At first, she’d had a hard time believing that the vampire, Spike--have to remember his name, was telling the truth. As much as she wanted to believe that something good had actually happened to her, after all the crap she’d endured over the past five weeks, Hilary did not let herself look forward to a nice warm bowl of soup--homemade, at that!-- or a hot bath.

That was until she was standing in the entrance to the hotel suite.

The walls she’d built around herself, the ones which had allowed her to remain strong during her ordeal, all came crashing down when she realized that she was not going back to the Pelorak, that she was safe. Crumpling to the floor like a rag doll, she finally let the tears fall.

When Hilary sank to the floor, both Slayer and vampire assumed their respective roles. Buffy sat down on the floor next to the crying girl, cradling her in her arms and cooing soft words of comfort, and Spike made himself scarce, heading to the kitchen for a spot of blood, leaving the women to share a moment.

Buffy had never been good at consoling. Sure, she’d been the consolee often enough, but she was short on consoler practice. She did what came naturally, holding Hilary, letting her get the tears out of her system, and reassuring her with “you’re safe’s” and “it’s over now’s”. She could only imagine how this poor girl felt, after what she’d endured these past weeks. Buffy’d only played the role of slave, and only half-assed from the other demons’ reactions, and she’d hated every minute of it. Every moment of submissiveness, every moment where she wasn’t everyone else’s equal, she’d felt less than human. Poor Hilary, you think you’re being weak, but you’re so much stronger than some of us...

Hilary didn’t know how much time she’d spent on the floor, crouched on her knees sobbing into Buffy’s shoulder. What she did know was that her legs, below her knees, were numb, her chest ached from the coughing and at one point during her release of emotions even Spike had popped out of the kitchenette to hand her some tissues.

Sniffling, the young brunette cast a red-rimmed gaze to her two saviours. “Sniff. I’m so sorry about this.” She waved at her own form on the floor. “I’m sure you weren’t expecting to have to provide psychological assistance, on top of the soup and bubble bath.” The corners of her mouth turned up into a wry grin, not altogether devoid of humour.

Buffy raised herself to a stand and held her hand out to the other girl. “You know what, Hilary? You deserved it. Every tear, every sob, every soggy Kleenex. After what you went through...” She trailed off, letting the thought finish itself in each of their minds. “You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met, and I’m proud of you. You held in there for so long, and now here you are with us, away from all that.”

For the first time since they’d walked through the door, Spike spoke up. “Well, that’s enough mention of all that. According to demon laws, you’re mine now, and I’ve never put an ounce of thought into all that nonsense. You’re free to go, to your home or wherever you want. I’m sure you’ve got a mum and dad who are worried sick about you.” He stuck his hands deep in his jean pockets, obviously ill at ease with this display of affection. Turning on his heels, he faced the kitchen. “So, what would you prefer first? The soup or the bath?”

To a girl starved not only of proper nourishment, but also of life’s little indulgences, the answer was obvious. “I think I’d like to start off with the bath, with all that ’girly’ bubble bath you mentioned earlier.” Hilary allowed a smile to appear, hardly able to restrain herself. If she was really lucky, they’d have a claw foot tub...

“Spoken like a true woman...” Buffy grinned as Spike rolled his eyes. “Now let’s get you some comfy clothes so we can burn these slave-rags you’re wearing.” She took Hilary by the arm and pulled her towards her side of the bedroom.

Spike watched them walk to the bedroom area, nattering on about lavender and vanilla and other girly things. He could live another 120 years and never figure out why women were so obsessed with scents. Sure, he knew why he liked them--just the thought of smelling Buffy’s hair after she washed it with that green apple shampoo, or when she used that vanilla body soap... Not the right path to take right now, mate. Gotta take care of the other girl. Which led him to another train of thought, the one where he wondered ’since when do I take care of young birds instead of draining them dry?’ Shrugging at the direction in which his ever-evolving life was going, he grabbed his smokes and headed for a window. Now he was even careful of where he smoked.

He was so whipped...

***

Surrounded by lavender-scented bubbles, Hilary leaned against the warm porcelain back of the tub. She couldn’t believe that she’d forgotten the recuperative properties of a proper bubble bath. Thank you, Crabtree & Evelyn...

The young brunette let her thoughts wander to those she’d been forced to leave behind: her mother and father, two brothers, and her cats Tybalt and Iago. She also missed her best friend Melanie--they had one hell of a shopping trip ahead of them, to make up for all that lost mall time.

Sighing, she allowed herself to sink even deeper into the water. Gazing across the horizon of bubbles, her thoughts turned to the two people who had saved her. Buffy and Spike were out there, in the apartment, and they would expect answers from her. Hilary wasn’t stupid--she knew that their encounter hadn’t been purely coincidental. Buffy’s reaction to the story of her abduction had spoken volumes, especially when she risked blowing her cover by trying to attract Spike’s attention.

The rumbling of her stomach interrupted her train of thought and diverted it to the soup that she’d been promised. How strange was her life that it now involved vampires trying to soothe her with homemade soup? Just two months ago, vampires were no more than a Bram Stoker quick read, or something from those old black and white movies her brothers watched after midnight. Now, she was soaking in a claw foot tub, saved by said vampire from the clutches of some purple demon that she’d never even heard of.

And then there was Buffy. She assumed that they were of the same age, but she’d seemed so calm, so accustomed to being in the presence of demons that Hilary began to doubt whether or not the young-seeming blonde was really human after all. Maybe she was some sort of demon as well? In his human guise, one could hardly tell that Spike was anything other than some bloke stuck in the ‘80s--was Buffy a vampire as well? No, her skin was warm--Hilary should know, after having had a really good cry in the crook of the blonde’s shoulder. Then perhaps she was... Argh. The brunette was giving herself a headache just thinking about it.

Also--were Buffy and Spike together, as in together together? They sure seemed comfortable in each other’s company. And that kiss, the one he gave Buffy to shut her up--Hilary could only wish that someone would kiss her like that one day.

She closed her mind off to all thoughts, trying for a little inner peace, when she noticed that the apartment seemed very quiet.

***

After having helped Hilary prepare for her bath, Buffy joined Spike in the kitchen. Rummaging through the fridge, she turned her nose at the packs of blood and pushed them aside to pull out the pot of soup. Sure, she’d gone out herself to buy them for the annoying bleached one, but that didn’t mean she had to tolerate their presence in the fridge. She put the pot on one of the stove burners and set it to warm. When the scent of the simmering soup hit her nose, her stomach growled.

Spike remained seated at the counter, on one of the barstools. It relaxed him to watch the Slayer puttering around like a hausfrau. Forgetting himself, he took out his pack of cigarettes and pulled one out. He got the lighter out before noticing the glare of death that was pointed in his direction. Sighing, he put the smokes away and grumbled something about being a whipped ponce.

Buffy took a seat beside the vampire and let her head drop to the counter, groaning. Spike pat her on the back and offered her a smile. “Why don’t you get yourself changed, luv? As fetching as that outfit is,” he wagged his eyebrows at her for effect, “it mustn’t be very comfortable.”

The young woman hoisted her head up as if it weighed a ton and looked at the vampire sitting beside her. “You know, Spike, that’s the best piece of advice I’ve heard in ages. I’ll be back in a sec, just keep an eye on the soup--make sure it doesn’t boil over or stick to the bottom.”

“Ok, pet.” He watched her walk over to the bedroom, where she rooted around for her pyjamas before pulling the bed’s curtains closed. “Sure you don’t need a hand with that?”

Hey, a vamp could always be hopeful.

A feminine voice, muffled by the thick fabric of the curtains, called back. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m sure I can handle this on my own.” Struggling with the tight pants she wiggled around on the bed. “At least I think I can do this on my own...” She flushed at the thought of his cool hands helping her undress... Stop that! It’s not the time for dirty daydreams!

When she had put her flannel pjs on and put her hair back in a loose ponytail, Buffy pulled the curtain aside and padded over towards the kitchenette. Spike was perched over the counter, trying to stir the soup at a full arm’s reach. Typical guy, she thought, trying his damnedest not to get up off his ass to do a chore. From his body language, she could tell that he hadn’t yet registered her presence. Standing with the tips of his toes on the stool’s bottom rung, the vampire was fully stretched over the stove--it was obvious that his concentration was directed at not falling into a boiling pot of soup. His T-shirt had ridden partway up his back, exposing a few inches of pale skin--the Slayer‘s breath caught in her throat at the sight of the smooth expanse of skin that was laid bare.

Without thinking, she leaned over the vampire’s still form, trying to be as quiet as possible, and placed an open-mouthed kiss on the exposed skin. Buffy was unsure where this urge had come from, but she hadn’t fought it at all. Perhaps it had been the sight of his muscled back, clamouring for her touch. Then again, maybe she just had a death wish.

Either way, it hadn’t been a very wise idea. Taken by surprise, Spike jerked back, and the spoon he was holding went flying. His feet got tangled in the rungs of his seat and he fell back, taking the Slayer down with him. He kicked the stool away, and turned around to face a giggling Buffy. The scowl on his face softened to a look of surprise as he clued into what had happened. She’d kissed him. The Slayer had initiated an intimate caress with a part of his body. Bloody hell...

For a quick moment, Buffy was sure that she was dead. The look on Spike’s face when he landed on her spelled death, in no uncertain terms. But then the look had changed to something else, something that she couldn’t quite place. When he turned around and made to get up, she felt a pang of loss at the lack of contact.

With a move that demonstrated his predatory nature, Spike pounced on Buffy and pinned her to the floor, his pelvis grinding against hers and his hands gripping her forearms. His eyes glinted of amber and a low growl emanated from the back of his throat. The Slayer remained there, pinned against the floor, all traces of a smile wiped off her face. For the first time since they’d been in England, she didn‘t altogether trust her companion. He sat back and roughly pulled her up until they were nose to nose, both panting not of exertion, but of excitement.

At once, their mouths met in a passionate kiss. Buffy felt Spike’s erection pressing against her centre, and he in turn felt the heat of her arousal through both layers of clothing. This knowledge, that their desire for one another was equal, served to fuel their embrace. As their tongues duelled and their lips danced, the two shimmied closer to each other, trying to eliminate any space that might have existed between their bodies.

The vampire pulled the tie out Buffy’s hair, dragging his fingers through its softness. For a moment, he imagined that he was Jason and this was his Golden Fleece. Frowning, he pushed the thought out of his mind. Leave it to William to make dopey comparisons while he had a hot Slayer pressed against him shoving her tongue in his mouth. Wanker. He breathed in her arousal, felt the beating of her heart against his own still chest, and wished that this could last forever.

Buffy wondered if Spike would ever know how much his breathing turned her on--especially the panting in between open-mouthed, wet kisses, where she felt his cool breath on her heated skin. Sliding her hands underneath his T-shirt, her aim was to coax as many of those pants out of him as she could. She raked her fingernails up his toned chest, tracing the outline of his pecs and his abs, pausing only to tease his nipples until they were hard. Ah, there it is, she thought as he let out an undisguised moan of pleasure, gotta store that away for later.

The sound of bath water going down the drain parted the fog of lust from both of their brains. Pulling apart, they rested their foreheads together, Buffy‘s cheeks red and both their lips swollen from the kisses. Spike got up first, holding a hand out to the Slayer to help her up. Both their minds were racing a mile a minute, thoughts varying from how far they would have gone had they been alone, to Hilary and how she was about to walk out of the bathroom.

They stood there, holding hands, until Buffy reached up and kissed Spike on the cheek. She had to let him know that this new something, that was developing between them, was ok with her. Well duh! I’ve only practically had clothed sex with him... She smiled at him and said: “Guess we should get dinner served, huh?”

Relieved that she wasn’t walking away screaming, or that she hadn’t tried to break his nose--again, Spike smiled back. “Sure, pet. Let’s do that.”

Buffy stirred the soup before turning the heat off, glad that it hadn’t burned. Spike took out bowls and spoons, setting them at the counter. Breaking the short bout of silence, the Slayer wondered aloud. “So, how much info do you think she’ll have for us?”

The bleached vamp hunched his shoulders, and picked his barstool up off the floor. “Dunno. You’ve got a better idea of that, pet, since you were the one who was sitting with her at the Nex.”

Buffy eyed the counter that the vampire had set for their meal and shook her head. Reaching into the cupboard, she pulled out two glasses and placed them to each side of where Spike was sitting. “Well, I know who she is, but it’s not like we had much of a chance to chat, what with the slavage. I’m just wondering how much she can help us. I mean, if Blakeford went one way and the Pelorak went another...”

Ever channelling frenetic energy, Spike hit his spoon against his bowl at the same rhythm as he tapped his foot. “Well, we’ll worry about that after she comes out of the loo.” He frowned, and craned his neck in the direction of the bathroom’s door. “That’s if she ever gets out of there. I don’t know what it is about you women and your baths...”

Pulling up a stool beside Spike’s, Buffy poured herself a glass of water, placing the pitcher of water in front of what was to be Hilary‘s seat. “Probably going to remain one of life’s mysteries, Spike. Just like you men and your cars. Especially big, old, ugly black ones.”

The vampire was incredulous. Was she implying... “Are you insultin’ my baby? She’s been with me for over 35 years, Slayer. Only faithful girl I’ve had...”

An uncomfortable silence followed his admission. Spike was lost in thoughts involving Drusilla, and Buffy didn’t quite know what to reply, not without making things worse. She took his hand in hers and squeezed it, just as the bathroom door opened.

***

Hilary walked into the kitchen just as Buffy hopped off one of the barstools, exchanging awkward glances with Spike. Yeah, they’re together... The young blonde smiled at her and asked her if she’d enjoyed her bath.

Propping herself onto a barstool beside Spike, the brunette sighed in contentment. “You know, I can’t imagine that I’d forgotten the magic of Crabtree & Evelyn.” She took the bowl of soup that was offered to her and thanked Buffy. “This smells wonderful. Is it really homemade?”

Having served Spike and herself, the Slayer took her seat. “Yup. 100% homemade. Cut the veggies by hand, made the broth... The whole shebang.” She took a sip, and chuckled. “Surprising that it’s edible, isn’t it?”

They talked about cooking, about world events, about music--pretty much anything and everything that good friends sharing a meal would discuss. Hilary and Buffy couldn’t help but laugh at some of the stories that Spike recalled from long, long ago (edited to cut out some of the gorier details, of course). Especially the ones about Angelus, whom he never tired of mocking.

When dinner was over and the dishes were piled in the sink, Buffy had to pry Hilary away from them. “No--leave that cloth there! I’ll do the dishes tomorrow. We’ve got more important things to discuss right now...” She pulled the other woman out to the living room and had her sit down in the wingback chair, while she and Spike took the couch. She didn’t know just how comfortable Hilary would feel sitting on a couch beside a vampire. That’s it--it has nothing to do with me wanting to be close to him.

Their guest sat straight, knees drawn tight together and hands on her lap. Her face was set seriously, not unlike Willow’s resolve face. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them, her countenance was more relaxed, almost at ease, even. “Ok, I know you both have questions to ask me, and that this, this rescuing, isn’t purely coincidental.” She watched the two blondes share an uncomfortable look. “And that’s ok--I accept that. The outcome more than benefits me, so I’m good with it. But before I tell you my story, I want to know yours.” Seeing the confused look on their faces, she elaborated. “Buffy--who, or what are you? Why did you seem so comfortable in the midst of demons, and why on earth do you work with a vampire? And speaking of vampires,” she continued, reserving her gaze for Spike, “why are you working with white hats, when you should be out there bathing in the blood of the innocents?”

Author's Note: Bit of a cliffhanger, but at least I gave you a smutty teaser ;-) Thanks to all who keep reviewing; you help grease the wheels of my imagination. And a big thanks to Christie for her beta duties and comments of questionable character :P