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“Uh oh, this doesn’t look good,” Buffy said, glancing around the room.

Xander had caught up with the jubilant group as the crowd dispersed and filled them in on Anya’s call. Sobering immediately, they’d rushed to join her.

Buffy had twisted the doorknob, easily forcing the ancient lock. Now, crowded into Savana’s small living quarters, they surveyed the room with growing alarm.

Anya righted the end table and picked up a fallen lamp. When she realized that the bottom was broken; she laid it back on the carpet beside the couch and bent to pick up the papers that had scattered across the floor. There was nothing to be done about a shattered cup or the coffee stain around it.

Willow opened the bedroom closet. “Her uniform is missing and her makeup case is out. Looking at everything, I’d guess someone came before she was due to start her shift early this morning. She knew them or she probably wouldn’t have opened the door. There was a fight and then they left with her, closing and locking the door behind them.”

“That means it was someone she trusted.”

“It was that bloody steward.” Spike stood in the doorway to the bedroom, scowling, Empress fidgeting at his side. “His scent is all over the cabin, even in the bedroom. Empress and I can both smell it, along with at least one other person.”

Buffy looked at the solemn faces. “My guess is it was on Zahn’s orders. Savana must have become a liability. We can search the ship, but I’d bet that they didn’t stash her on board. It would cause too many problems if someone discovered her, not to mention all the questions when someone finally realizes she hasn’t shown up for work and then gets a look at this cabin. Which leaves only one thing they could have done with her.”

“They threw her overboard. She’s dead,” Anya blurted. She looked like she might cry.

“I’m sorry An., but that makes the most sense.” Xander put his arm around her. Everyone knew she felt terrible. After all, none of them had spent any time with Savana. Anya had.

“They probably knocked her out or killed her and then later slid her in the water quietly.”

Buffy mused aloud. “All they had to do was wait until the Grundy trials started and then go to the opposite end of the ship. Almost all the guests were watching and most of the crew. They’d even turned the lighting down on the stern, so it was dark back there and the trials made more than enough noise to cover any sounds.”

Anya faced the group. “Promise me one thing. We’ll figure out how to make him pay.”

“Definitely.” Buffy gestured toward the door. “But right now, we all need to get moving. It’s going to be way more than awkward if we’re caught in here. The best thing to do is just lock the door and let things take their natural course.”

*****

“I can’t believe this,” Buffy whispered, careful not to wake the exhausted Grundy. “That’s a worse bruise than she got when those vampires pushed her into the dumpster. How did it happen?”

“Bloody Eight took her by surprise at that far turn. It was either a steel barricade or cause that little number seven to take a hit from a heavy swingin’ pole. Empress chose the barricade.”

Spike gently closed the bedroom door behind them. “She’s exhausted. Be out for quite awhile, I expect.” He reached for his cigarettes.

Still angered by what she’d seen, Buffy nodded. “She deserves the rest. She did incredibly well, rebounding from that awful start. I’m so proud of her.”

“Yeah, we’ll all proud of her I expect.” Spike felt a stab of guilt for not explaining why Empress had had that terrible start, but it served no purpose to get Harris in trouble or make their relationship take a turn for the worse. The demon in his head whispered what relationship?

He dug around for his lighter. “How was your evenin’ with Red?” Exhaling, he glanced at her, his expression unreadable.

Buffy shifted, twisting a strand of hair. “It was good.” Taking a deep breath, she added, “Spike, we need to talk, I know. But after all that’s happened, I don’t think I can do this right now.”

“Slayer, it’s alright. It’s been a strange night.” He stubbed out the cigarette. “I promised Empress she could have some of that imported wood, so why don’t we drop ‘round the shop for a bit? This time I need the walk. I feel like I just spent a fortnight hangin’ on that gate post. ”

“That sounds like a good idea. I could use some retail therapy.” Relieved, Buffy stopped twisting her hair. “Let’s go.”

*****.

Spike walked up, carrying the bag of wood. “Somehow I knew I’d find you with the weapons.” He looked down at the antique firearms on the table. “Gorgeous guns.”

“I like the shiny sword.” She pulled it out of the ornate scabbard. “Nice hilt. Good balance.”

Spike picked up an antique six shooter. Cocking the empty gun, he aimed at the parrot squawking above them. “This is a nice older piece. Simple, but it would get the job done.”

“I still like the sword better.” She slid it back in the scabbard.

“Guns have their place. Knew a Garlock demon that loved ‘em. Used to walk around with a Glock 9 strapped to his side. ‘Course that didn’t stop me from kickin’ his arse a time or two.”

Pulling the trigger, Spike pretended to shoot the bird. Twice. “You know what they say, Summers. Those who live by the sword get shot by those who don’t.” He pointed at the next cage.

Buffy gently unwrapped his fingers from the grip and took the gun away. “This isn’t the Wild West, Spike. You stopped to think and, oh yeah, forgot to start again. I don’t do guns. They’re for killing people, not demons. Besides if you really had to, you could always slice someone’s head off with a good sword.” She placed the gun back on the table.

“I’ve always heard that guns don’t kill people, postal workers do.”

Ignoring the vampire telling the really old joke, Buffy scanned the weapons again and picked up a cutlass. “Wow, look at this.”

Chuckling, he gave up trying to get a rise out of the Slayer. “I forgot for a moment what an old fashioned girl you are when it comes to your violence.” He ran a thumb down the blade and whistled. “Now this is a thing of beauty. If you ever decide to become a privateer, I’ll come back and get it for you.”

Buffy smiled to herself. They might start out disagreeing or even arguing but lately they always ended up in the same place.

Spike pulled her back from her thoughts. “Let’s see what else they’ve got that’s interestin’.”

They strolled the nearly empty store until they arrived at the sunglasses. Buffy picked up a pair of plain, dark wrap around Ray-Bans. “These are seriously boring. They look like someone’s grandma forgot them. On purpose.”

Spike grinned, twirling the display until he saw a cat eye shaped pair. Jeweled, they sparkled brightly in the store’s lighting. “Here you go. No one could ever accuse these of bein’ borin’.”

“Somehow I just don’t think those are me, unless I want to be mistaken for Eric Idle in some python skit. Wait, this skirt’s not long enough for that.”

“Or Theda Bara. ” At Buffy’s confused look, Spike elaborated. “Silent film star. Twenties. Think Norma Desmond with a whole lot less lines.”

Buffy looked up and spoke to a parrot. “Am I the only person in here with someone old enough to make jokes about silent film stars?”

The parrot squawked.

“That’s what I thought.”

The hand mirror suddenly popped up in front of Spike and they both laughed. He placed the jeweled glasses back. “Guess the mirrors can’t tell a vampire from a vamp.”

Buffy wandered over to another display. “I really should get one of these someday. I’m always borrowing my mom’s.”

She looked through the view finder of the small digital camera at a parrot. It was preening, almost as if readying itself for the camera. She snapped the picture, catching the parrot with a mouthful of feathers.

Spike watched her and shook his head. “What, a regular camera isn’t good enough anymore? I think you Americans like your technology too bloody much.”

“You’re such a Victorian; you need to roll with the changes. No one wants to sit around for hours in stiff clothes while some guy yells ‘watch the birdie’.” She grinned and showed the picture to Spike.

He chuckled. “I’m not talking that old, Summers. Give me a good 35 millimeter Nikon any day over one of these poncy digitals.” Stepping around the display to stand next to her, he handed back the camera. “You could capture details of that mouthful in fifty different ways.”

“Because that’s something I want to have to ponder.” Buffy stepped closer to him, holding the camera up. “A digital is an improvement. You get to see the pictures immediately, so you can reminisce about your experiences that much quicker.”

Taking the camera again, Spike snorted. “That improves the experience alright.” He pretended to stare in the camera. “My, I just can’t believe how young we all looked ten minutes ago.”

“You should understand about experience, your shirt’s screaming all about it.” She turned her nose up at the multi colored tee shirt.

He handed back the camera. “This shirt is about Jimmy Hendricks you daft bint, not some overpriced tastin’ vacation in Napa.”

“No irony there. A vampire wearing a shirt that glorifies a dead guy.” She smirked.

He arched an eyebrow. “This is an authentic souvenir tee shirt from Woodstock. Jimmy was very much alive and bloody fantastic.”

Buffy leaned toward him; her face flushed from laughing, and poked him lightly in the chest. “It figures you were hanging out in Haight- Ashbury, although I can’t picture you as a flower child, but then maybe I’m the one hallucinating.” Giggling again, she held her arms out from her sides like an airplane and pretended to teeter forward.

Chuckling at the thought of Buffy Summers as a flower child, Spike leaned forward until they were nose to nose. “Haight-Ashbury is in San Francisco, Summers. Woodstock happened in upstate New York. But then, no one would expect a Carnaby bird like you to know that.”

“What’s a carnival bird?”

“May I help you with that camera?” The saleslady’s voice intruded, startling them both. Neither one had noticed her walk up. They’d been too focused on each other.

Buffy realized she still held the camera and handed it to the saleslady. “No thanks, we’re just looking.” She turned back to Spike. He was fiddling with his lighter. “We should get back to Empress.”

Nodding, he pocketed the Zippo and began walking toward the exit with Buffy following behind him through the narrow aisle. They were nearly to the door when he heard the Slayer let out a deep breath and exclaim, “Oh, Spike, come and look at these.”

Buffy was staring into a backlit glass case. “Aren’t they absolutely gorgeous?” Spread across a soft cushion of black velvet were several strands of the most perfect pearls. A small card next to them announced their origin. Mikimoto.

He nodded. “They’re very nice. I remember when women wore pearls all the time.”

“Of course they’re way out of my price range, like everything else in here.”

She started to turn away, but not before Spike saw disappointment flare briefly in her eyes. He hated seeing that. After all, this was the Slayer. She saved the world. And although the world didn’t care, he did.

He touched her shoulder gently. “Buffy?”

Curious at the way his voice sounded, she looked up. She met his eyes and tried to read what she saw reflected there. Such gorgeous blue eyes. “What is it?”

“Better to leave that expensive stuff to the birds that need the camouflage. You’re so beautiful even dime store pearls would look simply stunning.”

Blushing lightly, she replied softly, “Thank you.” She continued to search his face until she saw something in his expression that satisfied her. “Although I’m pretty sure you’re biased in my favor.”

Staring back at her, he replied, “Much more than you know.”

He held his hand out to her.

“I know.” She placed her hand firmly in his.

Together they walked out of the store.





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