Awards this story has won and is nominated for. Thank you for all your support! Fang Fetish R8: Best Alternate Reality, Best Angst, Runner Up Best WIP. Rogue Poet R4: Best Plot, Runner Up Best WIP. Spuffy R14: Best General Saga Reader's, Best General Angst Judge's, Judge's Pick, (nominated Best General Romance). Rogue Poet R5, 'Best Round': Best Plot Readers Choice. SunnyD R15: Best New Author, Best Spuffy Angst, Best AU, Best Drama, Best Unfinished. Rogue Poet R6: Runner Up Best Characterization. Spuffy R15: Most Original Plot Judge's, Judge's Pick. Running with Scissors R4: Runner Up Best WIP. Spark and Burn R5: Runner Up Best Alternate Reality, Best Alternate Reality Reader's, (nominated Best WIP). Spark and Burn R6: Currently nominated for: Best Plot, Best Angst, Best Spike Characterization, and Best New Author.

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Chapter 1 - Problems

Buffy was not happy.

But then, kidnapping attempts tended to put a person on edge.

“This is getting ridiculous,” she said, slumping into the couch with her arms crossed. “Ridiculously scary, that is.”

Her mother was hovering behind her. “Hank, you’ve got to do something. She was nearly killed!”

“Not so much killed,” Buffy put in, “as kidnapped. So hey, look on the bright side. Could have been worse, right? Nothing to worry about at all. I must be imagining things,” she finished with a fake smile.

“This isn’t a joke, Buffy,” her father said.

He glared at her from his seat. Apparently sarcasm wasn’t appreciated.

Buffy sat up straighter and scowled slightly. “I know that. I was there. I was the one who had people grabbing at me, not you. I know it’s not a joke. You’re the one who’s been treating it as unimportant.”

“It’s been unimportant.”

“Yeah. People following me, watching me—completely okay. Gotcha.”

“I meant—”

“You meant you thought I was blowing things out of proportion. Well, now you know I’m not.”

“The point,” Joyce interjected, “is that we need to find out who’s behind this, at least get someone on it. Right, Hank?”

Buffy tilted her head to glance behind her. Her mother had her arms folded, with one finger absently tapping her elbow. Across the room, her father was doing that thing with his eyebrows. Definite squaring off stance.

The room was suddenly thick with tension, and Buffy sullenly wondered which of them was going to break it first, or whether this would erupt into another full-scale argument over nothing. Well, maybe not nothing this time, but a parental shout fest was the last thing she was in the mood for.

“Fine,” her father said after a minute. “I’ll go make some calls.” Then he went into his office and shut the door. Rather loudly shut the door.

It was silent for a moment, and Buffy craned her neck up, looking over the back of the cushions. “Mom?”

“What, honey?”

“You believed me, didn’t you?”

Joyce moved to sit down next to her. “I believed you when you said that you were being followed. Unfortunately, that sort of thing happens sometimes on campuses. But I never expected this could happen.”

“Yeah, neither did I. And of course Dad didn’t. He doesn’t even care,” Buffy said. “Not really. It’s just a big inconvenience to him, something else he has to deal with.”

“He does care, sweetheart. Maybe he wasn’t worried before, but he is now.”

“Yeah, takes a kidnapping attempt for him to notice anything.”

“You know his job—”

“Please, Mom. You argue with him all the time about the job. Don’t use it as a defense.”

“All right, honey, I won’t. So how about this? Maybe his having some connections will pay off, hmm?”

Buffy ventured a small smile. “Yeah, maybe it will.” She paused. “God, I feel awful. I think maybe I need a bubbly bath to recharge my Buffy battery.”

-----

After going into his office, Hank sat down at the desk and stared out the window for several minutes. Once he felt collected, he opened a drawer and pulled out his private Rolodex.

He dialed the number he needed and a moment later, a girl answered.

“Bryce Agency, how may I help you?”

“Yes, I need to speak to the person in charge.”

“Hold on a moment, please.”

After a short silence, a cultured voice spoke. “This is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, how may I be of service?”

“I’ve got a problem,” he started. “And I hear that you’re the people to go to for difficult problems.”

“Well, we are discreet. And we have the means to handle some of the more…problematic situations that can arise. What, specifically, is your dilemma?”

“My daughter is being followed. Today, she was almost kidnapped.”

“Ah.” The voice sounded more relaxed. “Well, we could certainly handle that. How old is your daughter?”

“Nineteen.”

“I see. Now, Mr.…?”

“Summers.”

“Mr. Summers. We can help you, but as a professional courtesy, I must inform you that there are people who would take care of this for less. This generally isn’t the sort of case we specialize in and—”

“I don’t care. I was told that you’re the best, and I want the best. No matter what.”

“As you wish. May I inquire who referred you to us with such a high recommendation?”

“A…contact of mine.”

“I see. Of course. Now, may I ask what the police had to say about—”

“I haven’t told the police.”

Wesley paused, noticing a catch in the other man’s voice. “Surely it would be best if you employed all possible resources?”

“I know how the police work. They’ll put a car outside the house for a night or two, and that’ll be it. She needs protection. Real protection.”

“Very well, Mr. Summers. We’re a small staff of two and don’t employ bodyguards ourselves, but I contract with many highly recommended—”

“I don’t need highly recommended,” he cut in. “I need the best.”

“I understand your—”

“No, you don’t! My little girl is in danger and I demand the best—”

“I happen to know the best,” Wesley interrupted in turn, feeling slightly provoked. “However, he doesn’t come cheaply—”

“I’ll pay anything.”

“—if he agrees at all.”

“Doesn’t he work for you?”

“No. As I said, we contract for these things. He takes contracts from whomever he wishes. In some instances, he simply isn’t interested; in others, he doesn’t think the money worth his time. He is very well compensated, but those who hire him are always satisfied. Of course, in addition to his price, you’ll have my fee as well.”

“I’ll pay anything.”

“Of course. Though you must realize that he may not be available. In which case, I’ll be more than happy to arrange any of our other reliable associates.”

“I want—”

“The best. Yes, I know.” Wesley slowly exhaled. “Give me your number, Mr. Summers, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible,” he said shortly. “Also, it would be helpful if you would fax over any other information you feel is relevant.”

-----

An hour later, Wesley had the faxes in hand. He had also talked to Mr. Summers again, gathering what relevant information he could. Wesley reviewed the sheets, pausing for a long moment after he was finished.

Then he picked up the phone and dialed. It rang several times before a clipped voice answered. “Yeah?”

“I’ve got a job you might be interested in.”

“So what is it?” Spike asked.

“Protection.”

A pause. “Not exactly my game, Watcher.”

“You’ve done it before. Not for any of my clients, but you have. And very well, I daresay.”

Wesley could practically hear him shrugging as he said his next words. “So let’s have the rundown.”

“College freshman at UCLA. She says she’s been followed and watched for the past week or so. Today someone attempted to abduct her in a van. Naturally, she’s upset.”

“What’d you think of her?”

“I’ve only spoken to her father on the phone,” Wesley said, glancing at the faxes. There was a miniature photo of the girl in one corner of the page. “She’s small, blonde—your typical California girl. She lives with her parents, goes to class on weekdays, has no job, and likes to go shopping and clubbing on the weekends. No enemies known, and only one ex-boyfriend. Her father was…adamant about having nothing but the best for her, yet gave no reason why she would need such extreme precautions.” He paused. “On the surface, it appears to be your average ransom plot.”

“Rich bitch?”

“Her parents are well off, yes.”

“But you don’t think it’ll be a ransom?”

“I’m not sure. Something seemed off.”

“They hire you to watch her or go after the ones chasin’ her?”

“Her father was very specific that he wanted a bodyguard. Naturally, my first inclination was that he needed her protected until the problem was solved, but for whatever reason, he doesn’t wish to inform the police. He was insistent yet evasive, and obviously used to throwing his money and weight around. As it stands, he wants the best bodyguard possible and will pay, quote, anything.”

There was a long silence. Then, “Fifteen hundred a day. That’s my price for babysittin’ Barbie.”

Wesley was silent.

“Not my game, like I said. They’d better make it worth my while. He’ll pay; he sounds like the type.”

“Then I presume I can inform Mr. Summers of your terms?”

“That you can.”

“Very well. Come by my office later tonight to get the details.”

The line went dead.

A/N: I have revised the first eighteen chapters. So if you happen to be rereading and wondering if something had always been there, the answer is probably not. I have not taken anything out or changed anything major, and have kept the chapter content the same, in order to not throw off the chapter numbers or the reviews. I have ended up adding a few scenes, but mainly there are smaller changes. Tighter point of view, conversation structure, more description, etc. These early chapters before Buffy becomes the Slayer have been bothering me for a while, and after much debating with myself, I decided to redo them. I felt that the tone and style didn’t quite fit with the rest of the story, and I wanted the story as a whole to flow more naturally.

-----

Chapter 2 - Conversations

Buffy had hung up her phone over an hour ago. Now it sat on the bathroom rug, where she’d discarded it after calling Cordelia. She hadn’t been able to relax until she’d rehashed the entire thing, including what Cordy already knew about her feeling creeped out on campus.

She glanced at the small clock next to the frosted glass windows. She’d been in the tub over two hours. Every time the bath began to get cool she turned on the faucet, adding scalding water and more bubbles.

Try as she might, she wasn’t able to completely unwind. Images from the past two weeks—particularly from that day—kept spinning around in her head.

At first, it had just been a creepy feeling. That feeling of being watched. Walking around campus or downtown, she would suddenly just know that someone was looking at her. A couple of times she thought she’d seen something, but had managed to convince herself otherwise, until recently. But she hadn’t been able to do anything about it; there wasn’t enough to file a report on. There wasn’t any actual evidence at all.

Until today, when everything had suddenly come crashing into reality.

She had been walking in the parking lot when a man had grabbed her from behind and tried to drag her into a van. She’d managed to get his hand away from her mouth and had emitted a bloodcurdling scream she hadn’t known she was capable of. Thrashing wildly, Buffy had kicked behind her, and realized she’d hit a vital spot when she felt his hold on her lessen. Apparently deciding that the opportune moment was quickly passing, he’d flung her roughly into a nearby car, and she had heard the mixed noises of the van speeding away and several sets of footsteps and voices.

“Are you all right?” “Call the cops!” “Miss? Miss?” “No license plate on it.”

Buffy had gasped and stood, ignoring the people gathering around her. Running on automatic, her only thought had been of getting out of there. She had pushed past the small crowd, unlocked her car with shaking hands and sped home. Where her mother had taken one look at her and had known that something horrible had happened.

A knock on the bathroom door jolted Buffy out of her thoughts. “Honey?”

“It’s okay, Mom!” she called.

Joyce entered the bathroom and leaned against the counter opposite the tub. “Well, I have some news. Your father’s gotten a bodyguard for you.”

“A bodyguard?” Buffy exclaimed. “You are kidding, right? Please be kidding.”

Images of some six foot nine, three hundred pound man following her throughout the day flashed through Buffy’s mind. Undoubtedly, he would have big dark glasses and a shaved head. Conspicuous much?

“Can’t I just stay home and hide under the covers or something?”

“Buffy, we have no idea how long sorting out the rest of this might take. You can’t just put your life on hold for days, and certainly not for weeks.”

“Weeks?!”

“Your father has been talking with a man from some agency,” she continued. “They’ve hired us the best. I know you might not like it, but you’ll be safe. Surely that’s more important in the big picture?”

“Yeah, but…”

“He’s coming later tonight, so you can go over things with him before tomorrow.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes, Buffy. Now, I’ve got to go get the guest room ready.”

Joyce exited, shutting the door behind her, and Buffy sank down beneath the water.

Bodyguard. It just sounded so…James Bond. And how majorly weird would it be? ‘Hi, I’m Buffy, and this is my bodyguard. Don’t mind him, just pretend he’s not there.’

There was no way this was going to work. Okay, so maybe not being kidnapped would be a plus, but a bodyguard? Seriously? What was wrong with just never leaving the house again?

Buffy came back up and sighed, wiping the bubbles from her face.

Then she added more hot water.

-----

When Wesley closed his book and swiveled his chair around, he found a leather-clad figure smirking at him from across the desk.

“It would be appreciated if you would announce your presence,” he snapped.

“And miss seein’ you jump like a girl? Not bloody likely.”

“They’re expecting you tonight. Is that a problem?”

Spike shook his head.

Wesley continued. “This is the information they gave me, as well as the information I’ve collected myself.” Then he paused, holding the folder closer to himself than to Spike. “Are you certain you’re up for this?”

“What, keepin’ some chit alive? Think I can handle it.”

“Yes, well, I was referring to going to her classes, or perhaps not leaving the house—it isn’t exactly going to be exciting.”

“Until someone makes a grab for her.”

“Perhaps. But it will be rather monotonous, I imagine. I suspect that you’re not good with monotony.”

He shrugged.

“Or with playing nice that long.”

Spike laughed. “You afraid I’ll get cabin fever and snap?”

“If I thought there was a possibility that you’d snap, I certainly never would have called you. But please, attempt to be somewhat pleasant.”

He snorted. “For fifteen hundred a day, I’ll be a perfect gentleman. Been a while since I did somethin’ this big.” He reached out and took the folder, pulling out two sets of stapled papers. Spike casually flipped through them and then stuffed them in his pocket. “I’ll save the readin’ for later. So they don’t know, I take it?”

“Of course not. Don’t be absurd.”

“Well, they called you.”

“True. However, I have no reason to believe that there’s anything supernatural involved.” He frowned. “In fact, it’s really not something I would have contacted you about.”

“Then why did you?”

“I don’t know. There does seem to be something strange going on, though I’m not entirely sure what. I do believe there’s more than there seems to be.”

He didn’t respond, and Wesley couldn’t help the slight frown that crossed his face again as Spike stared at him.

Spike grinned. “Still gets under your skin, don’t it?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yeah, right. Dealin’ with me irritates your indoctrinated learning. It may be good for business, but you’re only sittin’ here all cordial-like cause you know that any attempted killin’ between us can only end one way.”

“Among other reasons.”

“Already had my chance, didn’t I?” Spike smirked. “Don’t worry, Watcher, I’m a man of my word. I’m not gonna kill you, not unless you start it.”

“I know.”

“Trust me, do you?”

“I trust you as far as I can pay you.”

“That’s the best kind.” He stood. “Right. Y’know, if I’m gonna be there ’round the clock, I’m gonna need—”

Wesley sighed. “I’ll take care of it.”

He didn’t even hear the door close when Spike left as silently as he had come.

Chapter 3 - Introductions

Buffy was upstairs in her room when she heard the doorbell ring. She inwardly grimaced, but curiosity got the best of her, and she found herself hovering near the top of the stairs in order to get a first look. The idea of not coming out of her room had occurred to her (the idea of not going outside again period had occurred to her), but the last thing she wanted was a stranger witnessing a childish fit. Especially a stranger that she would have to deal with sooner or later.

The doorbell rang a second time, and she saw her father walk across from the dining room, muttering, “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

Opening the door, Hank wasn’t sure what he was expecting—beyond a vague impression of a secret service person who was always standing next to the President in movies—but what was on his doorstep wasn’t it. With black leather, bleached hair, and yes, a motorcycle parked in the driveway, this guy looked more bad boy than bodyguard. “Eh,” Hank stammered.

“Spike.”

“Yes, ah, Spike, I spoke about you earlier to Mr….?” he said, purposely letting the name slide.

“Wyndam-Pryce.”

“And how do I know you’re actually acquainted with Mr. Pryce?”

“Cause if I wasn’t, she’d already be dead,” Spike said, sick of the testing game and ready to slip one of his own in. “Look mate, I’m easy. I’m not comin’ in unless you say so, and I’m fine with gettin’ back on my bike and headin’ out. Up to you. Of course, I’ll be keepin’ my advance either way.”

The man looked less indecisive at the mention of losing money, and after a few seconds he said, “C’mon in.” He opened the door wider and moved aside for Spike, not noticing that he was wearing a pleased smirk as he crossed the threshold.

Spike set his small duffel bag down. “You got a little extra room in your garage for my bike?”

“It won’t get stolen.”

He raised an eyebrow. “No, but assumin’ someone is watchin’ the house, let’s not advertise. Not that they won’t figure it out sooner or later.”

“Er, right. I’ll open it up.”

Buffy watched as her father went in the direction of the garage and Spike went back outside. And Spike? Was sort of name was that?

She sluggishly made her way down the stairs. The gaudy entryway chandelier had mostly blocked her view, so Buffy figured she might as well suck it up and head down unprepared.

After a moment, she heard them both coming back through the garage, and she paused a few steps from the bottom of the stairway. Her mother came out from the kitchen.

“Well, here he is,” Hank said enthusiastically. “Spike, this is my wife Joyce, and daughter Buffy.”

“Mr. Spike,” Joyce said, holding out her hand.

“Just Spike,” he said, brushing her fingers lightly.

“Oh. Of course. Well, here’s Buffy.” Joyce gestured to the stairs.

Spike turned his gaze to her, and Buffy froze for a split second. He was gorgeous. A definite eleven in the good looks department, once you got past the bleached hair and all the black. Though on second glance, it kind of worked. No, make that really worked. And men were not supposed to have cheekbones like that. It wasn’t fair.

“So this is the girl all the mystery men are after,” he said. And how did she not notice the accent before?

“Yeah, that’s me,” Buffy said dryly. Gorgeous or not, this was the guy who was going to follow her around for what she was sure would be the rest of her natural life. “So you’re gonna protect me?” she asked, crossing her arms. “You’re barely taller than I am.”

“Buffy!” her father snapped. “He’s highly recommended.”

“What, I can’t have doubts? A second ago you wouldn’t even let him in the door.”

“I’ll just put your things in the guest room upstairs, Spike,” her mother said. “Buffy, why don’t you show him the house?”

Buffy would much rather not, but said, “Sure, whatever.”

Spike followed the unenthusiastic girl throughout the luxurious house, sure he was being given the standard tour that middle and upper class America seemed to thrive on. On the ground floor there was the living room, den, office, dining room, kitchen, bathroom, utility room and garage. The second floor had the master bed and bath, her bedroom and bathroom, several guest rooms, an entertainment room, and an exercise room.

She obviously wasn’t pleased with any recent events. Not that he supposed she would be. He’d caught a glimpse of her when he had first come in, a vague girl-shape obscured by the light fixture as she’d stood on the landing. Then she’d sulked on the stairway, with defensive posture and aggressive words. Not that he particularly cared.

“And this,” she said dully, as they ended up downstairs once again, “is the linen closet. I’m sure you need to see it, for you know, security purposes.”

“Not too happy about this, are you?”

“Gee, how can you tell?” She looked down, and then said more softly, “Is it possible to be completely pissed off and beyond terrified at the same time? Because that’s me right now.”

“Cause of this afternoon?”

She nodded and briefly related what had happened. “I thought I was gone, you know?” she finished. “That that was it, even as I was kicking and screaming. But suddenly he just flung me away and they drove off. Maybe he didn’t want to be seen; there were people coming.”

Buffy shrugged, realizing she’d just spoken more than she had since he’d arrived. But she supposed she could be cordial and make the best of the situation. She couldn’t go around in a huff for a week.

“You’re lucky they did sloppy work,” he said.

“Because of the whole broad daylight thing?”

“Partly. But you can nab someone in daylight, if you know what you’re about. Never take anything for granted. They took for granted that you’d be easy, that you wouldn’t fight back. In the one second you did, it threw ’em and they lost their game.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow. “You seem to know a lot about this.”

Spike gave her a good-natured smirk and leaned in conspiratorially. “If it’d been me, I’d have gotten you.”

“Well, thanks for that thought. But they’re not going to make that mistake again, huh?”

“’Fraid not. No worries, though.”

“Why? Because you’re here?”

“So how are we getting on?” Joyce’s voice interrupted them, as she hovered in the hallway. “Did Buffy show you your room?”

“That she did.”

“Are you hungry? We already ate, but I could fix you something. Or something to drink?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Well, feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen as long as you’re here.”

Her mother went back down the hall, and Spike turned his attention back to Buffy.

“What now, pet?”

Buffy blinked. The ‘pet’ sort of threw her. “I guess I’ll show you a map of campus, point out where my classes are and stuff. I suppose I’m going to go tomorrow. Not that staying home forever doesn’t sound appealing.” She looked at him for a moment.

“What?”

“Okay, so maybe you’re not a three hundred pound hulking guy—sorry, bodyguard stereotype—but can you maybe look a little less conspicuous?”

“Meanin’?”

“Meaning, it’s gonna be obvious that you’re with me if anyone’s paying attention, but does it have to be obvious obvious why you’re there? Can you lose some of the black? At least wear a coat that’s not floor length. And it’s almost eighty degrees, how can you stand to wear that anyway?”

“No promises on the wardrobe.”

“Not very stealthy, Mr. Bodyguard. C’mon, I’ll print you out a map.”

Buffy sighed to herself. This would still be weird, but maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as she’d imagined.

Chapter 4 - Indications

The guest room more closely resembled a small suite at a hotel than a bedroom. There was a queen size bed, a recliner in one corner, and a couch positioned to one side of the television. A door on one wall led to a bathroom shared between his room and another guest room, and another door opened to a small balcony.

Spike had the balcony door open and the telly volume on low. It was close to dawn and everyone else in the house was long asleep. He was stretched out on the bed, actually reading the papers that the Watcher had given him.

Looking over the information that Wesley had been provided by Hank, he found very little of use. There were the standard form things—Buffy’s date of birth, her license plate number, phone numbers, addresses and more. There was what her father professed to know of her social life, which was probably not entirely correct, Spike thought, but sounded generally in line with what she seemed. There was also a schedule of her classes for the week.

Now the pages Wesley had put together on the family were more interesting. These sheets were copies of Wesley’s own scrawled notes.

There was nothing particularly interesting about Joyce, who worked at a small college and was in charge of the art department. Hank, however, had a high profile job at a large corporation, and by all accounts had numerous contacts in law enforcement, so why he would have gone to Wesley first was slightly puzzling. There were also some allegations from a few years back about his involvement in a white-collar crime, though charges were never brought. Earlier, it seemed he had possibly committed tax fraud. He’s hiding something, Wesley concluded. At any rate, he knows more than he professes.

-----

That morning, Buffy pulled on a dark green top, put the finishing touches on her makeup, and looked in the mirror. She was ready for today, she was. She was ready to go out and face the music. Whether the music was walking around with Spike in tow, or was the people hiding in the bushes, she wasn’t completely sure. But she couldn’t let them take over her life, couldn’t let what might happen make her afraid of everything. She felt a sudden confidence, which was something she wasn’t sure she would have after yesterday.

Buffy grabbed her bag and made her way to Spike’s room. She opened the door. “Are you ready, cause—”

She froze.

Spike was wearing nothing but a towel. It was a rather large towel, but a towel nonetheless. He looked up sharply.

“I…uh…” she started.

“See somethin’ you like?”

Buffy quickly looked at the floor. Why couldn’t she get her feet to move? “Um…I like your bracelet,” she blurted, making a swift exit and shutting the door behind her.

She leaned up against the wall. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Knock before you go into someone’s room! She knew that, she really did.

A moment later, she heard the door click open and saw Spike emerge fully dressed. “I am so sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking. I mean, it’s not like I…on purpose, you know—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted her. “No harm done. Though if you wanted to return the favor…” He raised an eyebrow suggestively.

Buffy opened to mouth to deliver a sharp response, but bit it back. “I probably deserved that.” Then she collected herself. “What sort of man wears jewelry?”

“You shoulda seen me back durin’ my punk days.”

“This isn’t a punk day?”

“Hardly, princess.”

“Okay, but an ankle bracelet? And, kinda gaudy for a guy.”

“Sentimental value. Had it for longer than you’ve been around.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, disbelief in her voice. “Well, you look good for your age.”

“That I do. Now, not another word outta you about my state o’ dress or undress, especially since I’m makin’ concessions here.”

Buffy abruptly realized that he didn’t have on the duster, though he still had the boots. As for the black…he was wearing a button up shirt so deep a red that it might as well have been black, and a pair of faded jeans that clearly used to be black. Normal enough, she supposed.

“Well, let’s go,” she said.

He followed her down to the garage, making no comment as they got into her white convertible.

“Do you mind if I put the top down?” she asked, backing the car down the driveway.

“It’s your car.”

Buffy started to push the button as she pulled onto the street. “Or do you think…?”

He turned to regard her. “Think what?”

“Well, that maybe with all the stuff going on that having the top down might not be such a good idea?”

“I don’t think it matters.”

“Why not?”

“The truth?”

Buffy nodded.

“Because they don’t want you dead.”

Yet. Realization sunk in. Oh God, this was worse.

“If they’d just wanted to kill you, they wouldn’t have been watchin’ or tried the kidnapping.”

Her hands tightened on the wheel.

“They want something,” she said in a small voice. “But what? I don’t have anything. Ransom?”

“Don’t know. Sorry, love.”

Buffy looked back, focusing strictly on the road. A few seconds later, she lowered the top, pushing the button almost defiantly.

After a moment, she glanced over at Spike again. He was leaning back in the seat with his hands folded behind his head and his eyes half closed. He reminded her for all the world of a cat basking in the sun.

“You do that a lot?” she asked.

“Only when I feel like it.”

“You’re not very dark.”

“I don’t tan easy. Mind if I smoke?”

“You smoke?”

No answer. Well duh, Buffy, he wouldn’t ask if he didn’t.

“Yeah, as long as I’ve got the top down you can,” she said. “But don’t blow it in my direction. And never in the house. Mom would kill you.”

He lit up with an easy movement and took a drag.

Buffy fiddled with her sunglasses. She couldn’t help looking at him out of the corner of her eye. He made smoking look so good. And she knew it totally wasn’t. She watched as he casually took the cigarette in hand again and exhaled, hanging his arm over the window. She noticed his fingernails had chipped black polish on them.

“You do know that every cigarette takes like seven minutes off your life, right?” she said aloud.

“That so? And where’d we learn this bit o’ trivia?”

“I don’t know, I think it was on TV. But it must be true. How many a day do you smoke anyway?”

“Enough to have been dead a long time ago.”

“Uh-huh. Are you always Mr. Vague Guy?”

“Are you always this nosy?”

“Fine. We can drive in silence. I can do silence. Can you do silence?”

Spike didn’t say anything.

“Fine,” she huffed again.

Chapter 5 - Exchanges

The day had been surprisingly easy. Buffy had gone by her teachers’ offices and informed them of her situation. Their reactions had quickly gone from concerned to completely accommodating. And that was mostly that. It was easy for Spike to sit relatively unnoticed in the large auditorium classrooms, a borrowed notebook and pen in his hand. Buffy had glanced behind her once, only to see him doodling. If anyone paid attention to him at all in the sea of faces, he seemed like just another slacker who had only now decided to show up.

It was oddly easy to forget that he was there. Spike seemed to be pretending not to know her for the most part. He opted to sit a row or two up and behind her, and after a class was over, he would wait until she started to leave and then trail after her.

Since he didn’t seem inclined to speak to her, at lunch she went about her normal business and made her way to the usual outdoor tables where she met Cordelia. She quickly spotted the other girl, who was looking into a small hand mirror and re-applying her makeup.

“Hey,” Buffy said, sliding in across from her.

“Whoa, Buffy. Didn’t expect to see you here today.” Cordelia closed the mirror and pulled her sunglasses back down. “Not after you called me yesterday. What, have you got a death wish?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I’ve got a bodyguard.”

“No way.”

“Total way. Sorry I didn’t call you back last night, but things were busy.”

Cordelia lifted her glasses and looked around suspiciously. “So where is he?”

“Good question.” Buffy glanced around and spotted Spike leaning against a tree and smoking a cigarette. “Over there. ” She pointed. “The guy with bleached hair.”

“Oh my,” Cordelia drooled. “Wait, why isn’t he like right at your side?”

“He says it’s easier to watch me, and therefore watch for anyone trying to get me. It’s like a whole ‘be aware of the area’ thing.” Buffy shrugged.

“Well, you can sign me up for the next kidnapping.” At Buffy’s blank look, she said, “C’mon, that guy is total and complete hotness. Are you blind?”

“No,” Buffy admitted. “But come on, he’s got to be over thirty.”

“When you’re that hot, it doesn’t matter,” Cordelia stated with conviction.

“Besides, he’s here to do his job and nothing else.”

“Uh-huh.”

Cordelia took a sip of her latte, and there was a short silence. Then Buffy leaned in slightly.

“I saw him in a towel.”

“Shut up. You lucky bitch! Were you spying?”

“No! At least, I didn’t mean to. I just walked in, and he was…there. It was completely embarrassing. Can we please talk about something besides Spike? I’d like to pretend I have a normal life.”

“Okay, okay.” She paused. “So I guess this means that shopping is out of the question this week?”

“I’m thinking yes. God, can you imagine him following us around the mall? And the downtown stores would be even worse.”

“I don’t know,” Cordelia said wistfully. “I think I’d let him follow me anywhere.”

Buffy glared at her.

Cordelia threw her hands up. “Okay. Shutting up.”

-----

After a non-eventful day of class, Buffy drove herself and Spike home. He promptly disappeared upstairs, and she went into the living room to watch TV.

A short while later, Buffy found herself moping around the kitchen trying to decide what to eat when she heard the doorbell ring.

She was halfway down the hall when Spike came thundering down the stairs. He grabbed her arm and whirled her around. “What the bloody hell are you doing?”

“Getting the door! What’s your damage?” she demanded.

“Are you off your bird?”

“Oh please, what’s the big—” Buffy suddenly paled, cutting herself off. “I completely just said that, didn’t I? I might as well just gift-wrap myself. Ugh, what’s wrong with me?”

He let go of her arm. “Nothing’s wrong, pet, you’re just used to thinkin’ normally, that’s all.”

Spike regarded the door for a moment and then proceeded to it himself.

“Oh, so you’re still gonna open it just like that?” she asked as he reached for the knob. “Glad to know I’m in such good hands.”

“I know who it is.”

He opened the door to reveal a thin brown-haired girl holding a paper bag. “Hi, Spike,” she said, handing it to him. “Here you go.”

“This the good stuff?”

She nodded. “He doesn’t like it, but Wesley knows this guy at the hos—house kitchen,” she finished awkwardly. “Well, see ya.” She gave a little wave and then turned toward her car.

“So?” Buffy asked as he shut the door.

“Dinner.”

“We do have food here, you know. What is that, anyway?”

“Takeout.”

“Well, obviously.”

“Wings. Fries.”

“We would have ordered out.”

“It’s a…benefit. Free food delivery.”

He started up the stairs.

“You don’t have to stay up there all the time, you know,” Buffy said. “We’ve got plenty of room, and you’ve got run of the house. You could eat those in the kitchen like a normal person.”

“Could.”

“Hey, if you knew who it was, why didn’t you let me answer it?”

“Didn’t know who it was till I got down here, now did I?”

“Whatever.” Buffy went back to the kitchen, not taking the time to wonder how he could have known after coming downstairs.

-----

Spike turned the lock to his door and opened the bag. He pulled out the Styrofoam container that did indeed contain fast food, and then he dumped out the rest of the bag’s contents.

A bottle of beer, two bags of blood, and a thousand dollars in cash that had a note from Wesley attached. I’m holding the rest for you. Tell Fred if you need it.

Spike pocketed the money and picked up the bags. Slipping into game face, he drained both in quick succession. Then he wadded them in the paper bag and threw it in the trash.

He reached for the container and sat down. Then he paused for a moment. He supposed it couldn’t hurt to eat the kitchen.

-----

Buffy had her head buried in the pantry when she heard the sound of a stool being pulled out.

Spike was sitting at the counter, a fast food container opened in front of him. “What?”

“Nothing.” Buffy shrugged.

“So, where are the folks?”

“Dad usually works late, so he’s hardly ever here. And Mom’s schedule is just weird. Sometimes she works a lot, sometimes she doesn’t. So it’s just me. And you,” she added.

He started to eat. After a minute, he said, “So time to level with me, love. Anyone at all you know that might be out to get you?”

“Nope.”

“Angry lovers that dear old dad doesn’t know about?”

“Nope.” She took a Coke out of the fridge and leaned against the end of the counter. “I mean, I’ve dated, but there was only one serious guy.”

“He the type to snap?”

Buffy laughed. “Riley? Please. Besides, he’s not even around anymore. We had a high school thing, you know? It just wasn’t going to work in the real world.”

“And that Cordelia bird? She your only chum?”

“Yeah. I had other friends in high school, but we drifted. And somehow I never made any in college. I’m just unfriendly Buffy, I guess. But what’s it matter, anyway?” she asked, changing the subject. “It’s not your job to figure out who’s doing this.”

“I s’pose not.” He went back to his food. “Just be nice to know what I’m lookin’ for.”

“I mean, the guy you work for is doing that, isn’t he?”

“Dunno. I s’pose.”

Spike looked at her carefully out of the corner of his eye. He had no idea what she assumed or what she’d been told, but he wasn’t going to bring up the fact that there didn’t seem to be anyone trying to figure out who was behind her attempted abduction.

“I don’t think it’s anyone I know,” she said slowly, tracing the speckles of the countertop with her finger. “I mean, doesn’t that usually build up, like with trying to get my attention first? Creepy dead-end phone calls and weird presents on the doorstep?” She paused. “And random wackos don’t have two-man teams and a getaway van.”

“You’ve thought about this.”

“How could I not?” Buffy looked up. “Ransom is the thing that makes the most sense.”

There was a short silence.

“So can I have a few fries?” she asked.

He pushed the box in her direction. “Help yourself.”

Buffy took several French fries and munched in silence. Then she had a swig of her drink. “I’m going to watch TV. You coming with, or are you going back to hiding in your room?”

Which was how Spike found himself in the living room an hour later, sitting with Buffy on opposite ends of the massive couch. At first they had argued over what to watch, but had eventually settled on Guiding Light, which Buffy had recorded. It wasn’t Spike’s first choice, but it wasn’t half bad, he decided.

-----

A/N: For anyone wondering if Spike has the Gem of Amara, yes he does. :) Which more will be said about later.

Chapter 6 - Dances

“Spike! Doorbell!” Buffy yelled up the stairs. “It’s probably that girl with your food!”

“It is!” Buffy heard the faint voice from the other side of the door.

Looking through the peephole and seeing that it was indeed the delivery girl, and that she was alone, Buffy opened the door herself and took the bag. “Here,” she said, handing it to Spike as he came down. He took the bag from her and went upstairs again.

When he entered the kitchen moments later with container in hand—popcorn chicken, this time—Buffy asked, “Why do you always go upstairs before you eat? What else is in there, booze?”

“That too,” he said. “You know what curiosity killed, don’t you, love?”

“The Buffy?”

He grinned. “That too.”

“And how do you get by with so little to eat? All you had at breakfast was some bacon.”

Spike shrugged and opened the container, glancing at Buffy as he picked at the chicken. She’d hopped up on the adjacent counter, feet dangling as she swung her legs. After spending three full days with her, he had to admit that she wasn’t what he’d expected. Sure, she was blonde and rich, but she was hardly a whiny Valley brat.

Today in the parking lot, as she’d gathered up her things before class, she’d suddenly turned to him and said:

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being here. I know it’s your job and all, but you’re the only reason I can do anything. Go to school, leave the house—feel like me. Otherwise I’d just be at home going crazy.”

He’d muttered something about ‘don’t mention it,’ but she’d gotten to him a bit. His mind had intermittently wandered back to her as he’d sat behind her in the lectures that day, tuning out information he’d nearly forgotten.

Buffy noticed him staring at her. She tapped her nail on the counter to get his attention.

“What?” she asked.

“Hard to believe you’re nineteen is all,” he said. “You look younger.”

“Tell me about it.” She sighed. “The other day at the bank, someone asked me what grade I was in.” At Spike’s blank look, she continued. “That automatically means they think you’re in high school.”

“I thought birds liked to look younger.”

“That’s later. Right now we like to look older.”

“Right. Been outta that loop a while, myself.”

“How old are you?”

Spike smirked, putting his hands together as he leaned on his elbows. “How old do I look, pet?”

“Oh no, I’m not playing that game. Another guy asked me that once, and I said ‘nineteen,’ and he was twenty-five. He got really put off. And then Cordelia got mad because he refused to buy her any drinks.”

Spike was still looking at her.

“Thirty-one,” she guessed.

“Close enough.” He went back to his meal.

“What? You’re not even going to tell me? That’s not fair.”

“I’m thirty-one if you think I am,” he said, still smirking.

“But are you really thirty-one?”

Suddenly Buffy’s phone rang, and she pulled it out of her pocket. “This isn’t over,” she said to Spike. “Hello?”

“So are we going out later tonight?” Cordelia asked.

“I’ll have to ask Spike.”

“You need permission?” she asked incredulously.

“Hello? Life kind of in jeopardy here. And maybe a dark club full of strangers isn’t the best on the safety, you know?”

“Some professional bodyguard can’t keep track of you in a little club?”

“Cordy…”

“But it’s Friday! Look, we don’t have to go to the Watershed. We can go to Riviera. That place is practically high school. You couldn’t get any safer, right?”

“Ugh. Hold on.” Buffy held the phone away from her mouth. “Cordelia wants to go clubbing tonight.”

Spike observed her for a moment. “You wanna go?”

“Well, yeah. But I’d like to come back, too.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Are you sure?”

“Course.”

“Really? Great!” She spoke into the phone again. “Yeah, I can. Uh-huh.” Pause. “Okay, see you then.”

-----

“Are you sure?” Buffy asked again.

“Havin’ second thoughts?”

“School is one thing, but a club is another.”

“If you don’t wanna go—”

“I want to go. But maybe I’m just not as confident in your bodyguarding skills as you are.”

Spike casually slouched against her doorframe. “I’m here. Nothing’s happened, has it?”

Buffy frowned. “There’s something not quite right with that logic.”

“Besides, don’t wanna stay home and go crazy.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m just saying—I’m nervous, that’s all,” she continued, closing a makeup compact. “But I also don’t want to be Buffy-in-hiding for the rest of my life. Even if it sounded very tempting at the beginning.”

Spike watched her as she leaned into the vanity to apply her lipstick. Buffy was pretty, he’d give her that. A little on the thin side, perhaps, but she had a nice enough figure, long, soft looking hair, a delicate neck— She was definitely the sort he could go for, for one thing or the other.

Which was why he was stopping right there. One thing usually led to the other, and he was supposed to be keeping her alive.

“Why are you standing there, anyway?” she suddenly asked.

“You said nine.”

“By which I obviously meant nine—” She paused, catching sight of the clock. “—twenty.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not my fault,” she added. “My hair is awful tonight. I mean, could it be doing any worse?” She struggled with several strands and a clip for a few seconds. “Hey, I know it’s not very manly, but could you hold this piece for a minute?”

“Sorry, but it’s against this rule I have. Don’t set foot in a girl’s room.”

Buffy looked at him like she was trying to figure out if he were serious. “If I come out there, will you hold it?”

He shrugged.

“But then I can’t see what I’m doing.” She looked back in the mirror and paused. “MOM!!”

“Bloody hell.”

A moment later, Joyce appeared, apparently unfazed by Buffy’s ear shattering scream.

“Help me with my hair?” she asked meekly.

Joyce moved to help Buffy, quickly finishing off her twist and fixing it with a clip.

“Thanks.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea, sweetie?”

“Spike says it’s not a problem.”

Joyce glanced at Spike. “I suppose,” she said. “But be careful.”

“We will.” Buffy grabbed a blue jacket and kissed Joyce on the cheek. “Bye, Mom.” Then she looked at him, obviously appraising his long sleeve cotton shirt and jeans. “Black again? Do you own colored clothing?”

-----

The club looked exactly the same. Which really shouldn’t have surprised her, but it seemed like something should have changed.

Buffy glanced around as they entered. “Wow, I haven’t been here in ages.”

“Pretty much the same,” Cordelia greeted her. “No one cool over eighteen comes here, just the losers dating jailbait. But what do I know?” she quickly amended, looking in Spike’s direction.

“I’m gettin’ a beer,” he said, ignoring Cordelia. “Anything for you, pet?”

“Been there, done that, threw up. Beer is bad for Buffy. And hey, alcohol minor here.”

“Suit yourself.”

Buffy got a root beer, and Cordelia, somewhat annoyed that Spike hadn’t offered to buy her a drink, ordered a mineral water. Buffy found them an empty table to sit at.

“This it, then?” Spike asked after moment of silence. “The big weekend plans?”

“Well, there are usually people we know,” Cordelia said. “Or at least I know. This isn’t our usual place. Hey, wanna dance?”

“Couldn’t very well watch Buffy that way.”

“Well, go dance with Buffy, then.”

“What? No,” Buffy said, slightly panicked.

Spike looked at her. “I’m game.”

Cordelia hissed in her ear, “Are you crazy? Go on!”

Buffy wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but a moment later she was setting her drink on the table and following Spike as he led her out onto the floor. He put one hand on her back, while his other took hers.

“Your hand’s cold,” she said absently.

“Sorry, pet.” He moved his hand to her shoulder.

Buffy leaned against him as they began to sway with the music. It was a mindless sort of song, one that wasn’t good for much besides getting to know the shape of your partner’s body. She could feel his muscles as he moved, and her mind jumped back to when she’d walked in on him that first morning.

Then Buffy relaxed and let herself become lost in the moment. She just Buffy again, not someone who had people after her, not someone who had to have a bodyguard, and certainly not someone who was dancing with said bodyguard. She was Buffy, and she was dancing with a hot older guy.
.
.
.
Several dances, drinks, and hours later, things were winding down and Cordelia officially said it was time to bail. “Not cool to be the last ones out of this place,” she quipped, shouldering her purse.

Buffy and Spike exited the club shortly afterward and made their way back to her car. “That was fun,” Buffy said, hanging on his arm. “Thank you. It was good to do something normal. And I had a good time. It was fun, wasn’t it?”

But Spike was only half listening. There was something tingling the back of his neck—the feeling of being watched. He looked into the shadows, but whatever was there had already gone, leaving only the faintest whisper on the air. ‘Slayer.’

She noticed his pause.

“Spike, what is it?” Her hand tightened around his arm.

“Nothing. C’mon.”

Chapter 7 - Clues

Buffy pressed her hand against the wood of the doorframe.

“Spike?”

She knocked on the door.

“Spike?”

She opened the door a crack. The curtains were drawn and the room was dark.

“Spike?” she whispered.

“What?” he finally said.

“Were you asleep?”

“No.” He obviously had been.

“It’s like four in the afternoon. I know we got in late last night, but wow. Mom was starting to get worried. Um, you’re not hung over are you?”

“From two sodding beers?”

“Okay, okay. Anyway, that girl just came by.” She held up the brown paper bag before stepping in and setting it on the dresser.

“I’ll be down in a minute, yeah?”

Spike sighed to himself as she shut the door behind her.

It was naturally hard for him to sleep for more than a few hours at night, and he was with Buffy most of the day. Besides catching naps in the afternoons, he hadn’t been sleeping much. Since it was the weekend now, and since Buffy hadn’t gone out, he hadn’t gotten up.

-----

When Buffy got out of her bath, she went downstairs and found Spike and Joyce in the kitchen. He’d already eaten his food, and was now chatting good-naturedly with her mother over what looked like hot chocolate.

Correction. Joyce had hot chocolate; Spike had coffee. Which sort of supported the theory that he was hung over. Who actually had problems getting out of bed before four?

But whatever.

Buffy glanced at her mother’s cup. “Isn’t it a little early for holiday cheer?” she asked. “It isn’t even November.”

“Buffy, did you know that Spike’s been all over Europe? I had no idea. I went to England myself in college.”

“Well, he’s from there,” Buffy said, pouring herself out a handful of marshmallows.

Joyce rolled her eyes at Buffy. “But to have seen so much of Eastern Europe, too—Czechoslovakia, Romania. What was it like then?”

“Couldn’t say. Really, it was a long time ago.”

“You never tell anything about yourself,” Buffy said. “How’d Mom get it out of you?”

“Your mum, she’s a talker.” Spike took another sip from his mug.

“Speaking of almost being November, Buffy,” Joyce said, “are you still going to the Halloween party?”

Buffy glanced uncertainly at Spike. “I don’t know.”

“But everyone your father or I know will be there.” She looked at Spike. “It’s invitation only. Surely that would be all right?”

Spike shrugged. “I s’pose. Bunch of rich corporate and college types. I’m not dressin’ up, though.”

“Just wear your normal clothes,” Buffy said. “And the coat.”

He turned to her. “Somethin’ wrong with the way I dress?”

She popped the rest of the marshmallows in her mouth and smiled.

“Spike?” Hank stood in the doorway. “Could I see you for a moment?” He was dressed in a suit, briefcase in hand. “Joyce, I’ve got a dinner with a client, but I won’t be late.”

Buffy looked at her mother, who was frowning but didn’t say anything.

Spike followed him to the door, where he paused. “I’m not sure going to the Halloween party is such a good idea,” Hank said.

“No worse than goin’ out last night, I expect.” Spike peered carefully at Hank, who looked like he wanted to say something, but wasn’t quite sure what.

“Well, you’re the professional,” he finally said. Then, “Has anything else happened?”

“No.”

Hank looked down and started to open his mouth, before shrugging apologetically and quickly making his way out the door.

Spike went back into the kitchen, only to find Joyce fiddling with her keys and saying a quick farewell to Buffy.

“I don’t think she wants to be here when he gets back,” Buffy said in answer to his stare. Then her gaze hardened, and she crossed her arms.

“What?”

“I’m not a child.”

“Come again, pet?”

“I said, I’m not a child. I don’t know what sort of secret talk you and Dad just had, but if there’s something going on concerning me, I think I should know about it.”

Spike shrugged, leaning against the cabinets. “He asked how things were goin’ and if anything else had happened. He wasn’t sure about goin’ to the Halloween party. Didn’t give a reason, though.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all. What’d you expect?”

“I don’t know, I just...have this feeling,” she finished lamely.

He studied her for a moment. “What feelin’?”

She sighed. “When things first started happening, it was like he was going overboard trying to blow it off as nothing. And then after the kidnapping attempt, he seemed more bothered about dealing with it than worried. Though now I’m starting to think that he was really worried. He gets me ‘the best,’” she said, pointing at Spike, “but he never even said anything about calling the police. Why wouldn’t he call the police?”

There was a hitch in her voice, like she was desperately hoping he would make sense of it for her. But her face said that she was already making sense of it.

“He must have someone else doing it,” she said, sounding unconvincing.

Spike sighed. “The bloke that hired me,” he said slowly, “wasn’t paid to find out anything, love. I bet no one else was, either.”

“But why wouldn’t Dad want to find out? It doesn’t make sense, unless…unless he already knew who it was.” Her voice fell as she finished the sentence, her last word barely a whisper as she looked at the floor.

Then her head snapped up. “You think he knows who it is? Why would he know who it is?”

“Don’t know. I think he knows somethin’ he hasn’t said, though.”

“That’s it. I’m searching his office,” Buffy said, tearing off down the hall.

She’d gone from crushed to pissed off in five seconds flat.

Buffy flung open the door and flipped on the lights, walking to stand in front of the massive wooden desk. “You keep watch,” she instructed.

“He’s gone. He’s not gonna pop back just like that. By the way, you’re doin’ that all wrong.”

She stopped rifling through the papers. “What?”

Spike came in. “Don’t just throw ’em all around. You gotta put every piece back where it was, even if it’s just layin’ there random.” He demonstrated.

“Again, you seem to know a lot about this. So are you just going to stand there, or help me look?”

He shrugged, and together they began a methodical search of the office, Buffy sorting through the desk, Spike working his way around the bookshelves.

After several minutes of silence, Spike heard a small noise from Buffy. He turned to look and found her kneeling beside a drawer, several dropped sheets spread on the floor. She held the rest in her hand. Wordlessly, she stood and handed them over.

Photos. All outdoors, and she was obviously not aware in any of them.

“These recent?”

Buffy didn’t say anything; she was just staring blankly at the pictures.

“Pet?”

“Yeah,” she said in a small voice. She looked at the photos as he flipped through them. “Out shopping, around school, just before class—oh God, this was right outside the house. Dad had these all along, for who knows how long. And he just kept acting like I was crazy. I bet he knows who’s behind it!”

“Maybe, maybe not. There aren’t demands. Could be this is all he knows—got sent the pictures in the mail or something.”

“Still! He knew something! He knew and he didn’t say!” Her voice cracked. “He knew, and he didn’t say.” She turned suddenly and went out of the room.

Spike shuffled through the pictures once more before carefully placing them back under the papers in the drawer.

Then he sighed. He supposed he had to go talk to Buffy.

Chapter 8 - Inquiries

Buffy was sitting in the living room with her knees in front of her and her feet drawn in close. Spike couldn’t tell if she was sulking or fuming. He sat down on the opposite end of the couch. “I straightened the office up. He’ll never know.”

“How could he do that? How could he not tell us?” she burst out. “God, anything could have happened! ‘I think this guy followed me on campus, Dad,’ ‘Oh honey, don’t be ridiculous,’” she mimicked. “If I’d known, really known, maybe I would have been more careful. But I had no clue. He didn’t give me the chance to.”

“You wanna confront him about it? Or tell your mum?”

“I don’t know.” She looked down.

“You wanna talk to the police?”

“I don’t know.”

Spike tilted his head. “We can have the Wat—Wesley look into it.”

Buffy stared into space.

“Buffy, whatever you want, I’ll do.”

She looked up. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you being so nice to me? I mean, not that you’re normally not nice to me…”

“Way I see it, your father may be payin’ for it, but you’re the one I’m supposed to protect. So you’re the one I’m workin’ for. Whatever you want.”

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what’s right to do, what I should do. I just want it all to go away,” she said in a small voice. “Can you do that?”

“Sorry, pet.”

“Is Wesley is the guy Dad talked to?”

“Yeah. Runs a detective agency. He knows stuff, knows people.”

“How much would it cost for him to detect something? I don’t have much of my own, but—”

“I expect,” Spike cut in, “that he’s already lookin’ into it on his own, even if just a bit. He’s thorough that way. And he suspected somethin’ wasn’t right.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good, right? I mean, did he find anything?”

He shrugged. “Some stuff about stocks, and fudgin’ on the taxes.”

“Were you going to tell me any of this?”

“Didn’t see a reason to.”

“Oh.” Her face fell.

“The old stuff, it doesn’t matter. But it’s not my place to go pointin’ fingers about what he might know or what he’s not tryin’ to figure out.”

“I guess. But if you hadn’t, then no one would.”

“You were already thinkin’ it.”

“Yay me,” she said flatly. “I added up what didn’t add up. And now I feel even worse.” Buffy sighed. “You’ll tell him—Wesley, about the pictures?”

“That I will.”

“Thank you.” She paused. “Do you think it’s a bad idea to go to the party?” she asked after a moment. “I really do want to go, but if Dad seemed weird about it, maybe I shouldn’t.”

“No worries. I won’t leave your side.”

Buffy turned wide eyes to him, shifting her position. “Are you even a real bodyguard?”

The question took Spike by surprise. “What makes you ask that?”

“I don’t know. It just seems like you’re not very bodyguardy. Not that I know a lot of bodyguards—or any. I just get the vibe that this isn’t really a profession.”

“Then you’d be right,” he admitted. “But it pays well. And I haven’t had any complaints so far.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re good at it and all. But what do you actually do?”

“I do whatever I’m paid to do. Earn some quick cash, and then do whatever the hell I like.”

“Which is?”

He leaned in slightly. “Right now, I’m keepin’ you safe.”

Suddenly the door to the garage slammed. Buffy jumped, and a moment later her father appeared in the hallway. “You forget something?” she asked.

“They cancelled. Where’s your mother, her car wasn’t in the garage?”

“Something came up.” She shrugged. But he was already in his office, the door closing behind him.

Buffy turned to Spike. “And you said he wouldn’t be back!” she hissed.

“Can I put the telly on?”

She flopped against the cushions. “You gonna call the guy?”

“Not right now, I’m not, pet.”

“And this is just between us, and you’ll tell me whatever he says, right?”

“Right.”

“And you’ll tell me anything I should know?”

“Sure.”

She tossed him the remote. “Okay.”

-----

Over an hour later, they were still watching TV when the phone rang in her father’s office. Spike mentally perked up, though he kept his eyes trained on the screen.

“Hello?” Hank answered. Then his voice shifted. A subdued, “Yes.” Pause. “I will. You know I’m good for it.” Pause. “I’ll take care of it. I just need—”

An even longer pause. Try as he might, Spike couldn’t hear what was being said on the other end, not with the volume of Buffy’s show still on.

“This is between him and me. Just don’t—” Another pause. “I know he damn well is. I told you, I’m working on it.” Pause. “Of course I haven’t.”

Then the phone was slammed down.

Spike shifted, glancing at Buffy. She was still happily engrossed in her program, oblivious.

He let his thoughts drift to the girl for a moment, as well as the previous night.

Spike had been prepared for a somewhat regular night of following Buffy around, and had expected getting a few beers to be the highlight of his evening. Normally, he would have had more than a few, but he did have to stay alert. Still, he hadn’t considered dancing until the other girl had suggested it—it wasn’t his usual routine.

But it had felt so easy, Buffy’s warm body pressed against his as they flowed to the music. He remembered the way she seemed to melt into him as they’d danced, the way she felt beneath his hands.

He had decided that there were far worse ways to spend an evening.

She seemed to think so as well, based on the length of time she’d happily stayed in his arms. She didn’t seem opposed to his company at other times, either.

He could admit that he found her attractive. But there was more to it than that. If she were only pretty, it would be easy enough to dismiss her out of hand. But there was something about Buffy that appealed to him…

Spike stopped himself, for several reasons.

One being that their situation was temporary. Seeing her afterward would inevitably bring up certain complications.

And while he found himself somewhat drawn to her, there had never really been anyone for him since his dark princess. No other vampire could hold his interest long-term, and human girls were nothing but one night stands that tended to end messily, for the girl’s part. For his part, there was no other way for it to end. Vampire, after all.

As for Buffy, he was being paid handsomely to protect her, which meant that she needed to end up alive when all was said and done.

Spike kept business separate.

Even if that weren’t the case, a long-term relationship of any sort with a human was something that he knew rarely went well, and he wasn’t looking to use her to test one. After this was finished, he wasn’t going to see her again. Things wouldn’t end well, otherwise.

With that, his thoughts turned to something that had been lingering on his mind since it had happened.

Slayer.

The whisper drifting through the air, spoken by some unseen thing. He’d tensed, and she’d squeezed his arm and asked what it was.

Nothing, he’d said.

It was an odd coincidence, perhaps, but not related to Buffy. Those that were after her were clearly human, as was she. There was no way this lively yet frightened girl had anything to do with the Slayer.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to confirm a few things with the Watcher.

-----

Later that evening when Spike was sprawled out on the couch in his own room, he picked up his phone and dialed Wesley’s number.

“It’s Saturday night, Spike,” he answered. “And this is my cell phone.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t care.”

“This is presumably about Miss Summers?”

“You heard anything about the Slayer?”

A pause. “What?”

“The Slayer? Anything interesting?” he asked, putting one hand behind his head.

“Not since my dismissal,” Wesley said tersely.

“C’mon, Watcher, I doubt you just dropped it.”

“I did. What the Slayer does or doesn’t do is no longer my concern. Why, Spike?”

“Well, that’s my business, innit?”

“No. I am familiar with your history.”

“I’m not goin’ huntin’ for her, if that’s what you think.”

Silence.

“Look, is she still alive, or not?” Spike asked, becoming irritated.

“I don’t speak with anyone from the Council, but as far as I know she is.”

“That’s all I needed, mate. Now Buffy, on the other hand, found some surveillance photos of herself in her old man’s office.”

“Ah. Well, that does support the theory that he knows more than he’s divulged.”

“Buffy offered to hire you herself to find out what dear old dad’s hiding.”

“Were there any threats?”

“No writing, just the pictures.”

“I’m afraid there’s not much to go on for any sort of investigation,” he said. “I haven’t uncovered anything else besides what I already gave you, though I haven’t devoted much additional time to it.”

“Well, I just overheard pops on the phone. He owes someone money. And he seemed to be takin’ it very personally.”

“I see. Have there been any other attempts on her?”

“No.”

“Any surveillance you’ve noticed?”

“Not unless they’re really keepin’ their distance.”

Wesley paused. “I suppose I could look into it further. Is that all?”

“Yeah.”

This time, the Watcher hung up on him.

Chapter 9 - Parties

“So you’re definitely coming?”

“I’ll be there with bells on,” Buffy said.

“Spike, too?” Cordelia asked.

Buffy sighed, holding the phone with her shoulder while she dug through her closest. “Yes, Spike too. He can hardly guard me if he’s not there.”

“But it’s been a week. Nothing’s happened.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not gonna.” Buffy thought back to the pictures in the desk. She hadn’t told anyone about that chilling little discovery. And while it was true that nothing else had happened, she doubted that Spike being with her was going to scare the people off for good.

“What’s he going as?”

“God only knows. He said he wasn’t going to wear a costume.”

“But it’s a costume party!” Cordelia emphasized. “He’s got to wear something.”

“I guess. I mean, I know. We’ll see. Are you still Marie Antoinette?”

“Please, like I would turn down the chance to wear a dress that fabulous. What about you?”

“I’ve got this great olden days dress. It’s like something out of Pride and Prejudice and—”

“Colin Firth is so gorgeous. He even makes literature watchable.”

Buffy stopped herself from pointing out that they had been forced to watch it in senior English. “Anyway, it’s light and floaty and has the waist cut really high. It’s beige and blue and has a scooped neckline. There aren’t sleeves, and I’ve got this gorgeous shawl wrap thing. And Mom’s letting me wear her good pearls with it.”

“Nice.”

“Yep. And I found the cutest little lace gloves, and a fan, and one of those dainty purses you hang from your wrist.” Now if she could just locate her shoes…

“We’ll be the belles of the ball—ooh, Harmony’s beeping me, anything else?”

“Not really.”

“Talk tomorrow, bye!” she quickly finished.

Buffy hung up the phone and continued to sort through the tubs at the bottom of her closet. She knew she had a brand new pair of hose in here somewhere.

-----

“Well, how do I look?” Buffy stepped in front of her mother’s mirror, having just finished the last bit of getting ready—curling her hair. Most of it was pinned away from her face, causing the curls to fall in a small cascade from the back of her head.

“Wonderful, sweetie,” Joyce said, fastening the necklace around Buffy’s neck. She artfully arranged a few loose strands of hair. “Now, you and Spike are going to meet us there, right?”

“We’ll be right behind you.”

“And you’ve got your invitation?”

“Right here.” Buffy waved her purse. “Buffy Summers and guest.”

“Well, we’ll see you there,” she said, glancing out the window. “Looks like your dad has the old car ready to go.” She picked up her own purse and left the room, pink poodle skirt swaying around her legs.

Buffy took one last spin before the mirror and walked into the hallway. Spike was loitering by his own door, and he ran his eyes over her as she approached.

“So?” she asked.

“You look good.”

“Thank you.”

Buffy noticed that Spike had not dressed up, as such. He had, however, seemed to have taken her suggestion. He was wearing black jeans and a blood red button up shirt with a black shirt underneath it. He also sported the floor length leather duster, a thing she hadn’t seen since the first night he’d arrived. There were a couple chains around his neck, and he had on several heavy rings. However, the thing that seemed to make the most difference was his hair, which was spiked straight up.

It wasn’t so much a costume, but it wasn’t how most people dressed. And actually, it still fit the theme of the party, which was Times Past. Spike looked like he stepped out of another decade.

“I think it works,” she said.

“Glad to hear it. Ready to go?”

Buffy started walking down the hall, Spike following her.

“I do like Halloween,” she said, as she went down the stairs. “It’s fun when you’re little, of course, but I still love it. Dressing up, getting to pretend you’re something you’re not. Or not,” she added, looking at him. Spike always sort of looked like he stepped out of another decade. “Besides, Halloween’s when all the things are out and about, you know.” She laughed.

“Nah, today’s the day they stay in and rest. Too much bad press.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

“It makes sense,” he insisted. “Now, if you were a beastie, would you come out when everyone’s expecting you to?”

Buffy considered, pausing in the living room. “I guess maybe not.”

“Damn right. No element of surprise. Would ruin the fun.” Then he smirked. “Course, there are always exceptions.”

Talk of what wasn’t going bump in the night aside, Buffy was strangely nervous. She wasn’t really superstitious about Halloween, and didn’t believe in much that was supernatural besides the possibility of ghosts. But she suddenly felt uneasy.

“Um, Spike,” she started awkwardly, “that thing you said about not leaving my side, you meant it, right? It won’t be like at school? It’s just since I saw those pictures, and it’s nighttime, and Halloween—”

“Promise. I’ll be like your date, yeah?”

He linked his arm with hers as they walked to the garage.

-----

Entering the throng of costumed people, Buffy was glad that she wouldn’t be forced to mingle and meet all of her parents’ friends. Halloween parties were always different from the normal events of polite talk and uncomfortable dinners.

She quickly spotted Cordelia, whose billowing dress was so wide that Buffy wondered how she got through doors. A massive white wig was perched on her head and her face was heavily powdered. She was flanked by her friend Harmony, who was in a short dress cut at an odd angle. She had on a tight cap and old-fashioned heels, and Buffy assumed she was trying to be some sort of flapper girl, though she ended up looking like a hooker.

Ever the queen of tactlessness, Harmony immediately sized up Spike as he and Buffy walked over. “Hi, Buffy. Is he with you?”

Cordelia slapped Harmony on the wrist with her fan. “Don’t you look amazing,” she said to Buffy. “I love your necklace!” Then she looked at Spike. “What’s he?”

“Don’t gotta be something,” Spike said, at the same time Buffy said, “A punk.”

A warm-up note was struck by the band, and Cordelia turned. “I’m going to hunt down Justin. He promised me the first dance.”

Harmony lingered for a moment, before being driven off by the combination of Buffy’s dirty looks and the complete indifference of Spike.

They ended up by the buffet, where Buffy picked her way down the table, sampling the assortment of treats while Spike put away more punch than she would have thought possible. One sniff of it told her it was alcoholic, yet he seemed to be holding it well.

Buffy picked at the chocolate party mix she’d put in a napkin. She was getting full, and she knew that if she ate much more her stomach would contain nothing but junk food. Which was sort of the point of Halloween, but still.

Spike was behind her, finishing another cup of punch.

“How much of that have you had?”

“Not enough in there to get you tipsy,” he scoffed, gesturing toward the punch bowl with his empty Dixie-cup-sized glass.

“Well, it’d be enough to get me more than tipsy.”

“Lightweight.”

Buffy rolled her eyes.

Spike casually reached around her and took some of her party mix.

“Not bad,” he said.

She pushed the napkin toward him. “Have at it. I can’t eat another bite.”

Buffy looked around the room, enjoying the atmosphere. The ballroom had cobwebs hanging from its chandeliers, and there were decorations around the perimeter of the room. There was even a fog machine set up. And it was fun seeing everyone in costumes. She was glad she came.

More to the point, she was glad that she was able to come. She looked at Spike, who was munching on the party mix.

So she hadn’t wanted a bodyguard at first—had been convinced that nothing could be weirder. And it might have even started out that way. But they had fallen into an easy routine and had no problems getting along with each other. She found herself liking more than just the time she spent with him.

She thought there was something from his side as well. He talked to her or watched TV with her, when he could have stayed in his room all the time, or even just been in a different room. And he had helped her when she’d told him about her suspicions regarding her father, had said he’d do whatever she wanted. He’d called the detective he knew, when he could have just shrugged and told her to handle it herself and call the police.

And he was her date tonight. That was definitely more than he was strictly required to do.

Although since it had turned out to be more of a ball than a party this year, Buffy hadn’t expected to do any dancing to the orchestra-type music. She had enjoyed a party without dancing before, but more importantly, she was serious about sticking next to Spike. And he really didn’t seem the type for ballroom dancing.

So she was shocked when he asked her if she wanted to.

“This is the waltz,” she said.

“Yeah.” He raised an eyebrow.

“You can waltz?”

“It’s been a while, but yeah.”

“Um, okay.”

They started out awkwardly, and once or twice Spike turned in the wrong direction. However, after several sets, he had fallen into a practiced rhythm, and Buffy had to admit that he was really quite good. She’d been to her share of social things with her parents, and could tell when someone was leading her or was just going through the movements.

“Where did you learn how to dance?” she asked.

“London. Not bad, huh?”

“Not bad at all.”

True to his word, Spike didn’t leave her side all evening. They danced, they ate, and only once were they were forced to mingle when Buffy’s mother tracked them down and introduced her college friend. Buffy had done her best to deflect the talk from Spike, who was inclined to stand silently for the most part.

“I’m her date,” he said simply, when the woman had directed a question to him.

-----

Buffy had begged out of the party after midnight, telling her parents and Cordelia goodbye even though things were only just beginning to wind down. She fiddled with her keys as she entered the parking lot, trailing after Spike as she talked about the evening.

She hit the button to unlock the car, and threw her party grab bag and her wrap in the backseat.

Buffy pushed the driver’s seat back up. “That was great, though. Did you see Cordelia’s face when—”

“Buffy!!”

Spike’s expression suddenly turned. She recognized the exclamation as a warning, but it was too late. Spike was on the opposite side of the car, and Buffy felt someone grab her from behind and clamp a hand over her mouth. Something was stuck in her arm, and she swayed, suddenly unable to control her limbs.

They came prepared this time, she realized.

There were two other men ready for Spike.

Or maybe not so ready.

He was more than halfway around the car—already just feet away from her—when they jumped him. Through her haze she saw him punch one in the face, dropping him instantly. He delivered a kick to the other, sending him sailing impossibly high in the air.

He turned in her direction, and Buffy felt herself falling.

-----

Spike threw off his would be attackers with little difficulty, and then advanced on the man who was trying to get away with Buffy. A blow to the head brought him down, and Spike caught Buffy’s limp form as she fell. He could smell the sedative from the where the needle had punctured her skin.

Picking up her keys off the pavement, Spike placed Buffy in the passenger seat of the car and locked the door. Then he went back to the nearest man and dragged him over. The guy moaned as he pushed him up against the car.

Spike bent one of the man’s fingers back, snapping it instantly.

“So, mate,” he said conversationally, “who do you work for?”

Chapter 10 - Revelations

Buffy woke up dizzy. She was in her car, but she wasn’t driving. She didn’t remember getting there, either.

“You’re almost home, love.”

“Spike?”

Everything seemed blurry. Someone grabbing her, Spike fighting…

“The men…?”

“In a world o’ pain.”

A few minutes later, they were in her driveway. Spike opened the garage with the remote on the visor and pulled inside. Buffy started fumbling with her seat belt, finding it strangely hard to get a grip on. Before she could undo it, Spike was at her door himself. He unbuckled the belt and lifted her into his arms.

“I can walk.”

“No, you can’t. You’re still groggy, pet.”

“Fine,” she huffed as he carried her in the house. “Mm, your hands are cold.” Buffy managed to put her arm around his neck as they went upstairs. “And your face is cold. And your eyes are really blue. I mean, really, really blue.”

“Is that right?” Spike nudged open the door to her room with his shoulder.

“What about not coming in my room?”

“Special circumstances,” he said, leaving the room shrouded in darkness. He laid her down on the bed and turned to leave.

Then she spoke.

“Don’t go.” Her barely audible plea stopped him.

Spike sat down on the edge of the bed. As if to justify his continued presence, he turned and began unlacing her old-fashioned shoes, tossing them on the floor. Then he removed the fan and purse from around her wrist and peeled away her gloves.

He had told her she’d looked good. But she had looked bloody gorgeous. Her hair curled, her fancy dress flowing around her. The style was a little before his time, perhaps, but Buffy had looked small and feminine.

Spike had figured he might as well dance with her as not. Not like he’d had anything better to do.

Her arm suddenly twitched as she tried to lift it. With some effort, she reached up into the air for a moment before her hand dropped.

“Why can’t I move?” she asked weakly. “Everything feels so heavy.”

“Whatever drug they jabbed you with, I expect. It’ll wear off.”

“I was so scared,” she said in a whisper.

“I won’t let anything happen.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Just am.” He brushed her hair away from her eyes.

“Can you take Mom’s necklace off me?”

She would ask him that, wouldn’t she?

Spike leaned in and carefully turned the necklace around, unhooking it and slowly pulling it off before setting it on the nightstand. His hand lingered on her neck, feeling the pulse beneath the skin, and Spike realized how close to her he still was. He might have moved closer as his gaze drifted from her neck to her face.

Buffy slowly tilted her head, causing her lips to brush against his. Spike instinctively deepened the kiss—she was so soft, so warm against him. Then he froze, pulling away and standing up.

“Get some rest, pet.”

The door shut behind him.

-----

Several hours later, Buffy woke up. She slowly got out of bed and went into her bathroom. She realized she was still wearing her dress. Changing out of the costume, she put on a pair of pajama pants and a baggy shirt.

The clock read 4:13 a.m.

Buffy opened her door and crept down the hall, meaning to go to the kitchen. However, when she saw the light on under Spike’s door, she paused. As she stood in the hallway debating on whether or not to knock, the door suddenly opened.

“Buffy.”

“Yeah. Um, can we talk?”

Spike stepped back and gestured for her to come in. He shut the door behind her and went back to sprawl on the couch. Buffy perched on the arm. He was still fully dressed in jeans and a black shirt, she noticed. His hair was combed back, but somewhat rumpled from being gelled up earlier.

Spike muted the TV. “So, pet.”

“Did you tell Mom and Dad?”

“Didn’t know if you’d want to.”

“I don’t know. I mean, I should, but…”

“When they came in, your mum asked about you. I said you were asleep.” He shrugged. “You all right?”

“Yeah, great. You know, what with the grabbing and drugging and all.” She met his eyes and quietly said, “By the way, thank you.”

“Was nothing.”

“No, it wasn’t. You were—” she paused, as a hazy memory hit her. Spike moving unnaturally fast, dispatching the men with practiced ease.

“Love?”

“Amazing,” she finished.

There was a short silence before he sighed slightly.

“Look, the other day I heard your dad on the phone. He owes someone money.”

“Um, not in a good way, I’m guessing.”

“And earlier I got a name outta one of the blokes in the parkin’ lot.”

“What? They just like told you?”

Spike gave her a hard look.

“Oh.” Then, “There’s a connection.”

He nodded. “Someone knew you’d be there tonight.”

She didn’t know what to think about that—actual evidence that her father probably did know who was after her. That it was maybe even because of him. This was so much worse than him not saying he’d been sent photos of her.

She didn’t want to think about it.

They sat in silence for a few moments before Buffy stood. “Well, I’m gonna grab a bite to eat and then try and get some more sleep. Class tomorrow and all.”

-----

Buffy sat in Psychology, irritated. She was clicking her pen and not paying attention at all to the lecture.

The day had not been good from the start. Whatever had been done to her last night caused her to oversleep and miss her first class. Also, her car was on empty, so she’d had to stop for gas on the way. Then the machine had repeatedly refused her bankcard and she didn’t have enough cash, so she’d had to borrow thirty dollars from Spike.

And of course, then there was Spike.

She thought he would have said something last night. Or this morning. Or anytime they had been alone. They had kissed, dammit. And now he was being all avoidy. Buffy glanced behind her, narrowing her eyes. You would think someone his age wouldn’t still have these sort of awkward issues.

She was so talking to him when they got home.

-----

“Well?”

“Well what?” Spike asked her.

Buffy tossed her purse in her own room and turned to Spike, pinning him with her gaze as he tried to slink unnoticed into his.

“We kissed.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “’bout that. Sorry, I shouldn’t ’ve.”

“I kissed you.”

He arched a brow. “You’d been drugged, love.”

So that’s why he hadn’t said anything. “I wasn’t out of my mind,” she said. “I wanted to kiss you. I might want to now.”

Buffy walked down the hall, stopping when she was facing him.

“It wouldn’t work, pet.”

“Because you’re older? Because you’re working for us? You won’t be forever.”

“Buffy…”

She looked up at him. “What? Am I totally misreading everything?”

He was silent.

“Then tell me what the problem is.”

Spike looked torn between saying something or escaping into his room. As Buffy looked at him, she caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye. Hanging crossways on the hall wall was a piece that someone had given her mother. The background was a piece of mirrored glass with gilded flowers and vines running over its surface, and it had an enameled geisha girl with a parasol on one side. The whole thing was more art than mirror, but there was no question that she was the only one reflected in it.

Spike saw the expression on her face change, and he glanced over his shoulder to see what she was looking at.

Buffy was staring at the mirror, her eyes darting back and forth between it and Spike.

“What the hell is going on?!” she demanded. “What, are you a vampire or something?”

Buffy meant it as a rhetorical question. It was the only thing she could think of, having a vague remembrance from movies that vampires didn’t have reflections. However, when he didn’t deny her ridiculous outburst, when he didn’t ask if she was crazy—when she saw the look on his face, her eyes grew wide and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “No.”

In a burst of rational denial, she tore across the hall and pulled the mirror off the wall, looking for any sign that it was something other than an ordinary mirror. Dissatisfied, she grabbed Spike’s wrist and pulled him bodily down the hall. He didn’t offer any resistance.

She led him through her room and into her bathroom, stopping before the sink.

She was the only one in the mirror.

Turning with a mixture of abject horror and disbelief on her face, Buffy stared at him. He looked for all the world like he wanted to say something, but wasn’t quite sure what. She saw his hand move slightly.

“Don’t touch me!” she hissed. “Get out!”

Buffy gave his shoulders a hard shove and locked the door after him. Then she slumped down against the cabinets, feeling the cold tile of the floor against her skin.

Chapter 11 - Explanations

Spike knew he didn’t have to let her drag him into the bathroom to confirm what she’d already seen. But of course, she was hoping to contradict what she’d seen, some part of her mind saying that she would of course see him in the larger mirror.

He could have stood in the hallway, refusing to be moved by her, but Spike had the feeling that would lead to an even bigger scene. A scene he’d never intended to have with her in the first place.

When they stood in front of the mirror, he didn’t know what to say when she turned to look at him, didn’t like the way she looked as she took a step away.

She surprised him when she suddenly lunged at him, pushing him out of the room. He heard the lock click into place.

For a moment, Spike simply stood there, staring at the door.

He knew he had to figure out something to say.

----

After a few minutes, Buffy heard his voice from the other side of the door.

“Buffy…”

She wrapped her arms around her knees, pretending not to hear him.

“Buffy.”

A small rap against the door.

“Go away!” she snapped.

“Look, I know you’re upset—”

“Upset? Upset?! I am way beyond upset. I’m—you’re a vampire!”

“I believe we covered that bit, pet.”

“Vampires are not supposed to be real!” she shouted.

“Sorry to disappoint. Why don’t you come out an—”

“No!”

“Sure. Fine,” he said, sounding just a bit exasperated with her. “Just so long as we’re clear that the door wouldn’t keep me out if I wanted in.”

“Well…I’m still never coming out!” Buffy cringed as that last bit escaped her mouth. Way to sound like a six-year-old.

“Oh, well. Makes my job easier. Not much chance of someone gettin’ you from in there. You might get hungry after a few days, though.”

Was he snickering?

Suddenly angry, Buffy stood and flung open the door. “Vampires can’t go out in the sun,” she accused, pointing a finger.

“I’m special.”

“And all the times that girl brought your food by?”

“There was also blood.”

“Oh, God.” Buffy walked out of the bathroom and moved past him. It was all making horrible sense. The cold hands, the not eating, the sleeping. The black. “Ohgodohgod,” she moaned, flopping on her bed and burying her face in the sheets. When she looked up, he was standing there, staring down at her with an unreadable expression.

“So you’re a vampire?” she asked again.

“Yeah.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

He did snicker this time.

“Pet, your daddy’s payin’ me over a thousand bucks a day to keep you alive. I’m not gonna fuck that up by killin’ you myself.”

There was a question in the air, but Buffy decided to let it remain there.

She sat up. “So do they know?”

“No.”

“That detective guy at the agency know?”

“Yeah.”

“And he sent a killer vampire over here to protect me?”

“Still here, aren’t you? And let’s just say he usually deals with things much worse than kidnapping.”

“I want to talk to him.”

“Buffy—”

“I want to talk to him. Now.”

-----

Buffy had marched down the stairs and pushed her keys at Spike. Upon seeing his questioning look, she said, “What? I don’t know where it is.”

Also, it was hard to drive and have a proper hissy fit at the same time. And really, she deserved to have some sort of fit, after having news like that thrown at her. They drove in silence, Buffy crossing her arms and pointedly looking out the passenger side window.

Eventually, they arrived, and Buffy found herself standing in the front of a small, respectable looking office located in a business district.

The brunette girl behind the desk stood up as they came in. “Hi, Spike. Um, is there a problem?”

Spike sauntered over. “Depends on Buffy here. I think she’s gonna have the talk with the Watcher.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll go tell him.”

“No need, love. I’ll do it.” He opened an office door without knocking and disappeared into the room.

“So,” Buffy said, finding herself alone with the girl. She glanced at a business card. “Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and Fred Burkle.”

“I’m Fred. From Winifred,” Fred put in, seeing Buffy’s confused look.

“Oh. So, Bryce Agency, nice name.”

“Well, it was better than Purkle,” Fred said, laughing.

There was an awkward silence. Buffy glanced over the items on the desk.

“So,” she said again, deciding to fall back on girl talk. “Do you two just work together?”

“Oh, we’re dating, too” Fred said happily.

“How did you meet?”

“I was in the library downtown, and this portal suddenly opened up! Wesley was an aisle over, but he ran up and pulled me backward. I almost got sucked into some other dimension. We started seeing each other right after the whole ‘demons are real’ talk.”

“Wow. Um, how romantic. So you know about Spike, too?”

“Yeah.”

Just then, the door opened and Spike emerged. There was a man in casual business clothing following him. “Miss Summers, I’m Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. If you’ll just come this way?”

Buffy followed Wesley into his office and sat down as he shut the door. He took a seat behind his desk.

“Are you a vampire?”

“No. Miss Summers—”

“Just Buffy.”

“Buffy, I know this must be a shock—”

“Gee, ya think?”

“—but perhaps I can explain a few things. However, you must be aware that Spike can undoubtedly hear every word we’re saying. His being in the next room is only the illusion of privacy.” He paused. “Suffice it to say that many of the things which are not supposed to be real do indeed exist. I myself was formerly a member of a group that studied and eliminated demons and vampires. This agency, while it may look nondescript, is involved in many cases that have some element of the paranormal.”

“Like you hire vampires?”

Wesley brought his hands together. “Generally, I prefer to kill vampires. Vampires, as you probably know, live off blood. One becomes a vampire by drinking the blood of a vampire, and once turned, will be nearly immortal and have heightened senses and strength. Please don’t get the wrong impression. Vampires are not romantic figures, as stories and popular culture make them out to be. They’re killers.”

“Is this the part where you tell me Spike is a good vampire?”

“Not exactly.” He paused again. “However, I can tell you that you’re perfectly safe with Spike. He’s taken a job for you. If he says he’ll do something, he’ll do it; if he says he won’t, he won’t. He works for whomever will pay him the most, and he’ll do almost anything for the right price. Good, bad, human, demon, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t get involved, he doesn’t ask questions, and he doesn’t care what side he’s playing as long as he gets paid.”

Buffy’s mind flashed back to something Spike had said on the first night they’d met. If it’d been me, I’d have gotten you.

Wesley continued. “Spike and I had a run in in an alley, where he quite accidentally saved my life. Later I learned of him professionally, and we began a tense working relationship, as is necessary in my line of work, and as I have sometimes done with other demons.” He paused. “However, his business practices aside, I have no reason to think that Spike doesn’t still kill. And the Council member in me doesn’t do well with dealing with vampires at any level.

“However, I have reason to believe that Spike possesses the Gem of Amara, a talisman that allows a vampire to walk by day, and more importantly, renders them nearly invincible. Despite legends of the necklace, for all purposes it has been considered mythical. Spike most likely keeps it hidden, which is certainly wise, and I imagine that the gem itself could have been reset into anything, if done properly in ritual.

“Attacking any vampire with the gem would be suicide, much less doing so with Spike. That, plus his reputation for hire, and the fact that he didn’t kill me when he had first had the chance have led to my occasional association with him.”

She shifted in her seat. “Why would he want to kill you?”

“Vampires and the Council have been enemies for as long as either have existed. I am no longer a member of the Council, but that wouldn’t be a deterrent.”

“This is the ‘almost any’ job, isn’t it?” Buffy said after a short silence.

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, usually when you hear about someone doing almost anything, you think of really bad things. Something it would be hard to find someone to do. Protecting some girl would be the ‘almost any’ job to a vampire.”

“His activities tend to fall within the criminal and demon element, yes. It’s where his particular talents are most in demand.”

“Then why is he doing this?”

“The money.” He paused again. “Spike is good at what he does, whatever he chooses that to be. I can tell you that whatever else he may or may not do, Spike keeps his word.” He held up a card. “Think it over. However, if you find you’re uncomfortable, I will most certainly find you someone else.”

Buffy was silent. She took the card from his outstretched hand, and then turned and walked out of the office.

Spike got up from where he was slouched in a chair and followed her out of the building.

“So did you hear all that?” she asked once they were in the car.

“Yeah.”

“Take me home.”

But she didn’t look at him at all.

Chapter 12 - Answers

Wesley picked up the phone. “Yes?”

A British voice spoke from the other end. “Ah, yes. How are you…getting on?”

“Very well, thank you for the diplomatic inquiry. I hate to seem rude, but what is this regarding?”

A pause. “Have you heard anything pertaining to the Slayer?”

“Why should I have? I’m no longer there. You are.”

“Yes, but she’s not. She disappeared. Some time ago, actually.”

“Killed?” Wesley asked.

“Possibly, but I have no reason to believe that she didn’t—”

“Get bored and leave?”

Silence from the other man.

“For all I know, she could be in Tahiti. I’m sure my replacement is more than capable of dealing with whatever she’s done now.”

There was a pause. “I should rather think not. She, er, got him killed. Shortly afterward, she vanished.”

“I see. I’m sorry. Is that all?”

“Yes.”

Wesley placed the phone back on the receiver, somewhat annoyed. Why was everyone suddenly asking him about the Slayer?

Not that he was bitter for being fired by the Council, failing as a Watcher, or having his own Slayer torture him for kicks.

All right, so he was bitter. Slightly.

-----

After they’d gotten home, Buffy had gone up to her room and not come out. Instead of thinking about things, she had played denial girl. She had given herself a manicure, watched TV, reorganized her closet, and even done her homework. The result of which was that the thoughts she had pushed away were still spinning in her head as she stared at the ceiling and tried to go to sleep.

Doesn’t care what side he’s playing as long as he gets paid.
You’re perfectly safe with Spike.
Vampires are not romantic figures, they’re killers.
…keeps his word…saved my life…possesses the gem…perfectly safe…

Buffy sighed and sat up, leaning against the headboard. She had always been better at thinking out loud than in her head. “Spike, if you can hear me, I want to talk to you,” she whispered on impulse.

A moment later, her door opened and he stuck his head in.

“Okay, that’s beyond creepy.”

He shrugged.

“Come in, I guess.” She flicked on the lamp beside her bed.

Spike closed the door and stood roughly in the center of the room.

There was silence. Buffy glanced in the direction of the far wall. “Mom and Dad are fighting again,” she said blankly.

“You wanna know what they’re sayin’?”

She laughed. “God, no. It’s bad enough I can hear them at all. So…” Buffy trailed off, unsure of where to start. “Um, do you have the gem thingy?”

“Yeah.”

“I won’t tell.”

“I know you won’t, love.” There was a pause. “I told him he could tell you.”

“What else did you tell him?”

“To explain things a bit, tell you what you wanted to know.”

“Oh. So did you really save Wesley’s life?”

He nodded. “Didn’t really mean to. I saw this demon in an alley and decided to have a bit o’ fun. Killed it right quick. Then the Watcher limps out from the side, all bleedin’ and can’t hardly hold his axe. Nearly fainted when he saw me, thought he was done for. I just left him standin’ there.”

“So you didn’t want to kill him?” she ventured.

“Figured he owed me one now. Those sodding Watcher types are walkin’ libraries. Good to go to in a pinch. They’re uptight as hell, though.”

“How did you know he was a…a Watcher?”

“Can tell a Watcher a mile off. Deep down, he’s still just itchin’ to fix me right and proper.”

Buffy fiddled with the edge of her blanket. “How much is Dad paying you?”

“Fifteen hundred a day.”

“That how much it costs to follow some human chick around?”

“Apparently.”

“But this isn’t your usual thing, is it?” she asked after a moment.

“No.”

“You usually do illegal stuff?”

Spike snorted. “Yeah, pet. I do illegal stuff. I do whatever I’m paid to do.”

“If someone had paid you to kidnap me, you would have done it, wouldn’t you?” she demanded. “Without a second thought.”

“Yeah, I would’ve.”

“Kill me?”

“Done it before.”

Buffy swallowed. She couldn’t ask the other question. “I guess being a vampire comes with skewed morals,” she said.

“It does,” he said flatly. “Look, right now, I’m protectin’ you. Doin’ a good job, too. And yeah, I did it for the money. Vampire, here. Deal with it or don’t. You want someone else, Wesley’ll fix you up.”

“You don’t really care if I live or die.”

“I—”

“This is just another job to you.”

“It was.”

Spike suddenly frowned, mouth opening slightly. From the look on his face, the words had slipped out before he’d realized it.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“It means,” he said, not looking at her, “that I got too bloody well involved.”

“And that means?”

His jaw clenched. “I don’t know. All right?”

She didn’t know what else to say, and for a moment he simply stood, staring down at her. Then he turned, walking out of the room.

“Fine,” she said after him. “You can stay. But the vampire thing is still weird.”

-----

The next evening, Spike was napping in his room when Wesley called.

“What?” he answered.

“Well, it seems Mr. Summers got involved in some very shady business deals a while back. He lost quite a bit of money, and he still owes almost a quarter million to a Mr. Smith. By the way, having the name was quite helpful. Perhaps it was fortuitous that they made another attempt. I wonder how you ever managed to get one to talk,” he commented dryly.

Spike chuckled. “He won’t be playin’ the piano for a while. The name Smith was it, though. All lackeys know is orders. Still, what’s two hundred thousand to Summers? This house has gotta be several million.”

“From what I can tell, all he has left is the house, and part of it’s mortgaged. There are no savings, no other equity. A real estate scheme plus an investment in an overseas corporation that went broke led to him borrowing money from Smith. Needless to say, he was unable to repay it.”

“So who’s this Smith?”

“He’s quite the name in certain upper class circles of the human underworld. Quite the perfect corporate businessman on paper, his racket is loan sharking, as well as prostitution rings located primarily in Central America. Several of the high profile tourist disappearances are thought to be traced back to those who report to him, but no one has been able to pin anything on him or his associates. Sometimes his business becomes…mixed.”

Spike was silent for a moment, and something in him tightened as he realized the implications of Wesley’s statement. “You think he wants to collect Buffy as payment.”

“That would be my guess. She’s equity, as far as he’s concerned. Unfortunately, that’s all my source knew about Smith, and I’m not sure what good the information will do. The authorities have been unable to catch him on anything so far.” He paused. “However, Mr. Summers knew who was after his daughter, that it was the result of something he himself had done, and that he’d never be able to get her back. Going to the police would lead to certain other questions, as well as the fact that Smith probably threatened him with something worse if he did so.”

Spike was silent again. He found himself focusing on a tiny mark on the ceiling.

“Spike?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s something else.”

“Well?” he prompted.

“Mr. Summers’ last check bounced,” Wesley said carefully.

“How much we get?”

“Payment for nine days. Which means that he owes for one day already. I placed several messages on his phone.” A pause. “What do you intend to do?”

“Well, contractin’ is sorta your end, innit?”

“Yes, well, I was referring to Miss Summers.”

“Payment upfront. If he’s busted, he’s busted. And I’m gone.”

Spike hung up the phone.

He knew the words were a lie the second they were out of his mouth. He glanced at the wall that was in the direction of Buffy’s room.

After a moment, he got up and made his way down the hall, pausing at her door. She was sitting at her vanity, doing something with makeup. Then she paused, staring into the mirror and looking somewhat contemplative.

Spike shifted, letting his clothing rustle. Buffy turned around at the noise.

“Hey,” she said.

“Absorbed in your reflection?” he asked, walking in. He stood behind her at the vanity.

She looked back in the mirror, glancing at herself and then to where he should be. “Just the fact that I have one, I guess.” She turned around. “I’m thinking it’s midnight snack time. You wanna order anything? There are a few places still open.”

“Nah.”

“I guess Buffy’s cooking, then. Beware.”

When he didn’t say anything, she frowned. “What?”

“Nothing.”

She was still looking up at him.

“You go on, pet. I’ll be down in a minute. Got a call to make.”

Chapter 13 - Tensions

Spike leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Buffy as she stood by the toaster oven and fixed a snack for herself. She was telling him about her friend trying to lie to get her out of some double date.

“But I was already there, and she couldn’t pretend like I wasn’t, so we had to act all like we knew what was going on,” she finished her story.

“Guess you had to be there,” Spike said after a moment.

“Dammit!” she suddenly cried.

“What?” he asked, though he already knew. The smell of blood had hit the air the second the knife sliced her finger. She suddenly had his undivided attention.

“I guess it’s true what they say about cutting bagels,” Buffy said, holding her hand up and walking to the sink. She turned on the tap and started to wait for the water to warm, but noticed the way Spike was looking at her.

It was raw, focused need—a desire like she’d never seen before. A part of Buffy wished someone would look at her like that. Another part wanted to satiate that need, whatever it was for.

She turned, holding her finger. “Do you want to…?”

Spike stared at her.

“No, pet,” he said, his eyes widening slightly as he realized what she meant. “You best just wash it off.” The scent of her seemed to fill the room, but with some effort, he managed to remain still.

“But, I mean, I don’t mind,” she said, stepping closer. “It’s just a little cut, it’s no big deal.”

She moved her hand to him, and he reached out automatically. He could almost taste her already. Just a sip—she was offering. “You sure?”

Buffy frowned, suddenly feeling uncertain. “It’s not going to hurt, is it? I mean, you’re not gonna bite me or anything?”

“No, love, no biting.”

She nodded, and he slowly took her hand.

Buffy watched as he brought her finger to his lips. His tongue lightly flicked over the surface of her cut, before he took her finger into his mouth and gently sucked on it. His eyes closed momentarily, and she thought she’d never seen anyone look more satisfied. After a few seconds that seemed frozen, he released her hand.

Buffy glanced down quickly, but she didn’t move away. They were only inches apart, and Spike gradually leaned closer. Then he was kissing her, softly, slowly, but with a burning urgency. She responded, pressing her body against his and deepening the kiss. His hand was running through her hair, down her back—

And suddenly he was gone, halfway across the kitchen and leaning up against the counter. Buffy was left standing dumbly by herself, wondering what had happened.

“How’s it going, honey?” her mother’s voice came from around the corner. Joyce walked into the kitchen.

“I, um, cut myself,” Buffy said, whipping around.

“Doesn’t look too bad,” she said, inspecting it. “Still, you should go put some antiseptic and a band-aid on it. And oh, did you see that there was a letter for you today?”

“Um, okay.”

Buffy quickly went into the bathroom and doctored her finger, trying not to think about Spike’s own doctoring. Or the kiss. He’d kissed her. They’d kissed again.

After the initial shock of the vampire thing, she’d had to admit to herself that she still liked him. Even if it was weird and she probably shouldn’t, she did.

Buffy went back into the kitchen nonchalantly, grabbing the letter from the mail basket and sitting at the counter as if nothing had happened. But the butterflies in her stomach were quickly replaced by an empty feeling as she saw the envelope’s contents.

“Spike?” Her own voice sounded faraway.

Buffy turned and handed the envelope to him.

Inside was a photo of her, a cross drawn on her neck in permanent marker.

“Creepy, definitely,” she said. “But I don’t get it.”

“They know.”

“About what?”

“Me.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“The cross. It’s a vampire thing,” he said in a low voice.

“Right. So, how?”

He looked slightly uncomfortable. “He must have looked into it after I beat up those guys.”

“He? He who?”

Spike lowered his voice further, leaning in. “I talked to the Watcher again. He says your old man’s gotten involved with some real shady characters. And he definitely owes one of ’em a lot of money.”

“And when were you going to tell me this?”

“Bloody hell, I just got off the phone.”

“Oh.” She fell silent. “That means he knew. Dad knew who was after me all along, and it was his fault. Completely.” She looked at the floor. “I don’t know what to do. I just want it to stop.”

“You wanna get outta here for a while?” he suddenly asked.

“What?”

Spike tilted his head, looking down at her. For a second, it looked like he might touch her. His hand lightly grazed over her sleeve before he took a half step away.

“I know a place out of town. No one to watch us, follow us. We can take my bike.”

“It’s after eleven.”

“So?”

Buffy hesitated for a moment. But maybe some away time was just what she needed. “Let’s go. I’ll grab a jacket. See if you can find an old helmet for me in the garage—Dad used to bike.”

She went up to her room, tied back her hair, and put on a jean jacket. Saying a hurried goodbye to her mother, Buffy grabbed her purse and met Spike in the driveway. He had the bike out and ready to go. He was also wearing the duster again, she noticed. As she approached, he held out a helmet to her.

“Smallest one.”

“It’ll do.” She put it on and adjusted the straps as Spike sat down on the bike.

Buffy got on after him and wrapped her arms around him. She felt Spike brush his fingers over her clasped hands before he reached for the handlebars.

“You ready?”

“Yeah.”

The bike roared to life, and they were off.

-----

When they pulled up to a gas station in the middle of nowhere almost an hour later, Buffy got off the bike and stretched her non-bike riding muscles. “So where are we going?”

Spike started filling up the tank. “Driving.”

“Driving? Driving is not a place.”

He smirked. “It is if you do it right. Why don’t you get yourself some snacks, pet?”

Buffy shrugged and walked into the station. As she looked at the junk food, she realized that besides herself and Spike—well, besides herself—the customers of this place were questionable. Several of them had shot her lecherous looks, and one was currently coming her way.

Then he quickly turned, suddenly fascinated with something on the end of the aisle as Spike sauntered up to her side.

“Ready?”

She grabbed a bag of chips. “Yep.”

Buffy noticed the deathly silence that ensued as Spike paid the clerk.

“What was that about?” she asked once they were outside.

“I got into a fight there once.”

Spike shrugged. It was true enough.

He’d killed a guy there once. And not in a drained-him-dry way. It had been more of a beat-him-to-death-with-his-bare-hands kind of way.

“What, he look at you funny?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

Buffy didn’t press further.

They’d gotten back on the bike, and soon the boring highway was replaced by a winding road that ran along the ocean. They followed it for miles, sometimes close to the water, other times above it. Once, they stopped to admire the view, and once again so she could eat her chips, but mostly they just drove.

Buffy had to admit that driving was a place. With the roar of the engine and the wind, it was a loud, yet quiet place. With no one but herself and Spike, it was a free and empty place.

-----

It was after 2 a.m. when they got back to the house, and the last thing Buffy expected to see was her mother sitting in the kitchen with a half drunk bottle of wine.

“We’re getting a divorce,” she announced.

Spike immediately disappeared upstairs, and Buffy sat down across from Joyce. She saw the photo of herself lying on the counter.

“I threw that away,” Buffy said.

“Not very well. It was on top.” She took another drink. “Your father and I had it out.”

“It’s my fault.”

“Oh, honey, no. Buffy, this was never your fault. This has been coming. We’ve been arguing for months. Years, about some things.”

“I guess.”

“It’s just that this was the final—Buffy, he’s been lying. He knows about the people trying to get you. And that man from the agency keeps calling, but he won’t call him back. And he’s squandered our savings. There’s almost nothing left. And I don’t know what we’re going to do about any of it. I still don’t think he’s told me everything. But none of it is your fault. You have to believe this isn’t your fault.”

“I guess I do, deep down,” she said after a moment, “It’s just…kind of a shock.”

“Why don’t you get some sleep, honey? We’ll talk more in the morning.”

Buffy eyed the bottle. “Why don’t you get some sleep?”

Joyce actually laughed. “It’s a deal.”

Chapter 14 - Hits

Later that night, when it was so late that it was early, Spike could be found silently slipping out of the house and wheeling his bike down the street.

He started it and headed in the direction of the city.

Something in him had made up his mind the moment he’d heard the words that day. He knew what he was going to do, never mind why he was going to do it. He’d found out what he’d needed, and the rest had fallen into place with savage simplicity.

He parked streets away and stuck to the shadows, heading for the building of his destination. It was easy enough to get inside, for him at least.

One room was lit.

Spike casually walked into the office, swinging the door open without a sound.

“Nice place you got here.”

The man spun around in his chair, obviously shaken. “How did you get in here?”

“You Smith?” He glanced at the desk. “Yeah, you are. Got the gold nameplate and everything. Come in everyday before five, huh? Hard worker, I’ll bet.”

Smith stood. “I know you. You’ve been tailing a certain…prospect of mine.”

Spike said nothing.

“I also know of your prices.” He smiled congenially, stepping forward. “After the Halloween…incident, I did some research. How much would it cost for you to walk the other way and forget you were ever introduced to her?”

“Sorry, mate. First come, first serve. Don’t get me wrong, if you’d hired me to nab her, she’d be sittin’ before you, but as it is…double dealing’s bad for business.”

The other man seemed unfazed by the comment. After a moment, he said, “This would mean that she’s alone at this very minute.”

“Yeah, ’bout that.”

Sensing the change, Smith reached into his jacket. But Spike had already closed the distance between them, grabbing his wrist and wrenching it. He felt a gun through the fabric.

“Don’t be doin’ that, mate. Don’t wanna make a lot o’ noise, do we?”

Letting go, Spike watched as Smith backed up. “Now, I’m not much one for torture,” he said conversationally. “But I was taught by the best, and in your case, I’m willin’ to make an exception.” He paused. “We’re the only ones here, y’know? Not a soul around. And those pesky cameras—pull the right cords and they’re useless.”

“Who hired you?” he demanded.

“No one. I’m just here for a little blood, so to speak.”

“I know what you do. Why should you care what I do? A pretty girl rubs up against you and suddenly you’re out for some righteous killing?”

That question grated Spike entirely the wrong way.

“Any other day of the week and you would have eaten her,” he continued boldly. “I know what you are.”

“Guess I shouldn’t have taken a bite outta that guy,” Spike said thoughtfully. Then his eyes slid in Smith’s direction, narrowing slightly. “I was just so hungry, though.”

“I would have figured it out anyway. There aren’t many people in our line of work who fit your description. Though it was a surprise.”

“Oh, well.” He shrugged. “That makes things simple, then. Kinda takes the fun out, though—not having a big reveal and all.”

“One thing does interest me. You were with her during the day. Certainly not immediately unusual, unless one knows certain things.”

“One reason I don’t go out a lot. Didn’t really think I’d be recognized on this one, though, being pretty far from my usual stuff.” He smiled. “But you won’t tell anyone.”

Smith sensed that something else had changed, and he began slowly edging to the side.

Spike tilted his head, watching for a moment. “You know what? I’m still sort of hungry.”

Smith lunged for something in his desk, but Spike was already on him. He pinned the other man behind the desk even as he was fumbling in a drawer. Smith pulled out a cross, triumphantly shoving it in Spike’s face.

Spike grinned, slipping into game face. “Makes me feel all fuzzy inside.”

Cold fear washed over Smith’s face as the useless cross fell to the floor. “How?”

“Doesn’t work like that. You don’t get the satisfaction of knowing.” He glanced down at the cross. “Not like that really would’ve helped you anyway. Y’know, I’m really gonna enjoy this.”

“Please, I’ll give you anything,” he stammered. “Name it!”

“Leave the girl alone.”

“Done!”

Spike laughed. “You really are too much.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“No.”

-----
-
-
-
Buffy woke up and almost unconsciously knew that something was different in the house. Putting on her robe, she crept down the hall and tapped quietly on Spike’s door.

“Spike?”

After a moment, she opened the door a crack. The room was empty.

She went downstairs and was surprised when she found the rest of the house dark as well. Though she supposed a vampire didn’t need light. It was then that she noticed the back door was open.

Spike was outside, sitting on the large porch swing.

“Hey,” she said.

He looked up as she walked out. A half-smoked cigarette dangled from his hand, and the sky was just beginning to change color.

“Can I sit?” Buffy gestured.

He nodded.

Buffy curled up on the seat, shifting her weight after a moment to lean against him. As she drifted back into a light sleep, some dreamy part of her mind thought that he felt strangely warm. But consciousness slid away, and the thought was lost.
.
.
.
As the sun came up, Spike found his arm slowly moving to rest on the warm ball of girl at his side. There seemed something almost breakable about the moment.

In more ways than one.

He flicked the long-cold cigarette butt into the grass and looked down at Buffy. She was deeply asleep.

Spike stood and scooped her up. She made a small noise, but otherwise didn’t stir as he carried her inside. He put her back in her bed and then went into his own room and turned on the television.

He couldn’t remember what he watched.

-----

Later that morning, the clicking of computer keys was providing soft background noise as Wesley looked over a book written in Etruscan. Suddenly the clicking stopped, and a moment later, Fred tapped on the frame of his open office door.

“You know that guy I was researching? The one Buffy’s father owed money to?”

“Yes.”

“Um, he’s dead.”

Wesley looked up. “What?”

“Murdered. Sometime early this morning or late last night.”

“Any suspects?”

“They’re thinking it’s mafia related.” She waved a printout. “I’ve got the preliminary findings. But—well, here.”

Wesley took the report and quickly scanned it. How scum like Smith was killed wasn’t his top priority. What was pertinent was the fact that Miss Summers was likely in much less danger.

Then a phrase on the page jumped out at him.

…severe trauma to the neck…

He went back to the top and read the report in full, never noticing the white look on Fred’s face.

-----

Wesley thought it took Spike a bit longer than usual to pick up his phone.

“Yeah?” Spike answered.

“The man Mr. Summers owed money to was killed, it seems,” he said neutrally.

“Who by?”

“Considering who he dealt with, it could have been any number of unsavory elements. Judging by the complete lack of evidence, it was a professional.”

“So won’t someone else be steppin’ up to collect on the debt?”

“Doubtful. His office was ransacked, and most everything flammable was burned in a trash can. The computer hard drive was ripped out, and the wall safe was emptied. Someone was very thorough on erasing his records, if there were such of his illegal dealings. At any rate, it sends a very clear message to any acolytes of his.”

“Uh-huh.” Spike sounded uninterested.

“There were also a number of lacerations inflicted before death, and several broken bones. He apparently died from blood loss, though there was no blood at the scene. The coroner’s report said his neck was severely torn, with multiple wounds most likely from a serrated knife. Though for some reason, I doubt it.”

He paused, but Spike was silent.

“You really did quite the number,” Wesley finally said. “Was it necessary? Any of it?”

“You mad he’s dead?”

Silence.

“Or you mad cause I had a good time cuttin’ him up? What I do off the clock is none of your business.”

“Far be it from me to comment on your recreational activities. However, this was involved with a case.”

“Case is closed now.”

“It would seem,” he said stiffly. There was a short silence. “However, taking matters into—”

“Am I gonna have to threaten you, Watcher? You’re the only one who could tie me to this, y’know. Well, you or your sweet girl.”

Wesley could hear lightness in the words, but it did nothing to reassure him. “I’m seriously considering burning the case file as we speak.”

“Good.” Spike paused, then said:

“Buffy’s never to know.”

“That you brutally murdered someone for her? No, I should say not.”

Chapter 15 - Departures

Wesley hung up the phone from his call with Spike and walked out front.

“Fred, do you have a minute?”

“Sure.”

He perched on the edge of her desk. “Spike, er…implied that you knew something about Smith’s death.”

She scrunched up her face. “Kinda maybe.”

“Spike killed him,” Wesley said flatly, “despite what the police reports said. I didn’t discuss it with you for reasons that have become obvious. However—”

“Spike called last night and wanted to know about addresses and offices and times,” she blurted. “He asked me to hack into camera feed from last week and check things—and you said if he ever showed up when you weren’t here just to give him whatever he wanted, and even though he was only on the phone and I was home you weren’t there so I did, and I figured it didn’t really matter since it was about the guy after Buffy, and Spike was protecting Buffy, and I forgot to tell you because you were late and then I was asleep, and then the next morning when he turned up dead, I figured out what must have happened but I didn’t want to say anything.”

“Because?”

“Because he went and killed someone with the information I gave him.”

“Fred, you don’t seriously think that Spike wouldn’t have found a way to kill Smith without your assistance?”

“I know, I guess… It’s just a squicky feeling. Like when you see the person next to you copying your answers but can’t stop them, only a whole lot worse?” She looked down and then up again. “This is one of those never-speak-of things, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes.”

-----

It was three days later, on an early Monday morning that Hank cheerfully declared that Spike’s services were no longer needed. His announcement was met with silence from Buffy and Joyce.

Spike had wondered how long it would take for Hank to hear about Smith’s untimely demise.

“And how would you know that for sure, I wonder,” Spike broke the silence, only to have it replaced by one more oppressive. It was the topic that no one wanted to acknowledge. Buffy didn’t even know the worst of it, why Smith had wanted her— He was unsure how much Joyce knew, or what Hank had told her. Not that it mattered. “Right. Well, I’ll get my things and clear out.”

He turned and headed up the stairs. A moment later, Buffy appeared in the doorway.

“So you’re just leaving?”

“That’s kind of how it works, pet.”

“But everything’s really okay? It’s not just Dad saying something else?”

“You’ll be fine. I talked to the Watcher,” he lied. “No one will be comin’ after you.”

“Because?”

“The guy’s dead.”

“How do you know?”

Cause I killed him. “Things like that are news.”

“So, that’s it? It’s over?”

“Apparently.”

Buffy realized that he already had on his coat and had his bag in hand. “Will I ever see you again?”

“Probably not.”

“But…I mean, I’d like to.”

“Wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“But I thought you—we—” Her face fell. “Is—is there someone else?” Why had she only thought of that just now? Spike probably had a vampire girlfriend or something.

“No, there’s not.” He stood in front of her.

“Is it me? Did I do something wrong?”

His look softened for a moment. “Course not.”

“Then why? I don’t understand.”

“Wouldn’t be a good idea,” he repeated. “G’bye, love.”

Before she could say another word, he kissed her on the cheek, shouldered his bag, and walked out the door.

Buffy stood in the room alone, resisting the urge to follow him out.

They’d lived in the same house for two weeks. There was no reason that the thought of never seeing him again should make something in her twist.

She heard the bike start up, and listened as sound died when he drove away.

-----

Buffy went to class and gave all the appearances of paying attention, though she didn’t hear a word that was said. At lunch, she didn’t even notice when Cordelia sat down on the bench next to her.

“So where’s tall, bleached, and handsome?”

“Huh? Oh, he’s gone,” Buffy said.

“So it’s all cool? You’re safe?”

“Apparently.” Buffy played with the straps of her bag.

“Well, try not to look so mopey then.” Then her eyes widened. “Oh, I get it.”

“What? There’s nothing to get.”

“Uh-huh,” she said doubtfully.

“Spike said—”

“Ah-ha! It is about him.” Cordelia grinned. “So he’s not your bodyguard, so what? Doesn’t mean you can’t see each other.”

“Apparently it does.”

“He said that?”

She nodded.

“Oh. Well, he’s an idiot then.”

Buffy suddenly felt defensive. “It’s complicated.”

Cordelia raised a brow. “Complicated how?”

After thinking about their conversation that morning, Buffy had a feeling that Spike’s refusal to see her again had something to do with the whole vampire thing. Even if he hadn’t come right out and said it.

When she didn’t say anything, Cordelia continued. “Well, if you don’t wanna dish, I’ll stand by my conclusion. Idiot. Complicated idiot.”

-----

Walking past Fred with a nod and a “mornin’ love,” Spike stepped into Wesley’s office.

“I presume you’re here for the rest of your money.”

Spike nodded, and Wesley turned to his safe. “I finally had a phone call from Mr. Summers,” he said as he spun the lock. “He thanked me for our services and assured me I would be getting the other six thousand, though I’m not counting on it.”

He pulled an envelope out, but didn’t immediately hand it to Spike. “Six thousand would be payment for four days, the one he owed us for, plus three more, evidently.” He raised an eyebrow. “Certainly after Smith was gone, you were unneeded. Though of course vacating immediately would lead to questions, for how were you to know he’d been killed?”

Spike shrugged and took the envelope.

“However, you gave me the impression that you were leaving the night I told you the check didn’t clear. I had been looking into other alternatives for Miss Summers, at least until Fred showed me the morning’s police scans, at which point I realized it was most likely unnecessary.”

“Yeah, well.”

There was a considerable silence before Wesley spoke again. “Certainly I must be overlooking something, but try as I might, I could think of only one reason for you to so vehemently tear Smith’s throat out, not to mention staying on unpaid.”

“Good for you.” He walked to the door, then paused. “It’d better be a long time before you call me up again.”

Spike walked out feeling irritated at something he couldn’t pinpoint. He never should have taken this job. Steal something, off somebody, provide backup muscle, intimidate—those were his usual haunts. He’d worked for humans before; if they had the cash, he had the time. He’d even done body guarding before, but it had never messed with him.

But then, he’d never gotten involved, never felt anything more than a detached obligation to anyone before.

Still, leaving shouldn’t have been so hard. He had known he was going to do it. And it’s not like seeing her would really work. It was better this way.

Getting on his bike, Spike headed downtown. He needed a good kill to clear his head.

Which was why, he reflected, that it was better this way. Better for her.

-----

When Buffy got home from class, the house seemed eerily quiet. Which it shouldn’t have, really, since Spike had stayed in his room at least half the time.

Not his room. The guest room.

He had gone…wherever vampires go.

Buffy turned on the TV to fill the silence, but found herself moping through her favorite programs. Her mother came home early, and dinner was quiet and dull. She never saw her father at all that night; later, she wasn’t even sure he’d come home.

She went to bed early, and truthfully, she didn’t feel like doing anything else. She couldn’t stop thinking about Spike. Which sort of troubled her in a way, as she’d never been one of those girls who obsessed and pined. But she couldn’t help wondering about what he’d said. Or what he hadn’t said.

And had she done something, or read too much into things? Maybe he’d liked her, but not as much as she thought. They had never discussed the kiss or had another one. The weekend had passed much as other days had, though Spike had seemed a bit disconnected.

After an hour of thoughts that wouldn’t stop, she crept down the hall and into the guest room. Her mother had already stripped the sheets off the bed, but she curled up on it anyway, grabbing a blanket from the couch.

This was just for tonight. All of this was stopping first thing tomorrow.

It had to. He was gone.

-----
-
-
-
Over the next few days, things returned to normal for Buffy. And really, it was easier to try not to think about Spike, rather than to wonder about him.

So she went about her life.

Which was how she found herself out clubbing with Cordelia on Friday, though her heart clearly wasn’t in it. Cordelia had said that Buffy needed to get back into the swing of things. So she’d gotten on the floor with the mob, randomly dancing with whoever happened to be near. She’d barely talked to anyone, but Cordelia hadn’t noticed.

When Cordelia said she was leaving with Justin, Buffy cheerfully declared her intentions of staying longer, but as soon as the two were out of sight, she sighed to herself and turned toward the bathrooms. She was going home.

As she made her way down the hall, a side door opened and she was suddenly yanked out into the alley.

It all happened in seconds, though time seemed to crawl.

She was thrown roughly against the wall, and then pulled up by her shirt before she could stand. The door to the club slammed behind her and Buffy opened her mouth to scream. But the sound died in her throat when she saw her captors.

Three men, but their faces were distorted, their teeth long and sharp… Vampire, some part of her mind screamed, while the other part said, But Spike didn’t look like that.

The first one tossed her to one of his friends, who caught her arms as she slammed into him. He only held her wrists, but try as she might, Buffy was unable to pull away. The third one came closer, and she had the terrified realization that he was leaning in toward her neck.

Oh God, I’m really gonna die.

“In one piece, remember?” the leader growled, pulling him back.

“What do you w—” Buffy started, only to be silenced by a blow to the face.

“You’ve been hard to get, little Slayer. Haven’t been out much by yourself after dark, till now.”

“Please,” she said, flinching and closing her eyes when she saw his hand move for another strike.

But the blow never landed, at least not on her. She realized they were fighting—probably over who got a taste or not. Just perfect. No, that is perfect.

When the grip loosened on her arms, Buffy immediately pushed away and made for the street. But she hadn’t gotten two steps before one of them grabbed her and spun her around. Her hopes sank when she saw that a vampire had her again.

She wouldn’t get a second chance at a getaway, even if it was just him. The other three were lying unconscious—wait, three?

The vampire with his hand on her arm had platinum hair.

“Spike?”

Chapter 16 - Collisions

One bleached, leather-clad vampire currently not killing her.

“Spike?” she ventured.

“Yeah. Sorry, love.”

He paused for a moment, and suddenly his normal face was back.

She frowned in the darkness and then squinted. “Okay, that’s just freaky.”

Spike shrugged. He let go of her arm, though his hand lingered.

“Another vampire thing?”

“Yeah.”

Spike hesitated, and then he put his other hand on her shoulder.

Buffy straightened her shirt slightly, feeling overwhelmed with what had just happened. Mostly, she felt a sudden relief.

“You said no one would be after me,” she said, relaxing and leaning halfway into him.

His hand skimmed over her back. “Those blokes are different. Nothin’ about your daddy’s money.”

She pulled back and looked up. “Then why did they want me? Why are they calling me slayer?” she choked. “I don’t even know what that is! Those were vampires! Vampires are after me now! I don’t understand.”

“We’ll figure it out, yeah?” Spike gave her arms a little squeeze. “Let’s get you home.”

“I don’t want to,” she said sullenly.

He sighed. “Fine, come with me.”

“Okay,” Buffy said slowly. She hadn’t really expected that.

“Let’s just go before these wankers wake up. I don’t carry stakes.”

She wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but she nodded.

They walked in silence, Buffy close beside Spike as he cut through the back streets. Once, her hand brushed his as he paused and she stopped short next to him. He didn’t seem to mind when, after that, she kept a loose grip on the sleeve of his coat.

After a few blocks, they arrived at the corner where Spike had his motorcycle parked.

He got on and looked at her expectantly.

Buffy paused, feeling like she should say something. “Thank you, by the way.”

Spike glanced away for a second, his shoulders moving in a barely visible shrug. “Was nothing.”

“If you hadn’t been there, I—”

“Hey now, none o’ that,” he said, looking at her squarely again. “Good that I was, right?”

She suddenly realized how unlikely it was that he had appeared just in time to save her. “Why were you there?” she asked. When he didn’t immediately answer, Buffy continued. “Are you following me?”

“Maybe.”

“Why?”

“Are you comin’ or not?”

She knew she was. “This isn’t over,” she said, as she got on the motorcycle behind him. The bike came to life, and Buffy held on to Spike, burying her face in the cool leather as they drove away.

-----

Buffy was somewhat surprised when they stopped in front of an apartment building. Spike cut the engine of the motorcycle, and then led her down the cement stairs that went below street level. He unlocked a door and held it open for her.

She hadn’t really expected Spike to take her home with him, despite his ‘come with me.’ She wasn’t sure where she thought they would end up. Driving, maybe. Somewhere else that was open late.

Also, for some reason, it never occurred to Buffy that Spike actually lived somewhere, especially not after finding out about the vampire thing.

But she wasn’t disappointed, either. This meant she would have a chance to really talk to him.

Spike closed the door behind her and flicked the lights on, revealing a one-room efficiency apartment. There was a linoleum-tiled corner with cabinets and a fridge that served as the kitchen, and a TV and couch opposite. A bed was in one corner and a bathroom cut into the other. It was Spartan but tidy, and Buffy thought it fit him. Though why someone who had just been paid nearly twenty thousand dollars was living here was beyond her.

“Like to keep a low profile,” he said, guessing her train of thought. “Never know when you’ll need to pick up and leave.”

“Oh. Right.”

Spike shrugged off his coat, tossing it over the back of the couch.

Buffy glanced around uncertainly. “So you were following me, right?” she asked. “Not that I don’t appreciate the rescue, but you couldn’t have been there that fast unless you were already there.”

“Yeah, I was.”

“What happened to not seeing each other again? I don’t get to see you but you see a ton of me?”

He turned to face her. “Not like I planned to trail you around town.”

“Trail? Have you turned stalker guy? Are you stalking me?”

“Stalkin’ generally works best when the other person doesn’t want to see you.”

Buffy shrugged and looked at the ceiling. He had a point. If she’d noticed him, she probably would have invited him over. “So, what then?”

“Made sure nothin’ happened, didn’t I?”

It also probably wasn’t stalking if they saved your life. “You knew about the vampires,” she realized.

“I thought I felt somethin’—heard somethin’ one night about the Slayer. But didn’t know. Was also makin’ sure no one else stepped up cause of the money.”

“What’s a slayer?”

Spike sighed. “A Slayer’s a girl with powers who fights vampires and demons.”

“Well, I’m not one.”

“Those vamps in the alley seemed to think so.” His gaze lingered on her as he tilted his head. “You don’t feel like one, though, and didn’t taste like one.” He paused. “Maybe you don't know your own strength. Hit me.”

“What?”

“One good swing. Give it your all.”

“Spike, I’m not hitting you.”

“It’s not like you’re probably gonna hurt me. C’mon now, have a go. Hard as you can.”

Clenching her teeth, Buffy drew back her arm and prepared to strike, but Spike stopped her.

“First, keep your eyes open. Second, none of that girly slappin’ crap. A punch. Right here to the shoulder.”

“Okay…” Buffy made a fist and hit him for all she was worth. And cringed. “That hurt!” She cradled her hand. “What, are you made of stone?”

Spike regarded her, and she heard him chuckle.

“It’s not funny!”

“Was a good try,” he said unconvincingly.

“If this is supposed to make me feel better, it’s not working.” She stretched her fingers. “So, definitely a non-Slayery Buffy here.”

“You don’t work out much, do you, pet?”

She looked back at him. “I do crunches and pilates every week. Why?”

“Cause you punch like a girl.”

“I do not!”

“Hate to state the obvious, but you are a girl.”

Buffy scowled slightly. “God, I hate this. I’m just pathetic little Buffy, the eternal victim.” Then she quickly looked back up. “Hey, you’re like Mr. Street Fighter guy, why don’t you show me something?”

“Not much you could do is gonna be of use against vamps. Though the cross thing is true.”

“Right. Vampires don’t like crosses. But I still want to know some moves.”

“Why?” he asked, in a voice suspiciously close to a whine.

“It’s L.A. I could get mugged. Heck, right now I’d welcome a nice, normal mugging.”

Spike was looking at her with a blank expression.

“What if you’re not around next time? Don’t you want me to be able to defend myself?”

“Take one o’ those self-defense classes,” he suggested.

“No. I want to know some dirty moves, and I want you to show me.”

“Fine,” he finally said. “C’mere.”

Spike moved to stand in the center of the room, and Buffy followed.

His expression turned stern. “But you’re not gonna fight a vamp with these, understand? You see a vampire, you run.”

She nodded.

Then he smirked slightly. “And you do know that if someone grabs your purse, you just give it?”

“Well, duh. Let’s assume they want more than my purse.”

“Right.”

Spike studied her a moment, and then he moved. Suddenly he was behind her, one arm around her waist and the other around her neck. “So what do you do now?” he said in her ear.

Then he relaxed his grip a little.

“You tell me,” she said.

“Bring your heel down on his foot, hard. Elbow him if you can. The elbow’s a strong point. If you have leverage on your head, lean forward and crack him in the face, same time as you stomp. It’ll hurt, but it’ll hurt him more.”

Buffy went through the moves in slow motion. She was still pulled tightly against him.

“C’mon, pet, hard as you can.”

“No face cracking.”

“You’re not gonna—”

“Not worried about you,” she said, simultaneously stomping and elbowing.

Spike wasn’t ready for it. His hold on her faltered a bit. “Good, that. Now—again, when I’m payin’ attention.”

She complied.

“Once more. Right. Now—” Spike stepped to the side and grabbed one of her arms, “—if you’re at close range, elbowin’ is good. Gotta put your full weight behind it, though.”

He let go and stood beside her. “Say if you had me by this arm or shoulder, then I’d do this,” he said, slowly shifting his weight and twisting. “Also, kickin’ in the shins. It hurts, and it’s a low enough kick that you don’t lose your balance.”

Buffy twisted around, mimicking him. “That’s hardly a dirty fighting move.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Poke him in the eye. Hard as you can. Or a solid jab to the neck. Right here, just above the collarbone.” Spike touched a spot on her neck with his finger. “Punch if nothing else, but two fingers works best. Gotta be quick about it. Never let him see what you’re gonna do.”

“Right. Okay.”

Then Spike moved directly in front of her and placed his hands gently on her neck. He squeezed slightly. “Now, what would you do?”

Buffy’s hands automatically went to his.

“Wrong.” He shook his head. “You’re not gonna stop him from chokin’ you by squeezin’ back. Your hands are free—use them. Go for the face. Or try and hit out the elbows. Hit the joint as hard as you can. No, harder. Kick the shins too.”

Buffy did it again.

“There, that one might’ve done it.”

“You mean if you were normal?” she asked as he let go.

“Somethin’ like that. Also, like that, any time their hands are occupied, you can kick and aim for the important bits.”

“Why with the occupied?”

Spike stepped back slightly. “Try it.”

“You are joking, right?”

“You won’t touch me,” he said, a smirk on his lips.

“Confident much?”

“Vampire. Strong, fast, all of that?”

“Arrogant?”

“Just bloody do it.”

Buffy aimed a kick at his crotch, only to have her leg caught in midair. “No one but you’s gonna be able to do that,” she complained, struggling to keep her balance.

“If they know what they’re about, they are; they’ll be expectin’ it. Especially if you’re slow and they see it coming. If you’re close enough, give them a good knee, which is gonna hurt more unless you really know how to kick. Cause as of now, they’ve got you where they want you.”

“Which is?”

He pulled her leg, and suddenly she was on the floor with him crouching above her. Spike wasn’t touching her in any way, but she felt pinned nonetheless. He grinned.

Buffy felt, rather than saw, that he was about to get up, and she touched his arm. His eyes locked on hers, first in question, then suddenly something else.

She wasn’t sure which one of them made the first move, but the next instant their lips were locked together and the distance between their bodies had vanished. One of his hands moved around the back of her head to pull her closer, while the other slid up her side. Buffy shifted one of her legs and pressed against him.

Spike suddenly stood, pulling her up with him. She frowned at the lack of contact, before he was on her again, grasping, touching…

“What are we doing?” she breathed after a moment.

He paused and looked at her seriously. “You wanna stop, love?”

She shook her head.

Buffy brought her mouth back to his, balancing on one foot as she wrapped a leg halfway around his waist. She couldn’t get enough of the feeling of his body against hers. It had all happened so fast, but she was desperate for it to keep happening.

They were a tangle of limbs as they kissed and pulled at each other’s clothing, moving instinctively toward the bed. Moments later Buffy was on her back, her panties the only thing separating her from Spike.

“Wait,” she said, sitting halfway up. “We need—um, some protection…” Buffy trailed off uncomfortably.

Spike brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “You can’t get pregnant. Can’t get anything.”

“Don’t all the boys say that?”

“Not won’t,” he emphasized. “Can’t.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “Is that a vampire thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Well, okay.”

There was an awkward silence, and Buffy was afraid she had completely ruined the moment.

But then he was kissing her again, one hand slipping up her stomach to cup her breasts as she fell back onto the mattress. The other was working her panties down, and Buffy wiggled them off herself after he pulled them to her knees. A moment later, she felt him position himself between her thighs. He paused, and Buffy realized he was waiting for permission. With a breathless nod, she answered, and he pushed in.

Buffy gasped at the sudden fullness, and she looked into his eyes as she waited for her body to adjust from pressure to pleasure.

Spike was staring at her in a way she couldn’t describe. It was so intense, so raw, it seemed like he was bleeding into her. It was the look from the kitchen, she realized, only different.

His lips parted slightly, and a whispered “Buffy” escaped.

After a moment, Spike tilted his head to bring his lips to hers, and he slowly began to move. Buffy wrapped her arm around his shoulder as he found a rhythm, moving her legs slightly and rocking against him. Oh, God.

It was good. Incredibly good. Honestly, she hadn’t known what to expect, what with him being a vampire. His body was cool against hers, but his touch was electric, and she soon forgot about the difference.

His hand glided over her breasts as he kissed her, and then his arm slid down her body to grip the back of her thigh. He was moving faster inside her, hitting a bit deeper every time.

She arched against him, and Spike’s lips left hers as he started working his way down her jaw line to her neck. But the kisses were gone; he was sucking and nipping. Buffy tensed slightly. Umm, vampire at your neck.

But Spike only sucked and gnawed at her flesh, doing nothing more than any guy trying to give her an ambitious hickey would. Grasping at the back of his head, Buffy let the sensations carry her as she wrapped her legs around his hips. He groaned as she constricted around him.

She was quickly deciding that while this had been far from slow and romantic, there was something to be said for spontaneous and intense. That, and the fact that Spike definitely knew what he was doing. As his thrusts came harder and faster, she felt the pressure building inside her.

Moments later, her muscles clenched and she cried out, her head rolling back as she came. Spike bit at her exposed neck, grabbing her thigh as he pushed himself into her as far as he could go. His body quickly shuddered in turn as he followed her over.

Spike collapsed on top of her for a moment, his head falling next to hers on the bed. “God, Buffy, you’re perfect,” she heard him breathe. His body continued to move slightly against hers as he came down.

Then Spike pushed his weight off her, holding their position a minute more before he slipped out of her. He rolled onto his back and gathered her to him in a tight embrace, pulling a blanket over both of them.

Chapter 17 - Stories

Spike lay awake for some time after Buffy drifted off, her soft shape snuggled against him. Afterglow wasn’t something he usually had. It had been a long time since he’d shared his bed with someone he cared about. And that someone had never been human before.

He could hear her heart beating, feel the blood rushing through her. She smelled incredible. But the thought of doing his usual never crossed his mind.

He’d never held a human this long, he realized. It was pleasant enough, but maybe that was just because it was Buffy. She was settled next to him so easily. It was unnatural for him to want her the way he did, and to want her as she was—alive.

He’d wanted her. And now he had her.

But a part of Spike had no idea what he was supposed to do with her now. He’d never thought this far ahead.

Buffy made a small noise, shifting closer to him. Spike let his hand brush over her hair. ‘What to do now’ could come tomorrow.

-----
-
-
-
Spike woke up sometime in the middle of the night, almost regretting waking when he remembered the dream he’d had. Then he realized that there was a warm body spooned against him, her heartbeat thundering in his ears.

Buffy.

He tightened his arm around her waist, pulling her closer.

“Is this just some one night stand?” she asked.

Spike hadn’t realized she was awake. She was so relaxed; her breathing and heartbeat were low and steady. That, and the fact that he was still reeling that she was actually there.

“What?” he said.

“It feels like one. Is it?”

“No.”

“How can you be sure?”

Because I didn’t drain you during sex. “You’re special.”

She shifted. “That’s what—someone else said, once. And this, it was nice, really nice, but it was really fast. It just happened.”

“You having regrets, love?”

“No! No, it’s just, you’re not, are you?” She was still facing away from him, but he could hear the uncertainty in her voice.

“I’m still gonna be here in the morning, y’know,” he said in her ear. “It’s my place.”

Buffy actually giggled. “Is it that obvious?”

“You got burned,” he said. “Was it that bloke you mentioned before?”

“Riley? No. Riley was sweet, nice. Maybe too nice. It was someone I knew at college. Briefly knew. He got what he wanted, and then I wasn’t real to him anymore.”

“You’re real.” Spike pressed his lips to her shoulder. She was so real, so here with him.

“Tell me something real,” she said quietly. “About you.”

“Like what?”

“Something. Anything. I don’t know anything about you, which kind of floats back to my one night stand theory. How about your life story?”

He hesitated. “That’s a long story, pet.”

“How long, exactly?”

“I was turned about the end of last century,” he said carefully. Spike could almost see Buffy doing the math in her head.

Unexpectedly, she laughed, her shoulders shaking against him. “So, not thirty-one. Keep going.”

“Met my salvation in an alley. I was struck with her.” He paused, propping his head up with one hand. He could see the side of Buffy’s face, but he stared at the bed as he continued. “She turned me and everything was new. For weeks we painted the town red, just me and her. Then she took me back to this house, sayin’ I had to meet the ‘family,’ the two other vamps she was with—didn’t take long to figure out they called the shots. But I didn’t care, long as I had Dru. Also didn’t take long to figure out that I didn’t. I was her ‘shining knight,’ but she was always hung up on her daddy, and he made it clear whose she was.”

“Her daddy?”

“The vamp that made her,” Spike clarified.

“Oh.”

“Wasn’t long, though, before he left. Cursed or something. The other bitch left, too. I don’t think she ever really cared for me and Dru, at least not me. Those were good years, then. The two of us went all over the world—lived it up, even durin’ the wars.

“Got caught by a mob in Prague in the sixties. Nearly killed her. I took care of her, gave her everything she needed. After a few years, we tracked down her cure, sire’s blood—”

“Sire?”

“The vamp that made her,” he said, glancing down.

“Oh,” Buffy said. “Right.”

“Right. So, we track him down and set up this neat little ritual. I figured it would kill him, but just left him completely drained. Didn’t matter though, she was strong again.” He paused. “She insisted we take the wanker with us—wouldn’t leave her daddy all helpless like that. Couldn’t say no to her. I should have. Dru spent all her time doting on him, tryin’ to get him to eat. He wouldn’t, not even from her.

“Later his sire turned up again, sayin’ she felt his weakness or call or whatnot. She forced him to drink from her and suddenly he was back to his arrogant, swaggering self. Never got back to full strength, even after years, but Dru was thrilled. Her daddy was back, but weak, and needed her help with all sorts of things—

“I started leavin’ for periods, just to get away from the lot. Sometimes I tried to get Dru to come with me. We could be like we were before, I told her. In New York I killed a Slayer for her, but she didn’t even notice. So one day I up and left. Came out here.”

“How long ago was that?” She threaded her fingers through the hand that rested around her.

“Twenty years or so. I tripped around for a while. Heard about the gem and dug it up in a hellhole town full of idiot vamps. Half of ’em don’t even know what’s beneath ’em. I got a few jobs here by accident and started to get a reputation. Liked the cash and the fun, and took up shop, so to speak. I decided I had good setup, so I stuck around, mostly.”

Spike fell silent for a moment. “Uh, sorry. Sure you didn’t wanna hear all about my ex after we—didn’t mean to talk about her so much. I s’pose you wanted to hear about what the old days were like, or France or something.”

“It’s fine.” Buffy shrugged. “I wanted your story, and it sounds like she kinda was your story.” She paused. “Do you miss her?”

“Used to. But not for years. And certainly not now.” He pulled her closer and nibbled at her ear. “Dru was what she was. Did I mention the part about her being insane?”

“Everyone’s ex is insane.”

“Like clinically.”

Buffy twisted around to look at him. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. Half the time, she didn’t have a buggerin’ clue what was goin’ on. Though sometimes she got visions, real ones, about what was gonna happen. But Dru was completely out of her mind. Played with dolls that talked to her and looked at the stars through the ceiling. I took care of her, would have done anything for her. But I was always number two when it came down to it.”

“Well,” Buffy said after a moment, “that makes my failed high school romance and one night stand seem considerably less baggage-y. You had a whole Rhett and Scarlett thing going on.” She paused. “Well, except that Scarlett really loved Rhett in the end. Er, I should probably stop talking.”

“Keep talkin’—about you.”

She sighed, dropping her head back to the mattress. “Everything’s crashing. Crime lords and vampires are after me.”

“Only vampires now.”

“That’s so much better? And I don’t even know why.”

“We’ll figure it out, pet,” Spike said, leaning to see her face.

“And Mom and Dad are getting a divorce.”

“Knew that, didn’t we?” he asked, slightly thrown by her change of topic.

“Yeah, but they’re really being fast about it. Dad left the same morning you did. I think Mom kicked him out or something. He’s been sleeping at the office. Or a hotel, I’m not really sure which. I haven’t seen her speak to him at all, though they must have worked something out.”

She stared blankly at the wall as she continued. “Mom told me they’re selling the house. And she gets to keep everything. He’s also going to be sending her money each year. Like alimony, but unofficial? I think they made some sort of deal where she’s not turning him in. I haven’t spoken to Dad, either. I know I should feel bad that I’m more upset about the house being sold than my parents getting a divorce, but I’m not.”

“Perfectly understandable, considerin’ the circumstances.”

“I mean, I don’t want anything to do with him, so I’m not surprised that Mom feels the same way. I’m not sure what I’ll do next semester. I might live with Mom, wherever she gets a place, or I could try the dorms, I guess.”

Buffy fell silent, and then turned to glance at him. “How late is it?”

“Two, maybe three.”

“Guess I’ve got to stay until morning.” She immediately frowned. “Ugh. Now I’m sounding one-night-standy.”

Spike smirked. “You’re forgettin’ one thing, pet.”

“What’s that?”

“You don’t have a car here. You’re at my mercy until daylight.”

“Oh, am I?” Buffy giggled. “What will I do until morning?”

Spike grinned, his hand skimming up her body. “I’m sure we can think of something.”

-----

A/N: I've written an NC-17 one shot that continues Buffy and Spike’s first night together. It takes place between chapters 17 and 18, and is posted separately HERE.

Chapter 18 - Realities

Buffy had expected an awkward morning after. And it was in its own way, being that it felt strangely right waking up next to him.

She woke up sometime in the middle of the morning to find Spike watching her with a neutral expression on his face. He ran his hand over her hair as her eyes settled on him.

It was all so natural. No uncomfortable smiles, no embarrassed eye contact, no half-finished sentences—just him watching her.

“Morning, love.”

Buffy smiled, stretching beneath the sheet.

“Get all rested?”

“Mm-hm.” She yawned. “Do you sleep at night?”

“Some.”

She stretched again. “Is it okay if I grab a shower?”

“Help yourself.”

Buffy scooted over, getting out of the bed with no attempt to cover her nudity as she walked into the bathroom. She started to shut the door and—

“Oh my GOD!”

Buffy stared open-mouthed at her reflection over the sink. Her neck was blue and yellow, and she could see teeth marks in several places. She came out of the bathroom, pointing.

“You bit me. A lot.”

He actually looked a bit guilty. “Didn’t mean to, that bad.”

“You didn’t even really bite me, and it looks like this. Worse, maybe, cause it’s all over.” She put her other hand on her hip.

“Sorry, pet.”

“Did you do this to every girl you slept with?”

Spike tilted his head. “More or less.” He paused. “It hurt?”

“Not really, just bruise-y. Not at all last night. It just…looks really bad.”

“I won’t next time.”

“Okay, then,” she finished.

Buffy turned, going back into the bathroom.

A moment later, Spike heard the shower running.

He crossed his arms behind his head, his thoughts once again returning to Buffy.

He knew things could still go wrong with this.

But somewhere in the back of his mind, the decision had already been made. He’d known since the instant he’d seen her scared to death of the vampires in the alley that he would never end up hurting her. Despite what he’d thought before, it had all suddenly seemed so simple.

Spike had been at the club, of course, because he’d been following her. He hadn’t intended to; it had just sort of happened.

So he had been stalking her. Slightly.

He was supposed to walk away and never see her again. It was better that way. That had turned into watching her until he got her out of his system, as well as making sure no other humans made a grab for her. Regardless, he’d reminded himself why it wouldn’t be a good idea to carry on any further with her.

And though there had been something still bothering him about the whispered ‘Slayer’ he’d heard, it wasn’t necessarily the first reason he’d been following her. Keeping an eye on her was certainly part of it, but Spike had almost been as surprised as Buffy when the vampires grabbed her.

If he hadn’t been there, she would have disappeared. And he never would have known.

And he wouldn’t have her now.

But Spike still didn’t completely know how to deal with her continued presence in his life. No humans were supposed to have a continued presence in his life.

He was a vampire; humans were food. Anyone was fair game, unless he was being paid for them to be otherwise. Business was business, and business was separate. He even made it a point not to snack on those who hired him after a job was done. It wasn’t sporting-like. And it didn’t earn him any points with the criminal human count, who tended to pay with cash more than demons did.

Though it didn’t come up much, because he didn’t tend to see them again. There were the occasional names and faces that kept turning up on the street, but they had never turned up in his bed before. He had rules for business.

Spike stretched back in the bed, considering.

Buffy had stopped being business some time ago. She was something new. But so what if she didn’t fit with what he’d been doing before, or what he should do? He wanted her, and that was enough.

He did what he wanted, always made his own rules.

Right, then.

1. Buffy’s special.
2. Don’t kill Buffy.
3. Try not to bite Buffy.
4. Not even a little bit.

Number two seemed obvious, but only a week ago, he’d thought that he might end up draining her. Vampire/human relationships didn’t tend to work out, which was why he had decided it was better not to pursue this further.

He liked her for some reason and hadn’t wanted to do anything to her. Spike hadn’t had much reason to think that he wouldn’t end up hurting Buffy or even killing her, despite his desire not to. He was a vampire; she was human. Things happened. So he’d decided not to let them happen.

But seeing her in the alley had been a moment of clarity. He simply wouldn’t let himself hurt her. Certainly never on purpose, but not by accident, either. He’d been afraid of an accident, afraid that having her close for too long would be too much to resist.

But he’d known since she got on his bike that he wouldn’t be able to stay away again, known since they came together that he needed her. Known since he had his teeth on her throat that he wouldn’t damage her. He wouldn’t even take a taste.

Spike thought of her bruised neck. All the frenzied gnawing he’d done with his blunt teeth in an effort not to injure her had possibly done more harm than if he’d just bitten her outright. She was going to be wearing scarves for a while, to say the least.

He actually hadn’t liked seeing the bruise on her neck.

Suddenly, he heard the shower cut off.

A moment later, Buffy came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. She leisurely picked up her clothing from where it was strewn on the floor and started changing.

“Leavin’ so soon?”

“I should.” She shot him an apologetic glance as she put on her shoes. “I didn’t call home last night. So, are you still going to be following me around?”

“Maybe. Depends. Can’t have anything gettin’ you.”

“Well, maybe you should do it more openly, if you know what I mean. Like a personal escort.” She grinned.

“You goin’ anywhere today?”

“Only home.” Without another word, she smiled, grabbed her purse, and walked out the door.

Spike watched her go. As the door shut, he stretched back. He could use another hour or two of sleep, and he wasn’t planning on getting out of the bed that Buffy had shared anytime soon.

-----

Buffy had left Spike’s with a very confident, afterglowy morning-after feeling. She’d gotten a cab back to the club and picked up her car. If her mother had noticed her absence, she didn’t comment on it. And judging by the bottle in the kitchen, Joyce probably hadn’t noticed much of anything last night.

As Buffy made her way to her room, she passed her father’s exercise room, which was richly equipped, though hardly ever used.

She worked out religiously twice a week. Mainly because she wanted to look cute. And she did—her tummy was toned and her buns, while not of steel, were quite shapely. But she had never really done any exercises to build muscle; it had all been about burning fat. After looking in the mirror for a moment, Buffy realized that her arms were really sort of thin. They could do with some definition, she decided.

Plus, she would no longer hit like a girl.

Her mind made up, Buffy hovered around the exercise room that morning, looking at the different pieces of equipment and wondering which one she should use first.

-----

In the afternoon, Cordelia unexpectedly picked her up for a round of shopping. Buffy put on some real clothes while Cordelia waited downstairs, and she hastily found something to cover her neck. She’d already had to put concealer over the bruise on her cheek where the vampire had hit her, but she had covered up Spike’s marks on her neck mostly by wearing her fluffy bathrobe while around her mother.

As they hit the stores, Buffy, for the first time in her life, paled as she checked the price tags. She had no idea exactly where the financial situation stood, but she gathered it wasn’t good. So she watched Cordelia as she racked up purchases into the thousands, and only bought a few tank tops herself.

It was evening by the time they were done, and Buffy told Cordelia that she’d catch a cab home. Once she was in the backseat of the taxi, she gave the driver directions to Spike’s.

She’d surprise him if he was there, and she could always go home if he wasn’t.

When they were a mile or so away from his apartment, Buffy caught a flash of bleached hair. She whipped around and looked out the rear window.

“Stop! Right here’s fine,” she told the driver. She dug through her purse and pulled out the bills before jumping out of the cab.

Spike had disappeared, but she walked in his direction and soon spotted him on a side street. He was a fair way down it, but his hair stood out in the gloom. His back was still to her, and she started to call out before she realized that he was with someone.

A girl someone.

He was kissing her.

Wait.

No, he wasn’t.

Buffy felt something inside her drop as she realized exactly what he was doing. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the girl slide—the body slide to the ground.

It had been the question she couldn’t ask.

And now she had her answer.

Buffy turned and ran.

She heard footfalls behind her, and she knew he was coming after her. She knew he would catch her. He was faster than she was. But she didn’t have to make it easy for him.

“Buffy!”

Another few seconds and he caught her arm, pulling her to face him. They were on the street now.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” His vampire face faded.

“I know,” she whispered. “And suddenly it terrifies me.”

His fingers flexed slightly, and with a sort of added horror, Buffy realized that the hand gripping her arm was warm. “Get off!” she yelled.

To her surprise, he did.

She left. And he didn’t follow.

Chapter 19 - Shiftings

Buffy had the presence of mind after a few blocks to hail the next cab she saw. After all, who knew about all those other killer vampires out there?

The driver asked her where she wanted to go.

“Just drive.” Buffy sank against the seat.

Spike just killed someone.

And what did you think vampires do? another part of her mind asked. What did you think he was doing during all those ‘good years’ he talked about? And painting the town red? It was probably with actual blood. And what made you think he doesn’t do it now?

He had never said. She had never asked. There had always been something hanging in the air, and she had blissfully pretended it wasn’t there. Better to forget the question, than to wonder about the answers.

But suddenly all the little thoughts came rushing back to her, everything she had purposefully pushed aside.

“Your daddy’s payin’ me over a thousand bucks a day to keep you alive. I’m not gonna fuck that up by killin’ you myself.”

“If someone had paid you to kidnap me…? Kill me?” / “Done it before.”

“His business practices aside, I have no reason to think that Spike doesn’t still kill.”

Wesley.

Quickly digging through her purse, Buffy located the card that he had given her. She passed it to the driver.

“I need to go here.”

She wondered what the chances were of finding him actually there. It was sort of late, and a Saturday. But investigators kept weird hours, didn’t they? Surely supernatural investigators did. She could always go home if no one was there.

For some reason—probably nerves—it never occurred to Buffy that she could have called ahead until they were actually stopped in front of the building. But there was a light on inside, so she paid the cab fare, though she asked the driver to wait. Buffy knocked loudly on the glass door, and a moment later it was partially opened by Wesley. He looked surprised, and then his eyes narrowed slightly.

“Buffy.”

“Yeah, um, do you have a minute?”

“Of course. Come in.”

She waved off the taxi and walked in as Wesley opened the door wider for her. It wasn’t until she was inside that she noticed he had a crossbow in his other hand.

“You always answer the door with that?”

“Yes, well,” he said. “Can’t be too careful.”

He locked the door behind her. Buffy suddenly wondered exactly what she was going to say. She needed to say something to someone, and he was the only one who knew—

“What happened to your neck?” he asked without preamble.

Buffy brought her hand up to the two-inch thick, heavily beaded choker she was wearing. “No one else noticed.”

“Call it an occupational hazard.”

“I, uh, got bit.” She unfastened the choker.

Wesley frowned as she tilted her chin. “Well, it wasn’t a vampire.” He looked at her, looked down, and then casually put the crossbow back on the wall as he turned. “Please, come and sit down.” He gestured toward the chairs in the reception area.

Buffy entirely missed the subtext of what had happened. She took a seat opposite him. “It kind of was a vampire.”

“Kind of?”

“It was Spike. Things gotkindainvolved,” she rushed, looking down.

“What do you mean inv—oh,” he realized with embarrassment. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” She shuffled her feet.

“Well,” he said after a moment, “he wasn’t trying to kill you.”

It was Buffy’s turn to look embarrassed.

Wesley’s eyes expertly lingered on the concealer-covered bruise on her face. Too expertly—even Cordelia hadn’t noticed the spot on her cheekbone. “Did Spike also do that?” he asked neutrally.

“What? Oh, no!” Buffy exclaimed. “It was some vampire in an alley. Spike saved me.”

“I see.” He paused. “I don’t know what to say, other than I would advise you to stop seeing him. Besides the fact that I doubt the relationship will work out. He’s a vampire.”

“I saw him kill someone,” she blurted.

“When?”

“Kinda just now.” Buffy twisted her hands around.

“Did he know you were there?”

“No, not till—God, I’m such an idiot. You told me, he practically told me, but I just didn’t want to consider it. Like if I didn’t know it, or it wasn’t happening now, then it wasn’t real or something. I wanted to think—I thought what I wanted to think. But duh, Buffy, vampires kill people.”

Wesley studied her a moment. “Buffy,” he said carefully, “What do you think you are to Spike?”

“I don’t…what do you mean?”

“He only associates with humans for business. At any other time, he’s a predator.”

“So what’s with you hooking him up with the human guarding jobs?”

“It was business. Odd as it may sound, Spike honors agreements made. It’s against his skewed sense of fair play or what have you to harm those he’s worked for. Of course, once a job is complete, he doesn’t see the person again. He certainly doesn’t become involved.”

Buffy frowned. “What are you trying to say?”

“Despite the fact that you were business, as well as…other factors— There’s no guarantee with this, Buffy.”

“He won’t hurt me.”

Wesley looked at her, curiously blank.

“He won’t. But—it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to see him again.” She glanced down. “I can’t. Not now. Not after—that.”

No matter how Spike had been to her, there was no way she could be with him without thinking about what he had done. What he still did. Now if she could only stop replaying it in her head.

A moment passed.

“I shouldn’t have barged in here on you like this,” she said. “I just needed to— I should call a cab.”

“No need. I’ll drive you home.”

“But—”

“I was about to leave anyway. I insist.”

-----

Spike had stood at the exit of the alley, watching Buffy as she hurried away from him.

Nothing good would come of following her. He had stared after her until she disappeared from sight, and then he slowly started walking in the other direction.

Spike did not plan ahead. He took things as they came, and lived in the moment. If he’d had a plan, which he didn’t really, it would have been something along the lines of ‘keep Buffy separate,’ or ‘don’t ask, don’t tell.’

Buffy herself seemed to be operating under one of those, so he’d gone with the flow, so to speak.

But he’d told her himself that he’d kill for a job. And she’d heard what the Watcher had said. He knew she wasn’t so thick as to not even consider what being a vampire meant. However, if she chose not to confront him about it, he certainly wasn’t going to bring it up first.

Spike had admittedly glossed over the more mayhem and carnage filled sections of his life, somehow having an idea that she wouldn’t like to hear about it. And while he wouldn’t have denied it if she’d asked, he did feel something odd about the fact that she’d actually seen him making a kill.

The result of which had been her getting as far away from him as possible as quickly as possible. He didn’t know if she would come back, what she would—

His cell phone suddenly rang, and for one ridiculous moment he thought it might be Buffy, before he realized that she didn’t have his number.

“What?” he answered.

“I’ve got it,” a voice replied. “Meet you in twenty.”

-----

Spike walked into the bar and headed for the back, stopping before a booth tucked into the shadows.

“That was fast,” he commented.

“Forty-eight hours or less. You know my business is to please. Though this is almost a personal best, since you only called this morning.”

Spike sat down opposite the man/demon/whatever in the booth. He looked human, even had a human-like heartbeat. But he didn’t smell human, and he’d never changed in all the years Spike had gotten information from him. Not that Spike really cared or put too much thought into it.

“So talk,” he said.

“The Slayer hunters. Pretty hush-hush. They like to keep it that way.”

“And you found out cause…?”

“I’ve got one of those unassuming faces, people just keep talking when I’m around.” He smiled. “Demons, too. No one ever notices me.” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “It’s a group of vampires, maybe one sorcerer or seer. Small operation. They go in and grab the girl before she’s called, then kill her as soon as she is. Drain the blood for a boost, and whatever other parts can be used.”

Spike frowned. “Even the Council wankers don’t know for sure who the next is gonna be.”

He shrugged. “Black magic’s always better than white magic. But you’re right, it’s tricky. They’re continually casting, and sometimes never find out—future keeps changing, Slayer lives to fight another day, the potentials shift, etc. Finding out who the next Slayer is depends on how long until the one now dies. It’s easier to predict the closer the event becomes; they pay for any tips about the current Slayer. Way I hear it, some dark magician passing through the Hellmouth dropped to them that she wasn’t long for this world. The hunters pumped up the casting, and they must have found something, because they’re in town.”

“They ever wrong?” Spike shifted, but kept his face expressionless.

“If they’re actually out, she’s the real deal.”

“Grab the girl before she’s called, huh?” he repeated.

“They try to. Sometimes they can’t. They don’t if it’s someone already being trained. It’d look too suspicious. It’s also good one round only.”

“What do you mean?”

“As soon as the girl’s called, they kill her. Hold her for more than a day, say to find the next Slayer and get her, too, the Council will start figuring it out. But no one notices a Slayer that only lives for a few hours. The Watchers find the girl who gets called next, and no one’s the wiser.”

“Never heard of these hunters. They ever take out actual Slayers?”

“No.” He shrugged. “They’re a select group, and they’re sneakers, not fighters. None of them have the guts to go after a Slayer, and anyone who does wouldn’t be joining them. Someone who can do Slayer themselves wouldn’t back down from fighting her outright, or want to share the blood.”

Spike smirked. “Right.”

“They get the job done, though. Every few years or so if they’re lucky, they all get a taste of Slayer.”

A pause.

“Doesn’t seem fun without the fight,” Spike said blankly.

“It’s all about the blood to them. Seems like a lot of trouble to me, but what do I know? Is Slayer blood really that big a deal?”

Spike stood. “It really is.”

He threw several hundreds on the table and walked out.

Fuck.

Chapter 20 - Callings

The next morning when Buffy woke up, she thought of Spike. But she resolved not to think about Spike. Especially not Spike doing things she’d rather not think about.

She stumbled into the bathroom, some part of her mind noticing that something wasn’t right. The bruise on her cheek was gone, and her neck was already mostly yellow, with patches of normal looking skin showing through. Buffy frowned but shrugged.

It wasn’t until after breakfast, when she lay across the exercise machine and pulled down the bars that she realized something was wrong. Frowning at the lack of resistance, she checked the pin and moved it down, repeating the process with no difficulty. On impulse, Buffy set the pin at the very bottom of the weight stack and pulled.

While one half of her brain was telling her that something was wrong with the machine, the other half was telling her something entirely different. She was doing almost one hundred pounds one handed.

Buffy let the weights drop, and sat there staring at them for a moment.

“Uh-oh.”

“Honey, is something wrong?”

Buffy whipped around to find her mother pausing in the hallway. “Uh, no. I just had the thingy set wrong.” She pulled out the pin and smiled.

Joyce continued on her way, and Buffy’s face quickly fell.

-----

Wesley picked up his phone on the third ring. “Hello?”

A pause. “Wesley?”

“Yes?”

“I am so sorry to call you at home, but there was no answer at the office, and well, not like I thought you’d be in on a Sunday, but I had to try first. But you were listed—actually Fred was listed—in the phonebook, and I thought, and I don’t really know who else who would—”

“Buffy, what’s wrong?” he asked, placing the rambling voice.

“I think I’m a Slayer.”

Wesley paused. “Why?”

“Well, I’m super strong, and that bruise? It’s almost completely gone.”

“How do you know what a Slayer is?”

“Um, you know that vampire that I said Spike saved me from? He called me Slayer. But the whole strength thing like just happened.”

“I see,” he finally said. “What did Spike say about Slayers?”

“That it’s a girl with powers who fights vampires.”

“I see.” Another pause. “Shall I meet you at the office in half an hour?”

“God, yes! Thank you!”

Wesley hung up the phone.

He paused, hesitated, and then dialed Spike’s number.

It rang more than several times before he answered. “This. Had better. Be good.”

“Buffy thinks she’s the Slayer,” Wesley said flatly.

“Always somethin’, innit?” He sounded drunk.

“She said a vampire was after her.”

“Not anymore, if she is.” He laughed. “Safe as any Slayer is.”

“Do you know something about this?”

“Was gonna give you a heads up last night,” Spike slurred, “but I got distracted. Doesn’t matter now, I s’pose.”

“Got intoxicated, you mean.”

“Knew some vamps were after the Slayer to be,” he continued. “Know they’re probably not now. Seems the real thing’s too dangerous for ’em.”

Wesley frowned to himself. “They go after potentials?”

“No, they go after the next Slayer. You wanna know more? Go spend your own dosh.”

The line went dead.

Sighing and leaving a note for Fred, Wesley gathered up a few books and left the apartment.

-----

When Buffy arrived at the office, there was a circle of sand on the floor, and Wesley was drawing symbols in chalk around it.

“Okaaay,” she said. “Why do I feel like a ritual sacrifice is coming up next?”

“Nothing to be alarmed about, I assure you. Just a precaution.”

“Precaution?”

“To make sure you are the Slayer.” He stood up.

“Did I mention the whole super strength thing?” she asked.

“Yes, well. There are quite a number of things that can cause that. Possession, demonic infection—if you’ll just stand right here.”

“Taking a leap of faith here. This is the kind of thing you hear about on Dateline—cults, initiations, rituals?”

“Vampires?”

“Okay, so maybe not.” Buffy stepped into the circle.

She stood uncertainly as Wesley walked around her, herbs in one hand, a crystal in the other, and a book balanced on his arm. He threw the leaves over her as he circled, said some words, and then threw the rest into the circle.

The result must have been favorable, because after a moment, he said, “You are the Slayer.”

Buffy moved out of the circle and sank down into a chair. “So, now what?”

He seemed to be collecting his thoughts. “I’ve never done this before. Initiate a Slayer, I mean. Frankly, I’m not sure I should, being that I’m no longer a member of the Council.”

“You have to tell me what’s going on,” Buffy said. “If you’ve got to call these Council people, fine. But I know you, sort of. Someone needs to tell me something.”

“I brought some books,” he said, gesturing to the table and sitting down. “The Handbook, Slaying Techniques, A History of the Slayers, Selected Watcher Diaries—”

“Whoa. Can’t you just give me the Cliffs Notes?” At Wesley’s blank look, she amended, “No, you probably read all the books in school, didn’t you? I mean give me the short version. What exactly does a Slayer do?”

“A Slayer kills vampires, as well as other demons and anything that happens to come along—but you are a Vampire Slayer. The Chosen One, who is granted the power to fight the forces of darkness. There is only one Slayer at a time, and Slayers are called when the previous Slayer dies. The Slayer is always a girl and is called in her teens—” He paused, studying her. “You’re quite old, actually; most Slayers are called when they’re much younger. I should look into that.”

Buffy frowned. “How much younger?”

“Fifteen or sixteen.”

“Fifteen-year-old girls fighting vampires? That’s insane.”

“Yes, well. I don’t make the rules.”

“Who does?”

“The Council supervises Slayer activity, though as for how the Slayer came to be, such records have been lost. The Council has no control over how the Slayer line itself functions, but they watch and direct it. Every Slayer is given a Watcher, who guides and trains her and keeps in contact with the Council and its resources.”

“You were a Watcher,” Buffy said. “That’s what Spike called you.”

Wesley shifted. “Yes.”

“That means you had a Slayer?”

“Not all Watchers have had Slayers, but yes, I did.”

Buffy abruptly realized that since she was the Slayer, the other girl must be dead. “What happened to her?”

“I don’t know. I was fired from the Council for failing to control her. I haven’t seen her since.”

“Aren’t you sad she’s gone?”

“I don’t know why I should be,” he said evenly. “She nearly killed me.”

Buffy’s eyes widened.

“If it hadn’t been for the timely intervention of a colleague—but that’s not particularly relevant at this point. I’m sure you’ll be an excellent Slayer.”

He said that like he actually expected her to do this. “Is there a Slayer school? Where am I supposed to kill vampires? Do I like go on missions and stuff?”

“Watchers train Slayers. And while the Council sometimes directs Slayers where to go, there is enough to do in Los Angeles for any Slayer.”

“I don’t think I can do this,” Buffy said in a small voice.

“I know it’s a lot to take in—”

“No, you don’t know! Can’t you just Slayerize someone else? I mean, fight evil? Kill vampires? It’s too much.”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple. You are the Slayer until you die, Buffy. There is no one else. It’s your sacred duty. You were chosen to do this.”

“And what if I choose not to do it?”

“Then you’ll be unprepared when confronted with something that knows what you are, and it will most likely kill you,” he said slowly.

Buffy sank back against the chair, forcing herself to remain calm. “Look, I need some time to process all this.” She glanced uncertainly at the books on the table. “I guess I could at least skim.”

Wesley looked like he was deciding not to push it. “All right. I’ve got some things I can work on. Why don’t you skim, I’ll call in some lunch, and we can talk more later.”

“Okay.” She looked at the books and sighed, randomly picking one up. Here we go.

Chapter 21 - Lessons

So. She was a Slayer.

Correction. The Slayer. And it was her sacred duty to slay vampires. Right.

Contrary to what one might think, Buffy had no problem in believing this; however, completely accepting it was another thing entirely. And while certain bizarre things had been happening lately, she had been kind of hoping to leave the bizarre behind, sometime at least.

But it looked like she wasn’t getting out of this Chosen thing.

And well, she sort of believed in fate, so surely there was a reason for it to be her. So she’d flipped though the books, trying to get an idea of what she was getting into.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. She could take it slow or something.

Wesley had left her to it, going into his office and messing with paperwork. Around noon, Fred had brought Chinese food by, and after being informed of Buffy’s new status, asked her how she was.

“Okay, I guess,” she said. “A little overwhelmed.”

“I’ve never met a Slayer before.”

“I’m still the same.” Buffy shrugged. “Besides, I’m sure it’s not that big a deal.”

“But it is,” Wesley said. “One girl in—”

“In all the world,” Buffy finished for him. “Yeah, I read that part.”

“And?”

“I guess I can try it.”

It seemed like Wesley wanted to say something else, but he didn’t speak.

“So,” Buffy said, picking through her takeout, “Vampires, the 411. Sunlight, beheading, or a stake through the heart. And they don’t like crosses.”

“They can also be killed by fire, and are vulnerable to holy water and certain other consecrated items. However, staking is the most common method. That or a crossbow, which is the equivalent. There is nothing mystical about the stake itself, it’s merely wood though the heart.”

“Wesley did one with a chair leg once,” Fred put in.

“Right,” Buffy said. “And you become a vampire if you suck their blood—after they suck most of yours, of course. A whole big sucking thing.”

“Correct,” he said. “Vampires also need an invitation to enter a residence, though not public buildings such as this. You should never invite someone in, especially after dark, and especially now that you’re the Slayer. However, the silent, open-palmed ‘this way’ gesture is not enough for a vampire to enter.”

“Right.”

“Every night a vampire walks someone dies, Buffy,” he said seriously. “It’s your duty to prevent that as much as possible.”

“I know. Really. I’m just still dealing.”

“In addition to strength, you will find that you heal much faster, as well as have increased coordination and skills. And though you’ll still need to learn techniques and weapons, you now have quick adaptation and a natural ability. You need to train, but mastery will by no means take years.” He paused. “Why don’t we try a few things out?”

“Uh, sure. Where?”

Wesley stood and gestured to a door at the side of his office door. He unlocked it and they went in. There were several mats on the floor and weapons of all shapes and sizes lining the far wall. Crossbows, axes, swords—

“You have permits for all these?”

“Not as such.”

He pointed to a punching bag suspended from the ceiling. “Try it out.”

Buffy punched the bag several times, finishing with one that had it rocking on its chains. “Wow.”

“Indeed. Why don’t we start with the basics? A stake is the simplest method, and a stake is fairly easy to conceal on your person. While it’s sometimes difficult for an ordinary person to use a stake, you should have no trouble doing so with Slayer strength.”

Buffy picked up a stake from a table and tossed it around, marveling at how easy it was to twirl. She hadn’t exactly been clumsy before, but it was suddenly nothing to flip the stake in her hands or spin it up in the air and catch it.

“Hit them in the heart,” she said. “Got it.”

Wesley took the stake away from her. “And do you know where the heart is?”

“Well, yeah. Who doesn’t?”

“Hit me in the heart.”

Buffy jabbed him with two fingers.

“To the left.”

She poked him again.

“Lower.”

“Okay, fine. You win.”

He took her hand and placed it on his chest. “This is directly above the heart.” He let her hand drop. “Fred, come here for a moment, please.” Wesley turned Fred around and pointed to a spot on her back. “This is where you would stab to hit the heart from behind. You need to be able to find both instantly and without hesitation. You won’t get a second chance in the field. Now, just let me set up the camera.” He fiddled with some keys and unlocked a file cabinet.

“Camera?”

“It will help us to see your strengths and weaknesses, monitor your fighting style as you progress…” Setting the camera on top of several books, he checked the angle. “There. Now—”

Wesley handed her a thin, yellow foam cylinder.

Buffy raised an eyebrow. “Is this from a Nerf gun?”

“Yes, well—”

“How do you think I learned to shoot the crossbow?” Fred asked. “Wesley made me practice on him.”

“It seemed the least dangerous way to hit a moving target, for Fred and the target. For now, it’s your stake. And we’re your vampires.”

For the next few hours, Buffy ‘staked’ Fred and Wesley, until he felt confident that she was hitting the heart unerringly. They moved on to some basic moves and techniques, which were then combined with the staking. She was pleasantly surprised that taking gymnastics until she was thirteen was coming in useful. And hey, she might not be able to do the full splits like she could when she was a cheerleader, but with her newfound strength, doing a back flip was turning into doable again. And she was all over the handstands. Not that handstands would probably help with the slaying, but it was encouraging nonetheless.

She spent the entire day there, and after a dinner of Chinese leftovers, she promised to come by for the rest of the week. Wesley said they would begin other weapons tomorrow or the day after.

“Until then, however, take this.” He handed her a stake. “You probably won’t need it yet, but you should always be prepared.”

Buffy tucked the stake into her purse.

“Okay. See you guys.”

Walking to her car, she was caught by surprise when two vampires tried to grab her. She gave a half-scream before something clicked and she reached into her bag. She gripped the stake and drove it home in an instant. The vampire exploded into a cloud of dust, something she’d known would happen, but wasn’t completely prepared for.

She didn’t miss a beat, however. Still running on instinct, Buffy spun around and rammed the stake through the heart of the other vampire, watching in satisfaction as he also turned to dust. There was another burst from behind her, and she saw Wesley at the door with a crossbow. He’d shot a third one who had been hanging in the shadows and preparing to jump into the fray.

“I did it!” she exclaimed. “Did you see that? I just did it, like I knew or something.”

“You did well.”

“Those seemed like the same ones from the alley. Or, sort of.”

“It seems they go after girls before they’re Slayers, as they were attempting to do with you.” He looked like he wanted to say something else, but didn’t. “I got it from a source,” he finally said. “Keep on the alert, but I doubt they’ll be back now that you’ve been called. As well as the fact that we took out three of their number.”

Physically and mentally exhausted from everything that had happened that day, Buffy drove home and immersed herself in a hot bath. As she dried off, she noticed that the bruise on her neck had already completely disappeared.

-----
-
-
-
Sunnydale, 16 hours earlier:

“Any last words, Faithy?”

“Fuck you.”

“Again?” He laughed. “Well, going out with a bang always was my favorite.”

Chapter 22 - Hunters

Spike sat at the back of the bar, not doing much of anything except concentrating on the accumulation of glasses before him. He didn’t particularly care for demon bars, but this was one of the only places in town where a guy could get an O-neg Bloody Mary to go with his beer.

He’d only dragged himself out of his apartment because he’d run out of booze, and was in no way ready not to be drunk.

Though he’d also needed a change of scenery. Digging through his duffel bag for cigarettes, he’d come across folded sheets of paper—the forms and notes that the Watcher had given him on Buffy’s case. Spike had found himself reading them again, the facts of her. He had stared for a bit too long at the picture in the corner.

Then he’d crumpled the papers into a ball and thrown them in the ashtray, lighting them and watching the flames slowly crinkle them into nothing. Pulling himself up, he’d decided that going out was just what he needed.

It hadn’t helped.

Bloody Buffy, he thought, draining the last of the alcohol from the glass.

First the incident in the alley and now this.

She was the Slayer. She was the fucking Slayer.

“The Slayer? Tell me we didn’t lose her again.”

Spike’s ears perked up as he caught a conversation from across the room.

A vampire slid into the booth opposite the one who had spoken. “You could say that.”

“Interference again?”

“She is the Slayer.”

“You sure?”

“Oh yeah. She dusted Chris and Mack just like that. Her friend got Cole. She’s it now.”

“Oh well.” The first vampire took a sip of his drink. “Next one, then.”

Spike made his way over to the table.

“What, is one shiny new Slayer too much for you blokes to handle?”

The vampire frowned at him. “What?”

“I’m just saying. You were all over her before.”

His eyes narrowed in recognition. “So were you. You’re the reason we weren’t able to get her.”

“Yeah, well.”

“You’re welcome to her now.”

“Thanks, mate,” he said dryly.

The vampire smiled. “I’m not going up against a full-out Slayer. I haven’t lived this long by taking stupid risks.”

“Well, I have.”

“You talk big.”

“Were you one of the ones I got the jump on that night? Dropped three of you in less than ten steps.”

Without a second glance, he walked away.

The first vampire glared after Spike as he shoved his way to the back of the bar. “Who does he think he—”

“Dude, that was William the Bloody,” the other vampire interrupted. “The Slayer killer,” he clarified. “I thought it was.”

“Then why did he get in our way?”

“Maybe he wants her for himself.” He shrugged. “He did drop you quick, though.”

“Shut up.” He downed the rest of his drink. “We’re leaving. Get the hell out of this town, and the hell away from the Slayer. I hope he does kill her. Maybe we can get some better pickings next time.”

“Oh, and mate?”

Spike reappeared before the booth. He broke a pool cue over his knee and brought both ends down in one fluid motion, simultaneously dusting the two vampires before either registered what was happening.

“It’s Spike these days.”

Throwing the shattered pieces of wood to the floor, he stalked out of the bar.

It wasn’t until he was outside that he realized he’d killed someone for the Slayer.

No, for Buffy.

Not that it mattered.

No matter how much he liked the girl—or what he had felt—a relationship with the sodding Slayer was not something he was going to pursue. Whatever they’d had was gone. Even if it hadn’t been, she wasn’t interested, Slayer bit notwithstanding.

What did you expect? That she’d be thrilled with your idea of dinner?

Spike knew better than that. He had, however, expected that it wouldn’t have come up the way it did, if at all. Even so, maybe they could’ve—

No, he knew that Buffy wasn’t coming back, not after her reaction to the ‘incident.’

And he knew that he shouldn’t be interested in any way about the Slayer, unless it was somehow leading up to her messy death.

Of course, those points aside, he could still go see what she was up to. Maybe it was exactly what he needed.

-----

Monday and Tuesday had seen Buffy back at Wesley’s office, training with him and occasionally Fred. On Tuesday night, he said that she was ready to go out.

“Already?” she asked.

“Some Watchers take their Slayers out the first night they find them. Let them learn on the fly, so to speak. Of course, I’m not your Watcher.”

“Right. So, what do we do?”

“Generally, look for vampires. The clubs around town, some of the worse streets—but the cemeteries are good enough places for a beginner to start.”

“I’m supposed to go hunting?”

“We usually call it patrol,” he said.

“That’s what you call semantics.”

“Quite. Now, let’s get the weapons, shall we?”

Buffy loaded herself up with stakes, Wesley doing likewise. She watched in fascination as he attached a wicked looking contraption to his arm that served as both a sword and crossbow and that couldn’t even be seen when his jacket was on. Even Fred was armed with a crossbow. Buffy was somewhat surprised that the other girl was actually accompanying them. Well, if she can patrol, Slayer-me certainly can, she thought, effectively squashing any nervousness.

They all piled into Wesley’s car, and for a moment Buffy almost laughed at the idea of driving to go vampire hunting. It wasn’t stealthy or something. However, the cemetery that they ended up at was a good five miles away, and after they got there it didn’t seem so ridiculous.

As they got out and walked around the quiet grounds, Wesley was reviewing her on key vampire points.

“It will take a newly turned vampire usually a day to rise, and they’re easiest to slay when they’re first risen. Though hungry, they’re confused and disoriented.”

“Right.” She nodded.

“But never take their strength for granted. They figure it out quickly. If they successfully rise, most of the time their first act is to kill family, friends, acquaintances—”

“Oh my God!” Buffy suddenly exclaimed.

“What?”

“That night, when I came to the office—you had a crossbow. Did you think I’d been turned?!”

Wesley said nothing.

Buffy stopped walking and stood in front of him. “Did you think Spike turned me?” she demanded.

“I’m not sure what I thought. All I knew was that you unexpectedly appeared after dark, looking quite pale and wearing something to obviously cover your neck.”

“Pale and shaken. Oh my God, Wesley!”

“I don’t know what you’re so upset about,” he said. “It’s not as if I shot first and asked questions later. Which is another point—a good Slayer is a cautious Slayer. You must never put yourself in unnecessary danger, but you must always be sure that you’re aware of the situation and its possibilities.”

Buffy exhaled, shifting her weight. “Okay, okay. But still.”

They started walking again.

“You must always be careful,” he said. “Furthermore, it’s important to remember that the vampire is not the person who was turned, even if they have their memories. The soul is gone and the demon takes over.”

“What about Spike?” she asked after a moment.

Wesley narrowed his eyes. “What about Spike?”

“I don’t know, I mean…”

“Buffy, I’m not saying that vampires are mindless. I’m saying that they’re demons driven by the blood. Vampires can be as intelligent as the next person. Spike has thoughts, a personality, idiosyncrasies, likes and dislikes, but he is a demon through and through. And he is undoubtedly not the man he was when he was alive.”

“You sound so clinical.”

“I’m a Wat—was, a Watcher. Buffy, this is important. Spike is an irregularity. Not in what he is, but how he behaves. You must never trust another vampire, even if they give you their word. And, God forbid, if someone you know is ever turned, you must remember that they are not that person. No matter what they say, all they’re thinking about is how to get you close enough to eat.”

“Um, guys?” Fred spoke up for the first time. “Over there?” She pointed to a new vamp digging its way out of its grave.

“Right.” Buffy tightened her grip on the stake.

“Wait just a moment,” Wesley said. “As he’s temporarily occupied, I think this might be a good time to bring up Slayer sense. You should be able to reach out with your mind and feel that there’s a vampire nearby.”

Buffy concentrated. “I do feel something. It’s sort of tingly.”

“You need to hone that sense, develop it. Soon you’ll feel whenever there’s a vampire in the vicinity, without actively trying to do so. All right, you can dust him now.”

The vampire had managed to dig himself out, and was now stumbling towards them. With a kick and a punch, Buffy drove the stake through his heart.

“How does the ‘tingly’ feel now?”

Buffy frowned. “It’s kinda still fuzzy, kinda there.”

“Well, you are in a graveyard,” Fred said.

“Her sense shouldn’t act up unless there’s another vampire.”

“Maybe there are more?”

They all looked around. Fred shrugged.

“Maybe I haven’t got it figured out yet,” Buffy said. “Oh well. What are we waiting for? The night is young. Slayage awaits.”

Chapter 23 - Glimpses

After her third night of slaying with Wesley, Buffy was struck with the impulse to go clubbing. She hadn’t had a good time at one in what seemed like a long time. She hit one late, and as she entered, the thought came to her that she could probably take anyone there. Oh sure, she might not have the fighting moves down yet, but brute strength went a long way.

Feeling completely unafraid was not something that Buffy had a lot of experience with. She had never been the type to cower in fear, but a girl out late had to use a certain amount of caution. However, now as she danced to the beat, she realized that not one of these guys could do something to her if she didn’t want them to.

Power.

She had it.

Buffy swayed to the music, smiling as someone approached her from behind. She danced between him and another guy, her hands trailing over his arms as he trailed his hands over her. When he went a little too low, she gave his wrist a sharp twist. He winced and she flashed a ditzy, apologetic smile. He smiled, but kept his distance.

Sure, she had to fight vampires, but the whole super strength thing was definitely a perk.

Buffy stayed at the club until it closed.

It was that night that the dream came. It was vivid and stark. And in the way that only makes sense in dreams, she was herself and yet not herself.

She was in a club. There was loud music and a pit of dancing, spinning bodies and grabbing hands. The feeling of complete abandon. And power. Then—outside. A man follows uninvited. She turns, pulling a knife from her boot. A quick jab and it slides into him. He drops down the wall and onto the concrete. Wipe the blade on his jeans. A laugh. “You gotta learn to read signals, man. When the Slayer says no, she means no.”

Gasping, Buffy sat bolt upright in bed.

-----

“It was like I was me, but wasn’t me?” she finished. “I wasn’t me, but I saw through someone else’s eyes, and I was definitely the Slayer.”

“It sounds like a Slayer dream,” Wesley said. He looked at her from across his desk.

“A Slayer dream?”

“Sometimes Slayers get dreams of future events.”

“Whoa—I said this wasn’t me. I mean, so not in my future. Sure, I was clubbing last night, but—what?”

Wesley raised a brow. “You went to a club like the one you saw in your dream?”

“No, I went to a club,” Buffy said. “It was completely different from the one I saw.”

“Well, dreams aren’t always precognitive. It could have simply been a message.”

“Got that message loud and clear, thanks. Power corrupts. Don’t let it go to my head, or I’ll end up murdering people in alleyways. Oh, and I kept getting this vibe. Like there was something else to it. It was one of those words, you know?”

“One of ‘those words,’” he said dryly. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

“One of those feeling words was coming across. Like hope or joy or faith or something. Yeah, faith. Weird, considering.” Buffy shrugged.

“Well,” Wesley said after a short silence. “It could have been a glimpse of the past. If you remember anything else, let me know.” He stood. “Shall we patrol?”

They avoided the cemeteries and started a circuit around the city back streets. Buffy was still somewhat amazed that no one questioned heavily armed people walking around at night. One time Wesley had had a sword, and tonight she had a crossbow. Tomorrow she was determined that she was trying an axe out.

There was a scream from up ahead, and they both sped up in a wordless agreement. A girl was pinned up against the wall, a vampire at her throat.

“Excuse me.” Buffy tapped him on the shoulder. “Can I get some action?”

The vampire turned toward her, and she backed up a few steps, getting him farther from the girl.

“C’mon, I know you want a taste of this.”

He lunged at her and she feinted, kicking him as he flew past her. As he came up again, Buffy whipped out a stake, which was quickly becoming her personal favorite.

As he dusted, she looked back at the girl.

Even though she was crying and clinging to Wesley, as soon as Buffy came over she tore herself away and took both of Buffy’s hands in hers. “Thank you,” she said, looking at her with grateful eyes. “So much.”

It wasn’t until that moment that Buffy Got. It.

This girl was alive because of her.

Being the Slayer wasn’t a job; it wasn’t something she could choose to do, or try out. It was who she was. She knew with an abrupt clarity that as long as she had the power to save lives, she was the Slayer.

-----

The next night, they had barely left the office when Wesley leaned in as they walked and whispered in her ear.

“Someone’s following us. They got out of a car parked across the street.”

“Let’s see what they want, then.” Buffy slipped around the wall and into a recess in the bricks, and Wesley stepped further into the shadows. After a few moments, a man rounded the corner of the alley and looked inquisitively into the darkness.

Buffy grabbed his arm and pushed him up against the wall. “What’s up?” she asked sweetly.

“Ah, Miss Summers—”

“Okay, how do you know my name?”

“Forgive my rudeness, I’m Robert Richards.”

“The man who replaced the one your father owed money to,” Wesley said in a low voice as he approached.

Buffy tightened her grip. “That so? Don’t you have underlings for this sort of thing?”

“I take a very personal, hands-on approach to things. That, and your case seemed quite interesting, at least from what I could piece together. Records were sort of scarce.”

“How’s this for interesting?” She lifted him up by the front of his shirt. “I’m no longer victim-rama girl. And I’ve got nothing to do with my father’s issues. If you think I’m going to, you’ve got another thing coming. You take up whatever problems you have with him.” Buffy tossed him a good five feet in the air, throwing him into the opposite wall, and then shouldering her axe and standing over him. “Because see, I know all about the other underworld in this town—hell, I’m on my way to beating up the other underworld in this town. You stay the hell away from me.”

Richards was left lying painfully against the pavement. He watched as she and her crossbow toting friend walked not out of the alley, but down into the dark of it. His head was hurting too much to hear the girl’s whispered, “Wow, I think I scared him.” After a moment, he started to get to his feet, but a voice from above startled him.

“She sounds serious. I’d do what she says, mate.”

With an impossible two-story drop, a black clad figure was suddenly on him, and he was confronted with a snarling, yellow-eyed visage. “Cause if you don’t, I’ll tear your neck out.”

Richards was pulled to his feet by his throat and slammed against the wall with almost enough force to make him lose consciousness. Abruptly the figure stepped back, regarded him for a moment, then leisurely made its own way down the alley, stalking after the pair.

Richards slid down the wall. Hitting the ground, he considered things.

Hank Summers could perhaps be added to those few on the ‘they can pay on their own time’ list. Or more prudently, perhaps he could be forgotten all together.

But he knew two things with sudden surety. His new occupation would be cut short if he interfered with the inhumanly strong and pissed off girl. His life would be cut short if he attracted the attention of the thing that followed her.

Chapter 24 - Predators

If Joyce had noticed the fact that Buffy had been out late every night, she hadn’t mentioned it. Though ever since Buffy had started college, she didn’t have to report in unless she wasn’t coming home that night. Still, she thought it would have earned at least a passing comment, even with the stress of the divorce and getting the house ready.

Buffy had fallen into an easy routine of going to class, coming home in the afternoons, and then heading out to train and/or patrol. Wesley had generously given her a key to the office so she could work out whenever she wanted.

Tonight they were on a patrol down some of the darker streets. The evening had been spectacularly uneventful. Buffy was just about to comment on it, when Fred suddenly let out an “eep” as she was grabbed and tugged backward into an alley.

Buffy turned around, but Wesley was closer.

“Why do you even let this one out?” came Spike’s voice. “She’s practically bait.”

“Hey!” Fred exclaimed.

Spike let go and sauntered out of the shadows. “Free tip, love. The weakest of the party should stay in the middle.” His gaze slid to Wesley. “You should know that, Watcher. You must be slipping.”

Wesley said nothing, but his hand automatically tightened around his crossbow.

“Now, don’t do somethin’ stupid and get yourself killed. I just came to see the little Slayer.”

Buffy stood in place, unsure of what she was supposed to do, or wanted to do.

“I’d prefer you didn’t,” Wesley said.

“You gonna stop me?”

Wesley pressed his lips into a thin line, but didn’t speak.

Spike grabbed Buffy’s arm and pulled her a few steps away.

She glared at him. “Did you eat someone tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Get away from me.” She shook him off.

“Vampire, love. I never denied it.”

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t stake you, too.”

“Among other things, cause you can’t.”

“Just because you’ve got that ge—”

Spike clamped his hand over her mouth and pushed her into the wall.

“Gloves are off now, kitten. I’ll tell you the same thing I first told the Watcher. You shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you. See, he knows how to pick his fights. There are a lot better things you could be doin’ than worryin’ about me.”

Over his shoulder, Buffy saw Wesley give a barely perceptible nod.

Buffy pushed him off. “That girl in the alley, how was she different from me? I almost was a girl in an alley, remember? She’s just the same as me!”

“No, you got it backward. You’re just the same as her.”

“What?”

Spike leaned in. “None of you should be anything to me, except good for a kill or good for some cash.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Just thought I’d see how you were takin’ to the Slaying.”

“Just fine!” she snapped, pushing away and heading down the street.

Spike trailed after her.

“What are you doing?!”

“Strolling.”

“Well, stroll in another direction. I’ve got work to do.”

“Don’t feel like it.”

“Vampires to slay,” she said pointedly.

Spike stuck his hands in the pockets of his duster. “Go ahead.”

“What, you don’t have some sort of vampire solidarity thing going on?”

“Killed two myself the other night.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “They pissed me off.”

As Wesley started after them—making sure Fred was beside and not behind him—he realized that Buffy and Spike were bickering like lovers, not fighting like mortal enemies. Not that he particularly wanted Buffy to have to face off against Spike (because right now she’d lose, a voice whispered), but why did his Slayers always sleep with vampires?

Though technically, he was no longer a Watcher, so Buffy wasn’t his Slayer.

Wesley shifted his eyes back to the pair in front of him, one of which was obviously trying to distance herself as Spike lazily stalked after her. Wesley frowned. It seemed that he had been the only one to catch Spike’s “should.”

None of you should be anything to me.

He wondered if the vampire himself was aware of what he’d said.

Wesley’s eyes narrowed. It never did to forget what Spike was, even if he had currently decided that Buffy was cute and it would be more fun to follow her than fight with her. But with Buffy’s rejection of Spike, her sudden calling, and Spike’s unpredictable nature and penchant for going after Slayers, the whole thing worried him.

Spike followed them for the rest of patrol, sometimes walking several lengths behind the group, sometimes sticking annoyingly close to Buffy’s side.

Apparently Wesley wasn’t the only one who thought it annoying.

“God, what is his deal?” Buffy exclaimed once they were back at the office.

“What do you think his ‘deal’ is?”

She was silent for a moment. “I don’t know.”

“Have you seen him since the night—”

“The night he killed that girl? No. And I don’t want to.” Her knuckles went white around the stake she was gripping.

“You’re taking this personally, Buffy. You’re too involved.”

“So?! Even if I wasn’t, he’s a vampire! Who kills! And I’m supposed to be the Slayer.”

Wesley sat down on the edge of the desk. “You mustn’t provoke him, Buffy,” he said seriously. “You’ll lose. And frankly, I’m not sure what to make of Spike’s little performance tonight. He didn’t seem to have any clear objective when he arrived. For all we know, he could have been deciding whether or not he wanted to fight you, despite your history.”

“He won’t hurt me.”

“If you push him into something, he’s not going to let you win simply because you slept with him.”

“I can’t believe you just said that!”

“As I said before, though I had some reservations about your involvement with him, Spike doesn’t go after those he’s worked for. But Buffy, your being the Slayer could change that. I’m worried; this whole situation bothers me.” There was a long pause. “Do you want to kill Spike?” he asked carefully.

Another long pause. “No.” The arm holding the stake dropped to her side. “But I mean, I should, right? Should want to and should kill him. Sacred duty and all that.”

Wesley took his glasses off. “Buffy, what I’m about to say is Council blasphemy, and even though I’m no longer a Council member, I’m only going to say it once. While it is your sacred duty to slay vampires, in Los Angeles alone there are hundreds, and more rise every night. You can never get them all. You can only hope to do as much good as you can do. No matter what you do, you can never save everyone, and you can never take out everything.

“Therefore, you shouldn’t make it your mission to take out the one vampire that’s it’s nearly impossible to take out, and who doesn’t seem to have an immediate interest in killing you. There are plenty of other vampires to slay, and likewise, plenty of other vampires you’ll never slay. You’ve been the Slayer a week. I don’t want to see something happen to you.”

Buffy studied him. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Spike kills Slayers, Buffy,” he said flatly. “He hunts them down and he slaughters them. It’s his claim to fame.”

…in New York I killed a Slayer for her… She’d heard him say it, but she hadn’t known what it meant then, not really.

“You think he’s going to come after me because I’m the Slayer.”

“It’s a possibility. Buffy, for now he’s playing nice. Spike’s unpredictable, but let him play nice for as long as it amuses him.”

“I still don’t think he’ll hurt me,” she said after a moment.

“I hope you’re right. But for your sake, don’t give him a reason to.”

A silence.

“I don’t want to kill him,” Buffy said. “He saved my life twice, and I— But, it tears me up inside. What he does. How he could be so nice to me, so…tender, and then— It makes it even worse.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“I’ve seen other vamps. They’re different. Maybe because they’re younger or something? The point is, there’s no way they could not kill. Spike can.”

Wesley frowned. “Yes, if he thinks it’s worth his while.”

“But that’s just it! It’s not like he’s a killing machine. It’s not like he only does it to feed, or because he’s compelled to, has to. He’s perfectly capable of living with a family for two weeks without any bloodshed. He. Can. Choose.”

“Ah.”

“That makes him like a serial killer or something. Not some random monster, but a calculating monster. God, why can’t he just go away? I don’t want to have anything to do with him. We should just both never see each other again.”

“That would be best, I agree.” He paused. “However, you may find that it’s not that simple.”

Chapter 25 - Moves

Buffy was dreaming.

She was in an apartment. A nice apartment. Big windows, fluffy bed, stylish sofa.

“Yeah, I might’ve had a little accident over by the Bronze.”

A brunette girl was talking on the phone as she lay sideways on the bed, her booted heels carelessly scuffing the walls.

“Just a guy. He was getting grabby.” A pause. “I know, I know. But hey, if you don’t wanna take care of it, I’m sure my boy—” A longer pause. “No, he doesn’t know anything. He’s a good screw, but you know I’m with you all the way.” Pause. “Nah, he doesn’t play well with others.” Another pause. “You will? Great! Thanks, sugar daddy——fine, thanks boss. I promise, no more accidents. Right. Later.”

The girl hung up the phone and jumped off the bed with a bounce. She noticed Buffy after a moment and smiled.

“Don’t fuck up like I did, ’kay?”

-----

Wesley looked surprised when she entered his office.

“Buffy. I didn’t expect to see you until tonight. Are you well rested from your night off yesterday?”

“Yes and no.” She sat down on the opposite side of his desk and folded her arms. “I think you need to tell me about this Slayer of yours. The one who nearly killed you? I had another dream last night. She murdered someone, didn’t she?”

He sighed. “Quite possibly. What did you see?”

“Dark hair, heavy makeup, skanky dresser? Right. Well, she was talking on the phone to someone about cleaning things up, like I’m thinking a body. And she mentioned sleeping with someone else. Then she looked at me and said not to mess up the way she did.”

He was silent.

“Is she like warning me or something?”

“It’s possible, though certainly not in her nature. Or wasn’t when she was alive, anyway. More likely the dream is simply a message or a glimpse of the past, using the previous Slayer’s image as a conduit.”

“Okaaay. But whatever. Someone or something is trying to show me things, and I need you to tell me what happened.”

Wesley closed his book. “Unfortunately, I don’t know everything. No one does, except the involved parties.” He sighed again. “Her name was Faith. She was sent to the Hellmouth—”

“The hellwhat?” Buffy asked. “Never mind, I can see that’s a story for another day.”

“She was sent to deal with the vampires there in the summer of last year. I arrived shortly afterward to be her Watcher. There were problems from the beginning.

“Faith had quite the cavalier attitude towards her duty and was only interested in Slaying when it suited her. She would disappear for days or even weeks at a time. We tried to enroll her in the local school when it started in the fall, but she hardly ever went to her classes. She very casually said that being the Slayer, she could do whatever she wanted. She loved the hunt, and she loved the kill. Faith loved her power, and was likewise drawn to power.”

“Not the good kind of power, I’m guessing,” Buffy said.

“Indeed. Sometime, she began a sexual relationship with one of the town’s most dangerous vampires. It had apparently been going on for months when I found out about it. I confronted her at the end of last year on behalf of the Watcher’s Council, which was nearly a fatal mistake on my part. Afterward, I was fired by the Council.

“The Council’s special operations unit was sent to retrieve her. By this time I had left, but the movement of the unit is always news. They never returned, however. The Hellmouth has a way of making things not return, particularly as of late. She might have killed them herself, but it’s more likely that she had help.

“From what I heard recently, she got my replacement killed and disappeared herself soon after.” He paused. “As you’re here, apparently it didn’t work out well for her. I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you. But if you wish to know more, I will contact the Council for you, loath though I am to do it. Or I could give you the number of Mr. Giles. Although he never dealt with Faith as a Watcher, he was working there during that time. He won’t know what happened to her, though; I doubt he even knows she’s dead yet. But he might have more information on her more recent actions.”

“Uh-huh. Well, she sounds interesting.”

The phone suddenly rang.

“I’ll let you get that,” she said, standing. “See you for patrol later.”

“We should talk more. If you have any questions—”

“No, that pretty much summed it up. Later!” she called, already halfway out the door.

Wesley picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, it would have been a courtesy to let the Council know you’ve located the next Slayer.”

He paused as he realized this was a trans-Atlantic phone call.

“Yes, well. The Council has been severely lacking in courtesy.”

“Come now, Wesley. We know you’ve been showing her the ropes. And while we will assign her a proper Watcher, we’re willing to let her remain with you for the time being.”

“I see. So what do you want?”

“We want the Slayer to be what she should be. After the debacle with the last one—”

“What do you want from me?”

“Now now, no reason to get testy. We’ve got time for a nice long chat, I think.”

-----

When Buffy got home, her mother was in the kitchen fixing a pasta and vegetable dish. Buffy dumped her purse on the counter and opened the refrigerator.

“Hi, honey. How was your day?”

“Fine.” I just found out the previous Slayer was some sort of slut with no morals. Oh, and she’s haunting my dreams. Though it might not really be her.

“Well, I’ve got some news.”

“Good news or bad news?” she said absently, pulling out a yogurt. The fridge door shut behind her.

“Good, I hope. Or maybe both, it depends.”

Buffy paused. “Mom?”

“I had an offer on the house. It was just a few days ago, but it looks like everything is going to go through.”

“That was fast.”

Joyce laughed. “I’ve severely under priced it. But a bird in the hand, you know. It’ll take a while to get the paperwork done, but the family seemed very interested and very happy with everything.”

“Well, that’s good, right?”

“Definitely.” She paused, handing Buffy a spoon. “But here’s the part that might be bad. I’ve had a job offer out of town. I’m thinking of moving. It’s a nice town, and the living expenses are cheaper than they are here. I know it would be fast, but a gallery has offered me a position starting at the beginning of the year.”

“Oh.” Buffy frowned. “So you’d be leaving.”

“Well—and here’s where it gets crazy—I was thinking we could go together. I know, I know, you probably don’t want to move and live with your mother. You’re an adult now, and you’ve got your life here. But Sunnydale has a nice university, and I thought it would be a good change after everything that’s happened. You could go to school, and—but if you want to stay in L.A., I understand. I’ll pay for a dorm for you, or help you get your own apartment.”

“Wow,” she finally said. “That’s just, a lot to take in.”

“Don’t make up your mind overnight. But think about it, sweetie?”

Buffy nodded as she sat down at the counter. Maybe it was something to think about.

-----

Later that evening, Buffy went back to the office to meet Wesley and Fred for patrol. After gathering everything up and heading out, she was somewhat irritated to find Spike loitering by the office door. Abruptly she realized that her ever-present tingles were probably because of him. Which then made her wonder why he had been following her for so long.

But determined not to give him any encouragement, she walked past without speaking and went about patrol as if he weren’t there. He hung back, but followed her the entire evening.

Whenever she happened to glance in his direction—because she was so not looking—she would find him staring at her intently. Whenever she dusted a vampire, he would slowly clap, much to her annoyance.

However, it wasn’t until a fight with a vamp who had obviously been a street punk before he was turned that Spike had approached the group. The fight had turned particularly ugly when Buffy was caught off guard as the guy pulled a knife and managed to slice into her shoulder. Spike hadn’t lifted a finger to help—not that she wanted him to—but immediately after she dusted the vamp, he slipped up on her from behind.

“Bleeding again, Slayer?”

Before she realized what he was doing, Spike had his mouth fastened on her shoulder, and was sucking away like some sort of…sucking thing. When she turned, he met her eyes unashamedly, leeringly. Part of her knew she should push him off, but that part didn’t seem to be in control of her body.

After a moment, he pulled back and gave her an appreciative smile before kissing her lightly.

She could taste her blood on his lips.

“Later, love,” he breathed, before walking away.

Buffy had the feeling that something horribly intimate had just happened. In front of two other people, no less.

Fred was nervously glancing upward, apparently very interested in the fire escape. Wesley was a horrified statue, staring blankly ahead as if he were too stunned to process what he’d just seen.

On second thought, maybe it was just plain horrible.

Oh crap.

Chapter 26 - Decisions

“Fred, would you get the first aid kit, please?”

Buffy sat on the edge of the desk and pulled her hair to one side as Wesley inspected the wound on her shoulder.

He’s going to say something. I know he’s going to say something. Why doesn’t he just get on with it?

“You’ve let Spike do that before? Drink your blood?”

“It was right after I found out. We were in the kitchen and I cut my finger.”

Wesley was silent.

“I was bleeding, he was a vampire—it seemed like the thing to do. It was barely a few drops.” She shrugged.

“Yes, well. But I can’t stress enough the impropriety, the insanity, of allowing him your blood. It’s incredibly stupid—and dangerous; a few drops can quickly become more, or all of it. Especially now that you’re the Slayer. Your blood is powerful, practically an elixir to vampires. Under any circumstances, you should not let—”

“I didn’t exactly invite him over!”

“You didn’t exactly stop him.” He paused, taking the kit from Fred, who immediately disappeared again. Wesley began to disinfect the cut. “Don’t let it happen again.”

“Okay, okay.”

“I don’t like this, Buffy.”

“What, you think he’s been following me around, waiting for something to cut me?”

“Probably not. But he didn’t hesitate to take advantage of the situation.”

“Well, what do you want me to do?” Buffy demanded. “You told me not to push it. I can’t make him go away. Besides being annoying, what’s he really done on patrol?”

“Spike has been nothing but vaguely threatening ever since you became the Slayer, and even before,” he said. “He has obviously been following you. He chose to make his appearance on patrol by pulling Fred into an alley. He reminded me what would happen if I made a move against him— He would, Buffy,” Wesley cut off her protest as she started to open her mouth. “He’s told me flat out that if I ever decide to start something, he’ll kill me. And tonight he came up after you were injured and took his fill. It was a reminder, a reminder that right now there’s nothing we can do but let him.”

“Or maybe he was hungry,” she said sarcastically. “Or maybe he li—” OK, so not bringing that up. Besides, there’s nothing flattering about a vampire liking your blood and wanting more of it. “And what do you mean, ‘even before?’ What did he do before? Did he threaten you?”

“Sort of. He threatened to threaten me.”

Buffy looked at Wesley. “I think you’re reading too much into things.”

“You don’t know him,” he said gravely.

“Maybe not as long as you have—”

“I can’t believe you’re defending him, after you saw him—”

“I am not defending that. But I still say Spike won’t hurt me. And I’m not going to waste my time worrying about something that hasn’t happened. Period.” She hopped off the desk, fingering the sliced ends of her tank top strap. Slaying was obviously going to be taxing on the wardrobe.

“Well then,” Wesley said, changing the subject, “perhaps we should worry about something that has happened.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, a bit preoccupied with trying to see how big a bandage he’d put on her.

“The Council has contacted me about the Slayer. About you.”

Buffy turned her head. “What about me?”

He leaned back against the desk. “The Council feels that it would be prudent to have a Slayer present on the Hellmouth. They want you to go there.”

“First off, what’s a Hellmouth?”

“It’s basically a hotspot of paranormal energy beneath the ground. Also a possible portal between realities. The point is, it attracts vampires, demons, and all sorts of entities with its mystical properties. Without the presence of a Slayer, the town has become quite overrun. Case in point, the Aurelian vampires.”

“These were the vampires that Faith was sent to fight?”

“Yes, although there may have been a change in their number. The oldest of the Aurelian line is also reputed to be there. But all we know for certain is that Angelus has been running things. He’s the one Faith took up with.”

Buffy crossed her arms. “What if I don’t want to?”

“Certainly, no one can force you to. Recent events have shown that Slayers are hard to force to do anything. However, the Council has been known to resort to…forceful persuasion in the past.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“The Council doesn’t like Slayers opposing them. But as their operations unit is out of commission, I doubt they’re in a position to do anything right now. But more importantly, they are eager to welcome a new Slayer and establish a good relationship.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Buffy,” he said seriously, “I know this must be difficult. But there are people there that need help, help that only a Slayer can give. Mr. Giles would be your Watcher. He’s a good man. You could do a lot of good.”

She sighed. “So where is this Hellmouth? Like in Brazil or something?”

“Actually, it’s a town not a few hours from here called Sunnydale.”

Buffy looked up sharply. “Whoa. Did you say Sunnydale? My mother was just offered a job in Sunnydale.”

“Yes. The Council is trying to make this as easy and appealing for you as possible.”

“And what are you supposed to be doing?”

Wesley busied himself putting items back in the first aid kit. “I no longer work for the Council. I don’t have to do anything they say. I did, however, agree to impart their information to you, simply because I thought it would be easier to hear from me.”

“What about not wanting anything to happen to me?” Buffy asked. “Now I’m supposed to go fight these powerful vampires?”

He turned to face her. “While it wouldn’t be my first idea to send you to the Hellmouth, Buffy, I believe you can do this. And though I will miss your company, I think this could be a good change for you. You’ll be able to come into your own. And practically speaking, your mother is already moving there. You said you’re selling the house here.”

“Did the Council manage that too?”

“No, that was just fortuitous.”

“If I don’t go, will my mom lose the job?”

“Possible, though unlikely,” Wesley said. “The Council merely pulled some strings to get her noticed. She is highly qualified for the position, I understand.”

“School? I’ll never get in this late.”

“They’ll arrange that.”

She sighed. Being the Slayer was about fighting evil, helping people. She wanted to do good. But she had sort of gotten used to doing good here, in the short amount of time that she had been the Slayer, that is. And she dusted random vamps in alleys; here, there wasn’t a particular fight that she was fighting, no established evil just waiting for her. “What do you think? Honestly?”

“I think it’s a challenge, but not one that you’ll be unable to meet. You’ve shown great promise, and you would undoubtedly benefit from the tutelage of an older and more experienced Watcher. Mr. Giles has never had a Slayer, but he has had years of experience on the Hellmouth. He’s been monitoring it for the Council for some time. I believe you can do this.” He paused. “And I think a change of scenery would be good for you.”

She realized what wasn’t being said: Spike would be less likely to follow her around if she were hours away and in another town. Especially if he didn’t know she was going.

Buffy made up her mind on the spot. It was probably not the best thing to do, but something told her that even if she waited, the answer would be the same.

“I’ll go. You tell the Council, I’ll tell my mother.”

-----
-
-
-
October, 1998:

“I bet we could find all sorts of interesting things to do together.” Faith glanced over him appreciatively. “Cause this? It’s getting old.” She kicked at him, quickly compensating and spinning to face him when he feinted. “Nothing like Slaying to get a girl going, if you know what I mean.”

“Playing it dangerous, don’t you think? I could kill you during.”

She flipped a stake, then ran her hand over it suggestively. “So could I. Kinda gives you a rush, huh? My stake at your heart as you fuck the life out of me.” She grinned. “I need a man who likes it rough and knows how to ride. C’mon, I bet you’re just itching to do a Slayer.”

“What part of vampire/Slayer don’t you get?” He threw a punch at her.

She dodged. “But that’s what makes it kinky. Much as we beat each other up, wouldn’t it be more fun when we’re locked together? Or do you only like virgins? Cause, I can do role playing.”

He shook his finger. “You’re asking for it.”

“Baby, you’re going to be begging for it.”

Angelus grinned widely. “My place or yours?”

Faith spun and staked a newly risen vampire who was staggering toward her from behind. “Right here on the ground is fine with me.” She pushed him down on the loose grave soil.

“Most Slayers are all high and righteous. Did they not give you the job description?”

“I slay, I fight. It’s a thankless job. Half the idiots in this fucking town don’t have a clue that I put my life on the line every night. And I got sick of it a long time ago. I deserve a reward.” She moved to straddle him, holding the stake over his heart as she unbuckled his pants. “I’m a girl who gets what she wants. I want, I take, I have.”

“That’s always been my way of thinking,” he said, flipping her over. He ripped her jeans down and entered her in one brutal thrust.

It was Faith, however, who started the rhythm, bucking back before he had a chance to. She grinned up at him. “Baby, I’ve got muscles you never even dreamed of.”

Chapter 27 - Burdens

January, 1999:

“Back already?” She grinned. “It hasn’t been twenty-four hours.”

“You,” Angelus ground out, “need to stop making my life more difficult.”

“I’d say for the last few months I’ve been making your life anything but…difficult.”

“I can’t work without minions.”

“Hey, just cause I’m banging you doesn’t mean I’m stopping the Slayage. You stopping the killing? Hmm, didn’t think so.”

“Go slay all you want. But lay off what’s mine.”

“Dude, a vamp’s a vamp. You can always make more.” She shrugged and then smiled. “Long as you’re here, wanna go again?”
-
-
-
-----

Spike didn’t put in an appearance the next night, though if her Slayer sense was anything to go by, he wasn’t that far behind her. The night after, he appeared about halfway through her patrol with Wesley.

“You’ve been following me, haven’t you?” she demanded as he came to walk beside her.

“Maybe.”

Buffy looked away. “For how long?”

“’bout a week.”

“Are you watching my back or something? Like before?”

“More like just watching.”

“Again with the creepy. Well, cut it out,” she said, glancing at him. “I don’t like it.”

Spike grinned. “Then this would be stalking, for the record.”

Buffy looked at Wesley, who walked a few paces ahead of them. He hadn’t spoken since Spike appeared, or even acknowledged him.

She sighed. “If you’re going to be around anyway—you could have helped me the other night, you know.”

“Did you need my help?”

“No!” she suddenly exclaimed. “A world of no.”

“Not like he was about to do you in.”

“Ugh. Fine. So what, was Wesley right? You’re just lurking around until you get another chance at a dose of Buffy blood?”

“Wasn’t my plan, but it sounds like a good one.”

They passed under a streetlight and Buffy paused in the glow.

“What was your plan?”

Spike seemed to study her. “To get you outta my head.”

“Is it working?”

“No,” he admitted.

She started to walk again, and they fell into an awkward silence. Spike didn’t seem inclined to say anything more, and Buffy couldn’t think of anything else she wanted to say. One small, feminine part of her was thrilled that he hadn’t gotten over her. The other part was insulted that he was trying to get over her. But the biggest part was asking why she should care at all, since she was the one who had left him.

A vampire on the next side street provided a welcome distraction. Spike was completely forgotten as she sized up her opponent.

Buffy stepped forward as the vampire growled, and held her stake high. He grabbed at her, but she evaded, jumping back. She made the next move, bringing her stake down toward his heart. He ducked, dropping to the ground and kicking her legs out from underneath her as her momentum carried her past. The next thing she knew, she was on the pavement and he was on top of her; her stake arm was pinned and his mouth was on her neck.

Then suddenly he was gone, ripped from her with such force that her arm was twisted painfully in his grip as he was yanked away. She grabbed her stake and stood, only to see Spike systematically thrashing the vampire with brutal efficiency. She was slightly struck, and just a little horrified to see him in full action. I can’t beat that, the thought came.

To her right, she noticed Wesley watching as well. After a moment, he caught her glance and gave her a look. It was detached, but there was also a ‘See?’

However, before she could decide exactly which thing Wesley was trying to make a point about, a completely different thought entered her head. If Spike hadn’t been there—would Wesley have been fast enough?—that could have been it for her.

Sure, she knew that what she did was dangerous, but this had been a wake up call. One wrong move, one mistake, and she would be on the ground and dead.

Buffy knew that Faith had died young, but in her mind she had somehow equated it with her being a murderer. However, now a whole new idea occurred to her.

She turned to face Wesley.

“How long do Slayers live?”

“Buffy…”

“How. Long.”

“Rarely longer than a few years.” He sighed. “A year is average.”

“Oh my God.” Buffy felt tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. She saw him start to say something else. “Don’t. I’m leaving.”

As she made for the street, Wesley turned to look at Spike, who had beaten the vampire unconscious and was watching Buffy’s retreating form.

Wesley walked over and staked it. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Spike shrugged.

“It seems I’m in your debt once again.”

“Didn’t do it for you,” he spat.

Wesley paused. He knew he could be venturing into dangerous territory. But he also had to know what Spike intended toward Buffy. “Why did you do it? To save her life?”

Spike spun on him. “Of course to save her life! What the bloody hell do you think?!”

“I don’t know what to think anymore. Frankly, your actions are all over the board. One moment you’re smitten, the next predatory. I don’t know what you’re playing at, Spike, but—”

“Yeah? Well, neither do I.”

The statement took Wesley by surprise. “Are you trying to decide?” he asked.

“What?”

“Decide what to do. This following her, watching her. You’re obsessed.”

“Shut. Up.”

“You don’t know whether you want to kiss her or kill her.”

The next instant Wesley was struggling to breathe. He was slammed against the brick wall and Spike’s hand was tightening around his throat.

“I don’t have that little dilemma with you.”

“Buffy will—” he gasped.

“Think you mean that much to her?”

“—she’ll hate you f-for the k-killing.”

Just as Wesley was sure he was about to lose consciousness, the pressure on this throat vanished. He coughed and sputtered while Spike watched with a clinical look, as if he weren’t the one who had nearly choked him.

After a moment, he stepped back and Wesley slid down the wall.

“What did she say to you?”

Wesley didn’t look up. “That what you did tore her up inside.”

He gave a bitter laugh. “Good that we’re not together then.”

Wesley risked a glance upward.

Spike was gone.

-----

Buffy went back to the office to pick up her car, and she realized that she didn’t really feel like going home. Instead, she unlocked the door and went inside, heading for the back room. When Wesley came back ten minutes later—looking rather disheveled—she was furiously hitting the punching bag.

He watched her a moment, then asked, “Would you like to spar?”

“Fine.”

“Staffs?”

“Fine.”

She continued punching while he got the equipment and set things up. He tossed her a staff, and they began to circle.

She hit, he blocked. “A year, huh?”

“I’m sorry.”

She lunged, he feinted. “So when were you going to tell me? That I’m not going to live long enough to graduate college?”

“It’s not something most Watchers bring up. It doesn’t usually occur to the girls, frankly. They’re too young to understand the risks.”

She blocked, and then went back on the offensive. “That makes it okay?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Were,” hit “you,” jab “going to,” twist “tell me?!”

“When it came up.”

“When it came up? I almost died tonight.” Strike, twirl. “Spike saved my life. Again.” She knocked his staff away and swept his feet out from underneath him.

“Yes, I was already painfully aware of that fact.” He sat up. “I seem to be making rather a poor go of it this evening.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“If it’s okay with you, I think I’d like to be alone now.”

“It’s fine.” Wesley got to his feet and exited the room. Buffy heard him gathering up his things, and then he left. The lights in the office were out, and the door was locked behind him.

Chapter 28 - Sessions

After Wesley left, Buffy stood in the room listening to the silence. The words echoed back at her.

Rarely longer than a few years. A year is average. … I’m sorry.

Buffy kicked the punching bag, and then she went back to hitting it. I didn’t ask for this, I didn’t ask for any of this. Bad enough that I don’t have a choice, but now I have an expiration date?

She was determined not to cry. With a sudden mental hardening, she knew she couldn’t whine about it, she simply had to beat it. She attacked the punching bag with a new fury. I’ll be the best Slayer. I am not going to die young. I will be a better fighter.

“You’re gonna break that.”

She whirled around to find Spike right behind her.

“How did you get in here?” she demanded.

“I’ll have you know breakin’ and enterin’ is a necessary skill.”

“Did you break Wesley’s door?”

“No.” Spike sounded almost insulted. He quickly flashed a thin, twisted piece of metal before putting it back in his pocket.

“What are you doing here?”

He raised an eyebrow.

Buffy sighed. “I suppose I should thank you. Again.”

Spike suddenly kicked her legs out from under her. Less than a second and he was on her; his thighs trapped hers and his hands locked her arms down.

“Geez Spike, mood change much? What are you doing?”

“Continuin’ our little dirty moves session. Now, what are you gonna do?”

“Wait until you unzip your pants?” she asked dryly.

He smirked. “You gotta stop thinkin’ like a girl, and start thinkin’ like a Slayer. I don’t need my hands free to get what I want.”

Spike leaned down and slowly sucked at her neck. It wasn’t quite a kiss, but it definitely wasn’t hickey-leaving territory. He pulled back and grinned at her. “See?”

“Fine. Are you going to let me up now?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“Spike…”

“You’re the Slayer. Throw me off yourself.”

Buffy writhed and struggled against his weight. “I can’t.”

“Seriously.”

“Seriously, I can’t.”

Spike sighed and stood, pulling her up with him. “Right. Then you just gotta work on not gettin’ in that position.”

“Right. So—”

She was cut off as Spike swept her legs out from underneath her. Another second and he was on top of her again, pinning her arms at her sides.

“Spike, what the hell?”

“Gotta keep your guard up.”

“Not with you I don’t,” she complained.

“Why not?” He leaned in, and whispered in her ear, “I’d have you dead right here.”

“I am going to be able to beat you one day, you know.”

“Not if you keep lettin’ vampires get this close to your neck.” His lips grazed her throat.

“I will.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, pulling back slightly. “But you can’t kill me.”

“Because of that gem? It’s that dumb ankle bracelet, right?”

“Smart little thing, aren’t you?”

“I have seen you naked one and a half times.”

“If you think you’re gonna seduce it off me…” He smirked.

“Puh-lease,” she huffed. “Well, you can’t kill me, either.”

“I could kill you right now.”

“There are different kinds of can’t,” she said softly.

Spike’s jaw clenched as his face hovered over hers. “You think I couldn’t do it? You think I couldn’t drain you? Your Watcher thinks I could. Do you know what a boost Slayer blood is to vamps?”

“Let me up.”

“No.” His grip on her tightened.

Buffy felt the edges of panic beginning to set in. He might not kill her, but she didn’t want to be bitten like this. “Spike, I’m not kidding.”

“Neither am I.”

“Let me up!”

“Maybe I will take a taste.”

She brought her head up in a quick motion and cracked her forehead against his.

“Bloody hell!” Caught off guard, Spike brought a hand to his head, and Buffy pushed him off the next second.

As soon as Spike was on his feet, he moved to kick her legs out from under her again, but Buffy jumped to avoid it. She fell back into a fighting stance and stuck her chin out defiantly.

Slowly he began to circle her. She turned, moving opposite him and waiting for his move or her own opportunity. He punched, she blocked. He lunged, she feinted.

She kicked, and he caught her leg in midair.

A twist and she was suddenly down on the mat, Spike straddling her hips and holding her hands in place with his own. Buffy struggled, but it was useless; she wasn’t getting any sort of leverage this time. He had her again.

She met Spike’s gaze a bit uncertainly. “Well?”

He looked down at her. Then he suddenly jumped off and moved away. Buffy also stood, falling back into a half crouch as she stepped back. Spike, however, didn’t seem inclined to make another move. He was just staring at her like he couldn’t quite believe what they were doing.

“What, Spike?” she demanded.

Spike shook his head and muttered something about ‘sparring with the sodding Slayer.’ Then he straightened his coat and walked out of the room without a word. Buffy stared after him. He had officially lost his mind, she decided.

In a flash it occurred to her that Spike had repeatedly pinned her the exact same way that the vampire who had almost killed her had.

A thought struck her.

It was stupid. It was asking for trouble. It was possibly suicidal.

But she was doing it.

-----

The last thing Spike expected to see was Buffy. But here it was, nearly two in the morning, and she was knocking on his door. She threw a paper bag that smelled of burgers in the trash as she entered, and then she took a sip of her icy orange drink.

“We need to talk.”

Spike regarded her. She was obviously in a state about something. Her heart was pounding furiously. “Didn’t figure you had much to say to me, pet.”

Buffy took a deep breath. It had taken her hours to work up the nerve to come over here, and now that she was here, she wasn’t sure it was such a good idea. Or at all a good idea.

“As much as I don’t want there to be an us right now,” she started, “there’s something. I know it, you know it, hell, even Wesley knows it. But it’s all twisted and complicated and I need to have it all worked out in my head before— If I ask you a question, will you answer it?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Okay.”

“You wanna sit down?”

“No.”

Spike watched as Buffy started pacing. Oh yeah, she was agitated.

She took another gulp of her jumbo drink. After a moment, she stopped and turned to face him.

“Are you in love with me?”

Chapter 29 - Admissions

“Are you in love with me?”

Spike stared at her. The silence dragged on.

“You’re stuck in me,” he finally said. “Love? I don’t know. I was on the way, maybe, but didn’t exactly have time.” He looked at her.

“So you’re not?”

“I s’pose not. Don’t get me wrong, love, I like you. A lot. More than I should like anyone, definitely more than I should like the Slayer.”

“I suppose that’s good. It’ll make things simpler if you’re not.”

“Excuse me?”

She looked at him blankly, as if pulled from her train of thought.

“Don’t s’pose you’re in love with me?” Spike retorted.

“If things were different. I thought I was.”

“If you weren’t the Sl—”

“If you weren’t a killer!” she blurted. Then, “This Slayer thing bugs you, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it bloody well bugs me! Vampires don’t have warm and fuzzy feelings for the sodding Slayer.”

“Then why are you following me?”

“Cause I can’t get you out of my head. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, especially when I should want to kill you.”

“You don’t want to kill me,” Buffy said, crossing her arms.

“Vampires kill Slayers.”

“But you don’t want to kill Buffy.”

“Buffy, you are the Slayer!”

“And you don’t want to kill me!”

“No!” he yelled back, looking slightly startled.

“But you’ve killed Slayers before,” she said. “Yeah, Wesley filled me in on that.”

“So I’ve done a Slayer or two, so what?” He ran his tongue over his teeth. “Or three, I should say.”

“I wasn’t the Slayer when you did me,” she said matter-of-factly, not even taking the time to be affronted by his implication.

Spike caught her arm and pinned her in place with his gaze. “You were perfect, Buffy,” he said. “We were perfect, we were so good together.” He pointed to the bed. “Right over there, I know you felt it.”

She tried hard not to follow the direction of his arm with her eyes. “That was before.”

“You were in me before, you’re in me now—I can’t get you out. I should wanna get you out—bad enough that you were human, but this?”

“Newsflash, Spike. The Slayer thing is not our only problem. In fact, it’s not a problem for me at all. I left you before I was the Slayer, remember? Even if I wasn’t the Slayer, I couldn’t be with you now. I can’t be with someone who kills.”

“I’m a vampire.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Be a vampire?” he asked incredulously.

“Kill!” Buffy pulled away from him and started pacing again. She drained the last from her cup and threw it in the trash. “How long have I been in your head?”

“You said you had a question, not twenty.”

Buffy shot him a look. “How long?”

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “You were just there. Since we danced, since we kissed, since I saved you, since I tasted you—none of it, all of it.”

“Then why when you left, did you say we should never see each other again?”

“I was tryin’ to protect you!”

“From what?”

“Me.”

Oh, she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear this. But like watching a train wreck, she couldn’t stop. “Why?”

“Cause I liked you too much for somethin’ to happen to you.”

“What? What was going to happen to me, Spike?”

He stepped into her space. “I was gonna happen to you. You asked me if I bit every girl I slept with? Yeah, I bit them. I fucked ’em and drained ’em dry.”

Buffy blanched, looking at him with a certain amount of horror and a certain amount of hurt. “Were you going to do that with me?”

“No! But I didn’t know how to deal with you. You were supposed to be a job. I was supposed to keep you alive, get paid, and then walk away and never think of you again. That’s how it works. You weren’t supposed to make me want— I was gonna keep you safe, and if that meant from me as well, then better that I not see you again.”

“But you didn’t.”

Spike stared down at her.

“Do anything,” she clarified.

“No.”

“Did you want to?”

“No. But I didn’t think there was any other way for it to end. I’m a vampire. You’re right, I kill. But I didn’t wanna kill you, so I stayed away from you. Or tried to.”

“And now?” They were still standing so close.

“It was the only way to see you. I knew, I knew you weren’t comin’ back. And I knew that I shouldn’t care about you, especially after you became—so I watched, I followed.”

“But you saved me tonight.”

“Bloody hell, you think I was just gonna stand there and watch him kill you?”

Silence.

Buffy stepped away, momentarily turning her side to him. “Are you obsessed with me?”

He laughed. “That’s just what your Watcher said, before I slammed him into a wall.”

“Did you hurt him?” she asked sharply.

Spike’s look darkened. “He’s still alive, isn’t he?”

There was another silence.

“Okay,” Buffy finally said.

“Okay? Okay, what?”

“I’m leaving, you know,” she said abruptly.

“What?”

“I’m going to Sunnydale.”

“The Hellmouth,” he said. Then, “Were you gonna tell me?”

“I’m telling you now. Yeah, I’m going to the Hellmouth. And apparently, besides all the usual stuff that goes on there, some gang of vampires has taken over. And I’m supposed to go fight them. Me. I thought I could do it, you know? Slayer here, after all. But after last night—”

“Hey now, that was just a little slip up.”

“Don’t. You, of all people, don’t. That’s all it takes, isn’t it? Just one little slip, and bang! Dead Slayer. Was that what it took when you did it? Well, was it?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

“I don’t want to be the world’s shortest lived Slayer.”

He started to point out that she probably wasn’t, but decided against it.

“I don’t want to die. I don’t think I can do this.”

Spike was at a loss for words. Part of him wanted to comfort her, tell her everything was going to be all right. But besides having no clue how to go about it, he couldn’t lie to her like that. However, what she said next completely threw him.

“I want to hire you. To work for me, to come to Sunnydale.”

“Come again?”

“To patrol with me, to fight with me, to train with me. This Giles guy who’s supposed to be my Watcher? He’s older than Wesley, apparently. Sure, techniques and stuff, but I need someone I can fight against full out. I realized that when you made me fight you tonight. I need to know what I can do, need to push myself. I have to be the best. Because I want to live.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Yes, I do,” Buffy said. “Hire you. Business. Wesley says you’re all about the business. Any job for the right price, isn’t it?”

Spike glared at her. “You know how much I was gettin’ paid to watch you when you were just a girl? It’d take a lot more than that for me to watch the Slayer’s back, fight alongside the Slayer, fucking train the Slayer to more efficiently slay vampires. That’s a whole other deal than me lurkin’ around alleys and killin’ the stray nasty while you patrol.”

“You won’t miss stalking me?”

“Oh, I’ll miss you, pet,” he said, his expression softening slightly. “I’ll even worry, wonder, ’bout you. But let’s face facts. I’m not gonna change and neither are you. Maybe this is for the best.”

“I’m not buying it.”

He scowled again. “Good, cause I’m not sellin’ it.”

“Are you telling me you wouldn’t have followed me there?”

Spike shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe, maybe not. That’s a lot of effort for someone who hates me, no matter how stuck in me they are.”

“I don’t,” Buffy said. “Hate you. I even like you, most of the time. But, I don’t think I can love you.”

“Fair enough, pet.” He sighed. “Though, I probably at least would’ve dropped by to give you what for for not tellin’ me you were gonna leave.”

“I’m leaving,” she repeated, moving directly in front of him. “And I need your help. C’mon, Spike, what’s it gonna cost? Everyone has a price.”

“You couldn’t pay it. Sorry, love, but that’s the way it is.”

Buffy steeled herself. “Well, how’s this? Something money can’t buy.”

“Yeah, what’s that, then?” he scoffed.

“Blood. My blood. Come with me, help me, and you can have your own personal supply of Slayer blood, fresh from the source.”

Spike stared at her.

“Done.”

-----
-
-
-
Sunnydale, present:

“Angelus!” Darla called, not looking up from her fashion magazine. “She’s doing it again.” She referred to Drusilla, who was writhing on the table and moaning.

“Take care of it!”

“I can’t,” Darla singsonged. “You know she only stops for you these days.”

He came into the room and stood before Dru, who was reaching and pulling as if at invisible cords in the air. He grabbed one of her arms. “Dru, what is it? What do you see?”

“The naughty Slayer.” She laughed. “Daddy shouldn’t have killed her. Now you’ve brought it all down upon us.”

“Brought what? Is something coming?”

“Only Miss Edith knows.” She brought Angelus’s hand to her lips and ran her tongue over it. “And she won’t tell us yet.”

Chapter 30 - Contracts

“You’ve got yourself a deal, love.”

“There are conditions,” Buffy said, holding up a finger.

“I don’t doubt it.”

“You can’t be killing.”

“I figured as much.” He looked uninterested.

“I’m serious, Spike,” she said firmly. “I can deal with it—just. I can just deal with it if I know you’re not doing it now. Can you not do it?”

“I just said so, didn’t I?”

“No. I want your word.”

“What?”

“I was told that you keep your word. I can’t ask you to come with me if you’re going to be killing people. I can’t take you there, knowing that—” Buffy broke off.

Spike studied her a moment. “I give you my word that I won’t kill anyone.”

“Good.”

He smirked. “Unless you tell me to.”

Buffy glared at him. “I also have the final word on the Slaying and how it’s done. I’ll expect you to train with me and watch my back on patrol. Help me fight if it gets ugly, and help me when I have to fight the vampires in charge. Do you agree?”

“Yes.” Then he grinned. “Now, about your end of the deal. How much?”

“What?”

“How much blood?”

“Um, I don’t know,” Buffy stammered. “I’d have to look that up, medically. I mean, I can’t end up anemic or anything.”

“Fair enough. Well then, to seal the deal, I’d like a taste.”

“Here?” she squeaked. “Now?”

“No time like the present. Call it a gesture on your part.” He moved closer and brushed his lips with hers. “You knew this would happen,” he said, “or you wouldn’t have downed that oversized drink before coming here.”

“Okay, fine,” Buffy said, tilting her head awkwardly. “Um, go ahead, I guess.”

Spike moved his attentions to her neck, and she felt rather than saw his face change. He ran his tongue over her skin, and settling on a spot, began to suck, pulling the blood to the surface. A moment later, his fangs pierced her flesh.

Buffy gasped. It hurt more than she thought it would. On instinct she tried to back up and pull away, but he countered, grabbing her arms and pushing her up against the wall. Spike had her trapped with his body, and Buffy realized that she didn’t have the leverage to push him off. He could drain her right here and she wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it.

No, he won’t. / What if he can’t stop?

Buffy felt her head spin, but Spike had already pulled out. Her hand flew to her neck, and she realized that he was holding her up.

“Can you stand?”

“Yes, I can stand,” she snapped, shaking him off. She was still between him and the wall, and he didn’t move away.

“No need to get snarky, love. It was your idea.” He was out of vamp face, but he licked his lips appreciatively. He trailed his hand over hers where it covered the puncture on her neck.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing. You should put some antiseptic on that, though. Don’t have any here.”

Buffy stared at him. “The vampire is worried about antiseptic?”

“I’m just saying.” Spike shrugged, letting his hand drop. He turned. “C’mon, where you parked?”

“You’re going to walk me to my car?” she asked, her mouth falling open.

“That blood’ll be callin’ to every nasty thing around. Can’t very well have you gettin’ killed, not when I’ve had an advance.”

“Yeah, it’s cause you got paid that I’d get killed.”

He smirked, opening the door. “You do realize you’ve made a deal with the devil, Slayer?”

“Yes. Which is why I’m not going to tell anyone, and neither are you,” she said as they walked out. “And don’t call me that.”

“It’s what you are.”

“Shut up. What do you know?” She started up the stairs to the street.

“I know a thing or two about Slayers.”

“Fine. Are you working for me right now?”

“No.”

Buffy realized what that meant, among other things, but tried not to think about it. “Well, are you going to follow me on patrol?”

“Probably.”

“Do it from a distance. Don’t show up unless something goes wrong, and don’t bug Wesley anymore. Or threaten him. He’s practically having fits.”

“Fine,” Spike grumbled.

“You also won’t tell anyone—living, dead, or otherwise—about our deal. I’m finishing up class next week, finals the week after that, and then Mom and I are moving to the new house. You’ll come to Sunnydale no later than the beginning of the year.”

He grinned. “You’re the boss.”

They had reached her car. “I am. You’re working for me, not with me.”

He grinned again. “I’m yours to command, Slayer.”

“This is business, Spike.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“It’s nothing else.”

She got in and shut the door.

“It can’t be,” he heard her say softly.

Spike watched as Buffy drove off.

Certainly this wasn’t something he had anticipated, but he wasn’t complaining. Buffy was paying him with her own blood to stalk her and fight with her.

He wasn’t sure if he would have followed her to Sunnydale or not, if she hadn’t made her offer. He’d spent enough years trailing after one woman who didn’t want him, and he wasn’t looking to do a repeat performance.

But no matter what she said, Buffy wanted him around. On some level, at least. And he, well, he did want her alive. If that meant going with her, then so be it. Maybe something would come of it. Maybe not.

Everything else aside, there was still the Slayer blood.

Spike licked his lips again. There was nothing about this that he wasn’t going to enjoy.

Business. He could do business.

-----
-
-
-
Three weeks later:

Buffy stood in Wesley’s office.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you guys. Or, maybe I won’t see you. I mean, I’m sure I’ll be back sometime, even just for a visit.”

“I’m gonna miss you,” Fred said, giving her a hug. “You’ve got my email address, right?”

Buffy nodded.

“Drop a line any time. Just to chat, or if you have a Calculus problem—or any demon languages, Wesley’ll look them up for you.”

Buffy looked at Wesley. “Is my new Watcher not smart?”

“What? Oh, of course he is. But everyone has their strengths. Mr. Giles indeed is quite learned, and has more practical, hands-on field knowledge than I ever will. But the books were my specialty. At the Academy I was head boy, you know.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Here,” he said, pulling out a small box.

“No more presents,” Buffy said, holding up her hands. “You already gave me a dozen stakes, a short sword, and my very own crossbow. A girl doesn’t forget her first crossbow.”

“One more thing, I insist.” He opened the box to reveal a necklace with a plain silver cross on it.

“Wow. That looks really old. It isn’t like a family heirloom or something?”

“Nah,” Fred said, “I’ve got the family heirloom.”

“I always intended to give this to my Slayer, if I had one. I would be honored if you would take it.”

“Faith…?”

“Threw it back at me.”

Buffy took the chain and fastened it around her neck. “Thank you. For everything.”

-----

“Is this the last of it?” Cordelia asked.

“Yep.” Buffy stacked the boxes by the front door.

“It looks so empty.”

“Yeah,” she agreed wistfully, looking around.

“So you’re not taking those?”

“Mom’s already got all the furniture she wanted. And Dad cleared his stuff out of the office the other day. The bigger things she’s selling with the house. Ugh, this whole moving thing is such a drag. We’re taking the U-haul tomorrow; Mom’s got some guys to unload everything up there. Then we’re coming back, loading up our cars with all the ‘little stuff,’” she gestured to the row of boxes, “and clearing out.”

“When do you have to be out by?”

“Oh, I don’t know. All that paperwork takes a while. But we want to be settled and unpacked and everything by Christmas. You could come visit sometime,” she added. “And I’m sure I’ll be back in L.A. for the shopping alone.”

Cordelia smiled. “It’s a date. Anytime. And hey, if you ever wanna stay on a while, Daddy’s got the summerhouse.” Then she blanched. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Nah, it’s fine. We’re not rich anymore, I can deal. But we’re not poor,” she quickly added. “Mom got a mortgage on the house in Sunnydale, but as soon as this place is closed on—I’m babbling, aren’t I?”

“Just a bit. C’mon, one last shopping spree down the strip. My treat.”

Buffy grinned. “You’re on.”

-----

Later that evening, Wesley was detailing a report to send to Mr. Giles. He wasn’t required to, but he felt it a courtesy to do so. Giles had always been decent to him, and there was no reason not to share what information on Buffy that he had. He was making notes on her fighting technique and playing through the recorded feed from their sessions. Fred had even taped some of Buffy’s fights on patrol.

Fast-forwarding to get to the next training sequence, he realized that the camera had accidentally been left to run. He was about to stop it when a second figure in the shot caught his eye.

His eyes grew wide when he saw Spike suddenly drop Buffy and pin her, leaning in toward her neck. However, after a moment he stood up. Only to repeat the process a second later. He kept her down until she pushed him off herself, and then they began circling each other. After a few rounds, Spike pinned her again.

Then he left.

Wesley fast-forwarded again, but encountered nothing else.

Spike had had her down three times and done nothing. Wesley frowned. In some way that he’d have to be insane to even consider, it had almost, almost looked like Spike was sparring with her. Wesley wished he’d had the microphone on.

He hadn’t seen any sign of Spike since that night, the night that Spike had nearly choked him to death. When he’d prompted Buffy, she’d said that she hadn’t seen him. He didn’t seem to be following her, at least.

Nonetheless, it was a good thing that Buffy was removed from Spike and he from her.

A/N: For convenience’s sake, the house that was for sale when Buffy and Joyce moved in the show is also for sale now. :)

-----

Chapter 31 - Adjustments

Buffy sat in the front seat of the U-haul that her mother had rented, looking out the window and watching the trees and buildings pass by.

“Doesn’t this look nice?” Joyce said as they entered the city limits.

There was a painted sign that read: Welcome to Sunnydale.

Welcome to the Hellmouth is more like it, Buffy thought.

“Honey?”

“Yeah. Um, it looks great.”

And it did. American suburbia. Nice houses, shops, restaurants, a campus somewhere. It certainly didn’t look like the demon refuge Wesley claimed it to be. Of course, it wouldn’t, now would it? If people had any idea, they would have left long ago. Though Wesley had said that the citizens of Sunnydale had an unspoken awareness that something was not quite right in their town. But it wasn’t something that people talked about.

Buffy had only seen pictures of the house that Joyce had purchased. It didn’t really bother her that this was the first time she’d be in it. The house she had grown up in had been sold, and the new place would really end up being her mother’s house. There was no telling how long Buffy herself would live there. Not that she had any immediate plans, but she didn’t intend to be one of those girls who lived with her mother until she was thirty.

It was a three-bedroom house in a nice neighborhood, with a painted exterior and a fair-sized back yard. Buffy picked the bedroom with a tree outside the window for herself, as there was no telling exactly when her Slayer duties would take her out and about. She didn’t intend to do much sneaking around, but it never hurt to be prepared. There was also a basement. She wasn’t quite sure why she felt like that was a good thing, but she did. Maybe she could train down there or something.

She hung back when the movers began unloading furniture, privately thinking that Slayer strength could get it done in half the time. Instead, she wandered around the house, mentally adjusting to rooms and wondering how everything would look. As the smaller items came out, Buffy and Joyce began moving them around and putting boxes into the appropriate rooms.

Almost eight hours later, they were back on the road to L.A. to return the U-haul and get the last things packed up in their cars.

While driving back to Sunnydale, Buffy’s mind drifted to Spike.

She had only seen him once since the night that she’d made the deal. Her Slayer senses had told her that he was never far behind, a fact that she had lied to Wesley about. She hadn’t felt good about it, but hadn’t really seen a way around it.

It had been late one night after patrol that Spike had stepped out of an alley several blocks away from Wesley’s office.

“Want to go a round, pet?”

They had fought, and reluctant as Buffy was to admit it, Spike had completely and totally beaten her. They had started out slow, but he had progressively gotten rougher as they continued, and every time he could have taken her, she could see him mentally calculating a score sheet.

Eventually, after he’d had his fun—because he was clearly having fun—she’d ended up pinned once again, her back against the pavement and Spike on top of her.

“So pet,” he said conversationally, still in game face, “How’re you?”

“I’ve been better.”

“You’re getting better,” he agreed. “Watcher teaching you something useful?”

“Routines. Techniques.” She writhed under him.

“Ah ah. We’re not done yet.” He leaned in. “How ’bout another payment?”

“Once we get to Sunnydale.”

“I’ve been followin’ you, and not been botherin’ the Watcher.”

“Like you wouldn’t have been following me anyway.”

“Point.”

“You get more blood when you’ve actually done something. When you’re working.”

“Fine.” He stood up. “You figure out a nice payment plan. I’ll be lookin’ you up first thing when I get to old Sunnyhell.”

Buffy snapped out of her thoughts as the Sunnydale sign once again came into view. Since the night that she had almost died thanks to anonymous vampire number one, Buffy had been more careful. She didn’t take anything for granted.

(“Never take anything for granted. They took for granted that you’d be easy,” Spike’s voice from long ago echoed in her head.)

She had been taking things for granted, slightly, before. She was the Slayer. She had powers, strength, she was chosen to fight. So she should win, right? It was like a hero thing.

Apparently not, since every other Slayer had kicked it in barely a few years.

Which meant that she had to be smarter, tougher, better. She had been paying strict attention to Wesley’s techniques, instead of relying solely on brute strength and reflexes. She’d spent nearly all her free time training with him or working out, with the goal in mind to improve as much as possible on her own before she started in with Spike in Sunnydale.

She no longer assumed that any vampire would be easy, even if they were crawling out of their graves. And the next vampire around the corner could be a week old, or as old as Spike, as tough as Spike.

Spike. He could kill her. She knew he could. The fact that he wasn’t going to wasn’t much of a comfort, Slaying wise. If he could, then there were other vampires that could. Old ones. Like the ones running the Hellmouth.

She had to be better, get better. She had to be able to beat them all.

-----

They had gotten back to the new house late. Neither Buffy nor Joyce unpacked their cars, and Buffy had gone to sleep completely exhausted on a bare mattress, with only a blanket for linens. The next three days were spent unpacking boxes, and as Buffy came across her weapons that had been carefully wrapped in clothing and tucked into the bottom of her things, she realized that she should probably go meet her Watcher.

She had the address written down from Wesley. Mr. Giles owned a magic shop downtown and had been doing business there for some years, all the while keeping reports on the Hellmouth for the Council.

It was Monday morning, and her mother had gone to the gallery to get things set up and meet the staff. Buffy herself had to go by the college that morning, though she had been assured by Wesley that everything was in order, despite her late entry. All she had to do was get her schedule and booklist for the next semester. Most of the campus was shut down by now, but there would still be people around the admissions office for the intersession classes. She supposed she could go by the magic shop after she hit the university.

Until then, she had a little research to do.

Buffy booted up her mother’s laptop and plugged it into the phone line. She typed ‘donating blood’ into the search engine.

After looking online for half an hour, she felt somewhat more informed, yet still at a loss.

The average adult human body had about ten pints of blood. One pint was taken in donation, and people could donate every eight weeks. There were detailed amounts and times for the replenishing of plasma, red blood cells, and iron. But the ‘just plain blood’ blood seemed to replenish in a few weeks, from what she could tell. Drink lots of fluids and you may experience momentary dizziness.

Buffy sighed. It wasn’t like she was going to find LettingVampiresDrinkFromYou.com, but still— Besides, with the whole Slayer healing thing, she was sure she would replace her lost blood much faster than that. However much Spike had taken before, she hadn’t felt any adverse effects the next day. Would a vampire be able to tell how much a pint was? Of course, just because donations only took a pint didn’t mean a person couldn’t lose more and be okay, especially a Slayer-type person.

Spike at least knew when to stop, she supposed; he had the time before.

Buffy sighed again. She wondered exactly what part of her brain had decided it was a good idea to pay a vampire to watch her back. With her own blood, which by all accounts was like some sort of drug for the undead.

The part of your brain that wants to live, she answered. And it’s not like it’s just any vampire. It’s Spike. Spike I-was-on-the-way-to-being-in-love-with-you-Spike.

Still, that did nothing to squish the ick factor or the ouch factor. Biting hurt, Buffy decided.

Glancing at the clock, she went to get dressed. Time to face the music.

-----
-
-
-
Spike packed up the duffel bag and hooked it to the back of his bike. There was little in the apartment he needed besides clothing and a few personal affects. He locked the door behind him and was gone.

Hitting a bar on the outskirts of the city, he downed a couple of drinks and then surveyed his surroundings in a single glance. There was a busty brunette woman down the bar who had been casting him looks since he entered. An inviting smile and a raised eyebrow, and she followed him out back.

She turned to face him, and he brushed his lips across hers before working his way down her neck. A practiced hand found her mouth to cover the scream as he tore into her throat.

Spike drank slow, making it last. It would be the last kill he would get for a while.

He was a vampire of his word, after all.

-----

A/N: A huge thank you to whoever nominated me at the Spuffy Awards Round 14! I'm up for Best General Saga, General Excellent Author, Best General Angst, and Best General Romance. Thank you so much! I'm thrilled people are enjoying the story so much.

Chapter 32 - Meetings

Things at the university had gone easily, as Wesley had assured her they would. The Council knew how to push papers, she would give them that.

Now Buffy stood at the entrance of the Magic Box, tentatively wondering what she should do. Just walk in and announce she was the Slayer? To her surprise, Buffy found that she was nervous. She hoped that Mr. Giles would be—well, not exactly like Wesley, but nice. Nice would be good.

After taking a breath and telling herself to get a grip, she opened the door and walked in like any other customer.

The shop itself wasn’t quite the tiny, dark place she’d expected it to be. It was large and welcoming, and there were a few people milling about. A part of her mind wondered if they were ‘real’ witches or just dabblers.

Buffy had never given much thought to magic before, besides it being a bunch of new age hype. However, knowing what she did now, and thinking back to the thing Wesley had done to affirm that she was the Slayer, she was opened up to a whole new realm of possibilities. Looking at the herbs, crystals, statues, candles, and gross things in jars, she had no doubt that if you mixed them together properly and said some words, wonderful or horrible things would happen.

As she hovered near a case full of gems, a tallish man approached her.

“May I help you find something?”

Buffy looked him over. Suit, glasses, accent. “Are all you Watchers British?” she blurted.

“Watc—” His face lit up as comprehension dawned. “Ah, you must be Miss Summers.”

Buffy smiled. “Yeah, here I am,” she said. “So…?”

“Oh, pardon me, how rude. I’m Rupert Giles. The owner of this establishment, and as you already guessed, also in the employ of the Council.”

“Right. Uh, can we talk about this here, or…?”

He gestured toward a round table near the back. “Please, have a seat.”

Buffy slid into a chair, and he sat down in the next one, pulling it back slightly. “Miss Su—”

“Oh, just Buffy.”

“Very well. You may call me Giles. People do.”

“Okay, Giles, is it all right to talk out here? I mean, you know.” She gestured vaguely.

“As long as it doesn’t become too detailed. People on the Hellmouth have a way of ignoring things rather nicely. Oh, before I forget, I have something for you.”

Giles stood up and went behind the counter for a moment. He came back with a small box.

“Sort of a welcome present,” he explained, handing it to her. “It’s not much.”

Buffy opened it to find a necklace with a cross on it. She smiled. “What is it with Watchers and crosses?” At his confused look, she added, “Wesley gave me one, too.”

“Oh.” Giles sat down.

“Oh, but no! I didn’t mean it like that. A Slayer can never have too many crosses. And see, this one has little twists on the ends, and that little stone in the middle. It will go with different outfits than the plain one will. It’s totally perfect.”

He smiled slightly.

“Gee, people are going to start thinking I’m super religious or something. Maybe I could get one of those Celtic crosses too.” She looked toward a pegboard with jewelry on it. “Or would those not work?”

“No, any cross will be sufficient, regardless of what it’s adorned with.” He looked at her seriously. “I’m glad you’re here, Buffy. And I promise, I will endeavor to be the best Watcher I can. Help you however I can, even back you up if need be. We’ve had to manage as best we could, without a Slayer—”

“We?”

Buffy looked up as the bell above the door chimed. The shopping couple had moved on, leaving them alone in the store except for a girl browsing in the far corner.

“Yes. Myself and several others have been patrolling the Hellmouth, since the…er, disappearance of the last Slayer.”

“You mean her death?”

“No, I mean her disappearance. We had no idea she was dead until the Council contacted me. Faith disappeared some months ago.”

“But you don’t know what happened, do you?”

“No, no one does. I have an idea, but it’s all only speculation.”

“So, you and the…others?”

He brightened. “Would you like to meet Willow?”

“Um, okay.”

Giles led her into a back room where a redhead was unpacking a box. “Willow.”

“Hey, Giles. Who’s that?”

“This is Buffy Summers. The new Slayer.”

Willow’s face lit up. “Ooh, really? That’s so great! I mean, nice to meet you and all.”

Buffy looked at Giles out of the corner of her eye. “Does everyone know?”

“No, only myself and a select few. Willow works for me part time here. She also dabbles in magic.”

“Hey, I do more than dabble!” she protested. “I’ve been working on this really cool ball of sunlight thing, but so far it hasn’t panned out. Oh, but maybe I could go on patrol with you sometime? I’ve been going with Giles. I mean, I know you’re the Slayer and all and can take care of yourself, and Faith never wanted any help—”

“You knew Faith?”

“Well not so much knew, as knew of. I saw her in class a couple of times. Like literally two times. That was it. Later I learned she was the Slayer after hanging around here with Wesley and Giles. And after there were these vampires in the gym, Xander knew, and we just all sorta fell in together. Well, I mean fell in together with the Watchers. I’ve known Xander since kindergarten. But Giles is like our grownup friend. Though not in a creepy way,” she added.

“Yes, thank you Willow,” Giles said.

“So you do magic?” Buffy asked.

“Small stuff. I haven’t been able to do anything big yet. Glamours. Protection spells. And I can float pencils. I staked a vamp once with a pencil from behind. He thought he all had me—then poof! Never saw it coming.” She grinned.

“Buffy, I don’t know what Wesley has told you about magic, but it’s very dangerous and difficult,” Giles put in. “It’s not to be taken lightly.”

“No taking lightly here,” Willow said. “I’m just telling her.” She looked at Buffy conspiratorially. “I screw up one time and he never lets me live it down.”

“You and Amy blew up the chemistry lab.”

“On accident! Anyway, I haven’t seen her since high school. She got into the dark stuff, no thank you very much. That’s how I met Giles, you know. I was in here all the time buying stuff for magic, and after the chemistry accident—” she emphasized, “—we got to talking. He’s really helped me a lot. But speaking of talking, I’m sure you two have stuff to talk about.”

“Yes, well,” Giles started.

“Sure, why not?” Buffy said. “After all, I’m here to do the Slaying thing, right?” She started to follow Giles out to the front of the store, and then looked back at Willow. “See you around?”

She beamed. “Sure!”

“So,” Buffy said, sitting down at the table again, “What’s the deal on this Angelo guy?”

“Angelus,” he said. He pulled out a folder that was buried among the books on the table. “I’ve prepared a short history for you, a ‘Cliffs Notes’ as I believed Wesley called it, covering the lives of the vampires. Then perhaps we can discuss more recent events?”

Buffy nodded, taking the folder and opening it to find fifteen or twenty pages. Wesley must have said something about her not being a big reader. The fact that Giles had actually prepared something for her was unbelievably sweet. She found herself liking him already.

Buffy began to read.

There was Angelus. A completely sadistic bastard by all accounts, who loved torture more than the kill and had a fetish for convents. Numerous atrocities committed by him alone, sometimes with others of his group. Incredibly ruthless and dangerous, somewhere over two hundred years old, and sired by Darla. Darla was the Master’s child herself—the Master being an ancient vampire that no one really knew much about, due to his keeping completely underground. Darla was his favorite, though she seldom went below after making Angelus. She reveled in destruction. She had a penchant for picking off the chaos of revolutions and religious wars, and at times had abandoned her lover to save her own skin.

Sometime this side of one hundred and fifty years, they had picked up a clairvoyant girl named Drusilla, driven her mad and turned her. The next to join the ranks was William, who appeared and made a name for himself in the early 1880s. It was unclear whether his sire was Angelus or Drusilla. The four traveled in a pack, rarely splitting up and in general leaving destruction and bloodshed wherever they went. In the Watchers’ records, they were known during this period as the Scourge. They were often referred to as a single unit, though Angelus and the other male vampire sometimes made waves by themselves. William the Bloody wrought nightly carnage for a period of time, using a railroad spike as his calling card and earning him the nickname Spike.

Buffy’s eyes widened as her mind suddenly processed everything at once.

Spike and three other vampires. She’d heard the story all before, just from a different perspective. Her daddy. The other bitch. Angelus. Darla.

“Buffy? Is something wrong?”

She turned to see Giles looking at her from behind the counter, slight concern on his face.

“Uh, no. It’s just, a lot to take in.”

He nodded and went back to work.

Buffy looked back down at the page. Clairvoyant. Drusilla.

Dru. Spike’s Dru.

Oh crap.

A/N: I’ve been nominated at the Fang Fetish Awards round 8, for Best Alternate Reality, Best Angst, and Best WIP! Thank you!

-----

Chapter 33 - Histories

February, 1999:

“You are making sure to take out his vampires?”

“Course.”

“Faith, for only working for me a month, you know I’m giving you a great deal of responsibility. I know you can do anything you set your mind to; you’re a very bright girl. But I really wish you’d end this thing with the vampire. He’s a bad influence. A girl like you should be having picnics in the sun.”

“You know I’m not wearing that dress, picnics be damned.”

“At least pull your hair back, let people see your pretty face.”

“A Slayer lives in the dark, boss. You should appreciate that. But you worry too much. Have I ever let you down?”

“No. But every detail must go accordingly. I’m much too close to have wild cards bouncing around.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got everything under control.”
-
-
-
-----

“So, after this Angelus was cursed in—” Buffy glanced back at one of the papers, “—1898, he disappeared.”

“Not quite,” Giles said from his position from across the table. “He came and went from the group several times, not completely falling off the map until after 1900.”

“So what exactly was this curse again?”

“Angelus was cursed with a soul.”

“O-kay.”

“The full aspect of the soul is something we don’t understand. Even as humans, where we go afterward, what is the force within us— The point is, whatever you want to call it, it’s a link to humanity, something that one loses when becoming a vampire. There is no guilt, no connection; there couldn’t be in order for the vampire to survive. Whatever you want to call this conscience, this essence—a soul, if you will—it was returned to him.”

“And the guilt drove him insane.”

“From what we can tell,” he said. “The few sightings of Angelus in the fifty or so years after that describe him in the filth of alleys, rambling, shaking, at other times almost catatonic. Darla most likely returned to the Master. William and Drusilla were spotted several times, but besides the nightly killings, their activities were nothing compared to the twenty year reign of the Scourge.”

“But Angelus came back.”

“Yes, somehow he lost his soul again. Contact with a tribe of gypsies in the early twentieth century revealed that he would be cursed to suffer with the weight of his soul for all the people he’d killed. However, it seemed that if his suffering ended, even for a moment, and he were ever truly happy, the soul would be lost. Nice and ironic, but rather a shoddy curse, in my opinion. At any rate, he was freed from his confines, though we don’t quite know how. The whole group was seen reunited in the early seventies, but Angelus was remarkably absent from their exploits. However, it was quite clear that he was no longer cursed.”

Buffy had realized from reading the file that the Council had no idea about the ritual that Spike had performed on Angelus to restore Drusilla. Spike had said that the other vampire was severely weakened and had never recovered. Though obviously he had, since he was currently terrorizing Sunnydale.

“William the Bloody killed a Slayer in New York in 1977, and the group split again shortly after. Angelus, Darla, and Drusilla remained together, and William slipped beyond the Council’s notice.”

“What, just like that?”

“There are simply too many vampires for the Council to keep track of, particularly if they start being quiet. And Angelus and his group were always the first priority. It’s interesting that the group’s two splits coincide with William’s killing of Slayers, but in reality, it seems to be Angelus’s curse that split the group in the beginning, and his subsequent return that both reunited it and split it the second time.”

“Someone didn’t like him coming back,” Buffy said. It wasn’t a guess. “So when did they show up in Sunnydale?”

“In 1997. I was here monitoring the Hellmouth for the Council. We had ascertained that the Master was trapped beneath it and was trying to get out. I had been here since the beginning of the year, and Angelus, Drusilla, and Darla made their presence known at the end of the summer. Shortly afterward, only Angelus and Drusilla remained. Darla has only recently returned, but nothing has been heard from the Master. The Council sent the Slayer here—sent Faith here—in 1998 to deal with the carnage Angelus and Drusilla were creating, but as you know, that didn’t quite turn out as planned.”

“Right. Already heard that part. Big on the violence, then got all pelvic with Angelus.”

“Er, correct,” he said, flustered. “And while there is no conclusive evidence, I have every reason to believe that he killed her.”

“But…?” Buffy asked, hearing it in his voice.

Giles shifted. “After Wesley left, it came out that Faith had also— Well, first, it came to light that the Mayor of Sunnydale had made a pact with a demon in order to achieve Ascension. At the appointed time, he would turn into one of the original demons and—”

“Wait, let me guess. Faith also started working with him.”

“Yes.”

“So there’s a possibility that he might have done her in.”

“Possibly,” he agreed. “Though something else must have happened, because the Ascension never came to pass, and the Mayor hasn’t been seen.”

“Uh-huh. You think Angelus had something to do with that?”

“Frankly, I have no idea. I can’t imagine why he would.”

“So, what else do I need to know?”

“That’s all we have on the vampires.” He paused, laying down his pen. “But there’s also the matter of you.”

“Well, yeah. I mean, Slayer here.”

“No,” Giles said. “I mean, your age. As far as I know, there’s never been a Slayer called as late as you have been. We need to look into it, figure out what it means.”

“And how do we do that?”

“Look at the histories, prophecies—see if there’s any mention of a Slayer that is to come, or what a later calling could mean.”

“Prophecies? Like actual ‘thou shalt come to thou thee’ prophecies?”

“I’m quite certain that made no sense, but to answer the gist of it, yes. If something is prophesized, it will come to pass in one way or another. No matter what one thinks they’re doing to avert a prophecy, it will happen, though often not in the way that one might expect. But don’t worry about it, let me do some research first.”

Buffy shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “You’re the book guy.”

Just then, Willow came out of the back. She walked over and whispered something to Giles.

“Go right ahead,” he said. “I suppose it doesn’t matter when.”

“So what’s up?” Buffy asked.

“I wanted to tell you,” Willow said, “about my boyfriend.”

Buffy frowned. “Um, okay. Right now?”

“Oh, it’s not girl talk.” Willow quickly sat down, pushing her hair behind her ear. It was at that medium length where it just wouldn’t stay behind her shoulders. “It’s Slayer talk.”

“Confused here.”

“We just thought you should know. Oz is a werewolf.”

“Come again?” she asked, sitting straight up.

“He’s a werewolf. But he’s not dangerous,” Willow added. “We keep him up locked up every full moon, and we never let him hurt anyone. And Giles or Xander or I always stand guard with a tranquilizer gun just in case. Oz is really sweet—just not three nights a month. So, you know, there’s no reason you should have to slay him.” She looked at Buffy expectantly.

Buffy looked at Giles.

“We take every precaution,” he said.

She shrugged. “Okay, then.”

Willow looked at her. “Just like that? No questions, no nothing?”

“Well, it sounds like you’ve got in under control. And if Giles thinks it’s okay, I mean, he’s the Watcher, right?”

“Yeah, but, shouldn’t you at least ask me if I know what I’m doing? Be concerned I’m dating a part-demon and all that? Giles did, at first. I mean, you just took it really well.”

Buffy shrugged again. Can’t go by me, I’m with a vampire. Well not technically with, since I’m only letting him drink my blood right now, but we did have sex that one time. Er, that one night.

“Non-judgmental Buffy here. I’m a Slayer for the twenty-first century. Well, almost. In a week or so, twenty-first century Slayer.” She smiled at Giles. “Hey, how cool is that? I’m going to be the first Slayer in the new century.”

“Yes, I suppose you are. You’re quite correct.”

The door to the shop suddenly swung open. “Hey, hey!”

“Xander! Look Buffy, it’s Xander.” Willow jumped up. “Look, it’s the new Slayer! I mean, meet Buffy!”

He grinned and stuck his hand out. “I’m Xander. Though you already knew that, thank you Willow.”

She shook his hand. “Well, I’m Buffy.”

“Cool, cool. So what are we talking about?”

He received three answers at once.

“Slaying.” “Oz.” “History.”

“I see. It seems we’ve covered a range of topics. So, who’s for pizza? For I am payday man.”

-----

When Buffy got home, it was mid-afternoon. She liked Willow and Xander, and was getting on well with Giles. They hadn’t talked specifically about Slaying since Xander had gotten there, but had instead told her stories about their patrols.

All in all, she’d had a good time. Except for the part at the beginning, when everyone had been referring to her as the ‘new’ Slayer. She was of course, but there was a connotation to that word that Buffy didn’t like. The new Slayer replaced the old, dead Slayer, and by logical reasoning, would in turn be replaced soon enough.

They hadn’t meant it that way, of course, but it bothered her.

Suddenly there was a loud pounding at her back door. She looked through the window to see Spike on the other side.

Buffy opened the door.

He was frowning, his jaw clenched. “You never said,” he growled. “You never said it was them.”

Chapter 34 - Agreements

“You never said it was them.”

Buffy wished she could have claimed ignorance about his statement, ask what he was talking about, but she knew exactly what he meant. “I didn’t know.”

He stared at her. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are you gonna invite me in or not?”

Despite the situation, Buffy suddenly grinned. “Hmm, I dunno.”

“I guess you want the neighbors to hear all about vam—”

“Come in.”

Spike entered and shut the kitchen door behind him, his duster swinging as he spun around. “You never said,” he repeated, “that these vicious vamps on the Hellmouth were Angelus and Drusilla, and unless I heard wrong, Darla.”

Oh, he was really angry. Surely he didn’t think— “I didn’t know,” Buffy said. “Really. I wouldn’t— Wait, how do you know?”

“It’s what they’re talkin’ about at the demon bar, first thing you hear.” Spike made an exaggerated motion with his hand. “How could you not know?”

“Wesley just kept saying ‘the Aurelians.’” She shrugged. “He did say Angelus, but he never said you were related to them. I am so going to kick his ass if I see him again. I thought about calling, but then he’d just want to know why I wanted to know.”

He relaxed. Somewhat. “You couldn’t have figured it out before this?”

“Well, how was I supposed to know?” she demanded. “You kept calling Angelus ‘that wanker’ and Darla ‘that bitch.’ All I knew was Dru. When Giles handed me this file on the vampires, that’s when it clicked, when it talked about an insane clairvoyant named Drusilla. Well, actually it was more when it introduced William ‘Spike’ the Bloody.” She shot him a look.

Spike was somewhat rankled that she had read about him in so impersonal a manner. All catalogued by the Watchers, nice and tidy and bloody. “So?” he said. “You know I’m not some do-gooder.”

“I know,” she said, leaning against the counter. “And yeah, it bothered me, reading about it. I mean, a vampire having to eat is one thing—and I cannot believe I just said that—but torture?”

“Angelus.”

“What?”

“Torture was always Angelus’s gig. I wanted to join the crew, y’know? Impress Dru, prove my place. So yeah, I spiked some people. Not even sayin’ I didn’t enjoy it, but—”

“You don’t still do it, do you?” Buffy asked in a small voice. “It was all a long, long time ago, right? Because, honestly, I don’t think I can handle it. It’s like a line, a line I can’t cross with you. You know what I mean,” she clarified. “If you’re still him, I don’t—I don’t know who you are, Spike. I can’t.”

She was dead serious, he realized.

“No, pet, I don’t anymore. Haven’t, not for a long time.” Spike paused. He wouldn’t tell her, but he wouldn’t lie to her, not when she looked so desperate to consolidate something about him in her head. “Except—”

-----Smith’s face as Spike shoved a letter opener through his hand, stabbing it into the wood of the desk below.

“What would you have done to her? Sell her off to the highest bidder? Keep her and charge for it?”

Beaten, defeated, and knowing he would die that night— “Well, I would have had a good time first.”

A two hundred dollar fountain pen joined the letter opener, mixing blood and ink, and bringing the man to his knees.

“Wrong answer, mate.”-----

“Except what?” Buffy asked.

“Except once.”

“Once recently?”

“Kind of.”

Spike could see her face falling—mentally separating herself from him as he spoke.

“He deserved it,” he added.

Shit, that sounded lame.

Apparently he wasn’t the only one who thought so. “No one deserves torture, Spike,” Buffy said, putting a hand on her hip.

At least she was angry again. “You’d be off your high horse in a second if—” Spike broke off. She didn’t need to know. She never needed to know that, what would have happened to her—

“If what?”

“Nothing.”

She didn’t look convinced.

Spike took a step forward. “Look, do you trust me?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with—”

“Yes or no.”

She sighed. “Yes, then.”

“Then trust me when I say that he had it coming. He’s done worse, and was gonna do worse to—someone I know. He was bad news, in a whole other way than I am. All right?”

Buffy stared at him; his eyes were almost pleading with her to drop it.

She tried to tease out his meaning. Whatever vendetta he’d been avenging or thing he’d been preventing, it didn’t sound like some stray victim off the street. She sighed again. “Fine,” she said quietly. Then, “But railroad spikes? Ugh. That’s just—ugh.”

“That got boring pretty quick,” he admitted. “There’s only so many places you can stick a—”

Buffy cleared her throat. “Okay, this topic is officially closed.”

There was a short silence.

“Did it occur to you that there might be a problem here?” he asked, looking down at her.

“Yes, it occurred to me! The first thing I thought was, ‘Oh crap, Spike’s going to back out.’ Not that I’d blame you,” she added. “I mean, they’re your family, in some sort of weird, twisted, vampire way.”

“Did you remember the part where I hate them all?”

“Even Dru?” She arched a brow.

“So maybe not Dru.” He fell silent again. “But I’m not gonna. Back out, I mean. Not gonna leave you alone with Angelus. He’s worse than whatever else you might’ve been fightin’ here. I just wasn’t countin’ on seein’ any of them again. Ever.” Spike paused, thoughtful. “I got no problem offing Angelus and the bitch. But I won’t do Dru.”

“Okay,” Buffy said slowly. “But you know I’ll probably have to fight her.”

“Yeah.”

“If I try to stake her, are you going to stop me?”

“Maybe.”

She swallowed. “If I do stake her, are you going to turn on me?”

Spike stared at her. “No,” he finally said.

“You don’t—you don’t still want her, do you? I mean…” This is not where this conversation should be going.

“I’m not about to go and get with her, even if she’d have me, if that’s what you mean, pet.”

Buffy felt relieved, though some part of her was still unwilling to let the subject drop. “Do you still love her?”

“She’s a part of me; she’s my sire. I’ll always love her. But I don’t love her like that, not anymore.”

“And you’re not in love with me, either.”

“Didn’t we already have this conversation?” he growled, moving away.

“Fine. You’re right. So, what else do I need do know?”

Spike sighed. “Angelus is big on the mind games and torture. He’s not a coward, but he likes to fight in roundabout ways. Dru’s insane, plain and simple, there’s no predictin’ about her. She’ll listen to Angelus, most of the time. And Darla’s just vicious. She’s the oldest, but she lets Angelus take the lead.”

Buffy considered. “So how should we play this? I mean, is there a way to play this?”

“Probably not,” he said after a moment. “It’s not like they have some grand plan. They’re just here for the setup. Kill, maim, feed. And if I came to town otherwise, I wouldn’t be seekin’ them out anyway.”

“So you don’t have a problem standing right up and saying you’re with me when it comes down to it, even against them.”

“I s’pose not.”

She grinned. “You could just slip in and kill them, you know. Save me the trouble.”

“Hey now, this is your fight. I could care less.”

“But you’re working for me. What if I want you to kill them?”

“Then you’ll be a piss poor Slayer who can’t do anything on her own.”

“Yeah, I know. Don’t worry, I’m kidding. I’ll fight.” She paused. “So, are we good?”

“Yeah, love, I guess we’re good.” He leaned against the cabinets. “So what else, then?”

“Well, we’ve got the three vampires, but you knew that. The Master was here; no one’s quite sure where he’s at now. And the last Slayer, Faith, went bad, got involved with demons, started screwing Angelus, and was probably killed by him.

“The Council pretty much knows the history of your group, when you split up and stuff. They know you killed the Slayers, but you fell off their radar after you left. They know about Angelus’s curse, but not the blood ritual. Apparently he’s much better now, by the way.”

Spike was silent. He took his lighter out and started fidgeting, flipping it open and shut without thinking.

“Did you just get here?” she asked. “Why are you here, anyway? It’s not January yet.”

“Got nowhere else to be.”

“Aw, did you get bored without a Slayer to follow around?”

“Shut up,” he said flatly, hopping up on the counter. He pulled out a cigarette and twisted it around. Another second and it was in his mouth.

Buffy crossed the room in two strides. “What did I tell you about smoking in the house?” she snapped, snatching the cigarette from his lips even as he was trying to light it. She glared at him. “What? God, what’s with you now?”

Spike stared at her.

Buffy smiled suddenly.

“What?” He looked alarmed.

“That is so cute. You’re like all worried.”

He jumped down. “You should worry about Angelus—”

“Yeah, because he’s an old and evil vampire. He’s dangerous and he’s going to try and kill me. I got that part. But that’s not why you’re worried. It’s like, oh—hold on, it’ll come to me any minute now…” After a few seconds, her face lit up. “Yes! You’re acting just like a freshman who got stuffed in a locker by the quarterback.”

“I am not.”

“You so are! I know he stole your girlfriend and all and was a complete bastard to you back in the day, but God, aren’t you just as big and bad as he is now? And what, you’ve got that gem thing, it’s not like he can do anything to you. You ran off on your own and haven’t seen him in twenty years. Why should you be worried, or even care what he thinks? We are going to kill him, you know,” she added with finality.

Spike slowly grinned.

“You, pet, are absolutely right.”

“Of course I am.”

Buffy paused, and then introduced the subject she knew Spike was itching to discuss. “So, about the blood.”

Chapter 35 - Tastes

“So, about the blood.”

“Yeah, love?” He paused expectantly.

“I thought maybe once a week and see how it goes? I need time to replenish or whatever, but it shouldn’t take as long as normal people. And I was thinking Saturday nights, after patrol. It took a whole day last time for the mark to fade. I can avoid people on Sunday day easily enough until patrol at night. So what do you think?” she finished nervously at Spike, who had so far not changed his expression.

“Sounds fine. Since we missed our last Saturday, what say we catch up now?”

Buffy sighed. “Fine. I guess I can avoid Mom tonight. I don’t have anything to do tomorrow, I suppose.”

“Where is Joyce?”

“Setting up at the gallery, going over things, whatever you do when you take up a new management position. So, where do you want to do this?”

“How ’bout the couch?”

“Okay.”

Spike followed her into the living room, sat down, and patted his knees. Buffy sat sideways on the right side of his lap, and he reached out to brush her hair behind her ear. She must have flinched, because he said, “Buffy. Relax.”

“Yeah, easy for you to say. You’re not about to bite you.”

Spike ran his fingers through her hair. “It won’t really hurt.”

“What, you’re going to sink your teeth into me and it’s not going to hurt? Yeah, last time was a shining example of that.”

“I might’ve gotten carried away a bit. It’s been a while since I had Slayer—and that lick in the alley doesn’t count.”

“Since you had Slayer?” she asked incredulously. Hello, Buffy buffet.

“And you didn’t seem to be takin’ the situation seriously.”

“You mean you bit me hard on purpose?” she demanded.

“Maybe. A little. But I won’t, now.”

He pulled her closer and leaned in. “Trust me,” he whispered against her skin.

She had little choice but to do so, and she knew that she did or she wouldn’t be letting him do this at all.

Spike pulled her to him, angling her and readjusting her position slightly. He turned his head and began nuzzling and sucking at the right side of her neck. She tensed again, but made herself relax, even as she felt his teeth shift against her throat.

They paused and then entered slowly, like razors piercing the skin. It stung, hurt some—but it felt like someone biting her, not like someone trying to rip her throat out. Not that he had tried to rip her throat out last time, but he had definitely been more forceful.

So concentrated was she on the feel of the teeth, Buffy didn’t notice the pull until after a few moments. As if realizing it for the first time, it dawned on her that he wasn’t only biting her, he was sucking. Her blood was being slowly drawn; she could feel it draining from her veins and flowing out, her heart pumping to compensate the loss.

Spike’s left arm was wrapped around her, securing her tightly to him. His right supported them as he slowly leaned, suspending Buffy as he bent down. A moment later and she felt the cushion of the couch beneath her back. Spike was twisted over her, his mouth still attached to her neck.

After a moment more, he released his bite, but changed nothing else about his position. Buffy felt his human lips on her skin again, catching the last that spilled out. Spike ran his tongue over the spot several times, before he dropped his head onto the cushion as well. She felt his breath against her neck, and suddenly their position reminded her of nothing so much as the time after they had been together.

His left arm was still trapped beneath her, but his right, no longer supporting them, moved up her arm, her neck, and finally his hand came to rest on her face. It was warm, she realized. Her blood, hot inside him. He had been in her, had pulled her out of her, and now she was in him. The connection was surreal and slightly chilling, suddenly seeming more intimate than anything else they had done.

Spike slowly sat up. Buffy started to do likewise, but a hand against her collarbone and a shake of his head decided her against it. He half leaned against the couch, right arm draping over the back, while his other hand lingered by her face, absently fingering flyaway wisps of hair.

“You took more than last time,” she finally said.

“Yeah. But it didn’t hurt?”

“Not really.”

“Right, then.”

Buffy sighed, closing her eyes. “If I had any sense— I mean, I really should worry about you draining me or something.”

“Yeah, well,” she heard him say in a bored tone.

“I know I’m going to die someday. What with the Slaying and all.”

“And here I thought the point of this was to avoid that. What are you gettin’ at?”

“I don’t know. I guess if you do lose control or something, don’t beat yourself up about it, it’s no big deal. I’m going to die anyway, but I wouldn’t mind so much if it was you.”

Spike jerked suddenly, grabbing her chin roughly and causing her to open her eyes. “Don’t you ever say that again,” he ordered. “Ever.”

His grip on her was bordering on painful, his eyes dark with anger.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Spike released his hold on her and leaned back, straightening up.

“Do you want me to? Is that what this is really about?”

“No! I swear, I didn’t think of it till just now. It’s the blood going to my head, or the lack thereof. I wasn’t thinking.”

“And I’m not gonna lose control. Or I would’ve drained you the first time.”

“I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s all right, love.” His eyes narrowed slightly at her, like he had just thought of something. But he didn’t speak.

“Do you have anywhere to be right now?” she asked after a moment.

“No.”

“Can we just sit like this for a minute?”

His hand went back to playing with her hair. “Sure, pet.”

Chapter 36 - Insights

Spike looked satisfied, Buffy thought. Though it seemed more than having just had some really tasty blood. He looked almost…content.

He shifted her suddenly and pulled her legs the rest of the way up on the couch so that she was lying down completely. Then his hand returned to her hair.

Buffy relaxed and closed her eyes. It was silent for several minutes, and she almost drifted off, until Spike suddenly stopped his ministrations. She opened her eyes to find him staring at her intently, his head tilted to one side.

“What?” she asked.

After a few seconds of silence, he said:

“You got a death wish?”

“What?” She stared back at him, now fully alert.

“It happens. To Slayers.”

“What do you mean?”

“Slayers, they get death wishes. The fight, the pressure, the aloneness, it gets to them. They don’t want to do it anymore. They’re around death so much, it becomes a part of them.”

“And you know this…?”

“I know how they fight, how they think.”

“You know how to kill them,” she said.

“They wanted death. I gave it to ’em.”

“Way to make yourself sound like Dr. Kevorkian.”

Spike frowned at her. “I’m not sayin’ I wouldn’t have killed them anyway. I’m just sayin’ they wanted it.” He paused. “Do you?”

“No.”

“Good, cause you’re a bit young, Slayer-wise, to be crackin’ already.”

“I said I didn’t mean it.” She started to sit up, but a firm hand to her shoulder held her down.

“What did you mean?”

“I don’t want to die. But if I had to—and I will have to—it just didn’t seem like such a bad way to go.”

Spike shook his head, exasperated. “Bloody hell, I can’t win. You complain cause it hurts, and when I try and be nice, you start sayin’ you wouldn’t mind kickin’ it.”

“It was purely ‘just saying,’” Buffy argued. “You know, like when you’re drunk and start fighting about whether you’d rather be stabbed, drowned, or hit by a car. Besides, if, you know—if I was okay with it…well, not okay, but not un-okay—then if you, you know, then you shouldn’t feel too bad.”

“I won’t take too much.”

“Someone’s going to kill me, sometime, but it wouldn’t be so bad if it was you.”

“Well, it’s not gonna be,” he snapped.

“I know. Got it.” She paused, and then raised an eyebrow, directing a challenging stare up at him. “If there was a choice between me killing you and someone else killing you, which would you take?”

He didn’t have an answer for that.

See? her look said. Then her face fell again.

“What the hell’s got into you?”

“It’s like you said, I guess. The pressure.” Buffy paused for a long moment. “It just all came crashing down today. I’m here. I’m supposed to be in charge. You should have seen the way they were already asking me about what we were going to do. Even Giles—my new Watcher—was sort of deferring to me. I’m supposed to take the lead, take down the vampires, and fight the fight. I know I’m the Slayer, and I know they’ve been here and that it’s been rough, but there’s just this whole ‘save us!’ vibe screaming away.”

“Don’t you like them?”

“No, I do. Willow and I clicked, which never happens. It’s just—it’s already starting. God, Giles even said as much. They’ll be there to back me up, to help. But they’re waiting for me, and me alone, to take down the big bad.”

“I’d think you’d like havin’ a Watcher who’s not a slave driver. Not always the case.”

“I like Giles.”

There was another silence.

“You’re not alone, yeah? You got me.”

She didn’t say anything.

Spike studied her for a moment. “C’mon, pet, what else? It’s not just these new mates of yours.”

Buffy looked away, focusing on a cushion at the other end of the couch. “When I found out who the vampires were, I thought you wouldn’t help me. I would have to face them alone, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to. I’d fight them, and they’d kill me. And that would be it.”

Spike remained silent, processing her words. Something between the lines occurred to him.

He ran his hand down her jaw line, tilting her face. “Buffy, even if I didn’t fight with you, I wouldn’t have fought against you,” he said softly. “You know that, right?”

Buffy looked at him. She nodded. Barely.

“Bloody hell, you thought I would have.”

“No!” she exclaimed. “Not really. I thought it for like a split second, but that’s all, I swear.”

“Again, did you remember the part where I hate them?”

“Yeah, well, I hate my dad, but I’m not going to stand by and watch someone else kill him, much less help them do it.”

“That’s different.”

She stared at him.

“It’s a vampire thing.” He shrugged. Then, “Enough with all this. Bloody snap out of it. You’re not gonna have to do it alone, all right?”

“Even—but after everything today, I realized I will. Even if I am the best, someday I’ll still fight alone, die alone. Even if it’s not this time.”

He paused. “Someday is a long way away, pet.”

“Even you won’t be around forever. Our deal will end, and you’ll go…wherever you go.”

“I’m pretty hard to get rid of.”

“Believe me, I know. But—”

He leaned down, putting a finger to her lips. “You’re not gonna die. Whether you want me around or not.”

It should have creeped her out, getting back into the stalking and obsession territory—or something else, her mind whispered—but it didn’t.

“And what sort of Slayer just lets a vampire follow her around? If they knew—”

“Look, Slaying is killing. There’s no high guide to it. It doesn’t matter how you do it or how you live to get it done. All right?”

“All right,” she finally said.

“Right. Now, are we done?”

“I suppose.” She didn’t sound convinced.

“You’re gonna win, and you’re gonna live. It’s what you’re payin’ me for.”

“My own vampire bodyguard. Again.”

He grinned. “Y’know, love, you’re askin’ the wrong set of questions. You should be askin’ what sort of awful vampire I am for followin’ your every order, Slayer blood be damned.”

Buffy smiled slightly. “I guess so. God, you suck at being a vampire.” She put her hand to her neck. “Well, I suppose you just suck.”

“That I do,” he said, running his tongue over his teeth. Suddenly he stood, scooping her up into his arms and heading toward the kitchen. “Speakin’ of which, it’s time to get some food you.”

“I’m not hungry,” she complained as he set her down on the counter.

“You at least need to drink something.”

“Fine. There’s some apple juice in the fridge. Glasses over there.” She pointed to a cabinet.

Spike poured the juice and handed it to her, leaning against the fridge and watching as she drank, as if he suspected she was going to try and pour it down the sink when he wasn’t looking. Sort of cute, really, the vampire fussing over her.

After she was done, she set the glass down and started to hop off the counter. He was in front of her in an instant, hands settling on her waist to hold her in place. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Spike, I’m not made of glass.”

“Right now your mum could probably take you.”

“Puh-lease.”

“You’ll feel fine tomorrow.”

“I feel fine now.”

“Whatever you say, love.” He stepped back slightly, though still stood within easy reaching distance, presumably to stop her if she tried to get down. “Speakin’ of your mum, I take it she doesn’t know?”

“Absolutely not. I thought about telling her, but how do you open up that conversation? ‘Guess what, Mom? I have a new career path. What? No, vampires are completely real, I swear.’ Ugh, no thank you. Which brings me to another point. If we happen to run into her, nothing about Slayers or vampires or deals. If you see her alone, you’re just passing through. If we see her together, we have a thing.”

“Are we dating?” He grinned.

“No, we have a thing,” she repeated. “And you’re not sure how long you’re going to be in town.”

“Good enough. And the rest of our arrangement?”

“You’ll follow me on patrol. If I’m alone, come along; if Giles or someone else is with me, stay behind and only jump in if you have to. Trail me around town anytime after dark, at least until I get a few more things down. For training, I’m actually thinking in the backyard in broad daylight. Mom will be gone until after work, and I’ll get out of class early enough. No one will be around, and what sort of vampire would be out in the sun? Or maybe sometimes in the basement, though I’d have to get some mats or something, and then there’s the whole finding something to tell Mom. So I’m thinking the backyard. It’s private enough, and if anyone sees, as long as we keep the Slayer talk to a minimum, who’s to say I don’t just have a healthy interest in martial arts?”

“Well. You got it all planned out, I’ll give you that. What about Angelus?”

“It’ll happen when it happens. No plans for storming the fortress, wherever that is. Giles says they’re holed up in some old mansion on the edge of town.”

“Sounds about right.”

Buffy took the moment to quickly hop down before he could stop her, ignoring the dizziness that hit her at the sudden movement. She stood still for a moment, and then took a step forward. “See? Fine. Let me show you the house.”

She led him through the rooms, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu as she did so.

“And here’s my room. The window’s got a sort of ledge thing and the tree right next to it, which is why I chose it. Easy access for getting out at night.”

Buffy stumbled as she turned suddenly.

She caught his look. “Fine. I’ll rest. But you should go ahead and go. Mom will be home soon. Do you even have a place to stay tonight?”

“Not yet. I’ll find something.”

“Well, if you don’t, there’s the window and there’s the floor.”

“Be still my non-beating heart. Besides, creature of the night here.”

“Well, if you need somewhere to sleep tomorrow, then.” She sat down on the bed.

“Get some rest, pet.”

And he was gone.

Buffy fell asleep shortly afterward, and only woke up when her mother came in from work. Wrapping her robe securely around herself, she went down to dinner. After an hour or two of TV, Buffy claimed moving fatigue and went to bed again.

When she woke up at 9:30 the next morning, it was automatic. She didn’t feel drowsy or weak, or have the desire to go back to bed. Touching her neck, she felt that the skin was smooth and only slightly tender. It was already a bruise, and by afternoon it would be gone.

It wasn’t until she got out of bed that she noticed Spike asleep on the floor.

Smiling and closing the door behind her, Buffy went downstairs.

Chapter 37 - Ramblings

Spike woke up with the scent of Buffy surrounding him. Disoriented at first, he quickly remembered where he was.

By the light, it was mid-afternoon. He sat up and found a clock on Buffy’s nightstand. 3:27. The house was silent, and he remembered that she was gone. Joyce was still at work, of course.

He’d come back to the house early that morning, watching from a distance as Joyce’s car headed downtown. Then he’d parked the bike in the driveway, climbed up to Buffy’s window, and let himself in. Tempting as slipping into bed with her had been, it seemed a good way to get a hard shove in the ribs. She’d been rather explicit with her ‘there’s the floor.’ The house was empty and Spike had considered crashing on the couch, but there was something he liked about being near her. So he took the floor.

After he’d left yesterday, Spike had driven around the town a bit more, got a feel for things. He hadn’t stayed here an incredibly long amount of time before, but most things were where he remembered. Of course, there was the new suburban sprawl where there had previously been nothing. But even with all of that, there were no lack of abandoned houses and ramshackle buildings, Spike noted.

He had also found Angelus’ headquarters—an old mansion, like the new Watcher had said. Spike went by it once on the bike, but not wanting to spoil the surprise just yet, hadn’t circled back. He hadn’t caught a glimpse of his family, but somehow he’d known that it was their place. Angelus always did have a thing for living it up. So did Darla. Dru—well, you could tell Dru a mineshaft was an enchanted cave and she’d be perfectly happy.

There had been quite a few other vampires hanging about the property, which surprised Spike somewhat. Angelus had never been one for minions; he preferred to keep it simple and keep their numbers few. Of course, this was the Hellmouth, and minions probably came as a package deal. At the very least, the older vampires had attracted some hangers-on.

Spike looked at the clock again and got out of bed. He’d mostly slept on the floor, but after Buffy got up that morning, Spike crawled into her bed. When she’d come back in the room later, she hadn’t said anything about it. Sometime around lunch, she left.

He noticed a note next to the clock.

I’m with Giles. Not sure if I’ll be back. We might go patrolling later, probably leaving from the Magic Box. Mom gets home around 5:15. –Buffy

The address of the Magic Box was scrawled below.

Spike stood and walked downstairs. Rummaging through the kitchen, he found an almost empty bag of barbeque chips and finished it off, wandering idly through the house as he did so. He ended up back in Buffy’s room, lying on her bed with his hands folded behind his head.

Right. Pleasant as this was, he needed to find a place. Spike doubted that she would want to explain a permanent lodger to her mother.

There were plenty of abandoned houses to be found, but he’d done enough of that already in his day, and since he had the funds, he wanted something that, if not necessarily nice, wasn’t a dump. Something like what he had before.

He had bet that being the Hellmouth, he’d be able to find someone willing to overlook his lack of paper identity in exchange for cash. However, also being the Hellmouth, he’d found that all sensible offices closed their doors at dusk. As for the not so sensible apartment offices, ones on the so-called wrong side of the tracks, that obviously had vampires and other demons living in them, not to mention questionable humans, he thought not. Besides the fact that he didn’t play well with others, Spike didn’t want to have his bike stolen. Not that he’d acquired it legally, but that wasn’t the point.

More importantly, he wanted someplace that Buffy wouldn’t be disgusted to enter.

And he preferred to blend. Somewhat. He liked a place where the neighbors didn’t know what he was, where he could go about his business unnoticed. Again, somewhat. It was one thing to be carelessly killing anyone who looked at you funny when you were fancy free, but you just didn’t start piling up leftovers on your doorstep if you planned to stay in one place for any length of time. He’d pushed the envelope in L.A. himself. Case in point, Buffy seeing him. Though of course, that wasn’t going to be a problem here, as everyone was currently off the menu, per Buffy’s ‘terms.’ Sure, it might get slightly annoying, but doing it while he was here was more than worth it for the blood alone.

Spike absently licked his lips.

The blood.

Buffy’s blood. Slayer blood. Together in one package.

He’d tasted her four times, each better than the last.

The first had been a gift, a few drops from a girl who had no idea what she was doing, what she could have been getting into. She had naivety. An innocent sort of radiance. Which was why he’d felt a slap of devastation when she became the Slayer. Everything that made her her would change, be hardened, be replaced. It wasn’t, though, as he’d discovered. She still had that certain something, only now she had power to go along with it.

The second time he had taken and not asked, and tasted Slayer blood for the first time in nearly a hundred years. It was intoxicating. It was still hers, though.

The third time had been the first time he sank his teeth into her. Pinned her against the wall and taken what he’d pleased. She had offered. He’d felt a jolt of panic go through her that time. She’d made a small choking noise, and something in him screamed that he had the Slayer, here, alone, completely at his mercy—her body overpowered and her blood already running down his throat.

But as Buffy’s—Buffy’s—hand gripped at his arm at an awkward angle, some larger part of him knew that it wasn’t an option, had never been a possibility. If he killed her, he’d lose something. Maybe it was something he never had to begin with, but it would be gone.

The fourth time it had been slow, and he savored the blood he pulled as she melted beneath him. Like liquid fire, it burned him from the inside out in the most delicious way. Afterward, he’d felt completely satisfied in a way that he didn’t know he could be.

Until she’d shocked him out of his reverie with her grim, offhand remark. The fact that she suggested it angered him. The thought of it actually happening made him almost physically ill. Perhaps she had simply said it in the moment, not thinking. But in addition, for her to have actually thought that he would have fought with them, against her— Though he wasn’t in any high position to judge, considering his initial reaction when he’d found out that it was them.

Spike had left L.A. early. He hadn’t been bored, exactly, and not that he would have admitted it to her if he was, but honestly there had been nothing to do. And the instant he’d ridden into town, he’d felt it. It wasn’t so much that he could feel them, but there was something…off. Something nagging, something vaguely familiar. Maybe it had always been there, but he had never been so long removed from their presence before. Perhaps he hadn’t noticed it until he’d become accustomed to the lack of it.

Quickly locating a demon bar, Spike had sauntered in, bought himself a couple of drinks, and casually asked about current events, so to speak. And everything had suddenly fallen into place. He was sure that she’d known all along. Known who she was enlisting him against when she’d been offering up the one thing he couldn’t refuse. However, it had quickly become apparent that Buffy herself had just found out that afternoon.

But they’d sorted all that out yesterday.

Speaking of which, he probably needed to leave now if he wanted to avoid Joyce.

Spike exited the house through Buffy’s window, got on his bike, and headed in the direction of some apartments that had looked promising. An hour and several offices later, he found a manager who looked at him oddly, but finally put the paperwork back in the desk as he slid the cash in her direction.

Spike always dealt in cash; the people who paid him dealt in cash—with a few exceptions that the Watcher handled. He preferred cash anyway, besides the fact that he didn’t have a bank account, birth certificate, or any of those other little things. He knew of places that would set things like that up, but he’d heard that they always wanted to know too much. Having no strings was half the point.

The manager pushed a key ring in his direction. Flashing her a killer smile—but not his killing smile—Spike took the keys and walked out the door.

The apartment he’d rented had a kitchen/living room, a bedroom, and a bathroom. It was furnished, in that it had a couch, a table, a bed, and a dresser. There was a fridge and a stove/oven combo. It would do.

Dumping his bag and locking the door behind him, Spike went to find Buffy. She was at the Magic Box, which he easily located. Buffy didn’t actually go patrolling, so there was little for him to do but wait for her outside. He would have rather gone patrolling, but that didn’t appear to be in the plans for tonight. From what he could overhear, Buffy mostly spoke to the others about various things. They talked several times about cleaning up a back room for her to train in, but they never actually seemed to get around to doing it. They also talked about the other vampires.

After having time to consider it, Spike was looking forward to things. He would enjoy taking down Angelus. He didn’t care about Darla, either. But something in him tightened when he thought of Dru. No, he didn’t want her anymore, but he wanted her around. Not around him, really, just around in the world. Maybe he could get her to leave town or something.

Angelus, though, was going to be fun. Spike had put up with him in the beginning because he had no choice. Though they’d had some good times. Angelus knew what he was about, knew what he wanted, and often had highly amusing ways of getting it. However, he was unbearable whenever he decided to play the ‘leader’ card, and Dru—she always came when he called.

It wasn’t until years later, after Spike had done the ritual to restore Drusilla that he’d truly come to loathe the older vampire. He had been brooding and whiny and uncooperative—not to mention dead weight—and clearly wanted to leave them and their “bloodthirsty ways.” Dru wouldn’t let him go; not that he had much choice, weak as he was. Spike had actually somewhat pitied the cursed vampire, and thought that the best way to end his suffering (and theirs) was simply to stake him. But Dru wouldn’t hear of it, and Spike had sensed that if he did it, she might truly go off the deep end.

It was after Darla returned that Angelus had come back to his old self. How, exactly, Spike never quite figured out, though he didn’t waste much thought on it. Angelus had been weak, pissed off about the years he’d spent cursed, and bitter about the treatment he’d received from Spike and Drusilla. Needless to say, he had not made a fun traveling companion. He’d taken out his frustrations on Spike verbally, and by Dru, of course, who had been more than happy to oblige her daddy once again.

Spike had thought about the ways he could kill Angelus then, but the other vampire once again held the position of power in their little group. It wasn’t worth taking on both Drusilla and Darla. So he’d put up with the bastard, until he’d finally said the hell with it and struck out on his own. A few years later, after he’d gotten the gem, Spike had stolen a car and hopped on the interstate, with the express purpose of driving to New York and beating the lot of them to death. He’d kill Angelus, take Dru back, and go on a spree. She would forgive him eventually. Probably.

He had gotten as far as Arizona before he came to the startling realization that he simply didn’t care. He was done with them. Drusilla had already left him. Spike only left because he’d finally admitted to himself that he hadn’t really had her for a long time. And Angelus could be halfway across the world by now. If he ever saw Angelus again, he decided, he’d beat him to death. Spike had made a U-turn in the desert and headed back to California.

Spike smirked to himself and leaned back against the bricks in the alley. It was sort of funny, in a way.

Angelus had come to him.

Chapter 38 - Acclimations

Buffy entered the Magic Box to find it rather busy. Giles was behind the counter, and Willow was explaining to someone the differences between leaves that all looked the same to Buffy.

“Noontime rush?” she asked, after the customer went to the register with a bag of herbs.

“Yeah,” Willow answered. “Oh, hold on—” she said, quickly heading across the store. “Hey! Those are not for sniffing!”

Buffy looked around. There must be a lot of repeat customers, she thought, recognizing one of the people who had been in yesterday.

Shrugging, Buffy meandered toward the table at the back, disinterestedly skimming over the books on its top. Half of the titles made no sense to her; some were even written in other languages. Pushing a book aside, her eyes fell on a manila folder beneath it. Summers, Buffy.

Flipping it open without thinking, Buffy found an assortment of information about herself. School transcripts, medical records, but most interestingly, her history as the Slayer. Obviously composed by Wesley, she decided, after skimming some of it. For some reason, she half expected it to be in some secret Watcher code.

However, she quickly guessed that the reason it wasn’t was because there were no secrets. Indeed, the most interesting thing had been left out entirely.

There was no mention of Spike at all.

In accounting for her meeting with Wesley, he had simply said that he had done business with her father and had become aware of her. Buffy supposed that she saw the reasoning for this. Telling Giles that here was another Slayer who had been involved with a vampire probably would not have gotten her off on the right foot with him.

Still, Buffy frowned. Wesley was doing a lot of editing lately, and while she could see the advantages to this particular bit, she still wished that he had seen fit to tell her that Spike was one of ‘the Aurelians.’

She skimmed over the rest of the file quickly, pausing briefly on the part about her fighting techniques, and then longer on the part about her dreams.

Suddenly feeling someone behind her, Buffy hastily closed the folder and turned around.

“Uh, sorry,” she said to Giles.

“It’s quite all right. It’s information regarding you; you have every right to peruse it. In fact, if there’s anything pertinent you’d like to add?” He was already reaching inside his jacket for a pen.

“No, it’s fine,” she quickly said. “I mean, it’s all good. Well, except the part about the creepy Faith dreams, that was kind of bad.”

“Have you had any more dreams?”

“No.”

“Is there anything else you remember about them?”

“Not really. They’re kind of hazy now.”

“You could perhaps keep a notebook beside your bed so you can record any future Slayer dreams.”

Buffy gave a non-committal shrug.

“Er, right,” he said, absently polishing his glasses.

“So what did you have planned for today?”

“I thought we might review some techniques? Let me see where you stand, so to speak.”

“You sure it’s not too busy out here?”

He glanced around the store. “It seems to be winding down, for the moment.”

“Okay, then.”

Giles led her to a back room, muttering apologetically as he did so. “It still needs a bit of work. I’ll have these overstock boxes removed as soon as possible. And we’ll get everything in working order.” He gestured to the wall, where there was a punching bag and a dummy, mats propped haphazardly over them.

Taking off his jacket, Giles pulled several mats away and arranged them on the floor.

Buffy glanced at the weapons, the only things in the room that were in impeccable order.

“So, what to start with?” she asked brightly.

“Er, are you quite all right in those clothes?”

She looked down at her sparkly red stretch top. “Oh, this? I’ve gone patrolling lots of times in stuff like this. It’s no big.”

“As you wish.” He handed her a staff. “I thought we’d start with something simple.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow as she took the staff and fell into stance. “Okay, but last time I used one of these I totally thrashed Wesley.”

“So I read.”

Giles made a move that she easily avoided.

“He made me really mad,” she said, spinning around.

“How so? He didn’t mention that part.”

He knocked her staff, but she countered, blocking each one of his blows perfectly.

“He does that a lot, it seems,” she said.

They exchanged a few more hits, and Buffy realized the slight difference to the way Giles handled the staff. He’d been trained, obviously, but whereas Wesley had fought from the technique alone—like someone who had memorized a set of complicated dance steps—Giles moved with experience.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“He has a tendency to leave things out.” She lunged and he dodged. “Like the fact that Slayers barely live a few years. I didn’t even question it until I nearly kicked it one night.”

Giles made a move with his staff, but she blocked it, catching his on the return and nearly disarming him. He regarded her stance. She was quite good, really.

“I got so angry at him for not telling me,” she continued.

“Ah.” He felt a sudden sympathy for the girl.

“I felt I just couldn’t deal, you know? That I didn’t want any part of it.”

Their staffs met in a cross, and there was a brief struggle before she gained leverage and pushed him back.

“And what happened after that?” he asked.

“I dealt with it,” she said with finality, knocking his staff away and sweeping his legs out from underneath him.

Giles decided not to question her further about it. Obviously she had made her peace with it, but it couldn’t be a pleasant topic to discuss.

Buffy watched his expression shift subtly, and she guessed his train of thought. Doubtful that he was anywhere near exactly how she had ‘dealt with it.’

“So, am I any good?” she asked.

Giles nodded from the floor.

He stood. “You are quite skilled with the quarterstaff. Tell me, what else can you do?”

“I can do cartwheels again,” Buffy said, beaming. “I know, not so useful with the Slaying, but it’s definite coordination and muscle improvement. And I can do the splits, which means I can do—this!” She quickly brought her foot up in a kick that paused inches from his face.

Giles leaned back slightly. “Ah, yes. Quite impressive.”

“And I can do that flipping up to your feet thing that you always see in the martial arts movies. I’m still working on back flips, though. And that running up a wall thing is out of my league—oh, but I can jump really high! And the staking, of course I’m down with the staking. Back, front, diagonal—it’s all good.”

“Do you make your own stakes?”

“This isn’t shop class.”

“Yes, well, in the past, Slayers were encouraged to whittle their own stakes.”

“Wesley just gave me a whole bunch.” Buffy looked at him and smiled. “And my new Watcher owns a magic shop. I bet you buy stakes in bulk.”

“I do,” he admitted, taking off his glasses. “Though it’s still a useful skill. Xander was getting rather adept at it before I found a reasonable supplier. But there is something to be said for self-sufficiency. What if you were trapped in the forest with a vampire and no weapons?”

“Not seeing a lot of forests here.”

“That’s not the point.”

Buffy shrugged. “Just grab a branch, then. It only has to be pointy enough.”

“So what other weapons?”

“I’m decent with a crossbow. I haven’t done much with swords, though.”

He brightened. “Let’s work on that, then.”

-----
-
-
-
“Well?”

Angelus made no movement.

Darla turned to look at him from the archway. “Not this again.”

“It’s just so predictable. Kill a virgin, fuck a virgin, kill a virgin…”

She crossed her arms. “You’ve been doing this ever since you finally wasted that Slayer.”

His eyes darted somewhat wistfully to the chains on the wall. “She was…fun. Even after all that torture, you never knew what she was going to do next, you know?”

“I can’t believe you’re brooding and getting all nostalgic. I think I should be jealous.”

“It wasn’t the sex,” he scoffed. “Well, at first it was the sex, but you weren’t here, so—”

Darla cleared her throat.

“It was the artistry, the mastery of breaking someone. But she was so strong, now I’m thinking I didn’t do it quite enough. It could have been magnificent. Complete. A Slayer… If I had it to do over again…”

“You killed a Slayer!” she said, walking into the room. “You should be high on it, not moping that you could have done it better. It’s been a month, and this weekly depression routine of yours is getting annoying. If you’re going to be this dull, I think I’ll leave.”

“But you only just returned,” Drusilla said, speaking up from her perch on the windowsill.

“She came back months ago, Dru.”

“I’m still lagging. Please don’t be cross. There’s another Slayer,” she added helpfully.

“What?” Angelus was suddenly staring at her and fully alert.

“Oh, yes.” She nodded.

“Why didn’t you say so?”

“They only just told me, the stars.” She gestured to the daytime horizon. “So hard to see. Oh…”

Drusilla clutched at her head.

“Well?” he asked.

“She’s bringing the sunshine,” she whined. “It burns him, he’s lost, so so lost.”

“Who?”

“Lost, lost, lost to us,” she continued to chant, rocking back and forth on the sill. “He’s covered in it.”

Angelus looked expectantly at Darla.

“Well, I don’t know,” she grumbled.

As much as Angelus liked to see an ‘incoming,’ as he called it, most times he had little luck deciphering Drusilla’s visions unless they were unusually straightforward. Half the time, Dru herself didn’t seem to know what she was talking about.

“Another Slayer. Well, I feel better,” he announced, straightening up and giving Dru a pat before moving away. “I think I’ll be in the mood for virgin later.” He walked past Darla and disappeared down the hall.

Drusilla stared after the empty air, paused, and then glanced at Darla. “He’ll throw you to the sunshine.”

Then she primly stood and went to sit in the closet, where she kept the dog that she had ‘adopted’ and forbidden anyone to eat.

Darla looked at her a moment more, before she also walked out of the room.

A/N: Because I’ve always wondered whether the ritual from What’s My Line, if completed properly, would really have killed Angel, or just made him weak like Dru or worse. Also, I’m going to assume that there were other books with the ritual/key code in them that are floating around out there in the demon world.

-----

Chapter 39 - Flashes

1969, New York

“What the bloody hell are you doin’ here?”

Darla ignored Spike. “Where is he?” she asked Dru.

“He’s ill, terribly terribly ill,” she said. “All his blood to heal my burns. Inside and out, all twisted—”

“Where, Dru?”

She pointed to a door.

Darla opened it, and he looked up when she entered, almost panicky. He was thin, skeletal even. He looked like he wanted to back away from her, but his body simply wouldn’t do it.

She had heard snippets of what had happened, descriptions of the two vampires that toted around an insane and now shell-like Angelus. Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore and had come to see for herself. She’d almost felt it as she neared.

Seeing it, she was shocked. For such a member of the Aurelian line to have fallen so far. She couldn’t tell what was a result of the curse, what was the not feeding, and what was whatever they had done between him and Drusilla.

“Angelus,” she said sweetly. “I’ve come to make it better.”

“No,” he said. “No, no, no.”

“Look,” she said, pulling back her collar. “Look how flushed I am.” Darla moved closer. “For you. All for you.”

“It’s dirty. We’re all so dirty—”

“Dammit, Angelus!”

“I don’t want it, any of it.”

“I don’t care! You will drink from me!” Darla slashed her neck with her own nails and climbed on top of him. “I will not leave you to rot in your own filth like this, not with them!”

Knowing the thirst he must be fighting and how irresistible her own blood would be, she forced his mouth open and put her bleeding throat in it.

For a moment, he was motionless beneath her. Then he was involuntarily tasting, his tongue touching over the wounds and his throat constricting as he swallowed. Suddenly his face had shifted and he was hungrily, desperately pulling down her blood, his teeth buried in her flesh and his arms locked around her.
.
.
.
He felt the blood flowing down his throat. He didn’t want to want it, but oh, want it he did. He wanted it more than anything he’d ever wanted before.

He hadn’t exactly been in the best condition to begin with when Spike had grabbed him. Rats were not so much sustenance, after all. But after every single drop of blood from his body had been ritually poured into Dru, he couldn’t move.

They’d taken him with them. He’d rather been left to die. After all, it’s not like he had been doing much with himself.

Dru had brought him a girl the first night. He’d been sickened.

She’d pouted and looked confused when he wouldn’t drink the girl. Spike, however, had shrugged, said, “your loss, mate,” and killed the girl himself.

The next night, Dru had come back from hunting and tried to get him to drink from her. He wouldn’t, couldn’t. What was the difference that she had killed someone for the blood instead of him doing it?

She’d brought him a dog after that, and though he had felt sorry for it, he’d drained it, as well as the other animals she sometimes came back with. But the blood did nothing to restore him. So he lingered—weakened outside, perpetually suffering within…

Until now.

Drinking sire’s blood was always a singular experience. Usually a nip here and there, during sex and such. But this, this constant flow, as much as he could drink, as if it would never end. He could almost feel the mass returning to his body. He wondered how many people she had killed in order to have this much in her. But suddenly he didn’t care.

There was nothing but the two of them, her blood running down his throat, sweet and thick. All his thoughts were bent on it. After his self imposed starvation, and then his actual starvation, it was ambrosia. It occupied all of him, and he only wanted it. There was nothing but the blood, and it kept coming, drowning out any other thoughts in a sea of red. He simply didn’t care about anything else. He could just be, be one with the blood and nothing else—

And suddenly, something in him snapped.
.
.
.
Darla felt her neck being torn as he jerked uncontrollably beneath her.

However, she only pulled away when she felt her limit coming, forcing him to let go of her. She would have to feed again immediately, she’d given him so much.

He was staring straight up, a vacant expression on his face.

“Angelus?” she asked. “Angelus?”

Slowly his eyes met hers, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yes. Definitely.”

-----

1982, Miami

“Poor Daddy,” Drusilla said, glancing sympathetically at Angelus’s prone form on the sofa.

“Oh please,” Darla said, entering the hotel room and throwing a girl across his lap. “He sits inside all night and day, while we bring him room service.”

“But it must be terribly boring not to hunt. I thought it terribly boring not to hunt.”

Angelus finished draining the girl and threw her to the floor. He pulled Dru onto him. “Oh, but there’s all sorts of fun things we can do lying down.” He gave Darla a look. “Join us?”

“Oh yes, grandmummy, please.”

“Not tonight.” Darla narrowed her eyes. “How much longer, Angelus? It’s been years, and you can barely manage to walk.”

“I was completely fucking drained!” he yelled. “Have you ever been completely drained? Not to mention whatever it pulled out of me and into Dru.”

“I gave you sire’s blood! I still give you sire’s blood, besides what we bring you every night.”

“Well, how about some sire’s blood and some magic words?” he snapped.

“I am not doing the ritual. Then it’ll be me on that bed forever. Besides the fact that we don’t even have a copy of it.”

“I bet it can’t be too hard to track down. I mean, if Spike was able to find it—”

“Find something else. Conversation closed.” She turned to leave once again.

“Hey, aren’t you going to take this out?” he called, pointing to the dead girl.

The door slammed.

Drusilla straddled him, stroking his face. “Poor Daddy gave his blood for me, and now he’s all weak.”

“I didn’t give you my blood,” he spat. “William took my blood.”

“My William is gone. Punish me instead,” she smiled, wriggling against him. “Or I could punish myself, and you could watch.”

Angelus grinned.

“They were such pretty words, full of evil,” she crooned to herself as she worked on his belt buckle. “Wonderfully wicked words.”

“What?” he asked sharply, Drusilla’s position completely forgotten for the moment.

“They called me back,” she rambled, swaying. “Grand obscenity and black medicine, blood of the sire to rise again.”

“Do you know what you’re saying?”

“I know all my Spike’s words. He used to love words, though most of them I didn’t like, I confess. Strings that danced in my head. But those were such nice words…”

“Dru,” he asked carefully, “do you remember the ritual?”

-----

“I will kill you for this.”

“Come on now, don’t get like that. Dru and I will feed you and everything.”

Darla struggled against Angelus and their mutual bonds.

“You!” she hissed at Dru. “How could you go along with him? Hitting me over the back of the head while I fucked him, tying me up, committing this betrayal, this—this travesty!”

“Don’t be cross,” Drusilla pleaded. “Angelus asked me, so many times he asked me. I couldn’t let him suffer away. And he was beginning to be cross with me.”

“Honey, you’re sure you remember the words?”

“Oh yes, it’s like poetry.” She held up a dagger. “And I get to cut, just at the pretty part.”
.
.
.
Ten minutes later, Angelus stood after Dru sliced the ropes, and stooped over the skeletal Darla.

“I hate you,” she breathed.

“It’ll pass.” He straightened up. “Dru, let her drink. It won’t be sire’s blood, but it’ll do. Then get her something else to eat. I’m going out.”

-----

Thirteen years later, Rome

Angelus stood over the bed where Darla lay. “What would you say if I had some news?”

“What?” she asked flatly.

“I’ve got a plan.”

“And what would that be?”

“I’ve tracked down the Master for you.”

Darla was silent for a moment. Then, “If you tell me you were thinking of this all along, I won’t believe you.”

“Oh, I wasn’t. I was only thinking of me when we did you. But it occurred to me later, and if we can get you better, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t.”

She remained silent.

“Like there haven’t been plenty of times you almost got me killed,” he said, growing angry. “Taking the last horse, leaving the dead bellboy in my room, bolting that door, just having to see the French Revolution, should I go on?”

“He won’t do it.”

“You’re his pet, of course he will.” He grinned. “And if he won’t, well then, we’ll have to persuade him.”

Darla stared at him.

“I bet California’s nice,” he added. “All those blondes.”

-----

August 1997, The Hellmouth

“That Luke guy, not too impressive.” He smiled. “So, how’ve you been? Nice and stuck and all?”

“This is hardly the way to win favor.”

“All that holding court crap never really did it for me, you know?” Angelus shrugged. “Dru, bring her in.”

Drusilla came around the corner, carrying Darla in her arms. Something might have flickered across the Master’s face, but then again, who could tell?

“Cause, see, I think you’ll do what I want. And if you’re inclined not to, well… You don’t seem to really be able to do much, except order minions around. And they’re all gone.” He played with his crossbow. “Not that you had that many to begin with. I guess they tend to ditch you when your grand plan gets you trapped in a hole. And now there’s not even anyone to feed you. Ever.”

At that moment, a small boy suddenly appeared. At first Angelus thought he was there as a snack, before he realized that the kid was also a vampire.

Darla tilted her head against Dru’s shoulder. “Oh, Angelus, he’s kind of cute.”

“Yes,” Drusilla crooned. “We could keep him as a pet. A little doggy.”

“No, no more of the Master’s spawn. Except for Darla here.” Angelus spun around before another word could be spoken and drove a stake through the boy’s heart. He looked back at the Master. “So, what’s it going to be?”
.
.
.
Darla was strong. She was standing and smiling at him, radiant and evil and powerful once again. The Master was stumbling, falling down the wall as he tried to support himself.

Darla turned to the Master. “I am in your debt,” she was saying, gushing on and on.

Angelus reached under his coat, pulling out a stake that was long and thick from behind his back.

Without a word, he turned and drove it into the Master’s chest, watching in satisfaction as he disintegrated. He stomped on the bones as they hit the ground—huh, bones, he must have really been old—smashing the ribcage and skull in glee.

He turned from the fragments with a wide grin. Before he could speak, Darla slapped him full across the face, sending him spinning into the stone wall.

“You killed him,” she hissed. “You killed the Master!”

“I put him out of his misery. What did you think was going to happen after we did it? His sire was dust centuries ago.”

“He was old! He might have recovered!”

Angelus looked at her.

“You intended to kill him all along,” she realized. “How could you? You killed the oldest of the Aurelian line!”

“Now you’re the oldest!” Drusilla chimed.

“You’re not about to turn all ugly, are you?” Angelus asked.

He suddenly found himself flung across the room as Darla advanced on him. “So help me, Angelus, if I don’t finish you! I’ve got over a century on you, and right now I’ve got the Master’s blood in me! You killed him. How could you?” She stood over him, eyes blazing.

“Oh, don’t kill Daddy! Oh, please.”

Darla fumed, her lips pressed into an almost invisible line. “I’m leaving,” she said simply. “If follow me, I’ll kill you.”

After a moment, Angelus stood, watching Darla as she disappeared around the curve of the rock walls.

“Well, that went well.” He shrugged. “She’ll be back soon enough. C’mon, Dru, let’s find some place to set up shop. I think the Hellmouth is going to suit us.”

“Can we go to a candy shop? There are always such nice little boys in candy shops.”

And the pair went up to the world above.

Chapter 40 - Gatherings

Late that afternoon, Buffy sat at the table in the Magic Box with Willow and Xander while Giles was dealing with the last customers of the day. Buffy was talking about her session, and mentioned the state of the training room.

“Well, I’m your dummy man,” Xander said. “I mean I can fix the dummy for you. And hang the punching bag.”

“Xander works construction,” Willow said. “He’s like our personal handyman.”

“Willow made me her bitch last fall when she moved into the dorms.”

“So you don’t go?” Buffy asked.

“Nah, I skipped straight to the getting a job part.” He looked at Willow. “So really, I’m like four years ahead of you. And you’re supposed to be the smart one.”

“Xander!”

“Just kidding, Will.” He turned to Buffy. “She’s going to be a rocket scientist or brain surgeon or something. Get one of those really high paying jobs where no one is exactly sure what she does.”

“Really not. It’s only my second semester.” She looked at Buffy. “Hey, maybe we’ll have some classes together.”

“I dunno, I registered kinda late.”

“Well, I can still show you around. You’ll be like a freshman, except for all the, y’know, awkwardness, embarrassment, and accidentally walking into the art class with the nude model.”

Buffy grinned. “Sounds like there’s a story there.”

“And why haven’t I heard it before?” Xander demanded.

“The male nude model,” Willow emphasized.

“And wow, I’ve heard enough,” he said.

“So does Oz go?” Buffy asked Willow.

She nodded. “Yep. He would’ve been a year ahead, but he kinda skipped senior year. But he’s not a loser or anything,” she hastened to add. “He’s like Mr. Test Scores! He just, didn’t go.”

Buffy nodded.

“Ooh, and we have to go Bronzing,” Willow said.

“Bronz-ing?”

“The Bronze is a club. The club. As in, the only one. Oz plays there with his band sometimes. They’re up for this Friday.”

“What’re they called?”

“Dingoes Ate My Baby,” she said, beaming with girlfriend/groupie pride. “But everyone calls them The Dingoes.”

“Cool.” Buffy paused. “But won’t that get in the way of patrolling? I don’t wanna make Giles angry with me by blowing things off already. Not that I’m planning to blow things off,” she quickly put in. “Just, you know, wrong foot and all.”

“Oh, it’s cool,” Willow said. “The Bronze is totally a vampire hangout. You can just sorta make an extended stop.”

“Okay, then. It’s a date.”

“So do you date?”

“What?” Buffy sputtered.

“Cause Oz knows a lot of great guys. I mean, if you’re looking sometime.”

“I’m, uh, not really looking right now. There was someone in L.A.—but it ended kind of suddenly. I’m not really sure where we stand since I left him. Left town, I mean.”

Willow nodded.

Buffy, wanting to change the subject, turned to Xander. “What about you?”

He shook his head. “There hasn’t been anyone for me since Willow here broke my heart.”

“You two dated?!”

“Well, don’t look so shocked.”

“But you’re obviously such good friends. Most people who split don’t bounce back like that. Why did you break up?”

“He stole my Barbie,” Willow said.

“Huh?”

“We were five,” she clarified.

“Oh.”

“Though there was this one time during sophomore year that we tried going out. But it was a total disaster, so we decided to play amnesia and never speak of it again. Oh, oopsie.” She looked apologetically at Xander.

“I may still have that Barbie.”

“Yeah, well I’ve got stories on you that—”

“So, whaddya think of Giles?” he asked Buffy with a grin, changing the subject.

“He’s really nice. Sort of standoffish at first, but I guess that’s a British thing, all reserved and stuff. Or, an upper class British thing,” she amended, frowning. “Anyway, I like him. And I think he likes me. He fights pretty good. I mean, for someone so…”

“Old?” Xander supplied. “Not to worry, it’s like our running joke.” He lowered his voice. “Just don’t say it to him. He doesn’t like it.”

“Giles is really good on patrol,” Willow said. “He usually gets more vampires than either of us.”

“What one lacks in strength, one must make up for with skill and strategy,” Giles said, taking the empty chair next to Buffy.

“Hey, you know we’re just kidding,” Xander said.

“Quite.”

It was only a few minutes until closing time, and only one customer remained in the store.

Frowning, Buffy leaned in to Giles. “Is she always here?” she whispered.

“Er, sometimes. Quite a bit of the time, recently. Though she’s yet to buy anything. Sometimes she picks up different items and walks around with them, but she’s hardly the strangest customer I’ve encountered.”

“Yeah, Giles gets some real fruit loops in here,” Xander said. “There was this one guy who always had cheese. Like, always.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Buffy,” Giles said, “I thought we might patrol tonight. Sort of a tour patrol.”

“I’m up for whatever. Here to slay.”

“We’ll leave after dark then, yes?”

“Sure. So, on the off chance that we come up against Angelus and his crew tonight— I read the file, but is there anything else I need to know?”

“No, it was all there. Angelus will probably try to fight you if you encounter him, but he may not. He’s gotten quite confident. Even if he does engage you, it will be a test; he’ll most likely wish to draw it out for more than one round. The others may or may not assist him; however, if you see one, you must assume the possibility that they’re all there. And if you confront Drusilla, keep in mind that she has a very strong thrall.”

“Thrall, yeah, that was in there. What’s a thrall? I was gonna ask, but I forgot.”

Giles, obviously pleased to tell her something she hadn’t heard before, sat up straighter. “A thrall makes you subject to the vampire’s will. It places you in a haze-like state and in their complete control.”

“Right. Thrall bad. So how do I not get thrall?”

“Don’t look directly into her eyes.”

Buffy nodded. “Got it. So, who’s for crossbow practice? We could set up the dummy.”

-----

Patrol had gone easily enough. Giles and Willow and Xander had accompanied her, and at first Buffy had joked that they wouldn’t be able to get the drop on any vampires. But the amount she had seen and dusted had actually surprised her. Either there were a lot more vampires here than in L.A. (statistically speaking), or they were used to going out unhindered. Probably both, she thought—Slayerless Hellmouth, after all.

They had taken her by the Bronze and done a quick sweep while Giles waited outside. He said he preferred to watch the alley rather than “suffer that din.” From there were the back streets and then the cemeteries. All the cemeteries. Honestly, Sunnydale was not that big a town—it was easily covered on foot—and Buffy couldn’t imagine any reason to have that many cemeteries except to bury the recently undead.

After hitting the last one, they’d called it a night and had made plans to meet the next evening at the Magic Box.

All in all, not a bad day.

-----

The alarm went off. Again.

Muttering to herself, Buffy hit the snooze button. Again.

“C’mon now, love. Rise and shine.”

Suddenly she was fully awake. She bolted upright in bed and glared at Spike, who was sitting on her windowsill.

“What are you doing?”

“Just checkin’ in.”

“You know, just because you have an invitation, doesn’t mean you have an invitation.”

“Come again?”

“There’s this thing called knocking. Calling? I know you have a phone.”

“What if your mum answered?”

“Cell phone, hello? Speaking of which, why don’t I have your number?”

He grinned. “Oh, you’ve got my number, Slayer.”

Buffy’s semi-good mood immediately vanished. “I told you, stop with the Slayer. Don’t call me that.”

“It’s what you are.”

“But not who I am.” She paused. “Please, don’t tell me I’m nothing but the Slayer to you,” she added softly.

Spike looked at her a moment. “All right. Buffy.”

Then he came the rest of the way into the room and picked up her phone from her nightstand. He punched something in and returned it to its place.

“You’ve got my number.”

Buffy picked up the phone and hit the call button. When she heard Spike’s phone ringing, she said, “And you’ve got mine.”

“I always have.”

“Huh?”

“Came with the job description, love, the first one. The Watcher gave me a nice little introductory packet.”

“With what?”

“The usual. Birthday, license plates, phone numbers. Schedule, physical description, blood type, allergies.”

“Wait. Why would you need to know blood type or allergies?”

“Part of the job. If somethin’ happened, I s’pose, and had to whisk you away to hospital. Not like I wouldn’t have known the blood type, though,” he said with a grin. “But the Watcher’s not capable of not fillin’ out a box on his form.”

Right. A job. That was why he was here now, too—because she’d hired him.

“So,” she said, “what are you checking in about?”

“Everything seemed to go fine last night.”

“Yeah. I felt you following me. Is that weird? I mean, that I knew it was you, and not just some other vampire? I can like pick you out.”

He smirked. “I’m special.”

“Do you have a stake?”

“Not on me.”

Buffy leaned over to the other side of the bed and dug for a moment in the nightstand drawer. She pulled one out and handed it to him. “You said you didn’t carry stakes once. Well, now you do.”

“Is that right?”

She nodded. “Anyone watching my back needs a stake. What were you going to do if I got into trouble?”

“Dunno. Hadn’t thought about it. Beat them down?”

“You. Stake. It’s in the job description.”

Spike slipped the stake into his pocket. “So, what else?”

She paused, thinking. “Does Dru have thrall?”

“Yeah, she does.” He frowned. “You probably should avoid that.”

“Ya think? So does every vampire have thrall?”

“Nah.”

“Do you?”

Spike smirked again and sat down on her bed. “Look into my eyes.”

“Are you serious?” she asked, scooting back slightly.

“What wrong, pet? Afraid I’m gonna do somethin’ to you against your will?”

“No,” she said firmly, meeting his gaze.

“Right, then.” He looked at her.

Buffy held his intense stare, resisting the urge to glance away.

Several seconds passed.

Then he laughed and dropped his head.

Her mouth fell open and then quickly closed as she hit him on the shoulder. “Spike!”

“Wanted to see if you’d do it.”

“Fun-ny. So a big no on the Spike thrall.”

“Don’t have the talent for it. Too poncy, anyway.”

“So is Drusilla poncy?”

“Women aren’t poncy,” he scoffed.

“Oh, so it’s like a gay thing?”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“I have no idea,” Buffy said, getting out of bed. “So maybe you do have thrall. I’ll be right back. I have to change.”

“You could change here. I’ve seen it before.”

“And yet, I think I’ll be right back.”