Crazy Eights
 by Spike’s Heart

the muse for All Roads Lead To Rome seems to have taken a left turn at Albequerque!


Email: spikes_heart@yahoo.com
Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Rating: R to be safe, so far for violence
Setting: BtVS Sometime around Season 5-6, maybe.
Disclaimer: If they were mine, I’d treat them nicer than Joss ever did.
Feedback: Yes, please!
Archive: Ask me, nicely.
Warning: Character rape – not an overly graphic description.
A/N: Spike is not chipped and not souled. Buffy never died. The relationship between Spike and Buffy is friendly in the beginning. Spike NEVER attempted to rape Buffy. Angel and Dru are out of the picture. Don’t even know if there is a Dawn, Glory never existed. Joyce may or may not be deceased. Nobody’s heard of The First. The story is like a game of Crazy Eights with everything wild, and I’ll most definitely change the game rules as I go alone. **grins**
Beta’d by: the lovely willshenillshe, as always
Summary: There’s a new club in town, and things don’t seem kosher.


Crazy Eights - Chapter One – Bleeding Hearts

It was a dark and stormy night. Buffy had to roll her eyes at her own inner monologue. The most hackneyed of all cliché beginnings to the telling of a tale, but it was dark, she reasoned. And stormy, and well, duh… night! Her tired little brain just rambled on and on as she patrolled the back alleys and cemeteries that comprised Sunnydale.

‘Bored, bored, bored’ ran through her mind, in time with the swinging of her arms as she walked alone on her path. As she entered Restfield cemetery - his cemetery, the Slayer realized what had been niggling at the back of her mind for hours. Spike wasn’t with her. She was fairly sure he’d offered to meet her for patrol, as he often did these days. Maybe she was mistaken. Unsure, she headed towards his crypt, to see what was up.

Her goal in sight, she paid no attention to the ground and stumbled when her heel caught in something soft and squishy behind a larger gravestones. At first glance, it appeared to be a large pile of dark, wet rags. As she bent down to investigate, the coppery smell overwhelmed her… blood. Lots and lots of blood, and relatively fresh at that.

Wishing she had a large stick to prod the pile of rags with, Buffy gingerly reached out with her fingers to remove the topmost piece of bloody cloth from the pile. What she saw made her turn her head and heave up the contents of her stomach.

Spike’s platinum blond hair was almost unrecognizable, completely saturated with congealing blood. His left cheekbone had been crushed and he’d been gagged with what looked to be his own red silk button-down. His arms had been tied behind his back with sufficient force to dislocate both shoulders, and his right leg was twisted at an unnatural angle.

Buffy gently pulled up the sodden t-shirt, running her fingertips gently over the vampire’s bruised and mangled torso, from his chest to his pelvis. Nauseous, she ascertained that at least 3 of his ribs had been broken and he’d been stabbed several times for good measure.

As her hands fluttered nervously over his belt, Buffy felt a cold wave of fear form in her belly, and she hesitated. She had no trouble with the idea of a perfunctory exam of Spike’s lower anatomy, but there was no way she was going to expose the unconscious and bloodied vampire further in the indefensible open space of the graveyard. A quick glance at the lightening sky put an added sense of urgency into her movements.

Gazing at Spike, she softly whispered “I’m sorry, so sorry,” over and over again as she hoisted his broken body over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Buffy was grateful for his unconscious state as she practically sprinted towards his crypt; the pain from his broken ribs and limbs would have been devastating.

She edged her way into the crypt, careful not to jostle Spike anymore than she had to. Knowing there was no way to get them both down to the lower level where his bed was, she had to make do with the stone sarcophagus that sometimes served the same purpose.

Grabbing blankets and pillows from the battered sofa, she arranged them as best she could with one available arm, and gently deposited the vampire in the middle of the nest she’d made of the bedding. Mindful of his injured right leg, she’d straightened the limb out as best she could. He’d not made a sound since she tripped over him in the graveyard. Skin mottled with bruises flowering against the almost translucent white, Spike looked well and truly dead.

With fear still coiling in her belly, she knew what had to be done. She had to assess the damage to the rest of Spike’s body. Taking a deep breath to brace herself, Buffy unbuckled his belt, and opened the buttons of his fly. Gently reaching under the comatose vampire, she managed to ease his jeans down to his knees. Swiftly removing his boots, she was able to remove the jeans altogether.

What she saw did nothing to assuage the roiling mess in her stomach. Dark bruises were found on the skin covering each of the vampire’s delicate hip bones. If she looked carefully, separate finger shaped bruised could be discerned. His groin, penis and sac were covered in bloody welts, indicative of a whipping of some sort. Gently rocking his body, Buffy found similar welting patterned over his entire back, worsening in intensity towards his buttocks. Oozing blood was suggestive of intimate damage, and the Slayer knew she had to get him cleaned up, and then fed.

There was no bathroom to speak of, since Spike had no use for an actual working toilet, but he had jerry-rigged a running shower. Fresh water and towels would aid immeasurably in the cleanup. The petite blonde Slayer placed her supplies next to the sarcophagus and rummaged around the crypt until she came across Spike’s actual first aid kit. Lots of fresh bandages and gauze, some needles and thread – it wasn’t pretty, but it would suffice, aided by vampire healing.

She set about her task with the air of someone who’d spent far too much time around battlefield injuries. Placing a towel under his head to catch the excess, Buffy poured the warm liquid through the injured vampire’s bloody hair, gently sluicing away the blood and gore, and trying to assess the damage to his skull. She’d found a nasty gash – probably the one responsible for all the blood in the first place. While the wound still oozed, it was well on its way to closing with no intervention necessary.

Running a clean towel lightly over his face, skimming the shattered cheekbone and torn lips, Buffy cried. To see such a beautiful face so damaged broke her heart. Spike may have been a pain in her ass, but she couldn’t imagine what he’d done to deserve a beating this severe. She also didn’t like thinking about who or what could possibly have overpowered him – more than likely a whole bunch of someones or somethings. Not that she’d want to, but if Spike needed putting down, a simple stake through the heart would suffice. Gratuitous torture was not her thing.

She knew his dislocated shoulders would need to be popped back into place, but they would wait until the blond’s ribs healed enough for him to sit up on his own. Taking care not to jostle his torso more than necessary, Buffy had to cut the black t-shirt apart in order to remove it.

Gods, she thought. There was so much bruising, he looked like he was wearing a tie-dyed shirt. A few soft swipes of the towel revealed three deep stab wounds that required stitching. With a shaky hand, the nervous Slayer stitched the wounds closed, with nary a peep nor twitch from the patient.

“Saved the best - worst for last,” she mumbled. Replacing the cold water with warm, she swiftly washed his genitals, wincing at the slightly oozing welts. She rolled Spike gently onto his side and wiped down his back. Gently prising his cheeks apart, she delicately cleansed the damage there. The bleeding had stopped, which she took as a good sign.

Buffy shook her head in disbelief. “If someone had told me a week ago that I would be playing Nurse Buffy and stitching up injured vampires, I’d have laughed in their face,” she thought. “If Spike told me that I’d be playing Nurse Buffy, I’d have smacked him across his smirky face. Now, I just wish he’d open those baby blues and say something about finally getting my hands on his ass.”

Sighing deeply, she resettled the still unconscious vampire onto his back and tucked the comforter around him. It wouldn’t do much for warmth, but it would be a soft barrier between him and the rest of the world.

The tired Slayer walked to Spike’s fridge in search of blood. The only way he was going to heal would be if he fed. He’d certainly lost more than a fair amount of blood due to his wounds. Finding a handful of containers, she placed two in the microwave that her mother had gifted him with last Christmas and pushed the button marked with red nail polish to read “Blood.”

She found a straw, and not bothering with a mug, brought the containers over to the sarcophagus. Settling in behind Spike, cradling his head against her chest, she raised the container to his face.

“C’mon, Spike. Wakey wakey! Chow time. Lots of nummy blood to make you grow big and strong,” she cajoled, to no effect. Dipping her finger into the viscous fluid, she swiped it gently against his lips and tried again. “Please, Spike. You’ve got to snap out of it. If you don’t eat, you won’t heal. You’ve got to get better, and tell me what happened. I think I really need to put some hurting on whatever did this to you.”

Just as she was about to give up, she felt his lips twitch slightly. Encouraged, she re-dipped her finger into the blood, and tried again. No doubt about it, this time he swiped his tongue around her finger, swallowing the blood. Dipping one end of the straw into the blood, she reversed the straw again, and placed it against the vampire’s lips. He suckled the life-giving fluid noisily through the straw, and groaned in disappointment when the container was emptied.

“You want more, ya big baby?” Buffy teased. Taking his grunt for an affirmative, she placed the straw in the second container, and held it for him. He finished that container in record time and settled back into his nest of blankets, the effort to feed taking all of strength.

“That’s all right, Spike. You sleep and feel better. We’ll talk when you wake up,” she murmured.

Suddenly overcome with exhaustion, Buffy settled herself onto the sarcophagus facing the now peacefully sleeping vampire, and fell asleep.


Crazy Eights – Chapter Two - A Fistful of Diamonds

Buffy awoke slowly with the realization that she was unable to move. Wriggling in her restraints, she realized exactly where she was and how she was immobilized. Somehow, in the middle of the night, Spike had awoken, spooned up behind her and gathered her into his arms. Gently disengaging herself from his grasp, she eased off the sarcophagus to check on her patient.

Her first glimpse was gratifying. Some of the bruising and swelling on the vampire’s face had gone down and his cheekbone seemed to be rebuilding itself. His face bore a grimace of pain, however, and Buffy realized it must be his dislocated shoulders causing the discomfort. The time had come to definitely do something about resetting them.

Running her fingers through the riot of curls on the sleeping vampire’s head, she said: “Spike, you need to wake up. We’ve got to do something about your shoulders. There’s no way you can be comfortable lying on them.”

With a groggy “Bloody hell,” Spike attempted to sit up, and was unable to do so. “Lend a hand ‘ere, pet. Seem to be havin’ some difficulties in getting upright.”

Buffy snaked her arm around his thin waist, and helped to push him upright into a sitting position. “Gods, Spike. What the hell happened to you? If I hadn’t’ve tripped over you last night, you’d’ve dusted in the sun, or else have bled to dust. What did you do to piss someone off so badly?” she asked, sympathy coloring the words that were harsher than she’d meant.

“Don’t rightly remember much, luv. Went to a new club for a few games of poker to pass the time. Must’ve won more than they wanted to pay out.” He groaned, trying to stretch out his back. “D’ya think you could help me reset the shoulders? Not quite able t’do myself with both of ‘em out.”

One after the other, Buffy raised his arms, pulling them out slightly to realign the ligaments, and then pushed forward with all her weight behind her, to push the shoulder back into it’s socket.

“Bloody, buggering FUCK!”

Gingerly testing out the function of his arms, Spike rolled his shoulders and twisted his torso from side to side. “Better, luv. Thanks for the pain and suffering.”

“I’m really sorry for hurting you, Spike – there was just no… “

Cutting off her apology, Spike said, “No worries. Been through worse in the day. Might linger for a bit, but give me a day or so and I’ll be right as rain. Can do me a favor, pet – if you’ve a mind.”

“Sure, if it can wait until after I stop off at home, first. I’ve got to let Mom know I’m still alive. You know she’s still not thrilled with the Slaying gig, especially when I stay out all night”

“No worries, pet. Just want you to find my duster, if you can. Don’t see it in around the crypt, and I doubt you threw it downstairs,” he sighed. “I get that it’s not your favorite piece of m’wardrobe, knowing how I came across it, but I’ve had it near thirty years. S’more of an homage these days, than a trophy piece.”

Heading towards the door, Buffy turned and said, “Doesn’t matter, Spike. It’s a coat. If someone or something hasn’t stolen it I’ll bring it back. Dunno if you’re up for it, but do you think you’re steady enough to get downstairs and shower?”

Flexing his right leg, Spike grimaced. “Leg’s a mite tender. If I remember right, the buggers broke it with a baseball bat. Feels like you set it good and proper, though. Think I’ll give the shower a go. See you later, Slayer, and thanks for – well, everything.”

“Later, Spike,” Buffy said, smiling fondly. “I’ll pick you up some human blood from Willy’s to help the healing along.”

Waving her out the door, Spike attempted to stand – and realized for the first time he’d been conversing with the girl whilst starkers. And it hadn’t phased her one bit. Looking down at his Technicolor body, he noticed the sets of stitches and remembered. Three stab wounds.

He tried to catalogue his injuries; to remember what happened. Bat to the head and face - healing, broken leg and dislocated shoulders – reset and also healing. Busted ribs – aching, but healing – all good so far. Running his fingers over the knife wounds, he realized he’d be able to remove the stitches the next day. Quite the little seamstress, Buffy was. He also remembered her forcing him to eat a couple of containers of blood, which had gone a far way towards healing his injuries.

He’d made it down to the lower level of the crypt without much trouble when the waves of nausea hit. There was more – much more, to the injuries he’d received. He’d felt it when he climbed down the ladder. His bits and pieces… bruised beyond all recognition – remembered them being grabbed and twisted near to being torn off. His stomach lurched as he recalled trying to fight when he realized what they were after - being held down by four men as he was ripped into and buggered dry by the rest of the pack.

And Buffy had seen it all. She knew what had been done to him, and …

Vomiting up whatever remained in his stomach, and sobbing wildly, he stumbled into the shower and turned the water on as hot as it would go. Stepping under the burning hot spray, he never heard Buffy re-enter the crypt.

“Spike? You downstairs?” she called out. Hearing the shower running, Buffy deposited the duster she’d found on the couch, and climbed down to the lower level, calling out his name again.

Getting no response, she approached the shower cautiously. “Spike, you in there?” Hearing sobbing but no reply, the blonde pulled open the curtain and found the distraught vampire huddled against the wall, hot water cascading unnoticed over his pinkening skin.

Buffy turned off the steaming water, wrapped a towel around Spike’s waist, and led him to the bed. He’d tried to push her away, sick with shame. Instead, she held on tightly, whispering words of comfort, making shushing sounds and crooning softly to him, gentling him as best she could.

Settling him under the covers, she said, “Spike, it’s over. It’s gonna be okay, I promise. It’s not your fault.”

Looking up at her with the most wretched expression she had ever seen, he whispered, “But you saw… what they did to me. You touched me – their filth…” he broke off abruptly, unable to continue.

Buffy sidled into bed, next to the overcome vampire, and just hugged him tightly to her. “Nothing’s changed, Spike. All I did was clean you up. Had to make sure you were okay. I’d have done the same for any of the Scoobies. You’re no different – well, except for the being a vampire thing.”

Pulling back a little, she placed her hands under his chin and tilted his face upwards so he could see her. “We’ve got history, Spike. You may be a pain in the ass, but you’re my pain in the ass. Nobody does this to someone I care about. We’ll find out what’s behind all of this, I swear it.”

Feeling him relax somewhat, she pulled something out of her pocket.

“One more thing if you can – before you go back to sleep. When I found your duster, there were cards scattered all around the area. All of them diamonds. Do you have any idea what they mean?”

Taking a deep, unneeded breath Spike answered in a shaky voice. “I took a deck from that club I told you about – The Crazy Eights – as a souvenir. I guess they took exception to me lifting it, and when they were done with me, the bastards threw those cards at me. I think they took back the deck I had. Don’t rightly remember.”

As she watched him slip quietly into slumber, Buffy covered him gently with his blanket. She climbed up the ladder, and closed the vault door behind her. There was something seriously wrong, and she’d have to look into it.

She took off for the Magic Box, to see if Giles or any of the Scoobies had heard of this mysterious Crazy Eights place.

New chapter in which Buffy tries to find some information, and checks out a healing Spike.


Crazy Eights – Chapter Three – Game of Spades

The little bell over the door of The Magic Box announced Buffy’s arrival. Quickly scanning the room, she located her Watcher behind the counter, sorting out the day’s receipts.

“Hey, Giles. Where’re all the happy helpful today? Something came up that calls for a meeting of the Scooby kind.”

Looking up from his paperwork, Rupert Giles cast a concerned look in his Slayer’s direction. “What’s happened, Buffy? Have you come across some new demon we should know about?”

“Not a new demon, actually. An old one, or more accurately, a familiar one. It’s Spike. I ran into him last…”

Cutting her off mid-sentence, Giles face held a look of utter disdain. “How many times to I have to tell you, Buffy… that it’s not a good idea to ‘hang out’ as you say, with that bleached menace? Just because he’s not actively seeking to end your life like he did…”

This time it was Buffy’s turn to interrupt. “Stop with the same old party line already. Giles – you’ve got to actually hear what I’m saying. Whether you approve of me spending time with Spike is not the issue. What’s important here is that when I said I ran into Spike last night – it was in that literal kinda way. Stuck my foot into a bloody puddle of vampire. He’d been attacked.”

“And this should concern us in what way, Buffy,” the irate Watcher said. “He’s a vampire. If he gets into a scrape with another demon, he’ll either heal or dust – thereby becoming one less problem for you.”

Taking a deep breath to keep her temper in check, the angered young woman said, “You’re supposed to be working with me, Giles. As my Watcher. If I tell you that a vampire is watching my back on a nightly basis and I’ve come to trust in him to do so – maybe you need to accept that. Working with the helpful vampire is a lot smarter than taking away a piece of my support system.

“Spike said it, himself. A Slayer with family and friends is not of the normal. But it is - for me. I depend on you guys to back me up. Having to worry about you fighting each other, as well as the demons and other night-bumpy things is not helpful.

“I’m trying to tell you that Spike was attacked. Brought down and beaten to within an inch of his unlife. You’re always telling me what an evil predator he is – strong and cunning enough to last over 120 years. So riddle me this – what can be strong enough or organized enough to take a Master Vampire out? And shouldn’t we worry about what that means for the rest of us?”

“All right, all right, Buffy. I’ll try and restrain myself from denigrating Spike out of hand unless it’s warranted,” he qualified.

“One question – were you at Spike’s crypt all evening? Your mother called, frantic with worry.”

“Yeah, I was there. He was really bad, Giles. I didn’t feel right leaving him unprotected overnight. He was so damaged.

“I did go home to let Mom know I was fine, and where I’d be. She’s got a soft spot where Spike is concerned,” she snickered. “Must be something in the Summers gene pool.”

“If you’re done singing the praises of the vampire admiration society, I assume you have an actual reason for coming here,” said the exasperated Watcher.

“Right – here’s the sitch: when I went looking for Spike’s duster, I found it and the surrounding area covered in playing cards. They were all the same suit – diamonds. When I asked him about the cards, he told me he had been to some new place called The Crazy Eights.

“He said he’d played poker and won pretty big, and that they weren’t all that keen on paying out his winnings. Oh! Spike said he swiped a deck of cards to keep as a souvenir, and he thinks that’s why they beat him up.”

Perplexed, Giles asked, “Why would they come after a patron for a deck of cards? Most bars or clubs have them as toss-aways – advertising for their establishment. And yet you say there were loose cards tossed on the ground?”

“That’s the odd thing,” said Buffy. “He said when they were done beating him, they tossed the cards. But they weren’t the ones he stole. They’d obviously taken that deck back.

“I think I’m gonna go back to the crypt, and see how Spike’s doing. Maybe he’ll have remembered something else about last night, like the location of this place. Just do me a favor – if you see any of the gang, ask if they’ve heard of The Crazy Eights.”

“All right, Buffy. Just be careful. Whoever attacked Spike might still be around.” No need to see her out, Giles was already immersed in his paperwork.

With her Watcher’s last words repeating in her ears, Buffy felt decidedly uneasy, and quickened her pace to the crypt.

Being cautious, she entered silently and looked around the upper level for signs of intruders. Seeing nothing awry, she climbed down to the lower level. Buffy let out a small sigh of relief upon seeing Spike asleep in his bed.

He’d obviously felt well enough to flip over on his belly. Sprawled out like a starfish, a thin sheet covering his backside, Buffy could see the welts had mostly healed and bruises had lightened, considerably. His position spoke volumes to her. Leg, ribs, belly, shoulders and cheekbone had healed enough that movement didn’t jerk him awake with pain. All of the good.

Instead of flopping down on the bed beside him after what he’d been through – she thought it only wise to let him know she was there. Softly she called to him.

“Spike, can you wake up? I need to speak with you.”

Several incoherent words mumbled into his pillow and one vertebrae cracking stretch later, the sleepy vampire rolled over onto his side, his sheet slipping dangerously low on his hips. His not quite so badly bruised hips, Buffy noticed, cheeks flushing.

“C’mere, pet.” Patting the mattress beside him, he motioned for her to sit. “Won’t bite unless you ask, real nice.”

Buffy stood, rooted to the spot. Good grief, she thought. Wonder if he has a clue as to what he looks like waking up. Tousled curls freed from the lacquer he uses to tame them, heavy-lidded eyes, pretty pink lips – and that damned, traitorous sheet. She could swear it was moving lower all the time. She stubbornly stifled the urge to wipe the drool that must be forming at the corners of her mouth.

Noting the Slayer’s hesitation, Spike frowned. Was he that damaged that she couldn’t believe what she was looking at? Did she feel he was contaminated by that filth and not worthy of her presence? He lowered his head, trying to diffuse the tension in the room.

“S’okay, luv. You don’t ‘ave to sit near me. M’all better now.” He reached for the sheet, pulling it around his body, and made to lie down again, his heart aching from what he deemed to be her rejection.

The movement of the sheet registered and snapped Buffy out of her daze. Rushing forward to sit on the bed, she gently gripped the upset vampire’s shoulders, careful not to cause him any undue pain.

“Oh god, Spike – no. I don’t have a problem with you – in fact, it’s quite the opposite. Just look at you. I mean, if you could, which you can’t, what with the whole lack of reflection thing.” Buffy knew she was babbling, but she had to make herself clear before he withdrew into himself. “I can’t believe how much better you look this afternoon. The swelling is down in your face, and the bruising on your chest is fading. You look good.

“And before you think I’m just telling you what you want to hear, think about this. When have I ever lied to you? I’ve always called a spade a spade. We certainly argue too much for you to think otherwise. You know I’m not all placatey-Buffy.”

He raised his eyes to meet hers, clearly seeing the truth in her statement. With a small sigh, the very relieved vampire sat up and enfolded the tiny blonde into a soft embrace. Eyes closed, breathing heavily due to the riot of emotions roiling through his slight frame, he murmured, “Thanks, Buffy – for caring enough to… for givin’ a damn about a lousy demon.”

Pulling back slightly from their embrace, she said, “Listen, Spike. I went to The Magic Box to ask Giles if he’s heard of this Crazy Eights place. I only told him you had a really bad run in with some of their enforcers, and he thinks they could still be after you. I’d feel better if you came back to the house with me. Mom’ll be fine with it for a while. We’ve got a spare room we can sun proof for you.”

“Not that I’m not grateful, mind, but I can take care of m’self, pet.”

“I know you can, silly. It’s not that so much as I think I’d just feel better if we worked closely in finding out just what’s the what with this new place. And I don’t have to go looking for you, if you’re already at the house. Please, Spike – if only for a little while.”

“How can I refuse such a beautiful lady?” He smiled, obviously warming to the offer. “Be dark soon, and we can go. ‘Bout time to find out just what’s going on in Sunnyhell.”

Beta'd by the sweet tgray last minute at an ungodly hour! **smooches, pet**

 

Crazy Eights – Chapter Four – The New Club In Town

After throwing a few belongings into his duffel bag, Spike decided it would be a good idea to feed before he left the crypt. While he no longer needed to eat daily at this point in his unlife, the added blood was a big plus in healing his injuries. Warming the two containers he had left in the fridge, he sought out the Slayer.

“Pet, since we don’t know how long I’ll be residin’ at Casa Summers, m’gonna need to make some eating arrangements.”

“We can stop by Willy’s on the way. Does he make deliveries?” A shadow crossed her face as she had a troubling thought. “Spike, can you afford this? I mean, I’ve never given it much thought before – but it’s not like you have a steady income or a vampire trust fund. And I know that Willy does not make with the demon philanthropy.”

He pulled a small roll of cash from a hidden inner pocket in his duster’s lining, rolling it around between his fingers. Cocking his head, he mused, “It’s strange, innit – those blokes went through all the trouble to smash me to bits – to go through m’duster and take back a soddin’ deck of cards, and left the dosh I’d won.”

Buffy said, “I guess that’s the Scooby mystery of the week. Why don’t we get this settled with Mom, and then head over to The Magic Box and see if anyone’s got a clue.”

Embarrassed to have to bring the situation to her attention, the vampire mumbled, “Not sure this is the best course to take, Buffy. Your mates don’t like me. They hate the fact that we spend any time together, and they damned well resent the fact that we patrol together – that you trust me enough to watch your back.

“Truth be told, no way I can deal with them finding out what’s been done to me. The witches might have a sympathetic moment, but Harris? He’ll not let me move past this. Can hear the whelp now,” he mocked. “Always knew you were a bitch, Fangface. Moved on from sniffing after the Slayer?”

Buffy stood by, watching the agitated vampire kick at the ground, attempting to curb his growing distress. From what she’d recalled from her Psychology textbook, victims of sexual abuse often had issues with self esteem and helplessness that manifested themselves in bursts of anger.

With his reputation as one quarter of the Scourge of Europe, Spike’s helplessness at the hands of his captors must have been devastating to him. The best thing she could do for him was to let him vent. He’d come to her when he was ready.

“Bloody hell, Slayer – I can’t do this. S’not like I haven’t had worse done in my time; vamps and other demons right near to killed me on a steady basis when I was a fledge.

“I’ve been a predator for more’n a hundred and twenty years. These bastards were humans, my prey. Only ‘bout a dozen of ‘em fucked me into the ground. How’m I s’posed to bare my secrets to the kiddie brigade and s’pect them to help me?” he pleaded, head bowed low in a gesture of defeat.

Buffy shook her head. “They wouldn’t have to know what happened, Spike. It’s none of their business. And showing up bruised or bloody has always been a badge of honor for you. Especially in their eyes.

“They know what it’s like to be outnumbered and overmatched. Every time they go out patrolling, they run the same risk coming face to face with even one vampire. You faced a dozen men and unlived to tell the tale. There is nothing to be ashamed of.”

Spike stared wordlessly into Buffy’s hazel eyes, as if searching for something. Exhausted and shaken after his outburst, the emotionally spent vampire leaned in closer, his lips brushing hers in just the barest hint of a kiss.

Buffy raised her fingers to her lips. As if in a daze, she walked slowly to stand in front of Spike, raised her hands to his face, gently cupping his cheeks – and pulled him down until their lips met and melded in gentle passion.

With a gasp of surprise, the stunned vampire’s lips parted, allowing Buffy’s tongue entrance. Their tongues slid softly against each other, just testing and tasting, exploring and enjoying the delightful sensations of the experience.

When they parted, they wore mirrored expressions of surprised awe, and a tenderness neither had experienced in regards to the other.

Flustered, Buffy was the first to break the spell. “Oh god… I’m sorry, Spike. Honestly, I just don’t know…”

“Don’t say it, Slayer. Don’t apologize for kissing me unless you’re bloody well sorry it happened...” No longer stunned, his expression was rapidly turning to one of hurt and anger, his arms wrapping around his body as if to protect himself from the forthcoming rejection.

“I’m not sorry that it happened, Spike. Surprised is all. I mean, we’re been friends for a while – what with the neither of us wanting to kill each other. And obviously we care enough about each other to want to protect and defend. We’ve never really touched each other outside of sparring and a hug or two for comfort.”

Looking a bit discomfited, she continued. “The kiss was… well, hello aggresso-Buffy. I think that’s what’s bothering me. I usually don’t just force myself on anyone, and here I was – just macking on you without even knowing if you’d…”

“Ah, luv,” he interrupted. “Not complaining here, just surprised is all. P’raps it would be better to see where this could lead after we’ve sussed out what’s happening. Wouldn’t be so – distracted. Would love to pay much closer attention to you.” His velvety rich baritone a honeyed purr, his scarred eyebrow lifted in a suggestive manner.

Teetering on the edge of suddenly wanting to slowly divest the yummy vampire of all his clothes and climb on board, and the need to get back home, Buffy reluctantly agreed.

“Yeah, it’s probably a good idea for us to get moving now. Mom’s expecting us both and I don’t want her to worry more than she normally does.”

Retrieving his duffel bag, the vampire and Slayer left the crypt.

The walk back to Revello Drive was uneventful; their pace slower than usual due to Spike’s slight limp from his healing leg and residual soreness from his other injuries.

They were greeted at the door by Joyce. “Hello, Spike. Welcome to our home.”

The invitation – freely offered with no hesitation, even though it was unneeded for several years at that point – warmed the vampire’s unbeating heart. Outside of the axe incident during Parent’s Night at Sunnydale High School, he and Joyce got on well.

Even before Spike had formed an alliance with the Slayer, her mother always made time for him. She’d listened to him pour out his heart over Drusilla’s betrayal and abandonment. They’d shared an interest in art and sculpture, discussing her work at the Gallery.

In fact, it was over a shared cuppa that Buffy came to accept him into her life. She’d come home after a night at the Bronze, and found him and her mother deep in discussion over a tome of Shakespearean Sonnets. Said she was studying the Sonnets with a Professor Okati, and joined the discussion, then asked Spike if he’d patrol with her. The beginning of… whatever it was they shared. An understanding, companionship… trust.

A slight nudge from behind told him he’d been caught out daydreaming, and he offered his thanks as he walked into the house.

“I’ve set up the spare room for you, Spike. Found some blackout shades and heavy curtains that will keep the sun from being an issue for you. Do you need anything?” Joyce asked, concern showing in her expression.

“M’fine, Joyce. Your daughter makes a right decent nurse, but thanks for askin’.”

“I’m going back to the Gallery this evening for inventory. I know you have to investigate what happened to Spike, but I want you to make sure you’re both careful. I have a really bad feeling about this.” Saying her goodbyes, she left for the evening.

As soon as the door closed behind her mother, petite blonde turned her attention to Spike. “I’m going to call Giles, and see if he’s heard anything about Crazy Eights, or if any of the Scoobies have turned up. Why don’t you settle your stuff into your room, and I’ll see what’s the sitch.”

“S’a good idea, pet. The leg is twinging a bit, so I’m goin’ to lay up. Let me know when it’s time to leave.” He put his bag down next to the bed, removed his Docs, and lay down to rest and wait.

Buffy picked up the phone in her room, and dialed The Magic Box. “Hey Giles. You have any news for me?”

“There’s not too much known about The Crazy Eights, Buffy. Apparently, it’s a new gaming bar that caters to both demons and humans. A couple of steps up from Willy’s.”

After a few moments of silence where the Slayer could hear Giles cleaning his glasses, he continued. “I suppose that Spike hasn’t mentioned exactly where this establishment is located.”

“No, he hasn’t, but I’ve been more concerned with him healing enough to walk than interrogating him up to this point,” she said.

“The Crazy Eights is located in Spike’s old factory. The top floor has been turned into a bar that serves both food and drink, and probably several other substances that don’t bear looking into too closely. It’s the basement that holds the gaming tables, complete with back rooms.

“I spoke with Xander and Willow, and told them you were going to investigate the place. Both are willing to accompany you. As to what you tell them about Spike’s involvement, I leave that to you.”

“Thanks, Giles. I’m not really sure Spike and I are up to a night of Xander-barbs at Spike’s expense. It’s gonna be tough enough with them breathing the same air. I’m gonna go call and see if we can find out what’s the what about this place.

“I’ve got a bad feeling there’s so much more involved than a simple case of vamp beating. I’ll fill you in tomorrow, unless something urgent shows itself. Bye.”

She called Xander, then Willow, and settled back in her bed to await their arrival.

Beta'd by the ever delightful willshenillshe, who makes me better than I am.

 

About an hour after her phone call, the doorbell rang. Buffy roused herself and Spike, and they greeted Xander and Willow at the door.

Walking into the Summers home, the brunet sneered as he passed the vampire. “Losing your touch as the Big Bad, eh Spike? You look like a bunch of hippies ganged up on you and had a tie-dye festival with you as the head t-shirt.”

Before Spike could even open his mouth, a small blonde tornado had his tormenter shoved up against the wall.

“Shut it, Xander. Not one more word out of you,” she fumed. “I asked you here for your help because it’s important – not for you to harass Spike. You don’t like him, that’s your business, but he’s a guest in my home and you don’t get to treat him like garbage.”

“Whoa, Buffster,” he said, holding up his hands in mock-surrender. “What’s with the defending of the fair vampire’s honor routine? It’s not like I said anything that’ll hurt his widdle feelings.”

Releasing her hold on her friend’s shoulders, Buffy glanced surreptitiously over her shoulder at the silent vampire, who was busy looking at a very interesting spot on her carpet, then back to the annoyed man in front of her.

“Words don’t hurt, right? That’s what you’re saying?” she sneered. “Like all those words your father used to spew at you, right? Telling you how worthless you are, and what a waste of space and time and money you are. A drain on your parent’s resources, I think you once said.” Gathering steam, she continued. “Those words couldn’t possibly hurt anyone’s feelings, right?

“I never thought I’d have to say this, but I’m ashamed of you, Xander. You’re as big a bully as your father. There is absolutely no reason for you to keep this animosity up. I know Spike can give as good as he gets, but he’s been trying to let things slide. Can’t you do the same? For everyone’s sake?”

“But he’s a vampire, Buff. An evil, soulless Master Vampire who’d as soon rip our throats out as…”

“Xander, maybe you need to step back and let it go for now,” said Willow. “I mean, Buffy asked us here for a reason. She said it was important so maybe we should all focus on the problem, instead of your personal grudge against Spike.”

Grateful for the redhead’s interruption, Buffy forged ahead. “Thanks, Will. We do have a problem. The reason for Spike’s Technicolor complexion was a smash and bash ambush of about a dozen bouncer types from that new place, The Crazy Eights.”

Turning to Spike, she said, “As for you, my fine fanged friend – why didn’t you tell me this club is located in your old haunt?”

“Dunno, Slayer. S’not like we actually had time to talk about it before. Least we’ll not have trouble finding it.”

“Fine, then. From what Giles told me, this place is edging towards upscale, food and drink - main floor, games and whatever - downstairs and a mixed bag of patrons. Anything else you can recall about the place, Spike? Types of weapons we should be bringing to the party?”

“M’not sure about other entrances, but the main one is a metal detector, manned at all times. Means no blades. Have’ta be stakes all around.”

“Um, Spike?” ventured the nervous Wicca. “Just a thought, but do you think it’s the wisest thing to do? Go back to the place that had you attacked?”

“Probably not, Red. Just can’t let them get away with this. Made no sense to come at me for a soddin’ deck of playing cards, and leave the dosh in my pockets. Something’s up, and it needs lookin’ into.”

Glaring at Xander, he said, “You think you’re gonna be able to control your gob, whelp? Mostly not gonna be able to tell the demons from the humans here… and that hole of yours’ll put the Slayer in danger if it goes off at the wrong time.”

His jaw clenching in an attempt to stay in control, the irate brunet simply nodded.

“Guys, please. Can the pissing match and let’s get this show on the road,” said Buffy as she shepherded them all out of the house.

En route to the factory, the group encounted less than a handful of newly risen fledglings, dirt-stupid and easy stakings. Just enough to have all their senses honed and firing as they approached the building.

Xander grumbled, “This is the hottest place in town? Looks just as run down and boarded up as it always did. You sure you didn’t get hit in the head one time too many, Spike? Remember the wrong place?”

“Such an observant git, Harris. An’ how long did it take you and your lot to realize I had been holed up here? Not to mention how long the Annoying One and his minions were there before me’n Dru showed up.”

“Hey!” exclaimed Buffy, with a playful smack to the vampire’s shoulder. “I resent that, you… you vampire!

“Sorry, pet. You did find me, after all. ‘Course it did take you and Peaches and some serious Slayer dreams, if I recall. Anyway, there is a reason why the factory looks abandoned. Simple reason, right, Red?”

Giving the factory her full attention, Willow felt an odd tingle at the base of her neck – as if she could sense some serious magicks. “Aha! It’s a glamour. Someone’s cast a glamour to make it seem deserted.”

With a playful tap to her nose, Spike said, “Score one for the witch. Done this way to keep out the riff-raff. Entry is granted only when accompanied by a current patron. S’why, Red, I had no choice but to come back here. No way any of you would be allowed in without me. M’stamped for re-entry.”

Holding out his hand for examination, Buffy felt a small raised patch on the back, midway between knuckles and wrist.

“What did they do to you, Spike?” she hissed. “Stick a chip under your skin? Couldn’t they simply issue a card like every other club?” she asked, inexplicably angry at the invasion of his person.

“It’s the best way to avoid counterfeit, luv. Can’t copy what can’t be seen. Can’t lose what’s attached. ‘Course, trouble comes when they revoke your membership,” he said, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “Makes me wonder why I still have m’hand.”

“No way, Buffster. No way I’m getting tagged like a dog. Bet that’s how they found him,” Xander spat.

“What makes you think you’d be offered a membership, you stupid git? You don’t just walk in an’ get accepted. A member has to propose you an’ there’s a screening interview…” Mid-sentence the angered vampire stopped his rant.

“Bloody hell!” he whispered, staggering under the implications running through his mind. “What if the whelp’s got a point? After the interview, they run the paper through a scanner, which pops out the soddin’ re-entry chips. They’re personally coded.”

Willow looked ill. “They track a person – Xander, you made an excellent analogy. It’s just like the chip vets use to track missing pets. But it’s got an added bonus for anyone who knows how to wield magicks. Starting with the glamour, I’d say they have a resident mage or witch.”

She closed her eyes at the scope of trouble the chips could mean. “Personal history and blood samples are what drive most spells and curses. If they cut you to insert that chip, they have the most powerful black magicks ingredient – an individual’s life force.”

Buffy picked up the stunned vampire’s hand, running her fingers over the raised skin. “We’ve got to get this chip out, Spike. No way this can be of the good. Multiply this by the entire chipped clientele of Crazy Eights, and there are far too many people and demons that can be used for very bad things.”

“Right with you there, luv. Just not yet – we have to get into the place, first. Hopefully avoid suspicion. Gonna be a hard sell, what with me bringing the Slayer and her chums in, but we’ll have to give it a go and hope for the best.”

“I can do the observy thing if I don’t get attacked first.” She pouted.

Spike felt his knees go weak at the sight of the petite blonde’s lower lip jutting out. “Oh, pet,” he murmured. “That pout’s gotta be illegal in at least five different countries. You use that as a weapon and you’ll have demons and humans fallin’ at your feet.”

Hazel eyes twinkling, she said, “Aw, Spike – I bet you say that to all the Slayers.”

“Ouch,” yelled Xander, glaring angrily at his best friend. “I wasn’t gonna say anything.” She’d kicked him in the calf, hoping to forestall the fireworks she could see building at the increasingly affectionate banter taking place between the two blonds.

“Yuh huh,” Willow smirked, knowing she’d gotten her point across.

“Okay you guys, it’s time to make our grand entrance. We’re gonna have to follow Spike’s lead here,” Buffy said, staring intently at Xander; daring him to comment.

Taking point, the vampire led them to the door and waved his hand under a small light. The door opened to a small, well lit reception area, where they were greeted by a strikingly attractive woman in an emerald green sequined halter gown. Six feet tall if she was an inch, raven black hair falling in loose ringlets down her bared back and shoulders, black leopard spots dotting her tawny gold skin and a most beautiful pair of deep violet cat’s eyes set in a broad boned face.

“Ssspike,” she purred. “Sssurprised to see you back so soon. I sssee you brought us company this time.”

“’Lo, Ailuros. Yeah, just showing m’friends a night out. There goin’ t’be a problem issuing guest passes?”

“Just keep a close eye on them, and watch your back, Ssspike. Ssseems you’ve upset a couple of the big bosses. I don’t want a repeat of what happened,” Ailuros whispered. “Especially when you bring the Ssslayer into the house.”

Walking to the receptionist, Buffy said, “I’m not here to cause trouble. Just out for a night of food and fun. Just gonna be Buffy for the evening.”

Handing a small gold circlet to the Slayer and her companions, Ailuros said, “Pleassse pin these prominently on your clothing, and follow me.” Walking to the door, hips swaying and tail twitching, she had the rapt attention of all as she led the way to the inner sanctum.
 

 

Crazy Eights – Chapter Seven – Queen For A Day

Finished with their meal, obviously charged to Spike’s chip, since the waiter never came back with a bill, the intrepid band of Slayer, vampire and Scoobies began to leaf through the flyers Willow had procured earlier in the evening.

A pink paper announced ‘Demon Poker Nite – Wednesday – 9 pm – 4 am. Bloodshed forbidden in gaming areas.' An orange paper noted ‘Semi-Annual Harvest Ball – Summer/Winters Solstice Celebrations. Bring more than one donor for free admission.' A green flyer proclaimed ‘Special Events Nights. Ladies’ Night – Mondays – No cover, no minimum for all females, all species. Gentlemen’s Night – Thursdays – Complimentary drink and appetizer with full meal. Vampires’ Night – Saturdays – 4 Shot Special, mixed blood drinks – your preference.’

Glancing at the rainbow of colored papers spread out before him on the table, Xander sneered, “Who’d have thought the demon set would be all schedule-having? Can’t say that I see them sitting at home on a weeknight, goin’ ‘Hey Mabel, why don’t I take you out for a little free blood and dancing on Saturday? I hear the Bloodsuckers are playing at Crazy Eights and you know how they slay me when they get their groove thang on.’ I mean geeze…”

“Bloody hell,” Spike seethed. “You arrogant, ignorant prat. Haven’t you learned yet that it’s not all about humans? Look around you!” the irate vampire hissed, arms encompassing the dining area and a look of disdain worthy of Giles at his most upper-crusty. “See any fledges with dirt still clingin’ to their ears? Even demons can have schedules, y’know. Most of these vamps have paying jobs – nightwork, an’ such, or old money behind them. And every one of ‘em has more class than you.”

Recognizing the amount of self-control the volatile vampire had been exhibiting was waning rapidly, Buffy reached up in an attempt to rein him in and not draw any more attention to themselves.

“Spike, let it go,” she said, quietly, knowing he would hear her through his anger. “It’s meaningless, and we have more important things to deal with.”

Clenching his jaw until she could see the little muscle tic from tension, he rotated his neck enough to crack the vertebrae and he shook off his anger like a dog’s coat sheds water.

“One last word of warning, whelp. Downstairs is serious business. It may be a game room, but the folk there don’t play around. If you can’t keep your gob shut and your stupidity under control, walk out now. I’ll not have you bollixing this up. Told you before – nobody endangers the Slayer nor Red for that matter, and I’d prefer to save my fightin’ for when it counts.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” said the contrite brunet. “I was just fooling around, and I’ve never really given much thought to demons’ social lives. I’ll try and keep my opinions to myself, but I don't trust you. You can bet your scrawny white ass I'm gonna keep my eyes on you.”

Leading the way, Spike strode over to the stairwell at the end of the room. They descended the carpeted spiral staircase, coming face to face with a large black door and a sign that read “Last Warning! Spilling of blood and other fluids beyond this point will result in expulsion from The Crazy Eights for all surviving participants.”

“Buffy, I need you to mind me here – it’s obvious you’re known on sight, an’ I don’t want anyone getting ideas to use you as a wager or marker. Tonight, let me treat you like my Queen an’ show you off. Not as m’pet, but m’lady. It’s the only way I can be sure to protect you, other than marking you as my mate. Can you trust me enough to do this?”

“No biting involved?”

“Not unless your life depends on it,” he said, solemnly.

Trepidation making her voice shaky, she looked into his beautiful blue eyes. “I trust you, Spike. I believe you. Let’s do this.”

Snaking his arm around her waist, he opened the door to the gameroom, and they all stepped inside.

Whereas the upstairs club had been tiled in black marble, downstairs sported the most plush wall to wall carpeting Buffy had ever seen. Beautiful dark ruby red in color with black flecks, in reverse of the tiles. The walls were covered with the same rosewood paneling. Tucked discretely in the far corner was a small recessed bar. The lighting was dim, just enough to see and be seen by – affording some measure of privacy to the players.

Tables were spaced far apart, so each individual game would not intrude upon another. The thick carpeting swallowed the sounds of the waitstaff’s movements as they moved like cyphers at the merest crook of a beckoning finger. Spoken words were few and far between. Members had their chips on file, their needs and preferences available at the push of a button.

There was an undercurrent of excitement running through the room. The players were seriously into their games, but their enjoyment was noticeable.

Spike walked up to the croupier’s table, requesting a deck of cards and a set of chips. “S’just a friendly game, mate – not playin’ with the house money tonight.”

Pulling up a chair at one of the available tables, the blond vampire gently tugged Buffy over to him. Patting his thigh, he crooned, “C’mere, luv – Daddy needs a little luck this evening.” As he pulled her onto his lap, he nuzzled tiny kisses behind her earlobe, whispering, “Play along, pet. There’s eyes everywhere.” Hearing a murmured affirmative, Spike continued his exploration of her neck.

Both of Xander’s fists slammed down on the table, startling the ‘necking’ couple. “Damnit, Spike – get your lips off of her. And what the hell are you doing on his lap, Buffy? Making out like you’re at a junior high make-out party.”

A waiter quickly appeared at the table, concerned at the angry display. Looking at the vampire, he asked, “Is anything the matter, Mr. Spike? Do we need to take action here?”

“Nah, mate. Everything’s fine – just a bit of a jealous misunderstanding between me and the lad. No worries. Why don’t you bring a round of beers for the table, and an O pos chaser, for me.”

“As you wish, Sir. If you’re in need of further assistance…” Sparing a glance at the fuming brunet, he left the implied threat hanging in the air.

Once the waiter was out of earshot, Buffy turned to face her two friends across the table. “Xander, I know you think you’re defending my honor, or something, but don’t you think I’m more than capable of stopping Spike dead in his tracks if I was uncomfortable with what was going on?”

“Now, Buffy, sweetie – you know Xander means well. And, I mean, you do know you’re acting a little out of the ordinary. Since when do you and Spike make with the smoochies, much less in public smoochies?” Willow asked, bewildered.

Spike leaned across the table, motioning everybody to lean in closer. “You stupid sods,” he ground out through gritted teeth. “This place is under surveillance at all times. For sure the waiters have to report back to whoever’s runnin’ the place.

“As for the Slayer’n me, we’re friends. Been friendly-like for a couple of years, an’ she trusts me to have her back. I won’t hurt ‘er. There’s ways of marking one’s territory, so to speak. I told you she needed to stay close to me, to be known as mine.”

He paused, an absolutely wolfish smirk forming as he looked directly into the brunet’s eyes. “Would you prefer I bit her and left m’mark that way? All other vamps’d be able to see and smell me on ‘er, and I wouldn’t even have to be in the room to keep her safe.”

“You lay one fang on her Spike, and so help me God…”

“You’ll what? Beat me up? Stake me? You get to fucking try, boy, but I’m gonna give as good as I get. S’a promise you’ll never take lightly again.”

“Spike, please don’t hurt him,” Willow begged. “We can do this, I swear. Can we just try to play a few hands of poker, or whatever and then leave? I mean, it’s got to look better if we relax and play a bit rather than storming out of here, all grrr and fighty?”

“Will’s right, Spike,” Buffy placated, absent-mindedly stroking the curls at the nape of agitated blond’s neck in a soothing manner. “Let’s try and salvage some of what we came here to do – play and observe. We’ll just have to come back again, at another time. Preferably alone and when the place is closed for the day.”

All three turned to Xander, who had remained quiet since his initial outburst.

“Damnit, I don’t like this,” he said. “I’m not comfortable with you and the fanged menace hanging all over each other.” He grimaced. “I will try to keep it to myself for the rest of the evening. Anything to get it over and done with as soon as possible.”

With a deep sigh of relief, Buffy picked up the deck of cards from the table, and began deal.

ETA: Now lovingly beta'd by my sweet willshenillshe, who used a feather instead of the aforementioned machete... and showed me that posting at some ungodly hour is never a good idea (read: stupid, silly typos)Chapter Eight – Jack of All Trades

The rest of the evening passed without incident; with several rounds of beer helping to ease the tension between Spike and Xander. However, all four graciously refused the complimentary Yak Urine cocktails offered by the management, however.

Eventually, the desire to play poker wore thin and Xander and Willow were escorted home. Continuing on towards Revello Drive, no words were spoken between Slayer and Vampire.

Arriving at the porch steps, Buffy sat down, beckoning Spike to sit beside her. “Well that was interesting,” she said softly, staring straight ahead into the yard.

Awkward around the Slayer for the first time in years, Spike was torn between wanting to light up and wanting to pull her closer to him. The little act he’d put on in Crazy Eights had confused him as much as it’d angered the whelp. He ran a hand through his hair, releasing a few curls from their gelled restraint.

“Look, Buffy,” he began. “M’sorry if I made things difficult for you with your chums, earlier. I thought it would be better f’I could make staff and demonfolk alike believe the Slayer was my woman. Make you less of a target for the more opportunistic blokes.”

“It was fine, honest. I had no problems playing your Queen for the evening.” She smiled wickedly. “For a scrawny old vampire, you have a very comfy lap.”

“For someone barely out of nappies, pet, you need to work on respectin’ your elders.”

“Can I be Miss Mannersy tomorrow, Spike? I’m too tired at the moment to care,” she said, sidling over to the vampire, resting her head on his shoulder. “We’ve also gotta talk about what went on at Crazy Eights, and what our future plans are. Being more awake would help, though.”

Finally finding something to do with his arm, he encircled Buffy’s slight shoulders, relishing the feel of her body heat against him. They sat quietly side by side, listening to the crickets chirp and relaxing into each other in a rare moment of utter peace.

Their contemplative mood was broken moments later, by the internationally recognized sign for stay out daughters – the flashing porch-light.

“Oh she has so got to be kidding.” Buffy mumbled into Spike’s leather duster. “What am I – twelve?”

“S’alright, luv.” He stood, offering his hand to help her rise from the step. “Let’s go inside and make Mum happy.”

With a quick roll of her eyes, Buffy acquiesced and allowed herself to be pulled to standing.

Joyce’s eyes sparkled with suppressed mirth as she puttered around the kitchen, studiously ignoring her scowling daughter and Spike as they settled into chairs at the table.

“Don’t be angry, Sweetie. I couldn’t resist a little teasing,” Joyce laughed. “It’s not often I see you with a boy, much less have the honor of playing ‘Chaperone!Mom.’ You have to allow me some leeway here.”

Her scowl turned into a pout, then a small wistful smile. “I get it, Mom, really. It’s not very normal for either of us.” She sighed, “What with me and slaying, and you worrying, and then me and vampires and NOT slaying but bringing them home… okay then, I can deal with the porch light. Just not too often.”

Vampire stealth working to his advantage, Spike crept up behind the petite blonde’s chair and gently jabbed his fingers into her sides, just under her ribs.

“Oi, pet – I better not hear of you bringing any other vampires home with you. S’not a good habit to get into.”

Giggling, Buffy said, “No worries, Spike – you’re the last little Pound Puppy Vamp I’m inviting in. It takes too much time and trouble to housebreak a new one.”

With a definite growl coming from the vampire, the chase was on. Out of the kitchen, through the dining room and livingroom, up the stairs and down. Buffy letting out a high shriek each time Spike got close enough for another poke or pinch. They ended up on the couch in front of the television. Spike sprawled against the back cushions, legs splayed wide; Buffy sat next to him, legs folded underneath her, head resting against his shoulder once more.

Spike rifled through the channels, not pausing more than five seconds on any channel, and within fifteen minutes, both had fallen fast asleep.

Joyce paused by the couch on her way up to bed long enough to drape an afghan over the sleeping figures of her daughter and the vampire.

“Only my daughter,” she thought. “One vampire to pine and mope after, and another vampire to play tag with and sleep next to. Fat grandchildren just don’t seem to be in my future.”

As she climbed the stairs to her bedroom, a slight smile played over her lips. ‘At least she’s managed to find someone to share a few moments happiness with,’ she thought, ‘Someone to share her burden and watch out for her. Decent compensation for the loss of future grandchildren.’

~*~*~*~*~*~

Buffy awoke to the sound of chirping birds in a blind panic. Daylight! She relaxed almost immediately when she noticed her mother must have pulled the draperies closed, to protect the sleeping vampire pillow beneath her.

‘Gotta thank the all-purpose Mom – she of the blanket gathering, vampire protecting variety,’ she thought, as she poked the aforementioned pillow in the ribs. ‘Or not,’ as he managed to unseat her from the couch in a flurry of flailing limbs when he startled awake.

“Not wise to poke a sleeping vamp, luv,” he mumbled, torn between getting up and burrowing back underneath the afghan, soaking up the body heat she’d left behind.

“Some vampire you are,” she snickered. “If you were back in your crypt, you’d be fair pickings for any demon wanting to take you out. Or a Slayer.”

“Luv, if I were in my crypt, I wouldn’t have had such a lovely warm body to cuddle up with, and I’d never have allowed myself the luxury of falling so deeply asleep. Vicious natural predator here with excellent survival skills.”

Watching him as he arched his back in a full body stretch, eyes closed, platinum blond hair in tufts and soft ringlets framing his face, he looked more like a sleepy little boy than a man eating beast.

The sound of the garbage truck broke her out of her viewing pleasure, and a quick glance at the cable box told Buffy she was already late for class.

“Damn, not even time for breakfast,” she grumped. “Spike, Mom’s already left for work, and I’ve barely got time to take a quick birdbath and grab a snack on the way to class. There’s blood in the fridge and if you go out, just leave me a note on the desk.” A quick ruffle to the blond tufts of hair sticking out from the afghan Spike had burrowed under, and Buffy was gone for the day.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Several hours later, Spike unfurled his limbs from his knitted cocoon and rose from the couch. Not a morning person by habit, he knew there were things that needed his attention that had to be accomplished during the daylight hours.

As he ambled up the stairs to take advantage of a long, leisurely hot shower, he let loose with a chortle. Buffy mentioned something about a birdbath, and he was struck with the image of the girl sitting naked in a marble pedestal bath, splashing herself with a large pair of white wings.

“Bloody hell, someone needs to get laid, mate,” he said aloud, as he stepped into the shower stall. A perfunctory lathering of his hair and body took care of the personal hygiene issue, and a few quick strokes of a soapy hand took the edge off another issue. He dried himself quickly, dressed and went downstairs to heat some blood for breakfast.

Sitting at the table, sipping his blood from the black and red “Kiss the Vampire” mug Joyce had picked up for him, Spike mapped out a course of action.

He had a general idea of what he wanted to accomplish – hit the sewer tunnels to see if he could intimidate any of the local demons into coughing up some new information on the club, scare up anything about beaten or missing demons. There was no way he’d been the only demon singled out for the club’s smash and bash special. Then, the Magic Box. Hopefully the Watcher had found out something useful. He had a sinking feeling that he and Buffy would need to visit Crazy Eights once more as a couple, during peak operating hours.

The idea stressed him out more than he was willing to admit. The longer he had that chip in his hand, the more nervous he got. He was so on edge, he was ready to rip the bugger out with his own fangs. Shaking his hand as if the movement alone would be sufficient to dislodge the chip, he could swear he felt it sending out little charges of electricity skittering up and down his arm, creeping ever closer to his head.

“Grow a pair, you stupid berk,” he growled “Just one more night and that chip is gone, even if I have to lose the hand.”

Leaving Buffy a note on the desk as she’d asked, he headed for the door, lifted the duster over his head and made the mad dash to the manhole in broad daylight.

He stalked the tunneled infrastructure beneath the streets of Sunnydale. Every now and then he'd come across pockets of vampire and other demons, and would grill them about Crazy Eights.

Some were outwardly hostile - his preference for working with the Slayer did not sit well with everyone. They called him traitor and coward to his face. Those that survived were threatened with nightly raids by said Slayer. There were definitely some advantages to having friends in high places; all sixty two deliciously powerful inches of her, and Spike wasn’t afraid to flaunt the fact.

Spike stretched his metaphoric wings as he went about his business. He might have chosen to stop hunting for his meals, and he had deliberately partnered himself to the Slayer – it didn’t make him any less of a bad ass amongst his own kind.

Vamps weren’t known for loyalties outside of their own clans, and the Big Bad had no problems terrorizing any demon he came across. Just a little indulgence he allowed himself. It felt good to be feared, even if regaining Mastery of Sunnydale no longer held any appeal for him.

‘Less than a handful of missing demons reported by those he confronted – quite possibly attributed to the Slayer’s nightly patrols and nothing to raise any alarms by themselves,’ thought Spike. ‘Might as well see what old Rupes has to say for himself.’

He found himself directly under the Magic Box, grateful that the demon Mayor had the forethought to build Sunnyhell on such an intricate tunnel system. Another nod to the friends in high places bit.

Climbing up the ladder to the Magic Box’s storage basement and then to the upper level of the store proper, Spike announced himself in his typically singular fashion.

“Oi, Rupes! Need to have a talk ‘bout what’s going on. Where the bloody hell are you, git?”

If he had needed to breathe, he’d have been sore pressed for oxygen at that moment. Caught unawares, he found himself slammed up against one of the shop’s bookcases.

“Vampire,” hissed the irate shopowner, both fists full of Spike’s t-shirt in his clenched fists. “Talking to you is the last thing I want to do.” Banging Spike’s head against the bookcase for emphasis, he continued. “How dare you molest Buffy in a public place and threaten to bite her?”

Comprehension dawned. Easily breaking the Watcher’s hold, he flipped them around and held Giles’ hands over his head. Gameface sliding into place, fangs lengthening, Spike stood nose to nose with his adversary.

“So, you’ve had a visit from the little boy, have you? And you believe that I would endanger Buffy’s life in the middle of a demon club. Threatening to spill her blood amongst all manner of beasties who would try to take her from me? Are you off your nut, Rupert?

“If you want to know what happened, all you have to do is ask me. I’ve been trying to show you lot for years m’not a danger to any of you. Don’t happen to like you, but doesn’t mean I’m out to do harm.”

The little bell over the door announced the presence of a potential customer, but Spike had not backed off, nor dropped gameface.

“Spike, would you mind telling me why you’re all fangy and grrr? And why you’re all pressed up against my Watcher?”

Relaxing marginally, he shed his gameface as he looked into the eyes of a mildly annoyed Slayer.

“Sorry, luv – you missed the pre-show where old Ripper came out to play. For some reason, he believes I ravaged you on the floor of Crazy Eights and threatened to drink you dry for good measure.

“Let him go, Spike. I’m sure we can all sit down and straighten out this mess.”

With a final growl for good measure, the vampire stormed away and sat down on the stairs leading up to the second level of the store.

“I told you before, Slayer. That stupid git’s gonna shoot off his mouth one time too many, and I won’t be held responsible for drainin’ him.”

“You’re not helping your case, Spike,” said Giles. “I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions, but I’ve never known Xander to out and out lie before. I certainly trust his word over yours, and I know for a fact that he’s quite protective of Buffy.”

“Little shit’s just sorry she won’t drop her knickers for him. He’s jealous of anyone within sniffing distance.

“Truth here is real simple. Slayer and I acted the part of Vampire and Consort. I knew it would offer her almost as much protection as a claiming bite, and that I wouldn’t touch a fang to her pretty neck unless it was to save her life.

“Princess here sat on my lap, pretty as you please. We nuzzled necks and noses which made privacy easier in a room full of vampires and… and it bloody well felt good! You know, you can take your opinion and stuff it. Go believe the whelp and I’ll find someone else to research this chip for me.”

“Giles, this would be so much easier if you’d just listen once in awhile. If Spike had done something I wasn’t comfortable with, I would have defended myself. Slayer here, vampire there. He was a perfect gentleman, and asked me if I’d be comfortable following his lead before he acted.

“Personally, I’d be more worried about the chip the club uses, than the status of my virtue. There must be plenty of ‘em implanted in demons and humans all over Sunnydale, not to mention all those out of town players. We need to know what they do and how they’re activated, and what the club plans to use them for. No way are they simple members only passes.”

Focusing on the still agitated vampire, she said, “Spike, I’ve been thinking about this all day. As much as it makes me uncomfortable, I think we need to go back to the club once more before you try and deactivate that chip. I’m sure we’ll be able to mingle a little better if it’s just you and me.”

“We can go this evening,’ Slayer. Been thinking along those lines as well. In the meantime, if Watcher-boy can keep his knickers from twisting, I’d like to see if there’s anything that can be stolen from a human or demon through a conduit. As much as I’m concerned about the one I’ve been tagged with, I’m a little worried about what the club wants with all this information from all these folk. S’not kosher.”

Giles sighed. “All right, Spike. We can do this. You’ve raised some interesting points about the size of this whole operation. Since you’ve a number of hours before the club is open for business, let’s see what we can find.”

Research time hadn’t provided any solid facts, due in part to the fact that the chip was a modern development and the texts were ancient. However, all the evidence pointed to a power broker; a mage with enough skill to harvest combinations of life force, soul energy, and auras. The power could be bartered and sold for any manner of nefarious schemes, none of which bode well for the denizens of Sunnydale or anywhere else.

Looking up from her umpteenth volume of undecipherable text, Buffy said, “I think my time as research-gal is over for today, guys. I’m gonna look awfully silly if I show up at Crazy Eights in my stunning strapless gown and stilettos with the worst case of crossed eyes you’ve ever seen.”

“S’alright, pet. We know something wicked this way comes… and it’s up to us to find it. Don’t like being it’s bitch,” he said, glaring at the back of his hand and scratching at it hard enough to draw blood.

“Oh god, Spike. Stop it!” squeaked Buffy, slapping his hand to prevent further damage. “I know it’s wigging you out, but we need it for just one more night. I promise we’ll remove it when we get home from the club.”

“I’d be most interested in studying this chip of yours, Spike. If you come by the shop after tonight’s escapade, I’ll remove it for you,” Giles offered, intrigued at the prospect of having it’s mysteries solved. “I’m sure Willow will be more than happy to help me sort it.”

“Rupes, if we make it out of there without m’hand exploding, it’s all yours. Nobody uses m’body again ‘cept the way nature intended.”

The smirk on Spike’s face went straight through Buffy like a warm shiver. She’d been having the strangest reactions to him lately, but there wasn’t time for self-analysis at the momement.,

“C’mon, Nature Boy,” she said, as she grabbed his arm. “We’ve got to get ready for tonight. I need to make myself all Consorty, you know.”

Secretly, the vampire thought she could roll around in a mud puddle and come up looking bloody gorgeous. However, he said, “Yeah, s’true. Wouldn’t want to embarrass myself, haulin’ a dishwater dull Slayer around all night.”

“Out, both of you,” said Giles, mildly annoyed at the outrageous flirting the two weren’t even aware of. “If there were any customers here, you would have chased them away with all your childish prattle.”

Shooing them out the door, he was confounded by the level of closeness that had developed between his Slayer and William the Bloody. It’s not as if he hadn’t seen Buffy up close and personal with a vampire before – her time with Angel had been well documented.

This was quite different, however. They played with each other. They taunted, dared, smiled and laughed – so different to the broody silences and wistful gazes of her other relationship. Good lord, if they kept going, they’d finish each other’s sentences before long. That would be disconcerting, to say the least.

~*~

While Buffy showered in her mother’s bathroom, Spike used the one in the hall.

Joyce laid out fresh towels for them both before going downstairs. Knowing her daughter’s propensity for taking long, hot showers and Spike’s newly acquired accessibility to hot running water, it was only a matter of time before…

The first yelp came from her bathroom – a definite “I’m freezing” squeak from Buffy, followed right on the heels by a “Bloody, buggering hell” from the spluttering vampire down the hall. ‘Ah, the joys of a timed water heater,’ she thought. ‘Wonder how long it’ll be before they decide to save water?’

Spike, of course, was ready first, elegant in a pair of black dress pants, topped by a black on black patterned silk shirt tucked in at the waist. The totally black ensemble was broken by a silver belt buckle and a gunmetal grey tie. His ever-present Doc’s and duster completed the outfit.

Joyce was impressed. The man certainly did clean up well. Less than a week from the time he came to stay with them, and he was a whole new vampire.

Both turned their heads when Buffy finally made her entrance at the top of the stairs. She had chosen a beautifully simple party dress of flocked rayon in a black and white print. The princess seams accentuated her lissome figure, molding to her breasts and exposing her delicate shoulders, while flaring at the hip, ready to flounce and twirl as she walked.

“Oh, Buffy – look at you! My beautiful daughter all dressed up.” Joyce sniffled. “I swear the two of you look like you’re ready to go to the Prom.”

Spike, for his part, stood at the base of the stairs and gaped like a schoolboy.

With a twinkle in her eye, Buffy walked up to the stunned vampire, sashaying her way around him, occasionally rubbing against his body as she completed her circuit.

“So, do I pass muster, Mister? No dishwater dull Slayer to embarrass you?”

Shaken more than he’d ever admit to her, he resorted to his usual snark, and said, “You’ll do in a pinch. Wouldn’t do for a bloke as handsome as m’self to show up unescorted on a Saturday night. ‘Course, I just might be lookin’ around for somethin’ later, after you go home.”

For a fleeting second, the smile on Buffy’s face faltered, and Spike wanted to kick himself for hurting her.

“M’sorry, pet. I…”

“No biggie, Spike. I’m sure a vamp like you has…needs,” she snapped. “So do I. Maybe, as your supposed Consort, I can find someone pissed off enough to challenge you for some time with me.” ‘Two can play at that game, Spikey,’ she thought gleefully, until she caught the look on his face out of the corner of her eye.

As the discomfited pair left the house, not another word having passed between them, Joyce shook her head with disappointment. “Guess Spike isn’t the only one who can’t keep his big mouth shut,” she sighed.

~*~

The walk to Crazy Eights was made in silence; vampire and Slayer each wrapped in their own thoughts. Buffy wasn’t quite sure why Spike’s offhand comment rattled her enough to strike back. They’d been trading barbs since they were mortal enemies and reveling in it. What could have changed so much that a few simple words said in jest were able to wound her so?

At her side, Spike was having similar thoughts. He hadn’t meant to hurt the girl. She’d come down the stairs and floored him. Absolutely beautiful, with a girlish quality he’d never attributed to her before. Well, that wasn’t exactly true – he’d always thought she was beautiful, but he’d never felt like acting on it before.

They’d been friends for years – were comfortable with each other, and trusted in each other during patrol and battle. And yet… he’d recently kissed her. And she’d kissed him back. But it was more comfort than passion after his ordeal – or was it? Had he been himself, that kiss outside his crypt definitely had staying power.

He was roused from his thoughts by a sharp poke to his arm.

“Are you even in there, Spike? I’ve been trying to get your attention for the past five minutes.”

“Sorry, luv – obviously not paying attention, which will stop, here and now.” He took a calming breath, knowing he had to try and clear the air between them. “Look, Buffy – I’m not sure what happened back at the house, but we’ve got to be together going into the club. You know it’s dangerous, and the distraction of being pissed off at each other won’t be to our advantage. What say we try and get it all sorted afterwards, when we get home?”

Recognizing the olive branch for what it was and resisting the ‘if you haven’t picked up a skank’ barb she had right on the tip of her tongue, she said, “I agree. Something went really wonky back there, and we do need to talk, but not now. Now we need to be all couply.

“Hey – we worked just fine together when we were trying to kill each other, so I’m thinking we can work through a bit of hurt feelings. You ready?” she asked, as they approached the entrance.

“As I’ll ever be. Let’s get in and get it done. This damned chip is killing me,” he said, scratching at the back of his hand.

~*~

Ailuros greeted the couple in the reception area. She was dressed in a deep violet silk gown that matched her eyes. Her hair was swept off her shoulders and clipped into a loose chignon, and she was definitely coming on to Spike, which set Buffy on edge from the moment she walked into the room.

“Welcome back, Ssspike. It’s a pleasure to see you looking so well. I guess your little Sssslayer takes good care of you.”

Spike prayed. It was something he hadn’t done in all the years since he’d been turned, but things were gonna go pear-shaped if Buffy reacted badly to this.

“It’s my goal in life, Ailuros – to make sure that Spike is well and happy. That’s what we Consorts do.”

Ailuros’ eyes flashed that ‘Consort my ass’ look before she said, “Then I guess our Ssspike is marking you somewhere other than the traditional spot. I see bite marks, honey – but they’re not his.” Her tail began to twitch back and forth, in a way you could tell she was not pleased.

Shit!

“Pet, whether or where I bite m’Consort is really none of your business. Our personal life isn’t in question here. You have a job to do and I suggest you stick with it.”

“Ssssorry, Sssspike. It was just a comment between us girlsss, wasn’t it, Slayer?”

“I’m not bothered by her, Spike. She can make all the catty remarks she likes – at least we know where we stand with each other, right?”

“Right as rain, luv. Now if you’ll just be a pet and hand over m’Consort’s circlet for the evening, we’ve got some dinner to be havin’ an’ we’d like to relax.”

“Fine, Sssspike. Anything for you.” Handing Buffy the circlet, she softly hissed, “Sssteer clear of the game room tonight. Big-wigs from out of town are having a private party and a Slayer on the premises might make them a bit… jumpy.”

~*~

They entered the dining area, and decided to skip the bar and dance floor. Right now, a meal and some private time was in order.

“Thanks, pet.”

“For what?”

“For keepin’ your cool when Ailuros decided to challenge your Consort status.”

“Ah, you mean when she decided to go all bitchy-kitty on me? I was sure she was going to raise her leg and pee all over you.”

“She was this side of pulling off your dress to look for claim marks. If vamps don’t use the neck, they tend to go for breasts or the join of thigh to groin. Femoral artery's better for blood and accessibility to the playground, but breasts are always fun.”

“You’re a pig, Spike. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“You used to, on a daily basis.”

Their waiter appeared with the ubiquitous touch-pad, and asked if they wanted their “usual” order. Spike simply nodded, and Buffy – to be different – ordered a cheeseburger and fries, reasoning it hadn’t killed Xander so she was safe.

“Does she turn you on, Spike?” All innocence and hazel eyes turned to Spike with her question.

“Who, pet? Ailuros? Well, yeah. She’s gorgeous an’ I’m all male. What’s there not to like?”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth when he knew he’d been a right arse. Trying to avert another disastrous misunderstanding, he added hastily, “Just ‘cause I find the bint attractive doesn’t mean I’ll go haring off after ‘er.”

Slightly mollified, Buffy admitted, “She is a pretty woman, Spike. I’m not blind. I don’t know why I even asked you. Not like I’m really your girlfriend or real Consort, am I?”

“Does that bother you, pet? That I look at other women?”

“No! I mean, I don’t think so.” She frowned. “Maybe?”

Well that was certainly a new development. Question was, how did he feel about it?

“Things’ve been intense since you rescued me luv. P’raps you’re confusin’ kindness and carin’ with something more?”

“Spike, I’m caring with my Mom, and kind to my friends. I don’t get jealous when they look at someone else.” She tried to sift through her thoughts, choosing her words carefully as much for her as for him. “I like our friendship and don’t want to do anything that would ruin it, but…”

“You think you feel something more, yeah?”

“And what about you, huh?” she asked, deftly turning the tables. “Is there any attraction on your part at all?”

“I’ve always thought you were somethin’ special, Buffy. You know that. And yeah, was trying to kill you for a bit, but it was ‘cause you drew me in. Such a wonderfully vicious warrior for a little minx.”

Catching the look in her eyes, he could tell she was absolutely crestfallen.

“Oh, luv, you don’t really think that’s all I see in you? You walked down those stairs this evening, and I almost lost it right there. You remember, don’t you?”

Sniffling, she nodded.

“M’sorry if I hurt your feelings. S’all confusing…”

Spike was startled mid-sentence by a sharp jab from behind in his left shoulder.

“You Spike?”

The man with the question was tall, intimidating by most standards. He stood about 6 feet 4 inches tall, and was built like the proverbial brick shithouse.

“Yeah, who’s askin’?”

“The name’s Travis. It’s been brought to my attention that the little lady is unclaimed, and I was wonderin’ if she’d like to step out with a real man for the rest of the evenin’?” He extended his hand towards Buffy, who hadn’t made a sound since he’d shown up at their table.

She felt it, rather than heard it – the sub vocal growl issuing from Spike’s direction. When Travis reached in and yanked her from her seat, Spike sprung into action.

Gameface to the fore, he tackled the larger man, knocking him away from Buffy. When she made a move to join in, he warned her off with bared fangs and an outstretched arm.

Travis matched him fang for fang and growl for growl. They stood, circling each other like a pair of lions, challenging each other over territory.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doin’ here, mate? M’out for a night with m’lady and you have the bollocks to grab at ‘er while she’s eatin’ a meal in a public place? Are you mad?”

“You come in here, paradin’ this little piece of fluff around, no new bite marks, no claim evident and think your rep is gonna keep her? She’s a pretty little thing, and I think she’ll look better with me. C’mon, darlin,’ what say we skip this pop stand and find something better to do. Like each other?”

A crowd began to form around the pair, always eager for a fight.

With preternatural speed, Spike turned, grabbed Buffy by the shoulders, and with a roar of “Mine!” sank his fangs deep into her neck.

Crazy Eights – Chapter 10 – Nine to Five

When last we left our intrepid duo all those months ago:

Travis matched him fang for fang and growl for growl. They stood, circling each other like a pair of lions, challenging each other over territory.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doin’ here, mate? M’out for a night with m’lady and you have the bollocks to grab at ‘er while she’s eatin’ a meal in a public place? Are you mad?”

“You come in here, paradin’ this little piece of fluff around, no new bite marks, no claim evident and think your rep is gonna keep her? She’s a pretty little thing, and I think she’ll look better with me. C’mon, darlin,’ what say we skip this pop stand and find something better to do. Like each other?”

A crowd began to form around the pair, always eager for a fight.

With preternatural speed, Spike turned, grabbed Buffy by the shoulders, and with a roar of “Mine!” sank his fangs deep into her neck.

~*~

Oh, fuck!

Two words that flashed through the minds of everyone in Crazy Eights watching the spectacle before them. Fights were not an uncommon occurrence in the establishment, and fangs in throats were de rigueur for a place that drew vampires… but a claim was usually a very private matter.

Buffy froze. She knew her life hung in the balance of the next few seconds. All her Slayer instincts were screaming to dust the vamp at her neck, and all those leering at her predicament.

Good thing she was more than instinct, alone. It was Spike, after all… and he’d promised not to hurt her.

Spike was even more aware of the scene he was making. He’d promised the girl no fangs unless her life was at stake, and now… with his fangs embedded deep in her jugular, his unlife was also at stake, literally if she reacted as her nature dictated.

He could see Travis and Ailuros standing to the left of the gathered crowd, watching their every movement.

And waiting.

The bite alone wasn’t going to be enough; he had to draw blood for all the sensitive noses around to be satisfied. He took several strong pulls, while gently kneading Buffy’s shoulders, trying to communicate his intentions silently.

Outwardly, Buffy was amazingly calm. She relaxed into his touch and closed her eyes, slightly baring more of her neck to give him easier access. It felt… good. Far too good for it to continue in public. And she did trust him not to drain her.

Spike took a final pull, gently sealing the wounds with his tongue. He pulled back and roared a challenge to any and all, a small amount of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth as he turned to Travis.

“I told you she’s mine. My Consort.” Though he was staring at Travis, he was listening to Buffy; her heartbeat racing and her breathing shallow and ragged. He turned and scooped her into his arms. She nuzzled softly into the crook of his neck.

Ailuros was livid. Her plan to use Travis to separate Spike from that little fraud was a failure. Her tail twitched angrily back and forth when she had a moment of inspiration.

“Sssspike,” she hissed. “That’s no claim bite. All you’ve done is feed off of your cow.” Looking mightily pleased with herself, she began to sashay back to her reception desk, secure that she’d exposed the display for the sham it was.

What she hadn’t counted on was Buffy. She tensed in Spike’s arms, raising her head and looking around at the crowd that still lingered, some of them showing their outright disdain for the Slayer-as-bloodcow impression Ailuros left them with.

Buffy brought her hands up to cup Spike’s sharp cheekbones, looking deeply into his questioning gaze. He was deadly calm, just waiting for her next move. The petite blonde slid her hands down to Spike’s collar, and with a defiant yell of ‘Mine’, ripped the shirt away from his neck and bit sharply into the pale flesh where neck met shoulder.

He was stunned. Either her reaction to his claim was purely instinctual, or she had actually read some of Rupert’s hidden volumes of vampire lore. The problem was Spike was unsure as to whether she was aware of the significance of a mutual claim.

One way or another, they were in for a long talk… and as soon as possible.

After worrying at the ragged flesh for a moment, Buffy raised her head to look at the remaining crowd, baring her bloodied teeth between her stained lips with a kittenish snarl. “Any more questions about my Consort status can be emailed to us at ‘we don’t give a fuck dot com’.”

With a chuckle, Spike released the Slayer from his embrace, crooked his arm, which she readily accepted, and the two walked out of Crazy Eights – heads held high – to the rousing applause and cheers of the patrons.

~*~

Once outside the madness of the club, the tale changed considerably. Spike’s confidence waned with each step they took, slowly dropping his arm and allowing hers to slip away. The vampire swiped his thumb across his lips; removing the dribble of blood from the corner of his mouth and absentmindedly sucked the digit clean as they continued walking.

Far enough away from the club that they could no longer see it, Spike reached out, stopping Buffy’s movement with a hand on her shoulder.

“Slayer, look at me.” After un-tucking his shirt from his trousers, he tipped her chin up, and used a corner of the hem to wipe his blood from her lips. “Show me the pearly whites, luv.” Amazingly enough, her teeth were clean.

Buffy batted his hands away from her face. “Stop fussing with me like someone’s maiden aunt, Spike. It’s not like I’ve never been seen in public with somebody’s blood on me before.” She smiled softly. “It’s not even the first time we’ve had each other’s blood on us.”

“Yeah, true that. But this is different,” Spike insisted. “The consequences of what I did… what we did… if there was any other way…”

For the first time since leaving the club, Buffy stumbled, unsure of herself. “Are you s-sorry for what you did? For your part of the claim?”

“Yes… No!” he blustered, not entirely sure of the question he was trying to answer. “That I had to do it, yes, I’m sorry. A claiming shouldn’t be forced or hurried… or public. That it was the only way I could insure you’d leave alive and in one piece… and with me? Hell no, m’not sorry at all.”

“But we have a problem now, don’t we?” The Slayer worried at her bottom lip with her teeth, looking up at Spike with wide, haunted eyes. “We’re stuck with each other… like an arranged marriage, aren’t we?”

Spike unhappily had to agree. “You really don’t have a clue what’s involved with a claiming, do you, pet? Watcher’s lessons never covered anythin’ but vamp/stake.”

She, too, had to agree as they continued to walk, finding themselves in Restfield Cemetery the next time they looked around. Like a pair of demented homing pigeons, she thought glumly.

The night was warm and dry, a full moon and a soft breeze made it pleasant to be outside. As if pre-arranged, both hopped up on a flat tombstone, settling in for a rest and a talk. Buffy broke the silence first.

“Okay, Spike. I get that I’m all ignorant-girl when it comes to the mating rituals of vampires. I just sort of went with a gut feeling when it came to returning your bite, especially after Pussy Galore called me a cow.”

Her hand fluttered to the right side of her neck, where the fresh bite throbbed mildly. Now she was marked on both sides of her neck. The Master, Angel, and Dracula all on the left side, Spike alone on the right.

Spike reached across the stone, gently stroking her cheek with his fingertips. “Does it hurt, luv? Tried m’best to make it look worse than it felt, but still…”

The remorse in his eyes for any pain he caused her dealt a massive crack to the protective wall she’d built up around her heart. It was an enlightening moment – he didn’t regret the bite in and of itself, just the circumstances and her pain.

“I-it didn’t really hurt as much as take me by surprise,” Buffy whispered, almost in awe as she remembered the speed with which he moved. “Geeze, Spike… if you moved like that when we were trying to kill each other, I’d’ve been, well… dead.”

“Was the dance that drew me, pet. Much more fun to spar an’ banter about. All the more exciting for being real.” He was right chuffed over her compliment… in a twisted sort of way. “Since our little truce, it became more important to save your pretty neck than t’break it.”

“And don’t think I don’t appreciate it, but I really think you should tell me about the whole claim business.”

“Not goin’ t’be distracted, are you, Buffy?” Spike had hoped to avoid telling her how deep the claim went into vampire society so soon, risking their seemingly budding relationship. “A mutual mating claim is second only to a Sire’s mark in import. Usually your Sire owns your ass. The bond between Sire and Childe is virtually unbreakable, except for…”

“A mating claim,” Buffy finished.

“Right you are, luv. An’ if Childe an’ Sire claim each other as mates, there is no force in the demon world that will rip the bond apart except death. An’ the remaining vamp usually follows their partner from the grief and loss.”

Buffy mulled his words over in her head for a moment before speaking, hating to bring her into the mix. “No wonder you and Dru were so close. Why you stopped fighting me to protect her in that stupid vampire club disaster.”

“That’s not it, sweetling.” Spike sighed, hating to admit this to himself much less Buffy. “Dru refused a mated relationship… because she still had a hankerin’ for her Sire. Nothin’ I did would ever place me in her heart where Angelus laid his claim twenty years before she turned me.”

“One way or another he’s raked us both over the coals, huh?” Buffy brought her hand to rest over the vampire’s, where it rested on the stone between them. “So are we considered fully mated under vampire law, even without the actual… you know, mating part?”

“Not really sure, pet. An’ we have the added bonus of you bein’ human an’ the Slayer. Only one with that much vampiric custom and law in his head’s the one neither of us has the stones to ask.”

“Well, we’re gonna have to ask someone, Spike,” she groused. “I can just see me trying to explain this to Giles. ‘You see, it’s like this: sometimes feelings develop in the workplace, and we got a little carried away, what with the life threatening sitch and all.’ Angel might stake you, but Giles is gonna crucify me!”

“Not to mention Mum,” Spike so helpfully pointed out.

“Oh damn. Please don’t mention Mom. We’ve got nothing to worry about from Angel and Giles… she’s gonna kill us both.” Buffy looked up hopefully, knowing better even as she spoke. “Slayer and vampire healing will wipe out the torn skin before we get home, right?”

“Claiming bites have a magic all their own to them. They’re meant to scar especially on vampire skin,” he sighed. “It’s gonna bruise all kinds of pretty colors an’ scab, then scar pink an’ fade. But it’ll be more prominent than the other bites ‘cause of the mutual claim.”

He touched the old bite scars on the left side of her neck. “These might even fade away, leavin’ you with only my claim.” He nudged her off the headstone. “No use in puttin’ this off any longer. Need to get you home an’ shored up.”

Buffy wobbled slightly as she started walking, and by the time they reached Revello Drive, Spike had to carry her the rest of the way.

“What the hell did you do to my daughter,” Joyce yelled as she opened the door, taking in the bloodied bite on Buffy’s neck. Even though she trusted Spike, the fact that he bore a matching wound and had the girl in his arms did nothing to alleviate her fears.

“I’m fine, Mom,” Buffy murmured weakly, belying her words. “Just need…”

“She could do with a nice rare steak, Joyce. Needs to replace a bit of iron in her system.” Spike settled the girl onto a chair, making sure she wasn’t going to topple over before getting a glass of orange juice out of the fridge. “Drink up, luv. It should help summat until you eat.”

Joyce held her council temporarily, standing back and watching the interaction between Slayer and vampire – her little girl and her chosen companion – and realized there was no way Spike would have bitten Buffy with malicious intent. Their sweet and gentle behavior calmed her terror enough that she was willing to listen to their explanations without prejudice.

By the time her mother put the steak before her, Buffy was sitting on Spike’s lap, allowing him to cut and feed it to her, piece by succulent piece. She did, indeed, feel better once the protein began to hit her system.

“All right you two. Now that my inclination is to listen first and maybe stake later, will somebody please tell me what all the biting was about?”

They rehashed the graveyard discussion, basically coming to the conclusion that the claim was a bond that went deeper than a human marriage, was virtually binding for Spike’s unlifetime, and unless they found a way to break it – should they want to break it – Buffy’s life wasn’t guaranteed should he dust before she died.

Spike tried his best to lay out their options in a calm fashion. “We have a problem, Joyce. There are only two people we can ask about the legitimacy of the claim and the ins and outs of vampiric law on mortals, Slayers in particular.”

“Mr. Giles and that Angel fellow, right?”

Buffy nodded. “Both of them are gonna want to stake first and ask questions later. A-and it wasn’t really Spike’s fault. H-he saved my life. I’m the idiot who jumped in and returned the claim without having clue about the consequences. It just felt right at the time.”

“Joyce… Mum,” Spike started, needing to admit something to all, himself included. “The part I regret about the claim isn’t that it’s with your daughter. It’s that we were just realizin’ there might be feelings between us. Stuff we didn’t know was buildin’, and this sort’ve forces the situation.”

She looked solemnly from Spike to Buffy, seeing fear in their eyes as they waited for her reaction to the vampire’s declaration. What’s a mother to do?

Joyce raised her hand to her mouth… and broke out with peals of laughter. “Oh my sweet babies. You two are so dense.”

Spike and Buffy looked at each other and turned to Joyce as if one, and said, “Huh?” provoking more giggles from the woman.

“You two have been heading towards each other like those dolls with little magnets in their heads for at least the past year. Funny thing is, you’re the only two who didn’t know it.” She shook her head, pushing away from the table.

“I’m going to bed. You two have plenty to work out, but it’s late, and you can deal with it all tomorrow.” Halfway up the stairs Joyce turned and said, “You may be married under vampire law… but in my house, it’s still separate bedrooms for you two.”

Buffy’s indignant shriek of “Mother!” rang from the kitchen.

After the dishes were done, they walked up the stairs, each heading for their own room. As they drifted off to sleep, hands lingered on their bite marks, feeling the odd tingle of the claim resonate throughout their bodies, wondering what tomorrow would bring.


Crazy Eights

Chapter 11 - Behind the Eight Ball

Buffy awoke feeling more tired than she had the night before. She’d slept in bits and snatches of less than hourly intervals. The throbbing of her claim bite matched the throbbing between her legs, leaving her unsatisfied as well as exhausted. If only she knew for certain that her feelings were real and not magically induced…
Yeah, she could admit to herself that she’d always been attracted to Spike – even when he was trying to kill her and her friends. She had two eyes, after all. He was a truly beautiful man – diamond sharp cheekbones; slender yet muscular build; a delicious ass that was a joy to watch as he strode away; and oh, the promise of things to come as he swaggered towards you.

She began to squirm under her covers. Cataloguing Spike’s virtues wasn’t the smartest thing she could be doing when she was already so worked up. Only thing stupider would be going to see him.

“Might as well come in, Slayer, since neither one of us is sleepin’ anything worth a damn.”

“You, too?” she sighed, going to sit next to Spike on the mattress, and running her fingers through his tousled hair.

Adjusting himself surreptitiously under the blanket, he leaned into her caress. “Luv, I could knock down a building with my hands tied behind my back.”

Buffy’s cheeks pinked at the image playing in her pervy little brain. Her breathing grew shallow. “Oh God,” she moaned. “This was a really bad idea.”

“Self control not your strong suit, pet?”

“You wanna see who’s got self control issues, you beast?” The devil gleaming in her eyes, Buffy crawled around the mattress and knelt up next to the vampire. She pressed a series of soft butterfly kisses up the right side of his neck. “I can stop any time I want to,” she purred, crossing his body to reach the other side of Spike’s neck.

Her bite mark had scarred a deep rose pink, and Buffy blew a warm stream of air across it. Self control my ass, she huffed as Spike hissed and arched backwards. “And we all know you’re the king of restraint, right?”

“I can control myself better than you, pet,” he panted softly, gripping the bedding to keep from grabbing hold of Buffy. “Been at it for a long, long time.”

“We’ll see,” she purred. With the flat of her tongue, she licked a broad stroke up the side of his neck, over her claim mark.

The sound of the sheets ripping was drowned out by Spike’s pleasured growl. He grabbed Buffy by the arms and hauled her into his lap, the thin cotton of her sleep pants doing nothing to disguise their desire.

“Little minx,” he ground out, bucking upwards towards Buffy’s heat. “Two can play at that game.” He nibbled and licked gently at his claim mark.

Holy crap! Who cared what the repercussions of a mating claim were as long as it felt like that? Buffy wrapped both arms around Spike’s neck, fully prepared to launch an assault on his lips when…

**Ahem** Joyce cleared her throat, leaning against the door jamb. “I seem to recall mentioning something about separate bedrooms for you two. I wasn’t talking just to hear the sound of my own voice.”

The blonds jumped apart like a couple of teenagers caught necking. Buffy was flushed, and they were both panting heavily, each finding something on the floor absolutely fascinating.

“I know it’s not easy for you two, trying to figure out how much of this is real, but rushing into sex without a single answer is bound to make things harder… um, more difficult in the long run.” Joyce flushed pink over her choice of words, trying to avoid Spike’s raised eyebrow and her daughter’s indignant glare. “I’d say call Mr. Giles now and get as much information as possible before giving in to your urges.”

“Sorry, Mum. Didn’t mean to get carried away.” Spike stole a glance at Buffy, who was busy twisting the sheet in her hands.

“Well, that’s part of the problem. Just thinking about the claim is enough to keep your minds focused on your feelings and is a built-in excuse to let yourselves go at it.” Joyce smiled warmly at both Spike and Buffy. “I was young once and I know what it feels like to get caught up in the moment. I just don’t want you to be sorry.”

“Fine, Mother,” Buffy grumped as she headed towards her own room. “Shower, dress, breakfast and call Giles. What fun, what joy.”

She picked out a white ribbed sleeveless turtleneck to keep Spike’s bite undercover until the time was right. However, a quick look at the vampire in question disclosed an additional problem. Buffy’s bite was glaringly obvious on his pale neck.

“Um, let me make a wild guess here, Spike… you and turtlenecks aren’t mixy things, huh?”

Spike’s fingers drifted towards her mark, a soft smile playing on his lips. “You marked me good and proper, luv. An’ m’not one for scarves, neither.”

“You’ve got to keep it covered until we can talk it out.” Buffy began to panic. “Old eagle eye Giles’ll spot that from a mile away and you know he carries a stake with him at all times. I don’t want there to be any trouble with him jumping to conclusions…”

“It’ll be tricky, yeah,” Spike agreed, “but I think the old duster’ll keep things under wraps.” As an afterthought he added: “He’d probably be more suspicious if I didn’t wear it. It’ll be fine, Buffy,” he soothed. Eventually.

Buffy nodded, and picked up the receiver. The phone call was simple enough. She invited her Watcher over for lunch, telling him it was time to discuss removing Spike’s chip.

Now all they had to do was wait.

The level of tension in the Summers’ household escalated tenfold.

~*~

By the time Giles arrived, Buffy was flitting around the house like a moth, unable to light anywhere for more than a few moments at a time. The third time she headed towards the kitchen to check on things,

Spike grabbed her around the waist and attempted to pull her onto his lap. “Settle down, Slayer. You’ve probably lost five pounds from runnin’ back and forth.”

Buffy balked, catching Giles’ eye as she tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

“Is everything all right, Buffy?” Her nervous behavior had obviously worried him. “Any problems with Spike spending so much time around you?”

“No!” she yelped, a little too loudly. “No, no. No Spike problems at all. See?” Buffy pointedly sat down on the couch right next to him.

Joyce kicked open the kitchen door, carrying a fully laden tray. “Soup’s on,” she chirped, setting down mugs of tea, coffee and blood on the table. One more trip brought fresh onion soup topped by a crust of toasted cheese and a basket of fresh rolls.

Spike led Buffy to the table, pulled out a chair and settled her in, and then did the same for Joyce before sitting down, himself.

In-between mouthfuls, Buffy decided to get the ball rolling. “So, Giles… have you figured out a way to remove that awful chip?”

“I’ll see what I can do after lunch. I have a few theories that will hopefully leave Spike’s hand and the chip intact, which would be the best of all possible outcomes,” he muttered, removing his glasses and wiping the lenses absentmindedly with his handkerchief. “Putting the chip into a compartment ring might allow Spike entry into the club without rousing suspicion…” he trailed off, fixating on something nearby.

Buffy noted his furrowed brow. “Spill, Giles,” she demanded. “I’m not liking that expression on your face.” She followed his gaze and noted that her hand had crept into Spike’s, their fingers intertwined. “What? You’re all wrinkly ‘cause of a little finger touching?” Her fingers tightened around Spike’s in a show of… defiance? Support?

“I-it’s not just the fingers, erm… handholding, Buffy,” Giles stammered, obviously trying to hold onto his temper. “All throughout lunch it’s been quite obvious that you and your mother have been overly solicitous towards Spike. She brought him warmed blood three times during the course of the meal, and you – you’re practically sitting in his lap. I’m worried about a thrall…”

”She has a mind of her own.” Joyce glared at the older man. “… and Spike is a guest in my home, same as you. Is it so hard to believe I would show common courtesy to a vampire who…”

“Mom!” Buffy squeaked, catching her mother’s eye with a quick lip-zipping motion.

“Really now, I must object,” Giles insisted. “Keeping secrets from me is never a good thing. If you’re in trouble…”

Spike sat back with his arms folded across his chest. “Really, Rupes. I’m all flattered-like, you thinkin’ I’m such a threat to the Summers women.”

“Do keep out of this, Spike,” Giles snapped, annoyance etched clearly on his face. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

A raised eyebrow was the vampire’s response.

“It’s just that I don’t understand how both of you can fuss so over a soulless vampire. He’s a dangerous creature. You’re the Slayer, Buffy… or don’t you remember? It’s your calling to stake him and his ilk. And you, Joyce… I don’t recall you ever being so accommodating towards Angel.”

Buffy smiled as Spike preened at her Watcher’s words. He really was getting a kick out of all the fuss.

“Well, it’s true. I never thought Angel was right for my daughter. There was just something so…”

“Broody?”

“You’re not helping, bloodbreath,” Buffy muttered, slapping lightly at Spike’s shoulder.

Joyce, however, laughed. “Yes, well that does say it all doesn’t it? And Angel's no Spike, Mr. Giles. You’ll just have to learn to deal with it.”

~*~

Focusing on the task before him, Giles palpated Spike’s hand, getting a feel of the physical placement of the chip. The skin itself was exceptionally thin, and creating a flap to remove the device would be relatively simple, if messy.

Buffy sat next to Spike, unwilling to leave his side. She held on tightly to his left hand, offering her support. “Are you sure the chip won’t explode when you take it out? You know… do the self-destructo thing like in Mission Impossible?”

She could tell her Watcher was nervous by the way he kept looking at the scalpel and bowls of water on the table. A look passed between mother and daughter; one that said they hoped the house would still be standing when the operation was over.

“I’ll do the best I can, Buffy,” he grumbled. “I’ll try not to let my feelings get in the way.”

Once a topical anesthetic had been applied, Giles got to work. He wore a doctor’s loupe while making the three incisions around the chip. Using tweezers, he gingerly peeled back the skin, revealing the device.

Lacking the working circulatory system of a normal human, Spike’s blood flowed sluggishly from the wounds, allowing Giles the time to locate the chip with a minimum of fuss and mess. Several times he had to ask Spike to remove his head from his field of vision. The blood seemed to call to him – even knowing it was his own.

The chip sparked upon extraction, causing everyone to jump slightly in alarm. Giles quickly dropped the device into a bowl of tepid water, hoping to eliminate the chance of an explosion. When nothing further happened, he returned to Spike’s hand, securing the dime sized flap shut with several stitches.

The women breathed twin sighs of relief. Joyce gently ruffled the relieved vampire’s gelled hair, breaking the lacquered perfection into unruly tufts. “What a little trooper you are, Spike. Want me to kiss it and make it better?”

At the flash in Buffy’s eyes as she moved slightly closer to him, Spike snickered. “Don’t think that’s a wise idea, Mum. Seems the Slayer’s a bit proprietary about her vampires.”

“Oh for…” Giles sighed, rolling his eyes. “Is this the way it’s to be from now on? All happy families?”

Buffy glared at her Watcher, then turned to her mother. “Nobody lays a lip on my vampire except me,” she declared, her eyes widening slightly as she realized what she’d voiced out loud – and then at what she saw:

Joyce’s fingers had strayed from the top of Spike’s head to his neck, accidentally exposing the dark pink scar and bruises to Giles’ attention.

“Is there something you’re not telling me, Buffy?” he asked, his clipped tones betraying his anger and mistrust.

The urge to fold in on herself, or to run, was strong. However, she was never going to get a better opening to bring up the claiming. Buffy took a deep breath and… as if it were perfectly timed, the front door opened to reveal Xander and Willow.

“Hey honeys, we’re home!” He stopped short at the sight of Giles with his hands around Spike’s neck. “You couldn’t have held off on the fun and games until I got here, G-man?”

“This isn’t a laughing matter, Xander.” Giles bristled at the boy’s cavalier attitude. “That bite mark was made by human teeth.”

Willow gasped.

Xander paled as he came to the same conclusion as his best friend. He strode over to Buffy and pulled her sweater’s cowl away from her neck, exposing Spike’s bitemark.

“You son of a bitch! You swore you’d keep your filthy fangs to yourself,” he spat, shoving Buffy to the side in his haste to get at Spike.

Buffy’s sharp yelp of pain as she collided with the table roused Spike’s demon more than the boy’s words, and he twisted out of Giles’ grasp to go to her defense, growling and gamefaced.

“You keep your bloody hands off’ve my mate, or I’ll rip ‘em off, myself.”

“Buffy, don’t let him hurt Xander.” Willow wrung her hands, remembering just how volatile the vampire could be when riled. “You know he only wants to keep you safe.”

“And Spike only wants to keep me safe. Why can’t anyone see that?”

Red-faced with fury, Xander turned on his friend. “How can you say that, Buff? The last time you let a vamp sink his fangs into you, we almost lost you.”

“What does it take to get through to you people?” Spike threw his hands up in frustration and began to pace around the livingroom. “M’not Angel. I’d never hurt the girl.”

Joyce placed herself between all the warring factions and let loose a piercing whistle. “That’s enough. All of you! This is my home, not the Coliseum. You might think you have Buffy’s best interests at heart, Xander,” she said, glaring at the young man, “but it’s not your place to impose your beliefs on my daughter. She’s already got a mother, and a damned fine mind of her own.”

“But… but… fangs, and biting, and blood sucking,” Xander spluttered. “Should be Slayer and staking – not mating!”

“Maybe we don’t know everything,” Willow soothed, trying for reasonable. “Maybe there’s a really good reason for the…”

Xander was unwilling to listen. “No! No way… and don’t even try to make excuses for the bleached freak. It’s a simple matter of right and wrong, folks. Slayer good, vampire bad.”

“Really, Xander… we need to be reasonable here.” Once again the older man removed his glasses for cleaning, trying to buy himself time as well as to refocus the boy’s attention. “What’s done can’t be undone.”

“You can’t possibly be happy about this, Giles. And Mrs. Summers… I know you have a weak spot for Fangboy, but do you really want your daughter married to a vampire?” Xander reached into his pocket and pulled out a stake. “This is how we deal with vampires. We dust ‘em, not…”

“Xander!”

“Finish that statement, you git, an’ I’ll…”

“Spike!”

“Buffy!”

“Mom!”

Another whistle from Joyce rent the air, silencing the din. “I’ve had just about as much of this nonsense as I can stand. Xander, if you can’t be reasonable, you’ll have to leave. It’s more important to figure out just what Buffy and Spike have gotten themselves into than to fight about it.”

“I still don’t see the problem,” the brunet snarled, still brandishing his stake. “Aim, stake… problem go poof!”

“Um, Xander?” Willow timidly approached her best friend. “It may be more complicated than that. There are probably serious magicks involved in the claiming bites, and we don’t know what dusting Spike would do to Buffy. It’s not a good idea to be so hasty.”

“You guys can’t do this. For five years you’ve been all gung-ho to kill everything with fangs, except for Angel, and personally? I’d’ve been happy to dust Deadboy no matter what. Maybe Ms. Calendar would still be alive if Buffy hadn’t been boffing the undead. No good can come of starting this up again… especially with him.”

“It’s really not your call, Xander,” Buffy said, softly. “It’s my life, and I have to take responsibility for my own actions. I know you mean well, but…”

“Yeah. But you’ll do whatever you want to, same as always. And we pay for your vampire fetish.” Running his free hand through his hair, he took a deep breath to steady himself. “All righty then. Just don’t come crying to me when it all blows up in your face and the bleached wonder turns on you and someone else ends up dead. C’mon, Will. Let’s get out of here and leave the demon lovers to their own thing.”

Looking over his shoulder, he realized Willow wasn’t following. She stood next to Buffy, wringing her hands, eyes downcast.

“You’re not coming?”

With a half-smile, she said: “Sorry, Xander. I think Buffy can use my help. I-I want to help. And Spike’s been really helpful the past few years. I don’t think he wants to hurt her.”

Without another word, Xander stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him, and Willow burst into tears.
 

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