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Author's Chapter Notes:
CHAPTER PAIRING: Spike/Buffy

DISCLAIMERS: All BtVS characters are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions.

CHAPTER CREDITS: n/a

AUTHOR'S CHAPTER NOTES: The action is starting to brew.
Only, there was no Slayer in Cleveland.

When Spike rooted around at the various demon bars, the response he got was snickers and chuckles, as if he even needed to ask such a daft question. Cleveland didn't have much of a vampire problem; the residents tended to take care of that on their own, whether by accident or on purpose. No nonsense there. Probably could handle a few of the lesser demons as well. Not much to keep a slayer busy here, particularly not a slayer with ADHD like Faith. Not much to keep a bloke looking for vampire revenge here either. Good. Because he meant what he told Wood; his mercy was a one-shot deal. That left only the big nasties, which was more Spike's style. Like he told Angel all those years ago, he never liked fights he was sure he could win. And with word in the underground that William the Bloody had settled there, the brassiest of demons would find their way to that part of the world. Spike remembered how much of a slump the city had been in for decades and gloated that the recent economic resurgence was due to all the new demon activity on his account. Hey, a bloke could dream, right? Better than the ones filled with heartbreak, anyway.

Stop being a poof, he chided himself. Got Angel for that. That's why he was here. Didn't need to help the helpless in Cleveland cuz they weren't. They ignored him, and he went after the big bads instead, no thanks and no glory. Just him and the fight.

Spike knew what he was doing. He was trying to justify how he could be anywhere other than in Buffy's arms. This is why he mentally argued for reasons as to why he picked Cleveland over anywhere else. Who else would care? He wished he knew some spells, wished he had paid more attention to Dru's madness and magic—maybe then he could find a way to search out his lost Slayer. (To make her love him? No, not going there again, mate.)

Spike missed ratty Willy at that moment, knowing that he could have gotten a message through to someone by way of Willy the Snitch. He'd bribe him with all the money and protection in the world for a shot at that. But Willy was likely crushed somewhere in the crater he made of Sunnydale. Stayed til the end, the greedy bastard.

Spike sighed and finally heard the ticking of the needle on the record, going round and round with crackly dead air. How long had he been sitting here? The cigarette in his fingers was nearly ash. It crumbled to the floor the moment heavy fists thudded against his door. Good, some action.

Through the peephole he saw the husky figure: dark skin with blunt spikes protruding on both sides of his face, mouth in a firm line. It was Gar.

"Did you get the message?" Gar growled as Spike let him in.

Before Spike could answer, Gar coughed. "Guess so," he said, looking the beaten vampire over.

"More like I watched the news, mate. Wasn't too hard to figure out."

Gar frowned. "Crazy white boy. Couldn't just wait for us?"

"Yeah, well..." Spike shot Gar his trademark smirk. "What can I say? I got bored."

Truth was, he needed something to get his mind off of Buffy. He was busy enough with a handful of different hobbies he'd taken and all the different roles he played now. Maria, his landlady and the owner of the restaurant below, had him fixing the boiler in the old building during most of that afternoon. That it cut into his sleep didn't bother him a bit; he hadn't been able to sleep much since Sunnydale and L.A., and what sleep he did get was fraught with painful memories of all he lost.

"Random strike?" Spike asked, shaking off his thoughts. He offered the Kailiff demon a shot of Jameson.

Gar shook his head, downing the whiskey in a quick gulp. "The east-side is buzzing. Word is there's more Prekians on their way. Passing through before the storm hits."

"Literal or proverbial?" For all his bravado, Spike wasn't sure he liked the sound of this.

"Both." Gar took the bottle and poured himself another shot. "I can barely control East Cleveland this week. And 93rd & Kinsman's trying to put itself back on the map, despite my boys. The hellmouth is brewing up something thick, and it ain't a new addition to Hot Sauce William's menu!"

Spike swallowed a growl. How could that be? Surely, he'd have felt it himself. He kept his ear to the ground, got the tinglies when the hellmouth belched. The last time he heard about Gar's territory getting this riled up was when Red went all dark and apocalyptic...





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