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I will post another chapter late Saturday night/early Sunday morning. Please let me know what you think.


Spike stuck out his chin, puffed up his chest and poured steel into his blue eyes.

“No,” he said.

Buffy set the tip of the wooden stake against the spot where his heart should have been beating. She hadn't averted her eyes, but Spike could see indecision playing across them; a shadow traveling over a forest canopy. Buffy was shaking but she still drew her arm back. She gripped his waist and repositioned the weapon, poised to destroy. In a few moments Spike knew he'd either be knuckle deep in her knickers or a swirling dust moat drifting through the air.

They stood like that for a long while. Being so close to Buffy immersed Spike's senses in her; the summertime scent of her hair, the sound of her blood rushing and the sight of her conflicted eyes. Buffy licked her lower lip and inhaled deeply. Her gaze settled on his mouth and Spike swore he could hear her resolve slipping. He wanted to lap the tears from her cheeks, to kiss her until she forgot who they were. She wanted it too. The truth was plain on her face.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Buffy dropped the wooden stake and it landed on the stone floor with rattle. She and Spike turned at the same moment to face the man who'd spoken with a crisp, English accent. Spike didn't like this slim bloke with light brown hair and an angular jaw accentuated with a deliberately nonchalant stubble. He wore a pair of brown, tweed trousers, a loose, white, buttoned-down shirt and a battered, tan, leather suit coat. Spike knew the interloper was able to get the drop on him because he'd been so intent upon the girl before him, but he still couldn't believe he'd missed the cloud of bourbon that was rolling off the man.

“Don't mind us, just having a little fun with the missus,” Spike said.

Buffy smacked Spike's stomach, hard, and then dashed the tears from her face with a skittering palm. Then Buffy walked to the stranger and hugged him.

“Hey Wes,” she said, her voice muffled in Wesley's chest.

Wesley smiled and returned her embrace. Spike hung there impotently as the old friends greeted one another.
She likes English guys, Spike thought, except he's a bit more posh than me and a tad taller and oh yes, he's not dead.

“So is this the vampire?” Wesley asked.

“Yeah, that's Spike,” Buffy said.

“I'd shake your hand, but I'm indisposed at the moment,” Spike said, waggling his fingers.

Wesley parceled out a half smile for Spike before he looked down at Buffy.

“What have you got for tea, darling?” Wesley asked.

“Whiskey and those little, round cookies with the fruity
centers that you like so much,” Buffy said, a fragile, spun sugar smile on her lips.

They turned; Wesley had his arm around Buffy's shoulder, a proprietary gesture that made Spike want to throttle him. Spike also wasn’t thrilled with the way this Wesley called her darling. Buffy stopped, looked back at Spike and then went to him. She unlocked his restraints and then scampered back to Wesley, but not before securing the cage door. As it closed she looked into Spike's eyes. Though Buffy was silent she seemed to be calling to him, just as she had the first time he saw her. Buffy looked like she was begging for his help.

**

Spike sat with his back against the stone wall. He could hear the kettle whining upstairs, the crinkle of paper bags, wooden chair legs being dragged across the floor and the ringing bell of a plate placed on a table. They were having ham sandwiches and arrowroot cookies with a dollop of apricot preserve. Wesley was drinking Earl Grey tea liberally doused with whiskey. At least, Spike guessed it was Wesley. Buffy was more interested in fizzy drinks and black coffee.

He could hear the percolator pot on the stove bubbling with coffee and it made him think of Buffy's dream. Spike rested his hand on his stomach. Despite his mysterious vampire anatomy, the thought of her made it feel like Tara's pound of peacock feathers was tickling through his belly. Fuck, but he was smitten with his Toy.

“Now that I'm here, are you going to tell me more about our prisoner?” Wesley asked. The man's voice was really very high, Spike thought. One point team Spike.

Chewing, sipping; Buffy stalling.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything. The more I know the better chance we have of sussing out this situation.”

“He lived in my building, he was my neighbor. But before that, he was the guy that kept showing up in my dreams,” she said.

“You had prophetic dreams about meeting this creature?”

“He wasn't a creature then, when I dreamed of him and when we first met he was just a man. Just Spike. I started having them about a month before we met. When I saw him the first time I thought I'd finally come up all nuts in my bag of Fiddle Faddle, but he was real,” Buffy said.

“How do you know you didn't just plug this fellow into the dream afterward?”

“Because I write down all the details of my dreams like a good little slayer, just like my watcher taught me. The first moment I saw him was exactly like my dream; he was coming in from the rain shaking out his umbrella,” Buffy said.

“Sort of phallic, isn't it?”

“Ew,” Buffy said.

“Come on darling, you just turned twenty, but since you seem so bloody uncomfortable with the grown up talk, I'll use one of your phrases. Were there smoochies?”

“Yes.”

“So he was your lover, which was why Angel targeted him.”

“Yes.”

“Are you still conducting a sexual relationship with him?”

“Yes, I mean not really now, but...the point is I'm trying to quit.”

“Good lord.”

“Wes, please, don't look at me like that.”

“How can you even be certain he's ensouled?”

“He is Wes, I've seen enough vampires to know the difference. Spike has had plenty of chances to bring the chompy death, but he hasn't. When he rose after the change, Angel left Spike's sister there as a welcome-to-an-eternity-of-evil breakfast buffet. Spike didn't hurt her, he protected her.”

“If you trust him enough not to kill him, why is he living in a cage?”

“It's kind of complicated.”

“Clearly,” Wesley said.

Another sip, then the man's sigh.

“I don't think you ought to be entrusted with the care of this being any longer. You're personally involved and it's clouding your judgment. I'm authorized to take Spike back to England--”

“He won't want to leave us, I mean mainly Tara, for one thing and for another I'm responsible for what's happening
to him,” Buffy said.

“It doesn't matter what he wants, the dead don't have rights,” Wesley said.

“But Tara does, and you said you wanted to study both of them.”

“Then I'll take this girl with me. A compliant vampire could be an incredible asset to the council for aiding and training future slayers,” Wesley said.

“You can't just kidnap Tara. She's not a vampire,” Buffy said.

“Well, she sounds like a terribly powerful witch to have pulled off the soul bond spell. She may want to join the council, expand her knowledge,” Wesley said.

First being overly cozy with his girl, then this brassy bastard assumes he can appropriate his sister, Spike though. Spike couldn't have that, he couldn't have this stranger being so careless with Tara's wishes and well being.

“If she doesn't?”

“I suppose that means you get to keep your pet for a while longer, darling,” Wesley said.

“My pet? Condescending much?”

“What would you call it? You have an exotic monster caged in your basement that you feed thrice daily and keep on a leash,” Wes said.

“Spike's not a talking bird or one of those Koi fish you collect, he's—”

“What, darling? What is he? Because the thing downstairs is not the man you knew. Part of you must understand that or else you wouldn’t be keeping it chained to a wall, unless you’ve suddenly developed some odd kinks in your isolation. Never featured you for a Mistress Spanks-a-lot type,” Wesley said, wryly.

“God, gross. You wouldn't say that if you had any idea what it’s been like for me since you left. No one had seen me or talked to me or you know...touched me in so long. I was barely existing until I met Spike. And he was patient with me, he was kind when he didn’t have to be at all,” Buffy said.

“Sorry, that was a bit insensitive,” Wesley said.

Spike listened to their sips and an awkward shuffling of hands, thinking of what Buffy had just said. He’d imagined her life was lonely but hearing her say it made him want to cry. His empathy for her dueled with his outrage at being called a thing in such a self-assured manner by a man he avidly loathed.

“There's something else. Lacy was the one who vamped Spike. I'm worried she's done something bad to him, I mean something else bad besides the siring,” Buffy said.

“Lovely, you couldn't have mentioned that I'd be dealing with Ms. Chavois over the phone?”

“Well she's dust, or I think she is, so the point seemed pretty moot. Moot. It's amazing how a word so close to moo and toot could sound so depressing,” Buffy said.

“Stay focused, darling. So how did the mendacious harridan shuffle off?”

“Spike tore out her heart—“

“Fitting, I only wish I could have been there,” Wesley said.

“Nice. I knew you two weren’t BFF’s but I had no idea you hated her so much.”

“She hurt you.”

Spike could almost feel the blood rising to Buffy’s cheeks.

“Lacy made him drain her because she had to die to break Angel’s protection spell. Apparently Lacy said she didn't want to exist without Willow and that just seemed kind of--”

“Like a filthy lie,” Wesley said.

“Exactly. I mean Lacy used her Jedi mind tricks to do God knows what to Willow before she handed her over to Angel and that was all before she got a big jolt of primordial evil juice pumping through her system,” Buffy said.

“You're wondering what caused her sudden self-sacrifice,” Wesley said.

“I want you to look up all the spells she could have done that would require one vampire to totally drain another or anything that would have to do with taking a heart. It could be a childe-sire thing. I just have to know she isn't going to do any more damage than she already has,” Buffy said.

“Have you spoken to him about this?”

“It's kind of difficult.”

“Then I will,” Wes said.

A pause. The sound of a tea spoon in a saucer.

“What was going on when I walked in? You said he wasn't dangerous but it looked like--”

“Nothing was going on,” Buffy said.

A chair scraping across the floor then her steps; the sound of a water faucet, soap bubbles popping and dishes being washed. There were more steps and then the rustle of fabric. Wesley was touching her; Spike cracked his knuckles one by one and rolled his neck in a circle. It was a ritual he did right before he put on his gloves and entered a ring.

“I haven't seen you like this since Dawn,” Wesley said, his soft voice brushed to velvet.

Buffy's words were sunk in tears.

“I feel like I'm dying, Wes. I need you to tell me he's not gone,” she said.

A lingering hand on the back, choking sounds coming from his girl. She was probably crying ugly now with a running nose and desperate breath. Spike hated that he was so far away from her; that some other wanker was being her soggy shoulder.

“You know I'll do whatever I can to help you,” Wesley said.

A smacking sound, a kiss?

“No Wes, don't,” Buffy said.

Spike darted to his feet and was stalking the cage. Some motherfucker was kissing his girl and there was nothing he could do. And not just a kiss, but a kiss she didn't want. Spike was so enraged he could hardly think of anything but the word “Mine” howling like a siren in his brain.
Pushing, shuffling on the floor.

“I've been waiting for you to reach out to me for so long. Galls me that you went to a stranger when I've wanted you so long,” Wesley murmured.

More smacking. Spike's fangs ripped through his gums and his vision had hard, diamond clarity.

“You're drunk, Wes and I can't deal with this from you right now. I'm hanging by a thread,” Buffy said. There was such weariness in her quiet voice; how could that bastard put this on her now, when he was clearly her last resort? Spike wanted to de-bone Wesley like a fish.

“I'm always drunk, but you're right. Shall we wait until I get your vampire problem sorted?”

“Sure Wes. Your room's still the same, if you want to get some rest. It must have been a long flight,” Buffy said.

Buffy was dismissing him, but she said the words soothingly as though she'd had plenty of experience pacifying drunks. Spike could imagine her smile, the hollowness in her eyes as she composed her face for Wesley's benefit. He wanted to kill, kill, kill; turn the little prick into a Pez dispenser except instead of chalky, rectangular candies, the Wes-Pez would shoot out blood. Wesley and Buffy spoke as though nothing was wrong, Wesley bidding her goodnight. She'd resumed the washing up. Wesley's shoes were still as he lingered for a parting glance.

“If you need to talk, if you need anything, darling, you know where I'll be,” Wesley said. Spike swore he heard a leering emphasis on the word anything.

“Thanks,” Buffy said.

Wesley's steps retreated, doors opened and closed. Spike heard the water sloshing in the sink, then shattering glass and the smell of Buffy's blood annihilated all his other senses.





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