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*The following day, Hank Summers’ new office*

Joyce was sitting on the couch in Hank’s new office next to Jenny. The two had become fast friends after Dru and Angel’s visit, when they had started confiding in one another about their problems. Especially when those problems involved the men in their lives.

They were both supposed to join the rest of the group upstairs in Hank’s loft, but Joyce had pulled her friend to the side for a quick chat.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you kidding? Look at this place.” Joyce accompanied her words with a hand gesture to the rest of the building.

“It’s still being remodeled and there are boxes full of stuff everywhere, but you’re not talking about that, right?”

“It’s all Hank’s stuff. I recognized it from back in LA.” She took in their surroundings again. “Most of it is still packed in boxes, as you said.” She pointed to his desk. “But look what he decided to unpack—our family photos. That and a couple of things I got him as anniversary presents.”

Jenny put a hand on her friend’s knee in support. “And you’re wondering if it’s a signal for you, or just who he now is.”

“Yeah. But then I think about what else might be still packed. Like presents from his secretary turned mistress. I mean, sure, they broke up, but he cared about her enough to divorce me less than two years ago. I can’t just forget that.”

“I get it. And his actually getting his own place, in the same town as you is different from when he was tucked away in a hotel, right? It feels more permanent.”

“Exactly.” She huffed and sat back on the couch. “Then there’s the whole way about how he got it.”

Jenny frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Spike gave the building to him as retainer for Hank becoming his lawyer.”

Jenny looked around the place again. “Wow.”

“That’s what I said at first.”

“I’ll probably sound like Cordelia now, but this must have cost Spike a lot.”

“Buffy said he’s doing very well as the Master of Sunnydale. In fact, that’s why he hired Hank—to oversee contracts with other races, other cities, and other countries. You know, the regular stuff the boyfriend of a high-schooler is concerned about.” There was a healthy amount of sarcasm dripping from Joyce’s words. Sure, she kind of liked Spike, and she accepted that her daughter wasn’t normal. That didn’t mean she should be overly happy about giving up on her dreams of a white wedding, chubby babies, and growing old while watching her daughter become the woman Joyce knew she could be.

“Again—wow. But what does that have to do with you and Hank?”

“Well, now that he works for Spike, who’s dating Buffy, he’s even closer to our lives than ever. Then there’s the whole interest he’s taken in Buffy’s Slaying. One way or another he’s involved now in both our lives to a greater extent than he was when we were still married.” She cocked her head to the side a bit and scrunched her face. “You know I’ve seen more of him in the past couple of months than I did the last half a year of our marriage.” She dropped her head back on the couch cushion. “It’s all so confusing.”

Jenny took on a more serious tone than the one she’d been using. “The real question, though is this: would you take him back?”

That gave Joyce pause. For all the things that she’d said or done, and for all the things she was feeling--all muddled up together as they were—she hadn’t just stopped to ask herself that one single question. So what was the answer?

She had no idea. But just because the answer wasn’t simply a resounding ‘no’ was a revelation. What she needed was some time to think.

“Ask me again in about a week. Right now I have no idea what I feel about that.”

Jenny gave her a look that screamed ‘busted.’ “I will.”

The two shared a grin, then got up to join the others in Hank’s loft.

~~~***~~~

*The Bronze, later that night*

He watched her dance. She was like quicksilver: shimmering and undulating, beautiful, yet deadly. A couple of gits had tried to get close to her and her red-headed friend, but she’d pushed them away in a gentle, but firm manner. She was only his, and they both knew it; just as they both knew he was only hers. He found himself bewildered by the sheer magnitude of it from time to time, after so long with Drusilla.

He was circling the dance ring, sticking to the shadows, and pulling gulps from his beer every once in a while. He never took his eyes off her, though. She was his own personal siren, and it took everything he had to keep from answering her call.

He’d promised she could dance a bit with her friends, and he would keep his promises. Especially after they had found those bodies the previous night. He knew she needed to remember she was also a teenager with human friends from time to time, not just a warrior for the Powers that Be.

With a frustrated growl, he decided to look around in an almost certainly futile attempt to give her the space she’d asked for. The usual mix of high school and collage goers were interspaced with grown-ups, proof of the sad state of Sunnydale’s nightlife—if you weren’t undead, of course. It was somewhat funny to think that there were more places catering to demons than to humans, but then again, such were the rules of a Hellmouth.

While scanning the groups of people milling about, he was almost pleasantly surprised to see something to keep him occupied, at least for a little while. There was an unknown vampire trying to put the moves on a shy-looking girl. Unknown meant rogue, and therefore not likely to respect the rules of his pact with the Slayer.

The Master of Sunnydale smirked, finished his drink, and followed the couple out the back exit, once the vamp had managed to half-convince, half-pull the girl along with him.

What he hadn’t expected was to see the girl whirling like a dervish, while she rained punches and kicks on her unsuspecting victim. Before Spike could blink twice, the previously shy flower had whipped out a stake from her back pocket and dusted her would-be assailant.

Then she turned to look at him.

Her dark eyes were hard and calculating, her stake was raised high, and her stance screamed what his senses had just then finally started to recognize: Slayer!

“I’m guessing you must be Kendra, the junior Slayer, right?” He tried to look as non-threatening as possible, despite her continuing fighting stance. He even leaned against the wall and lit up a cigarette.

“Vampire.”

“Oh, a native of Jamrock. The Watcher didn’t mention you were from the Islands.” He puffed some smoke towards her in an attempt to gauge her response. She didn’t even flinch.

“If you know so much about me, you know you are about to die.”

Before Spike had the time to explain about the pact, or anything else, she attacked. On a scale of toddler to Buffy, she was pretty well ranked, but compared to the Slayers he’d gone against before, she was closer to the Chinese Slayer—Xin Rong, according to Giles—than she was to Buffy, or even Nikki. Textbook attacks, tells as easy to read as Xander going for another doughnut, no finesse, no obvious enjoyment of the fight. Didn’t stop her from making his nose bleed and his head ring with a couple of lucky shots, though.

The serious impediment was his own unwillingness to harm her in a serious way, while she seemed intent on going through with her threat. Before long she had him with his back against the wall, with nowhere to retreat, and not enough room to maneuver. Sure, even if she’d managed to stake him, the Ring of Amara would ensure his continued survival, but a warning bell in the back of his mind was ringing in a way that reminded him she wasn’t supposed to know he had it.

Just as things were about to come to a head, someone tackled his attacker and managed to deflect her stake’s trajectory. His Slayer to the rescue.

The two warriors were trading blows without holding anything back. Despite the newcomer being a full-fledged Slayer, she was clearly outmatched both in strength and skill. Buffy was poetry in motion.

Still, Spike had to snap himself out of watching his girlfriend kick ass, because she’d just taken out her own stake, which meant he had to step in.

“She’s the other Slayer.” Once the words came out, the fighting came to a grinding halt. Spike smirked to himself. He could have been speaking to either one of them, although he’d directed his words at Buffy. Still, two for the price of one. And to think those ponces back in the day said he couldn’t use his words right.

Buffy and Kendra sized each other up, relaxing their fighting stances, but both obviously still coiled to strike. His Slayer was the first to break the uneasy silence. “Sorry about hitting you, but then again, you were attacking my ally.”

Kendra’s eyes widened a bit. “You ally yourself with the enemy? Why?”

“He’s not the enemy. He has a soul and we have a pact.”

A red hot poker through his chest wouldn’t have hurt Spike more than hearing Buffy claim he had a soul. As if he needed the blasted thing to be worthy of her. The Poof had one. Didn’t make him any more deserving. He wanted to scream, laugh in their faces, and tell them he was a soulless monster, ready to bag his third and fourth Slayers. Yet he didn’t. He willed his face to remain impassive and he kept his relaxed stance. It wasn’t the time to be petty.

Jaslay—he was pretty proud of his instant nickname for her—was eyeing him with distrust. He couldn’t really blame her since all she had to go on for him was Buffy’s word. Thank God the newcomer couldn’t read his Slayer as well as him, otherwise the lie would have been obvious.

~~~***~~~

*Earlier that day, Hank’s loft*

Spike had an itch. The kind of itch one couldn’t just scratch. His problem was the sun shining in from a row of man-sized windows covering one of the walls—the southern one, and therefore exposed throughout the day. All of his instincts had kept him away from such places during daylight hours ever since he’d been turned. The now familiar feel of the Gem on his finger was the only thing giving him the strength not to curl up in the darkest corner, yet that made him feel uneasy for entirely different reasons.

When Buffy had told him about her fears of other vampires coming for the Gem he’d laughed it away, placated her with boasts and promises, and carried on. The fact was, though, that she was right. As soon as more people figured out he could move around in the daytime, word would spread—if it hadn’t already. Sooner or later all manner of nasties would be knocking on his door, looking to make his ring their own.

He needed to find a better solution than just wearing it on his finger. Even with the Gem’s powers, fingers could be chopped off. If not fingers, than hands, the arm, or worse. He hadn’t been crazy enough to test what were to happen if someone tried blowing him up.

Sure, the danger was par for the course, and the adrenalin was a nice high to ride for a while, but it would get old fast, and he knew it. Worst of all, if someone wanted the Gem bad enough, they might try to get it by threatening the ones Spike cared about, most of which were gathered around the room.

He suppressed a shudder at the thought of some of the vamps he’d run into over the years, and what they would be capable of to try to get the ring. There were other dangers even closer at hand.

For example the matter of the second Slayer—and hadn’t that little nugget caused a flurry when Giles informed them. Now that the noise and theorizing had died down somewhat, the Watcher was trying to make a plan, so it was time for Spike to pay attention to something else other than Buffy’s stony face.

“It is clear to me that the new Slayer and her Watcher are not being sent here merely to provide assistance with our rogue demon hunters.”

“They’re going to spy on us.” Hank’s voice was void of any inflection, but the strain was still there for Spike to hear. “From what I understand of the Council’s methodology, what we’re doing here could be branded as at least unorthodox.” He pinned the vampire in the room with his eyes. “Or they could see it as a heresy and a threat.”

“I wouldn’t think that would be the case. No, it would most likely be more of a concern. That concern though might manifest itself in a more restrictive method of observation.”

Spike snorted in derision. “That’s bollocks and you know it, mate. I’ve heard a bit about what your Council thinks of rogues and what their solution to them is.” Seeing the lack of recognition on most of their faces, he decided some hard truths were in order. “Over the millennia the biggest Slayer of Slayers was the Council itself. I heard tails of Watchers being ordered to execute their charges, of tests like the Cruciamentum, designed to cut short the more independent thinker’s careers, of assassins sent by the Council when matters proved too much out of their control.” A look at Giles was enough to understand that most of what he’d said the old man knew, but maybe not all of it. “They even put a bounty on the head of the German Slayer during the Blitz, payable to anyone, human or demon, just so someone would off the Nazi’s favorite bird. Nearly took them up on it myself, but the Dresden firestorm beat me to it.”

He got lost in his memories for a second, only for Buffy’s horrified face to bring him back in the moment. “I’m sorry, love, but I figure you have to know what they’re capable of.”

“So the people Buffy is working for might want to… kill her?” Joyce’s voice was a mix of outrage, concern, and fear—the mama bear fearing for her cub.

“Now, now, I’m sure nothing so drastic would be considered in our case. The circumstances around what Spike is retelling are much more complicated. Each case is weighed heavily, the price ascertained by the Council’s leadership, and drastic measures are only a last ditch effort to stop Slayers from turning evil. The possibility of them seeing our Buffy as anything even remotely such is—”

“Too great to overlook.” Hank was scribbling in his notepad. “Our best bet is to make sure they find nothing out of place, except a Slayer hard at work to keep the demons at bay.” He then looked at Spike. “Your status is the greatest danger here.”

Spike wanted to protest, to scream, or any number of other things, but he didn’t. Deep down he’d known something like this was possible. Sometimes he found himself thinking that maybe he should just convince Buffy to run away with him, go someplace without many supernatural influences, or people, where they could live out their lives without having to worry about people on both sides of the good-evil spectrum coming after them. But he knew his Golden Girl wouldn’t even hear of it. She needed her family and friends, and most of all, she was a Slayer through and through. Saving the world on a nightly basis was ingrained in her. If only those Council wankers could be made to see that.

“Then we show them what they want to see.” There she was—his Slayer taking charge as she was meant to. “They want me to be the Stepford Slayer, then that’s what they’ll get to see while they’re here.” She gestured to all of them. “We’re all here trying to keep the world from being sucked into hell on a regular basis. I’m patrolling, stopping Apocalypses, doing the Slayer thing. That’s exactly what they need to see.”

“That still leaves your demon connections.” Giles was cleaning his glasses to dust again, a clear sign of unease.

“The only connection they could find for sure is Spike.” She turned to him and he was trapped like a fly in a spider’s web. “And all they’ll need to know is that he’s helping because he loves me.”

The rest of the meeting was filled with the group making plans and contingencies, but Spike was only half listening. She was willing to go toe to toe with the Council over their love, and that was enough.

~~~***~~~

“You bitch!”

“Spike, wait.”

“What the fuck was that, Slayer? A soul? Is that what you think I need to get to be worthy of you?”

“No, it’s just that—”

“That wasn’t the plan, Slayer! You wanted me to act like the Big Poof, you should have had the balls to ask me to my face, not drop it on me with the freaking Jaslay next to me.”

“Who?”

“The other Slayer, stop playing daft!”

She scrunched her face in that way of hers he found adorable. He was too mad at her to think of her as adorable at the moment, though. “Oh, okay. It’s just that I wasn’t sure anymore. I thought about what you said about the Council sending assassins, bounties, and I got scared. I wasn’t sure they’d just believe you weren’t going to go bad just because you love me.”

He pinned her with his hardest glare. “I could throttle you right now. Anything else you decided, or will I find out as this plays out?”

“I was going to tell you, there just wasn’t time. But since we’re talking about this now, out in the open where people could possibly hear us, you shouldn’t wear your ring while they’re in town either.”

That left him reeling almost as much as the soul thing. “So not only am I supposed to play bleeding Angel, I’m to do it without protection? Fuck that! I do what I damn well please, Slayer! I’m the fucking Master of Sunnydale, and you better remember that.”

He left her there. She could probably catch up with him if she wanted to, but he felt the need to be as far away from her as possible while he pummeled some wall into submission. Maybe after that he should start a brawl over at Willy’s. He also needed a drink. The order was of little importance.





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