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If you happened to be Sunnydale's finest slayer, England's coolest vampire, or Stockton's um number one greatest bestest most affordable accountant, then you were mucking through the Pylean forest looking for shelter and desperately missing home while cursing your luck.

But, if you happened to be a Ralph Lauren-suited member of the Thorine, life for the moment, couldn't be any sweeter (and by the word ‘sweeter' I mean ‘mellifluous).

"Cigars? Cigarettes?"

Oh yeah. There was no doubt in his mind this match up would prove to be interesting.

Insanely interesting.

The Ringmaster grabbed a finely rolled Cuban from the tray of a nearby waitress and slowly ran the cigar under his nose, savoring the smell of tobacco. Battle of the Cows was undoubtedly the greatest idea he had come up with in years. He'd never seen such a packed house; the bookie was practically being mobbed with people wanting to either get in their bets or change them completely. The word was that so far, most odds were on the Slayer taking it, but The Ringmaster wasn't one to be swayed by the vote of popular opinion.

The Slayer or any other not-quite-human participant was an obvious and safe choice.

Exhaling the smoke he let it slowly curl around his body, before sparing a glance in the direction of the frenetic crowd who had taken to shouting their bets at the top of their lungs.

Yep, The Ringmaster's kittens were all on that annoying human who'd glued himself to the Slayer's side.

After all it was always the underdogs who surprised you.

**

"I'm hungry."

Surreptitious looks were exchanged by Ms. Summers and Mr. The Bloody. Though the two were both equally exhausted and hungry themselves, the covert looks and similar understanding between them had more to do with a secret desire to detach Rob's head from his body than anything else. If it weren't for her pesky conscience and all-around ‘goody-goody' demeanor, Buffy would have wasted the accountant two hours ago; and if it weren't for that buggering chip, Spike would've drained him dry after the first minute and a half of being in his presence. He was a bit peckish himself, after all.

After wandering for hours, our players managed to find a cave to serve as temporary shelter mere moments before the Pylean sun(s) began to set.

Tilting his head to the side, Spike gave Rob a smile that was anything but friendly. "Great! I was just about to step into the kitchen," he said sarcastically gesturing at the vast, empty cave around them. "Tell me, mate, what can I whip up for you?"

"I was just making conversation," he stated with a shrug and added, "I have to pee." while heading toward the cave's entrance.

"I don't know how much more of that ponce I can take," Spike said the second Rob was gone.

"Okay, so Rob's kind of annoying..." Off of Spike's look Buffy quickly amended her choice of words, "alright, there hasn't been a word invented to describe the kind of annoying Rob is, but he's in the same boat we are." She shrugged. "And he doesn't exactly have the super human strength thing to fall back on either. Can't be easy for him."

"Whereas for us it's a walk in the bloody park?" Spike sighed heavily. "Slayer, do you have any idea what it's gonna take to get back to good ol' Sunnyhell?! Portals don't just open up out of the sky, sweetheart."A beat, "Actually, they do – but that's not the point. We've got demons pulling our strings world's away and they're not counting on bringing more than one person back."

"If this is your way of helping - guess what? Not working."

Removing his cigarettes from the pocket of his over shirt, he slipped one between his lips. "Just trying to give you a little perspective."

Green eyes narrowed. "I don't want your perspective, Spike."

A truly lascivious smile curled on his pouty lips. "That right?"

"Keep your perspective away from me."



As night fell, the slayer, the vampire, and the accountant tried to settle in as best they could. When one is used to creature comforts, dwelling in a drafty, musty cave can surprisingly be most uncomfortable (the word ‘uncomfortable' here meaning ‘sucky'). The packs the Thorine graciously supplied were emptied and were found to contain a lantern, two flashlights, a few cans of food (SPAM, SPAM and more SPAM), a canteen, a sleeping bag, one weapon (Buffy's Pack: Trash Can Lid. Rob's Pack: .44 caliber pistol) and most importantly a fifth of Southern Comfort...

Buffy giggled uncontrollably, her head drunkenly lulling to one side as she playfully slapped Spike on the shoulder.

Which they each guzzled down like liquid candy.

Rob took a healthy swig from the liquor bottle and turned his attention on Buffy. "Buffy..." he began, mulling over her name, " is that short for something? Like Elizabeth?"

She scrunched up her face. "No."

Rolling up on his knees Spike stretched over the lantern that designated the circle, and took the bottle out of his hands. "Time to share, wank."

"Hehe, ‘wank'," Rob chuckled. "I love the way you Brits talk; wanker, knickers, shag, bollocks. It's the best accent in the world. What does ‘wanker' mean anyway?" he asked drunkenly.

Spike's grinned widened considerably. "Its our little way of saying ‘friend'."

"Oh," he nodded. "I'm honored you would consider me to be a wanker so soon after meeting one another."

"I've thought of Spike as a wanker for years," Buffy snickered.

The blonde vamp rolled his eyes. "Appreciate the sentiment, luv."

"Just letting you know I care."

"That is really, really cool about you guys," Rob said, his words slurring together. "I mean – you're a vampire, she's like your food source and yet you mange to overcome this major obstacle and be wankers. That's so awesome. It's beautiful when you think about it. Very Martin Luther King-y."

"I hate to bust up the party, but it's getting late..." A frown etched itself on Buffy's face, "at least I think it's getting late. This dimension probably doesn't follow Pacific Standard Time, huh?"

"Yeah, we could all use a bit of shut-eye, Slayer," Spike said stretching.

"I'll stand watch," Rob said, grunting as he climbed to his feet. "Be on the look out for any overzealous ‘participants' and whatnot."

Propping himself up against the hard wall, Spike pulled his duster tightly around him and tried in vain to get comfortable while Buffy settled into her puffy sleeping bag. "Pleasant dreams, luv."

"Spike?"

"Mmm-hmm?"

"I'm kinda drunk so I'm sure I'll forget to say this later – so, I'm just gonna say it now before I get all hungover and forget-y..."

A sigh. "Yeah...?"

"I don't like you. In fact, I can't stand you. I've had daydreams about you tripping and falling on random pointy objects – like, picket fences or gothic wooden furniture..."

"Is there a bloody point in there somewhere?" he said irritated.

"Yes," she said matter-of-factly. "The point is, even though I sort of hate you – I'm glad you're here. I don't think I could get through this alone."

Spike couldn't help the smile that broke out on his face.

"I'm glad you're here too, Buffy."


TBC





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