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Author's Chapter Notes:
Was a little busy with first week of uni, but here it is: chapter three. Enjoy and please review, 'cos as long as you do, I'll keep updating! =)
CHAPTER 3

“You alright?” Spike asked her, when they finally stopped after several blocks.

Buffy gave him daggers with her eyes. “Sure,” she panted. “Nothing amputation wouldn’t fix.”

Spike looked at her, his eyebrows raised in amusement.

“You try running in these,” she added, indicating her stiletto heels.

Spike smirked at the thought. “Matter of fact, I got those exact same ones in a nice shade of red.”

“Really?”
“Yeah really. What, you don’ believe me? What if I told you that right this moment, I’m wearin’ women’s panties?”

It was Buffy’s turn to smirk. “I’d say ‘prove it’.”

“Touche, luv,” Spike laughed.

There was silence for a few seconds, before Spike cleared his throat. “Well, I think we’re good, so… thanks for everything, you’ve been a right sport ‘bout all this and er, good luck,” he said quickly, then turned away from her.

Buffy raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “Excuse me?!”

Spike turned back around to face her. “Yeah?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Like what?”

“I help you, you shoot me, remember? We had a deal!”

Spike’s eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing with astonishment. “You can’t be bloody serious! Are you crazy? You know the difference between suicide and murder? ‘Cause let me tell you, I‘m pretty sure the soddin‘ cops do!”

Buffy scowled. “Then make it look like an accident.” She reached into his belt before he could even realise what was happening, let alone stop it and pulled his gun out.

Spike grabbed the bottom of the handle, but she held the top and pulled it to the side of her head. “Just do it,” she whispered hoarsely, her eyes tightly shut.

Spike yanked the gun out of her hands, tucking it in the small of his back, scrutinising her, until she opened her eyes and glared at him angrily.

“You’re bloody nuts! Look, there‘s a bus parked up there, why don‘ you go lie under it, it’ll pull out and you‘ll be dead in no time.”

“You made a promise! You bull shit artist!”

“So sue me, I’m a thief!” Spike bellowed, returning her glare with equal disdain.

“No, you’re an ASS!”

They stood there on the sidewalk, their noses centimetres apart, their eyes locked with each other’s. The fight went out of Spike first. He sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “Look, take a vacation, y’know, get laid. Talk to a shrink about your problems, he’ll help you out.”

“God, spare me,” Buffy grumbled, rolling her eyes petulantly. “If you can’t keep your word, I’ll just go back to plan A - flying solo.”

Spike decided to call her bluff. “Fine, you do what you want. Later.”

He turned away from her and began walking up the street. He heard a loud engine turning over and the unmistakable sound of a bus approaching. When he looked back, Buffy stood at the corner, waiting for it. As it neared, she stepped closer and closer to the edge.
“Bloody hell!” Spike growled, running back up and reaching her just as the bus pulled up level with the sidewalk and Buffy stepped in front of it. Spike grabbed her round the waist, pulling her out of harm’s way, barely in time to save her. The bus squealed to a stop, the driver throwing open the doors to yell abuse.

“Sorry, she’s had a bit much to drink,” Spike said to the angered man, turning and dragging a struggling Buffy back to the (relative) safety of the footpath. He let her go and she spun around to let fly with the insults.

“What the hell are you doing?! What, you can’t just let me die in peace?!” She screamed at him.

Spike pulled her further down the street, desperately trying to avoid the curious eyes of passers-by.
“Well, no. Not here. I wasn’t two metres away, I would’ve been held accountable, y’know?”

“Ha! So you admit to only being worried about yourself. Well, I got news for you, Mr… Bleach… head - man, if you won’t keep your end of the bargain, I’ll kill myself any way I want, anywhere I want. But I should probably let you know that I have this,” Buffy pulled his wallet out of her back pocket, making him gape in surprise. “I also memorised your full name and social security number, Mr William Giles.”

“K, look, I get that you’re depressed and stuff, but there’s gotta be some kind of agreement we can come to, yeah?” Spike pleaded, just wanting the freak show to be over.

Buffy laughed sardonically. “’Some kind of arrangement?’ How about the one we had to begin with?!”

Spike thought for a moment, his face lighting up with an idea. “Oh, how ’bout money? I got loads of that, take some of it!”

“That’s so typical! Money, money, money, the answer to everything!”

“Common! What’s the goin’ rate for someone like this?”

“I don’t want your m-” Buffy cut herself off, as something important occurred to her. “$41,327. And fifty-five cents.”

Spike raised an eyebrow, wondering at the significance of such a random number. “An approximation?”

“Better make it $50,000 then,” she replied smugly.

Spike frowned. “And $41, 327 it is.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, but smiled smugly, pulling her squashed packet of cigarettes from her other pocket and lighting one up.

Spike coughed, waving the smoke out of his face. “You shouldn’t smoke those, they’ll kill you,” he stated, without thinking.

Buffy just looked at him like he was a moron. “Are you for real?”

“Bloody hope so,” he grinned.

She tried not to notice how sexy that grin was, even tried to let his annoying traits outweigh it. She failed. Instead, she occupied herself by handing his wallet back to him.

Spike cleared his throat. “So, y’know my whole name now.”

“Yeah, William. Pretty pansy name for a thief,” she commented, taking another drag of her cigarette.

Spike shifted the small, lightweight pack on his back. He refused to put it down for even a second, he was paranoid that someone else would end up with all his money if he did. He glanced at Buffy, his expression indignant. “Well, no one calls me that. It’s just Spike.”

“What’s just Spike?” Buffy asked, momentarily confused. Then realisation dawned on her and she smothered a giggle. “Oh, you mean your name? That’s…” She looked up to see Spike glowering at her and lost herself to another bout of laughter. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she exclaimed, once she’d recovered.

Spike just opened his mouth and haughtily said: “What’s your name then, if you think mine’s so bloody funny?”

Buffy sobered up instantly. “Nothing,” she said quickly, suddenly becoming engrossed with the warning label on her cigarette packaging.

“Oh no you don’, you’re not gettin’ off that easy!”

“Like I’m going to tell you my name, anyway. You’re a criminal. A thief. You’ll probably… I don’t know, break it up and sell it for parts on eBay.”

Spike looked at her, amused, before laughing at her theory. “Common luv, I promise I won’t sell your name for parts on the internet. It can’t be that bad.”

“Yeah, but you also promised you’d kill me and look, that hasn’t happened,” she pointed out.

“Are you forgettin’ about the part where I - very generously, by the way - compensated for that with $41, 327 of my own, hard earned cash?”

Buffy narrowed her eyes at him and crossed her arms over her chest. “That would be $50,000 and I think you may be forgetting that I helped you earn every cent of that money. In fact, I should be entitled to half of whatever’s in that bag, ’cause you know, if it weren’t for me, you’d be hiding in the corner of a grimy jail cell, begging Big Bertha not to make you bend over to pick up the soap.”

Spike looked scared at the prospect. “Fair call,” he finally shrugged. “$50,000 then. But that’s it.”

“Fine.”

“Good… Now tell me your name.”

“Nooo,” Buffy whined like a ten year old.

Spike stooped to her immaturity level, pouting like a spoiled brat. “Please?”

“Don’t make that face!” she groaned in response.

“Why not?”

“’Cause… it’s all with the cuteness.”

Spike smiled hopefully. “Really?”

“Duh.”

“Well, tell me your name and I’ll stop doin’ it. Fair’s fair,” he retorted.

Buffy sighed in resignation. “It’s Buffy,” she mumbled, looking at the ground, embarrassed.

Spike didn’t hear her. “What?” he asked.

Buffy scowled at him for making her repeat it. “BUFFY,” she said, over-enunciating each letter.

Spike said absolutely nothing for a few seconds. Then he burst out laughing.

Buffy was furious. “Hey, my mother gave me that name!”

But Spike just laughed over her, not hearing a word she said, great guffaws wracking his lithe form.

Finally, Buffy saw the funny side. They both had lame names, it was true. She smiled, then dissolved into laughter too. Spike eventually recovered from his fit of hysterics, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He turned to Buffy, his eyes still dancing with hilarity. “You wait here, with your death sticks and I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Where are you going?” she questioned, also wiping tears from her eyes.

Spike gestured at her to stay put. “Just stay here, I’ll be back in two minutes, five tops.”

“Ok,” Buffy shrugged, lighting another cigarette, as Spike shook his head disapprovingly and headed up the street. She had no idea what he could be doing, the only other thing down that end of the road was a K-Mart and she couldn’t imagine why he’d be going there now, of all times.

Now that he had his back to her and was relatively far away, though still within seeing distance, she had a moment to speculate on his ass. And boy, was it worth speculating on. It was a very fine ass, the way it moved in his tight, black jeans. The ultimate of asses. A creation of ass so fine tha- “God, snap out of it, you ho-bag,” Buffy chastised herself, shaking the thoughts from her head.

By the time she had finished her smoke, Spike was approaching on the opposite side of the street. He crossed over, stepping up to her with a pair of something in his hands, smiling triumphantly.

Buffy raised an eyebrow at him. “What are those?” she asked when he held them out to her, proudly.

He smile faded slightly, as he grumbled: “thought you’d be a little more excited.”

“And again I ask, ‘what are they?’”

“Don’ be daft luv, they’re shoes.”

“These? Shoes? Exactly what kind of shoes are these, Spike?”

Spike shrugged defensively. “I don’ know, the kind you can wear without your feet falling off. Now stop complainin’, we still got a fair trek ahead of us and I don’ want to listen to you whining like a brat all the way there. Put them on.”

“Oh, I so do not see that happening!” Buffy argued, cringing away from the shoes as if they were diseased.

Spike shook them at her impatiently. “There’s no time for this crap, put the bloody shoes on now. If you ever want to see your cut of the money, you’ll hurry up, ‘cause you won’ be gettin’ it ‘til it’s been divvied up between the fellas, ’right?”

Buffy’s defiance melted and she snatched the shoes from him, annoyed. “Where are we going, anyway?” she asked petulantly.

“To see a mate of mine.”

* * *

As the young pair walked along the hilly streets - Buffy panting for air, Spike frowning - many people in their front yards turned to look at Buffy, puzzled at the sight of her.

“You couldn’t have picked something a little less conspicuous?” She huffed at him.

Spike cocked his head sideways, taking in her streaked hair, dark nail polish and lipstick, her sensible and stylish (albeit bordering on gothic) business suit - the black, above the knee skirt and matching jacket and undershirt - and onto the black pantyhose she wore. Then his eyes rested on the hot pink, fuzzy slippers on her feet. He couldn’t help but grin, which only made her glare, so he attempted to cover it with a cough.

“You could show a little gratitude,” he said lightly.

Buffy’s laughter at his suggestion was harsh and false. “How do you figure that?”

“Well, I’ve just stolen about a mil in cash, so I’m pretty much on the cop’s radar, right?”

Buffy had to agree with this.

“So,” he went on, “already having the town alerted to me, being wanted by the law and what not, I then stroll into a bloody K-Mart and put my ass on the line to steal a soddin’ pair of shoes for you, because your feet were hurtin’. Probably end up gettin’ arrested over the stupid things. Moral of the story: stop complaining!”

Buffy pouted, but didn’t say anything and she was quiet until they reached their destination. Though she couldn’t renounce her thoughts, which were wondering why Spike had stolen a pair of $2 slippers when he had about a million bucks in cash on him. Spike refrained from commenting on the pleasantness of her quietness, for fear of triggering her mouth to open again.

Another half hour later, they were standing out front of an apartment block. A relatively nice, suburban apartment block.

Buffy smirked at Spike. “Wow, your partners in crime are really living it up. Must’ve robbed a lot of banks.”

“My partners in crime don’t live here,” Spike said in a low voice, staring at a window several floors above. He didn’t even turn to look at Buffy.

“Who does live here then?” She asked.

When Spike opened his mouth again, he spoke in soft, haunted tones. “She does.”

Buffy frowned. “Who’s ‘she’?”
“No one, let’s go.”

They strolled casually through the foyer, into the elevator. The small room filled with silence, which wouldn’t have been so uncomfortable had Spike not been sending out wave upon wave of tension. Buffy knew that whoever they were coming to see, it was not going to be pleasant. They walked to the second to last door in the hallway and Spike tapped on it loudly. There was silence on the other side for several seconds, but finally, light footsteps could be heard, approaching the door.

When it swung open, Buffy was surprised to see a pretty harmless looking blonde woman, well presented, in nice jeans and a cashmere sweater. She looked pretty average for someone Spike had just painted a villainous picture of.

“Will,” she sighed, looking wary and unimpressed.

“Charlotte,” he nodded, moving into the apartment. He seemed to have forgotten about Buffy, so she invited herself in.

Still no one introduced her, so she waved at Charlotte. “And Buffy,” she said.

Charlotte looked at her for the first time. “Oh, sorry, hi. Are you the new… friend?”

“Please, probably the only friend,” Buffy scoffed, looking pityingly upon Spike, who scowled in response.

“What do you want?” Charlotte asked, turning back to Spike.

Spike sighed. “I need to borrow your car.”

“My car?”

He nodded. “Please Char, you know I wouldn’t ask, but it’s a bloody emergency.”

“It’s always an emergency with you.”

“Common, luv, I need this.”

Charlotte massaged her temples. “How long for?”

Spike looked her directly in the face. “If it’s not back in two days, you can report it stolen.”

“Stolen?!”

“Yeah. Oh, common, you’ve got insurance! I’ll bring the soddin’ thing back, it’ll be fine, right?”

Charlotte sighed again, like she hadn’t the strength to argue. “Fine, Will, but if you - “

“Who are you?” Came a loud, but young voice.

Buffy looked around, wondering where it had come from, before looking down and seeing a little girl, of about five, with gorgeous blonde curls hanging down her back. Buffy’s gaze fell upon Spike, who was looking absolutely terrified. He didn’t seem capable of answering the girl’s question.

“Geez, what’s wrong with you?” she mumbled, poking his shoulder as she kneeled down to speak to the child. “Hi, I’m Buffy. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“I’m jacinta!” the girl practically yelled. She seemed energetic to excessive proportions. “Why are you wearing those funny shoes?” the child added, staring at the fluffy, pink contraptions with interest.

Buffy laughed. The kid was adorable. “You know what, I was asking myself the same thing.”

Charlotte stepped in, touching Jacinta’s arm. “Sweetie, why don’t you go into my room and turn on the tv.”

“I don’t wanna watch tv!” Jacinta scowled, crossing her arms.

“You can put Rugrats on.”

“Rugrats?! Cool!”

The three adults watched as she ran down the hallway, excitedly.

Spike cleared his throat. “She’s bloody gorgeous,” he said gruffly.

“Yeah,” Charlotte agreed, looking at the carpet.

“How’s she been?”

“Like you care.”

“I bloody well do! You know I do, so don’t give me any of this bollocks about ‘not carin’!”

“Like you hell you do, god, you’re still so full of crap!”

Buffy watched on with curiosity, as the pair continued to bicker.

She had no idea what was going on, but this was better than an hour of “Passions.”

Finally Spike sighed. “You’re doin’ an amazing job with her, Char, she’s perfect.”

“Well, she can be pretty stubborn,” Charlotte relented, giving an apologetic half smile. “Just like her father. God, she reminds me of you sometimes,” she added.

Buffy gaped. Spike was a daddy?





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