet drop near his feet. If one of the gang came close enough to retrieve it, he’d be an easy target, as well as a shield. But the man with the pistol wasn’t buying it. He forced Spike to kick the wallet further away, then motioned to one of his minions to retrieve it. The rest of them, and the gun, remained firmly in place. The leader was obviously not amused.

“Funny guy, huh?” He turned to Buffy. “Now you, sweetheart.”

Buffy glanced once at Spike and then back to the man with the gun. “I don’t have anything.” She gestured helplessly. “No purse.”

Despite the haul they must have gotten from Spike’s wallet, the man seemed annoyed. “How about jewelry?”

Buffy shook her head again.

“What’s in the pockets? Let’s see the coat, Goldilocks.”

Tentatively Buffy began shrugging out of the jacket. Impatiently, the thug to her left yanked it off the rest of the way. Then he casually tossed it the guy behind her, who searched the pockets and came up empty handed. Disgustedly he threw the garment to the ground.

“You can have my watch.” Spike hurriedly began unfastening the clasp. “That’s everything. Let us go.”

But the man with the gun hadn’t taken his eyes off Buffy, not even to glance at the gold watch Lefty now had in his hand. Spike saw the look that passed between the leader and the punk with the hat, the one who been so rough taking off Buffy’s jacket, and he hazarded a look at Buffy himself.

Spike had been right, it was cold out. Buffy’s nipples stood hard and erect against the almost see through fabric of her top. Heart sinking, Spike knew the punks weren’t simply gonna let them walk away. Not anymore.

Clueless, Buffy turned and bent over to retrieve her jacket from the ground. Spike took the opportunity to make his move while the thugs were momentarily distracted. Feet and fists flying, Spike lunged towards the leader. If they were to have any chance at all, Spike had get control of the pistol, or at the very least take the gun out of play. As a last resort, he would make sure that he put himself between Buffy and the man with the gun; buy Buffy some time to escape.

Behind him, Buffy made a sound that he could only imagine was rage, and instinct took over. Later he couldn’t remember exactly what happened, but next thing he knew, the leader was lying on the ground bleeding where the butt of his own revolver had cracked his skull. The gun itself had fallen down a storm drain, which was a better result than Spike could have hoped for.

A quick glance behind him revealed that Buffy had caught on quickly to what was going down, and had come up from her crouch swinging, catching Lefty off guard. The man was down on the ground, screaming holy murder and holding his knee. Satisfied that he was out of play, Buffy had then apparently moved on to her second opponent, the one who had searched her coat, and had been guarding their escape.

Spike could only stare as he watched her petite hands strike out with surprising force and skill against her much larger opponent. If Buffy could take care of herself, for a little while at least, then all Spike had to worry about was the punk with the hat. The one who had dared touch his Buffy.

Both keeping one eye on the fight going on behind them, Spike and the thief in the ridiculous beanie began to circle one another. All element of surprise was gone now, and Spike knew he couldn’t afford to lose this fight. The punks had been hurt too badly, and by a shortish man and a tiny woman at that. It was an insult he knew they wouldn’t let pass. They would want revenge.

Fury rose up in his eyes, and Spike didn’t think at all; he just attacked.

When the rage began to clear again he could hear Buffy screaming. She sounded nearby. He had to force himself to let go of the bloody face he’d been pounding against the pavement. He had to stop what he was doing and make sure that the girl was okay. That was his first priority, to protect the girl. How had he forgotten that?

Belatedly he noticed that the man in the hat was no longer resisting. The face under the beanie was a bloody mess now, as was much of the rest of the punk. Slowly regaining awareness, Spike realized there was someone else was behind him, slapping at his head and screaming in his ear. Without thinking he tried to grab an arm and throw the aggressor over his head and into the street. He was stopped cold by an unexpected kick to his kidneys. Unlike the other punks, this one apparently knew how to fight.

Snarling, he turned around to face the last of bunch. Once this one was taken care of he’d be able to help Buffy. Expecting to see the leader of the thugs, he blinked when instead he saw… Buffy.

Still dazed, he looked at the carnage on the street. The bodies of two of the punks lay nearby, unmoving. The third was lying on the ground and cursing, calling out for help from companions who were never going to help him again. The fourth punk was no where to be found.

Spike looked up again, and there was his girl, calmly collecting her jacket and frowning over his now empty wallet. The remaining thief had clearly taken the cash and run off.

Trying to sort out her hair, she smiled at him. “Sorry about kicking you, but you were pretty out of it. If I hadn’t of stopped you, I was afraid you were gonna kill that man.”

“What happened?”

“What, you mean after you decided to go all whacko and attack the muggers? Well, apparently you took out the gun man, while I disabled the one with my jacket and sucker punched the guy with the bad haircut. Then you started wailing on fuzz face over there, and wouldn’t stop for anything. While I tried to keep you from killing him, apparently bad haircut came to his senses and ran off with your money.”

Spike looked around him. Her description pretty much matched what he saw and what little he remembered. But how did she do that?

“Love, not to be overly critical, but did you say you took out two of the blighters?”

“Uh huh.” She grinned and held out an arm to help him stand. “P.E. major, remember?”

“Didn’t know that meant bloody martial arts! Hell, woman…”

“Why’d you go do that, anyway? It was over. They were just about to high tail it out of here with the loot. If you’d just let it be, well, you'd still have been out the money, but we'd both be a lot less sore.”

Trying to hustle her off the street quickly, Spike merely shrugged. “Let’s go, pet. The other one might come back with reinforcements.”

They didn’t speak again until they were safely back inside their hotel room. Soundlessly, Spike sought out a small first aide kit from the kitchen, while Buffy examined her ruined jacket. Spike’s forehead was cut just above the scar on his eyebrow. If he didn’t get stitches Buffy thought it might leave another scar.

Luckily Buffy appeared to be unscratched, just a few bruises that were beginning to purple and would probably turn black by morning.

Putting ice on Spike’s wound to stop the bleeding Buffy voiced her thoughts. “You want to go to the hospital, get this looked after, before I call the police?”

“No. No hospital.” He jerked his head away from her hand and the cloth; the ice was too cold. “And no police.”

“No police? Why? I mean we were held at gunpoint and robbed! I don’t know how much money they stole out of your wallet. We have to report it. Those guys are still out there! Plus… well, you beat up that one guy pretty bad, Spike. He’s gonna need a hospital…”

“Gang like that won’t want a hospital. They’ll take care of their own.” Take care of their dead, more like. Spike knew that the man in the hat was never going to get up again, and he had his suspicions about the one he’d hit in the head with his own pistol.

“Why did you go all crazy like that Spike? It was over – they were gonna let us go.”

“No, pet, they weren’t.” He shook his head, wished he could get the picture out of his mind. “You didn’t see what I saw, Buffy. The look that passed between the one you called ‘fuzz face’ and the leader. They weren’t gonna let you go.”

“What do you mean? They took everything we had. What more could they…”

Blood rushed from her face and Buffy sat down quickly when the implications of what Spike wasn’t saying finally hit her. “You mean… you think they…”

“Yeah, I do.” He moved to sit on the back of the sofa, and held her head to his chest, stroking her hair. “That’s why I took the chance I did; fought back. If you hadn’t of been such a good fighter, took care of two men each easily twice your size, they probably would have succeeded.” Closing his eyes he breathed in the scent of her hair. “I don’t care about the money, baby. But those punks, they were gonna… hurt you, Buffy.”

Spike couldn’t bring himself to say the word, ‘rape.’ But it was evident she knew what he meant, because her body had started to tremble and she started to gag as if she was going to be sick. The possibility that she had been in real danger had apparently never occurred to her until now.

“Sssh. It’s alright now.” He pressed her head closer to his chest like he’d never let her go. “It’s all over now, sweetling. No real harm done. But yeah, that’s why I went a little overboard. Couldn’t stand the thought of anyone hurting you.”

The dry heaves had stopped, and she was starting to think more rationally now. At least Buffy thought that she was thinking rationally. “That’s why you don’t want to go to the police.”

She didn’t want to think about what had almost happened. Instead her mind latched onto another detail. “Because you beat that man almost to death; you’re scared. But surely anyone could see it was in self-defense? Spike, please, we have to do the right thing…”

Buffy was going to be all right. If she was well enough to argue with him, she was going to be fine. Spike breathed in a sigh of relief. She didn’t know that Spike had killed two men tonight. He had been trying to protect her, but he wasn’t sure how well she would take the news. He had killed two men tonight, and he wasn’t sorry for it.

“It’s not only that, kitten. We were lucky, we got away clean. We’re not hurt, and they have no idea who we were. I got my wallet back; I.D. and everything intact even if it is light a few thousand bucks. But if they’d kept it – if they found out who I am…”

“What do you mean, who you are? What difference does that make?”

“Lot of difference, to some. For one thing, it’d be in all the papers. I’m just rich and famous enough that the paparazzi can sometimes be a problem. Especially if they got wind of something juicy like this. We’re better off just letting it go. There’s nothing anyone can really do now. And I’m quite sure that even if you called an ambulance, when the got there no one would be there for them to treat. What’s done is done, Buffy. It’s best left alone.”

“You sound so sure.”

“I am. And consider this. Best case, the police actually find those thugs, put them on trial and they get shut away in jail for the rest of their lives. Do you really want their friends to know your name and where you live?”

“You really are paranoid, aren’t you? I never would have thought of it that way. But I still think the right thing to do is to call the police and get it on record.”

“As soon as we file a police report, we’ll have given them free access. Right now we’re just some faceless couple who happened to have a lot of cash on hand. They don’t know anything about us. Once its on record, they’ll be able to trace our names, address, phone numbers, even if the police never identify any of them. I don’t want that to happen, Buffy. I want this to be over. I want to put it behind us.”

“But they could attack someone else. The right thing to do Spike is to report it…”

“I don’t care.” He stated again. “I’m okay, you’re okay, and that’s all I care about.” He held her close and kissed her hair. “That’s all I care about.”





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