Chapter 4


“Well, you had fun,” said Buffy dryly as they headed to the house the Council of Watchers kept for their purposes in L.A. Buffy was driving and Spike lay comfortably on the back seat, his duster over him to shield him from the sun. It was still very early in the morning and the slanting rays were no real danger to him, sliding through the car but not falling directly on the back seat.

Spike snickered. “Oh, yeah. Is he always that easy to get a rise out of?”

“You have a genius for it,” sighed Buffy. “Even with no memory. Being a pain seems to come naturally to you.”

“Git’s an authoritarian sod with a god-complex, a stick up his arse and no sense of humor. Brings me out in hives.”

“You just like causing trouble.”

“Always.” He reached out teasingly to run his fingertips lightly down her arm, bare under the short-sleeved T-shirt she was wearing.

She shivered involuntarily under that caressing touch and glanced back at him over her shoulder, shaking her head. “Not while I’m driving.”

“When you’re not driving then?” he purred.

“Spi-ike.”

He just laughed. She couldn’t help smiling too. It was a pleasure to see him this lighthearted. He had been so quiet and quenched in those months after he got the soul, struggling with the burden of guilt it had laid on him. He hadn’t really recovered himself until that very last moment before he burned in the Hellmouth. The year before that had been all anger and desperation, that long ugly struggle between the two of them. And prior to that had been the chip and the way he had felt emasculated by it. She had only seen him like this right in the beginning, when he and Dru had first come to Sunnydale.

This was Dru’s Spike, she realized. The Spike he had been for a hundred and twenty years before events in Sunnydale had hurt him, scarred him. At once violent and gentle, mocking and tender, volatile and stable. That contradictory mix that was so compelling.

Easy, relaxed and in command of himself. He had always been love’s bitch, but with Dru there had been a balance. He had grounded Dru from flying off into the clouds, provided the care and stability that she needed, while Dru had provided the emotional center that he needed. He had wanted to give Buffy what she had needed too—emotional stability. Would have, if she had let him. But she had never let him, always cut the ground from under his feet, rejected the balance that he could have been to her—dark to her light, warmth to her coolness, the shadow sides of each other, mirror images, their individual strengths and weaknesses merged into what could have been a formidable force if she had only allowed it.

Well, she had thrown that away. And she didn’t want to bind him again, wanted him free to find himself. Maybe this was the Spike he should be and maybe it was better if his memory never came back if it threatened to take this away.

She worked her way through the maze of residential streets that led to the house the Council kept in L.A. She’d been there before in her search for SITs. She parked the car in the attached garage and went to lower the garage door to shut out the sunlight so that Spike could get out of the car.

“So what is this place, Slayer?” he asked as she unlocked the door at the back of the garage that led into the house.

“The Council keeps a house available for their people visiting L.A., same way they keep a service apartment in New York. Cheaper than hotels.”

Spike looked around the elegantly furnished three-bedroom bungalow, his brows rising. “Spiffy. Got money then, the Council?”

“Watchers have been around as long as Slayers and compound interest accumulates. Oh, they’ve got money. They just never gave it to Slayers until Giles took over.”

“What’s wrong, pet?” Spike was watching her intently. “You look pissed.”

“I am pissed. Why didn’t Giles call me instead of Angel? He was really suspicious of Angel before, but now suddenly he’s all good pals? And I’m suddenly urgently needed back in London?”

“Yeah, they’re trying to split us up. I can understand the ponce, but why’s this Watcher git so shirty? Because I’m a vamp?”

“Yup. And because of what we were to each other. Giles doesn’t approve.”

He tilted a sardonic brow at her. “Vamps and Slayers aren’t supposed to mix, right? I can see where he’s coming from.”

“He’s wrong,” she said flatly. “And I’m done with people doing things for my own good. But what do you want, Spike?”

He gave her a sudden sweet smile. “Want to stay with you.”

“Even if it means coming to England? I don’t want to force anything on you, the way they’re trying to do to me.”

“Feels right being with you.”

She realized that right now she was the only stable point in a bewildering universe for him. That would change later when his memory came back or if he found his feet without it. But until then he needed her.

“Okay,” she said, reaching for the phone. She would help as much as she could, protect him from Giles and Angel until the time came when he would leave her. “Let’s have it out with Giles.”

Gone were the days when she could just pick up a phone and call Giles. His officious Council of Watchers’ secretary advised her that he was in a meeting. If this had been an emergency, Buffy would have insisted on being put through immediately. But it wasn’t, so she just left her number and a message to call her back.

“Might as well get comfortable,” said Spike, shedding his duster and Docs, and sprawling onto the couch in front of the TV. “How much you wanna bet it’ll take him at least half an hour to get back to you? Just to let you know who’s boss.”

Power games. In the blank numbness in which she had existed since the amulet had destroyed Spike and the Hellmouth, she hadn’t noticed the shape of the world forming around her. She had just gone along with the current, unseeing, unresisting. Was there something intrinsically wrong with the Council of Watchers that Giles would start turning into Quentin Travers once he himself became the head of it? Or was it just that any organization would inevitably fall into a standard, repetitive, repressive pattern? Buffy found herself reminded of Wolfram and Hart, despite all Giles’ antagonism to it. Worse, she found herself being reminded of the Initiative.

She didn’t want Spike caught up in anything like the Initiative again.

When the phone finally rang, Spike gave her a flickering grin and reached for the remote to turn down the sound on the TV. He had been right in saying Giles wouldn’t call her back right away, but he had underestimated the time. Not half an hour, but forty-five minutes.

“Buffy,” said Giles over the phone, in a cool, distant voice. “I understand you wanted to speak to me.”

Buffy leaned back on the couch, stretched her legs in front of her and smiled tightly at the ceiling. That headmaster-like attitude didn’t play with her. She wasn’t a schoolgirl anymore.

“Why, yes, Giles. Angel gave me to understand that something urgent has come up and you wanted me back right away. Is an apocalypse happening?”

“Very amusing. A portal opened in the Lake District. Willow and the Wicca managed to close it, but now we have a rash of demons in the area.”

“What kind?”

“Chiriwan. They’re dangerous, as you know.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much, Giles. Vi or Rona can handle them.”

“I want my most experienced Slayer on the job.”

“If Vi is going to head up the New York branch that you’re planning on opening, I’d think she’d be more than experienced enough.”

Giles’ voice hardened. “I’d rather have you on it.”

“Well, I’ll come as soon as I can, but it might take some time.”

“Angel’s jet could get you here before nightfall,” said Giles sharply.

“Spike won’t be ready to travel for a while.”

“Spike’s presence is not necessary!”

“It is to me.”

“Buffy, why are you being so recalcitrant?”

“I think you know, Giles.”

Straight to the heart of what Giles didn’t want to admit or discuss. There was a taut silence while Giles rethought his position. Buffy smiled grimly.

Giles started over, now taking a carefully paternal tone. “Willow told me that he has lost his memory. I understand that you’re concerned, Buffy, but surely it’s not necessary for you to stay with him. Angel has the resources to provide all the medical care that anyone can want. Also he is far more suited than you are to help restore Spike’s memory since he has known Spike for a hundred and twenty odd years.”

“I disagree,” said Buffy coolly. “For various reasons I’m sure you’re aware of, Angel won’t do. I’m not willing to turn Spike over to his tender mercies. At the very least, he’s not going to be as motivated as I am for Spike to recover his memory.”

“Buffy...”

“So Spike stays with me. Spike needs papers to enter the country, so...”

“We can provide them. But you know how long it takes to get passports and visas, especially when the backup documentation itself has to be made up out of whole cloth. It could take several months.”

“Really.” Buffy thought wryly that Willow could cook them up and poof them over in no time at all. But she didn’t mention that because she didn’t trust anything that Giles could come up with not to have some kind of sting to it, even if it was Willow handling the matter. Willow in all good faith might not recognize some minor but critical error in the documents given to her as an example and that error could end up in Spike being tossed into a holding cell with a window that just happened to let sunlight in.

It was painful to distrust Giles, but she hadn’t had confidence in him since that time he and Robin Wood had conspired together to dust Spike.

“The time factor is why I’d like you to leave Spike with Angel,” Giles was saying. “We need you here.”

“It’s both or neither.”

“You can’t stay in the States for months! There’s too much work to be done!”

“Plenty of work here too, Giles. Faith might like help with the Cleveland hellmouth. Or we could go get the New York base set up properly. I understand that’s having a few problems. Or Spike and I could wander around being rogue demon hunters like Wesley used to be.”

She smiled at the long silence that followed.

“You’re giving me an ultimatum, aren’t you?” Giles said at last. “Either Spike is accepted under the Council umbrella or you leave it.”

“I knew you’d catch on. I’ve always had faith in your intelligence.”

“You leave me no choice.”

Which could mean anything. Her lips tightened.

“In or out, Giles.”

There was another long silence. Then he said reluctantly, “In.”

“Your word?”

“Yes.” Then with bitterness, “All this for Spike.”

“He’s owed that,” she said harshly and heard the little, sharp breath of surprise he took.

Giles hadn’t been down in the caverns when Spike destroyed the Turok-Han and defeated the First. Spike’s sacrifice wasn’t real to him because he hadn’t seen it for himself. But he had been told about it by all those who survived. He had no excuse for dismissing it. The reminder was needed and maybe would make him think a little.

“I’ll take care of Spike’s papers on this end. I’ve got contacts and Angel will help of course.”

“Yes, of course,” said Giles at once. “Angel will help.”

“Angel will?” said Spike once she had hung up. “More likely throw a spanner in the works.”

“Agreed. That was just to get Giles off my back.” She frowned. Giles had been anti-Angel ever since Angel took over Wolfram and Hart, but now he seemed to be the good guy in Giles’ eyes. Which meant that Giles saw Spike as far more of a threat than Angel. “I don’t like the way things are shaping up.”

“Should be interesting,” said Spike dryly. “Sure you want me around, pet?”

“Yes. I trust you more than I trust them,” she said bitterly and saw his eyes widen.

“They mean well,” he said gently.

“They always do. But it doesn’t end up that way for me.” Looking back, she could see that Angel and Giles had caused her far more damage than Spike ever had at his worst. Spike had only tried to kill her. Angel and Giles had twisted her whole life. “Don’t leave me, Spike.”

He frowned, the creases between his brows deepening. “I won’t.”

“Don’t let anyone talk you into thinking that leaving me is in my best interests. They’ll try. When they can’t get anywhere with me, they’ll start on you. Don’t let them snow you.”

“No.”

“Let me decide what’s for my own good.”

“That works both ways, you know,” he said quietly. “Don’t you start doing things for my good. I like that even less than you do, luv.”

She met his level gaze and smiled a little crookedly. “Deal. Cards on the table between us.”

“Fair enough.”

“Once the sun goes down, we’ll look into getting you those papers. I’ll go make a few inquiries right now. Will you be okay alone here for a while?”

“Yeah, I’ll watch the box, get some kip. Won’t go walkies, if that’s what you’re worrying about, pet. I do understand about the sun.”

He was laughing at her. She shook her head at herself. There was absolutely no need to get all over-protective about him. He had always been one of the most dangerous vamps around. But she couldn’t help it. Without his memory, he was vulnerable and, after having lost him once, she was reluctant to let him out of her sight even for an instant. She knew it was silly, but couldn’t suppress the reaction.

“Sorry,” she said wryly and he grinned at her.

“‘S cute, you worrying like that.”

“Yeah, right,” she muttered ruefully and headed out.

L.A. had several covens of Wicca. Buffy wanted one that had power but no ties to the Council. During the last few months tracking down SITs, she had made contacts she had never needed in Sunnydale. In not time she had the name of the head of the most powerful uncommitted coven.

“Come on over,” said Bronwen Evans when Buffy called her. “Slayers are always welcome.”

Bronwen turned out to be a tall, dark beauty with green cat-eyes under heavy lids that curved so that she looked as if she were always smiling. She moved like a languid, slumberous cat too so that, if one weren’t careful, one would miss the cool intelligence behind her lazy eyes.

“And what would the Slayer want with our coven?” she asked once the formalities were over and they were both sitting down over a cup of coffee.

“I need a favor. I need papers to get a vamp into England.”

Bronwen’s brows rose. “A vamp? I’ve heard of only two vamps with...friendly connections to the Slayer. But Spike no longer exists and Angel presumably has his papers already through Wolfram and Hart.”

“Spike exists. He’s come back.” Buffy explained what had happened. “I’d like to get him over to England with me. Giles wants me there and Willow can help with his memory loss.”

“Why doesn’t your Council provide the papers?”

“Giles says it will take months,” Buffy said dryly.

“I...see.” Bronwen looked amused. “I sense a division forming. Is that why you contacted our coven rather than one of the others?”

“Yes,” said Buffy straight out. “I heard that your coven has chosen not to align itself with the Council.”

“Your new Council has ambitions. It wants to create a network of all the Wicca across the globe. A laudable goal and many of the covens have chosen to join. We however prefer our autonomy.”

“I’m beginning to understand why.”

“I have never liked being told what to do and neither do the members of our coven. Paternalistic papal ambitions don’t sit well with us and neither does the pressure that is now being brought to bear to bring people into the fold.”

Buffy sucked in a sharp breath. “Is it becoming that bad?”

“It’s not at the witch hunt stage, but it’s getting there.”

“I wasn’t aware...” Buffy bit her lip. “I’ve been existing in a kind of limbo, not aware of anything outside my necessary duties.”

“That kind of narrow focus was understandable when you were the only Slayer. But now there are several hundred. Politics becomes inevitable in the new situation. There is always a balancing line between rule and anarchy, control and freedom. A loose confederacy with each member of the association having the ability to make their own choices is acceptable. Heavy-handed, repressive authority is not. Why did you come to us rather than one of the Council-associated covens? What does that say about your Council?”

They looked at each other grimly.

“Autonomy is preferable to servitude, however benevolent,” said Bronwen. “Those of us who wish to remain free are not being heard. We have no voice. Will you be that voice?”

“Yes, I will,” said Buffy and Bronwen let out a little breath of relief.

“Good. About those papers, if you bring Spike around after sunset, I can look into getting them for you.”

“Are his papers contingent upon my taking your side in this debate? Because I too have to be free to make my own decisions.”

Bronwen shook her head firmly. “The papers are a gift. Not for you, but for Spike. What he did in the Hellmouth was for all of us, for the world. The fact that he didn’t do it for us makes no difference. The result still is that we are in his debt.”

Both Giles and Angel had chosen not to see or admit that. Bronwen saw. Buffy was beginning to get more and more uneasy about the two of them.

Spike was napping when she got back to the house, sprawled across the bed in his room, fully clothed except for his Docs. She leaned her shoulder against the doorjamb and just watched him for a while as he slept, unaware of her gaze and relaxed. She had never done so before, never really allowed herself to see him as he was, without all those labels fixed upon him—Scourge of Europe, killer, no soul. Her gaze lingered on that quiet, sleeping face now, seeing its beauty, seeing the potential she had violently rejected before.

He had changed for her. Changed his very nature. Fought for that soul that would prevent him from ever harming her again, uncaring of the anguish and the guilt that soul would force upon him or that his demonic nature would be painfully lacerated by it. She had never really seen what he had gone through, never really even acknowledged that soul in him.

It would be so cruel if, after all he had gone through for it, that soul was lost now, taken away by the amulet. She didn’t care whether he still had it or not, but it was unfair that such a magnificent achievement should all have been for nothing. But even if the soul were still there, that potential in him for good was still just that: potential. His memory loss put it in doubt. He could go either way now, go back to the dark side, everything he had learned over the last several painful years wiped away. And she couldn’t even mourn that, because it was better for him if he never remembered those lost years.

She had been so blind. She had breezed through the last seven years being the Slayer, killing demons and averting apocalypses and never seeing that the world around her was being shaped by everyone except herself. That she had never been in control of it, had only reacted unthinkingly to it, permitting herself to be shoved this way and that by outside pressures, blindly accepting the world rather than affecting it.

Giles and Angel had shaped her world. And in doing that, they had shaped her. And they were still doing it. She didn’t like the world that they had shaped. Or the one that they were presently shaping.

She went and napped a couple of hours herself to make a reasonable compromise between her own body clock and Spike’s nocturnal one. In London, they might have to adjust that, but this way they were both wide awake and energetic when dusk fell and they could make their way to Bronwen’s house.

Bronwen’s eyes went even more languorous and catlike when she saw Spike and, with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Buffy watched Spike’s eyes light with appreciation when he saw Bronwen. The two of them started a lazy flirtation as they discussed what documentation Spike would need and what name to put on it since Spike couldn’t remember his own. Neither of them was serious and it was all just enjoyable fun, but Buffy could see a time coming when Spike, sensual and with a strong sexual drive, would pick up on the offers that would certainly be made.

She didn’t know how she would be able to stand to see that or to know that he was sleeping with someone else. A cold shard of ice stabbed her heart at the thought. But she would have to get used to that, because it was either seeing Spike with other women or not seeing Spike at all, which might so easily happen if he chose to take off on his own. She’d rather he be around, however hurtful it was. Now she knew what he must have felt like about Angel and Riley and she deserved to be feeling like this, all sick with jealousy and despair. Payback time.

“Let’s go all the way, look you,” Bronwen was saying. “The whole enchilada, birth certificate, driver’s licence, social security, passport, everything once and for all, with a set for both the States and Britain. If we’re going to fake this, let’s go the distance.”

“Like the way you think, pet,” said Spike and Buffy bit her lip. Spike called every female ‘pet’, but previously that purring, provocative sound behind it had been reserved only for her, she realized, now that she heard it turned on Bronwen.

Bronwen brought out a digital camera and a couple of sheets of paper. “I need some pictures and a few signatures.”

“Wrong kind of camera,” Spike objected and Bronwen smiled.

“Oh, I know. This is just to give me a template. I won’t be using the actual pictures, just the images. Does it bother you to have your picture taken?” Bronwen gave him a teasing glance. “Or do you think the camera will steal your soul, like some of the primitive tribesmen believe?”

Spike tilted an amused eyebrow at her. “Buffy and I were already fooling around with her camera. Besides, vamp here. Who knows if I have a soul? That’s another thing that might have gone bye-bye with that amulet.”

Bronwen blinked. “You mean you did have a soul?”

“Slayer says so.”

“He got one about a year ago,” Buffy explained.

“Extraordinary!” Bronwen’s eyes were wide. “Why?”

“For her,” shrugged Spike and Bronwen’s gaze rested thoughtfully on Buffy’s averted face.

“I see. I didn’t think such a thing was possible. How was it done?”

“No idea. No memory.”

“He didn’t tell me much about it,” said Buffy, looking down at her tightly clasped hands. “But he went through some difficult trials with this demon in Africa. It would really be unfair if, after all of that, he’s lost it because of that amulet.”

“Would you like me to find out?”

“Can you?”

“Oh, yes. Let me just get these pictures first.”

“It would take some of the heat off him if Giles and Angel know he still has a soul. They couldn’t use the excuse that he’s soulless to dust him.”

“Would they?” asked Bronwen, snapping away with her camera. “Don’t smile, Spike. Passport people don’t like smiles.”

“Couldn’t help it. Know the poof would like to see me dusted. Getting the idea the Watcher would too.”

“Is that the way of it then?” Bronwen’s gaze met Buffy’s. “It seems you may have a lot of things to mull over.”

Buffy sighed. “Looks like.”

Bronwen put away the camera and the sheets of paper on which Spike had scrawled his new signature, then came back with a small wooden box.

“This should work well enough once I’ve adjusted its reading,” she said and murmured a few words over it in a musical language that Buffy thought was Welsh. Then she flipped it open. Inside was a rough white crystal. She held the box out to Spike. “Take it.”

Spike tilted an eyebrow wryly, but picked up the crystal without hesitation. It flashed once in his hand, then turned a clear, bright gold.

Bronwen smiled. “Oh, aye. Soul he still has, no question.”

Buffy sighed with relief. “Good. That gets rid of one excuse they might have used against him.”

And it also explained the way he was acting. He wasn’t that lethal, dangerous Spike who had first arrived in Sunnydale. The humanity and vulnerability in him now should have told her he still had his soul.

Bronwen was watching her thoughtfully. “You didn’t care either way.”

“No.”

“Unusual for a Slayer.”

There was a tap on the door and Bronwen went to answer it while Spike dropped the crystal back into its little box. There was a murmur of voices, then the sound of more than one set of footsteps and of a door opening and closing as Bronwen ushered her visitors into another room.

Bronwen came back into the living room.

“If you care to wait, I’ll have the papers ready for you in an hour.” Bronwen hesitated a little. “I told a few of the other covens about you. The ones who’ve been bypassed like us. I wonder if you’d care to talk to them. A few of their leaders are here and they’d like to meet with you.”

Buffy nodded. “That’s a good idea. I need to know what’s going on and the more information I have the better.”

“Politics,” said Spike, wrinkling up his nose in distaste. “All that chinwagging. You don’t need me for that. Think I’ll do a pub crawl instead.”

She glanced at him worriedly. Maybe he would just head over to the nearest bar. He had money; she had split what cash she had drawn out of the ATM this afternoon with him. He hadn’t liked taking the cash from her. She had seen the faint contraction of his brows. And she hadn’t liked giving it to him, because who knew what kind of trouble he would get up to with it? But they had both known that he needed the funds should something happen and he had to take cover on his own.

The trouble was he had this reckless glint in his eye. He looked like he was planning something and one never knew how Spike’s plans would work out. But she couldn’t babysit him all the time. He’d never stand for it.

“See you back at the safe house,” he said breezily over his shoulder as he headed for the door.

“Be good,” she muttered, reluctant to let him out of her sight.

“Never.” He smirked at her. “But I will be careful.”

Which was definitely not reassuring. But there was no help for it with Bronwen already ushering Wiccas into the living room.

It wasn’t just a couple of covens, but several. It seemed that word had got around and the heads of every ignored coven on the western seaboard had made a point of arriving to air their grievances. These were all well-intentioned, experienced Wicca and Buffy was appalled that they had been left out of the accounting. She wondered whether Willow was even aware of what was happening, that these people were being deliberately bypassed, or whether she agreed with Giles’ flat refusal to even acknowledge their existence unless they would take his orders.

“We could create a secondary network tied in to you,” Bronwen suggested.

But Buffy was a Slayer, not a witch. For speed of communication, any network needed a Wiccan focus and also Buffy might be busy with slayage when some urgent message needed to be passed on.

“I have to discuss all this with Willow,” Buffy said and everybody nodded.

It was past eleven by the time she got back to the safe house, Spike’s papers safely in hand and looking completely credible. Bronwen had done a great job.

Spike was not there, which was no surprise at all. She couldn’t even go look for him. L.A. was a sprawling city and he could be anywhere at all. She hadn’t picked up his signature at any of the bars she had passed near Bronwen’s place on her way home. He had probably grabbed a cab to somewhere only he knew about and was now having whatever he considered was fun, which, knowing him, was anything from booze to broads to gambling.

By midnight she was pacing the living room, unable to settle and getting more and more worried and angry as the hours wore on.

It was past three a.m. when the lock clicked and Spike came sauntering in.

“Where the hell have you been?” she yelled at him.

“Out.”

His lip was split, his face bruised and, from the way he was holding himself, the rest of his body hidden under his clothes had also taken some damage. He’d been in some kind of major fight.

“Just look at you! You’re all beat up! Geez, can’t I trust you to stay out of trouble even for a second? Of all the brainless, stupid, irresponsible...!”

She was screaming at him, the words just tumbling out of her, all her terror and anger finding voice.

“Am I your prisoner, Slayer?” he asked suddenly, cutting off the diatribe. “And here I thought I was a free agent.”

The coldness of his voice was like a slap in the face. She caught her breath and stared at him.

He had turned away, not looking at her, his face a cool, remote mask. Withdrawing himself. She suddenly recognized this. Before he had his soul, Spike had always let his emotions show, everything he felt being right out there as always. After he had gained his soul though, that last year, he had closed himself off, never showing what he felt, silently enduring whatever came. That silence had masked pain. She hadn’t seen that then, only realized it later in the long, agonizing nights after he was gone, the loss of him finally making her think.

She was doing it again. Hurting him. But this time he didn’t have to take it. This time there was no memory or love to hold him, make him forgive her as he had always done whenever she lashed out at him. This time he could walk right out of the door, leave forever. She’d never see him again.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry!” She’d never said that to him before and now she meant it desperately. For all the things she’d put him through. “Spike, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s all right.” But there was still that stiffness, that distance.

“No, it’s not. I should never have yelled at you. I was just...” She wiped at the tears suddenly welling up in her eyes. “I was just so scared! I....”

“Hey.” His face suddenly went soft. He came and put his arms around her. “Don’t cry, pet. Really don’t like that. Should have realized you would be worried.”

She leaned against him, her face pressed into the soft cotton of his tee, hands clenched on the leather of his duster. The skin of his neck was cool against her temple. She breathed in his scent, thinking maybe this would be the last time. He was recovering his independence, already finding his feet. He didn’t really need her any more.

“You are a free agent, Spike. You can go anywhere you like. Your papers have come. You can take them and leave.”

“Don’t want to leave,” he said quietly.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did, the way I’m acting.”

His hands cupped her face, lifting it. He smiled down at her, his thumbs lightly brushing away the tears on her lashes.

“Kinda like having someone crying over me. I somehow get the feeling that nobody ever has before.”

Her hands tightened on his upper arms, then jerked away as she felt him flinch involuntarily.

“You’re hurt!”

“Just bruised. It’ll all be gone tomorrow.”

She touched his split lip delicately. “But what happened?”

He grinned lopsidedly at her. “Put that money you gave me to good use. It earned me a whole lot more.”

She stared at the roll of bills he pulled out of his duster pocket. It would have choked a rhino.

“How...?”

“There’s this fight club here in L.A. that only us demons patronize. I remembered it, because it’s not personal maybe. The top prize is nothing to sneeze at and I bet on myself as well.”

“You won that in the ring?”

“Oh, yeah. Last demon standing. Y’know?” He smiled smugly at the roll. “Paid off.”

Buffy had heard of those demon fights; they were vicious. “You could have been killed!”

“Still here. Was worth the risk.” He began to peel off bills. “Half of this belongs to you. Your money gave me my stake. Couldn’t have bought in without it.”

“I’m not taking it! No way!”

He frowned. “Why not? S’not like I hurt anyone but demons for it.”

Yes, but he had hurt himself. She didn’t want to take the money he had earned with his blood and his pain.

But he wouldn’t understand that and might be hurt by her refusal.

“I’ve already got so much in my bank account,” she explained. It was the truth. “I don’t spend half the salary Giles gives me. It’s all just sitting there. You keep it, Spike. It’ll make you independent of whatever Giles might plan for you, let you walk out on him if you have to.”

He thought that over, then nodded abruptly. “Got a point. But I’ve got to pay you back for...”

“Everything I’ve spent on you so far has been on the Council’s account, even the money I drew out of the ATM this afternoon. Only fair that they should pick up the tab.”

She smiled nastily and he laughed.

“That Giles bloke is gonna love seeing those charges come up on his monthly statement.”

Buffy grinned at the thought. “And I hope I’m there to see it when he does. Oh, here.”

She handed him the forged identity Bronwen had created.

“She’s good,” he said appreciatively, looking over the various cards and documents. “So do we go to the UK now?”

“Is that okay with you?” She let out a breath of relief when he nodded. “I’ll contact Wolfram and Hart and see if we can get that jet.”

He gave her an amused look. “How much you wanna bet the poofter’s gonna give us trouble about that?”

She stopped short. Would Angel really refuse them the flight? Or worse, would he use Wolfram and Hart resources to have Spike end up in that holding cell with that window that just happened to be open to sunlight?

Surely he wouldn’t! Not Angel. But could she take the risk?



TBC