Gardens of Crimson Roses
by Holly


Previously: Buffy and Spike are accompanying Willow to Washington DC where she hopes to be reunited with her boyfriend, Sam Seaborn, Deputy Communications Director for President Bartlet. They hope to arrive in DC in time to hear the President speak in Rosslyn, Virginia. Halfway to DC, Willow starts acting bizarre, as though something is wrong.

In Rosslyn, as the President and his staff are leaving the event, multiple gunshots are fired from a building across the street, leaving Willow in the midst of a magically induced seizure with the knowledge that someone has been hit.

A/N: As promised, here it is. Didn’t leave you guys hanging for all that long…those who haven’t forgotten and are still interested. Anyone who’s just now stumbled over this and thinks I’m quirky or insane to mesh the fandoms together, but similarly find yourselves irrevocably drawn to my little world out of curiosity or the desire to see me fall on my face, I highly recommend that you refer to the fic that precedes this entitled, Grey Gardens of Shadowed Rapture. Everything that happens in this Book, as well as Book III when I get to that, is a result of what happened in that story.

Much of the dialogue from this chapter and the following chapter are taken directly from the season premiere of The West Wing: Season 2. In fact, all snippets of dialogue from both shows of the applicable seasons are subject to usage when it’s needed or in the event that I am extremely lazy. Anyone who points out that I use dialogue from the shows throughout the story will be directed to this note, and I will offer no apologies.

Book II is going to delve deeper into The West Wing world. I have absolutely no intention of going into detail of the specific politics that are involved in each episode. That would be tedious for me, and very boring for the few that actually decide to read this thing. However, as President Bartlet is a Democrat, and thankfully very liberal, there is every chance that my own similar political beliefs will leak through and offend those who are rightists or of the more conservative sway. I will try to remain as neutral as possible. I will also try not to get too caught up in it, as my interest lie more with the BtVS cast as it is, and how they will effect the lives of the Senior Staffers…and vice versa.

Thanks to everyone for the wonderful support in the previous book. I had absolutely no idea that people were actually going to read it. Those who stick around for this one, I appreciate it highly and hope not to disappoint you. I’m very excited about this project, and hope to keep the followers of the previous book interested with the twists I have in store for this one.

Thanks to Megan, Kimmie, and Kat for betaing. I would be lost without you ladies.

Best to all,
Holly


 

Gardens of Crimson Roses



Author: Holly (holly.hangingavarice@gmail.com)
Rating: NC-17 (For language, violence, and sexual situations)
Timeline: Directly following the closing scene on Grey Gardens of Shadowed Rapture. Spoilers through BtVS Seasons 5/6 and TWW Seasons 2/3.
Summary: A key presented as a sister, a friend drowning in a vat of darkened magic, a country torn apart at the seams. Buffy Summers travels to Washington DC to inquire the assistance of President Bartlet as Glory grows stronger in Sunnydale. Meanwhile, after answering a call of duty, Willow finds herself journeying into darkened territory, spurned onto a move that will change her life—and cost the lives of others.

Disclaimer: The characters herein are the property of Joss Whedon/Mutant Enemy and Aaron Sorkin/NBC Broadcasting. They are being used for entertainment purposes and not for the sake of profit. No copyright infringement is intended.

 

*~*~*

Part I

Glowing Ember


Chapter One




The motorcade sped down the highway on the wings of sirens and flashing lights.

“Get her again.”

“She wasn’t hit, sir—”

“Get her on the radio, please.”

Special Agent Ron Butterfield released a deep sigh. There was nothing fair about the world when he was the one designated to tell the man that he couldn’t talk to his daughter just minutes after shots had rained fire on a crowd she’d been in. But making the President comfortable was not part of his job description; his job right now was to get him in the White House as soon as possible, not appease his concerns as a man. The President, as far as the Secret Service was concerned, was the office first and a father second.

That didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Sir, she can’t talk right now.”

“Why can’t she talk?”

A sigh. “She’s vomiting in the car.”

The President’s eyes went wide and he lifted himself off the seat to steal a glance at the cars following them. Some indiscernible objection tumbled past his lips—the growing anxiety on his shoulders nearing a state that was seconds away from taking a physical manifestation.

“It happens, sir, we’ll get—”

“Why is she vomiting?”

The answer was obvious, but Butterfield was a professional. The girl had just been fired upon. The President was worried about his daughter, yet he needed to be put inside the White House before any of these fears could be addressed. “It happens, it could be shock—”

“Ron—”

“She might’ve gotten an elbow in the side of—”

“Is Gina with her?”

“Gina put her in the car.”

“She’s not with her.”

“She’s got two other agents in the car—she’s got Mike and Fred, sir—they’re gonna have her back at the White House.”

A look of pure irritation flashed across the President’s face. “Why isn’t Gina in the car?”

“Gina put Zoey in the car then stayed behind for the ID Agent. Mr. President, please.”

That seemed to do the trick for the moment. The President released a long sigh, his head collapsing against the back of the seat as the night settled in around them. The nonreality of their reality. As though the bullets echoed still, even within the most protected vehicle in the world.

“Is anybody dead back there?” he asked a minute later, his voice tight.

If Butterfield lived a thousand years, he never wanted to hear the President sound like that again. Never wanted to have to face this question again. Never wanted to face a night where the face of his department was dominant over his face as a man. As a father who would be screaming were his children out of his sight at a moment like this.

“We don’t know,” he replied honestly, shifting to release pressure on his wounded hand. “We don’t think so.”

The move brought attention to the blood leaking through his skin and the hasty bandage he had made in the excitement of getting the President in the car. Another faux pas. The President’s eyes went wide with concern, and he jerked upward immediately. “What happened to your hand?”

There was no way to delay the obvious conclusion. “I got hit.”

“Oh God.” The President turned to the driver of the motorcade, panic rising in his voice. “Coop, turn around! We gotta get to the hospital.”

This was precisely the reason Butterfield had tried to conceal his wound to begin with.

“We have to get you in the White House.”

“We’re going to the hospital!”

“I need to put you in the White House, Mr. President. This isn’t something we discuss.”

The irritation was back with a vengeance. “My daughter is throwing up in the floor of the car behind us. You’re losing blood by the liter, not to mention god-only-knows how many broken bones you have in your hand—” Something was wrong. Butterfield’s eyes went wide, his ears tuning out the extent of the President’s tirade as he caught a drop of crimson spilling out the corner of the man’s mouth. “—but let’s make sure I’m tucked in bed before—”

God, he hadn’t checked him for wounds when they got in the car. He hadn’t checked.

“Mr. President!” Butterfield engaged his wounded hand to stop the man from moving, his good one shuffling through the body check. Behind the neck, over the shoulders, and finally on the inside of the President’s coat, where his skin collided with blood.

Oh God.

“GW!” he screamed to the driver, the car performing the fastest U-Turn he reckoned it had ever endured. “Move! Move! Move! Move!”

The President was hit. Oh God, the President was hit.

And he hadn’t said a word.

 

*~*~*



The continuous spiral of red and blue was blinding against the dark night sky. There were camera crews being denied admittance, even within that few minutes spanning the President’s exit from the building and the sprinkle of fire that had ensued. The scream of sirens seemed to grow louder even as the cars remained where they were, blocking every possible corner of the street and streets around them. A helicopter flying overhead, drowning out all strands of reality.

“I’m really fine,” CJ was telling the medic, her voice muffled with either shock or tears. “I hit my head on the ground. Somebody pulled me down.”

“Are you CJ Cregg?” the medic replied routinely.

“Yeah.”

“Can you tell me what day it is?”

“It’s still Monday.” He was pleased with that and went on into some spiel about how she did indeed appear fine. CJ wasn’t paying attention, her thoughts haunted with the weight of one possibility. “Is the President dead?”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” the medic said, packing up and moving along to the next person to check. CJ released a long sigh and stood, her legs quivering. The scene around her like something she had seen a thousand times in movies and the like—nothing comparable with actuality.

Not until tonight.

The window of a police car was shot out. That same window that someone had pushed her down under. She had come that close to meeting the nasty end of a bullet.

“Are you all right?”

CJ whirled around. Oh thank God. Sam.

“What?”

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, where’s the President?”

Sam heaved a deep breath, concern not lifting from his eyes. “He’s on his way back to the White House; so’s Zoey. They just put Leo in a car.” He touched her arm, bringing her back to herself as the night threatened to carry her away again. “Are you all right?”

She shook her head miserably. “Somebody pushed me down,” she said.

And that someone had saved her life.

Sam nodded, turning to the image of Gina Toscano running past him. Zoey’s special agent. God, maybe she would know something. “Gina!”

“I can’t talk right now,” she replied hurriedly, making her way over to the newest arrival on the scene. The agent she was to report to; everything she had seen prior to the shooting. “Gina Toscano. Are you the ID Agent?” He muttered something in confirmation. “Two shooters in that window and we got them from the roof, but there was a signal.”

“There was somebody on the ground?”

“White male. Maybe twenty, twenty-five. Five ten.”

“What else?”

“He was wearing a baseball cap.”

“What kind of cap?”

She stalled at that. That was the one thing in the horrible seconds before she saw the gun in the window that she didn’t remember. The one thing aside a thousand other instincts that her gut had twisted; warned her about. The girl was in the car. That knowledge, at the time, had been all that mattered.

Still, the agent didn’t look pleased when she couldn’t help him.

 

*~*~*



“Josh?”

Toby released a deep sigh and shook his head, unwilling to admit how hard he was trembling. It seemed he had been searching for Josh for hours now; his head still pounded with the echo of screams and bullets, but that didn’t matter. He needed to find Josh. Everyone else had checked out; they needed to get to the White House.

There was Charlie. Perhaps he could help.

“Hey Charlie. Are you okay?”

It seemed such a foolish thing to ask after a shooting, but he needed to know. He needed to be sure that everyone was okay.

“Yeah.” The reply was crisp and shaken, not entirely truthful, but Toby hadn’t expected any more.

“Have you seen Josh?”

“He got in the car with Leo.”

A sigh. “No, he didn’t. Shanahan got in with Leo. Josh didn’t get in the car.”

God, this night was a nightmare. He nodded briefly to Charlie and muttered something under his breath about staying where he was, whirled around to the steps he would never look at quite the same. A sigh of relief escaped his chest—the same he didn’t know he had been holding. Suddenly it was all right: he knew where everyone was.

Josh was sitting with his back to him against the concrete exterior.

“Josh!” Toby all but sprinted toward him. “Didn’t you hear me shouting for you? I didn’t know where the hell you…”

Another second and he was in front of his friend—his friend who sat against the ledge. His back upright; a glossed, lost look covering his eyes. How in the world had they not noticed him before? He was sitting there, breathing deeply, not reacting. Not seeing anyone. His hands soaked in blood, covering the shot in his chest. And Toby nearly fell to the ground.

He had never believed in pure panic before. Not before now. Not for this indescribable feeling rising in his throat. Oh God. Josh was shot.

“I need a…” His voice rose octaves, a tight, unutterable sensation cluttering his insides. “I need a doctor!” Josh was shot. He was sitting there, looking at him but not seeing him, because he had been shot. God, there was so much blood. “I need help!”

CJ and Sam seemed a world away. Toby fell to his knees and caught his friend as he slid from the concrete, cradling his head in his arms.

The shots were just the beginning. Their night had only now begun.

 

*~*~*



It was a miracle they got on the ground at all. Were it not for the flight attendants’ panicking, there was every possibility that the plane from St. Louis that housed the witch, the god, and the vampire would never have officially landed. Not with Washington DC shut down in a matter of seconds. The fact that they were already in landing preparation was merely a technicality.

“We have to get her to a hospital.”

It was the third time in ten seconds that Buffy had forced herself to ignore the otherwise logical solution. Her best friend was resisting the help of a stretcher rather, trying to rise to her feet of her own accord. The words, “He’s been shot,” tumbled through her lips every other breath. Her skin was paler—more so than usual. Her eyes were black with an overload of sensory. And suddenly the trials of the past few weeks felt like child’s play. For the certainty in Willow’s voice, the sheer force of the terror behind it, the Slayer was about ready to declare war on the PTB.

They couldn’t have been thrust from one hell and into another so quickly. It wasn’t fair. She and Spike had just settled down in Sunnydale. Just organized the last of their furniture. They were supposed to meet the President tonight. Willow was supposed to see Sam, whom she hadn’t once failed to mention in conversation since they parted ways two weeks before. It wasn’t fair.

“God, Buffy,” Spike murmured, shades of concern that now seemed so natural on him clouding his eyes. “Her heart…she…” He shook his head, releasing a low breath. “I’ve never…”

“It’s Sam,” Buffy whispered furtively. “Sam was hit.”

One of the medics that had been ushered immediately to the plane following landing was looking at her skeptically. Through the pass of the last few minutes, every time someone had attempted to touch the Witch in order to get her on the stretcher, the offending party had either been shocked or blown into the aisles. For the stares they were receiving, they didn’t care. They might as well have been the only people in the city.

The vampire met his Slayer’s eyes gravely. “We gotta get her to a hospital.”

That was it, then. That simple sentence composed of seven simple words. The same words, the same advice, that had been reiterated from every other mouth on their flight except for the two closest to her. As if by suggestion alone, Willow’s quakes rumbled slowly to a halt and her eyes shot open once again. Wide, black still, but burning with comprehension. With knowledge. With something beyond anything that had come close to touching her until now.

Until that moment.

Until a face peered through the clouds in her mind, revealing himself to her slowly. A face that went with the sensation wracking her body. The same she had felt ever since that night at Longwood, sitting in the circle, holding his hand as the words from ancient rite spilled through her lips.

Since he was there with her as she banished a god.

Since he was a part of the three.

“Willow!”

The redhead turned to Buffy in a flash. As though she hadn’t been lying in a fit for what seemed like hours. As though her eyes weren’t still clouded with the aftermath of magic that was flooding her veins. No end in sight. “We have to get to the hospital,” she said. “We have to get there.”

“Willow—”

“It’s not Sam. I can’t feel Sam.”

“What do you mean you can’t feel him?”

“I mean he’s okay. He’s terrified but I…I can’t feel pain. He’s okay. He wasn’t shot.”

Spike was staring at her blankly. “This might be a stupid question, but weren’ you havin’ a seizure a minute ago?”

“If it wasn’t Sam—”

“It’s Josh. Josh was hit. He was hit in the chest.” A long, trembling sigh rolled off her shoulders. And suddenly, she was lost. Her eyes far away. Her mind with someone else. Feeling the impression of another’s pain. The weight of it crushing beneath her fingers. “Oh God. There’s so much blood.”

“Red—”

“We have to get to the hospital.”

The Slayer stared at her vacantly. “Willow, you—”

“This isn’t up for discussion. I have to get there. Now.”

Willow was suddenly on her feet, storming through people who scattered almost instinctively. Tossing the medics a cold glance of warning if they thought of getting in her way. And soon she was out of sight, leaving her friends to stare after her numbly.

“Spike?”

The vampire’s hand clamped around his mate’s, and he nodded fiercely. “Come on.”

“She can’t be serious. They’ll never let us out of the airport if—”

A roll of thunder that sounded strangely captured inside the adjoining terminal cracked through the air. Spike tossed her a wry glance.

“Somehow I don’ see that bein’ a problem.”

“If there’s been a shooting—”

“Red battled her way around an ancient god who had the balls to possess not one, but two Slayers, luv. You really think a couple feds an’ some guns are gonna stand in her way? Her boyfriend was jus’ shot at.” He was picking up the pace; following the strain of empty expressions in pursuit of the redheaded witch. “She’s gonna tear the town apart if she doesn’ get to him.”

“Spike…”

“Come on.”

In seconds, it had turned into one of those nights where the blessings would come if they lived through it.

“If she tries to get past Secret Service, they’ll shoot at her.”

The vampire tossed her a dry glance. “Then you better hope you’re fast enough to get there before she wipes them out.”

“Would she?”

“I would. If it were you, I would in a heartbeat.”

“But Willow—”

“Has a soul? Heard that story before, luv. Doesn’ play well with the golden oldies. An’ more so…” Spike arched a brow. “What if it was me?”

Buffy froze in the dawning of new realization.

“We have to get there before she does.”

“’S what I’ve been sayin’.”

“She’ll destroy them.”

A small jest. One in the night that knew no humor. He wanted it, now. Wanted to hear it, even if he knew it without being told. “How you figure?”

“I would.”

“Thought so.”

Sirens sounded all around the airport and only grew louder as they burst into the city. It might as well have been daylight; no one was asleep.

And they had a witch to catch.

 

*~*~*



The First Lady had just spoken with Dr. Lee about her husband’s medical condition. Leo didn’t need to see her to confirm that. And he wouldn’t presume to know how a multiple sclerosis patient’s life might be affected by a gunshot wound—he simply knew to trust Abbey in that she knew what she was doing.

Stress and fever are inducers for the attacks. Other than his initial anger-fueled astonishment from the conversation a few months ago with the man he considered his best friend, he didn’t remember much of anything else. Only that playing chess with the President to double check his reactionary skills was something to put on a quiet day’s agenda.

Not that they had many quiet days.

There wasn’t anything to do but wait now. Zoey had arrived and the President had finally stopped barking at everyone about his need to see his daughter. Now he was under general anesthesia and would be for several hours.

Gina was standing against a wall, a blank look clouding her eyes.

“You all right?” he asked her.

“Yeah.”

“Was there someone on the ground?”

He knew the answer was yes. It was better if she began talking about it. Ever since she had arrived, a sort of self-resentful look had been about her. An expression that he knew well. It was the same he had faced every day for a period of eternity. Watching his life fall through the cracks and under the weight of an addiction that had nearly cost him everything.

“There was a signal,” Gina replied. “I couldn’t give them a description.”

“Did they close the airports?”

She nodded. “And Union Station. We’ve got troopers on the bridges and three hundred field agents working Rosslyn. I can’t tell them what they’re looking for.”

The persistently familiar wail of a siren sounded in the distance. Leo’s eyes remained on Gina’s face. “You got the girl in the car,” he told her. And that, as far as her job went, was all that mattered.

“It’s right in front of my face.”

“Look…”

The hall was blasted with sirens the next second, a sudden surge of traffic following a rush of paramedics and nurses racing to the admittance hall with panic that seemed to be immune to all attempts to calm it. Tonight was a night for panic.

A loud scream of a nurse sealed that thought with words that Leo would relive for months to come, guarded well under a façade of patrol. “Gunshot wound! No exit!”

A man was being wheeled in on a gurney. CJ and Toby were beside him.

Oh God.

“It’s Josh!” CJ cried.

Oh God.

Leo’s blood went cold. “Josh! What happened?”

“He was behind us,” Toby replied hurriedly. The Chief of Staff had never seen the man’s eyes that haunted.

Doctors were speaking in jargon. Leo couldn’t tear his gaze away from his surrogate son’s face.

Then there was Sam. Sam bounding up toward his friend in a blind panic. “Josh! I’m here!”

“I shouldn’t be at this meeting,” Josh replied, speaking groggy words into the surface of an oxygen mask as the world fell apart around him.

“Trauma One’s ready,” a nurse declared.

“I need a chest tube tray, Thirty-Two French.”

Josh was still talking. His eyes were nowhere. He saw none of them. For the moment, he lived in a world that no longer existed. “Senator…”

“Tell me what’s happening!” Leo yelled.

“I don’t have time!” the doctor barked back.

“I shouldn’t be at this meeting,” Josh said again, his voice fading. And Sam was beside him, watching him with intent. “I need to get to New Hampshire!”

“You went to New Hampshire,” Sam told him. As though he could hear, or comprehend anything around him. Needing to reassure him of that. They had gone to New Hampshire. “We both did. You came and got me.”

The medical team was preparing to lift him onto an operating table.

“On my count,” the doctor said. “One. Two. Three.”

Josh was gone, then. No longer speaking of New Hampshire or meetings. Overwhelmed as the medical team worked above him.

“Josh, a bullet collapsed your lung. We’re putting in a tube to re-expand it,” the doctor explained.

Explained without being heard.

There was nothing. The night fell around him.

A haven for new sinners.

 

Chapter Two




The void within the waiting room was endless. Four walls, white. Bland and cold. To sit for one minute was to sit for years. Waiting for the doctor to come in and let them know what was happening. Waiting as people passed on both sides of the doors—one that led to the entrance, one that led to the emergency room. Every shadow that walked by taunting them with the promise of news.

Only now the doctor was with them, and the wait was over.

For now. And he bore no news; only suggestion.

“We can’t make you very comfortable here,” he was saying, “and Josh’s procedure is likely to take twelve to fourteen hours. So—”

There was a sudden rustling from the other door—the one that led to the foyer of the hospital with nurses and secret service and reporters. It was Donna. Her hair pulled back, her eyes worried but relieved. It was almost amazing that they had forgotten to call Donna in the midst of all this. Donna, who was closer to Josh than anyone.

Sam sighed. The notion that she had heard about it from the television or from Mrs. Landingham—when it could have been one of them—did not sit right. Nor did the knowledge of what they had to tell her now.

“I’m sorry,” she said, glancing apologetically to the doctor. “They told me I should come back here. I’m sorry.” She sighed with a weak smile, hands finding her hips. “Is there word on the President?”

CJ turned to her and nodded. “The President’s going to be fine.”

Her face fell with relief. “Oh thank God.” She sighed again, tension rolling off her shoulders. “Oh thank God, that’s the best news I’ve ever heard. I got here as soon as I could. I had a hard time getting in. I had—I had to find an agent who knew me, and I was shaking. I was just…I didn’t know—”

“Donna,” Toby said shortly, interrupting her respite. “Josh was hit.”

That was it. Sam watched her eyes darken, her face fall. Dazed. As though Toby had suddenly spoken in Greek, far beyond her realm of understanding.

“Hit with what?” she asked, confusion buried in denial, her voice shaking.

Toby glanced down. “He was shot—in the chest.”

“He’s in surgery right now,” CJ added.

A beat. All eyes were on Donna, but she saw none of them. “I don’t understand,” she said, hysteria teetering in her tone but controlled. Somehow controlled. “I don’t understand. Is…is it serious?”

“Yes,” Toby replied. He was employing that special voice of his that attempted to guard his weaker sentiments. Sam had heard him use it before, but could not remember where. Only that it meant the man was wracked with something that he couldn’t deal with, and needed the protection of something higher to keep himself guised. “It’s critical. The bullet collapsed his lung and damaged a major artery.”

The full effect finally crashed down, and emotion swarmed Donna’s eyes. Tears brimmed but not shed, her hand covering her mouth to keep her cry from escaping.

“I was just saying,” the doctor continued softly, “we can’t make you very comfortable here, and the procedure’s likely to take twelve to fourteen hours. We won’t know anything until morning. I’m sure there are things you’re supposed to be attending to right now, so if you like we can stay in contact with your homes and offices throughout the night.”

It was doubtful anyone heard him. Donna collapsed into the chair opposite CJ, a blank look on her face. Drawing it all in.

Josh was shot.

Sam closed his eyes and licked his lips, settling back. The entire day was one large nightmare; he kept waiting to wake up. Counting back seconds in the hope that the hours would rewind. That they would be back at Rosslyn, and he would know something. Sense something. In the midst of all that bliss of the night—Toby’s brother was all right. The pilot was all right. And Willow was coming to visit him.

Oh God, Willow.

“Willow,” he murmured suddenly, feeling awful that in the midst of the stress—in the knowledge that his best friend could die—he had forgotten that the woman he loved had likely been in town for hours. Or had been forced to land elsewhere since the planes were grounded as the search for the signalman spanned the East Coast. “God, she must be worried sick.”

“I rather doubt she’s the only one,” Toby said.

It was a fortunate mention. For the next second, Sam’s mind was throbbing, his temples pulsing, his ears ringing—the shock of the blast so great he fell from his chair, hands grasping the sides of his head as he howled in pain.

People around him were shouting, but he heard only one. A scream so loud, so full of terror that it drowned out all around him.

“SAM!”

God, he knew that voice.

“Sam! Sam!” That was Donna, hovering over him in a panic. “Sam, God, you can’t do this to me now!”

He heard her, wanted to reassure her, but the other voice came again. Stronger. More panicked. “SAM!”

“Willow!” he gasped, barely aware of the blood trickling from his nose. “Willow, she’s…she’s outside. She’s…ahhh!” It came again. Even stronger. “God, she’s…she needs to get in. She’s…someone go get Willow!”

The medical staff was rushing inward, but Toby had taken to explaining that Sam just had a headache while CJ and Charlie stared at them like they were insane. No one made a move to adhere to his outburst; focused rather on the fact that he had had an outburst and was currently writhing on the floor.

The Deputy Communications Director grumbled deep in his throat and fought to his feet, praying the call didn’t come again. One more, and he felt his head might explode. “Willow’s here,” he gasped again, reaching into his pocket for his handkerchief. “She’s here and she can’t get in.”

CJ’s eyes were wide. “Sam—”

He was gone the next second, rushing through the communal door. Thinking at her as hard as he could that he was coming. He didn’t know how he knew which entrance she was at, but didn’t think to question it; nor did he second-guess his fortune that she didn’t blast him with another wave. All he knew was that Willow was here and he had to get to her. Had to get her inside now.

He needed to see her. Needed Donna to see her. Hoped Buffy and Spike were with her, because Donna would need them, too. Right now more than ever. Right now while Josh was being cut open.

He nearly stumbled over himself when he finally saw her. Outside the hospital, standing beside two familiar blondes as they tried to keep her from blasting him again. Standing there as a secret service agent tried to calmly explain that she couldn’t get in without clearance. Her eyes were black. God, her eyes were black.

Black. That night at Longwood, her eyes had been black. And before, standing at the edge of a writhing Slayer’s bed as a god threatened to steal her from the arms of the most tormented man he had ever seen.

“Willow!”

Those black eyes found him immediately, and washed dry with relief. “Sam!”

The secret service agent that was trying to restrain her paused in confusion.

“Mr. Seaborn?”

“Mike, she’s fine,” he said, nodding to Buffy and Spike behind her. “So are those two. Let them in.”

“Mr. Seaborn—”

“You heard the bloke,” Spike snarled, grasping the Slayer’s hand tightly. “Move aside.”

Willow did not need to be told twice. The minute the agent stepped aside, the redhead had leapt into her boyfriend’s arms, allowing the tears that had been bubbling since the first shots were fired to fall free. “Oh God!” she gasped, clutching him as close as she could. “I was so worried.”

“It’s okay.”

It really wasn’t. He knew that. He just needed to say it.

“How’s Josh?” Buffy demanded breathlessly.

“You know about Josh? I didn’t know that had made it to the press yet.”

Spike snickered. “It din’t. Li’l Red here has a higher channel than the one you blokes carry. She had a fit the minute it happened.”

“Willow?”

“It was building up way before then,” Buffy jumped in, ignoring the stern look her friend was giving her. “For the last hour before we landed, she was all feverish.”

The redhead glared at them. “I’m fine. It was…it was a thing. How’s Josh?”

“Willow?”

“’m thinkin’ this isn’t the best place to catch up.” Spike nodded to his mate, and they began simultaneously edging the couple back into the hospital. Away from the cameras and screaming citizens who wanted to see their President. “On inside, right?”

It was strange how the vampire seemed to be the calm one in this scenario. The Deputy Communications Director was terribly shaken, and now overwhelmed by the woman he loved in his arms. Just a couple weeks since he had last seen her had suddenly turned to years with a spray of bullets. This night itself had gone on forever.

Sam led them back to the room where the Senior Staffers were waiting for updates on either Josh or the President, holding onto Willow fiercely enough to suggest the world would tear her away if he loosened his grip. The surreal sparks surrounding them sustained admirably; Buffy and Spike followed, out of place and more than a little uncomfortable. As though tonight was for those on the inside alone, and of everyone back home, Willow was the only one who could claim such privilege. Despite all that had passed, there was none other so close to any of them.

So close that she would suffer a mystical seizure when one of them was injured.

That notion quickly fell to the wayside. For the minute they crossed the threshold, the minute Donna looked up, she burst into tears and leapt to her feet. “Spike!” The vampire blinked stupidly as the blonde lurched into his arms, sobbing harshly against his shoulder. “It’s Josh,” she cried. “Josh was shot. He’s—”

The vampire cast the Slayer a sheepish look, but she smiled weakly and shrugged. It was no secret that Donna held Spike in high esteem, and had gone to great lengths to be there for him when she was sick in Natchez. He stood awkwardly for a few seconds, looking at the room over the blonde’s shoulder, his arms outright before finally settling to comfort her. “’S all right, pet,” he murmured. “Wanker’s got a thick head. Don’ wager he’ll go under without a fight.” He met the Communication Director’s heavy eyes and flashed an uncomfortable smile. “’Lo, Toby.”

He nodded. “Spike.”

“Spike?” CJ arched a brow. “You’re Spike?”

Sam grinned weakly. “You couldn’t tell?” A pause. “Donna, are you just taking advantage of the fact that he doesn’t breathe?”

Donna snapped back at that and pulled away from him reluctantly. “Sorry,” she replied, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I didn’t…” She glanced to Buffy. “Sorry.”

The Slayer offered a warm smile. “Hey. I think the circumstances allow a little gratuitous hugging.” And at that, she stepped forward to take the woman into her arms. The sight was almost comical—Donna dwarfed her in height. “It’s good to see you.”

A sniffle. “You, too.”

Spike wrapped an arm around Buffy’s middle when they pulled apart again, turning a mindful eye to the room. “So,” he asked, voice ringing out inelegantly against the cold silence that filled the air. There were notably five people here that he did not know, though CJ was no stranger to anyone who watched CSPAN. The First Lady and Zoey Bartlet were another two never far from the spotlight. It was a strange sensation—Spike had met famous faces before and walked away unaffected. Perhaps it was the personal strings that tugged at him now; he knew people involved. Josh, the enormous wanker, was dying in the next room. It made everything sublimely surreal. “How’d the speech go?”

The Slayer looked at him strangely, and he offered a helpless shrug.

“Sam,” CJ said slowly. “Maybe some introductions are in order.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” He nudged Willow, whom anyone would have known simply for the way the man had raved about her in the weeks subsequent to the incident in Natchez. Envisioning a thousand plus ways that he would introduce her to his friends. How he would arrange the meeting with the President so that everyone might know what she had done to save their lives. Tonight was still dreamlike. A scene from a horror movie he had never cared to watch. Sitting in the George Washington Memorial Hospital waiting room, not knowing whether or not his best friend would make it through the night. “CJ, Charlie, Zoey, Mrs. Landingham…Mrs. Bartlet…this is Willow Rosenberg.”

The redhead in his arms smiled weakly and nodded at them in turn. And, as though by suggestion alone, Donna cried out again and lurched herself into her friend’s embrace, effectively tearing her away from Sam completely. “God. I’m so sorry for all of this.”

Willow glanced to her boyfriend helplessly, the last of the black fading from her eyes. “Don’t be silly,” she berated, voice gentle and smooth. Direct contradiction to the way her heart pounded.

“We wanted tonight to go so well for you.”

“Donna,” Toby mused from the back, temperate. “She does need to breathe.”

“Oh, right.” She glanced down, embarrassed but not overly self-conscious, and forced herself back to her seat.

Sam smiled at her as best he could, and quickly turned to the vampire and the Slayer, eager to keep his mind occupied. The longer the truth remained away from the spotlight, the longer he could keep reality from crashing inward. “This is Buffy Summers, and Spike.” He gestured to them. “Everyone, Buffy and Spike.”

“What, we don’t get a roll-call?”

Buffy nudged her mate and flushed, turning to the room that was studying them as though they were specimen in a lab. “Is there…we don’t really have much information to go on. Will kind of broke into convulsions when it happened—”

“Started a bit before it did, too. She was feelin’ sickly the entire flight.”

Donna blinked at her in concern. “Willow?”

The Witch shook her head dismissively. “They’re overstating how serious it was. Really—”

“She keeled over jus’ as the plane was landin’,” Spike continued, ignoring the glare he received. “She went into some trance before, but when the plane was landin’, she collapsed an’ started gaspin’, ‘He’s been shot,’ a thousand bloody times over. Before that, she kept mutterin’ about somethin’ bein’ wrong.”

“This is more stuff that you haven’t told me about, right?” CJ asked. “Some Natchez-related thing?”

Donna was staring at the redhead as though she was the second-coming. “You knew that Josh was shot?”

“I…well…” Willow glanced up, shrugging uncomfortably. “Yes. I felt it.”

“That’s not all she felt—”

“You guys aren’t really helping, you know.” The Witch turned to Sam, her eyes now completely clear. No more blackness from before, though now he understood where that had come from. Whatever had happened on the plane had taken her over so entirely. It also accounted for the expedience in her ability to get through so much security. With Spike and Buffy, he had come to expect it. Willow, though…despite her uncanny capacity to navigate magic, she was still just…Willow.

There was only twice before tonight that said capacity was demonstrated in a way that terrified him. Those instances, similarly, had been shoved as far back as his mind would allow.

“How is the President?” the redhead asked suddenly. “I know…I didn’t…” She met Abbey Bartlet’s eyes and flushed. “I…didn’t feel him. I couldn’t, I just—”

The First Lady looked at her for a long minute. There was almost an unspoken pact between those that didn’t know the group well to not ask questions. “He’s going to be fine.”

“The bullet didn’t hit anything,” Toby confirmed. “There was visible entry and exit…he’s just under general anesthesia right now.”

“Josh’s procedure is going to take about fifteen hours,” Mrs. Bartlet continued. “If you like, I will speak to Ron Butterfield to make sure the secret service doesn’t stop you from getting back. I’m sure you are all very tired and—”

Willow shook her head. “I’m staying here.”

Buffy and Spike exchanged a look. The redhead had just interrupted the First Lady. She had to be out of it.

“We do need to see ‘bout our things,” the vampire offered quietly. “Red took off like a bloody bat outta hell once the seizure stopped.”

“Could you stop using that word?”

“Ummm, lemme think. No.”

“Sam and Toby have to get back to the White House,” CJ said. “Leo…the Chief of Staff is meeting with leadership right now. And I have…some things to get done while Josh is in surgery.”

“I’ll be back soon,” Sam added. “We just—”

Willow nodded. “Yeah. I’m staying here…if that’s all right with everyone.”

Donna’s eyes widened in agreement, and she patted the vacant seat next to her with enthusiasm. “Sit. Please. Spike, Buffy…you too.”

The blondes exchanged another look.

“I believe you’re wanted here,” Abbey said. “That’s fine. The White House will make sure your assets are returned to you. I think it’s…I think it’s safe to say that none of us are at our best tonight.”

Which was why they weren’t asking questions.

“Besides,” the First Lady continued, “if I know my husband, he’ll want to speak to someone who understands Latin when he’s less groggy.”

Spike quirked a smile. “Told you, did he?”

“Not so much that I understand why you’re here or what happened those two weeks everyone was conspicuously absent in some remote southern town, but he can’t keep quiet when Latin’s involved.” Abbey glanced around, her eyes still hazed a little with tears of worry that had not quite shed. “As for the rest, it is a pleasant distraction. I don’t think anyone here is going to bother you for answers tonight.”

“I had this entire speech planned,” Sam murmured. “Introducing you to the President…and CJ and everyone here.”

Buffy and Spike shared one last glance. It was bizarre. It was admittedly bizarre. They were strangers in a different land. In a world where reality was the nonreality, and the riddles being spoken talked themselves into circles. CJ, Abbey…everyone here that didn’t know them knew enough to not challenge their presence. And tonight, they wouldn’t ask questions. Not about Willow and her seizure, her seeming knowledge of Josh’s injury a good hour prior to arrival. Nor would they inquire about the presence of two who were wholly unrelated to everyone here; all except Donna, who needed them now that she had allowed her emotions out.

When they sat, there were no more words. Buffy’s head found Spike’s shoulder, their hands entwined as the night crashed around them. Donna sitting across from them. Grateful but silent. Charlie rose finally and mentioned something about the Residence to get some of the President’s things. Abbey Bartlet remained in her corner with her daughter, and the President’s men left reluctantly to go back to work.

The country wouldn’t sleep, not even when her native son was dying. When her leader was shot.

Strangers in a waiting room, left to the will of time.

And they waited.

TBC
 

Chapter Three







Buffy started from where she had been dancing on that thin line between sleep and wakefulness. She flashed Spike an apologetic glance and smiled softly at the tender look on his face. He’d gone to get drinks just a few minutes before, but her fatigue had drowned out time so that it felt that hours had passed since she had seen him.



“They were out of sweetener,” he said gently, sliding into the seat beside her. “Brought you cream.”



“You’re the best,” she replied, stretching slightly.



“I keep tellin’ you this. It shouldn’t be a bloody surprise.” He grinned and brushed a kiss across her forehead. “Though, by last count, it’s you that reminds me nightly.”



“Perv.”



“Yeh, Ms. Kettle. Callin’ me a liar?”



She flushed and leaned into him. “I’m too sleepy to argue with you.”



“Likely story.” He grinned unrepentantly, the sparkle in his eyes fading a bit as a doctor and two nurses stormed hurriedly down the corridor, striking a terrible reminder as to where they were. “I’m guessin’ there hasn’t been any news since five minutes ago.”



“No.” Buffy cast a long glance in the direction of the waiting room. For whatever reason, sitting in there with Josh’s closest friends, even with everything they had been through together, hadn’t felt right. Willow was still with Donna, of course. Of all the Scoobies, the Witch was most definitely the one closest to the Senior Staffers. It was right that she wait with them.



Donna had asked them to stay. Buffy simply didn’t feel right. It was a private time, and not even what had happened in Natchez could complete the bridge between their worlds. Thus Spike had led her outside when he sensed she was uncomfortable. She felt bad for dragging him away when it was more than obvious that the woman in the waiting room needed support.



Spike had told her she was silly to think anyone else, regardless of the circumstance, could matter to him, and had insisted that they pass the time in solitude.



“CJ’s doing another briefing here in a few minutes,” Buffy said. “I’m too lazy to get up right now.”



“’S okay, baby.” He squeezed her tighter and brushed another kiss over her temple. “We’ll know soon enough.”



“She looked horrible at the last one.”



“Well, granted, she was jus’ shot at.”



“More than that. From all the ‘watching of the news’ that Will’s made us do…” She broke off with a deep sigh, her throat too dry for tears. “Tonight doesn’t feel real.”



Spike nodded wearily. “Know what you mean. I’ve lived a bleedin’ long time, sweetheart, an’ I’ve never seen anythin’ like this.”



“How is it that we can stand on the Longwood lawn and banish gods and what else, but enter the sort of reality that the rest of the world is used to and I…” She shook her head. “I don’t know what to do. I want to go out and go hunt the baddies…do something to make this right. I don’t want to be waiting in a hospital. It feels so…”



“Normal?”



“Yes. Which makes it really, really strange.”



He grinned at the implied irony, but nodded his agreement. “I’d be lyin’ if I said I thought I’d be spendin’ a lot of time in hospitals when I was turned.” He shrugged easily. “These people are important to you.”



“And you.”



Spike scowled. “Not so.”



“It’s okay, sweetie,” she reassured him, patting his hand which only made his scowl deepen even as his eyes danced at her mirth. “Secret’s safe with me.”



“Yeh. That’s likely.”



“Donna,” she pointed out.



Spike shrugged easily. “I like her,” he admitted, “an’ I wouldn’t wanna do anythin’ to hurt her, much as it ruins my rep.” Buffy rolled her eyes, inspiring his grin to broaden. “But I wouldn’t be here, even for her, if it weren’t for you an’ your relationship with them. ‘Sides, the only way I got to know Donna was for the way she sat with me when I was worryin’ my head over you.”



She smiled and brushed a gentle kiss across his lips. “She was with you when you needed someone.”



“I needed you. She kept me from losin’ my head. Kept me talkin’ so I din’t worry myself to a bloody second death.”



“She needs Josh now. I guess we’re here to make sure she doesn’t lose her head.”



“An’ by we, you mean Red, right?”



“We’re here, too…if she needs us.”



That uneasy feeling settled over her again. There was a certain line of difference between sitting in a bed and breakfast in some remote southern town and sitting in the waiting room of a hospital after an attempted assassination. Perhaps that was just her perception, though. Their time in Natchez was jaded with memories of both euphoric bliss and some of the most horrifying trials she had ever undergone. She had eaten bread pudding with Donna that first day when the Scoobies had tried familiarizing themselves with their surroundings, but other than that, most of her time had been spent with Spike. It was the man at her side that had gotten to know the Senior Staffers through the grapevine of support that they had offered when she was sick. And despite all else, what Spike had told her, keeping him from where he wanted to be wasn’t fair. Especially in conditions like these.



Buffy licked her lips and nodded at the door. “Sweetie,” she said softly, her insides warming at the soft glow of adoration that reflected from his eyes at the unbidden use of a pet name. “If you want to go in there, I’ll be okay. It’s—”



Spike silenced her with a kiss. “Stayin’ right here,” he murmured. “You’re not gettin’ rid of me that easily, pet.”



“Well, that’s reassuring.”



“You’re the only person here that I love. An’ like you said, if Donna needs us, she’ll come out.” He tossed a quick glance to the waiting room. “I think she needs some time.” A deep breath rolled off his shoulders. “An’ I think you should be ready.”



“Ready?”



“There’s a chance Red won’ wanna come back with us.”



Buffy licked her lips and tucked her legs under her, taking a sip of her coffee. “Why?”



“Think of everythin’ that happened here tonight, luv. The girl had to wrestle through the bleedin’ airport security, secret service, an’ all that rubbish to get here. She wasn’ with her guy when he needed her.” He shrugged. “Think it’s rather obvious. If it was you, nothin’ in the world could keep me away.”



“If it was you, I’d never have gone back to Sunnydale to begin with.”



Spike smiled warmly. “I know, baby. Me either.”



“It was the right thing to do, though. With as much as she’s been talking the past couple weeks; it would’ve been hell on earth if she had gone back with them.”



“Maybe.”



The Slayer’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe? Spike, we watched coverage of their landing in DC. Josh even had his own little cheering section. The President drove out to greet them. Tell me it wouldn’t have looked bad if a nineteen year old pagan had gotten off the plane with them and mentioned, oh, by the way, I’m doing the Deputy…whatever.”



“If Sam had tried, he could’ve made it work.”



“How?”



“Well, I dunno, by bloody askin’ her?”



A frown crossed her face. “I don’t think…they hadn’t known each other that long—”



“Yeh. An’ been together less than that. Need I remind you what terms we were on when we got to Natchez?”



“That’s different.”



“How so?”



Buffy’s eyes widened and she gestured emphatically. “It’s us. We’re us. And we’re different…besides, we had the thing before the Natchez thing that already had me all drooly over you. Willow met Sam while we were there.”



Spike grinned. “Yeh. An’ she loves the wanker, doesn’ she? We had to listen to them exchanging li’l gigglies and spoken sonnets in the airport before we left, remember? ‘F I were in Sam’s shoes, I would’ve gotten on my knees an’ begged her to come home with me.”



“If you were in Sam’s shoes, you wouldn’t be working at the White House.”



“Think so?”



“And you wouldn’t be going out with Willow.”



The vampire eyed her wryly, running his appreciative gaze down her body. How he could find her remotely attractive now, running on less than three hours of sleep, jetlag, and what felt like years away from a shower, was beyond her. Only that she had the most adoring boyfriend in the world and she was a lucky god to have him. “Well,” he drawled, “that much is a bloody given.”



Buffy flushed, which felt strange under the circumstances, not to mention the wealth of what they had shared. She felt her insides couldn’t stop shaking. That sick feeling that had been rumbling in her stomach since Willow’s panic attack on the plane had yet to dissolve. The night stunk of death and made her feel about as helpless as she had ever felt. Even when Giles had worked with the Council to remove her powers for her eighteenth birthday rite, she had been able to get stuff accomplished. There were no bad guys that she could go after. No demons to slay. The monsters that had fired on her friends tonight were human. If Josh died, it would be a crime of man against man.



That in itself was something she was almost sure Spike wanted to point out, as an ever-persistent activist for equal demon rights…or something. She was grateful and a little proud that he had yet to mention it.



“I know we just arrived,” she said a minute later, voice sounding distant even to her own ears. “But we can’t stay. Not like this.”



Spike took her hand and squeezed gently. “I know, baby,” he replied. “There’s no tellin’ when they’ll open up the airports, though. We might be grounded for a while.”



“They will after the signal man is caught.”



“We can’t know when that’ll be.”



Buffy shrugged. “I figure it’ll either be now or never. This kid’s…from what I heard from Toby…the kid’s a, well, kid. Fifteen years old or so. God, maybe even younger. Either he’ll disappear into some arcade or he’ll be found right off the bat. Get cocky and clumsy or…something.”



“You’re underestimatin’ your own country’s ability to find a prat that doesn’ even have his driver’s license yet?”



“This is the same country that decided it would be a good idea to start kidnapping vampires and fitting them with government chips, remember?”



“Point taken. I’m jus’ sayin’, this thing wasn’t orchestrated by criminal masterminds. Couple kids bustin’ caps? There’s no way the bloke’ll get far.”



She hoped he was right. This sensation of uselessness was making her feel as weak as she ever had. Even before she was called. Not being able to help someone was about the worst feeling in the world. The sooner this was over, the better.



For so many reasons.



“We can’t go anywhere until Curly is out of surgery anyway,” Spike said softly.



“I know. I wouldn’t even if…” She shook her head. “I just…it makes more sense to me when I’m…Josh was shot and we couldn’t do anything.”



“I know.”



“He was shot. I mean, he’s an arrogant jackass, but he…he helped us save the world. He…he was shot. The last time we saw him, he was fine.” She began to break at that, tears from nowhere bubbling over the surface. A torrent of emotion that had been lingering in the back of her mind. That knowledge that never strayed from the spotlight. “Just a few hours ago, we were on our way to see him and…and he was fine.”



The next thing she knew, Spike had practically hauled her into his lap, carefully setting her cooling coffee aside and urging her head to pillow at his shoulder. “Shhh,” he murmured gently, brushing a kiss across her brow. “These things happen, pet.”



“People get shot at?”



“Well, yeh.”



“I like Sunnydale. They don’t have guns.”



He chuckled and kissed her again. “Well, that’s not true.”



“Which?”



“Either. Demons jus’ typically like knives or what all. Jus’ seems more intimidatin’ than a gun.” He ran a comforting hand across her head, tugging lovingly on her sloppy ponytail. “’Sides, we were in SunnyD for a total of two bloody weeks an’ you were itchin’ to get out.”



“So?”



“So, if this hadn’t happened, you’d be havin’ a right good ole time. People get shot at, sweetling, an’ people who’re in office are bloody easy targets. Trust me, I’ve seen a few of these. Even heard tale when Lincoln was killed.” He shrugged when she looked up in surprise. “Word reached us even across the bloody world, without the use of the telly, even.”



“There was actually light in the world prior to TV?”



“I prefer to call it the Dark Ages.” Spike released another sigh and rested his cheek atop her crown, squeezing her tighter. “It can’t be too much longer now,” he said. “These doctors are entrusted with the bloody President.”



“Yeah. But the President…his…the First Lady said it was a superficial wound. Josh…”



“I know.”



“I just—”



He kissed her again, his eyes fluttering shut at the contact. “I know. ‘S okay, sweetheart.”



His voice told her a different story, but she decided not to pursue it. Instead, Buffy nodded against his shirt and snuggled into him, battling the wearing fatigue that threatened to cart her away completely.



It already seemed they had been waiting for years. That fortitude she so relied on was gone. That safeguard she had as the Slayer.



Spike was with her, though. It was hard to remember a time when he hadn’t been. He was holding her now. Keeping her grounded when she needed someone to hold onto. Holding her in the midst of a long wait when no one knew how things would look at the other end of the tunnel.



Holding her to her reality as the world’s crashed around them.



 

*~*~*





“It was what?”



Sam released a long sigh as he rose to his feet, reluctantly releasing Willow’s hand and tossing a glance to Donna. He had just come from the back where the President was recuperating after surgery. The family had been notified first; then Sam, whose job was to relay everything back to the White House, though he couldn’t help himself from stopping to tell those who were waiting for word on Josh. It seemed cruel and unusual, especially when Donna looked to be seconds away from breaking. “CJ will be announcing it in her briefing,” he said. “Right now, it’s only us.”



“Yeah, but—”



“It was Charlie.” Donna looked up at that, her eyes wide. The Deputy Communications Director cleared his throat and redirected his gaze to a more comforting spot on the floor. “Charlie and Zoey. The shooters were a part of an organization called West Virginia White Pride. They were shooting because of Zoey…and Charlie.”



Willow stared at him a minute longer, her eyes filling with tears. Tears that had no sure target; it was just a night for crying. “Oh my God.”



“They tried to kill the President because Zoey and Charlie are adults and…don’t care about stupid things like skin color?” Donna asked, numb. “They shot Josh because Charlie’s black?”



Sam bit his lip. “No.”



“No? But—”



“It wasn’t the President they were after. They were there to…” An uncomfortable pause settled through the room. Sam shifted after a second before casting the two a regretful glance. “I have to go,” he said. “CJ needs some help with the language, and Toby’s about to crucify himself over this thing.”



“What thing?” the redhead asked.



“Why there wasn’t a tent over the President when he left the building.” At her blank look, he shrugged again. Brushing off any candor that would suggest that keeping what he was about to tell her to himself. Tonight was not about rules, especially among those who loved each other. “Right after the President was sworn in, Toby and I sat in on a meeting where we decided it was more…something or…something if he didn’t walk out under a tent. So Toby wrote a memo and the President signed it. And now people are asking questions.”



“Oh.”



“Secret service doesn’t comment on procedure,” Mrs. Landingham said wisely from the back of the room.



“I know,” Sam replied. “And Toby knows. It’s just…we did this thing and now—”



“It wasn’t your fault, Sam,” Donna admonished.



“I—”



Willow clutched at his hand tightly. “Sam, it wasn’t your fault. Or Toby’s.”



A pause. “I know. But my best friend is just inches away from dying…and if we hadn’t—”



“It wasn’t your fault,” Mrs. Landingham said. “The President won’t like to hear you’ve been talking like this, Sam. You don’t want me to get you into trouble, do you?”



At that, a grin tickled his lips. “No, ma’am.”



“Good. Now get going.”



He nodded and brushed a kiss over Willow’s lips. “I’ll be back soon.”



“Don’t worry about me. We’re fine.” She seized Donna’s hand and squeezed. “We’re both fine. We’ll…it’s just…”



Another sharp nod. “I’ll be back soon,” he said again. Then he was gone, and it was just the three of them in the waiting room. Charlie and Zoey were with the First Lady and the President. Leo was back at the White House as was Toby and CJ, and now Sam. There was some talk of movement in Iraq and Willow knew she had heard some news program discussing the twenty-fifth amendment and who was in charge of the country right now.



There was so much policy involved. It made Willow’s stomach ache.



“Are Buffy and Spike still here?” Donna asked softly.



“Yeah. They’re just outside, I think. I can feel them.” She licked her lips. “I know this is…they’re probably talking about this, and it makes sense. Staying right now…with what’s happened…they’ll need to get back to Sunnydale.” A deep breath rolled off her lips. “Donna…before we left, I put in an application to Georgetown University.”



The blonde froze, staring at her. “What?”



“I…I love Sam. And being away from him for just…it was awful. But tonight? I couldn’t get to him when I wanted to. I couldn’t…I couldn’t be here when…” She shuddered and shook her head. “I never want to feel like this again.”



“You’re coming to Georgetown?”



She nodded. “If I get accepted.”



“Willow?” A slow, steady grin had sprouted across the blonde’s face, rolling back the worry that had settled there. Lifting her up in ways it seemed nothing could tonight. “Oh, this is so fantastic. I can’t…oh, thank you.”



Before she knew what was happening, Donna had tugged her into her arms. “Thank you,” she said again.



Willow smiled in spite of herself. “I’m glad you’re glad.”



“I’m more than glad. Why didn’t you say anything to Sam?”



“I didn’t want to say I was moving and then…especially tonight. It seemed…” She shook her head. “I haven’t even told Buffy yet. Or Giles. Or, hell, even my parents. I have no idea how they’ll react to this.” A pause. “And honestly? I don’t know how I’ll react to it…when it actually happens. Right now it’s just a decision. When I’m actually in the process of packing it up and leaving…Buffy and Xander are my best friends in the world. It’s going to hurt like hell to be without them. I dunno…there’s every chance I’ll go running back after two weeks.”



Sad thing was, she wasn’t joking. She felt better leaving Buffy on the Hellmouth than she did leaving Sam in DC. Buffy could take care of herself; Sam could in theory, but he wasn’t superman. Buffy was a god. She would be there for centuries. She wouldn’t be taken out by a bullet. And she had Spike.



Xander…God, she didn’t want to leave Xander. That would hurt more than anything. But Xander also had Anya. Willow had her friends, yes, but she didn’t have Sam. And despite the circumstances, she felt more complete now—sitting in the waiting room of GW Memorial—than she had since the trials in Natchez had ended.



That plus the happiness in Donna’s eyes, jaded as it was, was more than worth it. If nothing else, this moment sold her completely. Making a woman who was on the edge of losing the man she loved smile in the midst of it all…that was an amazing feeling.



But nothing could quite top the rush that seized her veins when the back door opened, Abbey Bartlet stepping in. Her worried demeanor did not betray her cool, quiet grace. There was something in her eyes, though. Something that spoke for everything even before the words touched the air.



Three small words that meant everything.



“Josh is awake.”


 

: These few chapters up until Chapter 13 (according to my outline) will be divided between Sunnydale and Washington, DC. It’s not important in any sense other than it will read almost as two different stories until the characters are reunited. Naturally, when in Sunnydale, there will be word on the happenings of DC and vice versa; I just wanted to avoid confusion at the shot-reverse-shot that will ensue until the plot ties everyone together once more.



 

Chapter Four




There was a certain something in the air that was thoroughly Sunnydale. Nothing that anyone could describe with any measure of accuracy; just a quality that was there. That would reassure anyone who knew the Hellmouth that they were home. That the normal, demon-inspired evilness was well at work, and the reality that the rest of the world deemed true was far away from reckoning.

Spike flashed her a cocky grin, wiping his hands free of dust from the newest vampire to be reintroduced to the earth. “Well, baby,” he drawled. “Was it good for you?”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed, lowering her stake slowly. “It was too easy,” she pouted.

“Leaves a girl all…unsatisfied, right?”

At that, a slow grin crossed her lips. “You got a solution, Big Bad?” she retorted, taking a coy step in his direction. “Another vampire out here that’ll give me a challenge?”

He ran his tongue over his teeth, his eyes sparkling. “Depends on what kinda challenge tickles your fancy.”

Her gaze dropped speculatively to his crotch. “Shouldn’t this be a joint decision?” she asked rhetorically. “What sort of challenge are you… up for?”

“You’re a dirty girl.”

“Wanna clean me?”

Spike smirked and seized her by the wrist, tugging her into his arms and capturing her mouth, his tongue dancing erotically with hers. Kissing him was always a breathtaking experience; the wealth of feeling that he poured into each stroke of his sinful lips both aroused her like nothing else and filled her insides with a sense of love and security that she thought she would never have as the Slayer.

“Mmmm,” he murmured into her mouth; naughty, wandering hands cupping her breasts. “You taste divine.”

Buffy grinned, wrapping her arms around his throat. “So do you.”

“You wanna…” He waggled his brows, enjoying her flush.

“Here?”

“Why not?”

She made a face that wasn’t nearly as put off as she would have liked. “Not in to voyeurism, thanks.”

Spike arched a brow, one hand abandoning her breast to slip under the waistband of her slacks, moaning into her mouth at the warm, slippery flesh that awaited his touch. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” he murmured.

“Uhhh…”

“’m sure there’s a nook around here somewhere—”

“I talked with Toby today!”

The vampire against her froze, his thumb poised over her clit. “Y’know,” he said. “I din’t figure you’d be in the position to remember names by this point.”

“Got your attention, huh?”

He smirked again, head rising to meet her eyes. He gave her sensitive nubbin a twist, wrangling a long mewl from her lips before he removed his hand completely, licking the dew off with an erotic moan of approval. “What’d the wanker have to say?” he asked, enjoying the glossy lust that had commanded her eyes.

“He wanted to know if there was any way to talk to Willow so that she would talk to Josh so that he could get to Josh and ask him about a thing.”

Spike rumbled his amusement. “Donna’s still not lettin’ anyone in to see him?”

“No one but Willow, and that’s only because she’s not on the President’s staff.”

He shrugged at that. “Seems fair to me. The bloke’s recoverin’ from a gunshot wound that nearly killed him. These ponces actually want him focusin’ on work?”

“Evidently.”

“Mhmm. An’ you felt this was important enough to interrupt our more…pleasurable pursuits?” With a devilish grin, he leaned in again, nibbling seductively on her neck right over the claim mark; indulging the small jolts of bliss that shot through them both at contact. “I’ll make a voyeur of you yet.”

“Nahhh…”

He grinned. “Real convincin’, aren’t you?”

“I’m not a voyeur.”

“Won’ take much,” he said, tweaking a nipple through her shirt. “I got an eternity to try, but…” His hand was coming dangerously close to slipping into her wet heat again, fingers mapping a pattern along the waistband of her pants. She was practically panting against him. “With responses like these, I don’ think it’ll take more than a couple of minutes.”

“Perv.”

“You love it.”

“That’s totally beside the point.”

“See, here’s the part where I don’ believe you.”

There was an interruption, then. A presence that hadn’t been there before. As though it materialized simply for the purpose of finding them as they enjoyed their relationship and the bloom of the rose that wouldn’t wear off for the next sixteen centuries, if ever.

“This is no way to address one made for the hunt, William.” The two pulled apart at that, turning simultaneously to the man standing prominently against the shadows. The man was very pale, very thin; very much a vampire with an accent that of the same make as John Carpenter’s wet dreams. “Especially one with…such power.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Bollocks.”

“Spike?”

“Drac.”

Buffy’s face fell slack, her disbelieving eyes landing on the vampire in question. “Seriously? That’s Dracula?”

The man at her side grasped her hand protectively and nodded. “Yeh, that’s him. Wanker still owes me eleven pounds, too.” He arched his brows expectantly at the vampire in question. “Vlad. So…well, no it’s not nice to see you. Why are you here, exactly?”

“Why I came does not concern you, William,” the count retorted, his eyes never leaving Buffy. “I am here for the Chosen One. The one called Buffy Summers.”

Spike’s eyes flared possessively. “’F that’s so, mate, I’m afraid you made the trip for nothin’.”

The Slayer’s gaze widened. “You’ve heard of me?” she asked the dark vampire. “Me?”

“Naturally,” Dracula replied, ignoring her mate coolly. “You’re known throughout the world.”

“Naw.” A pause. “Really?”

“Buffy…” Spike squeezed her hand warningly. “Sweetling, look at me.”

She did. Her eyes were clear. “What?”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay. Wanker has ways of makin’ you do things. Some sorta whacked out mind control. Gave Dru a few pointers once or twice. Jus’ makin’ sure you’re still with me.”

“I’m still here.” She nodded at the other vampire. “What I wanna know is why he’s here.”

Dracula’s brows arched neutrally. “Why would I come here if not for you, Ms. Summers? For the sun? I came here to meet the renowned…killer.”

Buffy was not impressed. “I prefer the term slayer, if you don’t mind. Killer just sounds so…”

“Naked?”

“That’s enough!” Spike snarled, stalking forward. “The lady’s not interested in whatever you’re tryin’ to pass off, mate. Now kindly pack it up an’ get the bleedin’ hell outta our town, savvy?”

“My interests do not lie with you, William. You may leave.”

“Yeh. That’s happenin’.”

Dracula’s eyes darkened and he looked back to the Slayer. “And you let this one claim you?” he asked. “I was hopeful that that much was an unfortunate rumor.”

A fresh rush of irritation surged through her veins and she stepped forward defensively. “Well, you can kiss the chance of my asking for an autograph goodbye,” she retorted. “You’re treading on dangerous ground, Your Royal Snootiness. Spike is my mate and he’s right; you’re in my town. Get to the point and get out, or I’ll arrange an introduction between you and Mr. Pointy.”

Spike tossed her a grin.

“I came here to meet the legend, naturally.”

“Good. We’ve met. Now get out.”

A wry smile crossed the darker vampire’s face. “You’re magnificent,” he praised.

“Well, we agree on that much, Vlad,” Spike growled. “An’ she’s smart, which is more than I can say for the floozies that’ve fallen for this Prince of Darkness act before. Plus, if you’re here to seduce her, ‘m afraid you’re too late. The chit’s completely heads over for me.”

“I do not understand,” Dracula said, frowning. “She is not responding to my thrall.”

“Thrall?” the other vampire retorted incredulously. “’S that what you’re callin’ it nowadays?”

Buffy frowned. “He has thrall?”

“He has a thing where he thinks he does,” Spike replied, turning back to the other vampire with a smug sense of satisfaction. “See what I mean, mate? Way too quick for the likes of you.”

Dracula tossed him an irritated glance before glancing once more to the Slayer. “This one,” he said dramatically, gesturing to the younger vampire, “is not worthy of you. Not worthy of your taste. Your power. Your…legend.”

Spike’s azure eyes flared and he snarled viciously and prowled forward. “You bloody righteous—”

Buffy leapt forward and caught her mate by the wrist, tugging him back to her. After everything they had gone through in Natchez, she was inclined to think Spike was worthy of everything; his loving her a gift she still felt a little unworthy of, herself. He had already given her so much.

“Here’s the thing,” she said, flexing her shoulders a bit. “Spike and I? Kinda of the claimed. And really, not that the tall, dark, and devastatingly annoying look doesn’t work for you, ’cause really—it does, but my dance card is kind of filled from now until the next forever. You said you came here to meet me? Consider me met. Now turn around, get out of town, or again with the introducing you to Mr. Pointy.”

Dracula did not look impressed. “Slayers present no threat to me,” he retorted confidently. “Have not for centuries.”

“Well, first.” The next second, she was right in front of him, popping him squarely in the nose. “Not just a Slayer, bucko. Status has been upped to the god-like nature.” The count’s head snapped back, his eyes flashed yellow and his fangs extended. Unaffected, Buffy whipped out her stake and grinned ironically. “And second, well, I’d close my eyes if I were you.”

Before she could administer the killing blow, however, Dracula was gone. His body dissolved into an ethereal mist and disappeared altogether, welcoming artificial light into the cemetery where he had been. Buffy and Spike turned at the same moment, surprised and a little annoyed. Feeding on each other’s emotions in a manner that was already natural. The Count was gone but they were still not alone. The cemetery was suddenly occupied by a dozen or so men in camouflage, carrying guns and tazers. And all seemingly very interested in the two blondes that had formerly been speaking with the notorious Vlad the Impaler.

The Initiative.

“What is this?” Buffy whined. “International Interrupt Buffy and Spike Week?”

The vampire at her side grinned wryly. “Seems so, luv.”

So strange. The past few months were compact with so many different things; the last time she had been in contact with the Initiative, she had no idea who they were or what they wanted. Only that they were the cause of Spike’s handicap. A handicap the Scoobies hadn’t known the full extent of until they met people in the hierarchy of the government.

Buffy also knew that Riley Finn, the guy she had been trying to get interested in before they left, was a part of the Initiative. Which meant he likely knew Spike. Which meant he was a threat.

They were all threats. To her. Her mate. If they recognized Spike…

Well, they wouldn’t get that far. She would introduce them to the dark side of the Slayer before she let them come within throwing distance of her lover.

“Buffy,” Spike murmured, reaching for her hand. There was a high note in his voice that she hadn’t heard before. “Guess I don’ need to tell you…”

“Nope. Got that memo. Don’t worry—not gonna let them touch you.” She flashed him a weak smile, flushing at the sudden glow of love that warmed his eyes at her fierce defense. “And here we thought it was gonna be a slow night.”

“No such luck, sweetling.” He squeezed her hand. “Jus’ for the record, not gonna let them touch you, either. Don’ care how much it sodding hurts.”

The commandos were masked and not looking to make with the introductions. Buffy had the uncomfortable feeling that if these guys wanted to get serious, she would find out just how far rooted her god powers were. And that was something she was not prepared for.

Even so, when their approach did not slow, she broke and settled into a firm stance to take whatever they threw at her. “Okay, boys,” she drawled. “You wanna tussle—I’ll give it to you.”

The commando nearest to her stopped abruptly but did not say anything.

“If it’s Dracula you’re looking for,” she continued, taking a cautious glance at their surroundings. There were just enough operatives to give her a run for her money, but she would throw down whatever was necessary to make sure she and Spike got home tonight. “You just missed him. Did this funky disappearing act. But, hey, if you let me and my hubby go, I’ll make sure I dust him extra dead for you.”

“Hubby?” Spike murmured, arching a cool brow.

“Any objections, sweetie?”

“None whatsoever. Jus’ makin’ sure my hearin’ wasn’t failin’ me.”

She smiled grimly and turned back to the commandos who had stilled and were studying her as though she was some deranged experiment gone wrong. “Okay,” she said. “Small talk aside, one of you guys wouldn’t happen to be Riley Finn, would you?”

That caused a small rustle. The commandos started glancing uneasily to one another, not speaking but definitely unnerved. The one nearest to her simply stared, and she knew without having to know that he was the one she had just named. Same height. Same overbearing presence, even with months between their last meeting and a mask over his face. That was Riley.

“Ummm, did I mention that I know about the Initiative?” she asked. “And that I’m the Slayer and I have friends who work for the White House?”

That was it. One of the commandos behind her broke and decided to join the world of the vocal. “Agent Finn?”

“I got this, Forrest. Take the others and scout out the direction in which the hostile disappeared.”

“He didn’t go in a direction,” Buffy argued. “He just poofed.”

“We’ll find him,” came the gruff reply.

“Not if he doesn’ wanna be found, you won’t,” Spike muttered, smiling grimly at his lover when she shot him a pointed look. “Jus’ sayin’, pet. These wankers don’ know the Count like I do.”

Either the others didn’t hear him or they didn’t care. They had moved on in the next few minutes. All except one.

The man standing before her was one she hadn’t thought of in months. A man she had once been semi-serious about in that if-it-gets-serious-all-the-better way. A man she hadn’t thought of since Spike shimmied his way into her heart. Since that night in the Bronze forever ago, when she began falling in love with him.

Despite the absence of the other commandos, she sensed Spike’s tension heighten rather than improve. They had not spoken of the non-Angel men of her past, and now, a shining reminder was standing right before them. No matter that it had been weeks since she last saw Riley—weeks that seemed more like months. Not to mention that her thoughts about the Initiative operative had ended almost immediately after their last meeting. So much had happened—so much was still happening. She was an example of what would be present forever. Riley was a passing face on the road to eternity.

It amazed her that she had ever seen the man as a person she could date happily.

“Buffy,” he said, drawing away his facial coverings. “I didn’t know you were back in town.”

She extended her arms and shrugged. “Here I am. In townish.”

His eyes waned suspiciously to the platinum vampire at her side. “Who’s this?”

The Slayer squeezed Spike’s hand once more in reassurance before he could lash out something in defense. “This is my boyfriend,” she said, stepping onto safer ground. “Spike, Riley. Riley, Spike.”

“Spike?” the other man echoed dubiously. “The one you were marrying but not really?”

“Yeah. But that was before he was my boyfriend.”

“A slot that’s not openin’ for the next bloody eternity, mate,” said boyfriend snarled possessively.

Riley frowned. “Do I know you?”

Buffy laughed loudly at that, big and fake; before the man at her side could stalk forward or implode into bumpies or do something else to give them away. “Oh, no,” she replied. “Spike’s…ummm…Giles. Relative of Giles. Son or…son.” She ignored the pointed glance she received in turn for that. “He came in from England around the time that I told you we were getting married…then I actually met him and now we’re all with the pre-wedded bliss.”

The hostility vacated the vampire’s eyes at that. Instead, he turned back to her, running his tongue over his teeth. “I’ll bloody well say,” he purred in agreement.

“Well…I feel awkward and…we’ll just stick with awkward.” Riley’s frown deepened and he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “I didn’t…how do you know about the Initiative?”

Buffy shrugged. “Like I said, I have friends in high places.”

“The White House? I’m fairly certain I heard you say the White House.”

“Well, you heard right. The White House. Know the guys there almost all the way up.” She licked her lips. “We met them in Natchez.”

“Natchez?”

She nodded, wincing as the conversation drew on. It was like watching herself through someone else’s eyes, reiterating everything she already knew for the sake of posterity. There was absolutely no reason Riley needed to know any of this. “Went there a couple months ago. Right after…right after I told you I was getting married. We got back and then Willow got an invitation to go see her boyfriend in DC and then—”

“Willow’s boyfriend?”

“Sam Seaborn.”

“Deputy somethin’ or other,” Spike muttered, kicking at the ground. “High up there in the pecking order of the politics an’ the…” He looked up when he sensed both pairs of eyes on him with growing incredulity. “I din’t say anythin’.”

Riley stared at him for a minute longer before glancing back to Buffy. “You and Willow just disappeared,” he said. “Walsh did things to your grade that you don’t want to know about. And—”

“Willow transferred to Georgetown,” the Slayer retorted. “Walsh isn’t a professor anymore, from what I’ve heard. And anyway, what I was doing in Natchez took precedence over going to school.”

“Buffy—”

“I know about you, okay? I know that the Initiative chases after vampires and sticks things in the heads of demons and whatnot. I got that from Josh—”

“Josh?”

“Lyman. Another deputy something or other.”

“The bloke that was shot,” Spike clarified, his body still tense. His eyes on the ground. He was holding onto Buffy’s hand as though the world depended on their connection. And when she got him alone again, she intended to eradicate all those fears and insecurities.

For now, though, they had appearances to keep up. The last thing they needed was the Initiative sniffing around Spike and his chipped self or her and her still-cooling god powers. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Josh was the one that was shot. He found out some…stuff…then he told us about the Initiative. But it was Angel that told me about you.”

Spike growled lightly at that.

“Angel? That vampire that came up here and—”

“Yeah. That vampire.” Buffy’s hands came up neutrally. “Look. I don’t…I just wanted to say…as far as professional demon hunters go, you don’t get more so than me. We’re not going to be friends on the field. I just wanted you to know that I know you and what your division’s up to. More over, I know people who have an ear to the President. So…just…know that, okay?”

“Buffy—”

“No. We’re done here.” She tugged on Spike’s hand. “Kill Dracula. Don’t kill Dracula. If you do, it’s no skin off my nose. If you don’t, I will. And my way will be a lot cleaner than yours.”

“Buffy—”

The vampire at her side growled once more, eyes glimmering dangerously near yellow. If Riley noticed, he did not reveal his surprise. Perhaps that meant there was none; she didn’t know. All she knew was she needed to get Spike out before he completely lost his temper.

When she was sure they were alone, walking briskly back to their apartment, Buffy pulled him to a rough standstill, cupped his face and kissed him fiercely. Pouring all her reassurance and love into his mouth. Whimpering when he grasped her back, attacking her with his tongue. Murmuring sweet nothings against her lips, tasting her with a sense of liberation that she doubted she would ever tire of.

“Thank you,” she whispered when they pulled apart, breathing harshly.

“For what?”

“Not losing it.”

“Came bloody close.”

“I would have, too. You didn’t lose it.” She smiled and kissed him again. “We just gotta be more careful in the future, okay?”

“I don’ like the idea of you out with that wanker, baby.”

“Well, thankfully, that’s not going to be a problem.” A sigh rolled off her shoulders. “I don’t know if he knows. About you or anything…”

Spike shook his head. “He recognized me, sweetling. Doesn’ know from where, but it won’ take him forever to piece it together.”

“It could.”

“It won’t.” He glanced down, his body trembling with an emotion she could not name, could not sense even through the claim. A broad mixture of love and apprehension, diffidence and fortitude. “Things are gonna get bloody messy, luv. If it’s not Captain Cardboard, it’ll be somethin’ else.” He paused. “There’s somethin’ in the air. Don’ you feel it?”

She couldn’t deny it. There was something. A premonition of something else that was brewing; something rooted in the earth of Sunnydale. A feeling she knew more for habit than understanding what it meant. Something was coming. She felt it as richly as she ever had.

“Yeah,” she replied. “There is something.” She wrapped an arm around his middle, hugging him back to her. “Let’s go home. We can at least finish up the…voyeurism before the thing gets here?”

The worry in Spike’s eyes shrinking for the lustful sheen she adored so much. He grinned leeringly and neared, gaze dropping to her mouth. “Voyeuristically?” he asked, running a hand down her arm. “Here? Now?”

Somehow she managed to wheedle a hand between them, pushing him back before he could distract her with more sinful kissage. “There,” she corrected, nodding her head in the direction of their apartment. “In a few minutes.”

“Not very voyeuristic, baby.”

“I have every faith in your ability to make it so.” She grinned and blew him a kiss. “Race you back.”

She was gone too quick to catch Spike’s devilish grin before he bounded after her.

And chased her all the way back to the apartment.
 

 

: I mentioned in my initial disclaimer that there would be chapters that included lines from episode transcripts of either show. This is likely going to be the best example of that--this is the transitional chapter of the fic where Willow is growing accustomed to life in Washington, so it appropriately takes place during the transitional episode of TWW where everyone is trying to get over the shooting.



This is also the chapter where she finally meets the President.



After the two casts are fully reunited and the canonized story of TWW breaks, there will be very little stealing from transcripts. I just haven't found reason to break from TWW canon yet; their professional lives have changed very little in relation to Buffy, Spike, and Willow's lives having changed considerably. Plus, I really wanted to include the speech made by the President. *evil grin*



 

Chapter Five







“Why can’t you talk to her?”



Sam quirked his head, eyes narrowing as he caught the projected bouncy ball as Toby took aim at his head. “It’s not that simple.”



“Strange, because it seems to be just that simple.”



“It’s not.”



“She’s your girlfriend.”



“Yes.”



“It’s not easy to talk to your girlfriend?” Toby looked at him expectantly, catching the ball with ease as it sailed home. “Is that a sign of a healthy relationship?”



The Deputy Communications Director released a sigh, shifting his weight between his legs. “She’s just moving into the dorms. She’s barely gotten settled. I don’t even think she’s bought her books yet. The last thing she needs is me haggling her between running around at school and helping Donna take care of Josh. I’m lucky if I get an hour with her right now at the end of the day.”



“We need Josh on this.”



“I know.”



“Josh would want to be in on this.”



“I know.”



“In fact, Josh is asking me to find a way to get him in on this. Your girlfriend is the only one of us who has access and is not blonde and biased.” Toby shook his head irately. “Just give her some briefing memos. I can work the rest out over the phone, but he needs to see some numbers.”



“Willow isn’t going to go behind Donna’s back.”



“Why not?”



“Because she’s Willow and she won’t do that, especially when Donna’s aim is to keep Josh healthy as opposed to in the emergency room because of a politically induced aneurysm.”



“Well, Sam, she’s your girlfriend, so you’re gonna have to find a way. Smuggle it into her schoolbooks. Guilt her. Withhold sex. I don’t care how you do it, I just want it done.” Toby bounced the ball against the glass separating his office from his Deputy’s. “We need Josh on this and with the goddamned Gestapo that’s watching him now, Willow is our best bet at getting him—”



A very perky redhead popped her head into the room, eyes bright and expectant. “Getting who what?” she asked, grinning as her boyfriend squeaked and jumped. “Sorry, but you guys weren’t exactly being quiet.”



“Willow!”



Her grin broadened. “You forgot we had a lunch date, didn’t you?”



Sam cleared his throat and stepped forward authoritatively. “Hi.”



“Hi.”



“We have a lunch.”



“Yes. Yes we do, indeed.” She eyed his superior skeptically, offering a small wave. “Hey, Toby.”



“Willow.”



“What’s going on?”



The men exchanged glances. “Ummm,” Sam said, drawing in a deep breath. “Toby and I have been talking and we think it might be a really good idea if you give Josh some briefing—”



“No.”



“You understand they’re just memos, not actual, you know, reports and files.”



She shrugged. “And yet my answer remains the same.”



“Look, Josh is the Deputy Chief of Staff—”



“Oh really? Thanks for that, Toby.”



“—and despite all else, we need his input on this.”



“He needs to get better or else he won’t be giving you much input on anything.”



He just looked at her. “He won’t die by offering his opinion that is, despite several notable flaws, considered one of the best in the field. I need Josh on this.”



“Well, you need to ask Donna.”



Toby was seconds away from either whining or screaming; either way, it was some cheap entertainment. “Donna won’t listen to reason!”



“Then you shouldn’t expect anything less of me. I’m all without…reason.” Willow glanced to Sam helplessly, and he smiled his ‘you’re so adorable’ smile, which did a lot for making her feel better. “Donna’s already testy that Josh got all…testy about the thing with CJ and the psychics from Cal Tech—”



“Physicists,” the men corrected automatically.



“What is it with women and not being able to tell the difference between psychics and physicists?” Toby muttered.



“Yeah. Make women jokes. That’s gonna convince me to help you.”



“Willow—”



“Sorry I can’t stay here and argue, but I have class this afternoon and now I’m here to steal my boyfriend for lunch. But feel free to keep on fuming.” Without warning, she coiled a hand around Sam’s elbow and all but yanked him out of Toby’s office, the door shutting behind them before either could be hit by a wayward bouncy ball.



“You shouldn’t have done that,” he berated.



“Probably not,” she agreed, shoving him across his own threshold and similarly closing the door behind them. “But then, I couldn’t do this.”



Before Sam knew what hit him, he had his arms full of a very warm and kissable redhead, his back against the wooden frame and his mouth very engaged. Surprise lasted only a second—these little trysts were what he lived on between working hours and late night phone calls. It was still too dangerous to try to see her in public; he couldn’t visit her without it making headlines, and it was usually much too late by the time he got off work for her to come over.



It was hard, but she had known that going in. There were no early nights or long weekends when one worked for the President.



Things would get better. As soon as she was settled, they would get more than just stolen minutes.



Right now, though, his very willing girlfriend was in his arms, her tongue wrestling with his, and it was suddenly very easy to forget that he was just yards away from the Oval Office.



The familiar sound of a bouncy ball striking the window reverberated through the room, bringing reality back with an unpleasant bang. “You two know I can see you, right?” came Toby’s muffled yell.



Willow murmured in complaint as she pulled away. “Party pooper.”



“Well, yes, but…” Drawing in a breath, Sam grasped his girlfriend by the shoulders and forced some space between them. “We can’t do this here.”



“I know. I was just…” She pouted. “I wanted smoochies.”



“We have that much in common,” he replied with a smile, starting for his desk. “What do you want for lunch?”



“What are my options?”



“Pretty much anything.” He shrugged. “I’d recommend the tuna, but that’s just me.” He collapsed wearily into his chair, smiling slightly. “Did you know the word acalculia means the inability to perform arithmetic functions?”



Willow arched a brow as she took a seat appropriately across from him, tossing her head back. “Nope. That’s a new one.”



“The President asked us today in a meeting. He wanted to answer his own question.”



“And you answered it for him.”



“Yes, but he got over it.”



She smiled. He was so adorable. Her own little genius. “How is the President?” she asked. “You guys have an 81% approval rating right now…that has to feel pretty good.”



“It’s soft.”



“No!” she retorted mockingly.



Sam sighed. “You have any idea how many times I’ve had this conversation today?”



“Sorry.”



“Oh, I’m not bothered about it. I am bothered by the fact that we can’t take advantage of the fact that everyone feels sorry for us right now without it looking like we’re taking advantage of the fact that everyone feels sorry for us right now.”



She arched a brow. “You can’t?”



“Well, we can, but it’s going to backfire. We have a chance at taking back the House right now, and we’re going to use our soft poll numbers to do it. It’s not going to look good, but Toby doesn’t care right now and since I work for Toby, I suppose I shouldn’t care either.” Another sigh rolled off his shoulders. “And the President’s in a thing about some old rival of his running for school board in Manchester.”



“Why?”



“Really? I think he’s bored.”



Willow bit her lip. “You think the President’s bored?”



“Well, that or he’s repressing some anger over the fact that the kid he thinks of as a son was targeted in a shooting that resulted in Josh nearly dying and himself sustaining injury. All because Charlie is black and happens to be dating his daughter.” Sam paused and looked at her sheepishly. “Or he’s bored.”



“That’s more likely,” she agreed. “So I guess that answers my question.”



He looked at her quizzically.



“How’s the President?”



“You know, if you really wanted to know, I could take you down the hallway and you could ask him yourself.”



“Ah, but you see, there’s the part where I draw the line.”



“Willow—”



“I’m a very apt line drawer, my friend.”



“As you have demonstrated admirably.” Sam gave her his patented loving look. “Willow, you don’t have to be nervous about meeting the President.”



“Easy for you to say.”



“A few weeks ago, you were willing if not eager—”



“A few weeks ago, Josh wasn’t lying in bed recovering from a gunshot wound. A few weeks ago, I was still living in Sunnydale and if the President didn’t like me when he met me, it wouldn’t matter.” She paused under his incredulous glance. “Well, okay. It would matter. But I…things changed, Sam.”



“How?”



She stared at him.



“You’re still Willow,” he said. “He’s still the President. He wanted to meet you before and he still does.”



“Well…” She slumped a bit, worrying her lip between her teeth. “That’s beside the point. Don’t you have a lunch to order?”



“Yes. Tuna?”



“Turkey.”



“Chips?”



“Original.”



“Rippled or not rippled?”



“Rippled.”



He smiled, picked up the phone and placed the order. Afterward, he had seemingly dropped his quest to have her meet the President before the day was over, settled back with a slight sigh. “I have a meeting with Tom Jordan after lunch.”



“Okay. Who’s Tom Jordan?”



“Hopefully a candidate to replace Grant Samuels in a district we very much need a Democrat in.”



“Are there districts where you don’t?”



The smile melted easily into a smirk. “Touché.” A pause. “How are Buffy and Spike getting along?”



“Good. Great, actually, from what she’s told me.”



“When was the last time you talked to her?”



“Last night. She’s been patrolling a lot and waiting for Giles to get back from England with word on Faith. Make sure she’s properly restrained and stuff.” A long breath hissed through her lips. “She woke up. Did I tell you? She finally woke up about two days ago. I think I forgot to tell you. Maybe I thought I told you because I was thinking of telling you, and therefore thought I already had.” She frowned, ignoring the call of his eyes. “She woke up and she’s pretty pissed off. Her strength is unthinkable but the Watcher’s Council thinks they have her under control for now. If she ever figures out that she’s all godlike and whatnot…” A shudder. “I don’t wanna think about it.”



“This because of me?”



“It’s because she’s a nasty psychopath who, by the way, wasn’t exactly without the strength thing before and ran amok in Natchez when…” Her shoulders slumped, her words failing to convince her own ears. “Well, yeah, and you.”



“I think I’ve proven on multiple occasions that I am very much over what Faith did to me.”



“Yes, and it’s not that I’m…” Her cheeks tinted prettily. “I just don’t like the idea of Faith, who’s not the most balanced of the balanced, running around with god powers.”



“It’s not ideal, but it’s not like we can do anything about it now.” When the worry failed to leave her eyes, Sam rose diplomatically from his chair and rounded the corner of his desk before resting on the edge right in front of her. “It’ll be okay, Willow.”



She flashed him a forced grateful smile, her own confidence far placed from the security resonating through his voice. Anyone with the abilities Faith had was a danger, whether to herself or to others. She had the power to do great good, of course, but the Slayer was not notorious for acting for the will of others.



Someone as imbalanced as Faith was already dangerous. Someone with such power…she didn’t want to think of it. And could only hope that Sam was right. That things would work out, and all would be well.



It didn’t seem to matter much one way or another at the present. She couldn’t do anything about it. Couldn’t do much outside what she was doing now. Sitting in her boyfriend’s office, waiting for lunch to come. Discussing the upcoming midterm elections while her mind danced around the paper she had due at the end of the week.



Getting accustomed to a life a continent away from where her blood belonged. Accustomed to a life that was still too large for her small shoes to fill.



That too would take time. She was here now. She was where she wanted to be.



And she would not look back.



 

*~*~*





Election night crept up on them before they knew what to do with themselves. The past few weeks had been a roller coaster of different emotions. Toby was doing everything possible to find a way to investigate the organization that the shooters were affiliated with by comfortably bypassing the Bill of Rights. The President was losing his head in trying to defeat Elliot Roush—a man that he had once campaigned against and won for a Congressional seat—in a local election for the school board in the district all three of the Bartlet daughters had graduated from. Charlie was withdrawn from Zoey, assuming the full weight of the shooting on his shoulders; torn with guilt at the fact that he had nearly gotten his surrogate father killed because he was dating the President’s daughter. Sam’s star candidate, Tom Jordan—whom he had personally brought into running—was at a loss for White House support because of a scandal involving him and his possible racist agenda when it came to prosecuting against black defendants. And ever since the issue was brought up to her, CJ had been privately investigating the very real possibility of psychological effects in the aftermath of what had happened at Rosslyn.



In the time between, Willow had settled into a comfortable routine at Georgetown and was enjoying her classes immensely. Her relationship with Sam was as wonderful as ever—even though his nights were often compromised for work, and they still had to be careful on when and where it was appropriate to be together. Especially now when the House could be taken back by Democrats and the President was seconds away from losing himself over a school board election.



That didn’t take away the other aspects of their move; the redhead had just gotten off the phone with Buffy who told her that she had just met the actual Count Dracula and that the Initiative was still well and kicking in Sunnydale. And she wondered when her life stopped being surreal and became real. She was standing in the communications department of the White House just outside Sam’s office; suddenly, fighting vampires and saving the world seemed so far away from where she was that it was hard to remember anything else.



Missing Sunnydale was something she had never foreseen. She had expected the second thoughts in leaving her friends. There were nights when she thought she would go mad without having Buffy there with her. Without having Xander just a few miles from her dorm. Hell, she even missed Anya.



She missed them terribly. With as much as she loved Washington, there was very tangibly no place like home.



“All twelve are still too close to call,” Sam told her as he raced into his office. Then louder, to everyone else in the room, “I want to see everyone on telephones.”



The redhead froze and glanced up, grinning in spite of herself. Though her call was personal, everyone in the room, herself included, had a phone in hand.



Sam paused. “Okay. Good. Just like that.”



Her grin broadened. It was the midterm elections and he was running around with such urgency that one would think the Bartlet administration’s entire legacy depended on taking back the House. He was cute and endearingly rushed, his own agenda notwithstanding. The past few weeks had been hell on him. His guilt at withdrawing support from Tom Jordan’s campaign after talking the man into running was something that the man himself would never know. Something that remained only within the perimeters of the White House and in late night discussions with his girlfriend.



“You should get to the reception,” he told her swiftly, pecking an affection kiss on her cheek. “The crab puffs are going fast.”



“Do I like crab puffs?”



“You’ll love these.” He disappeared into his office the next second, and Willow’s attention was immediately reclaimed by the persistent voice at the other end of the line. Her veins resurged with that homesick feeling that she resented more than she could have fathomed.



“So, you’re doing well?” Buffy asked. “You’re liking DC? Sam’s not being a mook and holding you hostage or anything?”



She laughed. “No. Not hostage. I’ve actually just settled down. Donna’s been making me keep guard of Josh whenever she’s not there. I think she actually thinks Toby and CJ are planning a secret infiltration of his house to talk to him in person on this policy stuff.”



“Policy stuff?”



“I’d start explaining, but you’d get bored very quickly.”



Her friend offered a mock scoff. “Willow! Already sounding condescending.”



The redhead rolled her eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that and you know it. It bores me sometimes. Besides…US policy or hellmouthy demons? Really, you’re up to your ears in things that are of interest.”



“Don’t forget world famous vamps hitting on me in front of my very protective boyfriend.” There was some indiscernible Cockney yelling in the background. “I know, sweetie!” A pause as she heard Buffy redirect her attention once more. “Spike was just reminding me that Dracula’s a self-satisfied wanker who places too much confidence in his nonexistence sex appeal.”



“Someone sounds threatened,” Willow jested.



“Oh, no. He’s right. Drac seemed very surprised that I wasn’t falling to my knees in reverence. Besides…” The Witch could almost see the smile on her friend’s face. “Spike’s incredibly sexy when he’s possessive and jealous.” More shouting and something that sounded suspiciously like a collision followed by a thud. “No, honey, I—ahhh!” There was giggling and some guttural sounds that the redhead did not want to place, and she hurried out a quick goodbye before hanging up.



Buffy was happy. Honestly, Willow couldn’t remember a time when her friend had been genuinely happy. Not with Angel and certainly not anytime thereafter. While she would not pretend to understand how a soulless vampire could make the Slayer as blissfully content and loved as her friend was, she decided it was none of her business and as long as Buffy was happy, all the better for her.



Her eyes rose to Sam’s office and a frown settled across her face. She hadn’t even noticed Tom and his wife inside, so watching them leave in a huff was not exactly encouraging. Especially considering that tonight was election night and they were supposed to win.



Sam was desolate, standing in his dark office, a helpless look clouding his eyes.



“Sam?”



“They’re not happy.”



“I’m sorry. If I’d known they were in there—”



He shook his head. “I knew they were coming over. It’s okay. I just…I got them into this. I was told to get them into this.”



“You did what you were told,” she agreed, hooking an arm around his waist. “Want some crab puffs?”



A slow grin spread across his lips and he nodded, brushing a kiss across her temple. “You know how to make everything better,” he said. “Let’s stop in there, then I need to…” He trailed off with a frown, a strange emotion creeping into his eyes.



“What?”



“I got this thing.”



“Okay…”



“Let me grab something and then we’ll swing by the thing to make sure CJ’s not losing her head.”



“And grab some crab puffs?”



His grin returned brilliantly. “Yes indeed.”



They made the stop in the foyer where CJ offhandedly told them that Jenna Jacobs was in attendance among the other radio personalities that had been invited to the reception. Sam smuggled a small paper plate with two crab puffs and watched his girlfriend with barely concealed delight as she took her first bite. They disposed of the plate within a minute or so before he clasped Willow’s hand and led her down a foreign hallway that soon adjoined to the part of the White House she was familiar with.



“Who’s Jenna Jacobs?”



Sam tossed her a pointed glance. “You’ve heard of Dr. Laura? Rush Limbaugh?”



“Yes.”



“Well, she’s not as well known as those two, but she is a rough combination of their personalities.”



Willow winced. “Ouch.”



“Yeah.” He brought her to a stop in a small office area that was shut off by a closed door that she imagined led to more of the workplace. What he was looking for, she didn’t know. Only that Mrs. Landingham was sitting at one of the desks, a woman Willow had seen perhaps twice since the endless night spent in the hospital. Sam greeted her appropriately.



“Hello Sam,” the old woman replied.



“Does he have a minute?”



Willow was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.



“He’s in with Toby. You can go in if you like.”



“Sam,” the redhead said warningly.



He flashed her a completely innocent glance. “I just have to drop off this thing,” he said. “We’ll go back to the party in a second.”



“Sam, I swear—”



He wasn’t listening to her. He had knocked on the door and was tugging her through into the most notorious room in the United States, where Toby’s familiar eyes caught her just seconds before the presence of a man she had only seen through the television. A man whose legacy was in the process of being formed. A man she had been dying to meet for weeks. A man she was terrified of disappointing without the luxury of knowing him.



Sam Seaborn had just joined the ranks of the walking dead. She was going to kill him.



“Excuse me, Mr. President,” her boyfriend said. “Good evening.”



“Hey Sam,” the President replied, eying her warily. “Who’s that quivering behind you? Surely not the notorious Ms. Rosenberg to whom I owe the entirety of my continued tyrannical reign?”



The Deputy Communications Director smiled brilliantly. “Yes sir.”



Willow’s face flamed. Yeah, Sam was pretty much dead.



“She seems afraid of me.” The President frowned at that. “I trust you told her all those rumors about the dungeon were completely fictitious.”



Sam and Toby glanced at her expectantly, and she realized belatedly that she was the new focal point of whatever conversation had been going on before they interrupted. There was a dry sensation in the back of her throat. She was standing in the Oval Office of the White House, and the President of the United States was prompting her to speak.



“I…ummm…I…” She tossed a glare in Sam’s direction. “I…it’s an honor to…meet you, Mr. President.”



The President exchanged an amused glance with Toby. “Yes,” he replied in good jest. “I imagine it would be. Really, Ms. Rosenberg, there’s no need to be so jittery. Rather, I have been trying to get Sam to trick you in here ever since I felt well enough to receive visitors. Or, should I say, since Leo got off my back about overextending myself. Evidently, a person recovering from surgery shouldn’t do anything strenuous, but he thought I was up to running the country.”



Willow smiled weakly. “Yes sir.”



Then something unexpected happened. The President neared and took her hand as a father would, smiling warmly into her eyes, giving her both a sense of familiarity and further nervousness. “A much belated thank you,” he said sincerely, “for everything you did in Natchez.”



“Oh…I…ummm. It was nothing, Mr. President.”



“Not the way Sam tells it, but I hear he likes to embellish.” The President winked like a little boy and turned to the man at her side. “Did you have a reason for seeing me, Sam, or were you just determined to terrify your soon-to-be ex-girlfriend?”



He shook his head. “That was just a good opportunity,” he replied. “Actually, I wasn’t sure whether you'd be stopping by the Talk Radio reception. I scratched out a few remarks for you.”



The President nodded and took the notes. “Let me look at them while we walk.” He turned to the Communications Director. “Toby, go with us to this radio thing.”



The man looked appalled. “Oh God, really sir?”



“There’ll be crab puffs,” the President said. Willow was beginning to wonder if there was some unheard of crab puff fetish among those who worked in the West Wing. “New England crab puffs, by the way. Made in New England.”



“Actually, it’s Alaskan crab,” her boyfriend corrected.



Toby all but groaned aloud at that. “Sam.”



The President’s face fell, void of all merriment. “There’s Alaskan crab in this White House?”



“He wouldn’t have known the difference,” the Communications Director protested after the event.



The President wasn’t moved. “Have you tried them?”



Sam fumbled adorably and Willow had to glance down before she betrayed him with a grin. “I…yes, reluctantly. I think it was clear the way I ate the crab puffs that it was a gesture of protest.”



“Were they good?”



A long sigh escaped her boyfriend’s throat. “Extraordinarily good and going very fast.”



The President nodded, convinced. “Let’s get there.” He started past them and paused to pat Willow very deliberately on the shoulder. “That’s you, too, Ms. Rosenberg. Follow me, if you will.”



She found herself in a dream, being led through the White House at the request and direction of the President of the United States. That title running through her mind every few seconds as though she expected herself to jolt back to reality. The President of the United States. President Bartlet. Sam walking beside her, looking entirely too pleased with himself.



“You’re a jerk,” she muttered as they stepped into the foyer, following CJ’s introduction.



“Yes, but you’re happy to have met him without knowing you were going to meet him, right?”



“Still. Jerk.”



He shot her a devious look that was both natural and foreign to his usually soft features. “I’ll make it up to you later,” he promised, and promptly turned her attention back to where the President was starting to address the radio personalities as the modest round of applause died down.



“Thank you. Thank you, very much. Thanks a lot. I wish I could spend more than a few minutes with you but the polls don't close in the east for another hour and there are plenty of election results left to falsify.”



That earned some chuckles. Willow found herself beaming. She was standing in the White House next to the Deputy Communications Director, whom she happened to be sleeping with, and the President was addressing a small company of guests. CJ hadn’t yet hurried up to bustle her away, so she felt safe that the press wouldn’t catch her and point her out specifically as a companion to anyone in the room. It was one of the few times that she had felt completely at ease with her surroundings while standing so close to the click of cameras.



For whatever reason, she doubted anyone would pay much attention to her while the President was in the room.



“You know,” the President continued, “with so many people participating in the political and social debate through call in shows, it's a good idea to be reminded…” A lengthy pause. He frowned and glanced at something that Willow could not see. “…it's a good idea to be reminded of the awesome impact…the awesome impact…”



He shifted and moved away, giving up trying to follow through on his thought. Willow was able to see what had distracted him; there was a woman sitting in the room, holding a small paper plate and watching him with interest.



“I’m sorry,” the President said, “um, you’re Dr. Jenna Jacobs, right?”



Willow and Sam exchanged a glance.



The woman smiled proudly. “Yes, sir.”



The President nodded. “It’s good to have you here.” It was obvious from the tone of his voice, however, that either he was not entirely convinced of that, or his reason for verifying her identity was buried for some other purpose.



“Thank you,” she replied.



And that appeared to be the end of that. The President seemed to remember that he was the focus of attention and glanced back to the room, picking up where he had left off. “The awesome impact of the airwaves and how that translates into the furthering of our national discussions but obviously also how it can…how it can…”



The President glanced back to Jenna Jacobs and sighed. There would not be any address to the radio correspondents until he got past the fact that she was in attendance. Why, Willow had no idea. But her interest was definitely piqued.



“Forgive me, Dr. Jacobs,” the President said. “Are you an MD?”



“PhD,” the woman replied eagerly.



“A PhD?”



“Yes, sir.”



That seemed to interest the President immensely. “In Psychology?”



“No, sir.”



“Theology?”



“No.”



“Social work?”



Dr. Jacobs shifted, evidently growing uncomfortable. “I have a PhD in English Literature.”



The President nodded. “I'm asking, 'cause on your show, people call in for advice and you go by the name of Dr. Jacobs on your show. And I didn't know if maybe your listeners were confused by that, and assumed you had advanced training in Psychology, Theology, or health care.”



A barely discernible look of indignation crossed the woman’s face. “I don’t believe they are confused, no sir.”



“Good.” A pause. “I like your show. I like how you call homosexuality an abomination.”



Willow’s eyes about popped out of her head.



Dr. Jacobs wasn’t even trying to mask her incense anymore. She shifted again. “I don't say homosexuality is an abomination, Mr. President. The Bible does.”



“Yes it does,” the President agreed. “Leviticus.”



“18:22.”



“Chapter and verse.” He seemed proud. “I wanted to ask you a couple of questions while I had you here. I'm interested in selling my youngest daughter into slavery as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7—” There were a few chuckles in the back. All Willow could do was stare. “She's a Georgetown sophomore, speaks fluent Italian, and always clears the table when it was her turn. What would a good price for her be?” He paused as though to allow her time to answer, but started speaking again before she could get a word in. “While thinking about that, can I ask another? My Chief of Staff, Leo McGarry, insists on working on the Sabbath.” A dramatic pause. “Exodus 35:2 clearly says he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself or is it okay to call the police? Here's one that's really important, 'cause we've got a lot of sports fans in this town. Touching the skin of a dead pig makes us unclean, Leviticus 11:7. If they promise to wear gloves, can the Washington Redskins still play football? Can Notre Dame? Can West Point? Does the whole town really have to be together to stone my brother, John, for planting different crops side by side? Can I burn my mother in a small family gathering for wearing garments made from two different threads?”



Dr. Jacobs fidgeted again, unbearably uncomfortable.



“Think about those questions, would you?” the President asked. “One last thing. While you may be mistaking this for your monthly meeting of the Ignorant Tightass Club, in this building, when the President stands, nobody sits.”



That was when it hit her. The entire room was standing. Dr. Jenna Jacobs was not. Willow felt a trembling breath rush out of her body, recalling how Sam had mentioned the President was still coming off his obsession with a former political enemy in the following of his recovery, and that he hadn’t been himself since the shooting. Something that she could well understand.



The clicks and flashes of cameras were suddenly blinding. Dr. Jacobs was still sitting, but finally clamored to her feet. And without breaking eye contact with her, the President called for Toby over his shoulder.



“Yes, Mr. President.”



“That’s how I beat him.”



Willow had absolutely no idea what that meant, but the reference was clear. And that was it. The President turned to leave the room and his staffers followed, all except Sam who she saw was approaching Jenna Jacobs meaningfully.



“I’m just…” He began before plucking something off her plate. “I’m gonna take that crab puff.”



When he turned back to face her, Willow saw his eyes were twinkling. As though to tell her she had just witnessed something remarkable. She smiled back at him gratefully, and muffled a chuckle when he popped the purloined crab puff into his mouth.



Something remarkable indeed.



 

*~*~*





Two hours later, Willow was seated on the steps outside Josh’s building, casting Sam a weary glance as he listened from the curb for the election results. Toby, CJ, Donna, and Josh were with her, drinking beer and making snide comments at the bottle of coke they had given her in lieu of her age. It wasn’t because they thought she was too young or not mature enough, they said; rather, it would be bad enough to get busted. It would be worse if the nature of her relationship with Sam came out as a result. It would be a public relations nightmare if she were drinking.



Still, she and Sam got appropriately jested in response. Willow didn’t mind. It was all in good fun.



“Everybody should have to stay inside for three months so that they truly appreciate the outdoors,” Josh said with a wistful sigh, his eyes turning to the sky. “I appreciate the outdoors now. I'm an outdoorsman.”



Donna and Willow exchanged an amused glance. “Josh.”



“Yeah.”



“I said I’d let you outside if you’d stop talking about being an outdoorsman and if you stopped talking about Theoretical Physics.”



The Deputy Chief of Staff’s eyes sparkled at that, and he turned to CJ with glee. “Aha! You'd thought I'd forget about it, didn't you? Banner headline, five days ago. Model for the Unified Theory solved. Banner headline in the New York Times. You said it wasn't going to be news.”



Willow grinned. She had no idea what he was talking about, but there was a great deal of relief in hearing him speak as she remembered. Hearing that cocky drawl alongside his lesser-known virtues. Though she had been helping Donna take care of him for weeks, there was a certain degree of familiarity that could only be obtained when his closest friends were with him.



A pang struck her at that. She missed Sunnydale terribly. Missed Buffy. Missed Xander. She missed everyone.



“Hey!” CJ said, ignoring Josh’s comment, her eyes dropping to his clothing. “You’re wearing my pajamas.”



“Yes, I am.”



The Press Secretary had bought a new pair of pajamas after Donna made a fuss about Josh’s lack of appropriate sleepwear. Willow didn’t think, personally, that Josh needed any, especially since Donna had already seen him in the buff and was solely responsible for making sure that he was bathed when he couldn’t tend to himself. Whatever had happened between them, though, was now something that they didn’t talk about. As though that night before the near-apocalypse was written off as a moment of pure insanity that meant nothing in the long run.



Willow knew them both well enough to know that wasn’t true. Donna was hopelessly in love with Josh, and the sooner she admitted it for keeps, the better.



CJ gestured to Josh’s pajamas. “Take off your coat. Let’s see.”



He clamored to his feet and shrugged off the coat Donna had placed over his shoulders before letting him out, revealing the light blue pajama bottoms and top that was about three sizes too big. The redhead stifled a chuckle. He had endured enough pajama-related jokes inside to have her snickering again.



“Those are too big,” the Press Secretary said.



“Yes, they are,” Josh agreed. “All this time I've been working with you, did you also think I was playing power forward for the Cleveland Cavaliers?”



“I think they look good on you.”



“I think you’re all freaks,” Toby said, casting Willow a narrow glance.



The redhead grinned cynically. “Thanks for that.”



“Anytime.”



Sam had finally concluded his phone call and was walking back toward them with a somewhat stunned look on his face.



Toby glanced at him expectantly. “What do you have?”



“You’re not going to believe it.”



“How’d they go?” CJ asked.



The Deputy Communications Director drew in a deep breath. “Twelve races, in none of them did the incumbent win. In none of them, did the party that previously held the seat win. You know how it went?” A pause. “Seven to five.”



Josh was staring at him. “You’re kidding.”



“Seven Republicans and five Democrats?” CJ repeated, dumbfound.



Sam nodded. “Yeah.”



“The House stayed the same?” The Deputy Chief of Staff sat back. “After four months and four hundred million dollars, everything stayed the same.”



“Yup.”



Josh shook his head. “Tell me democracy doesn't have a sense of humor.” He paused. “We sit here, we drink this beer out here on the stoop, in violation about forty-seven city ordinances. Well,” a cheeky glance in the redhead’s direction. “Except Willow, of course.”



Sam took a seat next to her and put an encouraging arm around her shoulder. For her part, the Witch merely shrugged and raised her coke bottle. “Cheers.”



The Deputy Chief of Staff grinned at that before returning to his original train of thought. “I don't know, Toby, it's election night. What do you say about a government that goes out of its way to protect even citizens that try to destroy it?”



Toby was silent for a long minute. “God bless America.”



One by one, they echoed the same sentiment, clinking their drinks together in symbolic approval of the work they had done. Recuperating from an attempted assassination. Moving across the country with nothing more than an approval letter from Georgetown University. Starting over with new knowledge, letting the past in when it was appropriate; looking to the future.



Willow indulged a long drink of her coke, turning her eyes skyward.



She wished Buffy was with her. Buffy, Xander, Giles…hell, even Spike and Anya. There was just no getting past the reminder that there was no place like home, regardless of where home was.



She missed home. Not the town itself, the people who made it home.



It would be a long while before Washington, DC became home.



She just hoped she was strong enough to wait.



TBC

Gardens of Crimson Roses

by Holly




Chapter Six

The strange thing was, she had known all along. It was just something she understood. Something buried there beneath the surface. She had known it the minute it happened, the minute the change occurred, just as she knew that it was supposed to be real. That everyone around her would believe the lie. Would believe what she knew to be false. Would believe that the girl living in her mother's house was really a girl, and that she was Buffy's sister.

Spike believed the lie. So did Giles and Xander. Anya and her mother. The lie came with a place in an eighth grade classroom. With a birth certificate and altered family photos. With years of fabricated memories that were hidden in the guise of reality. The lie didn't know she was a lie. The lie believed she was a girl just as everyone else did. The lie had no memory of being anything else.

Buffy knew about the lie. The minute it happened, she knew something was different. Felt something was different. Remembered very clearly a period where she was the only child coinciding now with a false history of sisterly quibbles and screaming matches. Two sets of memories. An ingrained knowledge that something was not the way it was supposed to be. That their world was about to flip and spin on its alternate axis. That something terrible was about to happen.

Her knowledge was simple. The girl living with her mother was not her sister, only she was. She was not evil. She was not a threat. She was merely a lie that Buffy needed to keep secret. Something that would reveal itself with time.

It began simply enough. She awoke one morning with the memories of a sister. She knew her sister's name, her face, her birthday, her favorite sandwich, and a list of her pet peeves. And though she knew it was a lie, there was no immediate sense of urgency. She was confused, yes, but she trusted that Dawn was not the terrible thing. It was innate. Dawn was not her sister, but she was. She remembered instances of irritation and love. That cashmere sweater she had given Buffy for her seventeenth birthday, and the unfortunate stains of chocolate milk that saturated the fabric within just a few short hours. There were holidays, family get-togethers, sisterly fights, tearful reunions, and so much more. Dawn was her sister. And she was Buffy's responsibility. That much was startlingly clear.

There was so much more that she needed to know. Why Dawn was suddenly here. Why she was a part of the Summers family. And, most importantly, she needed to know if it had anything to do with her mother's recent illness.

She needed to confide in someone"needed to tell Spike. But first, she needed more to go on. Something that would clue her in as to why there was suddenly a blood relative that was both a sister and a stranger living in her mother's house.

And for that, she had nothing to follow but her instincts. A factor of her new powers; sensing where there was trouble took barely more than waking up in the morning. Something big was coming. Something unlike anything they had ever faced before.

Something that, for all its variations, seemed breathtakingly familiar.

She remembered the look on Quirinias's face on the Longwood lawn, contorted with Faith's eyes and sputtering ancient languages as he tried to bring upon a thousand years of chaos and torment. One of the world's oldest gods, cursed by a coven of witches, looking for a loophole. And he had passed on his powers to her. When she was his vessel, she'd inherited everything he had. All the strength he possessed. And the prospect of mastering those new abilities terrified her.

"You sure you don' want me to come with you?" Spike asked. "I could always tell Rupert to sod off an' leave this bloody rite of passage for when I give a damn."

"Yes, but then you would never go," Buffy replied, squeezing his hand as he locked up their apartment. She was hesitant to have him with her tonight; didn't know what would be revealed. She knew the truth about Dawn; the half-truth, anyway. For whatever she found beyond that, she didn't want Spike exposed to the reality of their nonreality. Didn't want her world to crumble inward until it was absolutely necessary.

"I'm not seein' the downside," he retorted, nuzzling her hair with a contented purr. "Jus' call the Watcher up; tell him I'm busy makin' the town safe from all the li'l nasties an' plan on rushin' home as soon as possible to shag his Slayer into the ground."

She grinned as he slipped their house key into his pocket. It was still strange watching the vampire become so domesticated. There were times she could feel his restraint teetering at the very edge of reason, but he held back. He reached to her through the claim and found solace.

"As tempting as that is," she said cheekily, flushing at the lust clouding his eyes. "You should get this rite thingy over with."

He pouted. "He jus' wants to poke at me an' find out if I've sprouted anythin' unusual as a result to bein' mated to a Slayer."

"Poking at you is my job."

A smirk at that. "Well, if the bloke tries anythin' funny, you'll be the firs' to know."

"Ewww."

His eyes sparkled teasingly before falling serious once more. "You sure you're gonna be fine?"

Buffy smiled. He was adorable when he was worried. "Sweetie, you remember that period of time before you didn't love me and I used to patrol by myself? I was even of the regular human persuasion then. No god powers. No supernatural vampiric claim. Just plain ole Slayer me doing what every Slayer does."

"Yeh," he retorted sheepishly. He hated being reminded of before, even if it did broaden an understanding of what they had now. It seemed lifetimes in the past. "I jus'...'f you're out there an' I'm not, I..."

"You're sweet."

"I love you."

"I love you, too. Which I'm sure we'll convey many times tonight."

He grinned wickedly. "Bloody right, we will.

"Which means we better get going so we can get back here to get conveying, right?" She grinned and moved to kiss him goodbye. "See you later."

The minute her lips brushed his, a tingle shivered across her skin. That sort of brilliant sensation that exploded between them with every union. It was dangerous how rapidly she could lose herself in him. How the slightest touch could unwind her to her core. And even for the warm familiarity of his kisses, there was something else. Something clinging to the winds of change, and how they both felt a large presence was about to make itself known. That their quiet haven was about to be shattered; the world plunged once more into darkness that she had to battle with her inherent light.

The next thing she knew, Spike had her pressed against the wall outside their apartment door, his mouth ravaging hers, murmuring whimpers into her throat as he ground his hardening cock against her dampened center. He felt it, too. They fed off each other's arousal now. It was difficult to have an impure thought without her mate sensing her naughty detour and ravaging her senseless...not that that was a bad thing. Rather, Buffy had made an interesting study of seeing how long it took him to find her after projecting a lewd image into the void for him to snatch.

Their connection was startlingly close. More so than even he had thought, given the perimeters of normal vampiric claims. Granted, there was nothing normal about their union. She was a Slayer turned god; he was a master vampire now hampered by a government chip that would not outlast the eternity they had together. His capacity to love blew her away at every turn. The wealth of feeling he poured through his touches, his kisses"god, his eyes"was enough to shake her world apart.

He felt something was wrong simply by being with her. Felt the desperation to cling to their sanctuary"this little paradise they had constructed in the simple weeks of being back. Away from Natchez and politicians. Just themselves, living in their apartment and setting to the world as they knew how. Where gunshots didn't ring. Where everything made sense.

They had not been back long. And so much was different. But she was happy, and so terrified that something was on the rise to rip that away from her.

Spike's mouth danced up her throat, his skilled fingers splayed over her right breast, exciting her nipple through the fabric. "Sure you don' want me to come with you?" he growled, thrusting his pelvis forward erotically. He moved in ways that should be illegal in forty-eight states. "Make quick work of the graveyards. Two of us patrollin'..."

"Uhhh..."

She felt him grin against her skin, her head thrown back against the wall. She recognized that she was in the hall of their apartment building, that anyone could walk up the stairs or step outside their front door at the noise. That they were in full view. In the open. That people had been arrested for less. But she didn't care. Not now. Not with her night shielded in uncertainty. She caught Spike's mouth in another passion-fused kiss, cupping the bulge of his pants and stroking him through the denim.

"Jesus Christ, pet," he gasped, throwing his head back. "You drive me outta my bloody mind with jus' a touch." He placed his own hand over hers and thrust against her palm. "Jus' this. Gah, you make me wild." His other hand toying with the zipper of her jeans, the metallic ring of its descent sounding through the vacant hall, somehow above their mingled pants.

A strangled cry tore from her throat. His thumb was pressing against her clit, lolling it in leisurely circles. Stroking her until she felt herself abandon the earthly helix, reach that pinnacle and fall again. His fingers parting her moist folds, sliding into her wet cavern with smooth expertise. Her own hand abandoned him, fingers digging into his forearms as her legs entwined around his waist. Spike stole another kiss from her lips, pumping her slowly and watching her take her pleasure through hooded eyes. His hand was drenched in her ambrosia; watching her find release was one of the greatest gifts the world had to offer. Knowing that it was for his touch that she trembled.

"Come for me, baby," he pleaded, dropping a kiss onto her forehead. "Right here. Right now in this bleedin' hallway. Come for me. Fuck, you're so hot. So bloody perfect." He slid another finger into her, his thumb massaging her clit in rough, impassioned circles. "My fiery goddess."

It was the feel of his fangs in her throat that sent her over. The white-hot marks searing her skin exploded into a symphony of stars, and she lurched forward to embed her teeth into his shoulder to keep from crying out. The claim mark on his own throat beckoned her mouth for reassertion, but she knew if she bit him there, they would never leave the apartment building.

She would barricade them away from the world and hope whatever was coming passed them by. Whatever was coming that threatened this happiness she had.

Spike was still drinking absently when she uncurled her legs from his waist, his fingers slipping out of her wet sheath. Her small murmur of complaint was dwarfed only by the mounting need to face this thing that was coming. Face it, kill it, and live in sin until the next apocalypse.

He dimly realized his fangs were still in her throat the next minute and pulled away shamefacedly, enticing another murmur of complaint that nearly went ignored. "Sorry, sweetheart," he rumbled, lapping the small wound closed, his lips finding her cheek with reverence. "Got carried away."

Buffy grinned like a loon and kissed him again. "Don't apologize," she said. "That was wonderful."

His eyes sparkled at that. "Wonderful, huh?"

"It's always wonderful."

His grin lasted a minute longer before his worried eyes settled on the fresh wound at her throat. "I din't take too much?" he asked softly, readjusting her clothing in a gentlemanly fashion that he only revealed around her.

"Not possible."

"Baby, I""

Buffy placed a finger over his lips, smiling softly. "Not possible," she said again. "And as much as I'd love to go back inside and ride you to a gallop"" A familiar smoldering look stormed his gaze, and she had to force some space between them before the last strands of her discipline flew out the window. ""I really do need to go patrol, and you really need to go on this vision quest or whatever that Giles wants you to do."

"'S not a vision quest. He wants to study me like a soddin' lab rat."

"Well, let him." Her eyes sparkled. "He might find something useful."

Spike glanced at her worriedly. "I don' want him findin' anythin'."

She smirked. "You know what I mean."

"Hardly ever," he retorted, raising his glistening hand to his mouth to lick off her juices, murmuring his approval as her taste hit his tongue. "Bloody delicious, you are."

A pretty flush rose to her cheeks. "Perv."

"You love it." He neared again dangerously. "Gonna gimme a goodbye kiss?"

"Our goodbye kisses tend to go overboard," Buffy replied, though she kissed him anyway. Forcing herself away from him immediately thereafter before his taste could entice her fully away from her objective. "I'll be back in an hour or so." She turned before his eyes could tempt her back into his arms. Back to where she knew lay safety instead of the unknown at the end of tonight's mystery. Unraveling the lie that had haunted her for the past few days.

She didn't know what she would find. Hell, she didn't even know where she was going.

Only that something in the air called to her blood. Something wanted her to come.

"Be careful," Spike told her, nearing again to kiss her temple. That tension that had been there just seconds ago reborn with a vengeance. He knew something was wrong, and it frustrated the hell out of him that he couldn't pick out what. "If you need me...well, I'll likely know before you do."

She grinned. "Yeah."

"I love you."

"I love you, too. And I'll be fine."

He nodded, though he refused to let go of her hand. Walking down the hallway and outside their building to the point where they had to go in opposite directions. Words clogged in her throat, desperately seeking to reassure him; sensing his frustration at even understanding why he had a bad feeling about leaving her to patrol by herself. He kissed her again before releasing her completely, wrapping her tongue around his. Feeling her for everything she had to give.

She felt cold when she was alone. The road ahead shadowed with ambiguity.

She wanted Spike with her more than ever.

She just didn't want him to see what awaited her tonight. Not when she couldn't see the outcome.

Not when the lie was wrapped in the presentation of truth.

And she was the only one who knew.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Spike lit a cigarette and leaned back into Giles's favorite chair, smirking as the Watcher's eyes fixed on the ash that threatened to smear the fabric. "So," he drawled, blowing out a cool stream of smoke. "What's this you need me to do? Light candles? Chant? Do the hokey bloody pokey with my hands tied behind my back?"

Giles looked at him strangely. "What?"

The vampire arched his brows. "I was under the impression that you wanted to poke around my noggin. Play with blood samples or what all. Find out what makes me so...what's the word..."

"Annoying?"

"Unique."

"Well, depending on one's definition," the Watcher said dryly. "No, Spike, I asked you here for...a few things, really. For reasons beyond my understanding, you have become important to...well, I suppose the most important person in Buffy's life. She's your..."

Spike's eyes narrowed. "My mate," he retorted, stern. "At your bloody orders, if you remember."

"I remember."

"An' not only that. I love her with everythin' I am. If I ever thought she'd accept me by...an' she did, which still boggles my bloody mind." A thoughtful pause. "I'd've asked her eventually. Asked her to be mine through eternity. Jus' happened that way 'cause..." His body stiffened, his eyes going distant at the incursion of memories those hellish few days had given him. "It happened that way. I never thought she'd reciprocate. Not that bloody soon."

"Neither did I," Giles confessed dryly. "Regardless, several things have come about as a result of your union, and I believe now is a good time to discuss them." He stopped and leveled the vampire with a look"neither neutral nor offensive. Simply there. "Even if Buffy was not your...mate...she is a god now. She has surpassed everything that I am qualified to teach her. I have no jurisdiction when it comes to gods. To continue as her Watcher would be both insulting to her and a fruitless activity. One does not train a god by treating her like a Slayer."

"Buffy is the Slayer, mate. You can't take that from her."

"I know. But she knows everything there is about being the Slayer. I can teach her no more. Anything she learns from this point onward has to be careful in taking her newly acquired status into consideration." His eyes settled on Spike's seriously. "I know you love her," he said, surprising them both. "I would be foolish to say otherwise after what happened in Natchez. What I saw you do for her. What you sacrificed. Similarly, I know she loves you. I will never pretend to understand why. It's beyond me, frankly. The fact remains that now you two share a blood link. You're tied to one another. Whatever she learns now has to be from someone who...understands her. Who can feel what she feels."

Spike stared at him blankly. "You want me to become Buffy's Watcher?"

"No. Buffy is in a dangerous transitional phase. She is between Slayer and god"not fully one or the other. Her mind acts as a Slayer's, ignoring that her body is now equipped for so much more. She has the strength, the ability, to take on everything that Quirinias had. More so, I believe, since she had that strength to begin with." Giles sighed. "She needs someone who understands her. Until she grows into her powers, she is a liability to herself. Her Slayer mind will not allow her to grasp the knowledge of what she has become. I know she fears her powers overwhelming her, but she is contentious of it...and she has you to serve as her anchor." Another small pause. "Spike, you're now the closest person in the world to her. You will be until the end of the world. Like I said, you feel what she feels...but you do not carry the burden she carries. The answer will be clearer to you. She will make it through, I have no doubt...but what happens in the delicate time between knowing who she is will be detrimental in deciding who she becomes. That's why I can't teach her. Can't influence her. Can't sit her down and tell her to be a Slayer when it's now her nature to be a god. But until she learns to utilize her abilities"until she accepts what she is"she will be vulnerable."

"Vulnerable?" Spike choked the word, even if he knew it was the truth. "She's a bleedin' god."

The Watcher shook his head. "Yes. But if she chooses to ignore that, she will be susceptible to a number of things. She can use her strength but...you can't be something without both the physical and the mental. It simply does not work. You have to help her. I cannot. No one can. If you love her, you will help her."

"I love her more than you can conceive."

"I know. So you will help her."

"Of course I'll help her. I'm her..." The vampire released a trembling sigh. "I won't lose her, Rupert. I bloody swear it."

Giles smiled softly. "I know. And that's why I'm leaving." He held his hand up at the astonished look to cross the blonde's face. "In order for her to take the first step in her transformation, she must stop looking to me as her instructor. She has to stop depending on me. Therefore, I am leaving next week for England...where I will hope to assist Faith in her rehabilitation."

Spike arched a cool brow. "You're not worried about Faith the Slayer-turned-god bein' confused over watcherly supervision?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because it's not my intention that Faith ever learn to use her abilities. Buffy has potential. Faith could with assistance, but not now. In order for her to assume her new status, she must first become comfortable with the one she abandoned two years ago." Giles glanced down. "Buffy...she won't understand. Not at first. But she has you, so I am not worried."

Such acceptance was nothing the vampire had ever thought to receive from the Watcher. Implicit trust where his Slayer was concerned. Something precious. A bond between two men who understood each other even if they weren't friends. Two men who loved a girl in very different ways, and would do anything to protect her.

Giles was being honest with him. Trusting him. It was only fair to do the same in turn.

"I"ummm." Spike glanced down sheepishly. "I have somethin' else."

"Oh?"

"'S got me kinda...ever since Buffy an' I...well, ever since she became a god an' we claimed each other, I've been...different."

The Watcher's brows arched. "I would imagine so," he agreed. "Vampiric claims are amazingly potent. I don't believe any vampire truly has an idea of how strong they are until they have been mated for a few decades. The rite is sacred, rooted from the time when the hierarchy of demons sought out mates that equaled their power. Made a whole of two halves. Over time, the art became associated with sexual desire and sentimental feelings, eventually passed on to humans for the ceremony known today as marriage. It's a common misconception that marriage is derived from the world's ancient religions, when in fact the world's ancient religions are derived from demonhood. Again, over time, when the physical compatibility and the emotional ties were equal to each other, claims have an even deeper impact. Mates who feel the love and emotional ties that I believe you and Buffy share will feed on one another's feelings, fears, even primal instincts. Buffy might become more aggressive since it's your demon's nature to react to most scenarios with violence. Similarly, since it's Buffy's nature to show compassion, your demon could become even more demure than it was in the days that led up to the ritual itself. You're now the Yin and the Yang, Spike. You the darker half with the spot of white, Buffy the white half with the drop of black. That black taints her enough to make her more aggressive appropriately"fogging the line of right and wrong so that her bias toward humanity is not so compelling."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning if Buffy were to come in contact with someone who she needed to kill, someone human who deserved such a death, that her ethics would be clouded with your demon's sense of logic."

A flash of anger crossed the vampire's eyes. "You're sayin' I've made her a killer."

"Not at all," Giles said, holding up a neutral hand. "I'm saying that you've...helped her, in some respects. A Slayer's life is essentially a challenge of ethics. Some follow the line of right and wrong so faithfully that they put the world at risk for the refusal to take human life. Now that Buffy has surpassed morality, the line is even more ambiguous. I imagine as you two go through eternity together, she will be presented with the burden of taking human life or saving the world...be it in the near or distant future. I also imagine it will happen more than once. The drop of black that you've provided her white will be able to make the long-term effects more...bearable for her. You, likewise, will be challenged by her ethics when your chip goes out. It creates a balance, feeding you with her strengths and her with yours to complete the weaknesses in the whole."

Spike shook his head. "I'm a demon. You know it. I've never said I was anythin' else. I tried to become a man because of her. Our claim had nothin' to do with that."

"I don't think it did. But as you said, you are a demon. And sooner or later, the demon within the man will try to escape. It's your claim with Buffy that will help ground you. That will, essentially, part the clouds and show you the...right path." He offered a half smile. "It's what will make you two such a powerful force. After time when her powers hone and you become accustomed to being one half instead of one being." Giles sighed and shook his head. "It's a fascinating ritual. The claim between you two is one of the most powerful forces entrenched in the world. It can't be used for anything malignant...at least not by either one of you. If someone were to capture and torture you, Buffy would feel it. And...vice versa. It also serves as a powerful honing device. If Buffy was in trouble, you would feel it, and you could follow the claim to find her. As far as I know, it's the only non-technological force on the planet that can be felt continents apart."

The vampire let out a deep breath. It unnerved him that he had solidified a claim with Buffy without knowing everything. Not that it would have affected his decision"rather, everything that Giles was telling him only emphasized what he felt. His happiness that he had something so precious with her. So rare, from how it sounded. However, he had never given Buffy the chance to learn the specifics. Hell, even he didn't know the specifics. In the Order, Angelus had never spoken of vampiric claims, nor had Drusilla. What he knew of them came from stolen moment in one of London's endless libraries, researching everything he could on his newly acquired status before his family members discovered where he was.

Shades of William in his past. Spike sighed and cringed inwardly. The sniveling wanker was long dead and stuffed somewhere deep inside his psyche, but there were parts of him that would remain alive forever. And admittedly, sometimes he felt a pang of longing for the familiar smell of books, pages crisp with age. Felt the need for knowledge offered by the geniuses mankind could inspire.

All he had learned about claims was that it was essentially marriage for demons, and that the bond was eternal; unbreakable. Highly powerful and more than sacred. That was it. No specifics. Just the Cliff's Notes version of what it meant. He knew enough to be awed that Buffy would ever reciprocate feelings as profound as his were for her. The entire history of the claim, the powers it induced other than the obvious...it made everything more significant. More so than he could have imagined.

Amazingly, just the knowledge made him love her more. Something he had thought was impossible.

Her whispered promise that they would expand on their tryst in the hallway came back to him, and he was suddenly very eager to get home. He wanted to hold her with this knowledge warming him. Hold her as his holy grail. Hold her as everything he could ever hope to touch. The bit of Heaven that had fallen from the skies and sought refuge in his arms.

"There's somethin' else," Spike said slowly, choosing his words with caution. "I'm...I'm gettin' stronger."

"Yes, I would imagine""

"No. You don' understand. I'm gettin' stronger. Not jus' because of the claim. 'S somethin' else. Somethin'...I feel it. Not jus' in how easy I put down the baddies. I feel it in my blood." He glanced down. "I don' know why. Well, I know it has somethin' to do with me an' Buffy, an' likely ties into the claim. But I've never heard anythin' about adaptin' this sort of strength. I feel I could take on the armies of Rome an' walk away without a bloody scratch." He nodded at the dumbstruck look on Giles's face. "Yeh. Any ideas, Professor?"

The look in the Watcher's eyes was not encouraging. "Does...have you spoken about this with Buffy?"

"No."

"No?"

"I don' wanna worry her."

"Then you admit that it's cause for worry."

Spike snickered. "I admit nothin'. I don' know what it means, I don' know if it's cause for worry an' since I don' want Buffy frettin' over me, I figure I'll keep my mouth shut until I know what the hell it is I'd tell her."

"How about what you just told me?"

"How about you take some of my blood, run some tests, an' get back to me in six to eight weeks?"

"Spike, if you're going to make this work, you can't keep secrets from Buffy."

The vampire's eyes flared with indignation. "I don't wanna worry her! When did that become a soddin' federal crime? Likely, 's nothin'. A side effect of bein' mated to a Slayer turned god. An' until I know what, there's no reason to have her focusin' on me when there's, oh say, the world to tend to."

Giles shook his head, releasing a long sigh. "You don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?" The words were not spoken so much as barked.

"As mates, as two halves of that whole, you are each other's world. With or without the love you share, the claim itself asserts that your world is her world. Hers is yours. You can't keep something like this from her."

"An' I don't intend to," Spike snarled. "I jus' wanna know what I'm tellin' her before I tell her. An' frankly, old man, as someone who's jus' told me that you're steppin' down as the guidance counselor, I don' see where you have the authority to tell me what brand of cigs to buy, much less how to treat my relationship. I'm not tellin' her now because I love her too much to jeopardize what's important to her by bringin' somethin' up this bloody trivial."

"We don't know that it's trivial."

"An' until we know what it is, that's what we'll call it." He held out his wrist, shaking his features into the familiar game face. "Go get a vial. We'll do this my way or I'll find another Watcher to pass on my ancient and mated blood to. What was it Wes said? Somethin' about bein' just a phone call away?"

Giles stared at him for a long minute, then rose to his feet and strode to his cupboard. "You play dirty pool."

"You expect anythin' less? Vampire, remember?"

A snicker. "How could I forget?"

Spike smirked and sank his fangs into his own flesh, licking his lips as he pulled back. He had half the proffered vial filled by the time a foreign yet familiar knot twisted his stomach, his eyes going wide and a terrible sense of foreboding settling over his perception.

Something was wrong.

"Spike?"

A sharp gasp seized his throat. "'S Buffy. I gotta get to her."

"What?"

"She's in trouble."


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The woman was blonde, young, and quite possibly insane. Of the clinical nature. Her hair was accentuated by a cheap bleach job, her perm either purposefully bad so that it was good or just bad. She was wearing a dress and heels that made the old patrol outfits Buffy wore in the days of Angel kissage look sensible. Oh, and she had the strength to stop a locomotive with a flick of the wrist.

Granted, it had not been all that long since some vamp wannabe had smashed her face against a nice hard slab of cement, but the space between had granted her powers that generally helped her avoid this sort of confrontation. Buffy whirled around before the insane woman could advance any further, her hand shooting out to stop the fist flying at full speed for her jaw. The strength behind the arm was phenomenally powerful; she could tell the woman was surprised that her quarry had the ability to put up any resistance at all.

"Okay," the woman said. "Who the hell are you, and what are you on?"

Buffy shrugged conversationally. "What? Don't you know?" She landed a powerful punch that sent the woman searing across the room, nearly stumbling over herself in surprise rather than impact. "I mean, you're in my town with the super strength, and not that it doesn't look good on you but"" The woman leapt forward and lashed for her face again, angry this time. And just as easily, the Slayer captured her fist without a blink. ""two superchicks with superpowers in the same town? Been there, done that. Doesn't end well. And since this is my town, the polite thing to do would be""

"I don't remember ordering a welcome wagon," the blonde snarled, slapping her palm over Buffy's mouth. Her fingers dug into her cheeks, the rage behind her eyes nearly manifesting into a force in itself. "What are you? Some hacked up Slayer wannabe?"

Buffy's legs shot forward and connected with the woman's chest, freeing them both and sending them spiraling to opposite ends of the room. The very vacant warehouse room that looked to have last been inhabited by some doomed corporation that didn't realize they signed on for demon contracts and the like when they rented the lease.

"Wrong. I am the Slayer."

The woman looked skeptical, wiping her mouth disdainfully. "Please. You think you're talking to some fifteen hundred year old newbie here? The Slayer is human. Human and wondrously breakable."

"Not anymore."

"Well, you don't smell like a vampire."

"Not. Try looking up god. Should make for some interesting reading."

The woman stared at her incredulously, then snorted. "Oh please! That's so my line!" Even so, a flicker of doubt crossed her face, and Buffy sensed something in the midst of her seemingly groundbreaking revolution had gone horribly wrong.

She didn't know how she knew; she just did.

"A brand new baby god?" the woman mused thoughtfully. "You know, I've always wanted to know just how much it would take to make one of the younger models cry." She kicked off her highheels without blinking. "Hey! You wanna find out?"

"You can't""

"Really?" Suddenly, the blonde psychopath was right in front of her, eyes sparkling dangerously. Her fingers were poised at either side of Buffy's head, and from nowhere, a searing pain sprouted in the pit of her stomach. Drawing out as something split her cranium in two, and a horrible siren of agony pierced through her throat. "I'm thinking I can."

The Slayer gasped, her world dissolving like chalk on a rain drenched sidewalk. She saw a face in front of her, but nothing else. Felt the barricade she had placed between herself and Spike faltering, more on instinct than will. The claim kicking in to alert her mate that she was in danger. Slipping through the cracks.

Shouldn't be this way. Shouldn't...

"Hey!" the woman cried. "I thought you said you were a god. I'm crushing you."

God. Am a god. Not a Slayer.

Thinking like that, reversibly, didn't help.

Her insides were crushing, she was sure of it. And it was perchance by pure luck that one of her flailing legs caught the blonde in the gut. Buffy collapsed onto the wooden floor, her shields going up again. She hadn't even realized her feet had left the ground.

The woman was already climbing to her feet. Evidently, the kick had projected enough power to send her across the room. "Okay," she said irritably. "That was rude."

Buffy's eyes darted to the monk in the corner. She had to get to him.

She had to get out. And now.

The woman was advancing, though. And she looked ready to kill.

Buffy was running out of options. Her muscles were too sore. Her head was spinning as her temples throbbed. There was a pain in her gut that she had never before experienced, and every inch of her skin felt it was slowly burning off her body.

Enhanced strength"enhanced pain.

She had to get to the monk. Before he died with his secret, she had to get to him.

And make sure she got to someone else before she died carrying it.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Someone screamed her name and caught her in loving arms just as she tumbled to the ground outside the collapsed factory. Just feet away from the monk whose secrets she now kept. Consciousness waning, she saw blue eyes swimming in an ocean of tears, felt lips caressing her skin in hurried, desperate kisses. Heard a familiar voice crying her name. And every cell in her body warmed.

"I'm fine," she gasped.

And she was. She was a god. She would live.

She knew the answer to the lie. Knew everything that had gone into place.

"Sweetheart..." Spike's amorous mouth brushed her bruised lip, and she tasted his tears. "Jesus, baby, who did this to you?"

The woman had no name. No name that she knew.

"I""

Her mate scooped her up into his arms and turned. "'m takin' you home."

"No!" The word meant to be forceful, but she had no voice at the moment. "Giles."

"Buffy""

"Need...Giles..."

There was hesitation in his response, but he did not deny her. He could not deny her anything.

Giles would know. Giles always knew.

That was the last thought to cross her mind. She was okay now. Spike had her. And it was finally safe to allow herself to drift into a healing state of unconscious. Allow her muscles to mend. Muscles blessed with a god's power that should not be bruised.

Answers. She needed answers.

And hopefully, Giles would have them.

Chapter Seven

Something cold pressed against her brow, sending a sharp pain to her temple immediately before the throbbing subsided. Buffy's eyes fluttered open, instantly greeted by the ocean of concern pouring through the loving gaze of her worried lover. Everything else came slower. The familiarity of her surroundings. Giles's place. She vaguely remembered asking Spike to bring her here. Remembered the shape of the door before a cloud of unconsciousness overwhelmed her. And now she was in her Watcher's house, and her boyfriend was looking at her with growing disquiet, pressing an ice pack to her head.

A smile crossed her face. "Hey."

"Hey."

"What happened?"

His brows arched and he set the ice aside. "You don' remember?"

"Did I get hit by a truck?"

"You went off when I offered a thousand bloody times to go with you an' got pounded into the next soddin' millennia." There was only a hint of scold imbedded in his voice; the overpowering defensive note of his fear. "You're not goin' out without me again."

"Spike""

"You have any idea what I jus' went through?" he demanded. "I had no idea where you were. No idea how bad you were hurt. No bloody idea what the hell it was that was powerful enough to take you down""

"Well, obviously you did because you found me."

"Buffy""

"And I'm willing to bet you knew exactly where I was hurt and how much. I feel it when you stub your toe, for crying out loud, so don't pull that on me." She sat up, releasing a long sigh. "I'm sorry I didn't...but I..."

Spike shook his head, the hard façade he had established cracking. "I was so worried," he whispered. "I felt you were in trouble, an' I wasn't there."

"You were there."

"I wasn't! I""

"You were there," she said again. "I felt you coming. I tried to keep you out so you wouldn't worry, but you came anyway."

A dangerous, defensive flare flashed across his eyes. "Of course I came!" he spat with false anger, drawing again to his feet. "You were in danger. I felt you calling for me. I felt you. You were in danger. You're my mate. My bloody reason for livin'. If you think I'll sit by an' twiddle my thumbs when I feel you screamin' in pain jus' because you don' want me to worry, you've got another fuckin' thing comin'."

Buffy pursed her lips and rolled to her feet, wincing a little as an impromptu wave of dizziness crashed over her senses. "Sweetie," she said softly, drawing him back to her with the gentility of her voice. "I didn't want you to worry for me. I went there tonight because I needed to. I don't even know why I needed to, but I did. And she was there. I got the man out, but she was there and the building fell down. And then he died."

The peroxide blonde was staring at her blankly. "Baby," he said, "you know you're not makin' sense, right?"

At least the anger was gone. She had known it would be short-lived, but that did not stop relief from rushing through her veins. "There's something," she began carefully, her mind still spinning from the weight of what the monk had told her before collapsing in his own death. Before granting her that unspoken permission to grasp the pain surging her body. "I don't know how to tell you."

That did very little to ease his apprehension. "Buffy..."

"It's Dawn."

That surprised him. She felt it just as powerfully as she saw it. A torrent of shock overwhelming his azure eyes, staring at her as though she had suddenly reverted to speaking in ancient tongues that even his extensive knowledge did not touch. "Nibblet?"

There was a rustling sound behind her; Giles was reentering the room. Buffy's gaze widened and she shot Spike a meaningful look. "Not now," she mouthed, hand rising to her bruised head and immediately drawing her lover's attention back to her healing wounds.

Spike was back at her side the next second, concern overwhelming him once more. His lips danced over her tender skin. "'m sorry I lost my temper," he murmured. "I jus'...you were in danger, an' I wasn't there."

"I know. I'm sorry...I didn't know what I would find. I..."

"Please don't do that to me again," he pleaded softly. "I love you so much. My heart can't take that."

Buffy smiled lovingly, but did not reply. She wanted nothing more than to reassure him that she would no longer go out traipsing into dangerous scenarios without him at her side, but she knew better. She knew herself. She knew that she was attracted to danger, and, moreover, an insatiable thirst for truth. If the call for truth should reach her, she would follow it as she had tonight. Follow it to discover what it held. What reality was hidden in a wreath of carefully woven lies.

"You're awake," Giles said, relief flooding his tone. A book was clasped tightly in one hand, swinging slightly at his side. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I decided to run cross country with a piano latched to my back, anchors on each leg, and an anvil strapped to my head."

"Her bleedin' has stopped," Spike said. She noticed the ice in his hand was beginning to melt; droplets of water squeezing through his fingers. "Stopped almost immediately. I sealed her wounds."

Giles paused and stared at him. "You sampled her blood?"

Buffy wormed an arm around her mate's middle in a silent but unyielding declaration of support.

"I din't sample," Spike growled, eyes flashing dangerously. "I closed the wounds. There's a difference."

"There is," she confirmed before her Watcher could get a word in. "Spike has never taken blood from me for sustenance, so don't even go there. What he did, he did. Even though I wasn't...I feel fine. I can feel my bruises healing even now." Her eyes settled on the book in Giles's hand. "What's that?"

He glanced down. "Everything I have on Quirinias."

"Quirinias? Why?"

"I think it's better that we know what sort of power he held beyond possessing Slayers for the sake of maintaining a physical shape in our realm." He sighed. "He had powers beyond anything I've ever read. It's amazing that his history wasn't better cataloged in the Watcher archives, but then, he had been banished so long that most modern historians likely thought he was dead."

"Thought you said gods don' die," Spike said, tugging Buffy subconsciously to him and sighing happily when she wrapped her arms around him. There was something about being in her embrace that soothed him regardless of the tension in the room. He reckoned the world could be falling to its final hell and he wouldn't care as long as he was in her arms. "Thought you said""

"Gods don't die," Giles confirmed. "Their earthly bodies might die, but their spirit, or essence, remains forever. Quirinias's initial banishment was so strong that it took him centuries to gain enough power to attempt to maintain a physical presence. The roots of his powers themselves are overwhelming. Such to the point that I am convinced that the only way you could have been defeated tonight is if the entity you were fighting was a god as well."

Spike's eyes went wide and his arms tightened around her. "Another god?" he demanded. "Two in one bloody year?"

"That is not nearly as disturbing as the fact that, had Buffy exercised her full potential, there is absolutely no way she wouldn't have emerged the victor." Giles's face was grave. "Buffy, you have new responsibilities now. You can't fight as a Slayer anymore. You must start adapting to the new lifestyle the events in Natchez gave you."

Buffy froze, and Spike froze right with her. "I-it..." She glanced down. "It's not that easy, Giles. I have...this thing, it's bigger than just""

"You are not the Slayer anymore," he said again. Graver. "You cannot fight like one. It will get you killed."

"Gods don't die."

"It will kill your body, and you will be damned to an existence worse than death. An existence that could take well beyond the end of the world to mend." His eyes shifted to the vampire. "Spike, as her mate, you must""

"As her mate, my only concern is keepin' her safe, warm, an' blissfully happy."

"Safe also means teaching her how to take care of herself."

"I can take care of myself," Buffy spat. "I have for six years just fine."

An angry glare flashed across her Watcher's face. "You are not the Slayer anymore. You're a god now. You have to fight like a god. You can't just ignore that you have an immeasurable amount of power at your disposal that will kill you for indolence if you just sit back and act like nothing has changed."

"She's stronger than she's ever been," Spike snarled. "She moves like bloody poetry. I've been around longer than the both of you combined, an' I've never seen anythin' like it. She flicks off vamps an' demons an' all bloody else jus' by lookin' at them."

"Only she doesn't, and that's the problem. Her strength has increased, but she doesn't use it. Not like she should."

"You can't tell her how she should."

Giles's eyes darkened. "The god that she faced knows how to utilize innate assets. Knows how to accentuate power, and knows where to throw punches and make it hurt even those who are built like Hercules. The god knows because the god fights like a god. The god doesn't fight like a Slayer who doesn't know better."

"That's enough!" Spike sprang to his feet, whisking Buffy into his arms; surprising her before she had the opportunity to protest. "You don' know what she's goin' through. You can't even begin to fathom it. So don' come off as bein' so bloody righteous."

Her heart was thundering wildly, but her tongue felt too swollen to trust with words. The link she felt with her mate anchoring further into her blood. Her gratefulness for him. Her love for him. He felt her emotions, felt her fears tied in with the powers she had not yet accepted. Felt everything and could release their combined anger at being cornered into something so large so soon. And god, she loved him for it. For that and a million other reasons.

"You're going to get her killed," her Watcher snapped.

That was possibly the lowest insult anyone had ever issued the vampire. The implication that he would endanger the life of the woman he loved was akin to showering him with holy water.

"No," Buffy said softly. "He's really not."

"Buffy""

"We're goin' home, 'f you don't have anythin' useful to tell us," Spike growled, doing his damndest to temper his emotions. "We're goin' home, Watcher. You should do the same."

The Slayer frowned at that, sensing something had thoroughly gone over her head, but it didn't matter. Aside Giles's objections, her mate was storming out of the duplex with enough rage to dominate a small empire. He had her fastened in the Desoto the next minute and was racing through Sunnydale so they arrived home in record speed. She hadn't remembered him driving her away from the factory after she was injured. There was some innate response, she figured, that was so primal for mates that technological advances slipped from their psyche when they knew the other was in danger. Either way, it didn't matter. She reckoned Spike made it to her side on foot faster than he would have behind the wheel. Were it reversed, there was no doubt in her mind that she would have been at his side just seconds after the first blow was administered.

"Sodding wanker," Spike grumbled as he carried her to their apartment. "Face hell an' all that an' he wants to know why you""

"It's okay," she said.

"No, it's really not. You were hurt. He had no bleedin' right to""

"He's my Watcher."

"I'm your mate. I know you better than anyone else. I feel what you feel, remember?" Her feet didn't touch the floor until they were in the lavatory. Spike's attentiveness when she was injured was nothing she was a stranger to; she remembered vividly his tears and concern when she awoke a god in the Wensel townhouse just a few short months before. "An' you're still afraid."

She was. That was unmistakable. It seemed eons had passed since she awoke in a body that wasn't entirely hers, with strength given to her by a deranged deity who wanted an earthly kingdom. Moreover, even more time had passed since she sat with Spike in that waiting room in Washington. Noting the inherent evils of humanity and acknowledging privately that she still had so much to get through before she accepted what she had become.

The most malevolent forces in the world came from the people she was sworn to protect. That knowledge, that horrible recognition, had haunted her every night since their return. Furthermore, she had seen the corruption that came with power; had seen it in Faith, and even in Willow during that hour spent fighting through security and secret service and god knows what else to get to Sam. Using her strength to her advantage in a time the country was running around in confusion. She had seen power corrupt even the most unlikely.

The sort of power that Quirinias had passed on to her was more terrifying than anything she could consider. And yes, she knew she could not ignore it forever. That Giles was right in that regard; eventually, her negligence would be her downfall. But she couldn't begin to comprehend what she was now. Not now. Not when she was just getting over the fact that it had happened in the first place.

"Lift your arms, sweetling," Spike murmured, snapping her back to him. They were still in the bathroom. Nature's steam rose from the hot water splashing against their soft pink tub. The concern imbedded in his eyes had not alleviated; rather, her reverie had sharpened his attention, and he looked so worried for her that it tore at her heart.

"The bruises are gone," she murmured as he whisked her top over her head.

"I know."

"The bleeding has stopped."

"I know," he said again, unhooking her bra.

"My muscles are a little strained, but I feel fine."

"I know." Spike carefully stripped her of her remaining clothing and pressed a tender kiss to the swell of her breast. "I know, darling. Jus' lemme take care of you."

Her hands tugged at his t-shirt as he fumbled with his jeans. He turned the water off the next minute and tugged her into his arms. Settling into the warmth of the bath behind her. An immersion that cleansed everything she had not known to still taint her skin.

Spike was behind her, encouraging her head to rest on his chest. It was an odd position, but comfortable nonetheless. Resting against him the way she did after they made love"her arms around his middle, her legs straddling his thigh. There in the quiet of their home, as his fingers massaged her skin and his lips caressed her forehead. A bath that was not a bath; a bath for both to relieve the stress buried in all that had happened tonight.

There was something so comforting about being held like this. In her home. In a place that was actually hers. In the arms of the man that made this home for her. Spike's hands dancing over her wet skin, drawing her hair from her face and over her shoulder; holding her in her calm.

"This is nice," she murmured contentedly.

"Oh yeah," he purred, cupping the soft weight of her breast. "Bloody brilliant." His nimble fingers massaged her nipple teasingly, his lips finding her forehead once more. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"No," she replied, slithering a hand between them to cradle his hardened cock, grinning at the gasp that ruptured through his lips. "But I will be."

"Buffy""

"Seems to me someone's wanting some attention."

A long whimper clawed through his throat. "Oh Jesus, Buffy""

She shifted over him, caressing his mouth with hers. "I want you," she murmured, her hands gliding over his length in tantalizing laps. "I want to feel you inside me."

"Fucking hell," Spike gasped, his own hands sliding down her sides, fingers teasing her silken folds. "You're so...god, I love you so much. An' I was so...I was so fuckin' worried about you. Like my insides were bein' ripped out."

"I'm sorry...if I could've..."

"Shhh, s'okay." She could tell it wasn't for the heavy tone in his voice; knew that there was a thousand things bearing down on his conscience, but his need to make sure she was all right surpassed all else. "We'll talk about that later. I jus'...we don' have to do this tonight. You're sore, baby. I don't wanna hurt you."

Buffy pressed a kiss to the pulse point of his throat, reveling in the moan that spilled through him at that. "You don't hurt me," she whispered. "You never hurt me." She positioned herself over his cock, coaxing his fingers to move again to her hips, holding her as she sank onto him. A mingled mewl of completion wrapped in the air around them. "Ohhh, god."

"Mmmm," Spike murmured in agreement, his wet hands sliding up her arms, inspiring a path of gooseflesh to follow. He was panting. Long, heedless pants; his eyes glossed over with passion. "God, you feel so good. Buttery satin, you are. My warm, fiery goddess."

"My vampire," she countered lovingly, squeezing her vaginal muscles around him. His eyes rolled up in his head, collapsing against the back of the tub. "Mmm...so good."

She was drowning in the blue azure of his gaze the next minute, smoldering with the heat he sent scorching across every inch of her skin. "Oh fuck." He gasped again, lifting himself so that her breasts were flattened against his chest. His mouth descending to her throat, fingers wedging between them so he could taunt a rosy nipple as his other hand slid across her flushed skin to tease her clit. "So fuckin' hot."

As was everything with him, the synchronicity of his touches inspired the glowing fire within her to a blazing inferno. The feel of him inside, thrusting desperately within her soft depths, water splashing around them. It seemed years had passed since their tryst in the hall, since she had been in the warmth of his intimate embrace. There were so many things about their relationship that reestablished boundaries of everything she knew about life and love. Despite the lust buried within every touch he gave her, every leer he shot in her direction, the underlying wealth of his affection was undeniable. And when they were connected like this, as close as any two people could be, it surpassed everything her mother had taught her about sex and breeched something new and unheard of. Something that culture had dismissed for physical gratification when it was more for her; when for her, it was about love and honor. Bringing him into her body because she loved him so much that she wanted him to be a part of her. And she felt something was missing when he wasn't.

"I love you," she whimpered, arching her back when his mouth encircled her left breast, his hand cupping her right. His other hand was submerged in the bathwater, massaging her where they were joined. Inspiring the inferno within her to surge. Her nerves were on fire, teasing her body as she danced near completion. Spike's teeth tugged at her nipple, his tongue laving a wet path around her sensitive skin, murmuring adorations that were muffled with passion.

He released her breast with a soft plop, heated eyes finding hers through the shaded light that surrounded them. "I love you," he rumbled intensely. "I love you so much."

The sensation of hearing the words as he moved ardently within her was something she would never take for granted. "I'm sorry," she gasped. "I should've told you...tonight, I'm""

"It's okay, kitten. It's okay." He buried his face in her shoulder, and she felt him shift into the face nature had given him. It was so strange; imagining a vampire's fangs so close to her throat and she felt nothing but a rush of excitement. Even with the months that had passed, she hadn't gotten over the world's sense of irony. How she, the Slayer, could find such solace, such love, in the arms of her natural born enemy. How she could crave the feel of his incisors in her skin. How the sensation could make her feel so...

"Wonderful," Spike murmured, his silky but similarly roughened tongue savoring her flesh. "You taste so wonderful."

"Spike..."

"So wonderful." His thumb pressed against her clit, manipulating her sensitive bundle in rough, loving circles that sent sharp shards of pleasure through her body. His thrusts were becoming more frantic, water splashing over the tub. "Love you so fucking much."

"Spike!" she whimpered. "Please!"

"Come for me. You're so close. I can feel how close you are."

"Bite me!"

"Such animosity..."

Her nails dug into his shoulders, her muscles clenching around him. "You know...oh god...you know what I...what I mean!"

"Do I?" he demanded raggedly. "Maybe you should tell me."

"Spike!"

"Just in case, you know."

"Fangs. Yours. In my throat. Put them there, now!"

A heated look of adoration crossed his neon eyes. "You're amazin'," he gasped reverently, lowering his mouth again to her throat. "I love you so much."

She was seconds away from sobbing. "Spiiiiiike!"

"So much." And then it happened. His fangs slipped into her milky flesh, and she exploded around him. Her scream of completion reverberating through the small chamber, her head flying back as she rode out the throes of her orgasm, his name on her lips like a holy mantra. "Mine," he growled when he pulled away, her blood dribbling down his chin, his hips surging into her as he embraced his own orgasm. "You're mine. My Slayer. My God. My Buffy. You're my Buffy."

"Yours," she agreed, feeling a familiar shiver drive down her spine. "I'm yours."

"Mine," he murmured again reverently. "An' I'm yours."

"Mine." A long sigh shuddered through her. "Forever."

"Forever," he agreed.

Buffy clung to him as he held her while they came down together, savoring the feel of him still locked inside her body. Cradled within her warmth. Spike's arms were so tight around her, ragged breaths tickling her skin, holding her as though she was the pinnacle of the world's trials. Nestled in security even as the bathwater cooled around them. Resting in this solace they had created for each other.

The comforting rumble of his chuckle drew her back to the present a few minutes later. "Not exactly," he murmured, "what I had in mind when I brought you in here."

She pouted. "Are you complaining?"

He graced her with a long, dubious look. "Yeah. 'S a right bitch, makin' sweet, unbridled love with the woman I love. Don' know how I survive it."

"You're hilarious," she drawled, nipping at his throat.

"Yeh, aren't I?" A smirk crossed his lips. "But really, kitten, ask a stupid question." His grin widened when she scowled, tweaking a nipple between his agile fingers. "God, you're gorgeous."

She blushed prettily. "Am not."

"Are so."

"Okay."

Spike smirked again, stroking her mouth with his. "You taste so sweet."

"You're in a flattering mood tonight."

"I'm in a truthful mood tonight."

The words would have sounded cheesy had she not known he was completely serious. The intensity with which he regarded her was more than shared, but his ability to be so open with his feelings was something she was still working on. He was patient; he knew how much she loved him. She told him a thousand times a day in a thousand different ways. In the meantime, the casual banter she enjoyed with him spoke levels for their shared sentiment. It made everything about their relationship complete.

"Sweet, unbridled love?" she asked teasingly.

He frowned. "I was bein' poetic."

"You're adorable when you're poetic."

"You really have no qualms about sayin' that word around me, do you?"

"No more than you do around me."

"I'm the guy. I'm not supposed to be adorable."

Buffy eyes narrowed. "First of all, that's crap. Second of all, even if it wasn't crap, you're already way too unconventional to not be adorable just because you're a guy." She squeezed her thighs in an unneeded reminder of their intimate connection, cherishing the moan that tore through his lips almost as much as the feel of his hardness flexing within her. "Don't you think?"

Spike's hands dropped again to her hips, his pelvis arching forward as a look of pure bliss clouded his features. "God, baby""

She began moving over him again, her eyes shining. "I'll take that as a yes."

An indeterminate amount of time later, settling into bed, Spike brushed a kiss over Buffy's temple. She was already asleep. Dozing in the comfort of their sanctuary, snuggled in the softness he had given her. Her back pressed to his chest, his hand finding hers as he settled behind her, breathing in her sweetness. These walls were small, but they belonged to them. The first time he had a home that felt like home.

There was something so terrifying about what had happened tonight, something that would be saved for another day.

For now, there was this. This refuge. This warmth.

This peace that he would fight all hell to keep.

He could only pray it never came to that.



Chapter Eight



“Okay, well, he’ll be on at eight our time, so it’s gonna be early for you.”

“That’s fine,” Buffy replied. “Xander and Ahn will be over around four. I think they’ve finally hit a low point in the ‘living with the parents’ thing, and have been over here practically every night this week.” Her voice sounded isolated and somehow reinforced the miles that separated them. Willow found that disconcerting. She had always assumed that phones, regardless of distance, did not project sound according to the space between callers. It all drew back to that fundamental of how much she missed her friends.

Not that she hadn’t grown to love DC; she had. She was past that touristy stage and nearing the point where the incursion of tourists bothered her. As grand as it was, there were only so many times one could ogle the Washington Monument or feel humble at the feet of a massive Abraham Lincoln. Donna had told her it would happen; and while logic encouraged it, the redhead was somewhat disappointed in herself. She was not one to poo-poo history, regardless of location.

“Doesn’t Anya have her own apartment?”

A sigh. “So they say.”

“And doesn’t Xander hate Spike?”

“Well, he used to. Really, since you’ve been gone, he’s gotten a lot better. I think it’s because he doesn’t have you so readily to gripe to, or escape to. He even came over one night when Anya was…well, going through that lovely monthly time where we all wish we could be vengeance demons—” Willow snickered, and Buffy laughed her agreement, “—and bribed Spike to take him some place to reaffirm his testosterone.”

“Xander has testosterone?”

“That’s not nice,” her friend berated.

“Spike said the same thing, didn’t he?”

“And to his face.”

“And Xander still nominated him as a drinking buddy?”

She could practically see her friend’s nod. “And gave him the award. It didn’t take much; he’s a lightweight. I think he had three shots and was on the floor. Spike was back an hour after he left with Xander slung over his shoulder. He didn’t remember anything the next morning, so Spike made up some huge story about him dancing with a transsexual with his underwear on his head to wig him out.”

Willow’s eyes bulged, a shrill of unladylike laughter tearing through her mouth. “What?”

“I think he might’ve included a goat somewhere. And something about David Hasselhoff.”

“Oh my God. And he bought it?”

There was an amused rumble. “He would have if I hadn’t incapacitated myself with giggles. Spike got through the first part, then started laughing because I was laughing and either he felt it in the claim or was just amused that I was amused…it was an amusing day.”

The redhead smiled into the phone, ignoring the now-expected pang of homesickness.

It will get better. It will.

“So what’s this thing tonight?”

Willow snapped back to herself. “Capitol Beat,” she said. “Sam’s going against some guy on a few things, the education package is the big one. Something about why the President’s signing the new bill after he vetoed the one presented by the Republican leadership.”

“Gah. I would be all kinds of wigged if I had to be on national TV. I’d make an even bigger fool of myself than I do just being me.”

“He’s on the President’s staff. He’s used to it.”

“Making a fool of himself?”

“Being on TV.”

“’Cause Sam makes a fool of himself a lot, you know. Remember the near apocalypse?”

The redhead scowled into the phone. “He didn’t know better!”

“Turned me into a god, Will.”

“Well, at least you don’t have that monthly time where you wish you were a vengeance demon anymore.”

Buffy snickered. “Got me, there.” A pause. “Okay, Spike’s home and we’re debating Chinese or pizza for Sam’s debut. I gotta run.”

“It’s not a debut. He’s done this a lot.”

“Yeah, okay. I gotta run.”

“He’s really good, too. He usually kicks his opponents’ ass in policy debates.”

“No, honey, we don’t want anchovies. No! He’s allergic.”

“Not that I’ve seen him do it before—live, that is. Toby’s got them all taped.”

“Well, yeah, you’d think it’s funny but—” Buffy stopped, seemingly recalling that she was on the phone. “Will, I really gotta go. We’re getting our thing together to watch Sam kick Republican ass, okay?”

Willow nodded proudly. “Yeah, I have this study group, then I’m heading over to the White House.”

“You say that as though you do it every day.”

“Only when Donna wants to steal me for lunch.”

“Which is?”

“About every day.”

“Yeah—Spike! No, we’re not going to put Xander in the emergency room for kicks!” She couldn’t tell if Buffy was genuinely upset or not, but whatever it was, she doubted Spike’s evil indiscretions would be enough to cause trouble in paradise. “I gotta go.”

“So you’ve been telling me.”

Only this time she really hung up. Willow grinned in spite of herself and set the phone back onto its cradle, turning to face the hall just as Sam emerged from his lavatory. He had dedicated the past hour and a half getting ready for television’s harsh glare; doing everything from showering to fretting over what tie to wear. And it had paid off. He looked good. Lickably good. All proper and ready for television. Her little brainiac. “Sounds like that went well,” he said.

“You’re gonna have at least four people rooting for you in Sunnydale.”

“Ah. So, my nerves of a million viewers go up by four.”

“You’re not nervous.”

He smiled. “No, not really.”

“’Cause, you know, millions of viewers…kinda of the nerve-wracking.”

Sam’s grin broadened. “Plus four. You just get to a point where you don’t notice any more. A healthy rush of adrenaline is a good thing, of course. You don’t want to be overconfident. Not when you’re facing Republicans.”

“Dirty politics.”

“Yes.”

“And Republicans, too.”

He smirked. “Funny. Wengland’s going to be overconfident, and that’s why—”

“You’re gonna mop the floor with him?”

Sam’s eyes warmed. “Well, he never has anything new to say and he refuses to change his method of debate, no matter how many times he gets defeated. Furthermore, I’ve heard him argue on the GOP’s education package versus ours and there are glaring errors in his logic that I will have absolutely no reservation in pointing out on national television.”

“What else are you guys arguing?”

“I’m thinking the reasons the President’s adamant against privatizing social security and why we vetoed 831.”

Willow plucked his coat off the mount next to the front door and helped him worm into it. “Why did you veto 831?”

He shrugged, straightening his tie. “We felt like it.”

“You’ll have a better reason tonight, I hope?”

A nod. “If not, I’ll make it up. Right there on my feet, I’ll make it up.” Sam turned with a brilliant grin. “You have the thing?”

She nodded. “Yeah, then I’ll head to the White House to watch with Donna.”

“Donna’s going to be at the White House?”

Willow’s eyes narrowed. He knew damn well why Donna was at the White House. “Josh is working today on some thing. He’s a crazy man that doesn’t understand that he’s not responsible for his three-month house arrest, and practically lives in his office and on the Hill. And because he’s, well, Josh, he can’t be at work unless Donna’s in the bullpen.”

Sam shrugged again, a sheepish grin crossing his face. “Well, that’s Josh for you.”

“But it is Sunday.”

“The country’s not open on Sunday?”

“You should really consider closing it.”

“The country?” He neared to kiss her lips before tearing toward the door. “If you’re willing to wait, we can grab dinner after I get done with this thing.”

She beamed. “Sure.”

In just seconds, she was alone. Alone in the solitude of Sam’s modest townhouse. One of those quaint establishments that stood the test of time. She figured the house to be at least a hundred and fifty years old—a tribute to history even as the modern world thrived around it.

A grown-up’s house.

Willow frowned at that. There were times, like now, when she was overcome with severe reminders of their age difference. This was the sort of place she wanted for herself; the sort of place that had, until a few short months before, resided in the far recesses of her psyche. She didn’t have a major, didn’t have any idea what she wanted to do with her life aside strengthen her witch powers and eventually become Mrs. Samuel Norman Seaborn. But she couldn’t—she refused—to allow him to support her. She wanted a career of her own. Wanted to teach. Wanted to learn. Wanted to be a scientist and write the great American novel. Wanted to do it all.

A sigh rolled through her throat. No decision needed to be made right now. She was just two weeks away from twenty, a few credits short of being a sophomore—something that would be otherwise had she not missed so much school in Sunnydale. She had time to figure out what it was she wanted to do. How she would live out her professional life aside the witchcraft and be in love with a man who could not take her out because of public opinion.

Her insides shuddered at that. Not tonight. There was no reason to make herself upset tonight.

Tonight she was going to watch Sam kick Republican ass. Then they would have dinner. Not out, but together.

It wouldn’t always be this way. She would get older.

Until then, they had what they had. And she could live with that.


*~*~*


Sunnydale, California. 4:47pm.

“Pizza’s here!”

“Thank God.” Buffy snatched the cash from her mate’s hand and followed Xander’s call to the front. “I was about to call again.”

“It hasn’t been twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, and this is a town with the population of thirty. It should’ve been here after I hung up.”

Spike emerged from the back room with an amused look on his face. “Excuse her,” he said. “She’s worried ‘f she misses a minute of Seaborn’s performance, she’ll fail Red’s exam an’ get kicked outta the class.”

Buffy scowled and thrust the wad of bills into Xander’s hand, tacitly passing on the duty of the pizza transaction to him. “This is very important to Willow,” she argued. “I haven’t seen her for three months and this is the first best-friendish duty she’s charged me with, so I’m not going to miss a minute.”

A teasing smile tickled Spike’s mouth. He rested his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. “You’re a good best friend, sweetling.”

“Well, I am now. The pizza’s here. No more distractions.”

Anya turned from where she was examining the contents of their refrigerator. “When you two said you had nothing here, you were being serious.”

“They have soda,” Xander pointed out. “Soda is of the good.”

A scowl marred her face. “Soda is a cheap beverage for serving guests. I was expecting an expensive bottle of wine or at least some good liquor so that I might drink myself into such a stupor so that this show you’re forcing me to watch is actually entertaining. It is not my goal to be kept awake with legal stimulants.”

“Sorry. We only break out the good plastic for company that matters,” Spike retorted. Anya’s shoulders slumped and she quickly backtracked away from the refrigerator and moved toward the counter that Xander had set the pizza on. It was the typical first apartment counter; accessible either from the den or the kitchen, made into a window by the cupboard that boxed the kitchen in. “Grab a plate, kiddies. Show’s about to start.”

Buffy arched a brow as she maneuvered toward the fridge, the vampire right at her heel. “You really care about the show?” she asked, voice hushed. “I thought you were just humoring me.”

Her mate’s eyes twinkled as he reached around her, carefully withdrawing the booze he had snagged at the store when they had picked up the paper plates and napkins the day before. He stealthily poured some of the bottle’s contents into a glass, though she knew it would do little good to ask him to hide it from their guests. There were some times when the lack of a conscience on his part benefited her as well; he could be rude and deny Anya and Xander alcohol and so that he’d come across looking like the bad guy and not her.

It was better to keep anything with booze away from Xander, anyway. He was such a lightweight. And despite however much Spike might deny it, he felt something other than cold loathing for the boy—enough not to humiliate him in front of his woman at a friendly get-together. The purpose here was to make fun of Sam, his opponent, or both. Not each other.

Not, at least, until there was nothing else on.

“I’ve told you,” Spike replied, handing her a drink. Soda, much to her dismay, though there was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes that answered for it. He knew what a lightweight she was from firsthand experience. “Some of these programs are highly entertainin’. Granted, unless there’s a bloody controversy sweepin’ the nation, I’ve never watched Capital Beat for kicks.”

“And now?”

“Now, it’s a bloke I know goin’ up against one of those politicians that uses religion to pass legislation. You can call Prissy many things—”

“Prissy being one of them?”

He grinned. “Well, yeah. Call him what you like, he has brains an’ the ability to sell a message to the public. So, on one hand, you have a right-wing fundamentalist who’ll pull on family values. On the other, you have Red’s boy who’ll try to use logic an’ common sense while hopin’ the country has some of both. ’S bound to be funny, luv.”

“You’re adorable.”

The smile faded into a playful scowl. “What’ve I told you about that word?”

“You tell me many things that are subject to revision.”

“By who?”

“By me.” She grinned perkily, grabbing a paper plate. “Come on. Let’s go grab some couch. You can brag about being the only person here who knows what they’re talking about.”

He smirked and turned to follow her.

Tonight would be entertaining if nothing else.


*~*~*


Washington, DC. 7:58pm

Donna released the breath she had been holding as Willow all but ploughed into the bullpen, dropping her book bag onto a vacant seat. She was flushed and wheezing for air, but she had made it nonetheless.

“You didn’t run into the White House like you were trying to dodge an explosion, did you?” the blonde asked.

“No. Yes. Maybe. Has it started yet?”

“No. Two minutes.”

Josh emerged from his office, thumbing casually through a file. He took one look at her and snickered. “You do know we tape these things, don’t you?” he said. “You spent three hours here the other day looking through old footage.”

“That’s not the point! I want to see it live.” She nodded to herself, brow furrowing. “Moral support. I’m his girlfriend, and I have a moral support thing going on. I need to see it live so I can give him moral support through…well…seeing it while he does it.”

“Do you know what you’re saying?” Donna murmured.

“Not exactly.”

Josh grinned wryly. “I’m sure Sam’ll be glad you risked looking like a lunatic and possibly getting arrested to get here and watch him do something he does at least once a month.”

“Shush!” The Witch scowled and pointed to the television. “It’s starting.”

Indeed it was. Suddenly, everyone in the bullpen was drawn to one of the small televisions that hung from the ceiling; familiar, proper political-show music filling the air. A rush of anxiety flooded Willow’s veins, and she murmured a small blessing that her boyfriend would do well.

Her heart jumped when the announcer started speaking.

“Capital Beat with Mark Gottfried. Tonight from the right, Republican political analyst Ainsley Hayes, and from the left, White House Senior Advisor Sam Seaborn. With Chris Eisen at the Pentagon, and Marjorie Clarke in New York.”

Josh was frowning. “When did Ainsley Hayes happen?”

“Shush!” Donna and Willow snapped simultaneously.

“I’m just saying…wasn’t he supposed to go against Wengland?”

“By god, Watson, he must have cancelled,” the blonde said shortly. “Willow’s trying to watch; don’t ruin this for her!”

“Shhh!” the redhead hissed, her eyes fixed on the screen.

“Good evening,” the moderator began. “Before we get to Chris and Marjorie tonight on the Capital Beat, the House is expected to vote next week on President Bartlet's one point five billion dollar education package. Sam Seaborn: Why is this bill better than its Republican counterpart that the President vetoed last year?”

Her heart leapt again. Her boyfriend looked damnably good on television.

He looked damnably good just about anywhere.

“Because it buys things the teachers need,” Sam replied in an obvious manner that managed to be both engaging and appropriately condescending in the same tone. “Like textbooks. In a fairly comprehensive study that was done, an alarmingly high number of teachers—forty percent of teachers in Kirkwood, Oregon, for instance, and Kirkwood, Oregon being a fair model for public school districts across the country—forty percent of the teachers in Kirkwood, Oregon report not having sufficient textbooks for their students.” The woman at the right, a young blonde woman whose name Willow had already forgotten, was jotting down hasty notes, and that made her nervous. Only Josh had once told her that attractive young women who went on television for the Republican party were usually looking for a good gig, and since no one had yet to pitch a fit at her name or appearance, she assumed all was as it was supposed to be. “The package offered by the Republican controlled Congress,” he continued, “offered a grand total of zero dollars for new textbooks.”

Willow released a deep breath, slowly becoming aware of the beaming smile gracing her face. “That’s my boyfriend,” she said proudly.

Donna tossed her an amused glance, but didn’t have time to say anything. Mark Gottfried was turning to Ainsley Hayes.

Opening argument issued. Score one for the Dems.

There was just no feeling comparable to watching something like this from inside the White House.


*~*~*


Washington, DC. 7:51pm

“It's not gonna be Wengland,” Mark told him within seconds of his greeting.

Sam frowned. “What happened?”

“He’s stuck in Denver.”

“I wanted Wengland.”

Mark nodded his understanding. It was all he could do. Despite popular belief, Sam had discovered, the hosts of television shows did not possess the remarkable ability to conjure people simply by enacting wishful thinking. “Yeah.”

“Did you get Stackhouse?” he asked.

“Couldn’t get Stackhouse,” Gottfried replied, shaking his head. “Couldn’t get Santana, couldn’t get Munroe…”

Sam’s frown deepened. “Who’d you get?”

“A woman named Ainsley Hayes.”

“Aimsley?”

“Ainsley,” Mark corrected, “with an ‘n.’”

“I don’t know her.”

“Me neither, but I’ve got a producer. He brought her in.”

“Mark, tell me she’s not one of these—”

The other man nodded. “She is.”

“I thought that was over.”

“No, no, it’s not. She’s got blonde hair, long legs, and she’s a Republican, so she’s—”

He reached the obvious conclusion, heart sinking. Willow had gotten her hopes up for an intelligent debate. Not that there wouldn’t be other debates, of course, but this was the first he was taking that wasn’t under the pressure of post-shooting first-account stories on the morning shows, and he had been looking forward to showing off for her against someone who stood a chance at besting him.

From experience, he knew that wouldn’t happen today.

“She’s in show business,” he concluded.

“Yeah,” Mark agreed.

“A young, blonde, leggy Republican.”

“Yeah.”

Sam snickered. “I thought it turned out they didn't know anything.”

The other man tossed him an amused glance. “They don’t.”

He was about to reply when an aide with a clipboard, needing him for something, steered him aside. Mark Gottfried patted his shoulder and continued to the set alone, where a notably nervous young woman sat, notebook at the ready. She stood when she saw him approaching, her eyes wide. For everything, she looked like a would-be model who had wandered in here by mistake.

“Ainsley?”

“Yes,” she replied brightly.

He took her hand and gave it a hearty shake. “Mark Gottfried.”

“Ainsley Hayes.”

He sneaked a quick glance to his watch. “So, we’ll be starting here in a minute. I understand you’ve never done TV before?”

She shook her head and he caught another glimmer of apprehension in her eyes. “No, no, not as such, no.”

“Not as such?” he repeated. “What does that mean?”

“It means no, I haven’t done TV before.”

Well, obviously.

“Okay,” Mark said, released a deep breath. “Well, can I give you a little friendly advice?”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I would appreciate it.”

He nodded. “Don’t overreach.”

“Don’t overreach?”

“Don’t try to do too much,” he clarified. “Don’t try to know more than you do. My show is not the place for you to become a star.”

Harsh but needed words. It seemed to take a few seconds for Ainsley to process what he had said. “Okay.”

“You’ll be opposite Sam Seaborn,” Gottfried continued. “He’s done the show a couple dozen times; the White House wouldn't keep sending him if he didn't keep wiping the floor with whoever's in your chair.”

She nodded somewhat absently. “I’ve seen him.”

“Don’t be scared.”

A smile at that. “I’ll try.”

He nodded; hoping the pep talk didn’t prompt her from nervous to freezing once the cameras went on. They were both seated in seconds. “I'll step in,” he clarified, backtracking appropriately. He had seen Sam Seaborn in action more than once, and knew how nasty it could get, especially with someone who didn’t have a strong argument to hold on. The last thing she needed was to be humiliated her first time out on television. “And I'll take some of the punches for you if it gets out of hand, but if you don't get too far from the talking points I'm sure that somebody will give you. Okay?”

“Yeah,” she replied, sounding even more distant.

“You’ll be fine.”

“Thirty seconds!” someone shouted.

Mark turned his attention to his crew behind the cameras. “Are we starting with the education package?”

“Yeah.”

Sam reappeared just then, pointing to someone in the back. “George!” he yelled good-naturedly. “You owe me twenty bucks on the Skins.”

“In the Green Room, man,” came the reply.

There was another chuckle at that, then the Deputy Communications Director turned his attention to his opponent for the night and approached with warm diplomacy. “I’m Sam Seaborn,” he said, shaking her hand.

“Ainsley Hayes.”

“Twenty seconds!”

“You bet with George on the Skins?” Mark asked.

“Over under.” Sam wiggled into his seat and adjusted his microphone.

“How’s Josh?”

“He’s good.”

“Ten seconds!”

Mark nodded. “Here we go.” He turned to Ainsley one last time. “Remember what I said.”

“Yeah,” she agreed softly.

“In five, four, three…”

The lights dimmed at that as the director continued his countdown silently with his fingers. Music poured into the stage and the announcer came on, cameras and small televisions bouncing their own images back at them as a mocking reminder that broadcast meant they could not even escape themselves.

“Capital Beat with Mark Gottfried. Tonight from the right, Republican political analyst Ainsley Hayes, and from the left, White House Senior Advisor Sam Seaborn. With Chris Eisen at the Pentagon, and Marjorie Clarke in New York.”

“Good evening,” Mark began. “Before we get to Chris and Marjorie tonight on the Capital Beat, the House is expected to vote next week on President Bartlet's one point five billion dollar education package. Sam Seaborn: Why is this bill better than its Republican counterpart that the President vetoed last year?”

“Because it buys things the teachers need,” Sam began civilly. “Like textbooks. In a fairly comprehensive study that was done, an alarmingly high number of teachers—forty percent of teachers in Kirkwood, Oregon, for instance, and Kirkwood, Oregon being a fair model for public school districts across the country—forty percent of the teachers in Kirkwood, Oregon report not having sufficient textbooks for their students. The package offered by the Republican controlled Congress offered a grand total of zero dollars for new textbooks.”

Mark nodded, pleased, and turned to his right. “Ainsley Hayes? Is that true?”

The blonde had been jotting busily throughout Sam’s opening statement, the small, nervous girl gone in a surprising bout of only a few seconds. What she radiated now was a cool business head. A persona that could easily be something she slipped into when in preparation for debate, but her body language was tight and controlled. “No,” she replied shortly, “it’s not.”

Of course, there was only so much a person could tell from body language. “Is Sam Seaborn lying?”

“Lying’s an awfully strong word…”

“Do you—”

Ainsley looked up finally, her hand stopping its furious scrawl across the page. Her eyes were clear. Professional and startlingly intelligent. “Yes,” she said. “He’s lying.”

Sam blanched at that. “I don’t—”

“And we should tell the truth about education,” she continued smoothly.

“Well, if you’re gonna call—”

“The bill contained plenty of money for new textbooks,” she argued. “Also computer literacy, school safety, physical plants. The difference is we wanted to give the money directly to communities, and let them decide how best to spend it, on the off-chance that the needs of Lincoln High in Dayton are different from the needs of Crenshaw High in South Central L.A.”

Mark turned back to his left. “Sam, why did the President veto the bill?”

“There are—”

Ainsley interrupted again in a manner that was surprisingly controlling rather than rude. “Because it guaranteed by law that ninety-five percent of the money go directly into the classroom and bypassed the pork-barrel buffet, which is troubling to this President because he doesn't work for the students—”

Sam balked at that as though she had slapped him. “Well, that’s just—”

“—and he doesn't work for the parents of the students. He works for the teacher's union.”

“The difference with the old…” He glanced to Mark who shot him a wry smile as Ainsley predictably interrupted him again.

“The bill contains plenty of money for textbooks, Mark, and anyone who says otherwise is flat-out lying. And we should tell the truth about textbooks. Textbooks are important…” She shot him a particularly condescending look, “if for no other reason than they'd accurately place the town of Kirkwood in California and not in Oregon.”

Sam froze, absolutely speechless. And Mark came to his rescue.

“And we’re in business,” the moderator told the camera. “We'll be back with more Capital Beat after this.”

“Out!” the director called.

As soon as they were at commercial, Ainsley leaned over to Mark, her voice shades away from the last time they had spoken diplomatically. “I’m sorry, did I overreach?”

Gottfried just chuckled and turned to his left. “Hey Sam.”

“Yeah.”

“This one might know something.”

Might. Talk about the understatement of the year.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed quietly. Then, even softer, to himself, “Please, oh please, let them not be watching.”

It was a pipe dream. Willow was watching. So were her friends.

And if he knew Josh and Toby, they’d be ordering popcorn popped at his expense.


*~*~*


Sunnydale, California. 5:07pm

“…if for no other reason than they'd accurately place the town of Kirkwood in California and not in Oregon.”

The laughter that Spike had been holding in throughout Ainsley Hayes’s quick display came barreling out at that. And once he started, he couldn’t stop.

And once he couldn’t stop, the others joined in.


*~*~*


Washington, DC. 8:07pm

Josh all but bounded into the Communication Director’s office. “Toby. Come quick! Sam’s getting his ass kicked by a girl!”

He was already bouncing gleefully back to the bullpen as Toby leapt to his feet.

“Ginger, get the popcorn!” the other man shouted, dashing after Josh.

“Yep,” Willow said resignedly, releasing a deep breath, degrees away from the beaming vestige of support she had been just minutes before. “That’s my boyfriend.”

Chapter Nine


Washington, DC


Willow was waiting in the foyer when Sam got home that night with a plate of oven-fresh cookies and a soft, sympathetic smile. He took one look at her, his gaze dropping to the platter in her hands, and a sigh devastated his body.

“There isn’t any chance that the White House was hit by a timely yet unfortunate power failure, is there?”

She pursed her lips and edged the platter forward. “Cookie?”

“You made cookies?”

“Well…I thought, after your television debut, that it might be…you know…good to have a little sugar in your system. You know…might be…good.”

A desolate look crossed Sam’s face and his shoulders sagged in defeat. “How bad was it?”

Her eyes widened and she shifted uncomfortably. “I…well, I don’t watch…I mean, I’ve never seen Capitol Beat before, and—”

“Willow, you’ve gone through practically all the tapes we could get you that feature me in debate, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” He removed his suit coat and placed it on the rack to his left. “What kind of grief can I expect tomorrow?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. I’m sure they…I’m sure—”

“It’s Josh. Josh, Toby, and CJ. Not to mention the President and Leo and—”

“They’ll all give you—”

He deadpanned. “It’s Josh, Toby, and CJ.”

A sigh pressed through her lips. “Yeah, okay. You’re gonna…well, they made popcorn. And then CJ and Toby put on a reenactment. And Josh had Donna print up the California state map and leave it on your desk…with Kirkwood circled in red.”

Sam released a desolate moan. “Uhhh…I think I’m getting a headache.”

Willow smiled sympathetically and held out the cookie platter again. “Eat a cookie, ease your pain?”

“I…you made these for me?”

She nodded, then bit her lip. “Right after Spike called…wanting to talk to you.”

He whimpered, his eyes falling shut. “Okay. That’s it. I quit.”

“Sam—”

“The President will have my resignation on his desk first thing tomorrow.”

Willow frowned. “Sam, come on. It’s not as bad as all that. I mean, yeah, she had good points, but—”

“I got the name of the state wrong.”

“Y-yes, yes you did. But, you also made good points. The President’s bill provides money for text books—”

“Yes, yes.” He held up a hand. “I underestimated her. That was it. She was a blonde, leggy Republican. What were the chances that she would actually know something?”

A scowl crossed the redhead’s face. “Hey,” she grumbled, her left hand dropping to slap his arm playfully. “There will be no noticing of leggy Republicans by you, all right? I made cookies.”

Sam shook his head and selected one of her sugary doughy cylinders. “There is absolutely no need to worry. The next time I see Ainsley Hayes, it’ll be to laugh at her after we’ve won reelection.” He shook his head again. “Even so, she’s a smug, cold, Republican. Not a warm, gorgeous, sensible redhead.”

Willow’s brows arched good-humoredly, and she set the platter on a nearby stand to free her arms for a hug. “You’re the best.”

“No. You are. The only consolation I had tonight is that someone would be home waiting for me.”

“And cookies.”

“Well, the cookies were just a bonus.” He released a long sigh and cast a hand through his hair, giving him a ruffled bookish look. “Have you eaten?”

“What?”

“I think I promised us dinner.”

“Sam, it’s—”

“Late, I know. But there are some places that’ll still be open. Have you eaten?”

Willow favored him with a weary look. “You…wanna take me…out? To eat? As in, in a public place? Around people who…you know, have eyes?”

“Yes.”

“Sam, you can’t—”

“What?” he retorted. “Take my girlfriend out for supper? Yes, I can. I don’t know why I haven’t before. Are you going to wear a thing on your forehead that declares your age? Are you going to announce to the other customers who I am, who you are, and that we’re sleeping with each other? The country has no right to tell me who I can and can’t love.”

“Tell that to the Religious Right.”

“Which is neither,” Sam fired back. “It’s not even like I’m breaking a law. You’re older than eighteen.”

“Not by much.”

“Well, that’s someone else’s problem. You’re here, I’m here, and one night out isn’t going to be the end of the world.”

“Sam, it’s our problem. I don’t want you to do this because you’re angry about tonight and then—”

“I’m doing this because I love you and I’m tired of hiding from the world just because we have some small-minded people in this country,” he drawled angrily. “One of which just handed my ass to me on national television, yes, but she, if nothing else, reminded me why Republicans infuriate me so much. You really think I’m the only man in Washington with a high profile job and a slightly unorthodox but perfectly legal and healthy personal life, who could be destroyed if the information fell in the wrong hands? We don’t attack them like they attack us, Will. That’s the reason they get away with it and we don’t.”

Willow merely nodded. There was no stopping Sam when he got on a tangent.

“Ainsley Hayes represents everything the Right stands for. Hypocrisy shrouded by a pretty face. Well, I stand here today and say no more. We’re going out, we’re going to have fun, and when we come back, I’m going to do something to you that…well…” He stopped and flushed, as though only then coming back to himself. “Well, I can’t exactly elaborate. It sounds funny coming from me.”

The redhead begged to differ.

“We could…” she said, gesturing broadly. A little tongue-tied by the thought of a verbally suggestive Sam Seaborn. “You know, we could always…skip the dinner part.”

He grinned. “Well, yes, but that would defeat the purpose of confronting my outrage, wouldn’t it?”

“Sam—”

“Come on. Go get your shoes. We’re going out.”

“Where will we go?”

Sam’s smile widened. “Well, let’s start with what’s open.”


*~*~*


Sunnydale, California

She wasn’t looking forward to the next hour and a half at all.

Spike had been asleep for about thirty minutes, his body pressed against hers, cock nestled in the curve of her ass, his arm around her middle. It was so tempting to remain here, buried in his embrace, her muscles pliant from their lovemaking, her body sated and demanding rest. But no. She had an unpleasant task ahead of her. Something she had debated canceling a thousand times but somehow refrained; she knew if she didn’t do this tonight, she never would.

Better now while he was in deep sleep. She didn’t want him worrying.

Or reaching the wrong conclusion and tearing someone’s head off.

Buffy drew in a deep breath and carefully untangled herself from her lover’s embrace, frowning as her stomach tightened. As though the cells in her body were instinctively drawing her back to her safe haven.

Gah. It would be so much better if she could rely on fax or answering machines. E-mail or something similar. But she couldn’t. Not with this. She didn’t even trust the man she was meeting, much less his coworkers.

And she didn’t like the idea of setting up the meeting without Spike’s knowledge, but he would never have allowed it otherwise. He would have demanded he be there with her, and that was something she couldn’t allow. Not with the way she had seen Riley look at him at their last encounter.

Her options were thinning, though. With Giles in Europe and Willow in DC, there were only so many allies that were immediately accessible. Bringing the Initiative into her life again was the last thing she wanted, but there was little else she could do aside relocate to keep her sister safe.

Plus, if anything went wrong, she could likely get Josh or Sam to do something about it.

Buffy’s blood sang as she pulled on her sweats, surging with the hint of enhanced strength. Strength her body was still adjusting to. She was finding it increasingly difficult to only taste a sample of her lover’s blood when offered, and surprisingly, the notion didn’t scare her as she thought it would. Rather, like their physical union, it filled her with hope and reassurance. The taste of him was so concrete, so real, that the more of him she drew inside her, the more she knew he would never leave her.

Like Angel and Parker. Spike was different. Special.

With him, she actually felt loved.

It was not one-sided. Spike had murmured a small apology after retracting his fangs from her throat tonight, afraid he had taken too much. Not realizing that her body was screaming in protest to be separated from his.

Buffy adjusted her top over the most comfortable, concealing bra she could find, and stole a quick glance in the mirror. She didn’t particularly care about looking good for Riley, but there was that small streak of vanity that demanded tidiness for every occasion. Furthermore, her clothing was sloppy but Spike tended to find her irresistible in anything. It was getting more and more difficult to decide what would be a turn off for men when he wanted her always.

The last thing she wanted was Riley to misread her intentions tonight.

Her stomach grew tighter as she moved for the door, an almost profound sadness streaking through her body at the thought of being separated from her mate so soon after a blood exchange. She licked her lips and drew in a shuddering breath, telling herself calmly that tonight’s rendezvous was necessary, and the sooner she left, the sooner she would be back in her lover’s arms.

She just hoped Riley didn’t touch her. Her hand, her arm, anything. She feared she might grow sick at that.

Spike had explained that this might happen. In the first few years of a vampiric claim, he said, were the intermediate period as both the body and the mysticism involved crested into form. Therefore, after significant blood exchanges, particularly after lovemaking, the link between them was the strongest. And any separation became unbearable. There were mornings when she awoke with him inside her, sleeping peacefully, but needing that extra connection.

Needing to be a part of her.

It happened usually only after periods of mutual blood exchange, which was why, she presumed, Spike had not offered his throat to her after their tryst in the hallway the week before. The night she had met the god that was determined to destroy her. The god, the reason she was meeting with Riley tonight.

She needed every station ready. Every ounce of force she could muster focused on the god that was in Sunnydale. The god that had made her bleed.

And that meant turning to the man that could just as easily become an even larger enemy.

The man that had the means of destroying the love of her life.

Which was why she had to protect him tonight.

And go alone.


*~*~*



Riley looked appropriately discomfited as he stepped into the diner, blinded immediately by the 50s-esque florescent lights that hung above the counter. Buffy couldn't blame him for his uncertainty; she didn't want to be here, either. For the middle of the night, even in Sunnydale, the place was overcrowded in population. Too many demons running around town, and if one were to approach her, she didn’t know if she would be much use in defending herself.

There was this pain in her gut that wouldn’t subside.

Not to mention, two minutes earlier, something terribly unexpected had happened.

Where the bloody hell are you?

Buffy snapped back, her eyes wide. Spike?

I know there’s a good reason why you’re not in bed right now.

What he was saying was inconsequential at the moment. He was in her head. Spike was talking to her in her head.

Spike, I…why are you in my head?

Why aren’t you in bed?

I… Buffy paused and smiled at the waitress that handed her the chocolate malt she’d ordered. I…go back to sleep, Spike.

Like hell.

Of course he sensed the minute that Riley walked into the diner, and she felt a surge of foreign rage. She drew in a deep breath and attempted to shut him out, but there was no way now that he knew where she was and that she wasn’t alone. She did her best to smile at the big hulking solider, which only incited her mate’s outrage.

What are you doing meeting another man?

Buffy couldn’t help but grin at that. It was cute, the way he was so insanely jealousy when there was absolutely no reason to be. What do you think I’m doing?

Buffy…

I’m gonna do him right here on this table.

You think you’re funny, don’t you?

He’s so big and strong. All that… A frown marred her features and the wave of pained nausea that became more prominent every minute of their separation threatened to take a violent turn. Okay. I can’t go through with it. Just eww.

Come. Home. Now.

I will in a minute. You think I wanna be here? “Hi, Riley,” she said, her hands on her knees under the table. Her earlier fear that her stomach might turn over if she touched him had been replaced with fear that Spike would tear into the diner the second that her skin met his. “Thanks for coming.”

He nodded. “Well, your call was so mysterious, I couldn’t refuse.”

You called this wanker?

Yes, I have been known to have phone calls without your knowledge. And…you can hear him?

“I’m not going to waste time with pleasantries,” she said aloud, her eyes struggling to meet her dining companion’s. “You work for the Initiative, I work for the Powers That Be. We’re essentially on the same team, so I think that you have a right to know this.”

“You’re out without your husband?” Riley looked especially skeptical at this. “No offense, but the last time I saw you, it seemed he was…really possessive.”

Buffy fought off a grin. “Nah, he’s just…he really, really doesn’t…”

Yes, he is really possessive an’ if you know what’s good for you, you fucking wanker—

Better to cut to the chase. She needed to talk her spiel and get home before Spike showed up and provided Riley with an up close demonstration on how well the Initiative chip was working. “Here’s the deal. Vampires and demons aside, there’s a god in Sunnydale. Powerful. Gave me the beating of my life. She wants something and she won’t stop until she has it. I don’t know what sort’ve resources department you have, but you need to look into her, okay?”

“A god?”

“Yes.”

“A female god?”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed at that. “The god’s sex is what you find surprising about this?”

“Well, no. I guess I…” He frowned. “You don’t hear of many female gods, is all.”

Wanker.

She inwardly snorted her agreement.

“Yeah. Just don’t tell the Greeks, the Romans, or pretty much any non-Judeo-Christian culture.” That’s my girl. “Listen, the only thing you need to know is that she’s here, and she’s powerful enough to hit me and make it hurt for more than just a couple hours.”

“Well, Buffy…”

She scowled. “Okay. I’ve told you what you need to know.”

Riley rose to his feet as she tossed a few bills onto the table, his eyes dark with dissatisfaction. “You’ve told me nothing. The last time I saw you, you were cold and displaced and…nothing like you were before you disappeared for—”

“I went to Natchez to do my job.”

“We were dating before you went to Natchez, and you come back married?”

If he touches you, he’s gonna lose somethin’.

“We weren’t dating,” she retorted. “We’d gone out on, what…once, twice?”

“You weren’t like this before you met him.”

Her eyes narrowed and bit her tongue. The fact that she’d known Spike a good two years longer than she’d known Riley wasn’t relevant, and it would contradict what she had told the big brooding jock the last time around. It was infinitely better to say nothing at all. “Look, I don’t owe you any explanations, all right? I’m with Spike. I came here to give you some information because, seeing as you’re in my town with your government organization, I think it might be beneficial to keep an open ear if something happens.”

“Do you love him?” Riley pressed. “Does he make you happy?”

There was silence from Spike’s end. She felt an unexpected rush of tension, as though her answer wasn’t as predictable as the sun’s morning rise.

“I love him very much,” she said. “And there’s no one who could make me happier.”

He smiled softly and nodded, disheartened but genuine. “That’s all I need to know. As long as you’re happy, Buffy…well, I…” He trailed off despondently, glanced down, and nodded once more. “So, a god. A female god?”

“Yes. Strawberry blonde, a little taller than me…oh, and did I mention insane?”

“I’ll look into it.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, and her body nearly lurched with the need to jerk away. “It was good seeing you.”

Her reply was neither honest nor a lie. She didn’t know how it was seeing Riley, but felt it was fair to credit him for his surprisingly open-minded understanding of her relationship. Her marriage, as it was. The way she had left him might have been unfair, but she wouldn’t trade what she had gained for the world. “You, too.”

It wasn’t until she was halfway home that Spike made his presence known again. A tender rumble in her system, inspiring a smile to her face. The passion in his voice overwhelmed her. As though his love was a tangible thing, spreading warmly through her body with that blessed reassurance of being.

I love you so much.

I know. Love you, too.

I’ll keep makin’ you happy.

I know. And I’ll be home soon. She paused. And, umm, about this telekinetic thing we’re doing now…

Claim related, I’m guessin’. We’ll phone Rupert. Get home.

I’m coming.

She could almost see his smirk. Not yet you’re not.

Buffy grinned and picked up her pace.

Hearing her lover’s thoughts, she realized, did have its perks.


*~*~*


Washington, DC

“I’ve actually been to Kirkwood, California,” Sam said miserably, scooping at the last of his melting ice-cream. “I taught a lecture there on Law and Physics in Every Day Life.”

Willow arched a brow, drawing her eyes away from the window, where she had been admiring a slightly used Mercedes. She wasn’t one to make a habit of studying cars, but she did have an appreciation for the finer examples of automotive models. “Physics?”

“Well, maybe more the ‘law’ part. I was there with Dr. Terrance Polanski of John Hopkins. We tag-teamed it.” He offered a sheepish smile. “My knowledge of physics isn’t exactly reputable. The point is, I should’ve…when I practiced my opening statements, I said California, didn’t I? I never said Oregon. I was…” A frown. “I just had Oregon on the brain today.”

She smiled softly and patted his hand, taking a bite of her own ice-cream. “It wasn’t as bad as all that,” she said. “Really, it could’ve been worse.”

Sam looked at her dubiously.

“Okay, maybe not…” She sighed and soothed him with a long kiss. “It…just look at it this way, we know not to be overconfident again when you go on these debate things. I mean, we were pretty overconfident today.”

“I thought I was going to be debating Wengland. If I had been…he wouldn’t have known California from Kazakhstan.”

Willow chuckled her amusement. “Well, next time.”

“A blonde, leggy Republican. Who’d’ve thought?”

“Must you continue to say that? Reminding me that she was blonde and leggy?” Willow huffed. “I’m all…redhead and freckly.”

Sam grinned. “I happen to like your freckles,” he said, nearing to kiss her lips again.

A brief, tender moment that was cut short by the sudden explosion of a flash, blinding for the way it smacked against the glass of the parlor. Willow reeled back in shock, her eyes wide with horror. Her mouth was tingling from the impression of her boyfriend’s kiss, her eyes clouded with multicolored shapeless forms, settling somehow in the direction of the offending infringement. And her blood froze at what she saw.

Outside, on the sidewalk, a man with a large camera waved to her with a broad, toothy smile, then hopped into the car behind him. The Mercedes that had been docile just seconds before, roaring to life and pulling seamlessly into the empty street. With a camera. With Sam’s image captured on film, his mouth on hers.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Sam? How long was he—”

His expression was nearly unreadable, a mixture of shock and anger. “Well,” he retorted, “that was predictable.”

“Sam?” She shook her head. “The flash went off. It got caught in the glare. It had to.”

“He took more than that one. That one was to get our attention.” Sam’s voice was rough and irritable, and he whipped his cell phone out his pocket. “To gloat.”

“Oh my God!”

He met her eyes at that, his own softening. “It’s okay, Willow.”

The words, however appreciated, did nothing to ease her nerves. Her heart was thundering, her temples were throbbing. She couldn’t see for the rising panic that clamored in her chest. “No,” she protested, “it’s not. Ohmigod, ohmigod. What were we thinking? What…god, I’m so…”

Her boyfriend didn’t answer. Whoever he was calling had picked up.

“CJ?” Sam released a deep breath, lacing his fingers through hers. “I’ve got a problem.” A pause. “Well, you know how you said you’re my first phone call?”



Chapter Ten



It came to the point where she couldn’t hold the truth to herself anymore, such to the extent that she resented herself having kept quiet for so long. Now a week and a half had passed, and she didn’t know how to tell him. She didn’t even know how it would sound. In her mind, the words were ridiculous. Tell her mate that the girl he knew to be her sister wasn’t real? Spike had a plethora of memories detailing encounters, hissy fits, and Bible-length complaints about Dawn Summers. Informing him that someone he knew to exist wasn’t a real person was more than she felt she could convey.

Especially since she had spent the past week trying to forget what the monk had told her. She had known something was wrong—she simply hadn’t imagined anything of this magnitude. Who could? Her false sister was the Key to the universe. And the god that had nearly pummeled Buffy into her next life had made it perfectly clear that she would stop at nothing to get what she wanted.

And aside the Initiative, the Slayer and her mate were the only ones that stood in her way.

Now she had to tell him. With as outlandish as it sounded, she had to tell him.

Spike’s reaction, though, was hardly what she expected.

“I have something to tell you,” Buffy said that night after they sat down for supper. It was strange still, the odd sense of domesticity that settled around them. As though they were a normal couple that cooked and did the crossword puzzle and worried about things like laundry and the grocery list as opposed to the next apocalypse.

Tonight, they were enjoying takeout. Cooking was good. Takeout was better.

Especially since it was Spike’s culinary prowess that they depended on, and he was tired of using it.

He nodded. “’S the Nibblet, right?”

Buffy blinked. “What?”

A small smile crossed Spike’s face. “’ve felt you worryin’ over this for days, sweetling. ‘S about bloody time you said somethin’.”

She pouted. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I was hopin’ I din’t need to. Lucky for me, I was right.” He took a long swig of his beer and appraised her with a long look. “What is it, baby?”

“You were actually patient enough to—”

He shrugged. “I knew you’d cave.”

“And?”

“And that it was important for you to reach the decision to tell me yourself.” Spike quirked his head. “You din’t have to go through it alone, sweetling. You never do again.” He took her hand and offered a gentle smile. That characteristic guaranteed in the balance of their united entities. Perhaps this was just one of the many advantages. That acceptance of inner turmoil as long as it wasn’t damaging to the essence of the claim itself.

But he was right. She was one half of a whole. Her problems were his now, and vice versa.

“You knew it was Dawn?”

“Not what’s wrong, luv, jus’ that it involves her. Your ambiguous statement last week left li’l to the imagination.” Spike moved over a seat so that they were no longer looking across the table at each other; rather, he was in a position to pull her into the sanctuary of his arms. “Tell me what’s wrong, Buffy.”

“She’s not real.”

It was amazing how effortlessly those words rolled off her tongue.

He frowned and pulled back. “Bit’s not real? Since when?”

“Since forever. She’s…she…” Buffy drew in a breath and shook her head. “I felt it the minute it happened. Didn’t know what it meant, but I felt it. Dawn…she…she was just, put into our lives. One day she wasn’t here, and the next she was. Just…poof! Instant fourteen year old with all the memories and stuff that comes with, well, being alive. She was incorporated into our timeline. Inserted into your memories and mine…but I remember the before time, too.” The look on Spike’s face was unreadable. She sighed and looked away. “She doesn’t know it, either. Dawn thinks she’s exactly who everyone else thinks she is. But she’s not. She’s…”

“Sweetheart—”

“The god that beat me last week…Dawn’s what she’s after. There was a monk there. He told me that…he and these other monks essentially took a vat of energy and pressed it into a sister for me. So that I’d guard Dawnie with my life.” They exchanged a meaningful glance. “I don’t know what she is, other than my sister. They called her the Key. All I know is that she’s…this god is after her. There’s a god after my sister.”

A heavy pause settled between them. Spike broke first, his eyes shining with concern as he reached for her. “Buffy,” he said intently, “’f this is…they want you to protect Dawn with your life?”

She shook her head. “They want me to…they just didn’t count on me knowing it was a fake. I’m a god now, too, you know. You don’t work that sort’ve mojo on a god when you’re aiming for a human and expect it to work. I love Dawn. I know that. That’s familiar to me, but it’s not real. She’s my sister and I’d…I’d do anything for her. But she’s…I don’t have a sister.”

Spike entertained a wry smile. “Seems we can’t get our fair share of gods, eh, luv?”

“This one isn’t like Quirinias.”

“Well, that’s a bloody load off. Quirinias aimed to kill you.”

“I have a feeling this god won’t settle for a good flesh wound, honey.” Buffy shook her head. “Plus, she’s already corporeal. And strong as all hell.”

“So are you,” he deadpanned.

“We don’t know how strong I am yet. Or if it’s the sort’ve strength I can tap into without becoming just as bad as the one that made me this way.”

His eyes narrowed. “We’ve been over this, sweetling. I’d never let you fall like that. Never. You’ve felt how closely connected we are through the claim. You really see me lettin’ go of that? Bollocks. I’d jus’ as soon walk into daylight.”

This had been the basis of a recent discussion. Their sudden ability to communicate telepathically, the strong ties that made her hurt physically when she was apart from him. He felt it too, of course. It was what had awoken him the other night during her meeting with Riley. That gut-wrenching pain as their broken halves cried out for the single being that would make them whole. Buffy would have thought she’d hate to be so thoroughly dependent on someone, but the effect was just the opposite. It made her feel secure. Grounded. Wherever she was, Spike was with her, whether in body or spirit. Calming her. Reassuring her. Holding her hand.

Their telepathy wasn’t a permanent feature. It served as an immediate warning when they were physically apart after sharing blood. When they were side-by-side, the ability was gone. Severed; its services no longer needed.

Spike theorized, though, that if either of them were in danger, even if they were in the same room, it would kick in. As it was, telepathy was merely reactionary right now. The claim knew when there was trouble, and the claim would react. Give them everything they needed to get away together. Unscathed.

But the claim had no way of estimating how to react to a god. A god had never been claimed before. And if her powers did corrupt, it would be Spike that suffered for it. The god that had passed along his namesake had tried to kill her and her friends on a night that was still fresh in her memory.

The power rushing through her veins was tainted. Using it could only mean self-corruption.

“I…” Buffy heard the tremor in her voice and hated herself for being so weak. There were simply certain challenges that she was not up to facing just yet. “I can’t, sweetie. I can’t just…become everything you and Giles seem to think I—”

Spike shook his head and brushed a fervent kiss across her forehead. “I don’ want you rushin’ into anythin’ you don’ think you’re ready for,” he said. “Told Rupert the same. Brassed him off somethin’ righteous, but I could honestly give a fuck. Truth is, pet, we’re here forever. We have forever to figure this out.” He paused. “But there is somethin’…Rupert said this, too, an’ he was right. ‘F this other bird’s a god, you’re gonna have to stop fightin’ her like a slayer.”

Her eyes went wide with protest. “I just—”

“That doesn’ mean fightin’ her like a god. It means that you have somethin’ here more powerful than all bloody else, right?” He smiled kindly and tapped his own chest. “The claim. We’ve already established what it’s there for. Balancin’ the bloody scales an’ lettin’ us commune minus mouths when needed. There’s power in there, too, baby. Power that won’ corrupt, ‘cause it stems from the two of us.”

“Fight a god with an ancient vampiric claim?”

Spike smiled weakly. “She’d never know what hit her.”

“Well, let’s call that Plan B.” Buffy released another steady breath, fighting off a grin. “Until then…we have to figure out what to do about Dawn.”

“Save it for another day,” he said, rising to his feet. “We’ll figure somethin’ out, kitten. We always do. An’ until then—until we know more—there’s not much to go on. No sense worryin’ yourself to death about it tonight.”

“I still don’t understand how you’re not wigging to the ninth degree about Dawn being all non-human.”

The smile that was threatening to waver came back to life brilliantly at that. He held up a hand. “One, I’ve seen some bloody strange things; not much shocks anymore. Two, this is the Hellmouth: when is life ever simple? Three, this is us. Four, I’m not human. Neither are you. We’re both a bit of all right, ‘f I don’ say so myself.”

Buffy chuckled and nodded, wrapping her arms around his throat and leaning in for a kiss. “We’re definitely that.”

His eyes twinkled, a naughty, wandering hand skimming over her backside until he was palming her ass, his tongue doing that number over his teeth that drove her wild. “Whaddya say we get naked an’ be all right…up close an’ personal like?” he asked suggestively, waggling his eyebrows.

A slow smirk crossed her face. “I say…” Her hands found his chest, teasing him through his shirt. “…that you should…” She pressed her pelvis forward, eliciting a joint groan as the outline of his hardened cock met her stomach. Buffy released a long sigh, simply enjoying the feel of him. The claim enhanced everything. Everything. Every touch, every look, every breath. Feeling him against her like this, his hands holding her to him, the hard length of him pressing into her…it sent shivers down her spine and ignited a fire within. The dualism of cold and hot. They constantly tugged at each other, mounting so that every caress sent sharp shards of pleasure directly to her center.

Having him inside her was unlike anything she had ever experienced. That blissful day in the townhouse before she had become ill with god-fever didn’t even do a justice. More and more, she was amazed at how love manifested in the language of their bodies. It was something lost in society. Something that only they had. Something beautiful and sacred, and she felt its tingling prelude and the waves of its aftermath every time his hand met hers.

She nipped at his mouth seductively. “…should race me back to the room!”

She shoved him back and sprinted down the hall toward the sanctuary of their bed. Spike’s playful growl was at her heels, and he had her tackled to the mattress in easy seconds.

The world might be in jeopardy again, but tonight, it didn’t seem to matter.

Tonight was theirs.


*~*~*


She didn’t know how long she had been dreaming when she woke from her slumber and back to the reality of their bedroom. Spike was curled beside her, his arm draped protectively over her stomach, as it was every night. Nothing was perceptively different or out of place, but she knew something had jolted her from sleep with intention. It had been quick—a sharp sensation in her gut, twisting with that inherent knowledge that something wasn’t right.

Someone was near. Here. Their building. Their apartment. Someone was at the front door.

Buffy drew in a deep breath and slowly disentangled herself from her mate’s embrace. Whatever it was, she sensed the threat wasn’t as potent as it was trying to allude, and furthermore, that it wasn’t aimed at her at all. Rather, the hostility from the intruding presence was directed entirely at the sleeping vampire. And the essence felt disturbingly familiar. Human. Someone she had brought into their life recently. Someone for whom she was responsible.

Riley. Why on earth was Riley at their apartment?

How she knew who it was—how his aura felt—she didn’t know. Only that the feeling was too strong to be discredited. Perhaps it was another aspect of the claim, but she knew better.

This was the god reaching out.

She dressed hurriedly in an oversized, thoroughly unrevealing sweatshirt and a pair of pajama bottoms that were packed uselessly in their dresser. This was the first time she found herself needing sleepwear in the middle of the night, and she silently commended herself on her foresight to have something prepared just in case something should happen.

She and Spike were not fond of clothing barriers when they were in bed. Period.

Riley stood outside the front door, just as she had suspected. He had yet to knock, and his face colored with relief when he saw such was unnecessary. The lost look in his eyes did little to soften her rising anger. Every good thought she had harbored for the giant ass was thoroughly demolished. She knew that before he had the chance to even open his mouth.

Whatever it was, his visit tonight was not amicable.

“Riley,” Buffy greeted stoically, crossing her arms and perking her brows. “It’s three in the morning. Care to explain what you’re doing outside my apartment? And…for that matter…how the hell did you know where to—”

“I had you followed,” he explained hurriedly. “That’s not the point.”

It was about to become one. “Your having me followed isn’t the point? Where the hell do you presume the right to—”

He held up a hand. “Could you…could we talk outside, perhaps?”

“No.”

“No?”

“It’s three in the morning, you’re at my apartment, and you just announced that you’ve been tailing me.” Stealthily enough that Spike and I haven’t noticed. That was mildly troublesome. Buffy had the uneasy feeling that she had grossly underestimated the faculties of the Initiative. After all, her spider-sense had been triggered just minutes earlier by a human presence. Why now and not then?

“Look, it’s about your husband.”

She froze, her eyes wide.

Oh God. He knows.

“Spike?”

“Yeah. It took me a while, but I finally pieced two and two together. About a year ago, a vampire escaped from our base after we’d conducted an operation to immobilize his ability to hurt humans. We’ve been searching for him ever since.” Riley’s eyes narrowed accusingly. “I must’ve gone over that security feed a thousand times…at least there for the first few months. When he didn’t show, we figured he’d either moved on or found the unpleasant end of the stake. But it was neither, wasn’t it? You’ve been protecting him.”

“Spike hardly needs my protection,” she spat. “And I don’t appreciate your being here in the middle of the night to—”

“He’s a vampire, but more than that, he’s our commodity.”

An unfamiliar surge of pure hatred tore through her gut. She would have buckled under its weight were she not so infused with rage. There was something there that had not been there before. Something wild and primitive rising within her at the mere suggestion of a threat befalling her mate. The claim she felt. The claim was familiar and needed. And now, it wasn’t alone. Now, it was accompanied by something she knew, despite its foreign feel.

This was power.

“He is not a commodity,” she hissed, her eyes flaring. “He’s my husband.”

“Yeah.” Riley’s gaze dropped. “Funny. I’ve never once seen you wearing a wedding ring.”

“Funny, I don’t recall asking you to follow me home and harness the man I love with a neurological chip.”

“He’s not a man. I thought you said you were familiar with—”

“I’m the Slayer. I slay vampires. Spike is mine.” I’m his. We belong to each other. “And if you presume to do anything to—”

“Do anything?! You’re in…do you have absolutely no idea what he’s capable of? You’re in over your head, Buffy! You can’t domesticate wild animals like that. He’ll turn on you the minute you turn your back.”

Buffy was only vaguely aware of the air pulsing around her. There was nothing within her but her rage. Fury sparked from the deep recesses of her psyche. An overwhelming need to protect her mate teamed with something as old as creation itself. The space around her was white. Her body transcended, touching new plateaus, bringing the full wrath of the heavens and hell back to earth with her.

Somewhere, distantly, warning bells were sounding.

Riley saw it. His eyes went wide with fear and realization, and he stepped back.

“Buffy…”

The next thing she was aware of, Riley’s body had flown violently down the long corridor outside her apartment, smashing against the wall just above the staircase. The air crackled with white energy. All she could see before her were wisps of snowflakes dancing around the farm boy’s form. He was suspended there against the wall, a good ten feet from the ground, held by unseen hands.

He was a mixture of stunned and terrified.

A pitiful cry tore through Buffy’s throat.

Oh God.

“Buffy!” And then Spike was there, completely naked as she had left him but similarly immodest. His arms encompassed her, anchoring her back to him. Back to the sanctuary he offered.

Yes. This was safe. This was home. Her will was breaking, Riley slowly sliding down the wall to safety below. Her mate rocking her in his soothing embrace. She didn’t even realize she was crying until his soft lips began kissing her tears away. “It’s all right, sweetheart,” he murmured. “’S’all right.”

Riley was forgotten. Mostly unharmed, more stunned than anything. As for the ruckus caused in the hallway, Buffy saw none of the blank faces of their neighbors or the accusatory whispers for disturbing the peace. Her hands were full with penance, and Spike was kissing her tears away in the safety of their apartment. Inside again, seated at the living room sofa, nuzzling her back to this reality.

That was it, then. The face of what was buried inside of her. Coupled with a mate’s fury, the god knew no line of reason. She lashed where the threat was, and tonight the threat had been in the shape of Riley Finn.

“What…I…” Buffy glanced up, her eyes colliding with her lover’s ocean. “Spike…I…he…”

“’S’all right, sweetling.”

“No, it’s not. I don’t even know what happened out there. I—”

“I saw most’ve it,” he said, coaxing her back to his shoulder. She was only vaguely aware of their environment. The familiarity of the apartment, the comfort of Spike’s naked flesh beneath her pajamed body, his magic hands knowing every muscle that ached. Every joint that hurt. Every part of her that burned with the aftermath of whatever devil’s rage she had just put her godly, inexperienced body through. “You turned white an’ Captain Cardboard went flyin’.”

“I could’ve killed him.”

“You din’t. He’ll be banged up, but nothin’ more.” Spike tossed a contemptuous glance to the front door. “’m sure some Good Samaritan’ll give him the nurture he needs to fix a bump on the head.”

“I could have killed him. He started talking…he…he knows you’re a vampire. That you were one of…” Buffy sat up only to be coaxed down again. “Spike, he—”

“Don’ worry with him. He’s got nothin’ on me, chip or no chip.” The vampire pursed his lips and cocked his head, considering her with heavy eyes entrenched with concern. “It happened, din’t it? Your inner time bomb went off with a bloody vengeance. It’s okay, baby. It was only a matter of time.”

“Before what?” she sniffled. “Before I killed someone?”

“You didn’t kill him,” he reminded her softly. “Fuck, this is my fault. With the claim an’ your…we’ve been ignoring—”

“It’s not your fault.”

Spike quieted and considered. “It’s not yours, either,” he said a few minutes later. “This was gonna happen, one sodding way or another. You’re a god now, pet. Gods tend to go off from time to time an’ wreak loads of bloody havoc.” He shrugged best he could and offered a small smile. “Jus’ takes some gettin’ used to, is all.”

That thought terrified her almost more than anything. She was a human, born and raised. She had never thought to have even as much power as a Slayer, least of all a Slayer harnessed with the literal power to move the universe. Buffy drew in a sharp breath. Somehow, in a matter of minutes, the happy oblivion she and Spike had dedicated the last couple months to constructing had shattered, and reality was back. The reality of her state. The reality of the world. The reality of everything.

“And if I never get used to it?” Buffy asked hoarsely, her eyes downcast. “I’m so…this is in me all the time now. How can I get used to something that has the sort’ve power that…I don’t even know what I did out there! How can I—”

Her plea was silenced by the haven of Spike’s mouth, and suddenly, reason ceased to exist. Buffy fell slack into the peace he offered, her tongue dueling with his as his hands fisted in the material of her sweatshirt. Her fingers tugged lovingly at his peroxide locks as his lips warred with hers. The tranquility he offered in a kiss was immeasurable. A warm light washing over her, bathed in glory and reassurance.

“’m not gonna live without you, you hear me?” he rasped, eyes blazing. “You’re not runnin’ out on me. We’ll figure this out. We’ll work through it.” He kissed the corner of her mouth before whipping her top over her head, palming her breasts reverently as his fingers teased her nipples. “Like we always do.”

He was right, of course. There was always an answer. Always a way. Always something lurking in the shadows, awaiting discovery.

She was simply terrified.

And Spike was there, soothing her as he always did. Bringing their bodies together for the reassurance of being. Making love in a way that wheedled out the worry. She held him inside her, never wanting to feel the emptiness of detachment. She wanted him inside her always.

Her fears only knew silence when they were one.

The rest was left to love and reassurance. That holiness of union.

The problem left for tomorrow’s wake. Penance could wait.

Now was a time for fire.


TBC

Leave a review!
 



Chapter Eleven



Willow didn’t know CJ Cregg terribly well, despite her numerous visits to the White House. Sure, they had exchanged kind words and made polite conversation while in the group setting. They had once discussed the high and low points of Steinbeck’s East of Eden, and had a standing agreement that, as soon as the opportunity presented itself, they’d get together to try to know each other a little better.

Being summoned to the White House Press Secretary’s office in response to her debut in story that was literally hours from being smeared across national headlines was not exactly what the redhead had in mind. And yet, here she was, sipping the coffee that CJ’s assistant, Carol, had thoughtfully provided.

The fact that it was four o’clock in the morning on a Monday and no one had yelled at her also earned points in Willow’s book. And she had to give credit where credit was due; CJ had attacked the knowledge of the photograph with poise and calm reservation, though she did speak an angry piece to Sam, who gallantly accepted blame for everything.

“It’s the Post,” the Press Secretary announced, breezing into the room as though she wasn’t working on an hour and a half of sleep. “A reporter named Jeff Walsh has been tailing you ever since the Talk Radio Show Host event at the midterms. He saw you and Sam acting cozy and got curious.”

“We weren’t—”

“Trust me, there’s friendly protocol and there’s ‘we’re-sleeping-together’ protocol. Evidently, you and Sam both lack the candor to tell one from the other.” CJ collapsed wearily into her seat. “This guy, Jeff Walsh, has done his homework. He knows you’re a student at Georgetown, he knows your name, he knows your age, and he knows that you’ve been seeing Sam ever since you moved to DC. It’s just been a matter of waiting for you two to be somewhere public before he could snap proof and run with the story. And as soon as the nation wakes up, other reports will come in as to how far this runs. I distinctly remember thanking you for something you did in Natchez earlier this year…something I’m still waiting to be briefed on, but considering the circumstances, I’ll say that’s a good thing.” The Press Secretary shook her head. “I informed Leo McGarry the minute we knew who has the story. Toby’s going to work on some language and the White House will issue an official statement sometime this morning.” She paused. “Willow, we’re standing behind you on this. This looks bad for us—bad for the President—but we’re standing behind you.” Another beat. “I say that, because you look like you’re about to pass out.”

That was appropriate. She felt like it, too. “I…I just thought…you were…I dunno, I thought—”

“That I was going to tell you that you can’t see Sam anymore?”

She nodded pitifully.

CJ offered a wane, half-serious, half-jesting smile. “We’ve tried that before. Josh and Toby were very clear that he couldn’t see Laurie after he discovered she was a hooker, but that didn’t do much to stop him. The fact that he’s in love with you leads me to believe he’d sooner resign, which we obviously can’t have because he’s one of the best damn writers in the country. Plus the President likes you tremendously, as does everyone here that knows you. I even managed to get a word or two of support from Toby when I woke him to break the happy news.”

Willow smiled slightly at that.

“Here’s what we’re running on,” CJ continued. “Sam hasn’t broken a law; neither have you. You’re two consenting adults who have a very stable, very mature relationship despite your age difference. And we’re not going to be at all subtle with the knowledge that there are plenty of Republican senators that keep mistresses stashed in the closet while preaching the virtues of family values. That’ll help, but it’ll ultimately look weak and defensive, despite being rational. Republicans argue with the politics God on their side. This just looks bad…and the country likes focusing on what looks bad rather than listening to, well, the truth.”

“You’re not…I thought you’d be angry…”

CJ shrugged. “No sense being angry,” she reasoned. “Was what you did stupid? Absolutely. But I got him out of it once and I can do it again.”

“It’s not so simple this time,” Willow said. “Sam and I…we’re actually together. He wasn’t really with the…with Laurie before.”

“And you thought that made it simple?” She smiled. “The next few weeks aren’t going to be very fun for you. You’re going to have reporters hounding you on campus, your phone will ring off the hook with very appealing offers for personal interviews, and Barbara Walters might even decide to take an interest in what you have to say. You understand that if you say a word that’s not authorized by the White House, there will be no more—”

“I’d never!”

“I don’t think you would,” the Press Secretary agreed. “But at the same time, I know how money to someone who needs it could be a very persuasive motivator.”

“I swear, I’d never—”

“Again, I don’t think you would. But Willow, you have to understand the situation you’ve put us in. We’re not going to take chances with anything.” CJ released a long breath. “I’m advising you to contact your friends back in Sunnydale and let them know as soon as possible. If the press can’t get to you, there’s every chance they’ll try to—”

“Buffy wouldn’t say a word, I swear.”

The older woman held up a hand, her patience clearly tested. “And again, I’m not saying she would. But there are people who know you that don’t consider you a friend, right? I’m sorry if I don’t believe that everyone in the world is nice enough to keep their mouths shut when six figure salaries are on the table. We’re talking the kids you didn’t get along with in school. The guy you turned down for prom. The jaded ex-boyfriend who decides to go on Montell and give a fictionalized tell-all. I know it’s hard to believe, but not everyone who’s ever met you is going to pass up the opportunity to exploit, exaggerate, or invent details of your personal life that you would just as soon take to the grave. It’s a good idea to have people, like your friend Buffy, and whoever else you know, ready to counter the allegations that come streaming out of this.”

That effectively shut out whatever retort was ready on her lips. CJ waited a minute and nodded. “Yeah,” she said conclusively. “Okay. Well, I would recommend that you go to Sam’s. Don’t go to class unless you know you have an exam or something that can’t be pushed back until later.”

“Don’t go to class?”

“Well, I’m not saying never, but…” She sighed. “This is going to get bad for you, and consequentially, the routine you’re accustomed to might be subject to radical change. We can’t have the press using you as an excuse to get close to Zoey Bartlet.”

“You want me to drop out of—”

“No, that’s not what we want at all.”

“But—”

The Press Secretary’s eyes narrowed. “Willow, we weren’t exactly prepared for this, okay? I’m doing absolutely everything in my power to keep you from the line of fire, but you screwed up. Okay? You and Sam screwed up, and I can guarantee you that the President’s going to be a lot less amicable about it once the Times runs an expose on his daughter’s less-conventional extra curricular activities, especially considering she was shot at just a few months ago. If you absolutely insist, go to class, but I know these people. I know what to expect. You don’t. And unless the President comes out with a decree that the press keeps away from his staff members’ girlfriends as well as his daughters, your private life is not going to be as private as it was yesterday. You need to call your friends. We’re going to try for preemptive and hope that people watch the news before they read the newspaper. We’ll put the best spin on this that we can, but pretending that your life hasn’t just changed is going to do much more damage than good.”

Willow heaved a long sigh and slumped back in her seat, her mind overwhelmed with a barrage of incomplete assignments that she was now expected to ignore. Never in her life had she been told to not attend school. Only a few times in high school had she missed class; she vividly remembered a heated argument the morning her mother had forbidden her to get on the bus because of her hundred and three degree temperature.

Without school, she was nothing. Buffy excelled in slaying, Xander was Mister Fix-It, Giles had his books, Anya had her money and sex, and Spike had Buffy, which was really all he needed. Willow had school. School and magic, which some would argue were two different things, but for her, symbolized a similar quest for knowledge.

The American public had a right to know many things, but her study habits definitely did not make the list.

“Yeah, okay,” she heard herself say, fighting to keep from cringing.

CJ smiled, moving to stand. “Good,” she replied. “It’ll be okay. The sooner we get this behind us, the sooner you can get back to your life. Understand, while there will be some nosy reporters that follow you around after all of this is over, people will stop caring when the next scandal hits the front page.”

Willow nodded, standing as well. “Is there anything I should do? Do you…if I said something, would it—”

“No. No, we want to keep as much distance between you and the press as possible. If it gets to the point when a statement from you directly is absolutely essential, Toby and Sam will craft the language to make sure you don’t accidentally step all over yourself…which, really, not so hard to do when cameras are shoved in your face.”

She could understand that.

“Okay. So…and I should…you really think I should go to Sam’s?”

“Right now, it’s the only place where you’ll be guaranteed privacy. We can’t have you here, and it’d be too easy to get caught on campus.” CJ nodded. “Call your friends, lock the doors, take the phone off the hook, and take a nap. I’d go now before the city wakes up.”

That sounded more than logical. Willow released a long sigh. Despite the Press Secretary’s reassurance, dread pooled her insides. Oh, to have the power to rewind days. To go back and fix this before the circus—to impede the hell she was sure would envelope her world for the next few weeks.

It had only been a matter of time. She and Sam had both known that they could not get away with their relationship without it becoming a colossal explosion of a thing.

She just hadn’t been prepared for this. What it was. What it meant.

How it would force her into change.


*~*~*


The room was aflame with the flash of cameras, clicking through the sea of voices that shouted her name in a fury of imperfect unison.

“CJ!”

“Katie,” the Press Secretary acknowledged.

“Is there any speculation of a connection between Willow Rosenberg and the story involving Sam Seaborn and the call girl last year?”

“Yes, Katie, that was our test run. We wanted to know how best to prepare the country for the revelation that many people on our staff have personal lives. Steve!”

“What kind of message is this sending? An older man, a girl who hasn’t graduated from college. Is the White House concerned with a retaliation of decency laws from the Right?”

“The White House is in no way ignorant to the spin the Right might put on the President’s culinary choices, much less yet another issue that happens to be no one’s business. So yes, we do expect some radical form of outlandish attack on their part. And let me just take a minute to remind everyone that neither Sam Seaborn nor Willow Rosenberg have broken a law. She is a younger woman, yes, but she is an adult. I’d also like to remind America that it was not our administration that made eighteen the age of legal adulthood, and that her relationship with the Deputy Communications Director, while unconventional, is hardly grounds for indictment. Danny!”

Danny Concanon was the one to worry about. CJ knew this. But she also knew that of everyone in the room, Danny was the one she could trust. In his odd, quirky little way, even when it put her on the hot spot, he was a comforting face in the midst of fire.

“CJ, a few months ago, you released a press statement that thanked, among others, Willow Rosenberg for actions in Natchez, Mississippi that the White House has never disclosed. Is there any way—”

“That the Willow Rosenberg in that statement and the one you’re all bothering me about now are one in the same?”

“I figured it for a long shot since the name’s so common, but it never hurts to ask.”

The room chuckled appropriately.

CJ expelled a sigh. She’d known this question was coming; that didn’t mean she was prepared for the connotations. “Yes,” she said. “Willow Rosenberg was named by the White House, among others, in thanks for her actions in Natchez. Her relationship with Sam Seaborn began in Natchez and, as everyone now knows, led her to transfer to Georgetown.”

“So,” Danny continued, “it’s safe to conclude that Mr. Seaborn’s actions in Natchez were not policy related. Were Toby Ziegler, Josh Lyman, and Sam Seaborn taking a two week paid vacation?”

“What happened in Natchez was and is a matter of national security that the staffers you just mentioned were unfortunate enough to get caught in the middle of; nothing more. Sam and Willow’s relationship isn’t some grand conspiracy. It’s boy meets girl—end of story.”

“The White House has neglected to issue a formal statement on what occurred in Natchez, and has been increasingly secretive when the matter is mentioned. Can we expect some answers soon?”

“You can expect what we give you.” Her tone was clipped. Solid. The sort of tone that let the reporters know that follow-up questions on that particular venue would be dealt with in a similarly exclusive manner. She couldn’t afford to comment on something the White House had been keeping so quiet that even she didn’t have all the facts. “Mark!”

“What is the White House’s position on allegations that staffers should be held to a higher standard, and that Mr. Seaborn’s relationship is grounds for terminating his position as senior counsel to the President?”

“That senior staffers should and are held to a higher standard, which is why Sam is going to stand by the woman he loves rather than abandon her to the wolves over an issue that is, quite frankly, no one’s business.” CJ glanced down and shuffled her notes. “There will be a photo-op in the Mural Room in a half hour with President Bartlet and the Majority Leader over the recent agreement on the minimum wage legislation, but I don’t imagine that’s a story America’s too terribly interested in right now. That’s a lid. I’ll keep you posted throughout the day.”


*~*~*


“I don’t think I tell CJ often enough just how good she is,” Sam told Toby. They were seated in the latter’s office, tossing a bouncy ball back and forth as the Press Secretary effectively shut down round of questioning. “Because she’s good.”

“Yeah,” Toby agreed, squeezing the ball tightly. “Just don’t do anything to make this worse.”

“Like what?”

The Communications Director tossed him a pointed look.

“Okay. I’ll just keep my mouth shut.”

“Good thing.”


*~*~*


Despite everything that was going wrong today, the President seemed to be in a relatively good mood, which had Leo McGarry counting his blessings. The last thing he needed today was a fussy Jed Bartlet to tend with.

“It was called dwarf wheat,” the President was saying as they made their way back to the Oval Office from their last meeting with the Joint Chiefs, “which produces heavy yields without its stalk falling over from the weight of the rain.”

“Was it a hybrid?”

The President tossed him a look. “What am I, Farmer Bob? It was wheat, and there was more than there used to be.”

“Okay.”

“And hire that girl.”

“What girl?”

“Ainsley Hayes.”

Oh no. He was still on that. Sometime during the morning, the President had gotten the grand idea that hiring Ainsley Hayes was the move the White House needed to make. And not just because it would be a good joke on Sam; it was a thing he seemed to be semi-serious about.

A notion Leo was intent to kill before he left the Oval.

“No.”

The President removed his glasses. “Why?”

“’Cause this is one of those things you’re excited about after breakfast that you forget you told me to do before lunch.”

“Not one of those things,” the President replied, waggling a finger at him.

“It’s one of those.”

“Leo, as hard as you might try, the Republican Party isn't going anywhere.”

“You don't know that for sure, sir, they could all end up moving to Vancouver.”

Bartlet gave him a look. “I don’t think so.”

“Me neither,” Leo agreed, “but being in power means everybody else can take a seat for four years. Besides, it could look like a thing to make peace with the Right while Sam’s under attack for his relationship with Willow.”

“Heaven forbid I do something to help one of my own,” the President retorted, waving Charlie inside. His personal aide was bringing him a cup of coffee that was sorely needed. “Charlie, I want to hire a woman whose voice I think would fit in nicely around here. She's a conservative Republican. Do you think I should do it?”

A pause. “Absolutely, Mr. President. ‘Cause I'm told that theirs is the party of inclusion.”

The President paused and glared as the young man moved away.

The Chief of Staff gestured demonstratively. “See? Charlie just made a joke to you in the Oval Office. That's how bad an idea it is.”

“Leo—”

“Seriously, Mr. President, if you want to do this, it's not an uninteresting notion, let's just do it in a more high-profile place. Put a Republican in the cabinet.”

“We might do that, Leo. A hundred million Republicans; we might hire as many as two of them. But for now, hire this girl.”

“To do what?”

Bartlet shrugged. “I don't know. She's a lawyer. Put her in the counsel's office.”

A sigh. Talking him down was evidently a pipe dream. “You really want me to do this?”

“Yes.”

“What if she doesn't want to work here?”

“Appeal to her sense of duty. And smooth it over with the staff. Really, I don't want to hear from them.”

“It is going to look like you’re hiring her for Sam. After all, she’s the one—”

“I don’t care how it looks. She’s a smart political mind and I want her on my payroll. Make it happen.”

Leo shrugged. “She can always have my job, you know.”

“Yes, she can.”

“Thank you, Mr. President.”

“Thank you.”

The Chief of Staff turned to leave, exiting the door that led directly from the Oval and to his office.

“Charlie,” the President said.

“Yes, sir.”

“When they close the book on me and you, it will say that, at this moment, you were not there for me, and for that, obviously, there'll be some kind of punishment.”

Charlie grinned. “Well, you could sing Puccini for me again, Mr. President. We'll call it even.”


*~*~*


Willow was curled on Sam’s sofa, her eyes glued to the television. For the past two hours, she had been unable to move or even shift her eyes from the stories pouring on screen. The allegations. The name-calling. It hadn’t taken long, as CJ had predicted. There were already House Republicans dragging her name through the mud, and it was only the first day.

It had happened. Sam’s job was on the line, and it was all her fault.

“He’s not going to fire me, you know.”

The redhead started and glanced up. Sam was there. She hadn’t even heard him come in, but he was there. And he was looking at her with shades of worry and love, tension and more stress than she could imagine. But he was with her, and for the minute, that was all that mattered.

“The President?” Willow asked hoarsely.

“He won’t fire me. They’re all saying he will,” he said, gesturing to the television. “They’re saying he doesn’t have a choice now, because of what happened with Laurie. That I obviously can’t keep my pants up and I’m a dangerous asset to Senior Counsel, but the President won’t…he won’t fire me.” A sigh rolled off his shoulders. “That won’t stop me from resigning.”

Oh God.

“Sam!”

“It’s the responsible thing to do, Willow. I just redrafted my letter of resignation that I wrote when the thing with Laurie happened. Now it’s just a matter of—”

“You can’t resign. We’ve done nothing wrong!”

“I’m not going to be responsible for the downfall of this administration with something so…I refuse to. The President’s a good man, and he doesn’t need his staff mucking up the important issues because they…” Sam released a long, pained breath, and shook his head. “I won’t do it.”

“If it’s…let me leave. I’ll go back to Sunnydale. I’ll…I’ll disappear. You won’t—”

He stared at her as though she had started speaking Japanese. “You’re leaving?”

“Well, I’m not going to stand by and…and…” Her eyes welled with tears. “I won’t be the reason you’re not working for the President, Sam. You love what you do.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, but I think that this is more important right now. What you do is so…it’s much more than I am.”

“No.”

“Sam—”

“It was my idea. Going out last night was my idea. You tried to talk me out of it, but my head was hot and I got us into this. Resigning is—”

“The last thing you want.”

“No, the last thing I want is for you to walk out that door.” A heavy pause filled the air. Sam cast out a deep sigh and glanced down. “The second to last thing I want is to resign. But you can’t expect me to tell you that I find you less important than my job. Jobs come and go. You don’t.”

“I’ll still be here…I’ll just not be here as much as in Sunnydale. We could do what we were talking about doing before I transferred.” She shook her head. “I can’t go back to Georgetown. My roommate sold our phone number and my class schedule to the Post. People have been trying to call me here all day. I can’t…if you resign, then—”

“Move in with me.”

She fell silent, certain she had heard wrong.

“What?”

“If you can’t go back to school, move in with me. We’ll wait it out. Eventually, people will lose interest and move onto the next thing, but you won’t have to worry about on-campus harassment if you’re not on campus. Wait it out a bit, and then go back.” He shrugged, offering a weak, pleading smile. “Just…please…don’t leave.”

A flicker of hope sparked her despair.

“Really?”

“Of course,” Sam replied hoarsely, stepping forward. It was disconcerting to see him trembling as hard as he was, but it brought her into the light of just how serious his feelings were for her. Until now—until this moment—the lines between love and love had been too muddy to sort. Now they weren’t. And Willow felt herself flood with something she had always thought herself incapable of—an emotion so rich she hadn’t the courage to name it.

“And…you won’t resign?”

A small smile crossed his lips. “I won’t resign. It’s going to get worse before it gets better, but I won’t resign.” He paused. “If it gets too hard for you, though…if you ever…just let me know.”

“I won’t ever ask you to leave your job.”

“Then I suppose I’ll just have to perfect the art of reading body language.”

They were just inches a part now. Buried in comfort that had seemed nonexistent just minutes ago. New relief poured through the richness of disaster. They would make it through this. It would be hard, but they would make it through.

Willow smiled against his mouth. “You’re pretty good at that already,” she said, then lost herself in his kiss.

Let the world chase them down. She wasn’t losing him without a fight.

She just wished the enemy were in the shape of a demon. Those were always easier to kill than the shady morals of a twisted Republic.


 

*~*~*
 

Chapter Twelve

It was more than surreal to flick on the evening news to see one's best friend featured in every station's top story. It was more than a little disconcerting to hear rumors and allegations, watch as reporters captured her image in a series of jerky shots and frames. The Majority Leader had already called the Bartlet administration an "amoral, sex-driven sham of exemplified leadership" and had a group of prominent Republicans supporting an overwhelmingly wide public demand that Sam Seaborn be cast into the streets for his unscrupulous personal practices.

"Don' think the wanker knows how to properly use the word exemplify, but I suppose only people who think would notice that," Spike said with a contemptuous sneer. "There you are, baby. An example of why I think your country's views on what's topical an' what's not are a bloody joke."

Buffy frowned. They had just gotten back from another eventless patrol and were catching up on the news while waiting for the pizza delivery guy to arrive; though lately, watching the television did little more than piss her off. "I don't get it," she said. "I really don't. Sam and Will...they..."

Spike rumbled his agreement, brushing a kiss over her forehead. "'S the sex, sweetheart," he replied. "People go over their heads when their leaders are caught bein' human. Doesn' help that the opposition puts a spin on it that makes it look like Prissy was doin' somethin' worthy of a crucifixion."

Her scowl deepened and she burrowed further into his arms. "Stupid people."

He chuckled. "Don' have to tell me twice," he replied, massaging her shoulder gently. "How's Red holdin' up?"

"I think she's taken to watching cable access channels to get her daily learning in." Buffy's frown deepened. "I can't imagine Will not going to school. It's like...you and blood. Me and..."

Spike perked a brow, nuzzling her closer. "Hot, wild ruttin'?"

She blushed. "Stop."

"Was jus' a suggestion."

"I was going to say slaying, but I guess that doesn't really qualify anymore, if I'm to listen to Giles."

"No one expects you to stop patrollin', as tonight aptly demonstrated. You took out that Fyarl demon almost by lookin' at him." He smirked and slid a hand down her belly to caress her center through her sweats. "An' I meant it when I said that was a suggestion."

Buffy squirmed and shot him a playful look. "Evil."

"Always." He nipped at her ear. "An' insatiable."

"You're telling me."

Spike's brows perked. "Right, Ms. Kettle. These past few weeks, you've been givin' me a run for my bloody money."

"Have not."

"Well, maybe not, but you've been bloody ravenous." His mouth found her throat. "Not that I'm complainin'..."

A harmonious giggle erupted from her lips. "Hush," she berated, wrestling a kiss from his lips that could have easily tumbled out of control had she not pulled away and redirected his attention to the television. CJ's briefing would start in a few minutes, and a spokesperson from the White House was issuing a statement concerning the state of Sam Seaborn's job and how the President wouldn't be firing him anytime soon.

Truthfully, Spike was just relieved to see the spark back in her eyes. The past few days had been hell on her, and consequentially, twice that on him. He ached for everything she ached, and worried for everything she didn't. The only time he felt he was touching her fully without the barriers of fear and doubt between them was when he was inside her or rolling the taste of her blood in his mouth. Maintaining that connection that could only be reached through the most intimate unions. He felt her love for him and was overwhelmed by its depth; humbled by its strength. That was the one area he knew she felt secure. He provided a sanctuary for her, and there was nothing he took more seriously.

But he was worried about her. He was so worried about her. It had been three days since she'd blasted Riley Finn down the hallway, and since then, he had dedicated himself to holding her away from a personal collapse the likes of which he feared she'd never recover. It wasn't for the solider, he knew. That night, she had been given the first real taste of her power. Not the version that Willow had fed off to stop Quirinias on the Longwood lawn. Not the enhanced strength that had saved her from self-destruction the week before when she met the god at that abandoned warehouse. This was real. It was the tip of her iceberg, and it had nearly torn her apart.

The first true sign that she was no longer human had nearly killed someone who was.

The sound of her weeping nearly tore him apart. His hold on her was strong; he knew that if she lost her balance, he would as well. But he would cushion her fall. He would.

He wouldn't lose her now. He'd just found her.

He loved her so much. These three days had been hell. Reaffirming each other through connection. Lovemaking for an entirely different reason; though for that, he couldn't complain. Newly claimed mates often resorted to the physical to feel the spiritual of their connection in the first few years. Sex was a large part of that connection; the most primal, and usually, the only level that many mated pairs touched.

Sex for him meant so many things now. Things he had never fathomed it meaning. Reassuring himself that she was there, that he had not dreamt everything. Expressing love that nearly drowned him with feeling every time he allowed himself to grasp everything he had. Holding her close and being complete, being one, instead of the starving half of himself that he had become.

Giles had told him it would be like this. He had known it would be like this.

Spike regretted nothing. He was more alive now than he had been in a century of existence. In the twenty-six miserable years preceding Drusilla's deadly kiss. Touching Buffy was like touching Heaven, and it had nothing to do with her powers. It was all Buffy. All his Buffy.

He had to put on the brave face. When she was close to breaking, he was already there; he couldn't let her know. He had to save her before she needed rescuing. He needed to save her from her demons, and help her come to peace with what she was now. Help her realize that being a god instead of the Slayer made her no more or less Buffy. She was who she always had been, but now she was this, too. When disciplined, her powers would be so second nature that she wouldn't remember the nineteen years she had lived without them.

"Anythin' you wanna do tonight?" Spike asked, dropping a kiss across her forehead.

"Well, I was planning on throwing you in the back room and riding you to a gallop, but I guess we can squeeze something in between."

His gaze heated, and he nudged his pelvis forward so she could feel the effect her words had on his cock. "'m sure we can," he agreed raucously. "But baby, I was talkin'...we haven't heard anythin' about this other god since she nearly pummeled you into your next life. If the Nibblet really is""

Buffy had gone inexplicably stiff in his arms. "I know."

"An' I can't believe I'm sayin' this, but we really need to be researchin'""

"She hasn't shown her face. I've called Mom and Dawn every day and they're fine. Dawn's skipped a couple classes, but it's just stupid 'I'm fourteen and I want attention' stuff." She sighed. "There hasn't been anything."

"Doesn' that usually mean that somethin' is on the way?" Spike retorted, arching a brow. "Silence speaks, sweetheart. Louder than anythin' else. This bird hasn't gotten in your way yet 'cause she likely hasn't the first bloody clue that you're standin' in her way. But that's not gonna last." He paused. "Any idea what we're gonna do?"

"No."

"Buffy""

She shook her head and wiggled slightly away from him, receding once more within herself. "No. I don't know. I can't...I don't...I""

He made a quick decision then. The look on her face devastated him; he wouldn't let her suffer like this if he could do something about it. There were things happening now that she wasn't ready to face. She couldn't adjust to being a god when her environment demanded that she serve as the Slayer.

She was his first priority. Over Dawn. Over this other god. Over the whole bloody world. He would do whatever he could to make sure that Buffy's future trials, this journey she was just beginning, was as smooth as possible.

"We'll leave," he said suddenly.

"What?"

"With Joyce an' the Nibblet, yeah? We'll leave. Wonder Bitch can't find us if we're not here." He quirked his head. "Not forever, okay? Jus' for a while. Thanksgiving's comin' up, an' Red could use a friend."

"You want to go to DC?"

"I think we have to." Spike released a deep breath. "You're my girl. I love you more than anythin' on this bloody earth. You're my mate, an' you come first for me. You're goin' through somethin' right now, an' I'm goin' through it with you. I can't do nothin' while you're feeling like this. We'll go away. Jus' for a while. Couple weeks. We'll wait it out."

Buffy's eyes softened. "Oh God, I'm terrible."

"No""

"You've been feeling..." She glanced down and shook her head. "You haven't shown it."

"I can't. I can't think for myself. All I feel is you."

Her gaze clouded with tears, and she was back in his arms before she knew what had happened. "I'm so sorry," she whimpered. "I just...I've been on overload for the past few...forever. And I...I just didn't think...I""

Spike shook his head and pulled her tighter against him. "No, kitten, it's normal."

"For me to be less attentive to our relationship than you? Gee, thanks."

He smiled softly. "Well, there's that." She scowled and swatted his arm, which only invoked a chuckle. "Of course not. I'm a vampire. You're not. While Rupert bloody well proved last week that there are a thousand things I have to learn about the claim, it's natural for me. With you...'s like learnin' German under a French instructor. You'll know it eventually. It takes livin' it to learn it regardless. I jus' have a head start."

She was quiet for a long minute. "So...you want to go to DC?"

"Unless you have a better suggestion."

"No. I just..." She paused. "Do you...this might be crazy, but...Dawn...if we can...do you think""

"That the President will lend us a hand?"

"That sounds so less stupid when you say it than it would have if I'd said it."

"Somehow I doubt it." Spike paused thoughtfully. "Well, pet, guess the best way to find out is to ask the man himself. Figure he owes us one, right? You saved the world. Least the bloke can do is offer his protection to the Nibblet."

"I don't even know what he would do."

The vampire shrugged. "Ship her off to Camp David?"

Her eyes narrowed. "And if the god got wise and went to Camp David?"

"'m sure the President of the United States can offer more than a wink an' a nod at anyone under his protection."

The statement lingered between them, untouched. CJ Cregg was approaching the podium.

"Good evening," she said. "We begin on a somber note tonight. Approximately four hours ago, President Nimbala of the Republic of Equatorial Kuhndu, who was recently in Washington on a diplomatic trip to discuss the state of his country and the AIDs epidemic, was shot and killed in the airport parking lot after arriving home in response to a military coup that took place during his stay. It should be noted that President Bartlet offered President Nimbala asylum, and that the offer was refused. We'll continue to brief you throughout the next few days after the Pentagon makes an official statement."

"CJ!"

"Katie."

"It's been four hours. Why are we just hearing about this now?"

"The President wanted to firstly take time to make sure we knew where President Nimbala's wife and daughters were being kept before making any sort of formal statement. They have been recovered and are being flown to Germany where they will receive medical attention."

Spike drew in a deep breath. "We might get a lucky break, luv."

Buffy frowned. "What?"

"Military coup leaves li'l room to ask questions about sex scandals."

The television begged to differ.

"CJ!" the room shouted, settling back after the Press Secretary called on a reporter named Steve. "The House Majority Leader came out today with another indictment against White House Deputy Communications Director Sam Seaborn and nineteen year old undergraduate, Willow Rosenberg. Does the White House have""

"You're honestly asking me about this on a day that a president of one of our allies has been assassinated." CJ looked genuinely disappointed, though not so surprised. "All right, here we go. Day Four. As I've said about three thousand and twenty-seven times now, Sam Seaborn and Willow Rosenberg have not committed a felony. I think the House Majority Leader knows that, but he also knows that if he says the name Sam Seaborn and sex together enough times, the American people will somehow lose the ability to tell the difference between right and wrong. If Willow Rosenberg were twenty-nine and not nineteen, this wouldn't make a bit of difference to anyone. She's a grown woman, he's a grown man, this is a nonstory that became a story because people don't know when to mind their own business. Kevin!"

"Amen," Buffy murmured, glaring disdainfully at the offending reporter.

"She's good," Spike agreed.

"I remember you telling Giles that when we were in Natchez," she replied. "It's just so strange...will you ever get used to hearing Willow's name said repeatedly on TV by the White House Press Secretary?"

"CJ," Kevin from the Washington Herald was saying, "ever since the Seaborn/Rosenberg story broke, numerous sources have stepped forward and made incriminating statements as to the stability of Willow Rosenberg, herself. Amy Price, a flight attendant for American Airlines, was on flight 89 from St. Louis to Washington DC on the night of the Rosslyn shooting. According to her, a woman matching Rosenberg's description went, and I'm quoting, 'into some sort of fit when we were landing. She screamed things that made absolutely no sense at the time, but given what we know happened on that night, and the intimate relationship she has with a White House Senior Advisor, I'd almost say she was aware of what was going on while it was happening.'"

CJ was staring at the reporter as though he had lost his mind. "You are aware," she began after a few dead seconds, "that the leader of an allied nation was gunned down today just after arriving home to solve a national crisis that had already killed his brother and two sons."

"The question's not so ridiculous, CJ," Katie intervened. "American Airlines has disclosed that there was a Willow Rosenberg on the plane that night, and that she was traveling with William Bennet and Buffy Summers, the two additional names that received a public thank-you from the White House after the Natchez event. There were also numerous reports of electric and, I'm quoting, 'metaphysical,' disturbances related to Ms. Rosenberg's arrival; from airport security, civilians, and a few unnamed members of the DC Police."

"She was later spotted by several nurses at GW Hospital, as were two others with her that, upon viewing security footage, three of the five flight attendants have identified as Ms. Rosenberg's traveling companions." Steve added. "The airports were closed, all flights were grounded, and there wasn't any way for anyone to get into the hospital after the President had arrived. How does the White House respond to these accusations of preferential treatment for a nineteen-year-old girl that many obviously knew was intimate with the President's senior advisor? What about the two that were with her who have now vanished? It wasn't until the next day that even John Bartlet, the President's brother, was cleared for entry."

Spike didn't know if she realized it, but Buffy was holding his hand tight enough to tear it from his arm if she so desired. "Oh God," she muttered in horror. "Oh my God."

"'S'all right, luv," he murmured in calm response, though his eyes were glued to the television.

It took CJ a minute to gather her bearings, but she did so with poise and grace that quickly obscured any hint of uncertainty. "The Rosslyn shooting was chaotic for the entire country, as I'm sure you're all aware. Of the many vague, however heartfelt reports that have come out of what occurred that night, I find it neither auspicious nor surprising that people would come forward and embellish facts to give them a surreal twist that would match an equally surreal experience. Willow Rosenberg, William Bennet, and Buffy Summers were, indeed, flying in to Washington on the night of the shooting. Sam Seaborn was notified by the secret service that they had arrived, and they were given clearance for entry, as were a number of White House staffers that work solely beneath senior counsel. That is all."

The room called out to her again in a flurry of shouts and camera flashes, but the Press Secretary had made a quick retreat into the West Wing, and the briefing was over.

Buffy and Spike sat in silence for a few minutes, staring blankly at the mass of reporters that flooded the screen.

"Maybe," the Slayer ventured quietly, "maybe Washington right now is a very bad idea."

Spike was silent for a moment longer. "I still don' see what we did wrong," he replied. "We flew to DC to catch the President's speech an' humor Red. How the bloody hell were we s'posed to know some racist wanker was gonna try an' off someone""

"We didn't," she agreed, "but we did know what Willow was doing was wrong. She nearly blew the cap off the entire airport when she came out of her thing. And, yeah, National-Procedures-When-The-President's-Shot is one of the many classes that I decided not to take last year, but we got into the hospital."

"Prissy got us into the hospital," he reminded her. "We were followin' the witch. 'Sides, luv, that doesn' change what's happened here."

"What do you mean?"

"We still have Wonder Bitch to avoid. I won't presume to know what'll happen if this god of yours gets a hold of the Nibblet, but knowin' our luck, it'll be somethin' of apocalyptic proportions." He quirked his head. "Don' know about you, baby, but I think the President might be a li'l reasonable when it comes to savin' the world over savin' his reputation."

Buffy looked doubtful. "This is an American politician we're talking about."

"Yeh, an' take it from someone who's lived to see quite a few of the best an' worst of American politicians"hell, jus' politicians in general." The vampire paused. "Thought this beforehand, too...this Bartlet bloke's the real deal."

Her eyes narrowed. "How in the world can you be sure? You guys have only talked indirectly...about Latin."

"He helped save you," Spike replied softly. "That's all the evidence I need."

She stopped, her eyes flooding with tenderness. "Spike..."

"Plus, after a hundred years of payin' attention, you get to notice things like body language an' sincerity." He smiled. "There's so much you can tell from a bloke's eyes. He'll lend us a hand, pet. If for nothin' else other than he owes us one."

He'd won her over. He knew he had. Her gaze was soft and full of love, her will too strained to be tested. She was a fighter, his girl, but the past few weeks had taken a toll on her. The past few days had nearly seen her collapse.

He needed to get her away from Sunnydale for reasons that had nothing to do with saving the world.

"What about patrol?"

"Figure the soldier boys can handle it," Spike replied, brushing a kiss over her forehead. "If not, I'm sure we'll hear about it one way or another. An' you'll swoop in to save the day like you hero types do."

Buffy smiled emptily and snuggled into him again. His arms came around her and fastened. He never wanted to let her go. Not tonight. Never. He would be content to spend an eternity exactly like this.

There was no finer bliss than the promise of forever with the one you love.

He would get them there. If he had to move mountains, he would get them there.

Or die trying.





Chapter Thirteen


“Josh Lyman.”

“’Lo, Curly.”

Josh rolled his eyes and fought the temptation to hang up. Of the thousand things he had going today, dealing with a hot-tempered vampire that lived a continent away was hardly on his priority list. “Spike.”

“I’m touched you remember.”

“What do I have to do to get you to stop calling me that stupid nickname?”

“Well, now that you mention it, I could use a favor.”

The Deputy Chief of Staff leaned back in his chair. “Honestly Spike, I have a list of people I’d listen to if they came tapping me for favors today, you’re not even close to being one of them. Why did Donna patch you through?”

“Donna’s a good girl.”

“She said you were the Minority Whip.”

The vampire chuckled appraisingly. “Well, she’s a good girl who knows when it’s right to be bad. Look, I wouldn’t’ve called unless it was important.”

“Why isn’t that reassuring?”

“’Cause you an’ I have a different way of takin’ care of what’s important, I’d wager. But since you wankers shoved a chip into my cranium, my way doesn’ exactly work on humanly types anymore.”

“Yeah, I can tell you, we’re doing absolutely nothing to reverse that.”

“Look, if I could do this without goin’ through you, I bloody well would.” There was an aggravated sigh. “Fact is, I can’t deal with these wankers an’ Buffy…” Spike went quiet for a long moment. One of those silences that Josh had grown accustomed to in Natchez after a power hungry god had tried to claim his girlfriend’s body. It didn’t take a mind reader to detect what was worrying him. “I’m callin’ because I need to talk to someone who…oh, bollocks, how do you put it? Right, has a higher rank than a secret government organization that’s not s’posed to exist.”

“It’s a military branch. You’d have to go through the Pentagon.” Josh snickered. “And, by the way, good luck.”

“I don’ know anyone at the Pentagon.”

“Hence the ‘good luck.’”

“We have a problem here, an’ you’re the bloke I’m goin’ to.”

“I’m touched, really. How long did Buffy pester you until you decided to suck it up and call?”

“She doesn’ know I’m callin’.” Spike paused. “We’ve had a couple run-in’s with the Initiative. This bloke that’s all hot for my honey finally switched on the light upstairs an’ remembered where he’d seen me before.”

“Yeah. I’m sure there’s a part where I care.”

“Buffy’s a god. I can’t defend myself against humanly types without gettin’ one bitch of a headache. The claim Buffy an’ I share has made her particularly possessive—”

Josh snickered. “Color me astonished. Listen, Spike, as riveting as your personal life is, I’m working on a number of things from possibly suing the white pride group that shot me and advising the President on how to deal with this thing that Sam and Willow have gotten themselves into. I really don’t have time to—”

“This bloke thinks that Buffy’s a demon. Her powers finally surfaced when he threatened me, an’ she bloody well nearly blasted him through a wall. Now he thinks Buffy’s a demon, an’ he’s gonna be back with a bunch of his friends to take her an’ either harness her with a similar chip or somethin’ worse.” There was a brief silence. “They wouldn’t be able to touch her; it’d hurt like hell, but I wouldn’t let them touch her…but that’s not what worries me.”

“It’s the other thing.”

“Yeh. The part where she goes glowy an’ kills the lot of them accidentally by blinking.”

“Yeah, that’s not something I’d classify as good.”

“I think Captain Cardboard’s kept it to himself so far ‘cause of his li’l crush, but he’s been back twice now, tryin’ to wrangle a confession from her. She’s gonna do somethin’ that she’ll never walk away from if he keeps at it. I’m askin’ you to be decent an’ tell him to back the fuck off.”

“Yeah.” Josh paused. “Yeah, okay. I’ll have someone look into it.”

“It can’t be someone. It has to be someone this wanker’ll listen to.”

“I don’t do military stuff, Spike. It’s not my jurisdiction.”

“This isn’t military yet. It’s one bloody bloke with a vendetta. Suck it up an’ lend us a hand before it becomes a military issue an’ you have a whole new situation in Sunnydale.” Spike paused again. “A situation that’ll be big enough to draw national attention, especially when people learn that Buffy Summers an’ William Bennet were involved in yet another highly publicized, catastrophic event that the White House wants no one to know about.”

Josh balked in disbelief. “Are you…I’m sorry, are you threatening me?”

“Vamp’s gotta get his rocks off somehow.”

“Okay, I don’t know what that means, but don’t say that to me ever again.”

There was an aggravated sigh. “You want me to go over your head in this? I called you instead of Red ‘cause I thought the Witch might have a thing or two on her mind right now. If you’re not gonna help, I’ll see if her honey’s interested in bein’ a Good Samaritan. Or should I make an appointment with the President himself?”

“Yeah, because that’ll work. The President doesn’t take meetings or, well, calls on that level.” Josh glanced to the door that led to the bullpen, waiting for Donna to walk by so that he could scream at her for patching through the call. “Okay, yeah. Who am I talking to?”

Spike growled almost dangerously. “Curly…”

“I mean, who do you want me to call? If I’m gonna do this, let’s get it over with.”

“Really?”

“You called me, didn’t you?”

“I—”

“Spike, give me the guy’s name, already!”

“Riley Finn.”

“With two ‘n’s?”

“Yeh.” A beat. “That’s all you need?”

“I work for the President. You could’ve given me two courses he’s taken in the past five years and he’ll be found.”

A note of incredulity crept into the vampire’s voice; the same sort that always coincided with the granted wish of long-shot hopes. “An’ he’ll listen to you?”

“You called me, didn’t you?”

“Yeh, but I din’t think you’d actually do it.”

“I’m banking on the idea that a kid that age who’s already in an organization that’s under wraps will hear me reference the President enough times and just accept that I’m right, he’s wrong, and to back off.”

“An’ if that doesn’ work?”

Josh shrugged. “I’ll see if Fitz can do anything about it.”

“Fitz?”

“Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. He’ll have a lot more jurisdiction than I do, but I’m thinking it won’t go that far.”

“Thanks, mate.”

Josh smiled wryly. “Really, it’ll be nice to vent my frustration at my insurance company on some kid who doesn’t know better. Relax. If the President found out I let the government group that he’s only known about for six months terrorize two of the people he considers the world indebted to, I’d be out of a job.”

“An’ Donna has the gall to say you can’t be a good guy.”

“Yeah…what?”

“I appreciate it, Curly. Know the Slayer will, too.”

“What did Donna say?”

Spike chuckled in something he could’ve sworn was condescension. “Ta, ta.”

The line went dead the next minute. Josh stared at the phone silently; longer than he wanted to admit, then released a long sigh and cleared all otherwise impure thoughts from his head. Trust the vampire to get him thinking about this—he and Donna had not spoken about what had happened between them in Natchez since the last night at Longwood. Had not mentioned a word. That was his fault, he knew. He had initiated what happened between them, just as he refused to acknowledge that anything had changed in the months since their homecoming. Even those weeks while he recovered from his gunshot wound—the same that had seen the two of them overwhelmingly alone in his apartment with more than enough time to talk—had been uneventful. She’d nursed him, cared for him, bantered with him, and cried for him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention; not a word about what had changed. Not a word about what they had shared.

If Donna really was mouthing off about him, she had every right.

Though in this instance, Josh conceded he was likely overreacting because she had been mentioned at all. Spike wasn’t one to poke his nose into the business of his friends. At least not those he regarded as highly as he did Donnatella Moss.

This was nothing he could stop and consider now. The press was hounding Sam; he was up to his ass in filing a lawsuit against his greedy insurance company, and now the Republicans on the Hill were coming out of the woodwork to condemn the hiring of Ainsley Hayes. Apparently, it was considered cheap politics when a liberal administration hired someone with opposing moral views for no other reason than a respect for her values.

Republicans were always dancing on the fine line between infuriating him and amusing him.

But that wasn’t the issue right now.

“Donna!”

“Yeah?”

“I need you to get me Riley Finn.”

She appeared in his doorway, face glowing. “You’re doing it?”

“I asked for the guy, didn’t I?”

“You’re a good man, Josh.”

He snorted at the irony. “Yeah. My goodness depends wholly on what favors I’m willing to do for you on any given day. Get me Riley Finn.”

“This isn’t a favor for me; it’s a favor for Buffy and Spike. You know, those people we know that saved the world.”

“Hey, I saved the world, too.”

“If we limit our definition to people who were there, then yes.”

Josh frowned and gesticulated in protest. “I was a part of that three thing with a witch and a god. I saved the world. If you ask me, you owe me for that alone.”

“No, we’ll just call that payment for everything I’ve done for you, ranging from dressing as an East-German cocktail waitress to tying your shoes before you meet opposition on the Hill.” She tossed him a smug look. “So, if you had actually had a part in saving the world, we’d be even. Since you didn’t, I’ll go get Riley Finn for you and you can pay me back by lending favors to my friends.”

“I could say things in that tone and sound right too, you know.”

Donna grinned and turned around. “You could try.”


*~*~*


Josh could tell he didn’t like the guy just from the tenor of his voice. It took about three seconds.

“This is Riley Finn.”

“Do you always answer the phone like that?”

A beat. “Who is this?”

He grinned. Apparently, some people still thought indignation got them places. “My name is Josh Lyman; I’m the White House Deputy Chief of Staff. I answer directly to Leo McGarry and am senior counsel to the President.” He paused. “Do I have your attention?”

The line was silent for a minute. “I’d say so.”

“Right. I’m calling on behalf of Buffy Summers and—”

“Is this serious?”

He blinked. “Did you just interrupt me, there?”

“You’re calling me at my house, telling me you work for the President, and that the issue concerns my ex-girlfriend. So, yes, I think I am interrupting you.”

“You might want to stop talking now.”

“I want to know who put you up to this.”

“See, and I was gonna give you the benefit of a doubt.” Josh sighed. “I was under the impression that Buffy had told you she knew us.”

“Buffy’s…I have no reason to believe anything she says anymore.”

“Because she’s your ex-girlfriend.”

“If you want the short version.”

“Well, see, I’m already having problems with you and not all for the reasons I was told I would. If you remember, there was this little issue a few months ago involving me, the Communications Director, and his deputy in Natchez, Mississippi.”

“I don’t remember the names of the people mentioned and this is not helping me with the ‘believing this is legit’ thing.”

“How about this? You’re an agent for a secret government association called the Initiative.” He paused in a tacit invitation for a comment, and continued when he was satisfied he had rendered the boy speechless. “Your serial number is 2362754, you answered to Maggie Walsh until she was relieved and imprisoned for war crimes in piecing together a modern day Frankenstein, and are now under the supervision of General Harold Abner. Until about a year ago, you had a vampire in your custody that you called Hostile Seventeen. You stuffed a chip in his head, he escaped, and is now banging the girl that was never your girlfriend. Should I keep talking, or are you still convinced that I’m taking time out of running the country to be funny to some kid I’ve never met?”

There was a lengthy pause. “No, no…you have my attention.”

“Good. I’d hate to call Admiral Fitzwallace and let him know how noncompliant you’ve been.”

“Mr. Lyman—”

“Oh, so it’s Mr. Lyman, now?”

“If you’re so familiar with our policies, then you know that Hostile Seventeen is a vampire, and that Buffy Summers is a demon, and—”

“Okay, you’re just trying to make me laugh now, aren’t you?”

“I—”

“Buffy Summers is a demon? Really.”

“She nearly blasted me through a wall.”

“And here I’m thinking you deserved it.”

“That’s out of line.”

“No, and I’ve always wanted to say this, you’re out of line. Buffy Summers was thanked publicly by this administration in direct relation to her actions in Natchez, Mississippi.” Josh grinned. He absolutely loved his job when he got to slap ignorant people around. “And I can tell you, if I get word from Spike, or Hostile Seventeen, reporting that you’ve been harassing him or his girlfriend, you’re gonna have to take this call again from a guy who’s not gonna find it nearly as funny as I did.”

Riley was silent for a long minute. “Okay.”

“Have you gone to anyone in the Initiative with word that Buffy Summers is a demon?”

“I hadn’t yet.”

“You know, Finn, I don’t like being lied to.”

His voice hardened. “Good thing I’m not lying.”

“All right then. And Spike?”

“I hadn’t yet. I hadn’t known…I was trying to figure out what to do about Buffy being a demon.”

“She’s not a demon, Sherlock. She’s outta your league. And from the basis of this conversation, I’m thinking she always has been. Was it your perception that got you involved in the military?”

“She blasted me through a wall.”

“Well, that’s not what she did, but I won’t get into that. All I know is, it was provoked and well-deserved, and if you pursue making hers or Spike’s life miserable, you won’t wanna know where the next blast will come from. The President doesn’t take kindly to people who screw with his friends for means of personal vendettas.”

“This isn’t a personal vendetta.”

“Yeah, and Reagan didn’t quadruple the national debt.”

“Mr. Lyman—”

“Do you understand me, Agent Finn, or do I need to patch you through to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs?”

There was a long, heavy silence. “No, I think we’re understood.”

“Yeah, we better be.”

The phone found the hook the next minute, cutting through the air with a definitive slam.

“And that’s how we do things in the real world.”

“Made you feel powerful, didn’t it?”

Josh raised his eyes. Donna was leaning in his doorway, a pleased smile on her face.

“It’s fair to say that I took him to school.”

“You’re a big man, Josh.”

“Don’t I know it?”

“Isn’t it nice to do things for others every now and then?”

“Yeah, but let’s not get too used to it. This is the government—we don’t want a reputation for looking after our citizens.”

“You have Senior Staff in five, and I pushed back your meeting with Breckinridge to four instead of three-thirty.”

“’Kay.”

Donna pivoted to return to her desk. “Thanks for taking a break from being you for a few minutes.”

Josh smirked. “Yeah, well, turns out I can even surprise myself these days.”

“That doesn’t seem too hard.”

“Don’t you have, like, work to be doing?”

She grinned. “Senior Staff!” she called, walking back toward the bullpen.

“I’m already out the door.”


*~*~*


Sam waited patiently as his colleagues piled out of the Oval Office. The President had asked him to stay behind for a second after Senior Staff had concluded, and with his temperament being as hot as it was right now, he couldn’t honestly say he knew why. It felt like years had passed since the story concerning his relationship with Willow broke, but such was the reality of Washington politics.

“How you holding up?” the President asked.

“Sir?”

“Well, I’ve been watching the news. These people they have on Hardball and Scarborough Country don’t like you all too much.”

“Some of them do.”

“They don’t make as much noise as the other ones.”

Sam grinned weakly. “Yes, sir.”

The President released a long sigh and moved behind his desk. “When this is all over, I’m sending you and Willow to Disneyland.”

“I’m sure the American people will love that.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Screw the American people. They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“Is that our reelection campaign slogan?”

“I don’t know. Sounds catchy.”

“Mr. President—”

“I just wanted to know how you’re doing.”

Sam smiled gratefully. “I’m fine.”

“And that young woman you duped into loving you?”

“She’s doing fine too, sir. She just received word that some friends are coming to DC for a while.”

“Moral support?”

“Well, that and the holidays. She didn’t tell me more than that.”

The President nodded. “These friends…they wouldn’t be the sort of friends that helped save the world a few months ago, would they?”

“Mr. President, I don’t think the White House should be engaging in—”

“I suppose your avoidance of a direct answer is another way of saying yes. Would that supposition be correct?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea—”

“Sam, if the friends that are coming to Washington, DC happen to go by the names Buffy Summers and William Bennet, please nod your head.”

“Well, he doesn’t go by William—”

“Sam—”

“It’s not a good idea, Mr. President, especially if the story about my relationship with Willow is still center stage.”

There was a beat. “I’m going to ignore the fact that you just interrupted the President of the United States while standing in the Oval Office, and give you a direct order to contact Buffy Summers and whatever William calls himself to let them know that they have been invited to stay in the Lincoln Bedroom of the White House.”

“Mr. President, I know they’ll appreciate the gesture, but it’s really not a good idea.”

Bartlet shook his head. “I don’t give a damn how good an idea it is. These are people that saved the world, and I’m not going to not thank them personally because it’d involve making political hay out of a thing that shouldn’t be a thing in the first place. I’ve waited months to meet these people, something I consider frankly ridiculous seeing as anyone I order to the White House gets here in twenty-four hours or less. These are people I’m going to meet, Sam, if I have to drive out there myself.”

“Drive out to California?”

“I won an election; I didn’t forget how to drive.”

“I wasn’t saying—”

He nodded. “Damn right, you weren’t.”

Sam exhaled deeply. “All right. Well…I guess you’ll have two houseguests for the holidays.”

“Yes, I will.” The President smiled. “In fact, I’m going to have Mrs. Landingham get them on the phone for me right now so I can invite them myself.”

“I don’t really—”

“Mrs. Landingham!”

The Deputy Communications Director huffed out a long breath as the President’s senior secretary entered the room, scolded him for not using the intercom, and agreed to look up the Sunnydale phone number.

The President was going to do whatever he damn well pleased with no thought to how it looked to the public. And he was going to do it because it was what was right.

It was one of a thousand things that earned him Sam Seaborn’s love and admiration.


*~*~*


Sunnydale, California

“Spike?”

“Sweetling?”

“You’ll never believe who was just on the phone.”

TBC

Chapter Fourteen


Evening had rolled into Washington by the time Willow arrived at the White House. Donna was there to greet her at the entrance to the West Wing, a dress sealed in a laundry bag slung over her shoulder. The redhead was given the now-familiar badge that identified her as a visitor, passed the security guard who knew her by name, and followed the blonde through the maze of the back halls toward the ladies room.

“I know this was last minute,” Donna said. “Thanks for getting here so quickly.”

“Is there any word on Galileo?”

Donna shook her head. “No, not yet, and there’s a whole new thing right now that I can’t talk about. And Josh is going out of his mind.”

“What else is new?”

She smiled wanly, swinging the door open and all but shoving the dress into Willow’s hands as she ushered the younger woman inside. “Well, he has to pick a stamp.”

“A stamp?”

“It’s a thing where Leo gave it to Toby who passed it off to Josh, because Josh was being Josh and, frankly, deserved it. But now Josh has all but passed it on to me, and we’re trying to find a way to get this guy on a stamp by means of stating we honor his contribution and not his politics.” Donna sighed. “I know some day I will look back and long for the times when I’d have to put up with Josh when he has assignments like this, but for now, just between us…”

Willow frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it; you get to do the fun thing.”

She eyed the dress hesitantly. “Are we sure this is a good idea?”

“We’re not sure of anything, but once the President says you’re doing something, you’re pretty much committed.”

“I don’t think the President’s thought this through.”

Donna shrugged. “It could be that he doesn’t want to go and is making everyone on his list suffer alongside him.”

The redhead sighed at that, shutting herself inside the first stall to change. “So it’s just me, Sam, and CJ?”

“Looks like.”

“Yeah, the press is going to eat that up.”

“Well, seeing as you’re not going anywhere and the White House has remained adamant in the fact that you and Sam have a perfectly normal, healthy, adult relationship, I think showing up together at this thing is just what the doctor ordered.” The blonde smiled slightly. “You know, I know the past couple weeks have been difficult, but maybe this was for the best. Once the thing blows over, you and Sam won’t have to hide anymore.”

“You mean we might be an actual couple?” Willow retorted, draping her sweater over the stall door.

“Think you can handle it?”

“Guess we’ll find out.” She paused. “It’s not just that. I haven’t seen Buffy and Spike in months, and I don’t even get to meet them at the airport.”

Donna smiled sympathetically. “I know. But that’s just a consequence of being in the business, even by association. Trust me, they’re getting to stay in the Lincoln Bedroom; they’re not getting the fuzzy end of the lollipop.”

Willow shook her head. “No, but the President’s going to learn why Sam tried to talk him into putting them up in a hotel instead. You remember how loud they are, don’t you?”

The blonde flashed her a skeptical look. “Believe me, I’ve tried to block it out. I still don’t understand it…they were in the townhouse. There were numerous walls between us, and yet—”

“I guess it’s the superhuman thing. And, trust me; it’s gotten worse since Buffy became a god. The few times I was over at their apartment to steal their cable, they got so loud the neighbors called the cops.”

“Really?”

Willow grinned. “No, but that’d be a great story, wouldn’t it?”

“I’d believe it, too. I definitely remember the ‘all over each other all the time’ part…for some reason, even before they were a thing.”

“That’s because they invented excuses to sneak off together and flirt shamelessly before putting words to actions.” She paused. “Charlie’s meeting them?”

“I’m going to try to get there, too, but there’s no telling if Josh will let me leave. Either way, you’ll see them tonight. I know the President’s looking forward to meeting them.”

“I’m sure a time will come when I’m actually used to these conversations that involve the President in terms of ‘that guy I know.’”

Donna sighed wistfully. “It happens slowly. He was the governor of New Hampshire when I knew him. The transition from the candidate to the President was hard, too, but we made it. And not to completely change topics, but hey, I saw that they found your ex through that article that what’s-his-name submitted to the Times.”

“Jonathon Levinson,” the redhead replied dryly. “I never thought he’d ever sell me out like that.”

“Well, all I know is, Toby was relieved. He was worried that the article might go into detail about other aspects of Sunnydale life.” Donna shrugged again, meeting her own eyes in the mirror’s reflection. “Really, it was generic stuff that got swept aside in Wednesday’s news cycle.”

“Except that they found Oz.”

“And he gave them nothing.”

Willow opened the door and stepped out awkwardly, dressed in a long, black evening gown that made her feel even paler than usual. It was sleek and elegant—evidently, the only dress that Donna had ever paid for that cost over two hundred and fifty dollars. Rather, in Josh’s words, the only dress she hadn’t stolen by wearing it one day and returning it the next with the tags in place. It was a little tight in the bust, which made her worry that she would look whorish, but one glance in the mirror dismissed that fear rather quickly.

“Wow. You look fantastic,” Donna praised.

“I feel weird.”

“You don’t look it.”

“Donna, the last time I wore something like this, I was a senior in high school and I was going to the prom.”

“Well, then I say you were long overdue.”

She nodded, pursing her lips, her thoughts still with her former boyfriend. It seemed lifetimes had passed since she had seen him. She was no longer the awkward girl she had been; she was a woman now, more so than she ever could have been with him. There were times when she was reminded so sharply of her werewolf and found herself overwhelmed with nostalgic sadness, but there was nothing to be done for that. She loved Sam. She planned on being with Sam for the rest of her life. Daniel Osborne was a part of her past. A part that couldn’t help from resurfacing every few months to remind her of a life that no longer existed. “Oz wouldn’t have said anything,” she remarked a minute later. “He…he was…he just wouldn’t have done anything to hurt me.”

The blonde nodded with a small smile. “It must be nice to have left on such good terms with your former boyfriend,” she observed. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a breakup that went that smoothly.”

“He broke my heart. I think he owes me one.”

“I remember…you were still upset with him when we first met you in Natchez.”

Willow nodded, fluffing her hair in the mirror. It had grown to her shoulders when she wasn’t looking, and thankfully, Donna had talked her into getting it curled at a salon the week prior. She liked it wavy; liked paying attention to cosmetics and things that she hadn’t touched in high school for her obsession with school. Now that she was the girlfriend of the White House Deputy Communications Director, she had been introduced to a whole new world of self-pampering.

“Oz came to see me after we got back to Sunnydale,” she said.

“He did?”

“Yeah.”

Donna frowned. “After you and Sam—”

“Yeah.”

The blonde was quiet a long moment. “Will…if anything happened, you can’t tell Sam. It would crush him. He loves you so much. You should’ve heard the way he went on and—”

Willow’s eyes went wide. “Oh God, no! I would never have…God, Donna—”

“Well, I’m sorry! Trust me; I know how strong the ties of a former love can be. And like I said, I remember what you were like when I first knew you in Natchez. You kicked Wesley out of your bedroom because he was a drapey-sleeper.”

She smirked, applying a small amount of rouge to her cheeks. “Something that you know from personal experience, right?”

Donna went quiet for a long minute. “Wesley and I didn’t exactly wake up together,” she said. “I…there was nothing about that night that I was proud of. Though he was very sweet…he called me three times after Josh was shot to make sure I was doing all right.”

“He did?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know this.”

The blonde shrugged. “I didn’t want Josh to get all…I was taking care of him.”

“Yeah, that would’ve been awkward.”

“Just a little.” Donna frowned, straightening out the wrinkles in the back of the dress. “There. Perfect. Sam is going to flip his lid.”

“Hopefully not in front of people with cameras.”

“Willow, you can’t spend the rest of your life worrying about the press.”

The redhead frowned. “You’re used to this.”

“Not hardly. Now go. Sam’s waiting.”

“I still think this is a bad idea.”

The blonde shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out, but I think CJ was right. Sam’s not abandoning you. He’s not doing what politicians usually do when they’re caught doing something the other side says is unethical. He’s staying with you. That’s surprised people, and I think it’ll earn us more points than we lost in the long run.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Well, we won’t know until you get out there.” Donna shooed her. “Off with you. I have to go pick out a stamp.”

Willow grinned, gave herself a last look over, then exited the rest room.

Here we go.


*~*~*


Joyce and Dawn were flying in the next morning. Spike didn’t like it, particularly since the separation aggravated Buffy to the point where she fidgeted her worry throughout the entire flight. However, the youngest Summers had a presentation to give in her English class early the next morning. It was one that Dawn had been practicing for the better part of two weeks to overcome her paranoia of speaking in front of others, and in order to avoid suspicion, Joyce had remained adamant that they allow her to get the assignment out of the way.

That decision was two days in the past, and the Slayer was none happier now than she had been with it then. The day that she and her mate had sat down and explained everything to her mother—everything she needed to hear and everything she didn’t want to know. Everything.

They had told her of the Key. Of Dawn. The truth of Buffy’s godliness—the full truth. Not the half-truth she and Spike had concocted when they arrived home from Natchez. The truth of the god that was tearing Sunnydale apart in search of Joyce’s youngest; the girl that wasn’t her daughter, but was. Things were different now. They were moving to Washington. Indefinitely.

Dawn didn’t know that. She thought it was a vacation. A belated Thanksgiving thing, as the original plans had been to get there in time for the holiday. Plans that had gone drastically awry for the severe miscalculation of how quickly flights out of Los Angeles were booked over the holidays.

And still, Joyce was determined to not frighten Dawn. They were agreed that leaving Sunnydale was the best game plan, especially with the Slayer so emotionally fragile when it came to exercising her powers, but life demanded regularity and routine. No one wanted to tell Dawn she wasn’t real.

She was difficult enough to please, being a puberty-inflicted fourteen-year-old. Her emotions were constantly strained, and any given moment could be the worst of her life. Buffy and her mother were agreed; as long as the irrelevant things were the worst that happened to her, they were happy to let her believe whatever it was that distracted her from the truth.

The ease with which Joyce had accepted the truth about Dawn was a testament to why Spike had always liked his mate’s mother. She was a classy lady. And, as she revealed, had sensed something all along. Sensed that Dawn wasn’t hers. Wasn’t, but was all the same.

A mother always knows.

Buffy was worried, though. Spike hardly blamed her, but he was determined to keep her mind occupied. Chances were, Joyce and Dawn would arrive without a hitch. He wasn’t willing to gamble the odds by voicing his confidence aloud, but the god bint in Sunnyhell hadn’t the faintest idea that Dawn even existed.

Not that anyone was aware of.

Buffy was also worried for her mother on a completely different scope of things. The past couple weeks, through the distressing over gods and powers that gods passed to Slayers, there was the threat of something that she truly couldn’t handle. She had mentioned it once or twice to Willow; Joyce had mentioned recently a reoccurring series of headaches and dizzy spells that seemed to get worse with every day. It was acknowledged but not spoken of. There but not discussed. Just another thing on top of a thousand that Buffy didn’t want to think about.

There were a thousand things to get under wraps. Tonight, they were meeting the President. Tomorrow, they would pick up Joyce and the Bit from GW and get them set up in a hotel. Then, very quietly, he and Buffy had to start looking for a semi-permanent place of residence. Somewhere they could live until Dawn was in the clear.

“They lost our bags.”

Spike glanced up. “What?”

“The close connecting flight in Wichita,” Buffy replied dryly. “It was too fast. They lost our bags.”

“How do you know? They haven’t said anythin’.”

She shrugged, her expression haunted. “Just a hunch.”

Spike forced a smile to his face and wrapped an arm around her. There were small incidents like this where shades of her powers leaked through and scared her witless; times where her eyes filled with such fear, such anguish, that it sent a sharp pang to his gut.

One day at a bloody time.

“We’ll deal. It’s the soddin’ White House. I’m sure they’ll have bathrobes or what all.”

That earned a grin. “With the Presidential Seal on the back?”

“Don’ laugh. You’d be surprised.”

“Surprised? Spike, the President of the United States called our house and invited us to stay in the Lincoln Bedroom. What part of this sounds normal to you?”

He shrugged. “I stayed with Stalin for a weekend. ‘S nothin’ big.”

She cast him a disapproving look.

“What? It was before you. Before you were to show me the error of my ways.” A naughty hand slid down her backside as they lost themselves in the tunnel of people that were working their way through the terminal. “Before you were there to punish me when I’m very, very bad.”

“You like being punished.”

“Well, yeh.” He grinned unrepentantly. “Besides, Red’s been livin’ here for months. At some point, you’re gonna have to get used to the idea that you’re friends with some very influential people.”

“At some point. My life is just strange.”

Spike chuckled, clasping her hand, fingers entwining with hers. “I’ll second that.”

It took only a few seconds to spot who had been selected to pick them up. He was a good-looking kid; maybe a year or so older than Buffy, when Buffy had been immortalized. He was familiar but not overly so. Likely one of the faces they had seen in the hospital waiting room. In all his years, there had never been a night so thoroughly chaotic by means the populace would consider normal. And for whatever reason, the sheer acceptability of what had happened in a world gone mad had caused a lot of the minute details to grow fuzzy over the months.

Plus, in the fallout of the shooting and the motive of the shooters, this particular young man’s face had become notorious. The shooting itself had been for him—all for the color of his skin, and the fact that he was dating the President’s daughter.

He was holding a sign with their names sprawled across the front, and looked terribly self-conscious.

“Guess our ride’s here after all,” Spike drawled. He was aching for a cigarette.

“I thought Willow was picking us up.”

He shrugged. “Somethin’ must’ve happened.”

Evidently, the kid had a better memory than they did at present. His eyes had been trained on them from the minute they stepped out of the terminal.

“Well, come on, luv,” Spike said, tugging her hand. “Time’s a wastin’.”

The kid was in front of them, his eyes warm and polite and blessed with intelligence beyond his years. He extended a hand and smiled, and Spike liked him immediately.

“Mr. Spike,” he said. “I’m Charlie Young. Personal aide to the President.”

“Charlie,” the vampire acknowledged, wincing under the lights. He wasn’t a fan of airports. The fluorescents always made him look even deader than he was. “Never call me Mr. Spike.”

“Okay.”

“Though I’m gonna call you Chuck.”

“Well then, I should tell you, don’t expect me to answer.”

He grinned. Yeah, he definitely liked this kid. He nodded, squeezed his mate’s hand again, and turned to make the introduction. He felt like a walking sitcom, but didn’t care. There were times when manners got one everywhere. “This is—”

“Ms. Summers,” Charlie acknowledged. “Nice to meet you.”

“We’ve met before.”

“Not formally, ma’am; no we haven’t.”

She made a face. “Let’s just stick with Buffy, okay?”

Charlie nodded. “Okay. The President has asked me to escort you back to the White House and give you a quick tour of the Residence—particularly, the Lincoln Bedroom, which he has encouraged me to stress will be your home for as long as you need it. If you’re hungry, the President’s personal chef would be happy to make you anything you like.”

“Doubt he has anythin’ on his menu that tickles my fancy,” Spike observed.

Buffy rolled her eyes at him. “You eat like a horse,” she retorted dryly.

“I meant the other thing I eat, luv.”

Charlie’s eyes went wide. “Okay.”

The Slayer flushed and her mate grinned unapologetically. “Well,” he purred, “not that either.”

“Spike!”

Their host smiled a curious little smile and shook his head. “Something tells me you two are going to fit right in,” he said.

“The President’s going to kick us out the first chance he gets,” Buffy complained. “The way this one goes on…” She nudged Spike hard in the shoulder, only prompting his self-satisfied smirk to widen.

Charlie shook his head. “The President regrets that he can’t meet you at the White House. He’s pretending not to like the music at the Reykjavik symphony.”

Buffy blinked. “The whatta symphony?”

“I’d tell you, but then I’d have to actually go into all of it again. And I wouldn’t want to deny the President the pleasure of telling you later tonight, so you get the real Presidential treatment…so to speak.” He paused. “Do you have bags?”

“In Wichita,” Spike replied.

“Ah,” Charlie said. “I’m sure we’ll take care of that real quick.”

“Do you know why Willow couldn’t meet us?” Buffy asked a minute later.

“Couple of reasons,” came the reply. “The President thought it was a better idea if you three didn’t appear in public together for a while. He arranged for Willow to go with Sam to the symphony.”

Spike arched a brow. “In public?”

“Yeah, well, since Willow’s not going anywhere, the President thought it would be better if she and Sam started making public appearances. All of you at once is something he thinks we’ll have to work up to, but he’s confident that people will stop snooping once they realize there’s not an actual story.” A beat. “A story that they have access to, anyway.”

“Jus’ might work. Be a bloody political firs’.” He paused. “From the Left, that is.”

Charlie grinned. “Yeah. You two are definitely going to fit right in.”


*~*~*


A situation involving Russia, liquid hydrogen, and a missile silo kept the President from meeting them that night. Charlie came by the room around eleven o’clock with their recovered bags, expressed the President’s regrets, and told them they were invited for breakfast the next morning.

Which left them alone in the Lincoln Bedroom.

“There is just no part of tonight that feels real,” Buffy said. She was gazing at her reflection in the mirror above the dresser, removing all the extra accessories she had adorned with the mindset of meeting the President.

She felt her mate approaching even if the mirror betrayed nothing. The sense was strong; it got stronger by the hour. She was almost convinced it would manifest one day. That the claim itself would defy the laws of nature, and give him back everything that Drusilla had robbed of him when she damned him to this existence.

Granted, Buffy felt a soft spot for Drusilla that was even more surreal than the strange turn their lives had taken. Were it not for the insane vampiress, she would not have Spike with her now…and that fate was worse than anything she could imagine. He was her mate, and she loved him more with each day’s passing.

She didn’t know what she would have done had she been handed this life and cursed to survive it alone.

“It’ll be all right. We’ll find a nice cemetery that’s crawlin’ with vamps an’ get some patrollin’ in.” Spike smiled, wrapping his arms around her middle, inhaling her scent. “’S for the best, sweetling.”

“Yeah.” She frowned. “Sunnydale didn’t feel like home anymore, anyway.”

“Things’ve changed.” His mouth found her throat, peppering her skin with soft kisses. “Things always change.”

“Mmm,” she hummed in agreement, a familiar tingling sensation pooling between her thighs. It never ceased to amaze her how effortlessly he could turn her on. The slightest touch had her all but drowning in need. “What are you doing?”

“Helpin’ you get comfortable,” Spike murmured, hands skimming up her front to cup her breasts. “Rumor has it, everyone who stays in this room gets lucky.”

Buffy grinned in spite of herself. “You know, you could just be saying that, and I wouldn’t know the difference.”

He chuckled, whisking her top over her head. “So gorgeous,” he whispered reverently, watching her laced breasts move in the mirror under his invisible caresses. “You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Her bra was gone the next second, and his magic fingers puckering her nipples as his mouth worshipped her throat. He was hard, and his arousal was contagious. Every stroke overwhelmed her with desire. He knew it, too. Knew what touches drove her out of her mind. Knew how much his own arousal could fill her blood with need. He thrust his erection against her ass, purring sensually against her. Setting her skin aflame.

“You drive me wild,” he growled.

“Spike…we shouldn’t…”

“Sure we should.”

“We’re in the White House.”

“Like that’s ever stopped anyone.”

Buffy giggled as his hand slid under the waistband of her trousers. “You’re a bad boy.”

“The baddest,” he agreed amorously, index finger aligned with her dripping pussy lips. She nearly buckled against his touch, grasping his wrist, her other arm flinging back around his throat as her eyes fell shut. “No, no,” he scolded, brushing a kiss against her mouth. “Keep lookin’ at the mirror. See how fuckin’ beautiful you look.”

Her eyes fluttered open.

The woman staring back at her was flushed with need, eyes drowned in lust and sensationalism. Her chest was heaving breaths that looked to hurt, her nipples hard and moving seemingly of their own volition. She felt everything. Spike’s fingers in her quim, his heated kisses against her skin, his cock thrusting against her backside. He was everywhere. Her skin burned for him.

“God,” she gasped as his thumb finally settled over her clit, caressing her so tenderly she thought she would weep. “God, that feels so good.”

“You smell divine,” her vampire agreed, fondling her sensitive button. “Gonna devour you. Head to bloody toe.”

“Oh GOD!”

“You still think we should be careful?” Spike demanded, abandoning her breast for a minute and fumbling with his belt.

“No!” She thrust her hips needily against his touch. “Please! Spike, please!”

“Good.”

“Need you.”

The vampire released her completely at that and tore her slacks down her legs. She whirled the moment she was naked and all but leapt into his arms in a frenzy of need. He released a surprised oomph as his arms came around her, and tumbled back on the bed with an impassioned growl. He smiled appraisingly. “Feisty li’l minx.” He was attacked the next minute by her hungry mouth; her superior strength pinning him effectively beneath her as she ground her aching pussy against his hardness. Spike’s eyes went wide. “Fuck. I love it when you take control,” he groaned, palming her breasts.

Buffy threw her head back. “No control,” she gasped. “Out of it.”

He licked his lips and tugged at her nipples. “Love that, too.”

She flashed him a smile that warmed his unbeating heart; a whispered breath catching in his throat. Her hips gyrated against his with sensuality that had his eyes rolling up in his head; her arms stretched above her, then lower to caress his chest. Lower still, catching the zipper of his jeans as her other hand cupped his erection through the denim. “You feel so good.”

“Not inside you yet,” Spike whimpered.

The next second, his cock was in her hand, and she was shimmying down his body to tug his jeans away completely. “I feel you,” she replied, fingers wrapping around him. “Like this.” She caught his eyes and smiled, mouth enveloping his leaking head. An impassioned groan tumbled through his lips. “Like this.”

“Fuck, Buffy…”

Her tongue trailed the underside of his erection, suckling tentatively at his sac, then back again. “I owe you so much,” she whispered. “I don’t tell you often enough.”

“Buffy—”

Her mouth engulfed him completely, and his protest drowned with a whimper of need. She was still terribly insecure about her abilities to please him this way; he was the first man she had ever dreamt of exploring so thoroughly. The first man she had loved completely, without fear of boundaries. Without jealousy or outrage, or anything that had previously defined her.

He gave her so much of himself because that was who he was. She wanted to be someone who could express as much as he did; wanted to so badly. Wanted him to know how much she loved him. The wealth of what she felt and couldn’t trust with words.

His cock touched the back of her throat, and she swallowed gently around him.

“Buffy!” A desperate mewl tumbled through his lips, his hips thrusting forward. “Fuck, so good. Feels so fucking good.”

“Mmmm…” She drew back again, her tongue swirling. “Good?”

“Buffy…Jesus, Buffy, you gotta stop.” He fisted her hair. “I need to be inside you.”

She released him with a soft plop and smiled kittenishly, brushing a kiss against his sensitive head. “Gorgeous.”

His eyes turned molten, even as he grinned his tease. “My manly bits are gorgeous, eh? Not very masculine.”

Buffy lowered her head again, nibbling playfully. “You love it and you know it.”

“Well, yeah. Every guy likes havin’ his cock praised by the woman he loves.”

“By women, period.”

“Once. Then you came along.”

She smirked up at him. “You’re either a hopeless romantic or a terrific liar.”

“’m both,” he retorted. “Bein’ the firs’ right now. I love you.”

Her eyes softened. “I love you, too.”

Spike groaned again as her tongue found a sensitive vein. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.” His hands found her wrists, and he pulled her up the length of him until she was straddling his face, and his tongue was exploring her moist folds. He lapped at her, tasted and teased her; sank his fingers inside her as his lips found her clit and suckled her into his mouth. His hands grasped her hips and held her over him, and growled his pleasure at her taste. Buffy’s hands found the headboard as she writhed over him, shaking in hard sobs of pleasure until the fire toasting her insides exploded into a raging inferno.

Her scream of release sounded foreign even to her ears. The sounds he elicited from her were unlike anything she had ever thought herself capable. Her body was sated but raging at the same time, and the dualism about drove her out of her mind. Spike’s arms came around her, easing her down his body until his cock was nestled against her sodden curls.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he breathed against her lips, flipping her beneath him. “I can never get enough of your taste.”

“Ooohhh…”

His fingers slithered between them, positioning himself at her opening. “I love you so much,” he whispered, sinking slowly within her depths. “Fuck, it gets better every time.”

Buffy released a long sigh and persuaded his head to her shoulder. She felt so close to him. His arms were around her, hips thrusting gently against her, stroking her to perfection from the inside out. A hand curled around her breast as his lips found her throat, whispering kisses into her skin. Tasting her. The slide of his flesh from hers…the affirmation of their union with actions as well as words; sharing this with him was the most wondrous thing she had ever experienced. Her legs entwined around his waist, her body surging with desperation to recapture him every time he withdrew. It was a soft but hard loving at the same time. Something that grew in quiet desperation. Something she reached for through blind euphoria without realizing that what she needed was right beside her. Inside her. Holding her through her outrage, whispering quietly that everything would be all right.

That her trials now would pass. And he would be there with her through it all.

“Fuck,” he murmured, dipping his head to draw her nipple into his mouth, nimble fingers caressing her neglected breast. His thrusts intensified as their mutual need grew to a frenzy. “You’re so lovely. My fiery kitten.”

“Uhhh…”

“My goddess.”

“Yes, yes,” she panted in agreement, tugging his mouth to hers once more. “Always yours. Oh God, Spike. Oh God…”

“Mmm…”

“You feel so good.”

He smiled against her, his thrusts deepening. “You too, baby,” he whispered against her lips. “Feel like satin. Heaven. Fuck, you burn me up so bloody good. You’re so hot. My tight li’l Slayer.” He slid a hand between them, the demands of his body becoming too relentless to ignore. He kissed desperately, worshipping her tongue with his. The headboard was banging against the wall in time with the slap of melding flesh, sending an echo through the walls that drowned out in the heat of shared moans and whimpers of adoration.

Spike massaged her clit in speedy, tortuous circuits, his eyes blazing yellow. “I love you,” he gasped. “I love you so much.”

“Love you. Yes, yes! God, I love you.”

“You’re so close, baby. Let go.”

“Bite me.”

“Buffy—”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and jerked his mouth to the pulse point of her jugular. The one that beat still with the thrum of god’s blood. His poison. His best drug.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he decided, nibbling softly on her flesh.

“Spike, do it!”

“You first.”

Her eyes widened, but she needed no further prompting. The next instant, she lurched forward and sank her blunt teeth into his throat. Something feral roared at her in turn, and the next thing she knew, she was impaled by his fangs.

And riding the waves of the most intense orgasm she had ever known. Screaming his name as her body exploded with color. He whispered something against her, and she replied, but words were meaningless. Her body rejoiced. There was blood on her lips, and damn, if she cared at all. Blood was life. Blood was the claim. Blood was what had linked them together, and she no longer feared the implications. He had made blood safe for her; something no one had ever accomplished.

Spike was purring against her, nuzzling her sweat-laced hair with delicate reverence. “You’re amazin’.”

Buffy smiled and kissed him. “I love you,” she said simply. He had rendered her effectively speechless, such to the point where the only words she understood were along the lines of: Spike is good. Spike is sex god. Spike is love. Love Spike.

He grinned. “Love you.” He rolled away the next minute, a shared moan of complaint tumbling from their lips as his cock slipped out of her. “We gave this place a good christening, din’t we?”

She frowned, then blinked as the room around them reappeared. “Oh God!”

That only prompted his smirk to broaden. “Ah, ah, ah,” he berated, hands finding her shoulders as she started to her feet in horror. “Calm down, sweetness.”

A long moan tumbled through her lips. “How loud was I?”

He quirked a brow of amusement. “Well, depends.”

“Depends?”

“How would you define loud? Stereo loud, or raise the dead, loud?”

Her skin turned a charming shade of red. “Spike!”

“Nope, it was louder than that.”

“Gah.” The next thing he knew, she had jumped to her feet and wrestled into his t-shirt that they had discarded somewhere in the throes of passion.

Spike reclined lazily, watching her with barely-concealed bemusement. “Where are you goin’ dressed up in so little? Fancy a reporter sees you like that. They’d have a whole new story to fill up column inches.”

“I’m just peeking into the hallway to see if anyone…” She paused and frowned at him. “What, you think I’m gonna go parade down Pennsylvania Avenue and announce that I just got laid in the White House?”

“It’d take some pressure off Red,” he retorted, reaching over the edge of the bed for his jeans.

Buffy tossed him a dirty look, which he missed as he dug out his cigarettes, and edged the door open.

Then screamed in astonishment.

“You know, when Abraham Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation in that room in the year 1863, I rather doubt he thought the walls would become subject to sex studies of vampires and the gods that love them.”

“Oh my God!”

“The strangest thing just happened,” the President of the United States said by way of greeting, lowering his hand from where he had been prepared to knock. “I was reading on Iceland’s annual precipitation in my study, and out of nowhere, I could have sworn someone had set a banshee loose in the White House.” His eyes were twinkling. “I wouldn’t mind except that the First Lady is trying to sleep, and I’ll certainly get a scolding if she thinks I’m watching pornography in the other room.”

Buffy had leapt partially behind the door to conceal her state of undress, her face burning with painful humiliation. “Mr. President, I can assure you—”

“That’d never pass,” Spike drawled, coming up behind her, completely nude and evidently caring nothing for it. He wrapped his arms around her middle as if to complete her mortification. “Porn stars fake everythin’.”

The President looked for a minute as though he didn’t know whether it was appropriate to blush for the outed Slayer or simply laugh. “Regardless,” he said, “I thought you might want to know that while the White House offers many luxuries, sound proof rooms are not a part of the package. I would have told you so myself, but I was regrettably detained by Russia and their insistence on withholding evidence that could lead to an entirely different definition of apocalypse.”

“Mr. President, I am so, so, so sorry. I’d never—”

Spike shook his head. “She’s not an’ she would have.”

The President smiled, this time in amusement. “Well, I suppose since you saved the world that one time, I’ll let it go just this once.”

“Thank you, Mr. President. I’ll—”

He waved a dismissive hand. “You two look like you’re rather indisposed. Why don’t we agree to a breakfast and call it even?”

“I-I-I—”

“What time?” Spike asked easily.

“I’ll have Charlie get you up at seven. That’s a little late for me, but I wouldn’t want to deny you the opportunity to sleep in.” He grinned. “Until tomorrow, then.”

The vampire nodded. “Goodnight, Mr. President.”

“Goodnight.” Bartlet turned his eyes to Buffy. “Goodnight, Ms. Summers. Just be thankful I’m not your father.”

He turned and strolled leisurely down the hallway, and Spike closed the door before Buffy could say another word.

“Oh God,” she gasped. “Oh god oh god oh god oh god!”

“Watch it there, sweetling; he’ll think we’re at it again.”

“Spike—”

“Oh, calm down. He’s an adult, we’re adults, we saved the world, he runs it. An’ if you think I’m keepin’ my hands off you while we’re the President’s guests, you’ve got another thing comin’.” He started for her, eyes storming with a look that she knew carnally. “In more ways than one.”

Buffy drew a sharp breath. “Spike, I don’t…” She tossed a glance to the door, then back. “Quietly?”

He grinned and jerked her into his arms. “We can try,” he murmured, whispering a kiss against her lips. “I’ve always wondered if there really is a firs’ time for everythin’.”

TBC
 

TBC
 

Chapter Fifteen



It was a consequence of setting personal appointments with the President. At a quarter of seven, Bartlet was called into the Sit Room for a quick briefing about a pilot flying an F16 Falcon from the 27-fighter wing at Cannon Air Force Base in New Mexico that had left his group. The President was consequentially unable to honor the preset breakfast meeting. Charlie was instructed to escort Buffy and Spike to the Residence dining room, where Renee was to make them whatever they wanted.

Charlie left them to themselves with some cheeky note about pornography, and his exit was drowned out by Spike’s laughter and Buffy’s blush.

“I’m mortified,” the Slayer complained, sinking back into her chair.

Her mate smirked. “Li’l liar,” he scolded, shaking his head. “You shagged my brains out last night…several times after the President decided to scold us.”

“Yes, well…mortified.”

“Liar.”

Her eyes sparkled with sudden mischief as she indulged in a bite of syrupy pancakes. “Okay, so I’m not mortified over that part. It’s more the part where the entire building heard us.”

“You don’ seem to mind so much at home.”

“Gee, I wonder why.”

“Think it’s because you’re a hypocrite,” Spike retorted teasingly, plucking a sausage into his mouth.

“It’s the White House!”

“Yeh.”

“It’s the President of the United States!”

The vampire’s eyes were twinkling, and he shook his head in staunch disapproval. “’E’s jus’ a person, luv,” he scolded. “Jus’ like everyone else.”

“Yeah, except he’s the President.”

Something changed, then. They were no longer alone. The atmosphere around them plucked like the vibrato of a violin string. Buffy felt it. She felt the air change, and that knowledge scared her. The air changed with the weight of someone’s arrival, and she felt the shift in her surroundings as the woman entered the room.

“If my husband doesn’t know he’s the President by now, I’d have real reason to worry.”

Buffy and Spike turned at the same moment.

“Mrs. Bartlet,” the vampire said, nodding.

The Slayer shot to her feet on some instinctive urge.

“Oh, sit down,” Abbey Bartlet berated, waving a hand. “People stand when Jed enters the room and I find it rather ridiculous.” The comment earned dual grins from the First Lady’s houseguests. “You two don’t mind if I join you, do you?”

“Does it really matter what we say?” Spike asked.

“No, I just thought I’d be polite.” Abbey smiled and took her seat, setting her cup of coffee to the right of her preset plate. “What did Renee make today?”

“Pancakes, sausage, bacon, biscuits, hash browns, grits—”

The First Lady arched a brow. “You didn’t invite both houses of Congress over here to dine with you, did you?”

Buffy smiled sheepishly. “We didn’t know what we wanted. This is all a little much.”

“My lady’s not used to bein’ spoiled so richly,” Spike agreed.

That earned a tsk of disapproval. “Well, that’s a shame. Certainly you know, William, that every man who gets lucky enough to meet a good woman should spoil her richly every day to make sure she never forgets why she chose you in the first place.”

The Slayer rolled her eyes. “Don’t listen to him, Mrs. Bartlet. Sp—William spoils me more than any man ever should.”

“Not nearly rich enough, I’d wager,” he added with a grin. “An’ it’s Spike. This William business makes me feel like I oughta be sproutin’ sonnets.”

“Spike,” the First Lady retorted, arching her brows.

The vampire nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. “Yeh.”

Abbey turned to Buffy. “You’re fortunate you’re not my husband’s daughter. There is no way he would ever let Zoey date anyone who called himself Spike.”

A small smile drew across the younger woman’s face. “That’s the second time in twelve hours that I’ve been told I’m fortunate I’m not the President’s daughter.” She paused. “The first time was actually by the President himself.”

“I heard about that.”

The Slayer’s face flamed. “Oh. Well…I really don’t think it was as bad as the President might have—”

“No, I mean I heard about that.” The First Lady was grinning mercilessly, which only strengthened Buffy’s discomfort. “And, I must say, good for you.”

Spike smiled proudly.

“Th-thank you, Mrs. Bartlet,” his mate replied awkwardly.

Abbey chuckled and patted the younger woman’s hand. “There, there. I’m told everyone gets lucky in that room.”

“Told you,” Spike chided.

“Hush.” Buffy made a face at him and kicked at his leg.

The First Lady laughed again. “Ah, young love,” she said wistfully. “Just hope you two remember this after a century or two.”

The blondes froze and shot her identical deer-in-headlights glances.

The older woman smiled secretively. “Yes, I know.”

“The President’s jus’ tellin’ everyone?” Spike retorted incredulously.

“No, but he did tell me that you two were coming to stay with us, that he didn’t know how long you would be here, and he didn’t want me hitting the panic button when whichever one of you is the vampire asks for a nightcap of O Positive.” Her eyes settled on Spike. “Somehow, I think I’m talking about you.”

The Cockney’s eyes flickered. “Yeh?”

“Yes.”

“How you figure?”

Abbey shot him a look. “Well, aside the fact that you’re pale enough to blind an Eskimo and haven’t taken a breath in the past five minutes, you evidently have no qualms in treating me like other people instead of the First Lady.”

He shrugged, unbothered. “’S not outta disrespect.”

“No, I think it’s out of apathy. And that’s perfectly fine, considering you’re a hundred-forty-something-year-old dead man from Britain.”

Spike grinned. “Well, there’s that.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Bartlet,” Buffy jumped in. “He’s…well, he’s Spike.”

“I’m a bad, crude, man,” the vampire agreed. “But the Slayer here’s star-struck at every bloody turn.”

Abbey shook her head. “Don’t be. Jed’s ego is already through the roof; he doesn’t need encouragement from his houseguests. Though I would recommend that your…private activities remain a tad more private than they were last night. I don’t like waiting up nights wondering if my husband is watching pornography.” She paused and tossed the vampire a sideways glance. “Though I have it on good faith that porn stars fake everything.”

Spike’s smirk broadened. “I’ve heard tale.”

“Something tells me you’ve done more than ‘heard tale.’”

The Slayer had a look about her like she wanted to slither under the table and die. “Mrs. Bartlet—”

“You know, Buffy,” Abbey said, eyes still fixed on the vampire. “He reminds me a lot of Jed when I first knew him. You should be careful of that.”

“Your husband was vulgar and horny?” Buffy eeped as she became the focus of two disbelieving stares. “I obviously didn’t mean what I said just there. That was a spell of temporary…something.”

“Oh no,” the First Lady replied. “He was. He still is, come to think of it.”

“Mrs. Bartlet!”

Spike threw his head back and laughed.

The older woman just smiled. “I was just saying, I’ve been married to a man that reminds me very much of your…what do you two call each other?”

“Mates,” the vampire responded. “We’re mates. It’s a sort’ve vampiric matrimony.”

“You don’t want to have a regular marriage?”

He shrugged lazily. “We haven’t gotten that far yet.”

Buffy arched a brow. “We’re mated for all eternity, but marriage is too good for you?”

“I din’t say that, sweetling. I jus’ mean we haven’t talked about it.”

“Well, if we talked about it, what would you—”

Spike tossed her a look. “‘Jus’ say yes, an’ make me the happiest man on earth,’” he quipped.

“That was a spell.”

“I couldn’t mean it?”

“It was a spell! We weren’t even—”

“Buffy. Honestly, what do you want from me? What more do I have to do to—”

The First Lady cleared her throat. “As I was saying before you two forgot that I was here…you should be careful around this one, Buffy. I’ve been married to Jed for over thirty years, and he just gets ornerier with age.”

“Did you ever regret marryin’ him?” Spike asked softly.

She smiled wisely. “Never.”

He grinned at the Slayer. “There you are, darling. Proof that love like ours lasts generations.”

“Of that, I had no doubt.” Buffy turned back to the First Lady and relaxed slightly. “We aren’t keeping you from anything, are we?”

“Oh no,” Abbey replied. “Actually, I came here both at my husband’s request, and because I spoke with your friend, Willow, two nights ago, and she mentioned something that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.” The tease left her eyes and she straightened appropriately, nodding her thanks at the server that entered the room to warm her coffee. “Buffy, your mother has been having severe headaches and dizzy spells for the past two weeks.”

The Slayer froze. “Are you being psychic or is this what Willow told you?”

“This is what Willow told me.” She paused. “I’m a doctor, Buffy. I’m a very good doctor.”

“Yes, but—”

“True, I don’t specialize in the sort of medicine that I believe your mother needs…or the tests that I believe should be run on her, but I have many friends in the field.” She paused again to let the words settle in. “Many, many good friends. I would like to recommend your mother to Dr. James Matheson. I’ve already spoken with him, and he was very willing to admit her before the weekend.”

Buffy was quiet for a long minute.

“I know this is hard,” Abbey continued. “But I would like to help in whatever way I can.”

Another long beat of silence.

Spike reached for her hand. “Buffy, luv,” he murmured, thumb caressing her skin soothingly. “’S all right. Jus’…it’s all right.”

Buffy knew it was all right. That was why she was stunned.

It was the first time anything had been truly all right in such a long while. She was captured in a state of perpetual disbelief. It took a few seconds longer for her to realize they were waiting for her to answer, and by the time she found words, she was all but overwhelmed with emotion.

“Oh…oh, thank you, Mrs. Bartlet.” She grasped the woman’s hand. “Thank you so much.”

“I’m more than happy to do it.”

“It’s up to my mother, of course—”

“Something tells me that she won’t mind too much.” Abbey smiled. “I just wanted to let you know. As I understand it, I and the rest of the country are entirely in your debt for something that I’m still trying to get your President to tell me about.”

The Slayer flushed. “It was more Willow.”

“Yes, well, she told it the other way around.” The First Lady glanced up as someone else entered the room. “Charlie! How good of you to join us.”

“Chuck,” Spike appraised, earning a glare.

“Mrs. Bartlet,” the newcomer said, eyes on the vampire for a minute longer. “You have a phone call from the President of N.O.W. She wants to talk to you about the rider attached to 858.”

“And you’re coming to tell me this?”

“I was on my way. The President would like to see Buffy and William in his office.”

“Spike,” the vampire corrected begrudgingly.

“Ah. And so the true motive is revealed.” Abbey’s eyes sparkled as she rose to her feet. “My husband wants to butt in on my fun, and he’s using the President of N.O.W to distract me.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Charlie agreed.

“I thought so.” She turned back to her houseguests. “Buffy, Spike, it was a pleasure.”

“Yes, Mrs. Bartlet,” Buffy replied. “Thank you so much.”

“No thank you required, Ms. Summers, I am happy to be of help. I have connections, you need help, I want to do what I can.” She eyed the younger woman’s glowering companion. “Just make sure you keep this one on a leash.”

Spike scoffed. “No worries, there.”

“Good. That’s what I like to hear.” Abbey smiled. “Now, if you would, excuse me. I’m sure Jed has something mind-numbingly tedious to grill you on.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Charlie stepped aside as the First Lady made her exit, then turned back to the President’s guests. “I’ll be outside. The President urged me to tell you there was no rush, but I’m pretty sure he meant within ten minutes.”

The vampire nodded. “Right.”

It was only after they were alone again that Buffy thought to ask, “What did he mean…in the President’s office?”

Spike just grinned.

“What…I…” Her eyes went wide. “Oh God.”

“’S nothin’ big, sweetheart.”

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

His smirk refused to wane. “You’re jus’ adorable when you’re all flustered.”

“You suck.”

“An’ well, but that’s not what we’re talkin’ about.”

“Spike!”

“Now, now, luv, don’ start that. We’re due in the Oval Office in ten minutes, after all.” He waggled his brows. “’Sides, I don’ think the President would fancy us soilin’ his dinin’ table.”

“Ugh.”

“Huh’s that?”

Buffy glared at him for a minute, then broke into a smile and glanced away. “You’re a bad influence.”

“The baddest, baby.”

“And we have to meet the President.”

“Did that already.”

“I’m trying to forget last night. Well…” She flushed off his look of mock-offense. “Just that part. The rest was amazing.”

“Bloody right.”

“But we have to be careful tonight.”

Spike just smiled and finished off his coffee. “Whatever you say, pet,” he replied. “Your wish is my bloody command.”

“I know.”

“I know you know.”

“Hey.” She frowned. “Your wish is my command, too.”

He barked a laugh and stood. “Come now,” he retorted. “We’re both smarter than that.”

“Are you saying I don’t give as much to—”

“Not at all. You love me. You’re my mate. We’re together.” He shrugged. “That’s all I need.”

There were so many times like this; times when he took her breath away without even trying. In everyday, casual conversation. He was a master of words. However many or few, he mastered them. And it only made her love him more.

He smiled that little smile that told her that he knew exactly what his spoken poetry could do to her. “Now then, sweetling,” he said, tugging her to her feet and brushing a kiss over her lips. “Let’s go. Somethin’ tells me bein’ rude to the President of the United States is not a good idea.”

“Agreed.”

“Besides, sooner we do this, sooner we can have a nooner.”

She giggled. “A nooner? At nine o’clock in the morning?”

“Any objections?”

She grinned cheekily. “Think the President will keep us long?”

He ran a hand down her arm. “Only one way to find out.”

“Guys,” Charlie said, poking his head into the room again. “The President wanted me to remind you, if necessary, that he has more effective ways than a hose to get you two to break up any post-breakfast hokey pokey.”

Buffy moaned, her head collapsing against Spike’s shoulder. Her mate rumbled his amusement, dropped a kiss across her brow, and nodded. “We’re comin’.”

“Not rightly soon enough,” the Slayer retorted in a badly feigned British brogue.

Spike chuckled. “I’ve been a bad influence on you.”

“That’s what I just said.”

“Ahem.” Charlie did not look amused. “Seriously, guys, the President—”

Spike rolled his eyes, grasped his mate’s hand, and turned to face him fully. “You see us leavin’?”

“No, I see you standing in the President’s personal dining room about three seconds from giving Hugh Heffner material for the next ten issues of Penthouse,” he retorted. “Come on.”

The vampire sighed and shook his head. “Some people have no sense of adventure,” he muttered.

Buffy bit her tongue and grinned as they followed the aide through the residence.

Something told her this meeting with the President was the start of something big.

 

*~*~*



It was almost like stepping through a painting, being in the Oval Office.

“Donna and Willow have already called dibs on you two for lunch,” the President said as he navigated around the desk. “Seems I have the most popular houseguests in the District of Columbia. Do I want to know how you two gained such notoriety, or does last night speak for itself?”

Spike grinned proudly. “Think it’s better that you be the judge of that, right?”

“Damn straight.” The President glanced up. “Allow me to apologize again for neglecting to greet you last night. Our Russian Ambassador was being coy about her country’s missile silos.”

“I-I-It was no problem, Mr. President,” Buffy replied quickly. “I-I’m sorry again, for what happened last night.”

“Star-struck,” Spike muttered.

“Shut up.”

“Watch it. Mrs. Landingham doesn’t approve of that sort of language in the Oval Office.” The President grinned. “There are things I intend to grill you on later, make no mistake, but for now, I’m going to throw this on the table and let you all leave before you start to bother me. As you know, Christmas is in three weeks. I was wondering if you two would be interested in joining the First Family in New Hampshire for the holiday.” He paused. “Feel free to take a minute or two to think it over.”

Buffy was utterly flabbergasted.

So was Spike.

“Mr. President?”

“Yes, I did just invite you to stay with me, the President of the United States, and my family for the most revered holiday our country celebrates. Can I trust that you are dazzled enough to nod and say yes, so I may commence with the arrangements?”

“I…I…I…”

Spike nodded. “Yes.”

“Excellent.” The President smiled. “Now, go on and get out of here. And if you hear loud music playing in the foyer, feel free to ignore it. For whatever reason, Toby is feeling seasonally correct this year.”

“Scary,” Buffy murmured.

“You know Toby well,” Bartlet remarked. “Charlie will escort you to the bullpen and make sure you’re given the appropriate passes so the secret service don’t throw you out on your asses.”

“Thank you, Mr. President,” the Slayer said automatically, tugging on her mate until they arrived at the door she was nearly certain they had come through.

Christmas with the First Family.

She had no idea how they had come this far.

“Breathe, baby,” Spike murmured, nodding to the elderly woman that sat opposite Charlie.

“We were just invited to spend Christmas with the President.”

“Yeh.”

“I can’t believe this is happening.”

He smiled. “It’s happenin’.”

Her eyes turned to the approaching bullpen, where Donna was waiting.

And then something extraordinary happened.

She knew this. She knew Donna. She could hear Toby yelling at someone from inside his office. Saw Sam speaking with Josh in the hallway. Saw Donna waiting for them. These people that were like family.

Spike squeezed her hand and smiled at her. And that was all she needed.

For that moment—for that anomaly in time—this foreign place almost felt like home.

Almost.

TBC

Chapter Sixteen



Something was wrong with Josh.

It had been little things at first. Joshish things. Things that his friends would usually discount as his nature on bad days. It started three weeks prior to Christmas with the death of Robert Cano, an Air Force pilot who committed suicide by running his airplane into the side of a mountain. An Air Force pilot who had suffered a severe trauma after his plane was shot at over Bosnia. The pilot had undergone several intense psychological tests and was given a clean bill of physical and mental health.

Then he had crashed his plane intentionally. He had killed himself. And no one really knew why.

Josh was given the duty of learning everything he could about Robert Cano.

He learned that they shared the same birthday; but the little things became bigger things, leaving staffers in the West Wing on edge and walking on eggshells around Josh in the hopes of staving off one of his increasing tirades. The Christmas music that Toby insisted on playing in the lobby became a source of exasperation. He grew irritated with Donna for her insistence on going to the Yo-Yo Ma performance at the Congressional Christmas Party, and her subsequent fervor after he okayed her invitation.

Donna didn’t bother to ask for additional invitations for Willow, Spike, and Buffy. The President was already intent that the guests from Sunnydale attend every White House event there was to attend with the exception of meetings in the Sit Room. He even invited Joyce and Dawn, but Joyce decided that a fourteen year old would not appreciate a Yo-Yo Ma concert like she would, and Dawn’s tendency for whining when she was bored pretty much guaranteed their absence—no matter how much the elder Summers may have liked to attend.

Joyce had spent the past few weeks flabbergasted by both the White House—more specifically, Abbey Bartlet’s—insistence on helping her through her health condition. Dawn had spent the past few weeks wondering why they were in Washington, and when they were going home.

Spike and Buffy’s continued residence in the White House hadn’t helped Josh’s mental stability. He was irritable and snapped at practically everyone, focused only on Robert Cano and building up to something that no one could see the end of.

It was the night of the Congressional Christmas Party. Sam and Willow, celebrating their recent liberation from media crucifixion, had offered to take out Spike, Buffy, Donna, and Josh prior to the event. Josh didn’t say much through dinner. He shot a few choice remarks at Spike, who appropriately fired them right back, and the only thing that kept an all out war from breaking out over the table was the presence of a slayer-turned-god who knew how to handle her man.

“He blew up in the Oval,” Sam said later when they were in the quiet of his office. “Today, we were talking about a thing, and he blew up. He yelled at the President.”

Buffy pursed her lips. “I take it that doesn’t happen often.”

“No.”

Willow was standing by the window, her eyes vacant.

“’S Curly,” Spike said with a shrug. “Wanker always seemed a li’l high-strung to me. Holidays an’ what all. It could jus’ be—”

“No, it’s not.”

The Slayer frowned. “Sam—”

The Deputy Communications Director shook his head. “You don’t blow up in the Oval Office at the President of the United States because you’re stressed about the holidays. Josh is a professional. Say whatever you want to say about him personally, but he has nothing but respect for the President and would gladly…he thinks of the President as family. If he’s angry with the President, he doesn’t yell at him, and he certainly doesn’t do it in the Oval Office.” He licked his lips. “He’s not Toby. He doesn’t go there.”

“You’re tellin’ me that a bloke as bloody hotheaded as Joshua-Fuckin’-Lyman, workin’ in a place as stressful as the White House, doesn’ lose his head when communin’ with his—”

“Not with the President of the United States in the Oval Office,” he said again. “Not the way he did today.” Sam released a long sigh. “It’s…Leo’s called ATVA to talk to him.”

Willow turned around with interest. “When?”

“After the meeting—”

“When is he meeting with ATVA?”

“Christmas Eve, I think.”

Buffy frowned. “What’s ATVA?”

“The American Trauma Victims Association,” three voices answered.

“Oh.” Her eyes went wide. “Oh. You…we think it’s a—”

Willow nodded. “It is. I can…well, you remember the thing on the airplane with my—”

“Going into a fit?”

The redhead scowled at her friend. “I thought we talked about the using of those words when placed in that order,” she retorted, jerking her head to her over-reactive boyfriend.

“It was only a matter of time,” Sam said, casting a weary glance at the Witch. “Josh has been going a thousand and ten miles an hour ever since he came back to work. He’s been himself, granted, but he…he’s been trying to get all the work from May to November in while doing the work he’s supposed to do now. Josh puts his job before everything.”

“’S a soddin’ mystery the bloke hasn’t met a nice girl to settle down with,” Spike muttered.

The comment earned a dry look from every corner of the room.

“Boy, are you lucky Donna’s fangirling Yo-Yo Ma right now,” Willow retorted.

Sam smothered a grin.

The vampire opened his mouth to reply, but whatever response he had ready on his tongue was interrupted by the head of the Press Secretary poking into her coworker’s office. Her eyes immediately caught the peroxide blonde’s and she stiffened. “Sam,” she said, “the President’s going to take his seat in five minutes.”

“Right.”

CJ studied the vampire for a beat longer, then nodded and turned away.

Spike smirked when they were alone again. “She still doesn’ know what to think of me, does she?”

Sam grinned wryly. “Well, in all fairness, Leo just brought her inside last week…and she’s met you three times for a combined total of seven and a half minutes. CJ still doesn’t even know how to respond to the part about Willow being a witch, so she’s focusing on you.”

“She knew I was a witch,” the redhead objected.

“She knew you were a practicing Wiccan.”

“But not a witch?” Buffy replied, arching a brow. “How can you be a Wiccan and not a witch?”

“Well you can,” Willow said. “It’s a thing that happens when you leave the Hellmouth and enter what these crazy folks call the real world.” She shook her head and turned back to Sam. “I still can’t even begin to fathom how even Leo could start to explain this to CJ.”

Sam stifled a chuckle. “She still doesn’t believe it,” he retorted. “Well, she believes it in the sense of Leo told her and Leo doesn’t have enough sense of humor to keep up a practical joke this long, but she doesn’t really believe it.”

A slow smirk drew across Spike’s face. “Think I should go flash her some proof?”

Willow and her boyfriend gawked in horror. “No!”

“Guys,” Buffy said, curling into her mate’s side. “He’s kidding.”

“No, I’m not,” the vampire objected, grinning madly. “But she’s cute when she tries to cover for me, isn’t she?”

The redhead moaned. “This is our punishment,” she complained to Sam. “CJ and Toby have been groany every time they see us together, and now we have to see us times a thousand.”

“Just a thousand?” Buffy retorted insolently.

“We gotta try harder,” Spike agreed, smiling rakishly as they turned to join the party.

“You guys know where you’re seated?”

The Slayer nodded. “We were in there earlier. Enjoy the show!”

It was strange how quickly one grew accustomed to the halls of the White House. Granted, the President’s two unconventional houseguests did not have unfettered access to everything, despite the Commander in Chief’s insistence that they be treated like royalty. The past three weeks had been unbelievable. The President had invited them to dine with him three times—five if one counted cancellations and rescheduling due to matters of national security. Buffy had been kept up one night by her mate’s booming laughter as he shared a pack of cigarettes with the Leader of the Free World while discussing the pros and cons of Ancient Roman Imperialism. He’d come in from the President’s study with an amused look on his face, then proceeded to tell her a complicated joke with a bad pun that she was sure to find hilarious.

What she found hilarious were Spike’s nerdlike tendencies that became more and more evident with each passing day. Never in all his years had he found himself in an environment where the intellectually stimulating part of his brain was appraised; not mocked, rather revered. The President damn near found him godlike for his age and knowledge, something they both found highly amusing simply for the irony. Spike was truly in his element, even if he hadn’t stopped to realize it.

The President genuinely liked her vampire, and no one liked Spike on first acquaintance. Sam was only now beginning to greet her mate with sincere amicability whenever they saw each other. Toby usually muffled something inaudible, and Josh would register as a Republican before he admitted a personal liking for any vampire, least of all Hostile Seventeen, even though he appeared to be the President’s new favorite person.

He was at home here, despite it all. And that mattered the world to her.

Spike’s happiness was something she felt he too often placed on hold to be mindful of her own. It was his nature to watch out for her; she knew that simply by being with him. Her mate was not satisfied if she wasn’t, and for now, the outside world that had seemed so imminent back in Sunnydale was placed on reserve. She was glad just to see him so carefree, even if she felt excluded. It was important for him to have this. Where he didn’t have to worry with her needs every five seconds, and be with people who appreciated him for everything he had been forced to conceal for the past century and a half.

He was a brainy nerd, despite being a badass. And she loved him for it.

If he ever donned a pair of glasses, she would have to ride him six ways from Sunday just to get all the kink out.

He inspired the strangest fetishes.

As for her, being in Washington provided the cushioning she needed to live up to the fantasy that everything was going to be all right. That they had left their problems in Sunnydale, and she could attempt to live her life again. There was still a burning dread scorching her insides that could not be placed on hold forever, but she refused to let her mind wander so far as to dominate her life with fear.

She couldn’t spend eternity worried that she might destroy someone by looking at them. It simply wouldn’t happen.

Still, if she did what Spike wanted her to do, the thing they hadn’t discussed since they arrived, she would be unleashing something within her that could possibly destroy them both. Destroy them, her friends, the city—hell, the world wasn’t even safe. She had no knowledge of her powers, except that with the claim commanding her senses, she could easily kill anyone who posed a threat to her mate.

Something that terrified her even more, seeing as they were now residents of the White House. Should anyone try to harm Spike here, the claim would trigger her innate powers, and she might find herself in the middle of a civil war initiated by instinct.

For now, though, they were going to the Congressional Christmas Party at the President’s personal invitation. She walked among politicians she remembered vaguely from television; people with falsified power and egos that would likely outlast their term limits. She sat in the back with her mate, who was making her mouth water for the way he had dressed up for the occasion.

Though her own attire wasn’t too shabby, either. Abbey Bartlet had taken her and her mother shopping earlier in the week. The dress she had been ultimately persuaded to try on was long, elegant, silver, and easily worth seven of her father’s child support payments prior to tax.

That wasn’t what bothered Buffy; Mrs. Bartlet had bought it under her nose and given it to her the night before as an early Christmas present. She’d nearly been moved to tears.

And needless to say, with Spike looking like James Bond and she feeling like Audrey Hepburn in My Fair Lady, it had been interesting getting ready.

Especially since they had a night of celebration planned.

“Donna wants us to take Josh out for post drinks,” Spike murmured as they took their seat. “I don’ particularly wanna go, but she seems to think it’d help him to get away from the office.” He shrugged easily. “’S entirely up to you, baby.”

“I don’t like the way Donna’s always going to you about these things,” Buffy retorted.

Her vampire tossed her a disbelieving glance. “Why?”

“Well, she…I just don’t like it.” Buffy met his gaze, sighed her defeat, and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been in this mood. I guess it’s…the one-year thing, you know? With everything else that’s been happening, the fact that I’ve officially been in a healthy relationship with someone I love for a year without an apocalypse….” She frowned. “Well, except that one…I just…”

“Jus’ imagine how you’ll feel when we’re celebratin’ ten centuries of pure wedded bliss,” Spike retorted, waggling his eyebrows. “I know. You’re jus’ gonna have to get used to the fact that you have a very persistent mate who loves you more than…well, you name it. I know you trust me, Buffy. It’s not that.”

“No. It’s not.” She shook her head. “It’s…it’s any number of things. It’s Donna and Willow…and Josh and Sam and this entire thing. The people I knew in Natchez are…well, they’re here, but they’ve had six months to get to know each other and heal. And Will’s been here ever since the shooting.”

He sighed. “An’ I run off to chat one of ‘em up every chance I get.”

“No, I don’t—”

“I should’ve felt somethin’. I never wanted you to—”

“Spike, the fact that you have good friends here who, you know, don’t mind the…thing like some Xander-shaped people might…I’m not being very articulate, but I’m so glad. Watching you the past few weeks just have fun…it’s been great.” She smiled. “Anything else is my problem. I guess I just feel that everyone’s moving forward and I’m just stuck in this…I’m saying this all wrong.”

“We’re talkin’ about somethin’ else entirely now.” The room around them burst into applause as the President entered, arm linked with the First Lady; his senior staff following him out like tin soldiers before they dispersed appropriately into the audience. “Listen to me,” he said intently. “’m not movin’ a sodding inch unless you’re right there with me, you understand? Couldn’t bloody well stand it. This past year, despite all its complications, has been the best of my life because of you. I’m not cheatin’ myself out of an eternity. When we go forward, we go forward. I don’ budge unless you’ve already started to move. The rest of the world can wait. An’ until then, I’ll be right here, holdin’ your hand.” His voice dropped lower. “Helpin’ you get through what you need to get through.”

“Spike—”

“A year’s not enough. We’ve made it one. I’m shootin’ for a millennia.”

“And in the meantime, we have Donna to help…with Josh.”

“Not if you’re—”

“I’m not.”

The President had begun to speak.

Spike didn’t look convinced, but he nodded all the same and raised her hand to his mouth. “We’ll enjoy the show,” he murmured, pressing a fervent kiss against her hand. “An’ talk about this later.”

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’ even say it. I love you. You’re my sodding everythin’, sweetling. When you’re hurting, I’m broken. When you’re scared, I’m terrified. When you’re sad, I cry. That’s the way it is.” She met his gaze again, suddenly moved to tears and feeling more than a little foolish. “The sooner you get used to bein’ the world for this particular vampire, the better off we’ll all be.”

Trust her to ruin something so wonderful with something so insignificant.

“’S not insignificant,” Spike murmured, brushing a kiss across her temple. “You have powers we haven’t explored. Things we haven’t touched.”

“We will,” Buffy said. “I’m getting there. I really am.”

“I know.” His lips whispered over her again, kissing away a lone tear that had escaped her eyes. “We have forever to work this out, right?”

“Yeah.”

“An’ tonight,” he continued heatedly, “I plan on showin’ you jus’ how much I love you.”

“How will this be different than all the other times?”

“Tonight’s our anniversary.”

The President’s lengthy preface was drawing to a close. Yo-Yo Ma was about to be introduced.

“Well, really, our anniversary is more in this general vicinity of time. We got together before Christmas.”

“Tonight’s the night we’re celebratin’ our anniversary.”

“Did you buy the President ear plugs?”

He smirked. “He’s the President. ‘F he wants ear plugs, he can bloody well get them himself.”

“You’re gonna get us kicked out of the White House.”

Spike’s grin broadened, his eyes twinkling as he leaned in to kiss her properly. The heat in his gaze sent a very inappropriate rush of lust through her system, and she found herself wishing for the end of the concert.

“Hasn’t happened yet.”

“Well.” Buffy motioned at the front of the room. “Seeing as we whispered through the President’s introduction and the entertainment is about to commence, I think he might be a little hacked.”

The vampire shrugged. “So?” he asked simply, commanding her lips for a brief, however ardent second.

Yo-Yo Ma began playing then, and they fell silent.

The unshed tears she had fought to maintain broke after the first few measures sounded into the magnificent hallway, and Spike’s hand tightened around hers.

Somehow, she felt closer to him at that moment than she ever had. She hadn’t even known such a feeling was possible, but there it was. As though the wealth of his feelings had manifested into a tangible presence and held her throughout the night. She was surrounded in warmth, and the power of his feelings coupled with the glorious sounds of Bach that filled the air had a profoundly overwhelming effect.

One year of many.

One year of a millennia.

She simply didn’t know how she’d lasted the years before him.

Spike squeezed her hand again, plucking the thought from their connection.

And he gave her warmth.

 

*~*~*



Something happened that night in Josh’s apartment that no one really knew about.

After the Congressional Christmas Party, Spike and Buffy had agreed to meet Sam, Willow, and Donna at Josh’s to take him out for a nightcap. They retreated quickly to the Residence, changed clothing, and managed to keep their hands off each other long enough to get out of the Lincoln Bedroom and to a taxicab where they discussed the reality of their stay. With as long as it looked they would be in Washington, they could hardly impose on the President’s good graces indefinitely. He had already been more than generous.

But that didn’t matter once they arrived, because something was wrong with Josh.

A window was broken, and Donna was crying.

Josh wouldn’t let anyone but Donna into his apartment.

Outside, plans made a radical change.

“We’re staying,” Buffy decided, clamping on Spike’s hand for affirmation. “We were invited to go with the President to New Hampshire for the holidays, but we’ll stay.”

“That’s not necessary,” Sam said, shaking his head. “If the President wants you in—”

“It’s Josh. He’ll understand.” The Slayer shrugged. “Even if he hates us, he needs to know that we’re here for him…though I don’t understand why he’s going through this now and for the…why this and not saving the world?”

The Deputy Communications Director could do nothing but shrug at that, smiling humorlessly. “No one got hurt in that,” he said. “The President was shot. He was shot. It was here and not where the world was crazy enough to write it all off as some other thing. It was here.”

Buffy and Spike exchanged another glance. Spike nodded. “We’re stayin’, Prissy,” he said. “My lady has spoken.”

Willow nodded, arms wrapped around her body, a lost look on her face. “Thanks,” she said numbly. “He’ll appreciate that…even if he doesn’t say anything.”

There was a brief pause, then her boyfriend concurred with a nod. “Yeah,” Sam agreed. “Yeah, he really will.”

It was settled, then.

Christmas in Washington, not New Hampshire.

Christmas with old friends made new, and older friends that Buffy was getting to know all over again.

Spike squeezed her hand and she smiled.

It was nothing. Just a change of scenery.

Besides, they had apartment hunting to do.



Chapter Seventeen



Joyce Summers stood dumbstruck in the middle of the oldest house she had knowingly walked into. It had taken a week or so to seal the deal, but Buffy had phoned the hotel that morning to proclaim excitedly that they had signed papers and the house was theirs. A townhouse in Georgetown, built in the late 1790s; it was ridiculously expensive, though Joyce had it on good authority that Spike had talked the seller into dropping the price by a considerable amount.

She certainly hoped so.

“You’re sure you two can afford this?”

A slow smile spread across Spike’s lips, and he draped an arm over Buffy’s shoulder. “When you’ve been around for a century, you pick up a thing or two about investin’.”

“Something he’s good at hiding,” the Slayer added, jabbing him playfully in the side. “He pretends to be broke to score money from others…namely Giles.”

“She ignores the fact that I haven’ done that since we got together,” the vampire retorted, jabbing her back. “An’ it’d be especially hard to steal from Rupert when he’s a sodding ocean away.”

“How long has he been in England?”

“A while now,” Buffy replied. “He called last week to wish us a happy Christmas, and let us know that Faith is still…well, Faith.”

“She’s not handling it well?”

“Well, as much as a Faith fan I am, I guess it’s hard for her to deal with the fact that her body was harvested by a god for the intention of global domination.” The Slayer smiled weakly. “She’s actually being rehabilitated, I guess. She…with as bad as I got it last year, she had it worse.”

Spike grumbled his objection, but tightened his arm around his mate’s shoulder and started speaking again before she could take his protest and run with it. “Point bein’, it’s hard to smuggle money away from my honey’s Watcher when we haven’t seen him in weeks. ‘S not like I can ring him up an’ have him wire me money that I never intend to pay back.”

Buffy smiled softly and leaned into him. “But you like it here?” she asked her mother. “I saw it and just fell in love with it.”

There was a fervent nod. “Yes. You definitely have my approval with this. It’s so…but are you sure you can afford it?”

The vampire smirked. “Now, Joyce, have faith in your son-in-law. I can more than provide for my girl.” He paused. “Even if Buffy’s weekly budget outdoes the national debt.”

His mate tossed him a dirty look. “Why do I put up with you?”

“I can think of a few reasons,” he retorted cheekily.

“‘Outdoes the national debt?’” Joyce repeated, arching an amused brow. “Why Spike, have you been hanging around politicians?”

“Don’t get him started,” Buffy pleaded. “I swear, he and the President are thick as thieves. Last week, they conspired to pull a joke on Toby where the President repeatedly mispronounced a word in prep for a press conference just to see how long it would take before he started screaming and throwing things.”

“It was bloody hilarious,” the vampire agreed.

“Well, I’m glad you’re having fun,” the eldest Summers acknowledged with a grin. She went quiet for a minute. “Now, don’t take this the wrong way. I love the house. It’s…well, if I said I thought Buffy would be living in a place like this before she turned twenty, I’d be lying. I love it.”

The two exchanged a long glance. “But…?” Buffy said obviously.

A beat. “Are you sure that moving to Washington is absolutely necessary? You two haven’t been in your apartment but only—”

“We gave it a good run,” Spike said with a shrug. “Seven months for a starter home is a lot longer than other couples get. It was never meant to be a permanent place.”

Joyce smiled. “I just…I guess I never thought that your second home would be across the country.”

“This might be temporary, too.”

“Then why are you signing papers? Why not another apartment?” She expelled a long sigh. “Dawn still thinks we’re on vacation. I have no idea how to tell her that, oh, by the way, her sister and her boyfriend have bought a house.”

Buffy frowned. “Mom, we’ve been here for…why on earth haven’t you told her that you’re not going back to Sunnydale?”

“How do you suggest I do that? ‘Honey, there’s a god after you because you’re not really my daughter, so we’re staying here until that blows over?’”

“Well, I’d suggest language a li’l less callous than that,” Spike observed.

Joyce shook her head. “I don’t know what I’m doing. It was easier before New Years…now there’s no reason to stay here unless I tell her something…” She sighed again. “I can’t tell her the truth. How would you say to your flesh and blood that you…I’m a horrible mess.”

The vampire pursed his lips and stepped forward, patting the woman on the back. “You’re doin’ all you can, Joyce,” he said softly. “’S not easy. An’ the Bit’s not exactly cooperative when asked to do somethin’ she doesn’ understand.” He paused. “You could say it’s the treatment. You’re gettin’ treatment here for your thing that you wouldn’t in Sunnyhell, which isn’t exactly outta the realm of possibility.”

That sounded more than reasonable. The older woman went quiet again, considered, and nodded her agreement after a few minutes. “Yes. I think…yes. But I don’t…do I enroll Dawn in school here?”

“She’s a minor in the eighth grade. You bloody well have to enroll her.”

“I don’t want to enroll her, then pull her out again. It’s not fair.”

Buffy shook her head. “Mom, he’s right. This is what you have to do. Unless you want to tell Dawn the truth, something we all agree would be a bad idea, you have to keep up the appearance that she’s a normal girl and must go to school in the spirit of normal girls.”

“In the meantime, we’ll be here, scoutin’ the area. The President’s ordered an informant within the Initiative to keep him posted on everythin’ that goes on back on the Hellmouth. The bint won’ stay there long once she clues in that the Slayer’s gone.”

“Won’t she come here?”

“How in god’s name would she know to come here?”

Buffy purposefully did not meet his eyes. Their lives being turned over by Glory, as Initiative sources had identified her, was more a matter of when as opposed to if. They had sent for their stuff earlier in the week, and if the god really had an ear to what was going on, she would catch wind of where they had relocated. The Slayer and her mate had agreed not to share that with Joyce. Not if they could help it.

If Glory came here, it would be to find Buffy, not Dawn. And people usually didn’t make a scene if they didn’t know they weren’t supposed to make a scene.

“So you’re moving here permanently. Really permanently.”

“As permanent as we can tell,” the vampire answered honestly. “An’ I thought my girl should have an actual house the second time around, an’ not some small apartment.”

Joyce smiled. “You’ve done really well, Spike.”

He ducked his head bashfully. “Thanks.”

“You make my baby girl happy.”

“Mom, you’re making him blush.” Buffy paused with interest. “He’s cute when he blushes! Do it again!”

Spike grabbed her hand and dragged her back to him, rumbling playfully in her ear. “Hush now,” he murmured. “Don’ give her any ideas.”

“The only idea I have right now is that Willow has probably had all she can take of my teenage daughter,” Joyce said, grinning. “I should probably head back now. The movie was over an hour and a half ago.”

“Nah,” the vampire retorted, waving dismissively. “This is the most attention Red’s gotten from someone who’s either not her boy or from the press in months. She’s prob’ly—”

“Looking for an escape hatch, even though those don’t exist in hotel rooms,” Buffy said, chuckling. “We’ll call you a cab.”

“Are you guys not here for the night?”

“I talked him into doing a quick patrol with me,” she replied, squeezing her lover’s hand. “We’re new to the neighborhood and I want to familiarize myself with the local cemeteries.”

“You really think there are vampires in Georgetown?” She frowned as she was shot a dubious look, then rolled her eyes and batted a hand. “Besides him, of course.”

Spike chuckled. “There are vampires everywhere, Joyce.”

“In Washington DC?”

“Hard to imagine that there could be people walkin’ around the nation’s capital that suck blood an’ have no souls, right?”

She laughed and conceded the point. “All right, all right. Enough pestering of the old woman.”

“You’re not old,” Buffy retorted automatically, elbowing her mate. “He’s old. You’re not old.”

“Slayer, you sure know how to romance a fella.”

She grinned. “And don’t you forget it.”

“It’s freezing outside tonight. Are you sure you want to drag him out on patrol?”

“He doesn’t feel the cold like we do.”

“That’s right, because I’m completely without feelin’.” Spike rolled his eyes. “’S fine. I’ll keep her warm for you.”

“It’s you without the body temperature that I’m worried about.”

He smiled, more touched than he would dare to admit aloud. “Trust me, Joyce, I can handle the cold. We won’ be out there long.”

“And, thanks, by the way,” Buffy remarked. “Your motherly concern is overwhelming.”

Joyce smirked. “I try.”

“I’m calling you a cab now.”

“Okay.”

Buffy waited a beat, then pulled out her cell phone and moved to the room she and Spike had decided would make a fantastic dining room. Dining room for what occasion, she had no idea. She certainly couldn’t imagine them eating in there when they were alone, nor could she imagine elaborate parties at which she was the graceful hostess and her mate was the engaging host.

In the foyer, Joyce crossed her arms and took a step toward Spike, her brows arching speculatively. “I couldn’t help but notice,” she said, “that you referred to yourself earlier as my son-in-law.”

He smiled. “’m mated to your daughter,” he replied. “We’re closer in name an’, if I don’ say so myself, connection than any sodding married you’ll ever come across.”

“I have absolutely no qualm with you calling yourself my son-in-law.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I was just wondering…” She tossed him a motherly ‘don’t-toy-with-my-daughter’ look that was very much unneeded, but got the point across regardless. “When do you plan on becoming my son-in-law in name, as well as spirit?”

Spike’s smile broadened. “I don’t think she wants to marry me.”

“No, Spike, every girl wants to marry the man she loves. I know my daughter. She very much wants to get married.”

“The Firs’ Lady teased us about it a bit a couple weeks ago. She got a li’l huffy, but I don’ feel like she really wants to get married.”

“Spike. Listen to me. I know you know my daughter as well as anyone. I’ll even concede the high ground and admit that you likely know her even better than I do. You’re closer to her than I’ll ever be, and you’ll be with her forever. But trust me. I’m a mother. More over, I’m a woman.” She paused. “Buffy wants to get married. She wants to marry you. She wants to live the little girl dream. Do you have any objection to marrying my daughter?”

“Do I…” He was staring at her like she had started speaking some ancient demonic language. “I love Buffy more than I can even begin to tell you without expectin’ an axe to hit me between the eyes. Of course I don’ have any objection.”

“Damn right you don’t.”

“’S right.” Spike shook his head, a sigh rolling off his shoulder. He met her eyes again, his expression serious. “I love Buffy more than anything, Joyce. I live an’ die with her on any given day. She’s my everything. An’ if she married me, I’d be the luckiest, happiest bloke on Earth.”

An adoring look crossed the woman’s face. “See, why can’t you just say things like that?”

“I do. Jus’ not to you…or anyone who’s not Buffy, come to think of it. What I feel for her is beyond words. Beyond explainin’.”

“So why won’t you marry her?”

“I will.” He nodded. “Jus’ not now.”

“Why not?”

“Well, firs’ things, you’re the second person in two weeks to mention it, an’ I don’ want her to think I asked because I’m gettin’ pressured.”

Joyce nodded. “Good point. Why else?”

He paused. “That’s the only thing, really.”

“Okay. Well, this time next year, I expect to see a big diamond on my baby’s hand.”

Spike shook his head. “Won’t be a diamond.”

“Why not?”

He paused, smiling slightly. “’Cause my grandmum’s ring wasn’t a diamond.”

Joyce went quiet, an awed, loving look crossing her face. “Oh, Spike, that’s so…that’s amazing. You’re just amazing.”

“I know.”

“What is it? If not a diamond?”

“You’ll jus’ have to wait for that.”

The warmth vanished immediately and she would have refuted, but Buffy’s voice cut abruptly in the other room and she was back with them in seconds. “Cab’ll be here in a few,” she said. “Sorry that took so long. The guy wasn’t speaking a language known to mankind.”

Spike held Joyce’s eyes a minute longer, then turned to his mate and smiled. “Right then. We do a quick patrol, then go back to the White House.”

“How long have you two been there now?”

“Since before Christmas,” Buffy replied. “Honest to God, I’m astonished the President hasn’t kicked us out yet. If it wasn’t for Professor Higgins over here…”

The vampire smirked. “This president doesn’ seem particularly concerned about what things look like. He’s let us stay ‘cause he likes us. It’s his house, an’ it’s not like we’re botherin’ anybody.”

“Well, no, it’s America’s house and I’m sure Josh and Toby would tell you that we’ve bothered quite a few body’s.”

“Josh an’ Toby can bloody well shove it.”

“How is Josh?” Joyce asked. “Willow mentioned last week that he was going through something and that they were bringing in the American Trauma Victims Association.”

Spike nodded. “He sat down with the guy an’ had ‘bout the longest day of his life. He’s doin’ better now, from what I can tell.”

“You couldn’t tell he wasn’t doing well to begin with,” Buffy said.

“I could tell; I jus’ din’t care very much.”

“What is it?” Joyce continued. “Have they said what was wrong—”

“Post-traumatic stress disorder,” Buffy replied. “Pretty much what we expected. He lost it before Christmas, but he’s doing better now. Finally admitted what went down in his apartment, and went to the emergency room to get his hand bandaged.”

“Bandaged?”

“He broke a window in his apartment. He said it wasn’t his and he didn’t let Donna into the apartment like we thought he had, but he finally admitted that it was his to the guy he was with.” Buffy drew in a breath and turned to the window. “Hey, your cab’s here.”

Joyce frowned. “Where?”

The windows lit up with the flash of headlights.

“There.”

“That was fast.”

“I said a few minutes. You think I made that up?”

Her mother shook her head and tossed Spike a vaguely amused glance. “How do you put up with her?”

“Unconditional love,” he replied, earning a proud grin from his mate.

“Sap,” the older woman said.

“Yeh. And?”

Joyce just smiled and turned back to her daughter. “You have a safe, unproductive patrol.”

“Sure.”

“And tell Josh that he’s a good guy who should take it easy sometimes.”

The vampire snickered. “No chance of that.”

“I’ll call you when I get in,” Joyce said. Then paused. “No, I don’t want to call the White House. Why don’t you call me when you get in?”

“Okay.” They shared a quick hug and then the older woman was gone, wrapping herself in her coat and rushing out to the taxicab.

The two blondes watched until she was safely inside the vehicle.

“You know,” Spike said a long minute later. “We’re alone in our house for the firs’ time. No realtors or former owners. Or mothers.”

“Sweetie.” Buffy took his hand. “As much as I’d love to, hardwood floors aren’t exactly comfortable.”

“I’d let you be on top.”

“How considerate.”

“I thought so.”

“We have to patrol now.”

“’Course we do. It’s subzero weather, why wouldn’t we patrol?”

Her eyes narrowed. “If you have a problem—”

“I don’t.” Spike took her hand and smiled. “I was jus’ sayin’.”

Buffy released a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I know it’s cold.”

“You keep me warm.” He raised their joined hands to his mouth and brushed a tender kiss against her skin. “Always warm.”

“Have I told you today that I love you?”

“Couple hundred times, but feel free to keep sayin’ it.”

She flashed him a smile as he held open the door for her and locking it behind them.

Into the cold and linked with fire. There were worse things.


*~*~*


Josh and Sam were hunched over the fireplace in the Mural Room as Donna watched them from behind. They were all bundled in winter coats as though they had just hiked through miles of snow for shelter. There were times when the White House’s climate was several degrees worse than the weather outside on any given day.

Today happened to be one of those days.

“We don’t need some kind of permission for this?” the blonde demanded.

“No,” her boss replied.

“What about supervision? Shouldn’t there be some official supervision?”

Josh shot her a look. “We’re making a fire in a fireplace. What kind of supervision do you want?”

“FEMA? The American Red Cross?”

“What kind of wood is this?” Sam asked.

The Deputy Chief of Staff shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Donna heaved a sigh. “Josh…”

“It’s freezing in here.”

“I acknowledge that it’s cold.”

“It’s like Ice Station Zebra.”

The blonde arched a brow. “It also might bother someone.”

“It’s half past midnight!”

“See,” Sam interrupted, lifting his eyes from where he was examining the wood. “Here’s the thing. This looks like spruce to me.”

“Yeah?” Josh replied with interest.

“And spruce is a softwood; softwood burns out quickly. You know what we need for a slow burning fire?”

“A hardwood?”

Sam nodded. “That’s right.”
“That’s interesting.”

Donna arched a brow, though it was an empty gesture as their backs were turned to her. “Where did you get the wood?”

“It was sitting in…” Josh looked up and pointed across the room. “The thing.”

“I think that’s meant to be decorative.”

“It’s wood,” her boss retorted. “We’re not burning Benjamin Harrison’s log cabin.”

Sam looked up with a smile. “You know what?”

“What?”

“We might be.”

“Why?”

The other man was climbing to his feet. “It was made out of spruce.”

Josh grinned as he disappeared into the other room and turned back to Donna. “Where’s CJ?”

“She’s over in the Roosevelt Room.”

“Is she doing the seating chart?”

“Yeah.”

He nodded. “Jancowitz has a hearing aid that seldom works; he needs to be seated near the center. Would you tell her that?”

“Yeah.” She paused. “You’re not using lighter fluid or anything are you?”

“No!” Josh retorted adamantly. “No flammable liquids of any kind to start a fire, ever.”

Donna nodded, seemingly satisfied, and turned as Sam reentered the room, a lamp in his arms.

“Found it!” he called victoriously.

“What?” Josh asked.

“Kerosene.”

Donna whipped around. “Josh…”

“Go.”

Josh turned back to the fireplace after he was satisfied she was gone and no longer hovering. “It’s so much easier to do this without a babysitter.”

“You know,” Sam said as they positioned the wood. “If Willow were here, she could probably get this thing roaring without having to make a big thing out of it.”

“Has anyone told you recently that you have it bad?”

He grinned. “As a matter of fact, I hear that quite often.”

“Where is she tonight, anyway?”

“Buffy and Spike took Buffy’s mother out to dinner and then to this place they want to buy in Georgetown.”

“You mean they might actually move out of the White House?” Josh released a heavy sigh when the other man nodded. “And here I was getting used to the idea that the country is being co-operated by a non-Judeo-Christian god and a soulless vampire.”

“Well, teaches you to get used to anything.”

“You can say that again.” He paused. “You want to stand them in a tripod, right?”

Sam nodded and glanced back to the fireplace. “Yeah, standing three sticks on an end and slanting them to a common center.”

“Isn’t that a tripod?”

“Yeah, but…”

“You just thought you’d say more words.”

He grinned. “Yeah.”

Donna hurried back into the room. “Josh—”

“Hang on,” he told her quickly before turning back to Sam. “You know what we need?”

“Dried leaves.”

“We need dried leaves.”

Donna drew in an impatient breath. “To move Jancowitz, we’ve got to move either the House or Senate Whip.”

“House,” the men replied in unison.

“Why?”

Sam tossed her a glance. “’Cause life is tough in the big cruel world, and if he doesn’t like it, he can kiss me.”

“So, the spirit of bipartisanship begins,” she retorted.

The Deputy Communications Director nodded. “Yeah.”

“Could you possibly get us some dried leaves?” Josh asked as she prepared to run back to the Roosevelt Room.

There was a cynical beat. “Yeah, I’ll just run out to the forest and be right back.”

“You know what?” Sam asked after she was gone.

“You think she was being sarcastic?” Josh asked.

“Yeah. I don’t think she’s getting the leaves.”

“You know what we could use?”

“Newspaper?” Sam ventured.

Josh grinned. “See, this is what I’m talking about. This is teamwork.”

“It really is.”

“So, Buffy and Spike are with Mrs. Summers…where’s Willow?”

“With Buffy’s sister.” Sam climbed to his feet again and set about the room in search for a newspaper. “Though I’m starting to get worried that she might’ve been locked in a room somewhere. She should’ve called by now.”

“Locked in a room by Buffy’s sister?”

He started back to the fireplace after the newspaper was located. “She’s a fourteen year old girl whose sister is a vampire-slayer-turned-god. I’m not ruling anything out.”

“I’d hope that, as a witch, Willow’d be able to handle herself.”

Sam nodded, and they split up the task of packing in the newspaper. “This looks about ready.”

“Yeah.”

“I think we should get a match.”

Josh reached into the pocket of his parka. “Got that covered.”

“You keep matches in your office?”

“In case the President wanders by and wants a cigarette, yes. I am that prepared.”

“Really?”

“No, I stole them from Toby’s office.”

They sat back as flames engulfed the wood and paper, and were silent for a few seconds.

“In Georgetown?” Josh asked a minute later.

“What?”

“Buffy and Spike’s house is in Georgetown?”

The other man nodded. “It’s nice, from what I hear.”

“Yeah, well, I live in Georgetown.” He frowned. “Not too sure how happy I am that they’re gonna be my neighbors.”

It didn’t take long for the situation in the fireplace to spin out of control. Not as long as it could have been. A few minutes later, the Mural Room was flooded with smoke.

“I think this might be because the wood is wet,” Sam noted as they backed up.

“Well, the fire ought to dry it pretty quick shouldn’t it?”

“You’d think.”

Donna rushed in the next second. “What did you do?!”

“It’s going pretty good now,” Josh retorted.

“There’s smoke in the hallways!”

And the fun kept coming. Toby and CJ stormed in.

“What the hell did you do?” the Communications Director demanded.

Josh nodded to the fireplace. “The wood’s drying out.”

CJ looked incredulous. “Are you burning a dining room table?”

“Spruce is a slow drying wood.”

Toby was not amused. “Do you have any idea what you’re talking about?”

“No,” Josh replied.

“Hang on.” Sam was studying a plaque on the wall beside the fireplace.

The Press Secretary arched a brow. “Are those instructions?”

“It says this fireplace was a favor to President Andrew Johnson and he would sip whiskey from a charcoal keg while reading by its light.”

Josh cast him a narrow glance. “That doesn’t help.”

Sam turned around with a sheepish look. “The flue’s been welded shut since 1896.”

The Deputy Chief of Staff nodded. “Well, that’s probably it, then.”

Another slam rang through the air. Charlie was in the room the next second, and he looked, if it was possible, even less amused than Toby.

“What are you doing?” he demanded irately.

“Somebody started a fire in this fireplace, Charlie,” Josh noted with a veil of mock-innocence.

“If the smoke alarms go off, they’re going to make me wake up the President.”

“The President’s a thousand yards over and two flights up,” Sam replied, frowning.

“It’s Secret Service procedure.”

Josh nodded. “Well, let’s get a fire extinguisher and put it out before the smoke alar—”

There was absolutely no chance of catching that sort of break. A shrill screech sounded through the air. The staffers exchanged a series of looks; CJ’s hands flew up to cover her ears.

“Well,” Sam said with a sigh. “There goes that.”


*~*~*


Charlie held his breath as the President’s bedroom door flew open.

“What?!” Bartlet demanded. He was dressed in his PJs, and he looked like he had been at that blissful period right between sleep and consciousness.

“Mr. President, you know how you told me not to wake you up unless the building was on fire?”


*~*~*


It was strange how quickly everything could fall apart.

Patrol was uneventful in any regard. Spike had told her once that, if at all possible, vampires did not sire fledglings when the weather was so cold. While it was true that the undead did not feel the chill as fiercely as others, a newly risen vampire would stand almost no chance in fending off a predator—such as the Slayer or a stronger demon—with no warm blood to rely on. Newly risens typically forfeited the bulk of their power in crawling through the soil to freedom and were fortunate if they did not encounter trouble between liberation and finding a decent meal.

There were no vampires tonight. No baddies to slay. No demons to stop. No apocalypses to avert.

There was nothing but a youthful strawberry blonde standing ten feet away from them, looking anything but amused.

“Oh God.”

Spike tossed her a worried glance. Buffy had all but frozen in place, her eyes wide, her body numb. The ferocity of her sudden fear struck him like a wooden bullet through the heart. And in that instant, he knew.

“See, this is what I don’t understand,” the woman growled, storming forward. “I told you I wouldn’t stop until I’d found my Key. All I wanted was what’s rightfully mine. You’ve taken what’s mine, and then you ran away with it. That’s just rude.” She was beside them in a flash, her eyes flickering dangerously. “You give us gods a bad name.”

Something exploded within him the next second. Buffy tore through the air with the impact of a well-aimed punch, landing on the concrete some five yards behind him. And everything else was left to instinct. He didn’t even feel his bumpies break through the human façade, didn’t hear the callous roar that ripped through his throat. Didn’t feel himself lunge through the air until he had a fistful of blonde curls in one hand, the smooth column of a godly throat in the other.

“Oh please,” Glory retorted, rolling her eyes even as he lifted her off the pavement.

Spike’s eyes flashed. Then he began to squeeze.

Something terrible had arisen within him. Something he didn’t know. Something beyond power. Foreign strength surged through his veins. As though he had touched life again, and it was empowering him as if nothing else.

Glory’s overconfident posturing drowned out the next minute. She was irritated still, but there was a flash of fear in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. “What the hell,” she gasped, wrapping an authoritative hand around his wrist, “is going on?”

Buffy was there the next minute, her fear temporarily overcome by a stronger sense of instinctual protection. “Just like you said,” she snapped, “I give gods a bad name.”

It couldn’t last. Even with the unexpected surge of strength, Spike knew his inherent abilities were no match for a centuries’ old superbeing. In a flash, Glory had freed herself of his grip and cast him across the street like a rag doll, turning angrily to the Slayer, her eyes shining with rage.

“What the hell are you playing at?” she demanded. “He knows he’s a vampire, right?”

Buffy didn’t hear a word. Her eyes were glued on her mate, who lay on the sidewalk across the avenue.

There were no words for outrage. No time for forethought. Only room for instinct.

The street was suddenly a haven of light. Glory’s eyes went wide, contorted with pain and fury. Buffy didn’t see her. Didn’t see anything. All she knew was that Spike was hurt. Her mate was hurt. There was white all around her, and she couldn’t see through it. Her veins seared with hot torment, but she didn’t care to stop it. The force of what was flowing through her felt likely to both crush her body inward and throw the entire city into a whirlwind of torment. She saw nothing.

Then it was over. A quick suffocation of power. The white around her faded into nothing. It was a quick decapitation. Gone the next second, and she had nothing to soften her fall.

And she was on the ground, body overcome with earth-shattering tremors. Hot tears scalded down her cheeks and her skin burnt with the pinpricks of the sweltering cold as the world came back to her.

“Buffy!”

Spike bounded across the road the minute Glory was gone. Gone to where, he didn’t know. Her essence vibrated throughout the entire city block, and he felt her with power he had never touched.

He had told Giles months ago that he was getting stronger. Tonight he had been handed proof. And he had absolutely no idea what it meant.

Only that Buffy was hurt, and his demon was screaming for retribution.

“Buffy. Oh God, sweetheart.” He fell to the pavement beside her, lifting her into his arms, peppering soft, desperate kisses across her face. “Baby, talk to me. Please. Oh God, you gotta…you can’t—”

It didn’t take long, though it felt like years. Her skin was covered in ash; as though she had walked through fire and lived to tell the tale. She didn’t appear burned except for a small patch running down her arm, and another against her cheek. He had no time to ask questions. She moaned in his arms and opened her eyes, finding his soaked with relief.

“Oh Jesus!” Spike gasped, burying his face in her hair, his body shaking. “You gotta stop doin’ this to me, baby. I can’t bloody take it.”

Her arms enveloped him and she released a trembling breath into the crook of his neck. “What happened?”

“Fuck if I know.”

That wasn’t entirely true. She had gone white again, as she had in the hallway of their old apartment. As she had when she nearly sent Riley spiraling through the wall. Only this time, it had been stronger. Strong enough to collapse within her when her body couldn’t take it. When her inexperience leaked through, and nature took command of her powers when she couldn’t control them.

This wouldn’t happen again. He wouldn’t let it happen again.

“G-Gl-Glory?”

“Gone.” He brushed a kiss across her forehead. “Took off. You gave her a bloody run for her money.”

Buffy’s eyes fell shut. “It happened again, didn’t it?” she asked, exhaling a pained breath. “I…I remember white. That’s all. I remember it was white.”

“Sweetling—”

“She’s here for…for…” She shook her head. “I can’t do…I can’t fight like this.”

“Buffy—”

“Like this.”

Spike sighed, hauling her into his arms as he rose to his feet. “’S okay, baby,” he said, casting a glowering glare to the few faces that had peeked out of back alleys and closing stores to see what had happened. He shook his head to warn off the few that tried to approach. “You’re not ready.”

“I can’t protect Dawn if I’m not ready.”

As much as her words tormented him, he couldn’t help the rush of relief he felt at her admittance. With that much, perhaps they had finally broached her fear and were ready to tackle the task of conquering it.

“We’re not alone,” he promised her. “We’ll get help. ‘S what we came here for, right?”

She met his eyes wearily. Her expression broke his heart. “You really think—”

“Yeh. I do.” He paused. “We’re gonna get you home. Gonna take care of you tonight.”

“But—”

“No bloody ‘but’s’. You’re my only priority. I’m takin’ care of you tonight. I’ll see if Charlie can get us in with the President tomorrow.”

That was the end of that, as far as he was concerned. There was no way he was going to let her worry with this tonight. Not when she was burnt, even if she didn’t feel it. Not like this.

He loved her too much to risk anything else.

The rest could wait for the morning.


*~*~*


The Senior Staffers, excluding CJ, were lined appropriately in front of the desk as Bartlet and Charlie walked into the Oval Office from the President’s personal entrance.

“What’s after that?” the President was saying.

“Security briefing.”

“After that?”

“Agriculture.”

The President nodded and slid his glasses onto his nose, eying his staffers wearily. “Who was the idiot who set off the smoke detector?”

Josh leapt in before anyone else could. “Well it sounds a lot like you are talking about Sam, Mr. President.”

The other man tossed him a peeved glance before turning back to the Commander in Chief. “Were you inconvenienced, Mr. President?”

“They had me on the Truman balcony for six minutes in my underwear.”

“Was it cold?”

The President gave him a long look. “In January? No. Why do you ask?”

Toby cleared his throat. “Mr. President I'd like to talk about those rules in that memo you’re reading.”

Leo rolled his eyes. “It’s a breakfast. Toby, it’s a pancake breakfast. There’s nothing in that memo that’s important.”

“We’re having Vermont maple syrup?” the President demanded.

“Mr. President,” the Communications Director continued, “if you read item four, you'll see that time at this breakfast will be spent discussing calling the Patient's Bill of Rights the Comprehensive Access and Responsibility Act.”

“I don’t give a damn if they call it the Monroe doctrine. What the hell are we doing serving Vermont maple syrup?”

Toby ignored him. “On the minimum wage, if we all turn our attention to item five of the Rules for Bipartisan Breakfast.”

“They’re guidelines,” Leo said sternly. “You keep calling them rules.”

“Margaret,” the other man replied, not even tossing a glance to the Chief of Staff’s senior secretary, “what does it say at the top of the memo?”

“Rules for Bipartisan Breakfast,” she replied.

Leo tossed her an annoyed look. “I keep meaning to fire you.”

“Yeah,” she agreed.

“New Hampshire syrup is what we serve in this White House,” the President said.

Sam shifted slightly. “Sir—”

The President shook his head. “It's a breakfast. We eat. We pose for pictures. You do a post-game conference. Everybody gets the hell out of here and I don't have to be so Officer Crupky.”

Leo nodded. “Anything else?”
“An OMB efficiency expert has said we could free up much needed office space by moving the Press Room across the street,” Sam said.

“What else?”

There was no response.

“Thank you, Mr. President,” Leo said appropriately, and the Senior Staffers, with the exception of Josh, filed out of the room. The Deputy Chief of Staff was motioned to follow his boss into the office that adjoined with the Oval.

The President stood over his desk, glanced over a briefing memo, then raised his head to the most-commonly used door of the room.

“Charlie!”

The young aide popped into the room quickly. “Yes sir?”

“What’s next?”

“You have the Chinese Ambassador in ten. And Spike would like to see you.”

Bartlet glanced up. “When?”

“He’s outside.”

“Send him in.”

Charlie nodded and retreated back to his workspace. Spike entered the next minute.

“Spike!” the President exclaimed merrily. “Before you say anything, I’ve been meaning to ask you, in 1892, did the British really—”

The vampire didn’t look in the mood to exchange the normal humor. He held up a hand, something no one did in the presence of the President of the United States. Bartlet seemed to have an understanding that vampires lacked respect for authority figures, though the past couple instances had earned a minor scolding.

There was something haunted in Spike’s eyes this morning.

“’m sorry,” he said. “There’s somethin’ I…something’s happened.”

The President frowned and stepped forward. In the few weeks since his houseguests arrived, he had never seen the vampire look so lost. So thoroughly concerned about anything. More than a few times, he would get a far away look in his eyes when his mind was noticeably with his better half, but it was never like this.

“What is it, son?” Bartlet asked softly. “It’s okay.”

Spike glanced up. “’S the reason the Slayer an’ I came here. One of them. She’s…she got hurt, but sleepin’ now. She’ll be okay.” That last part seemed more for his own reassurance than anything else. “Somethin’ happened last night.” A pause. “We need your help.”

TBC



Chapter Eighteen



Spike shifted uncomfortably on the sofa in the Oval Office. The President had stepped into Leo’s office for a quick second to arrange a meeting with the head of the Initiative. He also asked Charlie to clean his schedule of any non-essential meetings, and pushed everything that couldn’t wait back an hour.

He hadn’t even heard the problem yet, and he was already doing everything he could to help.

Honestly, the vampire hadn’t the first idea what the President could do to make the situation any better. He and his mate were being hunted by an irate god who had tracked them across the country, and would stop at nothing to see them dead. Would stop at nothing to have her Key. In the meanwhile, Buffy’s powers were growing out of control. His chest constricted every time he thought of her. Leaving her that morning had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. While her burn marks were nearly healed, she had been in and out of consciousness for the better part of the night. He had bathed her, massaged her sore body, held her close while tremors shook her body off and on throughout the night, but she was hurting still.

From what he had seen—what he felt—Spike knew that there was absolutely no way Glory stood a chance in hell against his girl…if only Buffy could control her power. And while she was getting to the point where she wasn’t so terrified of the prospect, it seemed they were still years away from acceptance.

“Leo seems to think that getting involved in a large supernatural event will hurt us in the primaries,” the President said, walking back into the Oval. “But he’s agreed to talk with Fitz about our military options.”

Spike stood out of respect as the man entered the room; respect instead of habit. He didn’t suspect he would honor the tradition for any other man. Over the past few weeks, Bartlet had proved to be as genuine a character as any politician he’d ever met. There was a certain air about him that revived shady memories of his father. The fond ones before the war.

“Thank you,” he said hoarsely, sitting again as the President sat on the opposite sofa.

“I don’t really know what you want me to do, Spike,” Bartlet replied. “You’ll have to excuse me, I know you’ve been a guest for the past whatever, but my experience is sorely lacking when it comes to averting mystical world tragedies.”

“I really don’ know what you can do,” the vampire responded honestly.

“Well, I have many advisors that will take whatever you tell me, turn it into something unrecognizable, and have me act on it, so go on.”

“There’s a god in DC.”

The President nodded. “Since she’s practically your wife, I’d hope this isn’t something that comes as a surprise.”

Spike shook his head. “’S not Buffy,” he replied. “’S the reason we’re here. We came here to get away from Sunnyhell…Buffy’s sis, Dawn, isn’t really her sis.”

Bartlet just looked at him for a minute. “Okay, I’ll admit; didn’t see that one coming. Who is she?”

“She’s…Dawn. See, she’s not really a person. She’s more somethin’ that was made into a person. She’s actually this glob of energy that some bloody righteous monks formed into a person an’ sent to my girl so that she’d guard the Bit with her life.”

“Son, you’re going to have to slow down and remember that while you come from a world where all of this sounds perfectly natural, you’re sitting in the Oval Office of the White House. Furthermore, I, being a reasonable man, have only had a year to adjust.” The President shook his head. “I’m still getting into the habit of not calling for the secret service whenever I find blood in our private refrigerator.”

“Buffy an’ I are movin’ out here soon.”

“Yes, so Sam tells me. Georgetown?”

“Yeh.”

“Josh lives in Georgetown, you know.”

“Yeh…Mr. President, I know that this is still all new to you, but I really need…Buffy’s hurt. This god bint’s tracked us down to DC an’ she wants the Key.” He paused. “She wants Dawn. I haven’t the first bloody clue what you can do about it, but I reckoned havin’ friends in high places has to still amount for somethin’, right?”

“I would think Buffy being a god would take care of that predicament rather nicely.”

Spike nodded. “Yeh, well…’s not as easy as all that.”

“Why not?”

“Because Buffy wasn’ a god a year ago. She’s terrified of what she can do. She has no control over it. She bloody nearly blasted some Initiative operative through a wall when he tried to come after me.”

The President smiled wryly. “Well, that sounds a lot like something Abbey would do, as a matter of fact, but I don’t want to make any assumptions as to her lineage.”

“Last night, the god found us.”

Bartlet’s eyes went wide. “Are you all right? What happened?”

“Buffy went off.”

“Off?”

Spike nodded. “Her power sort’ve imploded. It was white, an’ then she was lyin’ on the ground. She was projectin’ too much, an’ her body couldn’t handle it. She doesn’ know how to handle it…an’ it was too bloody much. It receded back into her, an’…”

“She’s all right?”

“She’s sleepin’. Her burn marks are gone, but it took a lot outta her.”

“Burn marks?”

He nodded again miserably. “She’s okay…she jus’…she’s okay.”

The President offered a sympathetic smile. “I would say, wait till you have kids, but that’s out of the question for you two, isn’t it?”

“Li’l bit, yeah.”

“Well, Spike, about your problem…I’d like to talk to Fitz and some of the other military experts that are on the inside. I’d put agents on…what was her name?”

“Dawn.”

“Yes. I would put agents on her, but something tells me it wouldn’t do much good to stop a god that kicked the ass of another god. If it gets absolutely imperative, I can always smuggle Dawn to the Yukon.”

Spike quirked a smile.

“I’ll do everything in my power to help you two; you know that, right?”

The vampire nodded gratefully.

“I just don’t know how much help I can offer. A president’s power only extends so far, and I’m the first man in this office to be on the inside of this Initiative business since the group was formed back in the ‘40s.” The President heaved a sigh and rose to his feet. “In the meantime, you should go back to that girl of yours and wait on her hand and foot until she gets better.”

Spike smirked and stood as well. “An’ this’ll be different from every other day, how?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll have someone come by and check on you two every hour.” He paused. “If, perchance, Buffy recovers miraculously and you find yourselves…indisposed, leave something on the door, would you?”

The smirk broadened at that as the vampire turned to leave the Oval. “An’ deprive your staff of free porn?”

“Remember, buster, this is my White House.” The President gave him a long look that was wasted, given, the peroxide blonde’s undeniable lack of respect for authority. “All right, get out of here. I’ll let you know if we find some Constitutional loophole to declare war on a god. We might have some strict interpreters haggling me on the First Amendment, but I’ll do what I can.”

That earned a chuckle. Spike nodded. “Thank you, Mr. President.”

No matter how many times he said that, it would never sound natural rolling off his tongue. Then again, it was better to keep his friends where they respected him and would do whatever they could to help. Even if that meant bowing to one or two authority figures.

Well, maybe just the one. He had a reputation to maintain.

And a sick Slayer to nurse back to health.


*~*~*


A few weeks went by.

Joyce went into surgery a few hours before the President was due to give his third State of the Union address. The day also happened to fall on Buffy’s birthday, and in the midst of Sam and Toby’s erratic polishing of the speech—including a go on a Blue Ribbon Commission that the President was announcing that night—Sam was adamant on making the Slayer’s first Washington birthday the best; and hopefully, the first of many.

How Joyce’s health had fallen so rapidly out of control, no one really knew. It was more an issue of one thing leading to another. Dr. James Matheson had flown to DC—his practice being in New York—for their initial meeting. He was very kind, very jovial, and Buffy liked him immediately. Especially when he noted that they were extremely lucky to have caught the problem when they did. He had similarly noted, however, that an operation was unavoidable.

That had shaken Buffy’s foundation, even as Spike talked her through it. Telling her this sort of thing happened all the time, and that it was fortunate they had met the First Lady when they did. Joyce would be fine; there was nothing to worry about now.

He and Joyce had similarly done everything he could to convince her that there was no point in flying to New York at the moment. Especially with Dawn to watch. Especially with Glory in DC. Especially when they knew so little about what information she had.

There had been no news from Glory directly. Spike and Buffy had gone out every night, hoping to catch a lead to little avail. The vampire had come to the conclusion that the god, while hardly destroyed, had at least been wounded enough to need some hard time to recover.

Now it was his girl’s twentieth birthday. Joyce had been flown to New York for the operation, and while Buffy was hurting that she wasn’t with her mother, Spike was determined to keep her in good spirits.

In the meantime, Dawn was staying with Buffy in lieu of being in New York alone with nothing to do but worry about her mother. The house in Georgetown was still very sparse in terms of furniture, but Spike had rushed out to get a bed so that the youngest Summers didn’t have to haul a sleeping bag everywhere she went.

There were still so many empty rooms. They had their bedroom furniture, a table, a refrigerator, a small television, and sofas to fill up what Buffy jokingly called the front parlor. The rest of the place was much too large to furnish in a weekend.

Or a week, as it seemed.

Dawn was moping around the bullpen, the glamour of the White House having long lost its effect on her. Buffy and Spike had invited her to watch the State of the Union with them in Toby’s office, but she wasn’t interested.

And they were running late. Dawn was stuck at the White House, and her sister was running late.

Earlier in the week, the President and Leo had brought Josh and Sam in on what was going on with Dawn. It was a new area of national security, and while Fitz had advised the President to keep the brewing situation at code-word clearance, there were too many people that knew some of the aspects of what was occurring to maintain such a tight lid on its secrecy. Besides, what the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs might deem top secret was common, every day knowledge to the Slayer.

The Slayer and all her Sunnydale friends. And since Willow knew about Dawn, and was living with Sam, it only stood to reason that he knew as well. And that’s why he’d been included.

Except now, Josh was due across town to meet Joey Lucas, an independent pollster and campaign manager, who was going to phone bank all night to get numbers on how well the President performed at the State of the Union. Buffy and Spike had yet to show up, and Dawn was wandering around the bullpen with nothing to do.

In the highly unlikely event that Glory decided to attack between now and the Slayer’s arrival, Josh thought it a good idea to have someone watching the Key. He had been banking on taking Donna with him, but she could always meet up with him after the blonde duo showed up.

“Josh!” Donna called, throwing her coat over her shoulder. “We have to go if we’re going to be there in time.”

The Deputy Chief of Staff paused in front of her workspace and arched a brow. “Yeah, could you come here for a minute?”

“What?”

“I can’t tell you out here.” He nodded to his office. “Come on, I gotta tell you this thing.”

She glanced up. “Is it serious?”

“Look at my face. Come on.”

“Well, Josh, you really—”

“Donna!” Expelling a deep sigh, he stormed forward, grasped her wrist, and yanked her into his dark office, slamming the door shut.

“Aren’t you going to turn on the lights?”

“No, now listen. I have to tell you this thing, and you’re not gonna like it.”

“Josh—”

He ploughed on as if she hadn’t spoken. “It’s about Dawn.”

“Dawn. Buffy’s sister, Dawn?”

“Yeah.”

“Josh, she’s—”

“I don’t know everything, but basically, Spike told the President that Dawn’s not really Buffy’s sister and that’s the reason they’re here. There’s this god—”

“Another god?”

“Yeah. I think random gods have a strange fetish with Buffy. So yeah, that’s the thing. She has this god after her—or, well, Dawn, more accurately—because Dawn’s actually this Key thing.” He waved a hand. “It’s something where she was planted into Buffy’s and everyone’s memories or whatever, and is now being targeted by some whackjob. Anyway, Buffy’s not here now, so I need you to look after Dawn—”

“Josh! Listen, she’s—”

“—and she doesn’t know any of this, so you gotta keep quiet. I’m not saying a god will just pop up and demand to hand the girl over, but this is seriously weird, Natchez-like stuff going on. And I need you to—”
Light poured into the room as Donna flicked on the switch by the door, her eyes wide with horror.

It took him a minute of cursing and erratic blinking, but the next second, Josh realized his folly.

Dawn was sitting at his desk, a numb, lost look on her face.

“Oh God.”

“As I was trying to tell you,” Donna said, “Dawn’s in your office.”

“You were trying to tell me.”

“Yes.”

“Then why in God’s name didn’t you tell me?!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, but my telepathy seems to be failing me today.”

“Donna!”

“I was trying to use my voice like normal people, but someone wouldn’t shut his yap for two seconds to—”

“Dear God.” Josh exhaled deeply and turned to Dawn. “Hey, ummm…about what I said there…”

The girl met his eyes, and there was nothing behind her gaze.

Donna stepped forward. “Josh…”

“Fix this.”

“Me?!”

“Yeah, you with the lights. I have to go start the polls for the State of the Union, and you didn’t tell me about the lights, so you have to fix this.” Josh turned and practically sprinted down the hall. “Come over as soon as Buffy gets here!”

“I am so gonna kill him,” Donna all but growled, turning back to Dawn slowly.

There was no point. Absolutely none.

“No,” the young girl spat. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Dawnie—”

“No!” She bounded to her feet and sped past the older woman before the blonde could get another word out. And Donna was at a loss. There was a flop of hair and the all too familiar sound of a teenage girl riddled with angst, but she didn’t follow. Couldn’t. It was the White House, and Dawn couldn’t get far.

She hoped. She had the State of the Union to worry about.

And if she wasn’t there the minute the President began to speak, Josh would be at a complete loss.

God, why did he have to drop this on her now?

“Margaret,” she muttered to herself, retreating to her phone.

She’d call Margaret. Or Bonnie. Or Ginger. Or anyone that was staying at the White House.

And hope to God that Buffy and Spike showed up soon.


*~*~*


Something was wrong.

She felt it. A sudden time warp back to the previous May. A flash to the plane; that sickening sensation that drew her back all the way to the night at Longwood. Holding Buffy and Josh’s hands as the world tumbled around them. And there was nothing but that knowledge. A sickness that filled her insides, linked with only one realization.

Something was wrong.

Something was going to happen tonight.

Sam had just raced by the North Entrance with the speechwriters. He hadn’t had time to nod to her, and she understood. The past few weeks—this last one especially—had been hectic in constructing the language in the State of the Union. He’d be gone before she awoke, and home long after she fell asleep. If they were able to schedule in a lunch together, they were lucky.

Only the night was incased in a hauntingly familiar sense of unease.

Oh God.

Josh.

Something was wrong.


*~*~*


It took twenty minutes to get into the White House. Forty-five minutes to get to the building itself. They were running incredibly late as it was, having taken a quick patrol to be doubly sure that nothing went wrong tonight. And the minute they got through security, Buffy and Spike were greeted by one of Toby’s staffers; a young woman named Ginger.

“Something happened,” the woman said. “I don’t really know what, but—”

“Oh my God,” the Slayer gasped, squeezing her mate’s hand. “Oh God. It happened.”

Spike glanced to her, concerned. “What?”

“She knows.”

“She…?”

“Dawn. I…oh God.”

The vampire’s eyes went wide. If Dawn had any idea what she really was, there was every chance she would put herself in danger for the simplicity of being a hormone-infused teenager, confused, and without a mother right now to turn to. “How?”

“I don’t know,” Ginger replied, shaking her head. “I don’t even know what it is. Donna just needed me to tell you that your sister is…she had to go help Josh with the pollsters.” She paused, a look of regret overwhelming her features. “I have to go. The President’s about to start, and I need to go.”

Spike nodded, wrapping an arm around Buffy. “Yeh, thanks. We’ll find her.”

“I’m sorry. I just—”

“We’ll find her. Thanks.” He took off the minute Ginger nodded, Buffy right at his side.

“What do we tell her?” the vampire demanded. “Where on earth do we bloody begin?”

“Calmly. She’s confused. She…she’s probably angry. She—”

“Prob’ly angry?” Spike retorted, arching a brow. “Baby, the Nibblet’s your sister. You’re tellin’ me you don’ know her well enough to know how bloody brassed she is?”

“Wishful thinking.”

It wasn’t difficult to find the girl; a matter of following his nose and clamping down on the urge to tear the White House apart for overturning their secrets. Dawn was in Toby’s office, her eyes glued to the television, dried tearbeds streaking down her face. She didn’t look at them as they entered the room; didn’t even flinch as Buffy turned on the light. Didn’t budge.

The Slayer met her mate’s eyes and nodded.

“Dawn—”

“No.”

Buffy pursed her lips. “Dawn—”

“I don’t want to hear it. You lied to me.”

“We din’t lie to you, Bit,” Spike said quietly. “Nothin’ we’ve ever told you is—”

“I’m. Not. Real.” Dawn crossed her arms and shook her head, eyes glimmering with tears. “I’m not real. I’m not real! You call that the truth? I’m not…how could you not tell me this? How could you think I wouldn’t find out? Mom’s been on eggshells around me for weeks. And she wouldn’t tell me why we can’t go home. Everyone’s been treating me like I’m something so…like I’m stupid, and wouldn’t notice. And this. All of this—”

The Slayer held up a hand and exhaled a steady breath. “Look…I don’t know how you…I don’t even know if I want to know how you found out.”

“Josh.”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“Not if I get there firs’,” Spike snarled, his eyes flaring.

“He didn’t know I was in the room,” Dawn said softly. “I’m sorry he ruined your plans. If you had your way, I’d never have the first clue, right?”

“No. This is why I didn’t tell you,” Buffy snapped. “You think knowing this has been easy on me? So you’re mystical. Join the club. You’re my sister. I love you. I will die protecting you if it comes to it. Yes, you weren’t always my sister. Well, I wasn’t always a god. Spike wasn’t always a vampire. That’s what we are now. Deal with it.”

She didn’t know who was more startled at her outburst; her sister or her mate.

“Not exactly the calm approach I thought we’d agreed on, pet,” Spike murmured.

“I changed my mind. I don’t have time to be calm,” she retorted. “This is serious stuff. This is—”

“Buffy!”

Three heads turned in time to see a familiar redhead practically swing into Toby’s office, her chest heaving.

“Oh thank God!”

The Slayer frowned. “Willow, I’m kind’ve—”

“Something’s wrong.”

“What?”

Willow shook her head, trying to catch her breath. “I don’t know. I just…it’s Josh.”

Spike’s brows perked. “Again? I’m really gettin’ tired of that wanker.”

“Something’s wrong.” The redhead released a deep breath. “And I think I know what.”


*~*~*


Josh released a sigh of relief as Donna bustled through the front doors. The room was filled with unfamiliar people, some of whom were evidently gum-chewers, and he was about to lose what little of his patience he had left.

“The polling hasn’t started yet,” one guy said, coming to the defense of some woman he’d just snapped at for popping gum into her mouth.

“Well, thank you, Mr. Helper,” he retorted, turning to Donna with an air of respite. “Did you take care of the thing?”

“You mean the thing that you completely screwed up and left me to take care of?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“Donna!”

She gestured to the room of pollsters. “I have this thing!”

He sighed, considered her for a moment, then evidently forgot his objection as he turned back to the others, shaking his head; a severe look of displeasure colored his eyes. “I don’t trust these people.”

“Why?”

“They’re not our people.”

“They’re Joey Lucas’s people.”

“None of them have accents?”

“Well, first of all, I just got here. I thought they were from the Midwest.” She paused. “And why does it matter?”

He shook his head. “I’m saying Joey Lucas is deaf. She would have no way of knowing—”

“Josh—”

It was a lost cause. He had already made up his mind, and turned to address the others. “Do any of you people have accents?”

Donna’s eyes fell closed. “Oh my God.”

The room was staring at them blankly.

Josh didn’t seem phased, only mildly irked at the lack of response. “Do any of you people have the power of speech?”

“They’re fine!” his assistant hissed.

He turned away and tossed a nervous glance to his watch.

“I should be there right now,” he said.

“Josh—”

“The President’s giving the make or break speech of his political career, and I’m stuck in a mine shaft with a bunch of gum-chewing, mute hicks!”

The room turned to glare at him again.

“You really need to work on that talking-out-loud thing,” Donna mused, turning to grin at him.

Then her eyes caught sight of something over his shoulder, and her body froze.

“Oh my God.”

TBC

Chapter Nineteen




It was like that night at Longwood, only their security blanket had been breeched. That last element that separated Natchez and Washington from their respectively different realities. Despite the presence of those they had met during the insane excursion down south--the President’s seemingly unending fascination with the world of vampires, Slayers, and the gods they seemed to become--the two worlds had never fully collided until the windows of their building crashed in. Until the wall ripped away. Until people screamed and scattered. Until Donna grabbed his hand and jerked him to some corner, and shoved him underneath the nearest desk.

"Oh my God," she was saying over and over again. A mantra of endless curses. The fear in her eyes haunted him. Donna’s fears were usually small, petty, and a source of humor on slow news days. He hadn’t seen her look like this since the year before.

The year before, and a few times after he was shot when she didn’t know he was watching her. When the veracity of the shooting hit her in moments of quiet, and she lost herself to the idea of what had nearly happened.

It was a woman. A woman of average height and curly, strawberry blonde hair. And she was pissed.

"What the hell is going on?" Josh hissed.

"Glory," Donna whispered furiously.

"What glory?"

"That..." She gestured to the ranting woman in the middle of the room. "That is Glory. The god Buffy and Spike came to get away from."

"She has a name now?"

"I’m pretty sure she had one before, but yes." The blonde was panting harshly. "God, Josh, what are we gonna do?"

"I don’t know. Is anyone hurt?"

"I can’t see." A pause. "I’d imagine so."

The woman was pacing in the midst of the wreckage. Dust, glass, bricks, and pieces of computers and phone wires that had collapsed inward at her whim. "So many humans, so little patience," she was saying unsteadily. Like she had a nervous tick, or something was piercing into her mind, and she couldn’t quite shake the sensation. "I mean, you come across the country and you expect to find results. How much could the little Slayer pack away in one little trip? Honestly." She stopped and whirled around. "Does anyone here know where my Key is? It’s my Key, you know. It was taken from me. My Key was taken from me. I hate it when things are taken from me." Her heeled foot shot out and tore a hole through the front of the nearest desk, sending it skating across the rubble until it smashed into the wall. "It’s rude."

"Isn’t this the part where Buffy is supposed to show up?" Josh demanded. "Or Willow? Or someone who’s not us?"

"Yes, because we have that sort’ve luck."

"I saved the world. I can handle this."

Donna shot him a look and placed a hand on his wrist as he started to move. They were fortunate enough that the woman was ranting as much as she was, and hadn’t yet heard their whispering. The last thing either one of them needed was to come into view. "Josh, no."

"What? I saved the world."

"No, you really didn’t."

"Yes I did."

"You sat in a circle. You held Willow’s hand. You ran away." Donna winced as something crashed over her head, hand flying over her mouth before a startled scream escaped her lips. "You did not save the world, Joshua. In order to do that, you'd need to be someone who's...well...not you."

"Well, I’m not gonna sit here and let everyone die."

"And your answer to this is getting killed, yourself?"

"You don’t know I’d get killed."

"Good point. Oh wait. Yes, I do."

"Donna!"

She threw her hands up. "You’re impossible, you know this, right? We could die at any moment and you choose now to be you?"

"What does that mean?"

She just glared at him for a minute. "Fine. Fine. Go ahead and save the day with all your experience. Just don’t complain to me when she kills you!"

"Who else would I complain to?"

"Josh!"

He smiled softly. "Got you thinking of something else there for a minute, didn’t it?"

Donna paused, studied him, then conceded a grin. "Yeah, thanks."

"I want my Key!" Glory shrieked. "You wouldn’t know anything about my Key, would you?"

Then there was a man. Screaming. Pleading. Attempting to crawl away. And then she placed her fingers on either side of his head, and he fell. Not dead. Not dead yet.

"No," the god retorted in disgust, casting him to the ground. "I guess not."

But Donna saw the whole thing, mistakenly peeking around the corner of their hiding place, and her gasp of horror rang too loud to go ignored.

The deranged hellgod cast her a scathing look before her eyes brightened with recognition. "You!" she snarled. "You’re one of them. One of the Slayer’s little pals, aren’t you?"

Josh seized her wrist immediately and tugged her back to him. "Donna!"

"And the other one! How utterly splendiferous." Glory paraded over to them and rendered the desk that had kept them concealed against the nearest wall. "Exactly who I was looking for."

Her piercing gaze had settled on Josh.

"No!" Donna threw herself in front of her boss, shaking to her core. "We don’t know anything."

"Awww, but I think you do, sweetie," Glory retorted, her hand shooting out to the other woman’s throat, grip closing around her windpipe and consigning her hard across the room before the blonde could get another word out. "I think you know exactly why I’m here."

"Listen lady," Josh said, frantic eyes following his assistant. He had to detach his mind from his feet, or else he would bolt to her side, and bring the god with him. Donna was out of Glory’s view right now, and that’s where he wanted to keep her. "I don’t know what you’ve been told, but--"

"Oh, the number of things I’ve found out about you," the Hellgod retorted. "Like out of everyone selected to banish Quirinias to the netherworld, it was a witch, a slayer, and a random man from Nowheresville." Her eyes flared. "Quirinias might have been a bastard, but don’t you think that was a little rude? A little presumptuous?"

"Oh God."

"Yeah. Strange."

Josh’s eyes hardened suddenly, and the fear that had wracked his body became nonexistent. "No," he replied. "I mean, behind you."

Glory frowned and pivoted, only to be met with a blinding blast of white light. Ropes of erratic voltage that burned even before they ensnared a target. Josh dove away in a flash, racing for Donna as an endless shriek stabbed the cold tension of the broken room. It didn’t last long, though the light show seemed endless. A few wayward strands of electric power collided with the ceiling; a few more struck the wall and inspired new screams. The lights went off again before she completely lost control of the currents, and Buffy’s chest was heaving, her eyes flickering with sparks of aftermath.

"Oh shit," Josh gasped, more in awe than anything.

"Who is it?" Donna murmured as her boss lifted her into his arms.

"Buffy." He paused. "And she’s evidently channeling all the electricity of Vegas."

The fallen figure on the floor moaned and shifted to her feet, clamoring upward and flexing her muscles, even as smoke permeated from her blistered skin. "You little party-pooper," she moaned, dusting ash from her arms. "You--you think I wasn’t ready for you?"

"I really don’t care if you’re ready or not," Buffy spat. "You come after my friends, you better be ready."

"Wouldn’t have to come after anyone if you hadn’t taken what’s mine. Really, Slayer, you brought this all on yourself." She ploughed forward at that, slamming into the young woman’s body with more strength than her burnt body betrayed.

Buffy was thrown across the room and slammed a new hole through the far wall. The sound of sirens stung the air, and the streets outside were coming to life.

"See?" Glory spat, stalking forward. "This is what happens when baby gods get in over their heads. They use up everything in the preshow. Honestly, honey. I have thousands of years on your ass. Do you really have anything new to throw at me, or can I get back to finding my Key?"

Someone set a lion loose in the room. There was a flash of yellow and a terrible roar, and a deranged god was under the mauling hands of a wild animal. Josh saw a flash of fangs, and didn’t bother to ask questions.

He had to get everyone out before the police arrived. Before the press arrived.

"Donna," he whispered urgently. "Can you walk?"

His assistant blinked at him dazedly.

"Can you walk?"

"We need to help Buffy."

"Buffy’s a big god. She can take care of herself." He urged her to her feet. "You need to get out of here. Get as many people as you can, and get out of here."

"She thinks you’re the Key."

Josh’s mouth opened, but a deafening screech sliced the air before he could say a word. Glory twisted from under Spike’s vicious attach, bruised and bleeding, her eyes nearly filled with more shock than outrage. She delivered a swift kick to his gut that sent him diving for the opposite wall, but the force behind her attack wasn’t nearly as strong as it had been just seconds before.

And Buffy was coming back, her own gaze blazing yellow.

"I don’t have time for you," Glory cursed, though the strength behind her voice was fading as the sirens grew louder. She backhanded the Slayer and rendered her once more to the ground, briefly but long enough to disappear before another counterattack could be launched.

Just there one minute and gone the next. Gone.

And Josh was left staring at a room left in ruins. Debris scattered the ground. The scent of blood colored the air, thick enough that even he could sense it. Torn power lines sparked with weakening electric surges. There was nothing left to this place he had come to earlier tonight. Nothing left at all.

Only that the police had arrived, the offensive flash of red and blue pouring through the darkness.

"Spike!"

The vampire was already acting. And by the time the officers filled the space, the peroxide blonde and his mate were gone.

 

*~*~*



"She knows."

"She knows bloody nothin’."

"She knows the Key is human."

Spike shook his head, dipping his hand into the bathwater he’d drawn for her the minute they got home. Cold. Her skin was still searing with heat. Her eyes were never far from collapsing with tears. She asked every five seconds about Josh and Donna, and what would happen to them now, and he hadn’t answered--there was no answer to give.

Nothing to say tonight. Not when so much had been compromised.

He had absolutely no idea how CJ would hope to spin what had happened tonight. During the President’s State of the Union address, a member of his own staff--the same that had been shot the previous May, no less--had been attacked and very nearly killed by some superwoman in high heels. In Sunnydale, things like this happened all the time. It was a daily outbreak. Something that was so everyday, no one thought to alert the press. No one thought to contact higher authorities to deal with problems that were otherwise considered the stuff Hollywood movies were made of.

"Domestic terrorism," he murmured.

Buffy looked at him worriedly. "What?"

"The President has to say that what happened tonight was domestic terrorism."

"Spike--"

"’F people figure out what actually happened..." He shook his head. "Nothin’ against our respective former race, luv, but humans aren’ gonna handle news about demons, vamps, witches, an’ gods with a bloody smile an’ a nod. An’ people in a panic are loud, sloppy, an’ dangerous. He has to say it’s domestic terrorism, else everything’s gonna fall to hell."

"And that will make people, you know, not panic?"

"’Course not. But you think people’ll take better to their beliefs bein’ torn apart by governmental types all over the bloody telly?"

Buffy’s eyes fluttered shut. "We have widespread panic to stop," she murmured. "A god tearing the city apart. My mother’s in surgery. The President’s talking to the country. My sister...oh god, Dawnie."

"Red agreed to take her for the night."

"She knows."

Spike nodded, running the washcloth over his lover’s breasts. Her skin was slightly charred, but she didn’t look nearly as bad as she had after her last encounter with the irate hellgod. She’d even demonstrated more power tonight; power leveled with intent instead of an irrational, instinctual reaction to a threat aimed in his direction.

Power that had terrified her. He felt her fear of that like nothing else. She was trembling on the inside, struggling to keep herself from breaking.

"She knows," he agreed. "It had to happen, sweetness."

"I can’t...she needs to be here tonight."

He shook his head. "Buffy...’f Glory can dig up information on what happened a bloody year ago...’f she thinks Curly really is the Key ‘cause of somethin’ that went down months before she even came into the picture...she knows where we are. Where to find us. Here is the worst place for the Nibblet to be."

The Slayer heaved out an aching sigh. "Then she knows where to find Willow."

"She won’ go for the Witch, baby."

"How--"

"She went for Curly because he was the only one of the three of you that din’t fit. He wasn’ a witch or a Slayer turned god. She’s after him because of what he isn’t, not what he is." Spike shook his head again. "What I bloody wanna know is how she knows about that in the firs’ place."

"She’s a god."

"That means nothin’."

"We don’t know that. It could...we just don’t know." A pained look crossed her face. "Only that we’ve put everything in danger by coming here. We...we brought her with us. Will, Sam...Donna, the President...everyone’s in danger now, and it’s because of us. Because we came here. And now...what if what happened tonight...the President--"

"Can bloody well handle it. You really think the people there tonight are gonna believe half of what they saw?"

"But--"

"No bloody buts. Scootch up." She did, and he ran the washcloth down her back. "God, it breaks my heart."

"What?"

"You. Your beautiful skin. You...what this does to you...you gotta..." He leaned forward and brushed a kiss across her forehead. "How did this happen? You showed more tonight than...I’ve never seen anythin’ like that."

Buffy quivered a sigh and edged back. "I knew I had to."

"Yeh?"

"I had to."

"How’d you do it?"

A small smile crossed her face. "I thought of you."

"An’ I inspired the wrath of God?" He smirked. "Pun intended."

"I thought of you in danger. It’s how it happened before, right? How I went all wonky?" She grinned a minute more before the haunted look touched her eyes again, and her vision clouded with tears. "It hurts," she said. "Every time. Like I’m on fire...but on the inside...and it stays there, because it can’t get out. It hurts so much."

"It won’ always."

"I know." She shook her head. "It terrifies me--this thing I can do."

Spike nodded and kissed her again. "I know, sweetheart. But--"

"I have to learn. If I’m going to stop Glory, I have to learn."

He fought the temptation to collapse against her in relief. In all his life, he’d never heard a more perfect sentence. Thank the bloody Maker.

"I’ll help you," he whispered, stretching over the tub to take her in his arms. He pressed a heartfelt kiss against the hollow of her throat, and shuddered at the feel of her against him. "’m right here, luv. We’ll do this together."

She quivered against him. "Thank you."

"’S not a matter of thanks, pet. I love you. We’re in this together, yeah?"

"Oh yeah." She pulled away and kissed his lips. "I love you, too."

Spike smiled. "I had a feelin’."

 

*~*~*



"I swear, he’s more worried about the lack of polling numbers."

Willow rolled her eyes and leaned back in Sam’s chair, snacking on some Goldfish crackers that Danny Concanon had brought by for CJ. "A building was torn apart. Glory brainsucked three people. The coverage of the State of the Union is being overshadowed by speculation of terrorism, and he’s worried about polling numbers?"

Donna shrugged. "He also wanted me to go to the hospital, but I told him I was fine."

"Are you?"

She was quiet for a minute. "I’m sore. She...Glory threw me across the room, but...it didn’t hurt that much. Or it hurts a lot and I just don’t feel it yet." She shook her head. "I haven’t been able to stop shaking, though...ever since I...look at my hand." The blonde held up the appendage for inspection. "I can’t stop shaking. And I’m worried about Josh, because hearing music makes him subconsciously revert to sirens from Rossyln, and he heard the real thing tonight. He’s in with the President now, but I’m not going to let him go home alone tonight. He might break a window and that would just not be good, because he’s already broken a window and his landlord will eventually kick him out of the building if he keeps doing that."

Willow’s eyes were wide with concern and regret. "I should’ve been there."

"You couldn’t’ve done anything."

The redhead’s brows arched. "I banished a god. Twice. You don’t think I could’ve done anything?"

A pause. "Okay, maybe you could’ve done something."

"Yeah."

Donna leaned forward and snatched a couple of crackers from the bowl between them. "Domestic terrorism?"

"It’s the way to go. It’s how we’d do it in Sunnydale."

"Yeah, how does that work out for you guys again?"

"The press is usually on our side. Everyone in Sunnydale knows about demons; they just don’t talk about it." She paused. "As opposed to DC where no one knows about demons but everyone wants to talk about it."

Donna smiled at that, but didn’t reply. And they sat in silence.

Around them, the President’s post-State of the Union party played on. Even with five DEA agents missing in Bogotá. Even with a conspiracy brewing around Officer Jack Sloane, whom the President had named as a role model in the middle of his speech. Even with the Blue Ribbon Commission stirring all kinds of partisan waters. Even with the First Lady in a huff about something that the staff knew about but didn’t mention. Even with the confused teenage girl who had eventually collapsed into a heavy sleep on the sofa in Sam’s office. Even with a building downtown split down the middle, conspiracy theories bleeding from the seams, and the injury count too monumental to consider.

The President had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Tonight. Every night. More tonight than some. He had just given the greatest speech of his political career, and everything around him was falling apart.

Our fault, Willow thought. If we’d never come here...

There was nothing else but that.

They had jeopardized everything simply by being here.

And they were in too far to order a retreat. To do anything but watch as the world collapsed around them, and hope they were strong enough to put up a fight.

 

Chapter Twenty




The Situation Room in the White House is one of the most secretive places in the world. It is the place where the man completely leaves the office. The place where the President is supposed to represent ideals as a leader and not as a human of conscience. The National Security Advisor and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, for the past half hour, had been trying to walk the President back from the emotional plateau of having men taken hostage in Bogotá. It didn’t help that word of their deaths had reached them so close on the heels of a god attacking his Deputy Chief of Staff, and that now Fitzwallace was urging him to declare a state of domestic terrorism in Washington.

It worked, except if they told the world that terrorists had struck the nation’s capital, the entire country would be thrust into a state of panic. Like the Oklahoma City Bombing and the Waco catastrophe, only on a different level, as this was Washington DC.

He was just counting his blessings that the run-in with Glory hadn’t rendered anyone dead.

“What I don’t understand,” the President said irately, “is how we can establish a secret military branch of the government, specifically trained in handling this sort of disaster, and you’ve spread them out so thin that there aren’t any actual representatives that can be here tonight.”

“Mr. President—”

“I want the head of the Initiative here at seven o’clock tomorrow morning.” He stood, and the Joint Chiefs stood with him. “None of you have convinced me that the Pentagon is capable of moving on a problem of this magnitude when everyone who has been specially trained is a continent away!” He turned to Leo. “If there isn’t someone to tell me something I haven’t heard already by tomorrow morning, I’m ordering the city evacuated, and I don’t give a damn.”

“Sir,” Fitz said rationally. “If you order Washington DC evacuated, there’s going to be widespread panic.”

“If this god attacks my staff again like she did tonight, we’re looking at widespread panic anyway. I’d rather have people panicking than people dead. Get me the head of the Initiative here tomorrow, or that’s what we’re going to do.”

Fitz turned to Leo after the President stormed out of the Sit Room, his expression grim. “You’ve got to talk him down,” he said. “If he orders an evacuation of Washington, it’s over.”

Leo nodded. “I know.”

“I know Josh was involved. I know he has friends involved as well, but if we don’t declare what happened as an act of domestic terrorism, there’s going to be prevalent panic, and who knows what might come out. The only thing worse than knowing what happened is not knowing what happened.” He paused. “You know this as well as I do.”

A beat passed between them. Leo nodded again. “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

*~*~*



“Charlie!”

The President’s aide hurried into the Oval Office at the familiar bellow.

“I want to see Dawn Summers in here now,” the President said, tossing him a glance over his glasses. “Buffy and Spike as well.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And get Rupert Giles on the phone.”

Charlie paused at that. “Rupert Giles, sir? I’m not familiar.”

The President stopped shortly. “London, England,” he said. “He’s a civilian, as best I know. I want him on the phone.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

 

*~*~*



“Go home.”

Sam glanced up to the familiar sight of Toby shadowing his doorway. “I can’t go home,” he said. “We have DEA agents missing in Bogotá, Jack Sloane is under siege for something he didn’t actually do seventeen years ago, and we’ve had an act of domestic terrorism in which two of our closest friends were nearly killed…again. You’re telling me the President doesn’t want us to work on remarks for tomorrow?”

“No, I’m telling you that there’s nothing else for you to do tonight.”

“I should stay and write up some remarks.”

“Of the two of us, you’re the one with a woman waiting for you at home,” Toby replied. “If you remember, nights like this were the reason Andi filed for divorce.”

“I thought it was because she wanted children and you didn’t.”

“It’s not that I didn’t want children, it’s that…” He scowled. “Sam, go home.”

“I should really—”

“Willow left two hours ago. You’re telling me you have nothing better to do than sit in your dark office? I’m staying. You’re going home.”

“Toby—”

“You remember you work for me, right?”

Sam released a long sigh and rose to his feet. “You’re sure you don’t need anything?” he said. “I don’t mind staying.”

“I know. Go home.”

The younger man smiled. “You know you’re a big softie.”

“Yeah. I’d feel comfortable calling me that, too.” Toby tossed him a wry glance before moving onto his own office. “If you’re not gone in five minutes,” he called loudly, “I’ll have security escort you out.”

Sam smiled to himself and threw his coat over his shoulders. “Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s what’s going to happen.”

It was for the best, most likely. And had his life been any less complicated, he would’ve been home the moment Willow came by the office and told him she was leaving. The past few weeks had been trying on them, especially with Joyce Summers in and out of doctors’ offices, her friends having brought all the hell of the hellmouth with them in the move, and the State of the Union at the top of his priority list.

The world was crashing in around them. He wanted nothing more than to collapse in the arms of the woman he loved and ignore all else.

Just for tonight.

 

*~*~*



“Hello?”

“Mr. Giles?”

There was a pause. “It’s just Giles, actually. I don’t care for that ‘Mister’ nonsense.”

“Yes. I’ve gathered as much from what Buffy has told me, but I didn’t want to presume anything, considering we’ve never met.”

“I’m sorry, who—”

“This is Jed Bartlet.”

“That’s funny. The President of the United States goes by the same name.”

“Well, if you think that’s funny, this is going to knock your socks off.” The President smiled to himself. The first cause he’d had to smile since he got word of what had happened tonight. “I was under the impression that you were a part of the Natchez troupe. One of the Latin experts that didn’t know how to translate a simple passage.”

“Well, that all depends on the context.”

A low, jokingly disapproving chord struck the President’s voice. “Well, the context around here is I’m right no matter what, so let’s just skip over that part.”

Giles chuckled wryly. “When Buffy told me she was staying in the White House, I thought she was trying to be funny.”

“Nope, that much is true.” A pause. “Listen, Giles, I’m calling on behalf of Buffy’s sister, Dawn.”

“Dawn?” A note of panic rose in the Watcher’s voice. “Oh dear. Is she…did—”

“No, she’s fine. In fact, if you turn on CNN International, you might get an idea of what actually happened here tonight.” The President rested a beat. “I’m calling because I believe it’s in everyone’s best interest if I send Dawn to stay with you for a while.”

“W-well, yes, of course…if you think that’s for the best.”

“Let’s just say Josh Lyman nearly got killed for the third time in a year, and twice now it’s been in relation to you and yours. Understand, I’m not casting blame, but something tells me that if this god of yours gets a hold of the person she’s tearing my city up to find, I’m going to be even less pleased than I am right now.”

“Yes, I believe you can safely assume as much.”

“All right. I’m going to have Mrs. Landingham phone you in the morning and set up Dawn’s arrival. I appreciate your cooperation.”

There was a wry chuckle at that. “Even with an ocean between us, I am in no position to argue with the President of the United States.”

“Well, I happen to agree, but that’s just me.” He nodded as Charlie entered the room to announce the arrival of the Summers girls and the vampire. “Thank you,” he said, hanging up the phone.

One of these days, he would have to remember to end a conversation formally.

“Come on in,” he said, navigating around his desk. “Take a seat.”

“Good evening, Mr. President,” Buffy said, hugging her arms around herself. “I didn’t even know you knew this time of night existed.”

He smiled warily. “Trust me, if my national security advisors had a way of keeping me out of the loop, they’d’ve thought of it already.” He turned his eyes to the youngest girl, whose eyes were red and swollen with the telltale sign of endless crying. He had just sent his youngest to Georgetown University the year before; he knew well how girls acted when they were upset.

He also knew that Josh had spilled the beans tonight. Had Josh similarly not almost gotten himself killed, he would have been in for a scolding.

“There hasn’t been anythin’ else, has there?” Spike asked.

“No. I have Initiative operatives flying in to meet me in the morning to discuss the best course of action in dealing with this thing that has happened.” He waved a hand. “I don’t know if I trust them or not, but right now, they carry more weight than my cabinet.”

The vampire frowned. “Initiative blokes don’ take too kindly to me,” he said. “Or Buffy, for that matter. Don’ s’pose Curly told you ‘bout our last li’l run-in?”

“When you say ‘Curly,’ I assume you’re talking about Josh. And no, he did not.”

“The Slayer’s almost-ex thought she was a demon ‘cause of what went down in Natchez. Tried to wrangle a confession outta her a few times, an’ she ended up near bloody well blastin’ him through a wall.” A humorless chuckle rumbled through his lips. “Not sure how much help they’re gonna be, is all.”

“Well, I can’t sit here and do nothing while an irate god tears up the capital.”

Dawn’s face was a façade of stone. “Because of me.”

“Sorry?”

“Glory is tearing up the city because of me.”

Buffy pursed her lips and placed a hand over her sister’s. “Dawn, we went over this already.”

“No, you yelled at me and told me to get over it.”

“And I stand by that.”

The President raised a hand. “I don’t want to get caught up in the middle of a family feud. Regardless, there is another reason I asked you here tonight. Dawn, I’m flying you out of the country tomorrow.”

Her eyes went wide. “Out of the country?”

“Yes. I just got off the phone with Rupert Giles in England, and he’s agreed that getting as much distance between you and Glory is the best thing we can do right now.” He paused. “You’ll be staying with him until this all blows over.”

The Slayer’s face melted into relief. “Oh, thank God.”

“But I…I don’t want to stay with Giles.” The younger girl turned to her sister. “What if something happens with Mom? What if…you can’t seriously send me across the world without asking me first. It’s not fair.”

“Mom will be happy if she knows you’re safe.”

Dawn’s eyes darkened. “Why does it matter? It’s not like I’m her real daughter or anything.”

Spike expelled a deep sigh and leaned forward authoritatively. “Bit,” he all but growled, “you’re gonna do this, an’ you’re not gonna give us any trouble. Big Sis needs a hand right now. Plus you were jus’ told to do it by the President of the United States.”

“But—”

“No bloody buts. We’re doin’ this for your own good.”

“Like not telling me about the extra Keyness that is me was for my own good?”

“I’m beginning to think that was for the general good,” the President muttered. “Listen, Dawn, I understand you’re not thrilled with this turn of events, and you have my sympathy. But please bear in mind that a god tried to kill my Deputy Chief of Staff tonight. Now that’s twice and two different gods in one year. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t want to be the one that doesn’t get away. Your sister cares about you, and she wants you safe.”

“No,” Dawn retorted coldly. “She just doesn’t want the world to end.”

The President shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I’m sure she just sees that as a perk.”

“You have to be the most self-centered girl on the face of the planet.” Buffy heaved a sigh and shook her head. “You’re going to England. If you want to be selfish, fine. If you want to think it’s just because I want to save the world, even better. That’s your problem. I don’t have time to convince you that I love you. But you’re going to see Giles.” She turned to the President. “I’ll have Willow bring over her stuff.”

He shook his head. “No need. Charlie will take care of it.”

The vampire quirked a grin. “Does Charlie ever sleep?”

“If he does, he does it when I’m not looking.” He turned his eyes to the door. “Charlie!”

The kid popped his head in. “Yes, Mr. President?”

“Why don’t you take Dawn, here, to get her things?” He gave the young girl a sharp glance before she could object; a sort of presidential decree without words. She looked at him for a minute, then nodded weakly and rose to her feet.

And left the room without a word.

Buffy likely didn’t realize that she was squeezing Spike’s hand to the brink of pain, but the vampire didn’t seem to mind. “Thank you,” she murmured, heaving a sigh. “Dawn…she doesn’t like listening to me…or Mom, for whatever reason.”

“It’s called being a teenager,” the President replied. “I’m sure you put your mother through the same. Now, I am open to suggestions as to how I should approach this meeting with the Initiative in the morning. You two are the highest authority I have on this crazy world Leo introduced me to last year…if you have any ideas on how I should handle this god, I’d certainly like to hear them.”

“’S not so much the Initiative, mate,” Spike drawled, leaning back. “’S their bias against anythin’ non-human. You know me, right. I’m a vamp, yeh, but I’m okay. An’ the Slayer’s molded to fight the otherworldlies. The fact that she’s a god is no more her fault than it is yours.”

“So you’re just saying that you don’t trust the members of the Initiative, not so much the organization itself.”

Buffy smiled weakly. “In a nutshell.”

The President heaved a sigh and rose to his feet, motioning for them to keep their seats. “I’m bringing them here to keep the city safe and under control,” he said slowly, walking to the window. “And I need them to cooperate with you two under all circumstances.”

“A presidential order won’ do it?”

“I’d prefer a bit of trust on either side.”

Spike snickered. “Bloody lost cause, that.”

The President nodded, a humorless chuckle tumbling through his lips. “Too bad you two don’t have friends in the military as well as the White House,” he said, turning. “Life just isn’t prone to hand me that many lemons at once.”

There was a long, silent beat. Buffy licked her lips. “Actually, Mr. President,” she began slowly. “There might be somebody…”
 

 

Chapter Twenty-One




“An hour.”

“No.”

“Forty-five minutes.”

“No.”

Sam huffed in irritation and shook his head, venturing further into CJ’s office where she had still not glanced up from her laptop. “Why not?”

“I’ve told you why not fifteen times now.”

“I’m not asking to leave indefinitely. Willow wants me to drive her to the airport so she can pick up her friend.”

“Willow isn’t on the White House payroll, and since when has a trip to GW taken forty-five minutes, even on a good day?” CJ shook her head. “If I let you leave, all the kids will want to leave, and I’ll have a coup d’etat on my hands.”

“CJ—”

“And you know what they say…” The Press Secretary rose to her feet, snapping her laptop closed.

“CJ, I just need—”

“Once you’ve seen one coup d’etat, you’ve seen them all. I have a briefing.”

Sam turned on his heel and followed her out of her office. “Understand, I’m talking about a quick trip out and back. I’ve already gotten over that you’re making me miss my weekend getaway with Willow in the Hamptons.”

“Understand that you have explained this to me repeatedly for the past half hour and yet I am unmoved.” She paused briefly as Carol handed her something, then continued walking, unbothered by the Deputy Communications Director and his persistence at following her. “Look, Willow’s a big girl. She can make it to the airport and back all by herself. And you guys can still make your getaway.”

“CJ—”

“Furthermore, seeing as your girlfriend has the ability to flatten the airport by blinking, you’re not even going to sway me by quoting annual homicide statistics within the district.” Finally, as they wove through the bullpen, CJ turned to face him fully. “Hey, is it true you got spanked by a fourteen-year old intern?”

“She was nineteen, and no.”

“I heard differently.”

“You heard wrong.”

“And here I thought you liked nineteen-year old girls.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Go do your briefing.”

“Already gone.”

The Deputy Communications Director heaved a sigh and stormed back to his office, muttering a string of Shakespearean insults that would likely get him in trouble with the Press Secretary once the filibuster came to an end.

CJ didn’t get two feet inside the pressroom without Josh halting her progression.

“CJ…”

“I know!”

And she did know. It wasn’t as though the filibuster was planned, or the threat had been taken seriously. Howard Stackhouse, Democratic Senator from Minnesota, was filibustering the Senate’s approval of the Family Wellness Act because of the number of childhood diseases that committees were forced to omit.

She couldn’t let any of the staff go; after the filibuster came to an end and there was a vote, she needed Sam, Toby, and Josh to be her spin boys. Which meant the press couldn’t leave, either.

The staff, in turn, wasn’t happy with her.

“Who gave him the recipe book?”

CJ shook her head. “I really don't think we can blame this on the recipe book. Plus, I now know the secret to cold asparagus chantilly is a quarter cup whipped cream.”

Josh wasn’t impressed. “I'm going to Port Saint Lucie, which may not mean anything to you, but happens to be the spring training home of the…”

“New York Jets. Yes, you've told me. Josh, you can watch basketball on T.V.”

There was a pause. “Yes, except the New York Knicks are a basketball team, the New York Jets are a football team, and Port Saint Lucie is the spring training home of the New York—”

“Mets! Yes. Dammit, I'm inadequate.”

Josh followed on her heels all the way to the small hall that led to the Briefing Room. “A weekend at spring training. Mike Piazza is going to be standing in the batting cage.” He paused to strike a batting pose. “He's going to turn and see me. He's going to say, 'Dude.'”

CJ just stared at him for a minute. “Well, I wouldn’t want to miss a legitimate ‘dude’ sighting.”

“So I can take off?”

“No. I’m not letting Sam leave to drive Willow to whatever, I’ve already made Toby miss a flight, and I’m not with my father on his seventieth birthday. Do I look or seem happier than anyone else?”

“A little happier, yes.”

“Go away now.”

“Okay.”

Josh heaved a sigh and turned around, walking briskly back to his office. He should have expected as much, especially with the way the air tasted right now. The past few days simply hadn’t been going well. Since the State of the Union, the President had been on a warpath that never went outside the Oval Office. They had lost nine guys in Bogotá after a botched mission to rescue the five DEA agents that were being held hostage. He had threatened to evacuate Washington in light of Glory, whom had gone underground since her attack on Josh and the pollsters, and had shipped Buffy’s sister across the Atlantic Ocean within five hours of the catastrophe.

Now, at Buffy’s suggestion, he was implementing a military promotion for a man who had only been in the military for a few hours one Halloween three years earlier. No one in the building thought the move was Constitutional, but for objection to be made, the Initiative would have to out itself, and that was something no one was willing to do.

So Xander Harris would become the head of a Washington DC branch of the Initiative. Someone Buffy and Spike trusted and could work with. Someone that wouldn’t try to incarcerate the Slayer for dissection or stake her mate.

That last provision took a bit of convincing, but Spike was on surprisingly good terms with Harris. He’d helped the vampire move into their abandoned Sunnydale apartment, gone barhopping with him, and been a guest in his home more than once.

It was amazing how quickly things could change.

“Josh.”

The Deputy Chief of Staff snapped out of his reverie and whirled around. Donna was standing by her desk, Buffy and Spike behind her. When seeing their faces had become commonplace for the White House, he did not know. Only that with the President’s unlikely friendship with the vampire, Spike was more and more a frequent visitor. He had practically been promoted to Senior Demonic Counsel in the President’s Cabinet.

“Yeah.”

“They were going to take me to their place.”

He held her eyes for a minute. “No.”

“Josh!”

“Every bloody party has one of these,” Spike drawled.

“I’m not a pooper, I’m following orders.”

“Yeh, but I got you to say it.”

Josh smirked. “Around here, that’s not really an accomplishment.” He paused. “Listen, I’d let you go if I could, but I have the Press Gestapo breathing down my neck, and I need Donna here for the Senate vote.”

“Bloody likely.”

Buffy curled her fingers through her mate’s. “It’s okay,” she replied softly, “I have to meet the First Lady, anyway.”

“You’re meeting with Abbey?”

“She wanted to see me.”

Josh nodded, turning his eyes to the folder in his hands. “Okay. Well, feel free to stick around. There’s every chance that Stackhouse will pass out before too long and we’ll all be free to go home.” He turned to Spike. “You should go talk to Sam.”

“Why?”

“He needs someone to go to the airport with Willow to pick up your friend.”

The vampire rolled his eyes, turning to the Slayer. “Right. Let’s at it.”

Josh watched the couple as they navigated the now-memorized halls of the West Wing, turning back to Donna with an arched brow. “He’s being too calm,” he said. “Put an agent on him or something.”

“Seriously?”

“No, but make sure he doesn’t break anything.” He shook his head, turning to walk back into his office. “We don’t need any more to go wrong tonight.”

 

*~*~*



“He’s smacked down big oil.”

Sam glanced up from where he was lounged on Toby’s sofa. “I still don’t see why—”

“He put a poll in the field, too.” Toby heaved a deep breath and launched a bouncy ball toward the glass separating his office from his deputy’s. “About his ties to big oil. People were concerned about it, and then he smacked it down.”

“Are you saying it’s because of the polling results?”

Toby glanced up. “I’m saying I don’t know why. But something isn’t right.” A pause. “In the meantime, you should go to your thing.”

“Willow?”

“Yeah.”

“CJ said I couldn’t.”

A wry grin lit up the older man’s face; the one completely void of anything but sardonic humor. “CJ works for me.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate it, but…” Sam frowned. “You’ve become a strange advocate of my relationship with Willow, recently.”

Toby shrugged and launched the ball back at the window. “I’ve told you why before.”

“You’re worried.”

“She moved across the country for you, Sam. She’s young and impressionable, not to mention…scary…when she’s angry.”

“I’m just saying it’s not like you to show an interest in anything, much less my personal life.”

“That hasn’t changed.”

“But—”

“Let’s just say, seeing as your girlfriend has the power to alter time and space, I’m slightly interested in keeping her…happy.”

Sam frowned. “Willow wouldn’t—”

“I’m not saying she would.”

He wasn’t saying she wouldn’t, either, and that bothered him.

He had his leave, though, and that was all he needed.

For now.

 

*~*~*



Spike sat outside the Oval Office on Charlie’s empty desk. Buffy was gone—the President’s aide having escorted her into the Residence for her meeting with the First Lady. He’d wanted to go with her, but similarly recognized the strange bond that women forged with each other, and knew enough to respect Abbey Bartlet’s request for privacy.

It just worried him, especially with her mother in New York.

The past few days hadn’t been easy on her. She had acknowledged that she needed to embrace the powers her body could wield, but she was still terrified. He felt it when she was asleep; when the guards she put around her fears crashed and he was barraged with the raw intensity of her dread.

She really thought she was capable of losing control. Of becoming the worst form of herself. Of destroying everything around her with no qualms as to moral absolutes. But she was willing to try. She knew she had to; if she didn’t, Glory’s power would overwhelm her, and her instantaneous reaction to her mate when he was in danger could end up destroying her if she didn’t learn how to control it.

She kept her torment private, but similarly did nothing to guard him from her emotions. She knew he felt it. When she shuddered in her sleep, he would draw her close, and she would relax. When he pressed his lips to her skin, she cooed her comfort. There was nothing she could hide from him, and she was finally beginning to understand that she was not alone.

It was a hard transition for her, and he was the first to admit it. While the connection he wanted with her was there, while he felt everything that she felt, he similarly recognized that she was an independent spirit who was not used to such stability. Especially when it came to her relationships. He knew she loved him; he felt it every time she graced him with a glance or brushed her hand over his. Every time she smiled or kissed him, made love with him and held him close. He had something with her no one had ever had, or would ever have.

He had reached that part of her that no one else had ever touched. And every day with her, he loved her more.

“If you’re thinking about stealing a cookie, I’d advise you to forget it. Mrs. Landingham has an encyclopedic memory of the contents of that jar.”

Spike glanced up, grinning wryly. “Evenin’, Mr. President.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“Waitin’. Your missus wanted to chat up the Slayer about somethin’. I wasn’ invited to join the party.”

“Well, I wouldn’t take it personally. Abbey barely invites me anywhere anymore.” The President smiled and stepped forward. “You could’ve waited inside, you know.”

“Din’t wanna bother you.”

“Well, now, you must be in a mood.” The President sighed and glanced to Charlie’s empty desk. “I suppose my wife is stealing my staff yet again. I’m going to have to explain the difference between a personal aide and a butler.”

“Did you need somethin’?”

Bartlet arched a skeptical brow. “Are you offering?”

“No. Jus’ thought I’d ask.”

“I was going to phone the Ambassador to Paraguay, but it’s nothing that can’t wait.”

“Well, don’ let me keep you.”

“Nah.” He waved a hand. “I’m just killing time.”

Spike’s gaze narrowed. “Killing time? By calling the Ambassador of Paraguay?”

“Yeah, he’s one of the guys that won’t hang up on me.” The President’s eyes lit up. “Actually, Pierre Boileau is cooking tonight. I was going to go invite Leo to dinner. You’re welcome to tag along if you want.”

“Who?”

“He’s a French chef who comes here two or three times a year. I’m assuming a man of your extensive experience can appreciate fine dining.”

“An’ you’re invitin’ Leo? Not that I don’ like the bloke, but—”

“Abbey’s pissed at me right now.”

“Ah.”

The President shook his head. “Which is why you should join us. Give her an idea on what she’s missing out on.”

“But Buffy—”

“Invite her, too. I’m fairly certain Pierre won’t mind showing off for four people. You know those French.”

A wry chuckle rumbled through his throat, and Spike shook his head. “Mr. President, I’d love to, but—”

“Excellent! I’ll go get Leo, and we’ll try to smuggle your better half away from my wife here in…oh, a half hour, what do you say?”

The vampire laughed again, this time apologetically. “I really don’t think I should be makin’ plans for us without Buffy—”

“Nonsense. She’s being invited by the President of the United States. I could have her deported for turning me down.”

“Uh huh?”

“Well, not actually, but it sounds good, doesn’t it?”

Spike snickered. “Like I’d let you deport my mate, anyway.”

The President’s eyes darkened teasingly. “Hey, watch it, buster.” He turned to walk back into the Oval. “I’m going to go get Leo. You sit there and wait for your wife to come back. Make any sudden moves, and the secret service knows what to do.”

The vampire chuckled appreciatively. “Yeh, thanks.”

Bartlet shrugged. “CJ swears Stackhouse is going to collapse here soon. I’ll let you go when he frees up the Senate floor for the vote so we can pass this damn thing.”

Spike huffed another chortle and shifted as the man disappeared into his office.

Perhaps this was better. The pressure swelling his insides was growing more intense, though it didn’t belong to him. Something had happened.

Buffy.

Then her scent overwhelmed him, and she was there.

“Hey, baby,” Spike said, rolling to his feet. “Red phoned Donna ‘bout twenty minutes ago. Harris an’ the demon bird have checked in to their hotel. An’ the President’s invited us to eat with…” No. That wasn’t going to work. Not even for a second, he couldn’t distract her from the overwhelming emotion polluting her eyes. “What happened?”

Buffy glanced up and wet her lips. “It’s Mom.”

“She okay?”

“Yeah…no. She had…something happened.” A pause. “She…she’s in critical condition. Dr. Matheson…” A hard shudder ran through her body. “I can’t…Abbey wanted me to know, but…she can’t…I can’t go. My mom’s in the hospital and I can’t go, because of this thing.”

“Glory?”

She nodded, tears spilling down her face. She was in his arms the next second, crying onto his shoulder as he held her.

“I feel so helpless.”

“You’re not helpless, sweetling.”

“I can’t be with my mom, and she’s…”

He brushed a kiss across her forehead, then cupped her face and turned his attention to her lips. “You couldn’t do anythin’ if you were with her,” he replied gently. “An’ if somethin’ happened here, an’ you were away, you’d never forgive yourself.”

Buffy shuddered a deep sigh and nodded against him, pressing her brow against his. “I know,” she replied. “I just need…I’m no good with this, Spike. And even if she doesn’t…if she’s fine, it’s going to happen someday.” She shook her head. “I’m just…I’ve been ignoring it and pretending that…”

He nodded. “I know.”

“I’m just so glad you’re here.”

“I’ll always be here. We’ll get through it.” He kissed her again and hugged her tighter. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

That was how the President found them minutes later. In each other’s arms on Charlie’s desk as Buffy wept on her mate’s shoulder. He calmly alerted them to his presence and invited them again to supper, muttering a good-natured, “At least I got the G version this time,” to make the Slayer smile, and relished his success when she did.

Spike was entirely grateful for him. In Giles’s absence, the President was becoming a second father.

To them both.

It was the most unlikely relationship in the world. The President of the United States who treated them both like his adopted children. Even with the hell that they had delivered to the front door of the White House, postmarked expressly from Sunnydale.

The same hell that had yet to take shape. Waiting in the still quiet before the storm.

Waiting for the walls to crash.


TBC



Chapter Twenty-Two



Bartlet glanced up as Leo entered the room.

“Excuse me, Mr. President?”

“I’ve just wrapped up my third meeting with Xander Harris and I’m still not sure if putting him in charge of a secret military branch is genius or insane.”

Leo shrugged. “Is there a difference?”

“Well, Buffy and Spike trust him, and when he’s not trying to be funny, he knows his stuff.”

“So they weren’t kidding about the thing.”

The President shook his head. “No, they weren’t. And to his credit, I think the kid was just nervous. It isn’t every day you’re escorted by an armed guard.”

Leo took a speculative glance around the Oval Office, his eyes landing decisively on the desk made infamous by a number of national addresses and Hollywood movies. Moreover, the man that stood behind the desk. “Yeah, I’m sure it was the armed guard that did it.”

The President released an appreciative, humorless laugh. “What can I do for you, Leo?”

The Chief of Staff drew in a breath. “Mr. President, I’ve got Toby waiting in his office right now.”

“Why?”

“We’ve got to tell him.”

“Tell him what?”

There was a long pause at that. And they simply looked at each other. Communicating the way only friends of so many years could communicate.

“We’ve got to tell him,” Leo said again.

“What happened?”

“He got curious when Hoynes volunteered to step in for Bill Trotter. And then more curious when he found out it was ‘cause Hoynes put a poll in the field.”

A sigh of resignation rolled off the President’s shoulders. “Yeah…”

“Now he’s camping in Killington, Vermont, with a quick stop—”

The President’s eyes flashed angrily at that. “Come on!”

“—in New Hampshire, and Toby’s not an idiot.”

“He—”

“None of them are.”

“He scheduled a trip to New Hampshire?”

Leo nodded. “High-tech corridor of the Northeast.”

“Yeah, thanks to who?”

“What does that matter right now?”

That was it. The President’s temper snapped, and he slammed the notebook he had been holding onto his desk.

Leo released a breath. “I think you got to see this as an opportunity.”

“To do what?”

“To gauge reaction.”

The President looked skeptical. “You think Toby’s reaction is going to be the same as the public’s?”

“I meant the staff.”

“Which will it be?”

A pause. “I’m sorry, sir?”

The President rose to his feet. “The staff’s reaction will be what?”

“I don’t know! Shock. Betrayal. Confusion. Concern about our future.”

Bartlet nodded.

“I don’t know,” Leo concluded.

There was another heavy pause, and the President sighed again in acknowledgment. “What do I tell him?”

“Everything.”

“Go get him.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Chief of Staff turned and exited the office, and the President heaved another long sigh.

There was a god tearing up his city. A god tearing up his city, and now this.

“Now it starts.”


*~*~*


The bad thing about having ridiculously skilled writers on the communications staff was how quickly outside work fell as completely inadequate. While this was hardly a novel realization, it was rather disconcerting when the speech was scheduled to be delivered the next day.

Sam sat at his desk, Josh in the chair opposite him. They were each perusing a copy of the White House Correspondent’s Speech, and it wasn’t looking good.

“Hmmm…”

“Yes,” Josh agreed.

“Well…”

“You know what the problem is?”

“Yes.”

“It’s supposed to be funny.”

Sam nodded. “And yet…”

“It’s not.”

“No.”

There was a knock at the open door. The men glanced up in unison; Willow was there, offering a small wave and adjusting her purse on her shoulder. “Hey guys.”

“Hey,” came the simultaneous reply.

“Sweetie,” Sam said, rising to his feet with a sigh. “We’re not going to be able to go out tonight.”

A pout crossed her lips. “Why not?”

“These guys…”

“They forgot to bring the funny,” Josh quipped, bounding off his chair. “This is the Correspondent’s Dinner and the President has to be funny.”

“The President is funny,” the redhead replied with a frown.

“Yes, well, unfortunately that knowledge is limited to the three of us, Spike, and the First Family.” Josh heaved a sigh. “We have to work on this.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed.

“It needs to be funny.” The Deputy Chief of Staff held up his copy of the speech disdainfully. “This is drastically unfunny.”

The other man’s eyes brightened suddenly, and he turned to his girlfriend with a broad smile. “Hey,” he said. “You’re funny.”

Willow shot him a skeptical look. “I am?”

“Sure. Josh?”

Josh glanced up. “Uh, yeah. Okay.”

“Well, ummm.” The redhead released a long, nervous breath. “O-okay. I’ll, umm, just go tell Donna that we’re gonna have to…not do the thing.”

At the mention of his assistant, Josh perked with interest. “No, no,” he said, grinning suddenly. The sort of look a sadist would give a butterfly before tearing off its wings. “I’ll go get her. You guys should get a head start on the funny.”

“Well, okay,” Willow replied. “Only, I should tell you—”

“RED!” A familiar British brogue shouted irritably. “What’s takin’ so bloody long?”

Josh shot the Witch a look that could freeze hell.

She smiled meekly. “Spike and Buffy are in the hallway.”

“Why?”

“Because our plans tonight involved taking Donna to see their place…finally. Seems someone has been keeping her past midnight every night for the past week.” The redhead glared disapprovingly. “And in order to see their place—”

“They couldn’t just, you know, wait for you guys at their house?”

There was a pause, and predictably, the peroxide vampire came into view, his hand curled around his mate’s. “Well, we could’ve done that, Curly,” Spike drawled, a familiar smirk playing across his lips. “But then I’d’ve missed out on this opportunity to annoy you to death.”

Josh heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “How is it that you’re always here?” he demanded, turning to Sam. “He’s just…always here, isn’t he? Why do they keep letting you in?”

“I have a pass,” the vampire replied proudly.

“A pass?”

“’S a gratuitous ‘Annoy Josh Lyman’ pass. Wanna see?”

“Hey,” Sam said brightly before the Deputy Chief of Staff could get another word in. “Spike’s a funny guy.”

Josh’s eyes widened in protest. “No.”

Buffy sent a good-natured scowl in his direction. “Excuse me? Are you saying my husband has no sense of humor?”

“He’s your mate and I have no problem with his sense of humor, except that it’s, you know, imaginary.” He shook his head. “Sam, we can’t just invite everyone to—”

“Spike knows the President. They’re close. He knows his sense of humor.”

The vampire’s brows arched appraisingly. “What’s this, now?”

“We’re all close with the President. That doesn’t meant we should invite a two hundred year old dead British guy to write our speeches!”

Buffy’s eyes widened proudly. “You want Spike to help with a thing?”

“Oi. Don’ age me up, mate. Have a few good decades to go before I reach two hundred.”

“You can, too,” the Deputy Communications Director offered, his eyes on Buffy. “Help with the thing, I mean.”

“Sam!”

“What? She’s funny.”

“We can’t just—”

“These guys forgot to bring the funny to a speech the President’s going to give tomorrow,” Willow explained. “Sam and Josh are rallying up people to help bring the funny.”

Spike beamed. “Aww. An’ you two thought of us. ‘m touched. Really.”

Josh glared at him. “I keep meaning to kill you.”

“You keep meanin’ to try.”

“Josh is a wuss,” the redhead said. “He gets queasy when he gets a papercut.”

“Willow!”

“What? Buffy looked about ready to electrocute you for even play-threatening her mate.”

The Slayer glanced down at that in apology. “Sorry. I’m working on fixing that.”

“Fixing it?”

“You know…not killing people for giving Spike a dirty look.”

Josh just stared at her for a second, then shook his head again. “Fine. Whatever. They can stay.”

“Good,” the vampire retorted. “’Cause I was waitin’ for your permission.”

There was a beat and a long sigh. “I’m gonna go get Donna.”


*~*~*


“Toby?”

“Yeah.”

Josh drew in a breath and entered his colleague’s office, rubbing his brow in a desperate attempt to wane away the headache that was threatening to consume him whole. “Sam and I are going to stay and punch up some of the jokes from the Correspondent’s Dinner. And when I say Sam and I, I mean Sam, myself, and a small troupe of traveling freak-like stragglers that refuse to go back to California.”

“Okay.”

“Have you seen it?”

“The thing?”

“Yeah.”

Toby nodded. “Yeah, I read it.”

“They forgot the funny.”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna stay?”

The older man heaved out a sigh. “Where are you going to be?”

“We’ll find a place.”

Leo suddenly appeared, his expression grim but determined. And there was a beat in Toby’s eyes. Something was about to happen.

Something that Josh had not been told about.

The Communications Director nodded. “I’ll hook up with you in a bit.”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Leo said.

“Okay.” A pause. “Hey, did the President meet with the guy?”

“Buffy and Spike’s friend, Xander Harris?”

Josh nodded. “Yeah.”

Leo gave him a look. “Xander Harris, whom you spent two weeks with and I have yet to meet, yet somehow I know his name and you don’t?”

The Deputy shrugged. “I’m supposed to know stuff?”

The Chief of Staff chuckled wryly. “Go away now.”

“Okay.”

Josh turned obediently and prowled toward the bullpen, his mind automatically returning to the speech. He would have missed Donna had he not caught a whiff of her usual perfume. That perfume was hard to miss.

Plus, she spoke.

“Hello.”

He turned obediently to follow her, a smile tickling his lips. “How you doing?”

Her response was cold and airy. “I’m doing fine.”

“Did you get the flowers?”

“Yes, I did.”

Josh’s grin broadened. “Did you like ‘em?”

“They were very pretty,” she replied in kind, otherwise wanting obviously nothing to do with him.

“Do you know why I sent them?”

“I know why you think you sent them.”

“It’s our anniversary.”

The blonde met his eyes at that, her own flashing angrily. “No, it’s not.”

Josh was not dismayed. He shrugged and replied, “I’m the sort of guy who remembers those things.”

“No,” Donna retorted, “you’re the sort of guy who sends a woman flowers to be mean. You’re really the only person I’ve ever met who can do that.”

He shrugged. “I’m quite something.”

“Yes.”

“I sent them to mark an occasion—”

A sigh heaved through her body. “Are we really gonna do this every year?”

“—for I am a man of occasion.”

She scowled. “I started working for you in February. This is April, and you’re an idiot.”

“Well, you started working for me once in February and then you stopped for a while.”

“Yes!”

Josh went on, unhampered by her bad temperament. “Then you started working for me again in April. That’s the one I choose to celebrate, because it’s the only one where you started working for me and it wasn’t followed by your not working but rather going back to your boyfriend, and how, in comparison to that and him, you can call me mean is simply another in a long series of—”

They had reached the bullpen, now. Her desk to be exact, and Donna had about run out of what little patience she had begun the day with. She whirled around, her eyes flashing, and gave him a look that stated in plain terms her desire to see his head on a pike. “Oh, shut up! Honest to God, do you ever get tired of the sound of your own voice?”

“No, can’t say that’s ever happened.” He paused. “What are you doing tonight?”

“I’m going with Willow and Sam to see Spike and Buffy’s place.”

Josh shook his head. “No, no. You’re not so much doing that as you are not doing that.”

“What? Why?”

“We need help with the thing.”

“What thing?”

“The thing for tomorrow. These guys forgot to bring the funny.”

Donna scowled. “Well, presently, I’m going to choose to care less about that than I do about other things.”

He heaved a sigh and prowled forward. “You know what, Ado Annie, I sent you flowers! I think what you’re trying to say is, ‘Why, thank you, Josh! They’re beautiful! How very thoughtful of you. Not many bosses would have been that thoughtful...’”

“Really? 'Cause what I think I was trying to say was ‘Shove it!’”

“Okay, well, then I guessed wrong.”

“Why aren’t you letting me go? You have Ed, Larry and Ainsley to do this thing.”

“Yes, well, Sam’s volunteered himself, then Willow and the two lovebirds decided to sign up for the ride. And Ainsley left to do something with her alma mater. So really, you’re looking at helping us with this or going over to Buffy and Spike’s by yourself.”

A desperate look crossed her face. “And you did nothing to talk them out of it?”

“Donna, it’s me and Spike. You think I’m putting up with him because I want to?”

“Spike’s a nicer guy than you are sometimes.”

“The key word there is ‘sometimes.’”

“I’m willing to bet that Spike would never send a girl flowers to be an ass.”

“Well, Spike’s also a pussy-whipped freak with a girlfriend who’d fry him if he ever looked at another woman.”

“And he has super hearing.”

“Donna—”

“I’ve waited to go over there for a week, Joshua! You haven’t let me out since the filibuster.”

“Well, look, you work for the President. These things come up.”

Donna glared at him. “I think you deleted the funny on purpose.”

“Yeah, because I have that kind of time.”

A long tremor ran through her body as she packed up her things to head down to Sam’s office. “You know, there are times, when to put it quite simply, I hate your breathing guts.”

She was already past him before he got another word out.

“So the flowers really did the trick, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” she called back.

Josh wet his lips. “Perfect. Just perfect.”

There was utterly no way the night could get any worse. He was convinced of it.

No way.


*~*~*


Leo and Toby were waiting outside the Oval, and the awkwardness between them could fill the English Channel.

“Did you see the draft for the Correspondents’ Dinner?” the Chief of Staff asked after a long silence.

There was a beat. “Yeah.”

“It’s not funny,” he continued.

“Sam’s going to work on it.”

Another brief pause. Then Leo heaved a sigh.

“Toby,” he said seriously, “take it easy in there, okay?”

The door to the Oval suddenly opened, and Charlie appeared. His face was somber.

“You can go in,” he said.

The Chief of Staff and the Communications Director walked the familiar ten feet through the door. The President was at the other side of the room when they entered, preparing a drink for himself.

“Good evening, Mr. President,” Toby said.

“Hey, Toby. You want a drink?”

“No, thank you, sir. I'm fine.”

The President leveled their gazes. “Have a drink with me,” he said again.

There was no denying the man when he issued statements like that.

“Sure.”

“Bourbon, no ice,” the President continued, walking across the office to hand Toby his drink.

“Thank you.”

Bartlet drew in a breath. “You know what I just found out recently? To be called "bourbon," it has to come from Kentucky. Otherwise it’s called sour mash. An Algerian-born terrorist named Reda Nessam was arrested at the Canadian border yesterday with a U-Haul containing ten 2-ounce jars filled with nitroglycerin.”

The Communications Director quirked his head. “And they don’t allow that kind of thing at Yosemite?”

“No. Anyway, on advice from State and Intelligence, I closed the embassies in Tanzania and Brussels.”

“What about the FAA?”

Toby found it odd that Leo hadn’t said a word, but he knew this was serious. The past few days had been spent thinking of nothing but what a meeting in this office would mean with the information he had uncovered since the filibuster. His heart was thundering, though he would never admit it. He was more nervous than he had ever been in his life.

And Leo wasn’t speaking.

“They want me to order the airports, heighten security, but it’s a holiday weekend.” The President shrugged. “I don’t know. Toby, I got to tell you something…”

“Does the FAA have to present evidence of a credible theory?”

Suddenly, postponing that inevitable something sounded like a good idea.

“Yeah.”

“How do they do that?”

“I don’t know. They do it…”

“Is there…excuse me, sir. Is there a time frame?”

The President nodded, and drew in a breath. “About an hour.” A whispered breath of a pause, and here it came. The thing he’d been dreading for six days. The thing he didn’t know, but was about to. Here it came. “Toby, around ten years ago, for a period of a few months, I was feeling run down and I had a pain in my leg. They both eventually subsided, but then eight years ago, the pain came back, as well as numbness. My vision would be blurry sometimes and I’d get dizzy. During an eye exam, the doctor detected abnormal pupil responses and ordered an MRI. The radiologist found plaque on my brain and spine. I have a relapsing-remitting course of MS.”

The room went cold.

He’d just said it.

A relapsing-remitting course of MS. The President of the United States.

In a flash, Toby saw years of his political life dissolve. Saw the administration he’d slaved for over the past three years blunder into a pillar of smoke. And the President had said it as though he was commenting on the weather. A relapsing-remitting course of MS.

How long he remained silent, he didn’t know. Only that his brain assured him that he had heard wrong, even though he knew that was impossible.

“I’m sorry, sir?”

President Bartlet did not look away. Did not flinch. Did not apologize, or even appear apologetic. Instead, he kept his gaze level, and said slowly, “I have Multiple Sclerosis, Toby.”

Ten years. A disease.

Multiple Sclerosis. A disease the President had never mentioned. A disease the President had concealed from the public. A disease that had not existed in the man before now. Before this moment.

And Toby’s world ceased to exist.


*~*~*


“I’d like to get it in writing that Josh owes me one day off,” Donna said as she took her seat in the Roosevelt Room. Larry had just come back in with Chinese that Sam had ordered, and Buffy was picking at an egg roll that Spike had just dipped in duck sauce.

“I don’t owe you a day off.”

“A week has gone by since you said you’d let me go to Spike and Buffy’s new place.”

“It’s been six days, and you work for me, Mr. Scrooge.”

“You mean the other guy,” Sam corrected, popping a bit of a crab ragoon in his mouth.

“What?”

“Scrooge is you in this scenario. Donna’s the other guy.”

Josh studied him for a minute. “Yeah, I don’t want you to talk unless it’s to say that I’m right and she’s wrong.”

Donna snickered into what she was writing, and shook her head.

“What are you doing?” her boss asked her a minute later.

“Writing up the agreement that says I get a day off.”

“You’re free to have as many days off as you like. That getting money thing, though, is liable to go away.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I'm jotting down some go-tos in case a joke doesn't work. ‘I haven't seen an audience this dead since...’ That kind of thing.”

“You think the President’s gonna get heckled?”

“No, but I've read the speech and I think you'd be wise to have some dead audience metaphors in your pocket.”

“Question,” Spike drawled, not before shoving a fork-full of noodles in his mouth. “’F the blokes that drafted this thing up are so bloody awful, how’d they get the gig of, well, draftin’ this thing up?”

“That’s a really good question,” Sam replied.

“Yeh.”

“And I’d tell you, but I think it’s better for the inquisitive mind to research this sort’ve thing on its own.”

“Sam was told not to do it,” Willow said.

“You just ruined my fun there,” her boyfriend pouted.

“I can really live with that.”

“Told not to?” Buffy arched a brow. “Why?”

“Well, it was supposed to be funny and he’s had, you know, actual work to do. Not excluding writing three speeches in the past two weeks, let alone that cover-up for Glory’s mess at the pollster place.” The redhead patted Sam’s hand in encouragement. “There’s just too much work in my man’s life.”

Spike rolled his eyes and tossed Josh a pointed glare. “The next time you accuse me an’ the Slayer of bein’ too nauseatingly cutesy, jus’ conjure up that image an’ you should be okay right quick.”

“Yeah, problem is, I like Sam and Willow.”

“Hey!” Buffy frowned.

“And Buffy. You, on the other hand…not so much.”

“But that’s okay,” Donna said. “Because Josh is an ass.”

The Deputy Chief of Staff shook his head good-naturedly. “Okay,” he said decisively. “Okay, here we go.” He turned his eyes to the proffered text before him. “‘Ladies and Gentlemen, I am very happy to be here. And I want to thank the White House Correspondents Association for inviting me. I expect I'll be stuck here tonight with my fair share of verbal harpoons. I don't mind, just don't stick me…with…the…dinner check.’” He stared at the text for a moment in awe. “Wow.”

“And then it says here, ‘Allow for laughter,’” Donna pointed.

“Yeah, well, unless we give that instruction to the audience I don't think it's going to be a problem.”

“I know,” Sam agreed, “it's like he's playing Grossinger's.”

Buffy frowned and read on. “‘I know some of you are troubled by my frequent use of Latin references. Well, all I can say is 'no te…’ Honey, what’s that word?”

“Preocupus,” Spike told her, equally unimpressed. “Tell me these blokes weren’t handed an actual check for this.”

“The joke there is that it’s in Spanish,” Larry provided.

Spike glanced up. “Yeh, I’ve been meanin’ to ask who the hell you are.”

“Larry.”

“An’ the other?”

“Ed,” the other man said, waving a bit. “But you can call me Larry.”

The vampire paused. “Okay…”

“I’m just saying, we answer to both.”

Spike stared at them a minute longer, then shook his head. He shifted slightly in his seat and glanced back at the speech that he was sharing with his mate. “Yeh, well, that pun’s about as funny as an axe through your head would be…only not as much…so get rid of it.”

“Spanish is kind of like Latin,” Ed said.

“Yeah,” Buffy agreed dryly. “Only that it’s really not.”

Willow shot her a suspicious glance. “How would you know?”

The Slayer grinned. “Spike sometimes talks dirty Latin to me.”

“Gets her all hot,” her mate agreed, pulling her closer to him.

“And that’s probably where you’ll want your first dead audience joke,” Donna added.

Josh rolled his eyes. “We’re not gonna need a dead audience joke.”

The Witch shook her head, turning to Donna quickly in hopes of cutting off that particular conversation before it got out of hand and someone threw a chair. “Hey. You got flowers. Is it your birthday?”

The blonde scowled. “Did he ask you to say that?”

“Who?”

“The flowers are from me,” Josh said.

“For her birthday?”

The Deputy Chief of Staff shook his head. “Our anniversary.”

“Not our anniversary,” Donna snapped.

“Yeh,” Spike said, frowning. “Thought you two shagged in December or sometime ‘round the holidays. We were home well before April.”

The room froze.

Buffy elbowed him harshly.

“Ow!”

“Ixnay on the aggedshay.”

“Oh God.” Donna’s head fell into her waiting hands.

“An’ when I said shagged,” Spike attempted to rectify quickly, “I mean…not shagged.”

“Yeah, because…yeah.”

Josh shook his head. “Donna doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“I wouldn’t either, ‘f I were her.”

Buffy elbowed her mate again.

“Oi, luv! Watch it! You got those god’s arms. Not a fair match.”

Sam and Josh threw Ed and Larry an identical look of horror, but they were musing over the text and not paying the room much attention.

“You have about as much tact as Anya in heat,” the Slayer hissed.

“The only bird I wanna think of in heat is the one I’m holdin’.”

“Of course you meant the anniversary,” Willow said quickly. “And not the…other thing.”

Sam nodded. “A few years ago, Donna's boyfriend broke up with her so she started working for Josh. But then, the boyfriend told her to come back, and she did. And then they broke up, and she came back to work.”

Donna glared at him.

The Deputy Communications Director frowned. “I thought you meant you didn’t want to talk about it.” He paused. “I’m a spokesman. It’s in my blood.”

Ed and Larry were still mulling over the speech. “And I’d also like to thank our host, Bill Maher…” the former began.

“We’re not making fun of the host,” Sam said.

Buffy released a steady breath and broke away from where she and Spike had practically been having mind sex through the dirty looks he was sending her. “Who are we making fun of?”

“Republicans!” the room shouted back.

And then, as if divinely inspired, Sam began speaking in a voice that sounded only vaguely like a Bartlet impersonation. “I only wish the Speaker were here tonight, but he's held up in negotiations on the Hill. He's demanding his latest pre-nup include a line item veto?”

“There it is!” Josh yelped excitedly.

“All right! Two groups. You guys over there…” Sam motioned to Donna, the annoying affectionate blonde couple, and the Deputy Chief of Staff. Then he nodded to his girlfriend, Ed and Larry. “We’ll stay over here.”

“I have to be in Spike’s group?” Josh whined.

“Yeah,” Donna retorted. “We’re gonna make you sit by him and everything.”

“I have cooties, too,” the vampire sneered.

“Sexy cooties,” Buffy agreed, snuggling up to him.

“Okay, yeah.” Josh blinked. “In order for us to do this, you two are gonna have to not do that quite so much.”

“Spike’s a man that knows how to send flowers,” Donna muttered.

The Slayer grinned and leaned back in his arms. “Spike’s a man that can do pretty much anything.”

Her mate nuzzled her throat affectionately. “We’re gonna need to find a broom-closet soon.”

“Only now we’re doing this,” Josh said, smacking the speech against the table. “Someone start being funny.”


*~*~*


A half hour later, and there was little to go on.

“You know,” Willow said, looking up from her books. “We should call Xander.”

“Xander?” Larry asked.

“Xander’s a funny guy.”

“Yeh,” Spike drawled. “Jeff Foxworthy funny. Not funny for a bleedin’ political speech.”

The redhead frowned. “Give Xander a little credit. He’s much better than Foxworthy.”

“And I’m pretty sure he votes Democrat,” Buffy added.

The vampire’s brows perked. “’S there anyone in this room that doesn’t?”

She shrugged. “I was just saying. You know…now that he knows the difference between the parties and is working for the President.”

Josh strutted back into the room from where he had been checking in on Toby. The Communications Director hadn’t come out of the Oval all night, and the two teams that Sam had designated—that were now back into one—had a friendly bet on who could write a joke that would make him laugh.

So far, they had nothing to show for their efforts.

“All right,” Josh said. “Here’s a joke based on the premise that the party afterwards is hard to get into and that the President is the Commander-In-Chief. ‘I hear the Bloomberg party is gonna be hard to get into this year but I’m not worried. I’m going to the party with the 82nd Airborne.’”

There was a brief pause.

“And then the President says, ‘Wow, I haven’t heard a room this quiet since we lost the signal on Galileo,’” Donna snipped.

Her boss shrugged. “Or, ‘Wow, I haven’t seen my staff update their resumes this quickly since the last time I tanked at the Correspondents' Dinner!’”

The blonde rolled her eyes. “Josh.”

“Yeah?”

“When you yell, you make it harder for people to find the funny.”

He shot her a look. “Hey, who gave you those flowers on your desk?”

“A mean man who can’t read a calendar.”

Spike snickered appreciatively. Josh shook his head and motioned for Sam to join him in the corner.

“We’re doing fine,” the Deputy Communications Director assured him automatically. “Toby’s gonna come in here and nail it. This is his thing.”

Josh nodded. “Yeah. Cut the Speaker joke, okay? Mrs. Bartlet might not be there.”

“Okay.”

The Deputy Chief of Staff nodded again. “All right, so uh…we’re gonna be fine, here.”

“No! We’re doing great.” Sam turned back to the room. “We’re doing great, everybody, right?”

Larry nodded and looked up. “Sam, we’ve got one here but it involves a John Wayne impersonation and a sock puppet.”

Spike chuckled richly, shaking his head. “How about a banana an’ a knock-knock joke?”

Sam turned back to Josh in dismay. “Yeah, we’re eating it.”


*~*~*


“We need jokes about the staff,” Sam said.

They had officially been going at this for an hour and a half.

“Let’s start with you,” Buffy offered. “I would suggest someone else, but I have a feeling that Spike would rather save all his zingers for Josh.”

“Better bloody believe it,” her mate agreed.

Sam smiled appreciatively. “Problem is, there aren’t many jokes you can make about me.”

“How about this?” Donna said quickly. “Um, ‘Knock knock.’ ‘Who’s there? ‘Sam and his prostitute friend.’”

The room burst into quiet chuckles.

“She took my knock-knock joke idea,” Spike said with a grin.

“Or better yet,” Donna continued. “‘Sorry I’m late. I had to pick up my date, and her father told me to get her home by ten because tonight’s a school night.”

The room laughed louder.

Sam and Willow looked wounded. “See,” the former said, “I think that was a bit of misdirected anger there.”

The blonde shrugged. “I’m okay with that.”

The Deputy Communications Director fired her a challenging glance and rose to the bait. “Well, in that case, Willow, you know why I got you flowers in April instead of February? 'Cause you ditched me the first time around to go back to the guy who ditched you the first time around only to have him ditch you the second time around.”

Donna glared at him and smacked Josh upside the head.

“Ow!” her boss whined. “What the hell? That was him!”

“He was being you!”

“Well, in fairness, I think everybody should have a turn.” Josh rose to his feet and wiped tiredly at his eyes. “Sam, is there anything we can pull, anything funny we can recycle?”

“Quittin’ already?” Spike demanded. “We were about to go into hour eight.”

“Two,” Buffy corrected dryly. “But who’s counting?”

Their cynicism went ignored. Sam nodded. “Yeah, pull something I wrote from October called ‘Government-wide Accountability for Merit System Principles.’”

“That one was a barn-burner, was it?” Josh asked, but he was out the door before Sam could reply.

Donna released a sigh and turned to the Deputy Communications Director. “Do you have any idea how much grief I took from him when I came back?”

“How much?”

“None. I walked in the door. He said, ‘Thank God. There's a pile of stuff on the desk.’ This is his way. He's just going to snark me every April. Prince of passive-aggressive behavior.”

Sam licked his lips. “What does ‘snark’ mean?”

Spike stared at him dully. “Yeh, you deserve your job.”

“I don’t know,” Donna continued, “but he’s doing it.”


*~*~*


Fifteen minutes later, Josh wasn’t back, and Willow and Sam had just reentered the room from a long trip to the Mess to get coffee.

“You know,” Buffy murmured, glancing up from the speech. She and Spike had relocated to a corner of the room and were seated on the floor. She was curled in her mate’s arms, her back pressed against his chest, his arms around her middle. “I know this isn’t what we had planned tonight, but I’m actually having fun.”

She felt him smile behind her, and he pressed a kiss to the claim mark on her throat. “Me too, kitten,” he replied softly.

“Really?”

“Well, no, but I’m glad you’re havin’ fun.”

“You’re not having any fun?”

“I’m havin’ fun.”

“Liar.”

“I’m with you. I’m makin’ fun of Curly. I get to laugh at your government.” He kissed the claim mark again. “Plus, you’ve been sittin’ on my…happy place for a while now.”

Buffy grinned and wiggled intentionally. “I noticed that.”

“We really need to find a broom-closet.”

“Yeah.” Her finger traced a line of reprehensible text and frowned. “Could you make a Republican joke out of this and throw in a funny Latin pun?”

“I could, but I don’ care very much.”

“Spike…” She purred her contentment and snuggled further into him. “Really…thanks.” A pause. “You planned this thing tonight to…get my mind off things. And I know it didn’t go as you wanted, but it’s working.” She sighed. “This is the best night I’ve had all week.”

“’m glad, sweetling.” He brushed a kiss against the top of her head. “So glad.”


*~*~*


Donna went to drag Josh back to the Roosevelt Room after he didn’t return for twenty minutes. Predictably, she found him standing precariously on a chair, reaching for a notebook that rested at the top of his incredibly overloaded bookcase.

He just never learned.

“Josh.”

“Oh!”

And that was that. He was avalanched by a number of books and binders; miraculously, though, didn’t follow them over. Rather, he stood on his chair and watched helplessly as they fell to the floor.

“Well,” he said with a huff. “That was predictable.”

“Yes.”

He stepped down from the chair and started picking up his mess. “I’m trying to find that speech Sam said.”

“You know, we keep them on computer.”

“Well, yeah, sure, I suppose.”

“Except you don’t know how to use a computer.” Donna smirked and knelt down across from him, gathering the notebooks that had spilled toward the door.

“Right,” he agreed.

“Ah, Josh, Josh, Josh.”

“Yes?”

“Joshua, Josh, Josh.”

He flashed her a confused smile. “What the hell is happening now?”

“You feel, I believe, because you’re quite addle-minded, that this job was my second choice.”

He shook his head and shrugged. “Hey, I’m just grateful we were your last choice.”

“I’m gonna give you a little gift right now, which you don’t deserve,” she continued.

Josh drew a sly smile. “Donna, if you’ve got your old Catholic-school uniform on under there, don’t get me wrong, I applaud the thought, but—”

She shifted uncomfortably and flushed. Damn Spike for making that remark earlier. Damn Josh for being able to blow right over it. Damn them all. “Okay, what I need is for you to stop being like, you, for a second.”

“Okay.”

“When I came back, you remember I had a bandage on my ankle?”

“Yeah.”

“I told you I slipped on the ice on the front walk?”

“Yeah. You know why? ‘Cause you didn’t put down the kitty litter.”

She paused. “I was actually in a car accident.”

Josh’s face fell slack. “You were in a car accident?”

“It was—”

“Seriously, you were in an accident?”

“It was no big deal.”

“You told me it was a late thaw.”

She smiled. He remembered. “Yes. I did. Anyway, they took me to the hospital and I called him and he came down to get me and on the way he stopped and met some friends of his for a beer.”

There was a disbelieving beat. “He stopped on the way to the hospital for a beer?”

Donna nodded. “Yes. And that’s why I left him. Which was the point of my telling you this. I left him. So stop remembering that. What I remember is that you took me back when you had absolutely no reason to trust me again, and you didn’t make fun of me or him, and you had every reason to.”

“Donna—”

She sighed. “You’re gonna make fun of him now, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“‘Cause that’s why I didn’t tell you in the first place.”

“I’m not gonna make fun of him.”

“Good.”

That promise lasted all of half a second. “But just what kind of a dumbkes were you—”

“He was supposed to meet some of his friends. He stopped on the way to tell them that he couldn’t.”

“And had a beer?”

“Does this make you feel superior?”

Josh looked away and opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it.

“Yes,” she said for him. “You are better than my old boyfriend.”

He shot her a smile, then rose to his feet and began for the door. “I’m just sayin’ if you were in an accident, I wouldn’t stop for a beer.”

Donna shot up at that. “If you were in an accident, I wouldn’t stop for red lights. Thanks for taking me back.” She strode past him at that, flashing him a smile. “Oh, and the flowers are beautiful.”

Josh just stood in the doorway for a minute and stared after her.

That gorge that stood between them had closed just a bit. And for a minute, they could both pretend that things were normal.

If only for a minute.


*~*~*


Toby left the Oval Office without closing the door behind him. His body was numb, his throat was sore from shouting, his nerves wracked from the numerous lines he’d crossed. The knowledge he bore weighing him down.

For as often as he lost his temper, he had never feared losing his job like he had tonight.

What made it worse, he didn’t even know if he cared anymore.

There were voices coming from the Roosevelt Room. Voices and the rich sound of laughter. He felt like an alien as he walked through the doors. Felt like a man who had been robbed of his ignorance. He was Plato after the light. And he was sitting in a room full of laughing fools that resided in their cave.

“That was…I think that’s a good one,” Josh was saying.

“You’re welcome,” Spike shot back.

“It was totally not your idea, but let’s not go there.”

“Toby!” Sam yelled good-naturedly when he saw him.

“Toby!” Donna echoed.

“We’re dying here,” Josh said. “What do you got?”

Ed had picked up something and was reading off a loose sheet of paper. “Um, okay. So, the President was asked to pick tonight’s menu and he says, ‘Oh, just serve anything you want except lame duck.’”

“Toby,” Larry said, “listen to this.”

Toby nodded weakly. “Okay.”

“So the President says, ‘I know times are tough. The NASDAQ just filed for not-for-profit status.’”

“Toby.” Sam tossed Toby one of his bouncy balls, and he caught it with ease.

The joke suggestions continued around him.

And the President still had Multiple Sclerosis.

“Okay, uh, you have to try and imagine that the President is saying it.” Josh approached him with a Joshish smile on his face. Blissful. Ignorant. Happy. “Tell me if you think this is funny.”

Unchanged. They had no idea what had happened.

They had no idea that the roof was about to crash down on them.

And that it had nothing to do with gods or vampires, and everything to do with what they were doing right now.

Right now.

Toby drew in a breath and tossed his bouncy ball down the table. It landed in Spike’s hand.

Their eyes met. And something happened.

Two worlds.

And the sky was falling.


TBC

 



 
Chapter Twenty-Three



The days following the White House Correspondents Dinner spiraled into a political mess beyond anything the Bartlet administration had ever suffered. It was kept quiet, of course, as the President explored his options via Oliver Babish and the White House Counsel’s Office. In the meantime, Leo McGarry was wheedling through the senior staffers and bringing them on the inside of what was going on. On what the President had withheld from them for nearly three years.

Each time after a staffer was told, Toby asked that particular staffer to come and see him in his office. It was Josh first. Then CJ. Sam was scheduled to be told later in the day, after legal matters were clearer, and the point of no return became a thing of the past.

In the meantime, the President had asked Mrs. Landingham to phone Spike and Buffy at their home. Before the word was completely out, he wanted to tell those that had become close to the First Family. In this instance, an unlikely vampire and, by association, his wife in blood.

It was near ten in the morning when the phone in their bedroom rang. Buffy and Spike were still in bed, having taken Xander and Anya sightseeing the night before, getting in only when the scent of morning began settling over the town. After all, Harris and his fiancé—as she now proudly described herself—were still on California time, and had done little if nothing to change the hands of their inner clocks. Regardless of how tired said clocks might be around their preset three in the morning.

Having nothing to do the next day, the blonde couple had stayed out to all hours, entertaining the newly appointed Head of the Initiative with drinks and entertainment, all within reason. The promise of sleeping through daylight hours was nothing new to Spike, and after they had finally shed their company, they had collapsed in each other’s arms and fallen into deep slumber almost instantly.

Except now the telephone was ringing.

“Mmhhff.”

“Your turn,” Buffy murmured, snuggling deeper into her lover’s embrace.

“Says who?”

“I got the last one.”

“Well, ‘f you’re gonna use that logic.” Spike chuckled and shifted, reaching over her to grasp the phone. “This better be Josiah Bartlet or I swear on my unholy nonsoul, I’m hangin’ up.”

“I’ll consider myself lucky, then,” a familiar voice replied.

Buffy froze beneath her lover’s touch. “It’s the President, isn’t it?”

“Yeh.”

“Tell your lovely wife good morning for me.”

“He says good mornin’.”

Buffy moaned and burrowed herself deeper into the blankets.

The President must have heard her, for he chuckled good-naturedly. “I think Buffy’s been associating with Mrs. Bartlet a bit too much,” he decided. “She’s beginning to react to my wake-up calls the way the girls do.”

“’m not gettin’ in the middle of this,” Spike retorted, sitting up completely. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Well, that’s rather incriminating, isn’t it?”

“Chuck din’t call. Figure ‘f you’re patchin’ to us directly…”

“Now, now, I never let my staff conduct my personal calls.”

That wasn’t true. On most occasions, other than a select few that Spike could count on one hand, it was either Mrs. Landingham, Charlie, or on a rare occurrence, the White House operator who made the call to their house. This was big. Whatever it was, he knew immediately that it was big.

“Mr. President—”

“Spike, I need you and Buffy to come to the White House at your earliest possible convenience.”

“Meanin’—”

“I need you to get your asses here within the hour.”

Spike frowned. “Has the attorney general decided to charge me on a century’s old killin’ spree?”

“You know, when you say it like that, it makes me less likely to invite you over for our weekly poker games.”

“You’ve had one poker game in the five months that we’ve been here.”

“Well, you can imagine how such an observation is high on my priorities list.” The President paused. “Spike, I need you and Buffy here. There’s something you need to know. Something’s about to happen and I want you to be prepared.”

Buffy was already well on the way to falling asleep again.

“The Slayer has plans this afternoon—”

“I don’t care if she’s entertaining the Marques de Sade, I’m the President of the United States, and I need you two down here as soon as possible.”

The title didn’t carry much weight with Spike. The man making the request was a different issue. However, despite the mass amount of respect the vampire had for Josiah Bartlet, he didn’t take kindly to people ordering him and his mate around.

Still, if it was urgent enough that the President was practically stating an official command, he figured it was likely something important.

“’m comin’. Buffy’s not. She hasn’t had a day off from the lot of you for weeks, an’ she’s seein’ her mates today.”

There were certain times when Spike tested the patience of the President to uncomfortable degrees, though he always got away with it as he had been practically inducted into the Bartlet family as a surrogate son. This was automatically filed as one such time. No one turned down an invitation to the White House, and most certainly no one turned down a request of the President.

However, those who knew the President personally had an unfair advantage; if they weren’t on his staff but entertained the sort of relationship that Spike currently did, the fact that he was the Commander in Chief simply didn’t carry any weight.

“All right. But what I tell you goes to you and Buffy alone.”

“Who the bleeding hell else would I tell?”

“Watch it.”

Spike smiled. “Right. I’ll be there soon.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

There was a click. The vampire exhaled deeply and hung up the phone.

Buffy whimpered slightly and twisted in her lover’s arms, “The President’s requesting your presence?”

He smiled apologetically, pressing his lips to her shoulder. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

“He ruined our plans.”

“Our plans were to shag.”

“This is what I’m saying.”

Spike’s smile broadened and he dropped a sensuous kiss across her lips. “We’ll have tonight, baby,” he promised. “No plans. No sodding Harris, or Red, or Donna pesterin’ us about seein’ our place.”

Buffy frowned. “You think if we distract Josh with something shiny, we can smuggle her out?”

“Well, I think he’s keepin’ her busy now jus’ to be funny.”

“It’s not.”

“’S Josh. He’s without a sense of humor. Can’t blame a bloke for tryin’ an’ failin’ to be funny.” Spike’s lips swept across the claim mark on her throat. “Tonight, we order in.”

“Mmm.”

“An’ I’ll give you one of my special tongue baths.”

Buffy giggled and leaned back. “This’ll be different from your other tongue baths?”

“Not as such, no.”

“Then—”

“’S special ‘cause you’re the only one that gets it.” His eyes twinkled. “Right?”

“Better be the only one who gets it.”

“Trust me, pet.” Spike collapsed tiredly against the mattress. “Tell me what I’m doin’ again?”

“Leaving a very naked me to entertain the President of the United States on his theories of the Boston Tea Party.”

A low moan tore through his lips. “An’ I agreed to go?”

“Yup.”

“Why?”

“Because I hadn’t told you about the naked part.”

“Told me? You never sleep in anythin’.”

“Yes, well, this is the part where you’re a dummy.”

Spike moaned again and tossed the blankets back. “Yeh, yeh. Bloody prat better be sendin’ a car.” He bounded to his feet and tossed her his patented annoyed look. “’S not like I can walk out in the broad bloody daylight an’ hail a cab.”

Buffy smothered a smile and rolled back onto her side, snuggling into her pillow. She never would have suspected, despite the chaotic events encircling them, that she would be so completely content with domesticity. And never, in a thousand years of living, would she have suspected Spike could adapt to it so well. The claim between them served as the ultimate balance. While her mate’s bloodlust was hardly tamed, the equilibrium of her set of values served as the ultimate middle road. With anyone else, it could not have worked. With anyone else, she would never have wanted this.

Their home was not her. It wasn’t Spike, either. But it was them.

And she was terrified of her happiness. Especially with the mounting fear of her powers, the growing presence of Glory, and the knowledge that at any time, the walls around her could come tumbling down.

“All right, sweetheart,” Spike said, reappearing in his customary jeans and black tee. “’m poppin’ downstairs to wait.”

“You getting a car?”

“Jed always sends a car. An’ he’s always quick.” He shrugged. “He’s the bleeding President.”

“Does he know you call him Jed?”

Spike shook his head. “’S not the sort’ve thing you tell the bloke that controls the Armed Forces.”

She rolled over completely once more as he sat at the edge of the bed, caressing her cheek. If there ever was a day that every touch he gave her didn’t fuel her with passion or envelope her with love, she didn’t want to face it. The look in his eyes grew richer with every wake, the words stronger with every utterance. At so young, she didn’t imagine she could ever have so much.

“It’s not fair you can get dressed so quickly,” she said.

He grinned. “Pouty.”

“President’s probably gonna be mad you didn’t shower.”

“President’s gonna have to bloody deal with it. He woke me up. That’s your job.”

Buffy flashed a smile and tugged him down for a kiss. “So…we’re canceling all plans tonight?”

“Better bloody believe it. I want you all to myself.”

“I can handle that.”

“Mmm, you think so?”

“Yep.” She kissed him again. “Though I want you showered.”

He chuckled. “Think I can manage that.”

“Good. So you better head downstairs.”

“Yeh. See, here’s the thing…” A familiar look flashed across her mate’s face, and he ran a hand over her blanketed body. “’m leavin’ you all alone…naked.”

“Yep.”

“Tell me why I’m doin’ this again?”

“’Cause the President controls the Armed Forces.”

“Sod him. Kiss me.”

“Spike…”

“This is what happens when I get clothed. I see you an’ I get in all sorts of predicaments.”

“Then you better get downstairs.”

A long sigh of concession rolled off his shoulders. “Fine.” He brushed another kiss across her lips, then her brow. “Tell Harris he’s a git for me.”

She laughed. “I will.”

A pause. He palpably did not want to leave her, and she found his reluctance charming. They hadn’t spent too many days apart since they mated, and every time they were presented with the prospect, it felt strained and unnatural. “Have a good day.”

“You, too.”

Spike rose to his feet. “That sound weird, comin’ from me?”

“A little. Now shoo!”

“I love you.”

Her body positively hummed. She would never get tired of hearing those words. “Love you, too.”

The peroxided vampire turned and thundered out of the room before the sight of his girl reclined comfortably in their shared bed could persuade him to tell the President of the United States to sod off for a day.

That wouldn’t blow over well.

Didn’t matter, though. It was only a day.

They would have the evening all too themselves.

 
*~*~*


“Oh, you’re kidding me.”

Anya stopped from where she was admiring herself in the motel mirror. She and Xander had plans to see Buffy and Spike at their place before they hit the market for available apartments in the neighborhoods Sam and Willow had assured her were the safest that the city could provide.

“What?”

A sigh rolled off Xander’s shoulders. “We’re gonna have to cancel this afternoon,” he said. “I gotta go in.”

“Go in?”

“There’s some activity they want me to look at, then another set of reflex tests and seminars.” He shook his head. “I gotta call Buffy. She’s gonna kill me.”

“You have an important job,” Anya retorted indignantly. “If there is something that needs attention, you need to go and do it.” She flashed a proud smile. “You’re the head of the Initiative.”

He grinned. “I am, aren’t I?”

“Yes. And perhaps this change of plans will be beneficial. While you are occupied looking over data and statistics, I can investigate our list of potential apartments, therein freeing up our time tonight for more gratuitous orgasms.”

Xander flushed but grinned, nearing. “My girl’s always thinking,” he said, dropping a kiss across her lips. “Right. Do me a favor and phone Buffy?”

“Why do I have to do it?”

“Ahn…”

The former vengeance demon waved a hand and sighed. “I will make the call.”

He smiled and kissed her again. “You’re the best.”

A long sigh coursed through Anya’s body and she nodded her agreement. “Don’t I know it?”

 
*~*~*


“The President can see you now.”

Spike’s eyes rolled up, unimpressed. “’S about bloody time. You get a bloke outta bed, drag him away from his very shaggable honey, an’ make him wait ten minutes?”

“Yeah,” Charlie said, nodding. “I’m sure the President feels bad about that.”

“Spike,” Mrs. Landingham chided, not looking up from where she was typing up a revised schedule for the day, “please don’t use the word ‘shaggable’ outside the Oval Office.”

He chuckled. “Anyone ever tell you you’re one moxy gal?”

“Anyone ever coach you on the proper etiquette when speaking with a senior citizen?”

“Class act.”

“Don’t you forget it.”

Spike rolled to his feet slowly. “Yeh. By the way. Those cookies? Kinda stale.”

Mrs. Landingham muttered something under her breath and continued on with her work. He grinned, and strolled leisurely into the Oval Office. Charlie closed the door behind him.

“Spike!”

“Mr. President.”

The President rose to his feet and moved around his desk, motioning for the vampire to help himself to one of the sofas. “Hope it wasn’t too much trouble,” he said, taking a seat.

Spike followed suit. “Well, ‘s not like I fancy leavin’ my girl alone when she’s naked, but—”

The President held up a hand. “This might be one of those things that you keep to yourself.”

“Uh huh. Well, you asked.”

“It was a formality thing. Listen, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Yeh, figured as much.”

“I’m telling you because I feel you and your…mate have grown especially close to me and my family over the past few months, and this is a demonstration of the relationship that I hope I am not misinterpreting.”

Spike nodded. “Okay. Well…I know your missus has taken the Slayer under her wing since her mum’s been all sickly, an’—”

“I feel you have become more…extended family.”

The vampire froze. While the sentiment had been there, it was surreal hearing the words touch the air, especially coated in the voice of the most recognizable bloke in the whole bleeding country. Never in the long line of his life had he ever imagined having a friendship with a man, much less the President of the United States, in the way he had grown to value Bartlet’s. For all the complaining he did, he didn’t figure there had ever been a person in his life, other than his father, that earned that sort of paternal respect.

The Slayer had Giles. He had the President.

Life jus’ keeps makin’ with the funny.

“All right. Well…all right.”

The President laughed shortly. “Spike, Leo and the Counsel’s Office are looking into ways of announcing this shortly. Several of my closest staffers have already been told, with the exception of Sam.”

“Why not Prissy?”

“He’s being told at the end of the day. Toby’s of the mindset that I should wait with Sam.” He paused. “Spike, eight years ago, I was diagnosed with a relapsing-remitting course of MS.”

There was a long pause.

“Now…” Spike shifted uncomfortably. “’S not like I followed the campaign, but…you din’t mention that, did you?”

“When I was signed into office, the number of people who knew was thirteen. Abbey told Leo last year after I collapsed prior to the State of the Union. Then I was shot, as you remember, and the anesthesiologist was told. Then the night of the filibuster, the Vice President slammed down Big Oil, and Toby got curious. He was told a few days ago. He was sixteenth.” A pause. “Right now, Oliver Babish, Josh, CJ, and I believe Donna, are on the inside. You’re the twenty-first person.”

“You told Donna before—”

“Toby told Donna. I wasn’t a part of that decision.” The President sighed. “I’m going to tell Sam tonight, and I’d like you to tell Buffy, as I suspect Sam will tell Willow. We’re looking into legal concerns on whether or not I defrauded the public in concealing an illness to win an election.”

“Did you?”

“Well, I concealed my illness and I won the election.”

“Yeh. I can see where that’d cause you trouble.”

The President paused for a beat, studying him closely. “Are you all right, son?”

Spike was quiet. Then nodded. “Yeh,” he said. “I don’ reckon it’s any of my business.”

“Well, if everyone could take on that mindset, it’d make my job a lot easier.”

“MS isn’t fatal, right? An’ it’s not like you’re the firs’ man in this office to do this. There was this bloke back in the forties…was elected four times, ‘f I remember correctly. Oh, an’ won a war while he was at it.”

“Yeah. Well, most of the people that remember that don’t have your insight.”

“Could always rig the election for you.”

“No, because then we’d have to change party affiliation.” The President smiled and rose to his feet. Spike did as well. “You’re all right?”

“Shouldn’t I be askin’ you that?”

His smile turned grateful. “Thank you.”

“The blokes that don’ understand…you know ‘s jus’ because they don’…”

“Contain your special sort of hindsight?”

“Well, yeh…or they jus’ really, really hate you sodding Dems.”

The President laughed thunderously. “All right, get out of here.”

“Your secretary’s gonna have the secret service stake me.”

“You stole a cookie?”

The vampire nodded sheepishly. “Couple, actually.”

Bartlet shook his head. “You’re on your own, mister.”

“What a bloody load of help you are.”

“You don’t mess with the woman’s cookies. Now get out. I’ve got a country to run.”

He spoke of it all good-naturedly—the MS, the legal matters, coming clean—and Spike could tell he meant every word with all the undertones that couldn’t be translated.

It was likely the best reaction the President was going to get from anyone.

Now it was a matter of going home and telling Buffy, and hope that she saw it the way he did.

In the meantime, the man in the office had a hard story to sell.

And something told Spike that it could not have come at a worse time.

 
*~*~*


Buffy was grateful that Xander was running late. She had planned to make something for lunch to prove that she could be normal and make meals for the family rather than depend solely on Spike’s culinary prowess. The result was a burnt slab of meat, the shrill of smoke detectors that she knew now worked like a charm, and about thirty-five dollars to the nearest pizza delivery place.

She ordered extra buffalo wings. Spike loved buffalo wings.

The pizza arrived first. And at about a quarter till twelve, Xander still hadn’t shown. Buffy sat idly in her sparsely furnished parlor, snacking on a baby slice of hamburger and onion, waiting for CJ’s press briefing with such anticipation that it had her insides rattled with irony.

Before she had moved here, she couldn’t have cared less. Now every time she had nothing to do, she was tuned into current events. Spike still recorded Passions at whichever VCR wasn’t occupied. She watched MSNBC and commented on the hottie-status of Ron Reagan, which usually made her mate snarl, throw her on the bed…and give her a reason to continuously remark on men she found attractive. Spike’s possessiveness always left her body tingling.

Only now she wasn’t thinking of ways to get her mate to cart her off to bed in a jealous fury. She was thinking of her friend, and wondering what in God’s name was keeping him.

“Dammit, Xander.”

“Oh, honey, don’t blame him.” The voice that sliced through the room made her blood freeze in her veins. “After all, I think he was called into work because of me.”

Glory was in her living room. Oh God, Glory was in her living room.

“What are you doing here?”

The other god extended her arms in mock innocence. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ve figured it out.”

“Figured it out?”

“The Key, you idiot. I’ve figured it out.” Glory laughed. “I mean, come on, it’s so obvious! It’s not Josh. I thought it was Josh, and I was wrong. I hate being wrong. Almost as much as I hate being lied to. All the time I put into searching for the Key, and the monks melded it into a vat of fleshy goodness? If you would just tell me where the Key is, I could avoid what I’m about to do…so I’ve come to put a deal on the table.”

Buffy was frozen with terror.

Spike. Spike, please.

The connection worked when they were apart…after they had shared blood.

Please!

There was nothing. No voice answered her. No presence warmed her with reassurance.

I’m a god. I don’t need him for this.

The words sounded hollow, even within her head. She needed him for strength. She needed him for everything.

She was only one half.

“Wanna know how I found out? I’m gonna tell you, anyway. The Key has to be bled. It’s right there in the freaking prophecy, okay? The Key has to be bled. Josh was my first choice. Wrong! The man is so frustratingly human, I could just kill him.” The elder god sighed. “So, you wanna tell me who it is? It’d save me a lot of time, and quite frankly, a lot of your friends.”

“I…” God, she was shaking hard. So hard. Her mind was blank, and she was shaking. The power rattling her insides was large and messy, and itching for freedom. “The last few times you’ve tried this, you haven’t been very successful.”

“Yeah. I got that part figured out.”

She felt like her face had been smashed in. The air stung and her blood rushed, her body soaring across the room and smashing in a smoky descent against the wall near the fireplace.

Something large and terrifying was stirring within her. Something hot and white, and unstoppable. There was an ignition of power. A blinding sensation of white: familiar, whole. Her body went cold as it left her, and she went numb at the look that crossed Glory’s face.

Glory’s face that was soon replaced with her own.

Then it touched her, and she screamed. Her blood was on fire. Her eyes were swimming in white. Electric shocks powered through body, tearing across her skin, blazing every inch of her into a scorching inferno. There had never been pain like this. As though she could feel each of her senses dying, feel her blood burning, feeling the strain of her power as it rebounded through her body.

The stench of burnt flesh stung the air.

Glory tossed the mirror aside without so much as a flinch, then prowled forward and fisted the younger god’s hair, jerking her eyes upward. “There are so many new people in your life,” she snarled. “So many of them. I just can’t decide which is the one I need.”

That was it. The last thing Buffy heard. Her head slammed back against the wall, and the world around her went black.

“So,” Glory said, wiping her hands. “You’ve left me no choice. I guess I’ll just have to kill them all.”

 
*~*~*


It was the folly of the secret service. No one would ever deny it.

The minute he felt her pain, Spike screamed her name and broke in a fast run. There was no thought but for her. Nothing except the feel of his mate in danger. The feel of her collapse. The weight of her terror.

She had called out to him. He just hadn’t received the message in time.

And being in the most security-conscientious building in the country didn’t help. The secret service stood in his way, and when he tried to battle them off, the chip fired. And fired. And fired.

Spike collapsed in the White House amidst a group of terrified tourists.

Buffy was hurt.

And Glory was coming.


TBC


 
Chapter Twenty-Four



With the help of Donna and Ginger, Sam was able to move Spike from the place where he had fallen to the sofa in Toby’s office. Charlie was immediately notified, as was the President, and the air around the White House sank into a deeper well of supposition.

“We have to call Buffy,” Donna kept saying. “She needs to know about this.”

“I’ve been trying for the past twenty minutes,” Ginger said, handing the blonde a washcloth and a basin that someone from the Communications Department had smuggled from a random crook in the steam-pipe distribution venue. Sam had spent the better part of the past half hour trying to track down Willow in her classes. Her pager was off and he had left numerous messages on her cell phone. If Buffy couldn’t be reached, the logical conclusion was to find the Witch.

“What about Xander?” Donna demanded as Sam came back into the office. “He works for the guys that put this thing in his head.”

“He’s the boss of the guys that put the thing in his head.”

“Yes! Maybe he can help.”

“By, what? Handing out the antidote to a chip misfire? Something tells me the Initiative wasn’t especially worried about what happened to its assorted…clientele.”

Donna swore under her breath and rang out the washcloth before reapplying it to Spike’s head. She had busied herself with small, motherly attentions to the unconscious vampire in empty hopes that he would awake. They had absolutely no idea what had caused him to react the way he had, especially sans provocation. And they certainly didn’t know how badly the chip had injured him when the secret service repeatedly refused to let him exit the building.

“I can’t reach him.” A sigh coursed through Sam’s body. “I just got a hold of Will. She’ll be here in fifteen minutes…was just getting out of her anthropology class.”

“Carol says that he was screaming for Buffy,” Ginger replied, looking up. “I don’t…do you think he’s sick or something?”

Donna and Sam exchanged a wry glance. While they had not done much to hamper the education of the immediate staff of those on the inside of the secret world of vampires, they similarly had certainly done nothing to broadcast that things-that-go-bump-in-the-night were a matter of reality. Ginger, like Bonnie, knew that their bosses were involved with something they were not supposed to know about. They knew that Spike, Buffy, and Willow were a part of the ever-elusive events that had taken them all by storm the previous year. That Josh, Sam, Toby, and Donna had returned from Natchez as changed people. All aged with knowledge. All a part of something bigger than the world of the presidency, even if such was infeasible to those who worked for the most powerful man in the country.

CJ, Charlie, and the First Family were the only ones that had been told since the tone of the White House changed. For good reason, assuredly, but it made outbursts like Spike’s even more suspicious.

“If he was calling for Buffy, then something’s happened.” Donna’s face went grave. “Something’s wrong.”

“Something…”

“Sam.” The blonde leveled her eyes with his. “Think.”

It took all of a few seconds. His gaze went wide with recollection, and a rush of air near threw him to the ground. And that was it. Just like that, he knew. They both did.

“It’s happening.”

The words solidified it all. The next second, the air was pierced with the shrill of a security alarm. And the time for speculation was over.

It had already started.

 
*~*~*


There wasn’t an inch of her that didn’t ache. The air hung heavy with the stench of burnt skin, and she felt pools of her own blood forming on the floor around her. Her flesh was a map of char rivers. She felt every cell in her body was ready to combust. To throw in the rag. To concede defeat.

And there was a deafening pain in her head. A physical ache that had no blade to cast blame upon.

She felt it. She felt every part of it.

Buffy’s eyes opened to the wreckage of the place she had just begun to consider home. The cracks in her walls, the furniture she and Spike had selected one weekend when they were both struck with a whim of utter domesticity. It was all broken. The world around her had crashed in a matter of minutes.

And she couldn’t feel him.

Her body broke at that. She couldn’t feel her mate.

Spike!

There was nothing. Nothing at all. Her eyes welled with tears, and her body crippled with sobs before she could even manage to her feet. There was physical pain, then there was a manifestation of the one she loved that had been ripped away from her. All consuming. She felt as though every tug on the world had snapped, and there was no longer anything there to catch her fall.

Spike, please. Please answer me.

If he didn’t answer her, she feared a collapse of a different nature. Her lifeline was tied with his. And Glory was out there. Glory was on her way to kill her friends. Glory was on her way to destroy everything.

If Spike had already…

No. She couldn’t think like that.

She was one half. She couldn’t go on without the other. More than the ache that had consumed her, the grief that threatened to incapacitate her in the wait for the world’s end, it was mere physics. If he had died, she would not be able to fight. She would not be able to do anything.

He needed to answer her.

Spike!

 
*~*~*


Josh had all but bounded down the corridor toward the Communications Offices. In a blink, the concerns for tomorrow were nonexistent. The empty rage he was battling in place of a president’s concealing an illness fell completely. Somewhere, he had heard the first notes of a brass quintet, and he knew things were about to get bad.

“Donna!”

Something was happening and he didn’t know what. Only the time gap between this moment and hundreds of miles plus a year away suddenly seemed complete. He saw her. She was rushing out of Sam’s office when he saw her, and logic fell to instinct. His hand wrapped around her wrist, and he ran back for his office before she could sputter out a sentence.

He didn’t even register that she was talking to him. He shoved her across the threshold of his workspace and slammed the door shut.

“Josh, it’s Glory.”

“Glory?”

“She tripped security, or something. We didn’t even have time to crash.” Donna’s eyes were wide and erratic. “Sam…and Spike and Ginger—”

“Oh God, Sam.”

He’d completely forgotten about Sam. It had happened, and he had run for Donna.

“It happened to Buffy first, I’m positive.” She had started crying without realizing it, shaking her head in a mess of incoherent statements and blurred lines of reason. “Spike was on his way home and he just spazzed and started screaming for her.”

“Yeah, I know.” Josh shook his head. “Glory can’t get in here, Donna. We’re in the most secure building on the planet. I don’t care if she comes with the Spanish Inquisition, she can’t get into the White House.”

“So running, grabbing me, and taking off like the world is ending was just to confuse her?”

“I’m telling you, the secret service would, in no way, ever let a threat of this magnitude near the President. They’d take him to the bunker. They’d—”

“Josh, she’s a god.”

“Yeah.”

And though neither of them wanted to say it, there was only one name they could conjure in relation to the banishment of gods.

The ground was beginning to quake. And the rules no longer applied.

Spike was unconscious. No one knew where Buffy was, or what had happened to her. And Willow was still on her way.

Josh grabbed Donna’s wrist again and jerked her to the floor behind his desk.

He’d lost count of the times he’d nearly died this last year. And if this happened to be the day fate drew his number, there was no way he was going without having Donna near. Not to share his death, rather to have her there in some means of solace.

He just knew it was happening now. All else was left to guesswork.

 
*~*~*


Spike’s eyes flew open.

“Buffy!”

She was screaming his name, her grief and her pain washing over him in an onslaught of anguish.

“He’s awake!”

The bird he knew to be Ginger was at his side, her eyes shining with tears that smelled fearful. He was in Toby’s office and the door was shut. The Communications Director and his Deputy were with him, and the air around him tasted rich. That familiar, potent scent that came before an especially anticipated kill. He knew it too well to doubt it. He was in the White House and Buffy was not. Buffy was in Georgetown, hurt. Screaming, sobbing, pleading for him to answer her.

Buffy.

He heard her choked relief as though she was standing beside him. As though she had run her hands through his hair and collapsed against him in respite.

Oh God. Oh my God. Spike… I thought—

Shhh. It felt strange to see her tears without seeing her. To feel her pain without having the luxury of comforting her in his arms. It was a sensation he distinctly never again wanted to experience. If he lived a thousand lifetimes, he would never again place himself a hair away from her. Baby, it’s okay now. It’s okay. What happened?

There was a long pause. He felt burn marks lace his skin. Felt the crippling sensation of fire combusting his insides. She was hurt. She was hurt, and he couldn’t reach her. All else fell second to that.

He needed to see her.

Glory. She’s coming. Spike, she—

I’ll be there in a second. A bleedin’ flash. Jus’ stay there, sweetheart. Stay with me.

No! Despite the stench of fear surrounding her, there was something else in her mind’s tone. A shade of something he knew so well, it nearly inspired tears to his eyes, aside the ones that had already burrowed rivers down his cheeks. This was his girl. The Slayer. The Slayer that lived inside the god, not quite ready to say goodnight.

No. She’s on her way there. She’s going to kill everyone. You have to…Spike, you have to…

What? Leave you hurt? You’re off your nutter.

I’m coming.

Buffy!

The President…Josh, Donna…all of them. You need to…I’m on my way. There was another rush of relief. I just…don’t scare me like that.

Buffy, please.

She wasn’t ready for this. She had only just accepted that she needed to touch this part of who she was. The god within her skin. She wasn’t ready. She was going to get herself killed.

And he would die right along with her. If anything happened to Buffy…

I love you.

Love you, too, sweetling. Stay the bloody hell away.

You’re there. Like hell am I staying away.

Then it was gone. His connection. He felt her, but she was no longer open to him. She had cut him out.

She was coming here. His girl was coming to him. To do all she could. It was who she was. Who she always would be. The Slayer locked inside, worrying about everyone but herself. Breaking his heart with worry, then infuriating him with her stubbornness.

If she died, it would be because he was already gone.

As long as he stood, Glory wasn’t going to touch her.

“She’s here.”

Spike glanced up. Sam was staring at the door in horror.

“She’s…”

“She’s gonna kill the lot of us,” the vampire said, rising to his feet. “An’ she’s startin’ with the top.”

“The President.”

Like hell. Even Spike was skeptical of that. There was no way the secret service would let the President stay in the Oval with a threat of this magnitude on the premises. With a god tearing through the most recognizable building in the country. It simply wouldn’t happen.

That didn’t mean he was going to take a chance. The President was the closest thing he’d had to a father in a hundred and fifty years.

If he couldn’t stop Buffy from coming, the least he could do was make sure there was nothing but the clean up when she arrived.

 
*~*~*


The door to the Deputy Chief of Staff’s office flew open. Donna screamed and burrowed herself further into her boss’s arms as Josh dared to peek over the length of the desk.

A sigh of relief rumbled through his body. Thank God. Willow.

“Josh?”

“Here.”

The redhead nodded and raised a hand. “Is Donna with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” The room rumbled with something unseen, but he wasn’t about to contest it. Willow was here.

Willow who banished gods.

“Stay put,” she said lowly.

“Glory—”

“I know. Stay put.” The Witch shrugged off her jacket and tossed it against the entryway. The sheath of fabric exploded into a cloud of yarn and cotton. “There’s a ward around your door.”

There was every possibility that Willow could be the scariest person he’d ever met, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.

“Sam—”

“I’m warding his office next.”

“And the President—”

She nodded gravely. “I know.”

Josh did not doubt her. The President would be the first person Glory would attack. If she could take out the President, the rest of them would be lost to chaos, and she could pick them off in a matter of seconds.

There was a ward around his door. Donna was in his arms.

But Willow banished gods. And she was here now.

 
*~*~*


Glory had not come by herself. She wasn’t as dense as to project an attack on the most secure office in the country with nothing but her strength to fight off the President’s personal guards. And it was unlike anything Spike had ever seen. Not in a hundred years. Not in a thousand conjectures of his very active imagination had he foreseen anything like this, and he imagined he never would again.

“Oh my God.”

Willow was beside him, and her eyes were black with power.

The blonde god flashed a smile over her shoulder. The floor was littered with the bodies of secret service agents, and the President was lost between bereavement and fear. His eyes met Spike’s and explained in plain, silent words that he expected the vampire to turn around and leave before he similarly got hurt.

“Ah, it’s the lover,” Glory chided. “You know, honey, your girl might talk a good game, but it’s all a matter of experience. And let me tell you, she wasn’t ready for a very real taste of her own power.”

Spike’s eyes darkened as his body flooded with rage.

And Willow was beside him.

“You’re thinking about calling for help, aren’t you?” The god turned and kicked the leg of the nearest agent. “You think you guys can take me. A scorned vampire avenging his shmoopy, and a witch who struck gold twice.”

“Never doubt that a small group of people can change the world,” the President muttered, almost to himself.

Spike looked up again, and made a quick decision.

“Go,” Willow said, her voice compressed with magic. She’d read him without having to read a thing.

And he did. Just as the god turned her attention back to the President, Spike leapt forward, and his fangs burst through his gums. He was over her head in a flash, and landed in front of her before she could flinch.

Then he was between them. Between Glory and Bartlet.

If the god wanted the President, she would have to come through the vampire.

He was going to die here. He would die here defending the President, but he would give his life to protect his mate. He would forfeit everything trying to save the woman he loved by killing the woman that had hurt her. Killing the one that had cut their eternity short.

Buffy.

He was still swimming in the pain of his mate. Fury had overwhelmed him.

Spike saw the whites of her eyes. The shock. The glee. The sadistic joy. It was all there, and it was the last thing that registered as he lunged.

 

Chapter Twenty-Five



It wouldn’t occur to her until days had passed. The White House was virtually locked down; and yet, somehow, Buffy had managed to get through security. Her entrance was a blur. She distinctly remembered a man waving badge, someone screaming for clearance as another attempted to hold her back. Similarly, she recalled the voice of Leo McGarry and a panicked Sam Seaborn. It was fortunate that they intervened; she feared she would have killed whoever stood between her and her mate.

Nothing mattered. Nothing mattered but getting to Spike.

“He’s in the Oval,” Leo said quickly, running alongside her. “They all are.”

Buffy barely heard him. She didn’t need to be told where anyone was. All she needed was to feel Spike’s skin and kiss his face…and lay waste to anyone that had made him bleed.

“Willow’s in there,” Sam gasped. “So’s the President.”

It occurred to her that the names he said should carry some weight. They didn’t. Buffy’s mind was wholly with Spike. Something rooted. Something instinctual. The claim was in control; she didn’t have time to care for anything else.

“Josh and Toby?” Leo asked.

“Willow put up a ward in Josh’s office. He’s in there with Donna. She came down to do the same to mine, but I was with the Minority Leader in the Roosevelt Room, so she’s sealed Toby’s office, too.”

“What about CJ?”

“Carol took her downstairs.”

Sam and Leo ran with her all the way to the Oval. She figured they would barrel into the room at her side if she let them, but that wasn’t an option. Somehow, she was able to put the brakes on before she ploughed through the door, not even noticing the absence of Charlie and Mrs. Landingham as she whirled around to face the men that looked ready to follow her to Hell if need be.

“This is where the ride stops for you two.”

Leo and Sam were panting and shaking their heads.

“The President only…dies if I’m…already dead,” the Chief of Staff said. “That’s the…way it works.”

“I’m not leaving Willow,” Sam agreed. “Or the President.”

“Neither of you are going to do anyone any good by going in there,” Buffy snapped. “The best thing for Will and the President is to let me do my job. So either turn around and go somewhere else, or I’m going to use up half my energy right now just to restrain the both of you.”

She wouldn’t remember waiting for an answer. She wouldn’t even remember how quickly she’d gotten from her broken Georgetown home to the White House. Beyond the doors, the only thing she would remember was the grip of terror, an ocean of pleading eyes, the burn that came with release.

She wouldn’t remember anything else. Nothing beyond the look on Spike’s face.

And blackness that surrounded her fall.

*~*~*


The air crackled with the scent of burnt flesh and rang still with the screams of an irate god. Spike’s gums were numb, his stomach turning at the unfamiliar coppery taste of the deity’s blood.

He had barked an order to the President to get behind his desk as Glory shrieked her pain. The doors to the Oval were practically sealed shut—the President’s body man, Charlie, nursing a wound to his middle. The poor kid had rushed inward, fighting off the remaining secret service agents that were oblivious to death on the President’s detail, and had practically leapt into a stream of Willow’s magic in a hurry to get to his boss’s side.

Even wounded, Charlie refused to abandon Bartlet. The kid had the President crouched under the Resolute Desk and was presently ignoring the commands from the most powerful man in the country to similarly dive for cover.

The seconds following Spike’s lunge for the god were a distorted rush. The scent of heavy magic drenched the air, the hue of the Witch’s eyes too black to doubt the intensity of her resources. His fangs had slashed into every inch of god flesh that he could reach. He felt his body betraying him with each passing second. There was only so much strength he could forge against a deity.

Glory snagged him with a right hook that sent him flying across the room. He crashed into something with an ear-splitting crack, and the taste of his own blood flooded his mouth.

“You think that’s enough?” the god snapped, wiping dust off her sleazy red dress. “You’re just a vampire, honey.” She whirled around, raising a hand at the wave of fresh power Willow was preparing to fire. “Don’t even think about it.”

Spike staggered to his feet. From where he had fallen, he could see the worried eyes of the President, and Charlie’s admirable restraint to keep the man from going to his side.

He was more than a vampire.

He was the mate of a god.

And this drastic waste of space wasn’t going to interfere with protecting what was his. He’d waited too long, lost too much, to have it end today.

“Ooh, what’s this?” Glory flashed a cruel smirk. “Someone doesn’t know when to call it quits.”

“That’s the both of us,” Willow spat, her voice a deep, unnatural baritone that coincide with the crackling of the air. A familiar purplish static was forming between her fingers.

If the threat carried any weight, Glory didn’t make it known. Instead, she rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“You guys just won’t be satisfied until you’re all dead, will you?”

Then the door to the Oval Office flew open, and the rules changed.

Oh God.

Buffy.

“No,” Spike growled. Glory wasn’t going to get her chance at her.

He didn’t care if he had to follow her all the way to Hell to be sure of it. The bitch goddess was not touching his mate.

*~*~*


“You have to get me in that room.”

Leo was calmly leading Sam downstairs, his own mind occupied with a thousand terrible scenarios. “No. I don’t think I’ll be doing that.”

“Leo—”

The elder man shook his head. “From what you’ve told me about your girlfriend’s powers, she’d just end up having to protect you. The President is in there with the secret service, a witch, a vampire, and a god. It’s god-knows-how-many versus one whackjob. I’m liking our odds.”

He recited the line-up more for his sake than Sam’s.

If the President was in danger, he wanted to be there.

If the President was killed, he wanted to already be dead.

Leo stopped at the hallway that led to Ainsley Hayes’s office, where Ed and Larry had suggested Carol took CJ. “You stay put,” he said. “I’m gonna go check on Josh and Toby.”

“I need—”

“Sam, we don’t know what we’re supposed to do now. It’s not everyday the White House is taken hostage by a god. I need you to stay here and stay out of trouble.”

He was just glad Josh and Toby were sealed in. Keeping Sam from getting himself killed was hard enough.

*~*~*


It was over in a blink. Everything was over.

She’d heard Willow’s panicked, “No, Buffy, don’t!” just seconds before bursting through the door, her skin tingling as something diffused, and the room sparked with energy. She felt the rumble of a mate in mourning as strong arms grasped her from behind, her neck suddenly forced into the crook of an elbow, another hand pressing against her head.

She didn’t know that gods could choke until that moment.

No.

She had not suffered this much to die so simply. She had not undergone the most painful transformation in the line of her short life the year before only to face death like this. Short. Quick. Forgettable. Quirinias had not murdered her soul when he inhabited her body. He had not broken her with his presence, and he had not won.

Glory was holding her now, ready to snap her neck.

It was so quick. So undignified.

Buffy had envisioned her death a thousand times. It was simply the way of things when she was the Slayer. She had figured she would die for her cause, die for her duty; such was expected with the calling.

The scent of fresh tears hit the air. Spike.

Oh God. Not enough that she had to die; Spike had to watch it happen? There was no mercy in the world.

I’m sorry, sweetie. I’m so, so sorry.

His eyes were swimming with tears and he shook his head furiously. “No.”

“Oh yes,” Glory snapped, twisting her neck further. “You know, sugarpie, you’ve really pushed my last nerve. I mean, I would’ve thought that you got the message when I broke you at your house. Or how about when I told you I was going to kill all your friends? But no. No. Miss Mousy Buffy had to interfere yet again. Which, really, has worked out for the best for all of us. I mean, here you get to die…” Her eyes flashed upward. “And the lover gets to witness the whole thing.”

Pain engulfed her entire body.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Watching the man she loved weep for her as he watched her die?

Buffy, please.

His voice warmed her body, even strained in grief.

Buffy please. Please. God, let it go.

Spike—

Whatever it is you’ve got, baby, let it go. Please! Please, you can’t do this to me. You’re stronger…god, Buffy, please!

The underlying message was clear: You die, I die. And while she knew that Spike didn’t fear death, she similarly knew that dying after watching her final moments would haunt him far longer than the shadows of life could chase.

And it was there. The specks of white that had so long pillowed her fall. The power she didn’t know to master. The part of her that she had only now accepted. Spike was in mourning and her body felt it. More than that; he was in danger. Once she was gone, Glory would kill him in his sorrow.

God, it was building. Spreading across her skin with white-hot pinpricks. Her body burned and seared her insides with eternal fire. The eruption was fast and unlike anything she had experienced before. Stronger. As though the past times her power had come close to release, it had held back if only to protect her from the fullness of its impact.

She had fought it before, even without realizing it. There was nothing to fight now. Nothing but acceptance. It was death at Glory’s hands or death at her own.

This was the time that counted.

The world around her went white as it left her. Screams split the air, but she didn’t know to whom they belonged. The arms holding her vanished and an inhuman scream tore through her throat. It was the last thing she felt. With an agonized moan, Buffy fell to the floor.

And knew nothing else.

*~*~*


It was as though the universe had collapsed. The room had gone white for long, terrifying seconds, and he’d been consumed with anguish. Then all had cleared and Buffy’s black, charred body fell to the ground, and he knew nothing but the emptiness of rage.

Spike leapt forward before his fury could settle. There wasn’t time to think. A surge of foreign strength flooded his veins, and before he knew what he was doing, his hands were around Glory’s head, and a deafening crack sounded through the air.

“Oh my God!”

He heard nothing. Felt nothing. He fell to the ground beside his Slayer, hard sobs wracking his body as he took her in his arms. The world was vacant if she was gone.

And she couldn’t be gone. He felt her.

“Buffy!” He buried his face in her throat and cradled her tenderly. “God, please. Please, baby. I’m so sorry. Fuck, I’m so bleeding sorry.”

He’d asked her to do this. He’d asked her to give it her everything.

And he’d killed her.

There was a distant hum in his ears. He felt everything within him disintegrate, a piercing wail slicing through his blood as all else fell to the completeness of suffering. He choked long, hard sobs as he rocked her back and forth. Guilt compressed and his body was breaking.

He didn’t think it was possible to harm his mate.

“Spike…”

He batted Willow off, feeling the astonishment of her stare.

“Spike…you…”

“Sod off!” he growled through his tears, clutching Buffy closer to him. “Leave me!”

“Spike, you killed her.” Willow had knelt beside the hellgod, her eyes wide with wonder. “You killed Glory.”

That didn’t matter a shit to him.

Then it was over. It was all over, and his blood sang with the most euphoric harmony he had ever known.

Spike…

The vampire went absolutely still for a minute, not daring to hope.

Spike…it’s okay.

Buffy wasn’t moving, but she wasn’t gone.

He crumbled again in tears, holding her to him in the bittersweet crash of the most blissful relief he had ever known.

I’m so sorry, baby, he gasped into her, peppering soft kisses over her marred skin. I’m so, so sorry. I love you so much. Jus’ don’t leave me. Fuck, sweetheart, you can’t leave me. I love you. God, I love you so much.

I love you, she replied. I have to sleep now.

Buffy—

Just let me sleep. I’ll be okay. Just let me sleep.

The last thing he wanted to do was sever connection with his mate, but he wasn’t about to presume the right to order her around. Nodding, even as the others in the room stared at him in bleak astonishment, he whispered his understanding into her hair, and felt her succumb to slumber.

“Spike?”

The vampire glanced up, eyes shining. “She’s okay, Red,” he gasped. “I nearly killed her, but she’s okay.”

The President’s face was numb. So was Charlie’s.

And the ground was littered with bodies. Fallen agents of the President’s personal detail. The broken form of a god that had nearly destroyed them all.

“Charlie,” Bartlet said absently, his voice grave, “show Spike to the Lincoln Bedroom and send for Abbey.”

There was a long beat. “Yes, Mr. President.”

As though in a trance, Spike collected his mate in his arms.

He thought of nothing else. There was nothing to consider. He’d done what he could. The rest didn’t belong to him.

The only thing in the world that he cared about was in his arms.

He had her. She was alive.

To him, that was all that mattered.

*~*~*


It had been dark for three hours when a knock sounded on the door. Spike didn’t even bother to stand; he knew who it was. Knocking was simply a formality when one was a guest in the home of the President.

“How is she?”

“Abbey gave her somethin’,” Spike replied, his eyes not leaving his mate’s sleeping face. She was already looking better; her burns had begun to heal. He’d cleansed her body of char and made her as comfortable as possible. She had not yet awoken, but every now and then, she would murmur or smile, or send him a warm thought.

“You understand why I couldn’t call for another doctor, don’t you?”

Of course he bloody well understood. The world would end before he let someone he didn’t trust near his mate.

Though he reckoned the President’s motives were slightly different.

“’F it’d been anyone but your wife, they’d be dead for tryin’ to touch her.”

There was a heavy beat.

“I just finished the phone calls to the families of the officers that died today,” the President said. “Ron Butterfield’s not taking it very well.”

He didn’t give a fuck who Ron Butterfield was, or why he wasn’t taking whatever well. Though he understood why the President had mentioned it, and did nothing but nod at the useless knowledge at his disposal.

“Spike…” The President moved forward slowly. “I—”

“I’ve been gettin’ stronger,” he blurted. “For months now…’cause I’m the mate of a god. ‘Cause I taste her blood. I killed Glory because I had to. I din’t know I could do that, either, so don’ lecture me on—”

“What? Saving our lives?” The President offered a grave smile. “I’m not going to pretend that what happened today wasn’t the worst thing that’s happened to us so far, but you did what you had to. So did Buffy.” There was a beat. “You jumped in front of me without thinking. Call it what you will, but that’s something, son. You and Buffy saved us all…with great cost to yourselves.”

Spike finally glanced up. “Mr. President—”

“I won’t forget that.” He paused again. “And, when it’s just us, you’re free to call me Jed.”

The President turned and walked out at that, not waiting for an answer.

Spike stared at him for a long time, a heavy sigh escaping his body. He thought too late about what the man had told him earlier pertaining to his Multiple Sclerosis, and how he should have asked about his surrogate father’s health. How he should have done a thousand things differently.

It didn’t matter, though. Not in the long run.

All that mattered was Buffy.

And he wasn’t leaving her side.



 
Chapter Twenty-Six



It had been the longest day of his life, and he’d seen some long ones.

Spike pressed a washcloth to Buffy’s forehead, a harsh breath hissing through his throat. She had been sleeping now for nearly twenty-four hours, murmuring every now and then but not once opening her eyes. The First Lady had been by twice to alter the doses of the meds she’d put her on, assuring the worried vampire that Buffy was too much of a fighter to take her final bow.

Especially now, when she had so much to live for.

CJ was giving yet another ambiguous briefing on why the White House had crashed the day before, detailing the events of the past twenty-four hours…sans the details. She conducted herself admirably with what little information she could give them. Truly, he felt for her. Things, in many ways, would be so much simpler if humans were introduced to the world beyond their false reality.

Then again, there’d likely be mass panic, and that wasn’t good. Highly amusing, granted, but not good. And rather boring after a while.

“Chris, we call it national security for a reason,” CJ answered coolly, turning her head to another reporter. “Danny!”

“Does the White House have a response to the Majority Leader classifying yesterday’s attack as, ‘Another example of how Democratic leadership falters when hostilely provoked?’”

CJ blinked. “Only that the Majority Leader is both stupid and wrong, though there’s no surprise there. That’s all.”

Spike winced. She was going to take some heat for that. There were times, though not many, when the Press Secretary lost her cool in the briefing room and ended up saying something that most would otherwise categorize as a slip of the tongue. He’d been around long enough, though, to recognize the weaknesses of certain administrations.

CJ wasn’t a weakness; it was her strength that terrified the opposition.

“That didn’t sound like it went well.”

The vampire’s eyes dropped to the face of his Slayer, and he swore, in that instant, that his heart had begun thundering in his chest. “Buffy…”

She smiled up at him weakly. “Hey.”

That was all it took; the light in her eyes. He crashed without warning, his head falling against her stomach as he released the full weight of his concern and mingled relief into the comfort of her body. It was too similar to before; reminded him too much of seeing her come back to life the previous year in a small room in Natchez after battling a god. After staking her right to her body and clutching her to his chest as he fought to hold onto the happiness this miserable world had finally granted him.

Two years. Two gods. He didn’t know if he could take it anymore.

“Christ, Buffy,” he gasped. “You gotta stop doing this to me.”

Her eyes enveloped him with warmth, a hand rising to cup his cheek and wipe the tears from his face. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “It’s okay now. It’s over.”

A shrill laugh escaped his throat. “Over. Over, bleedin’ over. I nearly lost you.”

“You’ll never lose me.”

“You can’t…what I…I asked you to do it—”

“I needed to do it.” A long sigh shuddered through her body. “I didn’t know gods could break, did you?”

“Buffy…”

“I feel broken all over…but it’s fixing itself.” She settled back, her eyes fluttering shut. “I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t…I couldn’t even begin to be ready for that.”

“Sweetheart—”

“I know I said I’d try, Spike, but how do you try? How do you train for this? Gods aren’t made the way I was made. Gods are just…there.” She shook her head. “I’m supposed to be human. How can I train to channel that? How can I begin to know what I’m doing? I thought I had a handle on it…Lord help me, I really did. I thought it was under control. That I could keep it under control. That I had that sort’ve power.”

“You do. We jus’ don’ know—”

“How to use it. There’s not exactly an owners manual on this thing.”

“You haven’ trained, sweetheart.” He tucked her hair behind her ear and pressed a kiss to her brow. “You got yourself there mentally, but you never set out do to change anythin’. Every time you’ve had to call on it, ‘s been about usin’ the full of what you have. You wield pretty bloody powerful mojo there…you think you can jump to bein’ a pro without completin’ the beginners’ level?”

Emotion stormed her eyes, and he felt everything stop again when they flooded with tears. “What else was I supposed to do?” she asked softly. “I know it’s…Giles tells me to get a handle on it…how the hell does he know what this feels like? He’s not a god. He’s just…Giles. He can’t even know what it’s like to need what you need. I know I needed to understand it, Spike. I know I needed to learn it. But the world didn’t stop for me. I wasn’t ready to have to not only accept it, learn it, and dish it out. I’ve only been like this for a year. How the hell can anyone—”

“Shhh, pet, ‘s okay.”

“No, it’s not! It’s not okay. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry it took me so long. I’m so sorry I don’t have a better handle on it. I’m sorry I can’t do what I tried, and I’ll never…” Buffy palmed his cheek again, losing herself in the deep azure of his gaze. “I never want to feel that again. I never want to feel you so…it was terrible. You needed me and I wasn’t there. Not the way you needed me to be.”

He offered a watery smile. “You were busy savin’ the world, luv. Can’t exactly blame you.”

“I didn’t save the world. You did. I don’t know how to save the world anymore.”

“Balls.”

“Spike—”

“You don’ know how to save the world?” Spike arched a cynical brow. “That’s not a talent you forget. You mean you can’t save the world like you used to, sweets. You can’t jus’ jump in an’ be the Slayer, ‘cause you’re so much bloody more than the Slayer now. You haven’ stop savin’ the world, Buffy. You jus’ learnin’ how to do it in a different way. You mastered it before, an’ you will again. This is jus’ the next level, an’ you’re terrified ‘cause no other girl in your shoes has ever made it this far.”

Tears spilled over her eyes and she looked at him with such love, he thought he would burst. “How do you do that?”

“I’m jus’ talented.”

“You still in this just because you like this world?” she asked softly, tilting her head to the side.

He grinned. “Well, this world has you in it, so I’m willin’ to fight the good fight.”

“Sap.”

“Well…yeah.” He graced her with a dubious glance. “Tell me I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

She flushed and smiled fully, and his heart warmed. “Okay, so we’re both saps.”

“Quiet a pair, huh, luv?”

She expelled a deep breath, but didn’t respond. Her expression grew troubled once more. “I…what happened? Is Glory…I take it that she didn’t kill me, but—”

“She’s dead.”

Buffy’s eyes widened. “She’s dead? Was that…did I…?”

Guilt consumed him. They were both weak at confronting their issues. How long had he been keeping this from her? Telling everyone else; confiding in everyone except the woman he loved. Except the one he had claimed to share his life. They were so wholly the same at times; she with her inability to accept what she had become, and he with his inability to tell her what he had grown into, simply by being around her.

They were the same.

Here we go.

“Partly,” he said. Then paused. “I killed her.”

There was a long, still beat. “You…what?”

“I killed Glory…I was able to ‘cause of what you did. She was dazed, I think…an’ she had hurt you. I raced at her, snapped her neck, an’ the rest is a blur.”

“Spike…how…?”

“I’ve been growin’ stronger, kitten. For months now.” His eyes fell to the bedspread, unwilling to see the betrayal that would undoubtedly devour her. “Ever since…’s you. It’s us. You’re a god, an’ I’m the mate of a god. An’ I drink…we share blood.”

“You’ve been getting…stronger?”

He nodded. “Much.”

“Why didn’t you…why is this the first I’m hearing about this?”

The next part was true, but it didn’t justify his actions. If anything, he felt it condemned him more. Made him more the hypocrite than he already was. They’d been dancing around each other now for months. Buffy with her denial, he with his secrecy. They were mates; there could be no secrets. None of this magnitude.

“I din’t…you were so afraid for what you thought you were becomin’, sweetheart,” he said. “Afraid of what you could do. Afraid of what…well, afraid of power. I din’t need you worryin’ for me, too.”

“Worrying that you would—”

“I—”

“Spike…I would never…how could you think that I would think that?”

A small, nervous smile crossed his lips. “Old habit,” he murmured with a shrug. “You’re…you can’t ever forget that I’m…I know you can’t. No matter—”

“You’re a dope.”

“I’m a what?”

“We’re mated. You feel it when I’m sad. When I’m happy, or afraid, or…anything. Why on earth would you think I can’t feel everything you feel? I always just thought your reservations were about me being a big fraidy-cat.” Buffy willed her eyes closed. “I love you. That’s never gonna change.”

Spike’s smile turned tender, and he brushed a kiss across her lips. “We’re both a li’l dense where that goes,” he murmured. “I love you, too.”

“There can’t be any more of this. No more…keeping stuff like that from each other.” She shuddered. “I did it, too. I tried to keep it about me, the Slayer, as in the only one. But I’m not that anymore. I’m a god…and I have you.”

“Right on both counts.”

“We have to be in this together.”

“For real instead of jus’ sayin’ it, right?” Spike’s lips touched her forehead. “We’ve been sayin’ it forever.”

“I’m not…for a while, I’m not going to be able to do my job.”

“You don’ have an obligation to your job anymore, sweetling. Not if you don’ want it.”

“Want isn’t an issue.”

“I know. Jus’ thought I’d throw that out there.”

“I just can’t do it for a while. Not without going off like I did.” She trembled. “I feel it. I feel it now more than I have before. I feel like a time bomb.”

Spike ran a hand up her arm, pressing his brow to hers. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Not with Giles.”

“The Council of Wankers wouldn’t know where to begin with a god,” he agreed.

Buffy licked her lips. “What about Willow? She’s a witch…she has to channel power like this…she could help me temper it.”

The vampire stilled. “Not sure how good I feel about Red bein’ your coach on restraint.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s been gettin’ stronger, too. Don’ tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“Well, she’s gotten past that awkward ‘floaty pencil’ thing, if that’s what you mean.”

“The first time she faced a god, luv, it knocked her out for hours. Glory was throwin’ everything she had at her this time, an’ Red barely has a scratch to show for it.” Spike heaved a sigh. “She hasn’t had much to show for it for a while. Let’s face it; Red’s been warmin’ the reserve bench for the past few months. Where’d all that power come from?”

Buffy shrugged. “Will knows that just because she can’t see it, something’s there. She probably does exercises and stuff. Plus, there has been a nasty hellgod running amuck through DC.”

“Red hasn’t been the target.”

“I rather doubt she’s been twiddling her thumbs.”

“I know, an’ that’s what I’m sayin’. She’s gotten more powerful, an’ it’s been without our supervision.”

“Since when does Will need supervision?”

“Buffy…you were born like this. You were born with the super-human thing. Red wasn’t. Why do you think that you can’t handle it an’ she can? That you need trainin’ wheels while she’s been playin’ it by ear from the bloody beginnin’? You think Prissy steps in when her magic goes wonky?”

“I—”

A sigh of exasperation hissed through his lips. “What is it with your inability to see fault in people, but your insistence on comin’ down so bleedin’ hard on yourself? You think Red can’t get taken by her power? She’s human, pet. I don’ care how good a chum of yours she is. I’ve seen the best corrupted with power, an’ I’m tellin’ you, she’s no different.”

“Calm down. I’m not…” Buffy expelled a deep breath. “You’re right.”

“I…wait.” He blinked. “What?”

“See, sometimes you gotta slow down.”

“I don’ hear you say that often.”

“I know. You’re right about Will. You’re right about pretty much everything.” Buffy grinned and tugged him down to her, kissing his lips gently. It felt like forever had passed since they had simply had time to be together. Since the world around them had crashed; since everything was now beginning to rebuild. “I think we need a vacation.”

“I’d agree with that,” Spike murmured against her mouth. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, too.”

“No matter what. Today…how long it takes, I don’ care.”

“I know.”

“An’ we’ll get through it. This thing. Without Willow.” He shook his head. “I don’t want her near you in this sort’ve…”

“What is it?”

“With magic. I don’ want you tradin’ secrets with her.”

“Spike, that’s—”

“I have a feelin’, okay? I can’t explain it, an’ I don’ know what it means, but I have a feelin’. The sort’ve feelin’ that I tend to trust, especially when it comes to those I love.” He paused. “’m not sayin’ to stay away from Red. I’m jus’…as far as learnin’ how to manage your powers, I don’ think she’s the answer.”

Buffy was quiet for a long minute.

“You trust me, right?” he asked her when she didn’t respond.

“Of course.”

“More than…”

“I trust you more than anyone, Spike.”

“’m soulless, you know. Evil creature, here.”

“You’re also my vampire, and yes, I trust you. And if you have a feeling, you have a feeling.”

Spike looked at her for a long minute, then sighed his relief, tension rolling off his shoulders. It had been over a year, but he still nearly doubled over when she placed such unbridled faith in him. He suspected the feeling would never die. Not for a thousand years. Not for every second he spent with her.

There was a sharp knock at the door that stole whatever he was about to say right off his lips. And before he could rise or even voice an invitation, the First Lady was in the room.

Buffy smiled and sat up. “Hi, Abbey.”

“You feeling better?”

“I’ve only been awake for fifteen minutes or so.”

“I’m going to give you another shot here in the next hour. And I don’t want to hear about how you’re a god and you don’t need it. As long as I’m your doctor, you’re going to take what I tell you.” Her words were light but her eyes were heavy, and there was something there that she wasn’t saying.

Spike saw it the second before his mate did, and his insides went cold.

“What’s wrong?”

Abbey cleared her throat and took another step inward. “Buffy…I just got off the phone with Dr. Matheson in New York. I didn’t know when it would be good to tell you, but I don’t want…something has happened.”

The world around him froze. And he knew.

Oh God.

Buffy went rigid beneath his touch. “What is it?”

“Something went wrong. Your mother didn’t show up for an appointment.”

A still beat. “Did they send someone over?”

Abbey nodded. “Yes.”

Her words weren’t the important thing. It was her eyes. It was all in her eyes.

There wasn’t anything else. Buffy burst into tears without needing to hear the rest, and lurched into her mate’s arms.

And Spike felt nothing but her sorrow. His own body was numb.

Joyce.

Abbey came over to the bed, her eyes heavy.

Spike buried his face in Buffy’s hair and held her as she sobbed.

He felt so helpless. So wretchedly helpless. But he sat faithfully and held his mate, murmuring softly into her ear.

Bleeding as she wept.


TBC


 
Chapter Twenty-Seven



It was nearly half past one o’clock in the morning, and there was no rest at the White House.

“He talked to her on the phone?”

“He talked to her at the airport,” Leo replied.

That didn’t seem to relax the President whatsoever. “Yeah, but I'm saying, did she hang up the phone, turn to her friends and say, 'You're never gonna believe why I'm getting on a plane?'”

“He told her she was coming out to do some polling on subsurface agriculture.”

“What the hell is that?”

They walked into the Oval Office; the President set down some papers.

“It's vegetables that grow underground. He told her she was coming out here to find out if Americans were eating more beets.”

The President sent his Chief of Staff a look that clearly defined what he thought of that, searching his pockets for a pen. “Is this a joke?”

Leo wasn’t amused. “It was Josh, Mr. President. It was a job done well. You want to start not trusting Josh?” There was a beat. “Let's go.”

“Where are we going?”

“The basement.”

“Why?”

“'Cause I don't like the way it looks the seven of us meeting in the middle of the night.”

The President shot him another look. “You like the way it looks if we're meeting in the basement?”

Leo didn’t reply, and the President didn’t expect him to. Instead, he shook his head and gestured at one of the room’s doors. “Let’s go.”

They walked side-by-side in tense silence. “Spike phoned Abbey earlier tonight.”

“Abbey’s talking to you?”

Bartlet grunted. “Not voluntarily. She made sure that Buffy wouldn’t have to talk to a White House operator first if she tried to call.”

“What’d Spike have to say?”

“They’re coming home today.”

“They staying?”

The President was quiet. “I’m not sure.” He released a deep breath. “This isn’t their home, Leo. I know I said ‘home,’ but it’s not home for them.”

“You really think Abbey’s gonna let Buffy move back to Sunnydale with all her friends here? Abbey’s gotten attached, and so have you.”

“Yeah. Unfortunately, the powers of the office don’t quite go as far as commanding law-abiding citizens that they can’t go where they want based on Reagan’s Law of ‘Because I Said So.’”

“You’re calling Spike law-abiding?”

Bartlet chuckled humorlessly. His mood was too strained tonight to take any genuine mirth in anything. “He’s not alive. I don’t think Congress has passed any laws that apply to post-mortem offenders.”

“Who knows? It’s a Republican Congress.”

There was nothing else at that. The President’s mind was troubled with too many factors, and Leo didn’t want to harp any points home.

Moreover, the President didn’t need to be thinking about Spike and the god in mourning.

Not tonight. Tonight, he had more than enough on his plate.

 
*~*~*


“I don’t think she’s going anywhere.”

“You know, your girlfriend can’t just camp out in your office whenever she feels a little tired.”

“Her finals were over last week. And she helped take down a god over the weekend. I don’t think this is the time to be picky.” Sam didn’t look at Toby as a muted ding announced their arrival on the target floor, and the elevator doors glided open. “These numbers are going to be meaningless.”

“Yeah.”

“The governor from an industrial state. It's posed as a hypothetical before people have any education on…”

Toby slid on his jacket. “Yeah.”

“Plus there is no way to factor existing approval numbers, particularly when it comes to matters of trust.”

Toby nodded but didn’t reply, only to tell the agent at the door, “Sagittarius,” as it was the chosen password among senior staffers partaking in this meeting.

CJ, Josh, Joey Lucas, and Joey’s interpreter, Kenny, were inside already.

“Are they on their way?” Toby asked to no one in particular.

“Yeah,” Josh replied.

“They're on their way?” he said again.

“Yeah,” CJ confirmed.

The Communications Director sighed heavily and took his seat. “Joey, your flight was okay?”

Joey wasn’t looking at him, therefore didn’t see his lips move. He tapped her on the shoulder.

“Your flight was okay?”

She nodded.

Sam shifted and leaned forward. “These numbers aren't going to mean anything, right? With the hypothetical and the lack of context? Plus the preexisting level of trust.”

“Yeah,” CJ agreed.

“I'm saying he's got numbers like Walter Cronkite,” the young man added.

Joey nodded. “Yeah.”

Josh heaved out a breath. “Is there anything in there that we're gonna like?”

The pollster smiled and signed as Kenny translated, “We are, in fact, eating more beets.”

That did little to ease the worry lining Josh’s face. “Okay.”

The door opened and the President entered with the Chief of Staff on his heels. Everyone in the room rose.

“Good evening,” the President said.

“Mr. President, you remember Joey Lucas?” Josh asked, indicating the attractive brunette.

“Yeah.”

“And her interpreter, Kenny?”

Leo nodded. “Joey, did you make photocopies of that?”

“No, sir,” Joey said, her eyes grave.

“Good. Let's get started.”

Everyone took their seats once more, and Joey got started, Kenny’s voice filling the room as he translated her signs. “Mr. President, I polled one thousand, one hundred and seventy registered voters in Michigan, giving their governor a hypothetical concealed—”

“Excuse me,” the President said, holding up a hand. “How many people in this room know Kenny's last name?”

A series of confused looks were exchanged.

“It's fine,” Leo said.

Bartlet shook his head, clearly displeased. “I believe this operation is no longer covert.”

“Mr. President,” Joey, through her interpreter, said, “Kenny's been with me for eleven years. To trust me is to trust him.”

The President seemed to consider this. “Josh?”

“Yeah,” the Deputy Chief of Staff said without hesitation.

That was, evidently, all Bartlet needed. He nodded at Joey and Kenny. “Go ahead.”

The pollster resumed her report, Kenny speaking for her. “One thousand, one hundred and seventy registered voters in Michigan were polled, giving their governor a hypothetical concealed degenerative illness. These are the results. ‘Do you agree that it's okay for the governor to lie about his health?’ 17% agree, 83% disagree. ‘Would you be as likely or less likely to vote for the governor now that you know he has a degenerative illness?’ 71% say less likely. The largest block of likely voters are women over fifty-five. 78% of those women say they wouldn't vote for a candidate with MS.”

CJ sighed. “We just lost Florida.”

Joey resumed her signing. “This may be the worst stat, sir. 74% believe MS to be fatal.”

The President chuckled humorlessly, a strange look in his eyes. “They may be right.”

“62% of Democrats aren't gonna vote for you. 65% of those describing themselves as liberal aren't gonna vote for you because you lied.”

The President sighed, turning his eyes to the ground for a second before looking up once more. “Joey, is there any good news in there at all?” he asked.

For this, Joey Lucas didn’t need her interpreter.

“No, sir,” she said.

 
*~*~*


Donna wasn’t surprised when she saw Willow curled on the sofa in Sam’s office. The girl had practically lived there for the past week; unwilling to leave in case of an unprecedented Glory backlash. While it was the last thing anyone expected, the Witch simply didn’t have enough faith in the universe to trust that a god could be put down with such ease. Ever since Buffy and Spike had left for Sunnydale, the redhead had done nothing but shadow her boyfriend’s every move.

The President’s temperament was difficult to gauge nowadays. He joked with the Witch when he saw her, noting that she might as well join his cabinet while steadily keeping the bulk of his meetings with his senior staff and the chief justices.

In the first few days following Glory’s demise, the majority of the discussions revolved around the first few permanent steps the President had made toward coming clean with his MS to the American public. Josh, Toby, and CJ felt that it was too soon following the shady events of a near national catastrophe. Sam and Leo, however, thought it better to move ahead with their plans, and Joey Lucas, had agreed. If anything, it would take attention off what had occurred in the Oval Office. Attention that would aptly fall under opposition scrutiny during the election, but couldn’t be avoided any way they tried to spin it.

Thus, with Buffy and Spike a continent away, burying a woman he’d only met once on top of the calamity that had literally occurred at his feet, the President of the United States was under the added stress of disclosing an illness that many people felt was life threatening, and explain that he did not conceal said illness to win an election.

Donna sighed and tossed her bag to the floor beside Sam’s sofa.

The President would be better once Spike returned. Regardless of however much he didn’t want to admit it, Bartlet considered the vampire an inside mind on the functions of world politics. Moreover, it would do a little to alleviate the harshness surrounding the events coming into light.

Donna thought of Dawn, and hoped the girl was doing all right. She had sat with Buffy and Spike at JFK International, waiting for the younger Summers to arrive. Led by a grave-faced Giles, the girl had leapt into her sister’s arms, sobbing as the vampire and the Watcher exchanged uncomfortable, morose glances. Donna merely stood to the side, wishing she could offer more than she had in consolation, and ashamed that her mind was with Josh and the President when her friends were in mourning.

They had left that day just an hour or so after Dawn arrived and were due back anytime now, though Donna had absolutely no idea how long they intended to stay. Glory was gone, and there was a life they had abandoned in Sunnydale waiting to be resumed. At the same time, all of Buffy’s friends were DC residents now. Xander and Anya had moved to a predominantly military neighborhood, situated in the center of the special operations unit, where the Initiative thrived the strongest. Willow had moved in with Sam, and Giles expressed no intention of staying in the United States.

Faith, he said, was in the midst of a crucial time in her evolution from psychotic slayer to reasonably logical god. Donna hadn’t noticed any reaction on Buffy’s face at the mention of the other slayer, but she imagined warm, fuzzy feelings for the woman that had nearly destroyed them all the year before were few and far between. The blonde assistant hadn’t forgotten what Faith had done to Sam, and she wasn’t about to forgive, either.

Donna’s eyes fell on the sleeping witch. “Willow,” she said softly. “Willow, you need to wake up now.”

There was nothing.

A sigh. “Willow, you’re fifteen minutes late to your economics final.”

That did the trick. The redhead jerked to consciousness, looked around the room wildly, then fell into a comfortable scowl as she remembered that finals had ended the week before. “Not funny,” she complained, stifling a yawn and tossing the suit jacket that Sam had placed over her aside. “What time is it?”

“A quarter till five.”

“In the morning?”

Donna smiled weakly. “One of those days. Listen, Will, you gotta get home. Really, as much as we love having you here, you need to actually rest. And, you know, Sam needs to get some work done.”

She blinked. “Where is Sam?”

“Likely having a hell of a time sleeping without you.”

“Why didn’t he wake me up before he left?”

The blonde grinned. “Believe me, he tried. You were out, and after three attempts, he simply didn’t have the heart. It was also really late…he had a senior staff meeting that went pretty far into the night, and just went home a couple hours ago as it is.”

“So you…”

“Got three hours of sleep? Oh no.” Donna smiled wearily. “Today’s gonna be one of those days. You’re just lucky you’re not dating Josh. Unlike Sam, he doesn’t believe in sleep.”

Willow smiled and stretched. “Sam’s sweet.”

“Yes, and worried about you.”

“Well, I’m worried about him, so I guess we’re even.” She yawned again. “He really tried to wake me up?”

“Of course he did.” The blonde paused. “He says you haven’t been sleeping well…even worse than when you were in the middle of exams.”

A still beat shuddered through her. “I keep having nightmares,” she said. “About the day in the Oval…about something I could have done. I know I could’ve taken her, Donna. I was so close. And then Buffy wouldn’t have…and Spike wouldn’t have…and I could have. I could’ve killed her. I could’ve been the one who…” She flushed brightly as though she just realized what she was saying, then glanced down. “Never mind.”

“Willow?”

“Giles was talking to me about you,” she said randomly, though hurriedly. As though the weight of what she had to disclose bothered her immensely. “Apparently, there’s a coven in London.”

Donna didn’t know what surprised her more; that Giles dedicated thoughts to her, or that it involved something in the realm of witchcraft. “A coven?”

She nodded. “You…you’re on their radar.”

“Meaning…?”

“They want you to become my Jedi Padawan.” Willow smiled uneasily. “You’re…Giles called me here, and he told me. That was another thing…I was in here, thinking about it while Sam did his meetings. You’re officially a W.I.T.”

“I don’t have a say in this?”

“You remember last year? Quirinias?”

“You say that like I have the option of forgetting.”

“He came after you, Donna. After you specifically. He took something out of you. Giles never forgot that. He wouldn’t. And…basically, you’re strong enough that if we don’t do something about it, people like Glory and good ole’ Quirinias could come by and drain you of all that untouched power.” Willow sighed. “I’ve been trying to think of a way to tell you…”

“And you chose this? Now? With the President slowly undergoing a nervous breakdown, a god buried, and your best friend…Willow!”

She shrugged. “Couldn’t help it.”

There was something else, though. Something that Donna didn’t like.

“I’m a witch?”

“A W.I.T,” she said. “I…I don’t know how to explain it…only that you evidently have enough power that they’ve sensed you for a long time. They just didn’t know it was you they were sensing until Giles came along and shared his concerns. They did the math and, presto!”

Donna shook her head. “It’s not even five in the morning, and I’m already regretting showing up for work today.”

“Look—”

“Willow, I need you to go home. Sleep, have breakfast with Sam, but go home. We have a busy, hard day ahead of us…and…” She sighed. “This was really the wrong time to dump this on me.”

“I’m sorry—”

Though it seemed very clear that the redhead was more confused than sorry. There was no want of understanding in her eyes. As though she didn’t comprehend that words like, “Oh, by the way, you’re a witch,” didn’t have severe repercussions in the world Donna lived in.

The world she was seeing, more and more, was too small to accommodate someone of Willow’s aspirations.

For now, though, she would hold her tongue.

Leo would be in soon. After all, having a late night didn’t mean the country didn’t open until its leaders were awake. The Chief of Staff would be in, as would Josh and Toby and everyone to discuss what had to be done.

Everything else would simply be placed on hold.

 
*~*~*


It was midday, and Josh had not seen the sun.

Welcome to Spike’s world, he thought miserably, nodding to the agent guarding the basement meeting room. “Sagittarius,” he said.

He walked inside and took a seat with Toby and CJ, not even bothering to question why Sam was pacing. Sam was the only one to truly vent his anger into this, and rightly so. After all, he’d been the last of the senior staff that the President brought on the inside.

Josh also knew that Spike had known before him—thus the vampire’s reasoning for being in the Oval the day that Glory nearly wiped them all out. He thought it best if that much remained unsaid.

“Why not a Presidential address?” Sam asked. “Ten—fifteen minutes. ‘I have this illness, I concealed it, I apologize. Let me tell you about it. Let me reduce your fear.’”

“It’s too cold,” CJ said, shaking her head.

“It’s not too cold!”

“He needs to be with the First Lady.”

“In some decorative room?” Sam retorted incredulously. “Sitting with his wife weakens him. Let's put him behind the Kennedy desk. Let's put him in the East Room. Let's put him in the Briefing Room.”

The Press Secretary shot him an irritated glance. “Sam, he's gonna go on T.V. and say he lied, I don't want him doing it behind the Seal of the President.”

“You think without the Seal, people are gonna forget he's the President?”

She decided not to answer him, and said instead, “We'll do a 30-minute live special from one of the news magazines.”

Josh arched a brow. “Live, live to tape or tape?”

“Live,” CJ said. “I don't want a producer editing what he says.”

He paused. “What if we want to edit what he says?”

“That's our tough luck.”

A sigh coursed through the Deputy Chief of Staff’s body. “When?”

“How about Thursday night?” Sam offered.

“Wednesday night,” CJ said.

That earned a frown. “Why?”

CJ seemed to be growing more irritated by the minute. “’Cause Thursday night is when they pay their bills, and it's going to be tough enough getting thirty minutes and not telling them why we're not cutting into their bread and butter during May sweeps.”

As it was, her mood was infectious. “Oh, who gives a damn about May sweeps?” the Deputy Communications Director all but growled.

“They do, Sam!”

The two glared at each other for a few uneasy seconds, but said nothing else.

“All right,” Toby said, breaking his silence. “Thirty minutes, Dateline special Wednesday night, night after tomorrow, the President and the First Lady in the Mural Room.”

The Press Secretary nodded. “And we follow that with a press conference.”

“Why?” Josh asked.

“To control the story as long as possible,” she explained. “Once he gets started with Russert or Diane or Stone Phillips or whoever the hell does this, I'm gonna need every reporter in the Western Hemisphere in the room where I can see him.”

“We put a team of medical experts up there,” Toby added.

“We have forty-eight hours to find them.”

“Hang on,” Sam said, holding up a hand. “If we take him from the Mural Room to the press conference, isn't a smart reporter going to ask, ‘Mr. President, are you planning on seeking reelection?’”

CJ sighed again. “A smart reporter…Sam, Ted Baxter is gonna ask, ‘Mr. President, are you planning on seeking reelection?’”

“So, we're gonna need an answer to that too.”

 
*~*~*


Charlie and Mrs. Landingham were walking through the lobby of the White House, the former escorting a man under a coat and trying to evade attention from passersby by engaging in his normal banter with the President’s senior secretary. It was easier said than done; Spike’s muddled curses did little to aid his plight.

Charlie was, if nothing else, a professional. Thus he ignored the vampire as best he could, even when the coat whipped off his smoking back the second they were in a secluded hallway.

“Are you getting an eight-speaker stereo?” he asked Mrs. Landingham.

“No,” the woman replied.

“Six speakers?”

“No.”

“How many speakers?”

“I have two ears, how many speakers do I need?”

Charlie grinned inwardly. Mrs. Landingham was about as stubborn and shrewd as the President, which is what made her the ideal senior secretary. The woman had been with Bartlet for years, stretching back to the days when he wasn’t the President; rather the governor, and in the House before that. She was practically the President’s older sister, and had Charlie not known better, he would’ve assumed that connection was as biological as it was in word alone.

“At least six and a subwoofer,” he told her.

“I’m not getting a subwoofer.”

“Bloody waste,” Spike noted.

Charlie nodded his agreement. “How about the tow package?”

“The tow package?”

“To tow your boat,” he explained reasonably.

“I don't have a boat.”

“Not missin’ anythin’,” the vampire noted wistfully. “Usually, when ‘m on a boat, I’m bein’ shipped somewhere.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Landingham agreed. “There’s a mode of transportation I think may be too good for you, Spike.”

“Crotchety old bird.”

“What was that?”

Spike merely smirked and shook his head. “Come on, you’d run off with me in a bleedin’ heartbeat.”

“In my day, men exhibited a little known talent that we called charm.” Mrs. Landingham turned away, though there was a strange twinkle in her eyes. “Try again.”

Charlie grinned. “What about a camper?” he asked.

“No.”

“What do you tow?”

“Groceries,” she replied stubbornly.

“You can probably put those in the trunk,” he conceded.

“Yeah.”

“The chit’s bein’ coy with you,” Spike observed. “She has to hide the bodies somewhere.”

“I like my backyard just fine, thank you.”

The three reached the outer Oval Office; Josh was there waiting.

“Tinted windows?” Charlie asked.

“Hello, Josh,” the secretary said, ignoring him completely.

“Didn’t know you were back,” Josh said, nodding to the vampire.

“Jus’ now. Chuck was kind enough to pick the lot of us up. Buffy an’ the Nibblet are back at the house.” He paused. “The President wanted to see me as soon as we got in.”

Josh paused, frowning. “When’d you talk to him last?”

“Buffy phoned the Firs’ Lady last night.”

“We’re doing some stuff now, so you might have to come back later.”

Spike shrugged. “’m fine buggin’ you pulsers till he can pencil me in.”

Josh appeared irritated at that, but for whatever reason, decided not to call him on it. “How’s Buffy doing?” he asked instead.

“She jus’ lost her mum; how do you think she’s doin’?” The vampire glanced down and sighed. “She’ll be all right, I think. ‘S jus’…it all happened at once. She woke up an’…then it was over.”

“Buffy’s a sweet girl,” Mrs. Landingham said, moving around her desk. “Feel free to take her a cookie, Spike.”

He smiled weakly. “Well, knowin’ how hard it is to smuggle those away from you, pet, she’ll be thankful.”

“Please don’t call me ‘pet’ in the White House.”

“I think if you found out what all he’s done in the White House, you’d get real friendly with a stake right quick,” Josh noted, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Mrs. Landingham’s picking up her new car today,” Charlie told the Deputy Chief of Staff.

“An’ Chuck’s tryin’ to talk her into a bunch of luxury rot,” Spike agreed.

“Hey man, I thought you were on my side.”

“’m evil. I don’ have a side.”

“Really?” Josh said, glancing to Mrs. Landingham as the other two bickered good-naturedly.

“Yes, and I wish I hadn't told anyone,” she replied. “Why do men think women can't buy a car without a man?”

The Deputy Chief of Staff smiled understandingly. “It's an old stereotype, Mrs. L. Did you get the extended service warranty?”

“No.”

He bristled. “Women.”

She shot him a severe look. “What do you want?”

Josh grinned and shook it off. “I got a message Leo wanted to see me.”

“He’s in his office.”

The Deputy nodded and began to backtrack. “Did you get the tow package?” he asked.

Charlie shot her a pointed glance. “See?”

Mrs. Landingham took it all in stride. “He's in his office,” she said again, then turned to Spike. “And if you’re going to loiter about here uselessly, could you do outside a twenty-foot diameter of the Oval Office?”

The vampire arched a brow. “The President’s gonna let you have it ‘f you treat his favorite person like that.”

“Spike, I think I’ve known the President a little longer than you, and we both know that’s not true.” She smiled pleasantly. “The President is the President, and he has better things to do today, hard as it may be to believe, than entertain a vampire.”

“Yeh…how is it that the ‘vampire’ part doesn’ send you screamin’?”

Mrs. Landingham glanced to her desk and began sorting through work. “When you get to be my age, it takes something rather extraordinary to send you screaming.”

Charlie shot the vampire an appraising look, grinning as he stalked off in an exaggerated huff.

The air surrounding them recently had been so thick, so tense, that it was a nice break to have a lighthearted vampire to up his spirits—as ironic as that was.

The President would think so as well. It might just be, Charlie suspected, the highlight of his day.

 
*~*~*


Aside from the day’s briefings, CJ had not moved from the debate table in the meeting room. Josh, understandably, had to poke in and out as the day progressed, but as far as the high authorities on the communications staff, Toby, Sam, and herself had remained more or less in the basement.

“Do we put Hoynes up there?” Toby asked.

Sam glanced up. “At the press conference?”

“Do we put Hoynes up there?”

“There's never been a more important time to emphasize the Vice Presidency,” the Deputy agreed.

CJ and Sam had been at each other’s throats all day. Thus it wasn’t surprising when she said, “The Vice President's presence underlines the health risks to the President.”

Sam was a reasonable man. He knew the Press Secretary wasn’t disagreeing with him to be difficult. However, seeing as each bullet point had turned into an all out debate, he was getting rather exasperated at this useless battling over details. There wasn’t any way to know who was right and who was not; it wasn’t as though anything like this had ever happened before.

“And it's good to underscore that the President anticipated this problem with the selection of the Vice President,” he retorted.

“But it'll also serve to underscore that he anticipated the problem and didn't tell anybody about it,” she pointed out.

“Hoynes was one of the first people to know,” Sam argued. “If he's there it's a breathing demonstration that he signed off on the president's health and joined the ticket.”

“And he'll get bombarded with questions about what he did or didn't know, and the press corps will impanel themselves as a grand jury,” she replied heatedly.

“Then let them, CJ! We did something wrong or we didn't!”

“Well fantastic, Sam, I didn't realize it was that simple!”

It would have been a fitting moment for one of them to lunge had a knock not come at the door. There was a note for CJ.

A very well-timed note.

“There's a situation developing in Port-Au-Prince, I have to get ready to brief.”

Then, without another word, she sprang to her feet and stormed out.

“Sam,” Toby said carefully, “can Josiah Bartlet function as President?”

“I'm not a medical expert,” he replied.

“Right.”

The Communications Director expelled a deep breath and rose to his feet.

“Toby, there is a responsibility and the future and an obligation to the party, and if he is not gonna run, then he's gotta point to Hoynes and say, ‘This is our guy.’”

“And what if they ask Hoynes, ‘In the meantime, can Bartlet function as President?’”

“He'll say yes.”

Toby paused and deadpanned, “What if he says, ‘I'm not a medical expert’?”

And Sam, predictably, didn’t have an answer.

 
*~*~*


It had to be the longest day the administration had ever known. With everything weighing in on them, placing memories of a public relations disaster on hold, even with Spike walking around as a reminder, it was quite safe to say that they had never been as close as they were right now to a political disaster.

It was crazy. The entire thing was crazy. Coming now, coming the way it was, coming so soon after Glory…stepping back into the shoes of men who ruled the world. Toby had done his best to keep it in all day. They all had. But as night fell over the city, with hours of conversation that ran in circles, he felt his will snapping, and he needed to talk to Leo.

“Leo,” he said as the Chief of Staff entered his office, walking directly to his desk. “This is insane, plain and simple.”

“What’s insane? Oh, never mind. What isn’t?” He turned around. “I thought you were talking about the vampire who just stopped me on the way to my office to ask if we’d started keeping pints of blood handy for when he visits. Pints of bagged blood in the White House, kept in little compartments, and the President has MS. We might as well hand them the election.”

“You don’t think it’s crazy?” Toby demanded, evidently having not heard him.

“Well, I think the scenario I just described is crazy. I don't even know what you’re talking about.”

The Communications Director gestured emphatically. “We're firming up strategy on what will define the future of this presidency and we don't know if this President is interested in the future. We have to have a discussion and we have to have it tonight.”

“We’re having a discussion,” Leo said simply, turning back to his desk.

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“Okay then.”

Leo’s office door opened then, and Josh came in. “Good evening,” he said, looking weary.

The Chief of Staff turned around, then walked behind his desk. “Good evening, Josh.”

“Leo, would you excuse us for a second?” A pause. “Toby, can I talk to you outside?”

Toby followed Josh without a word, anticipating the source of his new agitation. However, he was surprised that it had taken as long as it had for the Deputy Chief of Staff to confront him.

“You told Donna,” Josh growled in a harsh whisper.

“Yeah.” A pause. “A while back.”

“Why didn’t you let me?”

“You hadn't yet.”

Josh heaved a sigh and bowed his head. “How’d she take it?”

Toby paused, smiling gently. “If everybody out there takes it the way she did, we may be okay. If a few more people in here took it the way she did, that'd be all right, too.” He turned and started back for Leo’s door.

Josh blinked. “Was that for me?”

Toby shook his head. “That was for me.”

They walked back into the Chief of Staff’s office, finding him in his desk, looking over papers.

“Tobacco,” Leo said.

“Kalmbach's not gonna let it come to a vote in the subcommittee,” Josh said, taking a seat on the sofa. “Which at the moment is fine, 'cause if he did, it'd be 8-7 against.”

“Party lines?”

“No... We have Stacy and Miner but Warren and Rossitter are voting against. They have ideological problems with the case…what do you wanna do now?”

Leo grinned wryly. “Stick some dynamite up Warren and Rossitter's ass.”

“Yeah, the problem is, Rossitter sits on the Judiciary Committee and I don't know how many enemies on Judiciary we wanna make right now.”

Leo hardened at that and lowered his glasses from his face. “Both of you listen. We're not gonna stop, soften, detour, postpone, circumvent, obfuscate, or trade a single one of our goals to allow for whatever extracurricular nonsense is coming our way in the next few days, weeks, and months.”

CJ walked in at that, only catching the tag.

Toby was, unsurprisingly, growing annoyed. “When did we decide this?”

Leo paused. “Just now.” He turned to Josh. “Light ‘em up.” Then he glanced to CJ. “You got a recommendation for me?”

“Thirty minutes Wednesday night. Live,” she said without hesitation.

“Live to tape?”

“Live.”

Josh sighed. “The Mural Room?”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “They pick the interviewer, it's carried on all the networks and CNN. I give it to them ten hours before.”

“And that's followed by a press conference,” Toby said.

CJ shook her head. “There isn't another step we can take until we know what the President's intentions are. We need a discussion, and I hate to sound shrill, but it can't wait another night.”

“We're having a discussion,” the Communications Director told her.

“When?”

“Tonight,” Josh replied.

“Really?”

Leo nodded. “Yeah.”

“That's great.”

The door opened once more and Sam walked in. He didn’t bother to take a seat. “Good evening,” he said politely.

The Chief of Staff looked up. “Sam, what do you know?”

“I know that fluid accumulating in the semicircular canals of the vestibulo-cochlear nerve is usually what'll account for dizziness.” He paused. “Oh, and that Willow went home a few hours ago after sleeping all night on my sofa.”

Everyone in the room rolled their eyes with both mild exasperation and empathy.

He ignored them. “Leo, I want to state right here, right now, in terms so plain and clear as to command their assent—”

“We're having a meeting tonight,” the Chief of Staff interrupted wearily.

Sam continued, “The whole country's gonna assume he's not running when he announces the thing.”

“We're having a meeting,” Leo repeated, louder.

“The press is gonna assume—”

“We're having a meeting!”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s great.”

“Yeah.” Leo tossed a glance at his watch. “Why doesn't everybody grab something to eat, be back at nine o’clock, and you'll get called to come over to the Residence.”

They mumbled something together in agreement, stood and piled out of the room.

“Josh,” the Chief of Staff said, halting him as his Deputy moved for the door. “Walk out with me.”

Josh lingered obediently.

“I mean it—set one off under these guys,” Leo said, collecting papers off his desk.

“How about I have C.J. make a statement at her briefing?”

The Chief of Staff looked up. “A strong statement.”

“‘The President calls on Congress to fund the Justice Department's tobacco lawsuit at the levels necessary to continue this litigation,’” Josh said as they started out into the hallway.

“‘The American people deserve their day in court,’” Leo added.

“‘And this Administration won't sit on the bench while well-fed members of the Appropriations Committee choke off funding for a lawsuit aimed at the perpetrators of hundreds of thousands of negligent homicides while filling their campaign war chests.’”

“Light ‘em up!”

They parted as Josh turned in the direction of his office; the Chief of Staff continued toward the Oval. The long, roundabout way. He usually entered the room through the connecting door in his office.

Charlie was standing behind his desk, his face expressionless, staring at the phone receiver in his hand.

A hard clamor fell within Leo’s chest.

Something’s wrong.

“Charlie?”

There was a pause, then he began speaking. “Leo, there was an accident at 18th and Potomac. Mrs. Landingham was driving her car back here.”

“What happened?”

He paused again. “There was a drunk driver and they ran the light at 18th and Potomac. They ran it at a high speed.”

Oh God. Not tonight.

“Charlie…is she all right?”

“No…” Charlie met his eyes. “She's dead.”

Leo stared at him for several minutes, entirely stunned. The words were too permanent to absorb. Too final to grasp. The world around them had been surrounded in death so recently; with the fall of something great, it was almost as though the rest of society no longer mattered. The god was gone, the threat had vanished; people weren’t supposed to die now.

Mrs. Landingham wasn’t supposed to die now.

Jed.

Oh God.

“Is he alone?”

Charlie nodded. “Yeah.”

Leo turned, walking past Mrs. Landingham’s empty desk, and disappeared onto the portico.

Charlie watched him for a long minute, then hung up the phone.

TBC



Chapter Twenty-Eight



The sky was drawn and overcast on the day Delores Landingham was buried.

Spike awoke around eight in the morning to the bland cream of the bedroom ceiling. There were a few indiscernible cracks in the plaster; things he’d never bothered to notice until he and Buffy did a survey of the damage done by Glory. Now he noticed everything. Every tiny imperfection in his home; the first place he’d ever legally owned. The first place that was paid for, not stolen. The first place, in over a hundred years, he’d considered home.

Every time he saw a crack in the wall, his mind provided a vision of Glory harming his mate, and he had to clench his fists and ward off a growl to keep from attracting attention to himself. It was an old house, and from what he understood, the fight between the gods had taken place downstairs in the front parlor; still, his mind enjoyed tormenting him. Enjoyed riling his demon and tickling his bloodlust. Even with the fight behind them, he couldn’t help the burden of failure that compressed his shoulders.

They had arrived home from Sunnydale to find the downstairs furnished with several assorted antiques—some that compensated for what was lost in the fight, some that filled blank space they had yet to occupy. There was a card on the table, signed from everyone in the West Wing—even Bonnie, Ginger, and Margaret, and specific instructions not to thank or even mention a word of their generosity. They felt, the note said, that it was owed for everything they had sacrificed in the past few months.

What amazed Spike all the more was it had evidently been Josh’s idea. And he figured that the tacit acceptance end of the deal was to avoid the Deputy Chief of Staff’s appearing as though he liked the vampire or the world of monsters and mayhem that existed off the pages of Grimm’s Fairytales.

Donna had left a message on their answering machine—another welcome home present—that explained that Josh, despite his Josh-like qualities, was very protective of everyone he knew.

It was the day of Delores Landingham’s funeral, and Spike found himself at an odd place. The changes in his life over the past two years had been colossal; he hadn’t cared, prior to falling in love with Buffy, about the plight of the human race, or any of its players. He could’ve happily drunk from Xander’s throat and washed him down with witch’s blood, then gone a round with the Slayer to see if he could claim his third. Now, the thought of any of the aforementioned made him shudder with self-disgust. Made him feel the need to repent for actions he’d previously dreamed about, even if they had never taken place.

Now he was the mate of the Slayer, and he felt her pain. He felt everything that she felt, and these past two weeks had overwhelmed her with blow after blow to the isolated worldview she had of their shattered fairytale life. Now Mrs. Landingham was dead. A human was dead, and Spike was overwhelmed with the pain of senseless loss.

The impact of her death surprised him. He felt shaken—invaded. Suddenly, this woman he’d barely known was gone, and he felt for her. For her, for the President—for people he wouldn’t have cared two pisses about such a short time ago.

He could have killed her himself once upon a time, and that bothered him.

That bothered him a lot.

Spike expelled a soft breath and turned his eyes to his mate. If he could erase these past two weeks for her, he would in a heartbeat. She’d buried her mother, become the guardian of her teenage sister, forced herself to become a stone in the face of crippling grief, and all while she was nursing scars that would never fully heal. Not where it counted.

She had a lot of scars.

Dawn was living with them now—sleeping in one of the guestrooms, and generally making life chaotic. While Buffy was doing her best to tolerate the girl’s erratic mood swings, her patience wasn’t infinite, and then it’d be a whole new ballgame.

He wondered how the Slayer would feel about sending the Bit back to England for school. Buffy had too much on her plate to sort through without worrying about a hormonal teenager.

Things were so different now. Everything was.

Spike raised a hand to his mate’s shoulder. She was lying on her side, her back facing him, her breaths soft and tempered. He wanted to bury himself in her arms, leave the world to turn without them this once, and forget the mounting waves that were preparing to crash on all sides.

Abbey Bartlet was worried about Buffy. Where the President had practically adopted the vampire, the First Lady had taken the Slayer under her wing. Between the private problems in the First Family—most centering on the President’s possibly running for a second term, against the preset agreement with Abbey that he wouldn’t because of the MS—the family still went out of their way to help those in need. To help those on the outside that they considered family.

Buffy was hurting, and he could only help so much.

His fingers wrapped around her shoulder, and he pressed a soft kiss against her skin. “Sweetheart,” he said gently. “You with me?”

She shuddered beneath his touch. “Always.”

He smiled. “Din’t know you were awake.”

“That’s because I was being very still.” She turned to face him, her eyes drawing him in. A man could get lost in her eyes, and never want for escape. “Are you going to the funeral?”

“’S a day funeral.”

“You’d find a way to get there.”

Spike pursed his lips and conceded the point. “I’ve been to too many funerals in the past couple weeks,” he said, crawling over her slowly. It had been forever, it seemed, since they could be together like this. His life in the past few weeks had been a series of small tragedies. Buffy’s external scars had healed within three days, and ever since she had been burdened with grief to the point where all he could give her was the comfort of his embrace.

He remembered so clearly leaving the afternoon before Glory’s attack. Teasing her about the “free-time” they had coming. About the night on the town he wanted so much to give her. The night together they’d deserved for far too long.

Buffy’s hands slid up his arms, her fingers threading through his hair. “We’re gonna get through this, aren’t we.” she said gently. It wasn’t a question, more a statement of affirmation. “After a while, the pain will go away, and we’ll be okay again.”

“We’ll be okay again,” he murmured, dropping a kiss against her cheek. His hard cock danced over her naked abdomen, sliding over her skin sensually until he was bathed in the liquid warmth of her haven. “Can I come in?”

She nodded with a small whimper and pressed a kiss to his lips. Then he slipped inside her, and his body rejoiced. “’ve missed this,” he murmured against her lips. “You’re so warm. You’re like coming home.”

For a few minutes, at least, they could pretend. They could pretend the world around them didn’t exist. That the past few months had been a dream, and they were at the beginning again. They were back in Natchez, basking in the warm glow of newfound love before a god attempted to strip his girl away, had plagued her with a burden she didn’t think she could carry. The same she feared a thousand times more than it was powerful. He remembered so well the days before he’d known her sweet solace. Back when Faith had invaded her body, grabbed him by the cock, and inadvertently changed his life forever.

Next time he saw Faith, he’d have to hug her. Or maybe a friendly wave from across a very large room would suffice. He didn’t care to get too close to Faith, and it had nothing to do with her being a psychotic Slayer-turned-god.

“You feel so good,” he hummed into her ear. “Every time.” His thrusts were slow and steady, his eyes fixed on hers, drawing in every glimmer of pleasure that flashed across her face. Her pussy tightened around him, squeezing him rhythmically with every plunge. He slid a hand between them, fingers finding her clit with ease. “Your skin’s like silk.”

“Ohhh,” she moaned, locking her legs around his waist. “Spike…”

“That feel good?”

“Oh yes.”

His blunt teeth skimmed the cool column of her throat, playing tantalizingly over the claim mark he had given her. “Skin of silk,” he said again, thrusts growing hard and frantic, “an’ you taste like milk an’ honey.”

“Spike!”

He wasn’t going to be able to make this last today. Regardless however much he wanted to keep reality behind a locked door, keep in the warm sanctuary of her body; keep everything from crashing into his paradise, he needed too badly to feel her coming around him. To reach his pinnacle with her, and give himself that reassurance that, despite however the day went, he would emerge with her on the other side.

A simple day could change everything. Funny how it had taken a hundred and fifty years of living to understand that.

His game face burst forward before he could help himself. “Need your blood,” he told her softly. The gentility of his voice offset the heavy sound of their bodies smacking together, her mewls painting the air, his answering groans scratching at his throat. “Need to taste you.”

“Do it,” she gasped.

He pressed his lips to the pulse point on her throat. “I love you,” he said as he sliced his fangs into her flesh. His fingers pinched her clit, her blood filled his mouth, and she came hard around him, her orgasm triggering his own.

Hours later, he collapsed beside her, tugging her close to him, nuzzling his face in her hair.

“I love you,” he said again.

“I love you.”

“We’ll be okay, sweetling. We always are.” Spike pulled back just slightly and brushed a tender kiss across her lips. “’S all right.”

Buffy sighed and nodded. “I know,” she said. “I just…God, I feel…”

“It’s changed. This past year has changed us.”

“Yeah.” A pause. “I don’t know…I guess…I know I’ve been Miss Detached for the past few days—”

“Your mum died, luv. No one expects you to be the picture of perfect health.”

“I just don’t know what to do. We have the house back in Sunnydale, we have the house here…I have Dawn, who I…” Buffy drew in a sharp breath and buried her face in his shoulder. “I don’t know what to do anymore. She’s not gonna be happy here, and if we go back to Sunnydale…”

“We don’ have to go back.” At her questioning look, he shrugged and kissed her brow. “You think I haven’t noticed that all your mates are now residents of your nation’s capital? What happens if we go back? We move into the house where your mum lived, sort through your mum’s things, an’…the Initiative is there, pet. I don’ see the point in movin’ back.”

Buffy licked her lips. “You want to stay.”

“I want what you want.”

“Spike—”

“You know me well enough to know I’m not just sayin’ that. I really don’ care where I am, as long as you’re there. I tell you, luv, I’m used to haulin’ my hot, tight li’l body to all corners of this miserable world. I jus’ want you.”

“You want to be here, too.”

He glanced down. “I think that you’d be happier here,” he said, “after all the bad’s gone. More so than back on the Hellmouth. An’ yeh, I like it here. I won’ lie.”

“Then that’s what’s important to me.”

“Buffy—”

“I don’t want to go home to my mother’s room. I don’t want to deal with it. I don’t.” She paused. “And you’re right. Here we’re…I don’t want to go anywhere.”

“’S not gonna be any easier anywhere we go, luv.”

“I know.”

“Point of fact, dealin’ with the reelection, with the various political scandals…not to mention your self-trainin’, it’s gonna be bloody difficult.”

She nodded. “I know.” A brief pause. “But it’s going to be worse anywhere else. Here, we have friends that will help us…like if gods decide to trash our place, we have people who’ll replace our furniture.”

Spike grinned. “I’d’ve replaced our furniture,” he replied, mock-wounded, as though his manhood was at stake for having not acted the part of the provider.

“I know, but aren’t you glad you didn’t have to?”

“Yeh. Bloody hate furniture shopping.”

It was boring and senseless, especially since Buffy picked out most everything they owned with the exception of one or two of the big purchases—like the bed. Everything else was a model of classic elegance that emanated from a girl that no one would have thought to be classically elegant. He thought it was due to the fact that they were living in a home that was more or less theirs—not her mother’s and not some trash SunnyD apartment. It was their home, and that knowledge dragged her classic elegance out of hiding.

“Are you going to Mrs. Landingham’s funeral?” Buffy asked again after a few minutes.

“Are you?”

“I feel like I should.”

“He’s buryin’ her then comin’ clean with the MS scandal. ‘S a bloody big deal.”

“I can’t believe he’s not postponing.”

“He can’t bloody well postpone; too many people know about it.” Spike sighed and sat up. “’F it were me or you, he’d be there in a heartbeat. I’ll find a way to get there.”

“I’ll go with you.”

He looked at her, smiling softly. “Sweetheart, I don’ think anyone’ll ask why you’re not with me if you don’ wanna go. You jus’—”

“I know.” She kissed his shoulder. “I’ll go. I’m not going to sit here in the dark and feel sorry for myself. Mom’s gone…not going to another funeral won’t bring her back. I don’t want…I don’t want Mom to become an excuse for me. Today, it’s the funeral of a woman who was nice to me, even if I didn’t know her very well. Tomorrow, who knows? I’m the Slayer—that hasn’t changed. I’m a god—that hasn’t changed, either. Nothing’s changed. We’re still here, and she’s not. But the world is still turning, there’s still evil, and I have…I can’t shut myself off. I won’t.”

Her words stirred a forgotten memory; sitting in the parlor of his childhood home, consoling his mother after word of his father’s disappearance arrived. Mary was playing with her dolls upstairs, oblivious to the world until she heard them crying. For weeks after that, it had felt wrong to take pleasure in anything while his father was gone. It was a horrible feeling; as though the memory of the loved one was betrayed by the intrusion of life. He realized now how horribly wrong that sentiment was, and couldn’t help but smile at the resolve on Buffy’s face.

She was his girl, through and through.

“The press conference is still scheduled for tonight?”

Spike nodded. “Far as I know. I’m not on the inside.”

“Bull.”

He couldn’t help but concede the point. “Can I help if the man likes to yap his head off whenever I’m in proximity?”

“He trusts you.”

“Bad choice.” He gestured to himself. “Evil here.”

“Honey—”

He could sense her argument a mile off. “An’ if you make with any of that ‘not really evil anymore’ rot, I swear I’m gonna—”

“What? Bite me?”

The thought was tempting, and his fangs told him so. “Minx.”

“Told you.”

“Was gonna say ‘pound you into the mattress.’” He flashed a grin and leaned inward to nibble on her lips. “Don’ be denyin’ my capacity for evil.”

“Sweetie, your capacity of evil softens every minute.”

“Don’ be usin’ the word ‘softens’ with me.”

Buffy smiled. “I’m just saying, the longer you stay mated to me, the less aggressive you’re gonna become. I just keep sending you good vibes.”

“That sure as hell wasn’ in the brochure.” Spike smirked and tackled her back to the sheets before she could raise her voice in protest, kissing her thoroughly as his hands slid up her arms and back again. “We’re never gonna get outta bed at this rate.”

“Not seeing where that’s a bad thing.”

“Me neither, pet, ‘less we’re gonna go to the funeral. ‘S this afternoon.”

When Buffy pursed her lips and nodded, that was it. He heaved a great sigh of reluctance, forced himself to his feet, and cast a hand through his hair. The day ahead was not one he was looking forward to in the slightest. With the mood the President was rumored to be in, he couldn’t imagine the outcome of the press conference being positive in the least. The Senior Staffers were running around like decapitated chickens trying to figure out if he was going to run for a second term or step back graciously and throw support behind John Hoynes.

Honestly, Spike didn’t know what to expect. Only that today would likely not be one he’d easily forget.


*~*~*


It was strange, the way the same church could look so different, depending on the occasion. Today, the high arches of the cathedral were illuminated by large, multi-rose windows that, as the sun shone through, hit an angle of such brilliance that it had to have been painted by the hand of God. It had looked at the beginning of the day that the weather would be appropriately gloomy, but now the sun was shining so bright, it was almost impossible to believe they had awoken with the threat of showers looming overhead.

There were small murmurs running throughout the congregation; Donna sat between Margaret and Carol, holding the former’s hand as she began to weep. Bonnie was seated with Ginger and Cathy, and they were chatting quietly about an incident that had occurred two years prior in which Mrs. Landingham had reprimanded them in her smart-ass, school-marmy way about the appropriate garb to wear in and around the Oval Office.

There was no one in attendance, Donna mused, that had not thought the world of Mrs. Landingham.

Most notably, the drawn, desolate face of a man lost. A man on the verge of losing everything. Secret Service agents, with the begrudging assistance of the ushers, guided the President and the First Lady to a pew in the front.

The Commander In Chief drew in a deep breath as he sat. From Donna’s position, it appeared that it was taking a considerable effort for the man to remember that he needed to breathe.

She turned her eyes to Willow, who was seated a few rows ahead next to Sam. The young Witch had dressed sensibly. A black dress and a hat that made her pale skin look even paler.

It was as though Donna was coming out of a slow awakening—a dream she’d been living in for the past year and a half and nothing was real anymore. Willow was there with Sam, because they were living together. Willow had turned twenty a few months before; she was the same age as Zoey Bartlet, the President’s youngest daughter. And for the first time in their acquaintance, her age, to Donna, was front and center.

The last time she really spoke with the redhead, she’d been told that she was supposed to become her pupil. Become a witch herself. Become something more than she was—more than the assistant to Josh Lyman, and one of the most respected people in the West Wing who was not in the Cabinet or considered Senior Staff. Willow had decided for her, with the help of Giles, that she would become a witch, simply because she had the power.

Willow was only twenty. She’d seemed so much older for such a long time, but she wasn’t. She was still a little girl playing in a big world, with a much grander understanding than most girls her age of the way the world worked. She and Sam were admittedly happy together, but she was still a child. In so many ways, she was still a child.

And she was becoming powerful. In small, nearly indiscernible steps, she was becoming more and more powerful. One day she poured coffee like everyone else, the next day she used magic to do it. Small things like that. Frightening things like that.

Yet Donna respected and trusted Giles. She’d once told Spike that Giles was his Leo, and she still believed it. Even though she hadn’t really spoken with the man for months, she trusted his judgment.

Josh wasn’t going to like this.

Donna drew in a breath, tearing her eyes away from the redhead and her boyfriend as the service began.

Nope. Josh wasn’t going to like it one little bit.

When the reverend began to speak, his voice fell over the crowd, hushed but thunderous as it echoed through the hall. He had a magnanimous voice. The sort Mrs. Landingham would have loved.

“‘I am the Resurrection and I am Life,’ says the Lord. ‘Whoever believes in Me shall live, even though he die.’ God of Mercy, You are the hope of sinners, the joy of saints. We pray for our sister Delores whose body we honor with Christian burial. Give her happiness with Your saints, and raise up her body with the saints at the Last Day to be in Your presence forever...As for me, I know that my Redeemer lives, and that at the last, He will stand upon the Earth. After my awaking, He will raise me up. And in my body, I shall see God, and I myself shall see, and my eyes behold, Him who is my friend…”

The President was sitting as though he had turned to marble. Donna could not see his face.

But he was so still.

She sighed again as tears stung her eyes. Mrs. Landingham was gone. Buffy’s mom was gone. The President had Multiple Sclerosis, and the world was falling apart.

But not because of the god. No. For months, Donna had lived with the knowledge that she was in danger by association. She was in danger because her friend was the Slayer, whose sister was the Key. And now Glory was gone, and death had settled over them. The House of Usher had collapsed.

The President’s pain was private, but she could feel the tension in him from miles away. Could feel the pain. Was that a part of her new powers? The powers Willow had told her about? The powers she was supposed to grow into?

The day was going to be long and painful. She knew it.

And if she could do anything, she would erase the personal hell the President was going through. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. After everything they’d been through, it wasn’t supposed to end like this.

Donna sighed and struggled to focus on the reverend’s words, but her mind was overflowing with stark realities she didn’t yet want to face.

Willow leaned in to whisper something to Sam, and the blonde felt herself getting irritated.

She wished Buffy and Spike were with her.


*~*~*


“You better get off here.”

Buffy frowned and wet her lips. “Can I say again that I don’t wanna do this?”

“Pet, we’re already runnin’ late. Plus I gotta go in through the sodding underground tunnels as it is. If you come with me, you’ll get your pretty dress all dirty.” As if by suggestion alone, Spike lowered a hand to her leg and caressed her skin through the thin fabric. “’S fine. I’ll see you when I get there.”

“I think I’m going to wait outside, then. I don’t…if the service has started, it’d be disrespectful to just bust in and make a big commotion.”

Spike squeezed her leg. “So you’re sayin’ that I should—”

“It won’t be as noticeable when you go in, sweetie. You won’t walk in during the middle of the thing, and you won’t make a ton of noise doing it. The front doors? Not quite as inconspicuous as the basement.”

The metrorail was coming to another halt. It was her stop. Expelling a deep breath, Buffy rose to her feet; Spike followed.

“I’ll see you there, sweetheart.”

“Yeah.” She smiled softly and brushed a kiss across his lips. “Twenty minutes.”

Spike sat once again with a sigh as he watched her battle the passengers for the exit. He wanted so badly to go with her. His goddess of sunlight while he was resigned to the sewers and the shadows.

His eyes remained with her until he couldn’t see her any longer, and he forced himself to sit back and relax.

Every time he felt they were close to tunneling out of the darkness, something happened that sent them spiraling back to where they had started. He wanted to give Buffy a vacation from all of this. A place where they could just be with each other and not be bothered with the pressures building on the outside world. A place where they could sit down and figure out what to do for Dawn—what was best for her, what was best for Buffy. What was best for all of them.

Jed was a father of three, and that made him more of an expert in Spike’s book than anyone he knew. Perhaps he’d have some advice.

But not today. He wouldn’t bother the man today. Today especially.

If he ripped one thread away, the entire foundation would crumble. Today was going to be hard on everyone. He wasn’t about to add to that.

Not now.


*~*~*


“First reading will be from Mr. Charles Young, from the Book of Wisdom, Chapter III.”

The President was barely listening to the reverend. He felt detached, as though the entire service was down a hall in his mind, and if he kept venturing far enough, he’d make it there. He’d be able to say goodbye to Mrs. Landingham the way he had never truly prepared for.

But there was more to it than that. He was shattered. He was thoroughly shattered. And the more he struggled to climb out of the darkness, the deeper he sank.

He recalled the day he first met Mrs. Landingham—the first day so long ago. He’d called her Delores then, and hadn’t made that mistake twice. She’d gotten him on board a campaign for equal pay for women at his father’s school, and despite however much a failure he felt he had been in that endeavor, she had changed his life forever.

Leo McGarry had gotten him to run for President, but he honestly felt he would have never made it without the woman he was silently memorializing today. She was too young to have died, too fiery to be extinguished; the sister he’d wanted and been given too late in life, and robbed of far too soon.

She was gone. She’d survived with him for years, she’d survived an attack by an angry hellgod, and she’d refused any time off after he’d nearly commanded it of her. She had made it through things that fiction writers only dreamed about, and in the midst of her own saga of America’s unsung heroes, she was killed by a drunk driver. It wasn’t worthy of her, and the knowledge absolutely shattered him.

“But the souls of the virtuous are in the hands of God,” Charlie was reading. “No torment shall ever touch them. In the eyes of the unwise, they did not appear to die, but they are at peace. For though in the sight of others they were punished, their hope is full of immortality.”

The years had taught Bartlet many things.

You've never had a big sister and you need one, she’d said so long ago. During the days when being anything but his father’s son was a pipe dream. She’d broken him out. She’d turned it around for him, and she’d done it by coaxing his better angels to sing.

You're blessed with inspiration. You must know this by now. You must have sensed it. Look, if you think we're wrong... if you think Mr. Hopkins should honestly get paid more than Mrs. Chadwick, then I respect that. But if you think we're right and you won't speak up because you can't be bothered, then God, Jed, I don't even want to know you.

“…peace. Wherever there is danger, let us sow love. Wherever there is injury…harm. And wherever there is doubt, let there be faith in you. Amen.”

Music filled the chamber as the scene around him shifted. Reverend Monohan was leading Toby, Sam, Charlie, Josh, and two men that Bartlet didn’t know toward the casket. Donna, Margaret, and Carol were crying softly. Willow’s eyes were large and sad.

It seemed such an undignified way to say goodbye.


*~*~*


Buffy found a secret service agent that knew her almost immediately, and as she approached the cathedral, the doors spilled open.

Oh God.

The faces were too familiar, even with people she’d never seen before. People she’d never met. Sadness abound, a deeper pain scarring the eyes of those who had known the woman the best. She saw Donna talking with CJ. She saw Willow consoling Sam, who looked to have just allowed himself to break. She saw Abbey Bartlet, who saw her immediately, and waved her over with a look of motherly distress on her face.

The First Lady’s unending concern for her was comforting but unnerving at the same time. Buffy honestly didn’t know what she had done to deserve anything of what the First Family gave her, but now when she needed a mother so badly—a mother who would never attempt to take the place of Joyce Summers—anything that Abbey wanted to give her, she would accept without hesitation.

“I’m so sorry I missed it,” she said the minute the woman was within earshot. “There was a—”

“No, sweetheart, don’t worry about it.” Abbey took her in her arms for a hug, squeezing her tightly. “Your dress is lovely. Jed will be so pleased that you made it…though I’m hoping you didn’t hurry off and forget that that husband of yours has a slight allergy when it comes to sunlight.”

Buffy smiled weakly. “Spike talked me into getting off the Metro instead of following him underground. Did he not make it in yet?”

“I didn’t see him.”

The Slayer expelled a deep breath. She would have worried had the claim not reassured her that he was perfectly safe, as well as nearby. Perhaps they had arrived at the same time.

“How are you feeling? Did the prescription I gave you—”

“Worked like a charm. Didn’t think it was possible for chemicals to speed up a healing process for a god, but hey.” Buffy glanced down. “I’m so sorry about Mrs. Landingham. I didn’t know her very well, but—”

“Thank you.” Abbey smiled weakly. “She was a wonderful woman.”

“I wish I’d known her better.”

“She thought very highly of you, for however little you knew each other. And I think Spike reminded her too much of the President for his own good.” The First Lady patted her shoulder and heaved a sigh. “Buffy, I want you and Spike to come with me to Manchester this summer.”

“What?”

“After tonight’s press conference, I suspect Jed will need a refuge from the media…at least for a day or so. I intended to stay there with Zoey for a little while, and I know she’d love having a girl her age of your…experience, I might say, there to talk with about things she’d never share with me.”

“Abbey…”

“I absolutely won’t take no for an answer. You owe me after canceling at Christmas.”

“So that’s it…” Buffy licked her lips, her eyes drawn to the cathedral doors, where the President had not yet emerged. “He’s not going to run again?”

“No, I don’t think so. He was thinking about it for a while…”

The look on the First Lady’s face flashed with a spark of forgotten ire, but it was gone just as quickly. Such had been a touchy subject between the two for quite a while. The prospect of the President’s going back on a promise he made to his wife to only seek out one term had left Buffy feeling as though she herself had been betrayed. Likely because there were elements of Josiah Bartlet that were so similar to Spike that the thought had her thoroughly shaken.

“We’ve talked about it,” Abbey continued. “He hasn’t said whether or not he’s reached a decision, but with the press conference tonight and losing Delores Landingham…I can’t see him in a place to do anything but announce his endorsement for John Hoynes.”

Buffy nodded, turning her eyes again to the cathedral. The President had still not come out, and the doors were sealed shut.

“Is he…did the President leave already?”

The First Lady frowned and followed the Slayer’s gaze. Leo McGarry was standing near the door, and the two exchanged a look that spoke for everything.

“No,” she said, turning back to the young woman. “No. The President’s still inside. He’s having a talk with God.”


*~*~*


“Mrs. Mueller gets half as much to teach music as Mr. Ryan gets to coach crew.”

She turned back to him. He grinned, slid his hands into his pockets, and bounced slightly on his heels. And in just seconds, she was smiling so brightly, he would have sworn the heavens had opened, and all the glories of the world were shining upon him.

“You’re going to do it.”

Jed balked. “Well, I didn’t say that.”

“Yes, you did.”

“When?”

“Just then. You stuck your hands in your pocket. You looked away and smiled.”

Jed made a self-conscious sound and withdrew his hands from his pockets.

“That means you made up your mind,” Mrs. Landingham concluded.

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yes it does.”

“I stuck my hands in my pockets!”

“And looked away, and smiled.”

President Bartlet’s eyes were glued to the altar, his heart hammering. He felt as though someone had lit a fire under his feet, and the race to the explosion was growing faster with every second.

Leo was behind him the next second. “It was a beautiful service, I thought.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought it was a beautiful service,” he said again softly. “She was a real dame, old friend. A real broad.”

The President nodded. “Yeah.”

There was a beat. Then Leo leaned in and said, “We gotta go back to the office now, sir.”

He nodded again. “Yeah.”

“We've got some decisions to make now.”

He knew that. He knew that well. The staff was waiting on word of what to expect in the next year. If they should start updating their resumes, or prepare to fight to keep the Oval Office. He knew that. The knowledge did little to help the struggle.

And he had something to say now. He wanted to speak.

“Leo, would you do me a favor?” he asked gently.

“Yeah?”

“Would you ask the agents to seal the cathedral for a minute?”

His Chief of Staff just looked at him. Then understanding dawned, and he nodded. “Yeah.”

The President listened as Leo turned back toward the agents. It was only seconds, but it felt like years. Then the heavy doors whined and shut, and he was alone in the House of God.

Bartlet turned back to the altar.

“You’re a son of a bitch, you know that?” He released a heavy sigh and began a slow walk up the center aisle. “She bought her first new car and you hit her with a drunk driver. What, was that supposed to be funny?” He paused. “‘You can’t conceive, nor can I, the appalling strangeness of the mercy of God,’ says Graham Greene. I don’t know whose ass he was kissing there, ‘cause I think you’re just vindictive.

“‘I am the LORD thy God. Thou shalt have no other gods before me.’ Do you pride yourself in having that in writing? Of all the gods I’ve met, I must say, at least they’re upfront about their egos. And yet, throughout these past few months, when tried by faith and spurned on by a promise you have never kept, I refused to stop worshipping you. For what? You burn down houses and ask us to pay homage in yours. You take Buffy’s mother away from her when she needs her the most, and rob homes of men on my detail of their fathers and sons.”

He drew in a pained breath, his eyes never leaving the altar. “What was Josh Lyman? A warning shot? That was my son. What did I ever do to yours but praise his glory and praise his name? There's a tropical storm that's gaining speed and power. They say we haven't had a storm this bad since you took out that tender ship of mine in the north Atlantic last year…sixty-eight crew. You know what a tender ship does? Fixes the other ships. Doesn't even carry guns. Just goes around, fixes the other ships and delivers mail. That's all it can do.

“Gratias tibi ago, domine. Yes, I lied. It was a sin.” He held out his arms. “I've committed many sins. Have I displeased you, you feckless thug? 3.8 million new jobs, that wasn't good? Bailed out Mexico, increased foreign trade, thirty million new acres of land for conservation, put Mendoza on the bench, we're not fighting a war, I've raised three children…”

He slowly ascended the stairs to the Inner Sanctuary, his voice rising octaves for all the world to hear. And he didn’t care anymore. He truly didn’t. There was this, and then he was finished.

“That's not enough to buy me out of the doghouse? Haec credam a deo pio? A deo iusto? A deo scito?” He stopped, arms extended, and he shouted, “Cruciatus in crucem! Tuus in terra servus nuntius fui officium perfeci.” His voice raised an angry note. “Cruciatus in crucem.” A beat, then he waved dismissively. “Eas in crucem!”

President Bartlet turned away in anger, descending to the lower sanctuary and drawing out a cigarette. The alien sound flitted through the cathedral, and he took sadistic pleasure in his disgrace. He indulged a single puff, then dropped the cigarette butt beside his shoe, and ground it into the floor.

He looked back at the altar. It was over now. Everything was over.

“You get Hoynes!”

He turned and paraded out. He was finished. He was finished with everything.

It ended tonight.


*~*~*


Spike drew in an unnecessary breath as the President left the sanctuary. He felt like a child who’d walked in on his parents making love, or something equally personal. He never wanted the President to know he’d been anywhere near him during that. Never.

He needed to find Buffy. This changed everything.

He was so foregone in his thoughts, in the demented unraveling of everything just as the pieces had started to gather together again, that he didn’t notice for a few seconds that he was standing in light. Not much, but enough. A ray of sunshine had found him, and he stood as he would anywhere. A man. A vampire in the House of God.

He was standing in sunlight.


*~*~*


It started raining as the sky fell dark. The address with his wife had aired, and now the Senior Staffers were waiting for the word.

Buffy was in the bullpen when he saw her. For whatever reason, it had taken forever to get to the White House. It seemed everyone in DC was out tonight. Spike walked up to her and wrapped his arms around her middle, pressing his chest to her back.

He smiled softly when she shivered and melted against him. “Where have you been?” she asked.

“Everywhere. There’s a chance I ended up in Paraguay for about twenty minutes for as bloody long as it took to get over here.” He brushed a kiss to her throat. “Worried?”

“Well, yes, but I knew you were okay.” She sighed. “They’re waiting for the President’s decision.”

“Decision?”

“On reelection.”

Spike sighed and pressed his cheek to her golden crown of hair. “I don’ think there’s gonna be a reelection,” he said softly, tightening his hold around her. “It’s over now.”

Buffy heaved a deep breath and nodded, turning in his arms, resting her head against his chest. “I know,” she replied. “I saw it, too.”


*~*~*


“We'll call them Answer A and Answer B,” CJ said.

“Yeah,” Josh agreed.

“Mr. President, does this mean you won't be seeking a second term?” she continued. “Answer A is 'You bet. I will absolutely be seeking a second term. I'm looking forward to the campaign. There is great work that is yet to be done.'”

Toby and Sam sat silently, not looking at each other, not reacting.

“Yes,” the Deputy Chief of Staff said again, nodding.

“Answer B…”

Josh’s eyes narrowed, and he provided his assessment. “'Are you out of your mind? I can't possibly win re-election. I lied about a degenerative illness. I'm the target of a Grand Jury investigation and Congress is about to take me out to lunch. I'd sooner have my family take their clothes off and dance the Tarantella on the Truman Balcony than go through a campaign with this around my neck.'”

CJ looked at him and sipped at her water.

“You think that’s too on the nose?”

“I do.”

Sam glanced down. “I want to bring it up again.”

The Press Secretary made a face. “Why?”

“’Cause I got shouted down the first three times and I work here just like you do.
Can I help you?”

She looked at him for a long minute, then nodded. “Sorry.”

The Deputy Communications Director leapt to his feet and began pacing. “I think we have to explore ways of calling this off.”

Toby released a long sigh. “Sam…”

“I think it might be a mistake to send him on at a moment when we're trying to
demonstrate…”

“Listen—”

The younger man had lost his grip on his temper, and he could no longer keep himself from yelling. “We don't know what the hell they're talking about in there, Toby. We don't know whether he's running or not! I think we have to—”

“There are no ways! The story's leaked. It's out there. We're doing this. Don't worry; it's going to be fine.” He stood and headed toward his desk. “They're lighting him from outside the window.”


*~*~*


Just a few minutes later, Josh was in his office, and Donna was standing over him with a weary look on her face.

“It was a nice service, don’t you think?” she asked softly.

He paused, then nodded as though he just understood what she was saying. “Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

“I’m gonna run across the street to the OEOB for a minute. The President is still after information on the storm. I'm not sure why he's got it in his teeth.”

Josh shuffled through his papers.

“Yeah.”

“Josh, can this really be how it works?”

He stopped and looked at her.

“We have no idea if he's gonna run again,” she continued. “He's in a room with Leo making a decision. Two people in a matter of minutes. This is how it works?”

The phone rang.

“This is how it works today.”


*~*~*


It was Answer B, and everyone knew it. Leo had told Josh, and Josh had told Donna and Toby, and the word had spread fairly quickly among Senior Staffers. Thus it was hard for CJ not to take the man she regarded as a father by the shoulders and shake some sense into him, but she didn’t. Instead, she continued as she’d been told to do, trying to keep emotion out of her voice. “You'll want to take the first question from Lawrence Altman, the Times' Chief Medical Correspondent.”

“Why?”

“Because if you call on anyone else, the first question will be about reelection. Call on Altman, it will be a medical question, and it'll have two or three follow-ups. It'll allow you to feel comfortable a little before you start with the political mess.”

The look in the President’s eyes was distant and apathetic. “Okay.”

“Altman will be in the front row, first seat on your right.”

“Okay.” He turned away from her then, his head throbbing.

The first question will be about reelection.

“Mr. President?”

“Yeah?”

“Where's Altman going to be?”

He sighed in resignation. “CJ…”

“Mr. President, I'm going there right now. This is the last time I'm going to see you before you step up... please, where's...?”

“Front row, first seat on the right.”

“Whose right?”

“My right.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Thunder roared as she left. Bartlet turned again to lean on his desk. The wind outside was howling as though God was throwing a temper tantrum. Throwing everything he could at him to make him lose his footing. And with every gust, the President’s ire only grew deeper.

There was a sudden crash, and the storm blew the portico door wide open, drenching his floor with rain.

“Ah, dammit,” he growled, losing himself in the moment. “Mrs. Landingham!”

He turned away, swallowed in pain.

“I really wish you wouldn’t shout, Mr. President.”

It was her voice, but it was in his head. As was the vision of her that his mind projected, standing just a few feet away from him, looking at him with dry disapproval, but her eyes sparkled with that cunning twinkle he knew so well. She wasn’t there. He knew she wasn’t there. He was just so used to it. He could see her and make it real.

“The door keeps blowing open,” he told her.

“Yes,” Mrs. Landingham said, “but there’s an intercom and you could use it to call me at my desk.”

“I was—”

“You don't know how to use the intercom.”

“It's not that I don't know how to use it, it's just that I haven't learned yet.”

The image of Mrs. Landingham looked at him, and he smiled shyly, as though she’d caught him in a lie.

“I have MS,” he said to the figment, “and I didn’t tell anybody.”

“Yeah. So, you're having a little bit of a day.”

“You're gonna make jokes?”

Mrs. Landingham shook her head. “God doesn't make cars crash, and you know it. Stop using me as an excuse.”

The President motioned for her to sit, and he sat opposite of her. Staring at nothing with his eyes, but seeing her with everything else. With everything that mattered.

“The party's not going to want me to run,” he said.

“The party'll come back. You'll get them back.”

He smiled ironically. “I've got a secret for you, Mrs. Landingham. I've never been the most popular guy in the Democratic Party.”

She leaned in. “I've got a secret for you, Mr. President. Your father was a prick who could never get over the fact that he wasn't as smart as his brothers. Are you in a tough spot? Yes. Do I feel sorry for you? I do not. Why? Because there are people way worse off than you.”

“Give me numbers.”

“I don't know numbers. You give them to me.”

“How about a child born this minute has a one in five chance of being born into poverty?”

“How many Americans don't have health insurance?” she asked.

“Forty-four million.”

“What's the number one cause of death for black men under thirty-five?”

“Homicide.”

“How many Americans are behind bars?”

“Three million.”

“How many Americans are drug addicts?”

“Five million.”

“And one of five kids in poverty?”

“That's thirteen million American children,” he told the empty chair. “Three and a half million kids go to schools that are literally falling apart. We need one hundred and twenty-seven billion in school construction, and we need it today!”

“To say nothing of fifty-three people trapped in an embassy,” she told him.

“Yes.”

“You know, if you don't want to run again, I respect that.” She stood up. “But if you don't run 'cause you think it's gonna be too hard or you think you're gonna lose…well, God, Jed, I don't even want to know you.”


*~*~*


“And he’ll be speaking to that just as soon as he gets here.”

The room in the State Department was an ocean of camera flashes. A sea of hungry sharks, waiting for her to toss them the bait.

“Uh, Frank, then Leslie.”

“Has there been any discussion of a Special Prosecutor?”

She nodded. “Tomorrow morning, the President will direct the Attorney General to appoint a Special Prosecutor, yes.”

The reporters clamored for her again. “I can’t see,” she protested. “Joan!”

She didn’t hear the question, but picked up enough words to guess what the point was.

“A list of three prosecutors is given to a three-judge panel. The prosecutors, as well as the judges, were all appointed by Republican presidents.”

Margaret and Donna arrived in the back. They were plastered with rainwater. She saw them and sighed in relief before returning to the reality of the sharks that seemed to get closer with every second. “Please,” she yelled, “I can only answer fourteen or fifteen questions at once. Hal!”


*~*~*


It was strange, standing in the middle of the bullpen with only a few people flitting around them. Willow was watching in Sam’s office; Buffy and Spike were sitting on Donna’s desk, the vampire’s arms wrapped around his mate’s middle, her back pressed to his chest.

“I can't comment on a witness list that doesn't exist, but I imagine subpoenas will be issued to most Senior White House Staff including myself,” CJ was saying. “Again, I can't comment on what kind of hearings Congress has in mind. I'm sure there'll be one but you'd have to talk to Congress.”

Damn, she hadn’t thought about that.

“We’ll need to leave town,” Buffy whispered. “Me, you…Willow. We can’t be here when that starts.”

“We’re not a part of this, sweetling. We don’ need to go anywhere.”

“They’ll come after us.”

“On what grounds?”

“On the grounds that we were…I dunno, they’ll find something small and make it big! They’re Republicans!”

He chuckled. “Yeh, well, they’ll have to really dig. An’ if Jed wants us to leave, he’ll tell us. Right now, I think we oughta stay put an’ not give a damn about the rest.”

Buffy wasn’t so sure. Spike’s perspective on things was with a wide-angle lens. She wondered at times if that made his ability to anticipate the small problems a little more difficult. He knew the outcome always—it was the salient details that got buried in the woodwork.

“Here he is.”


*~*~*


“Okay, here now, the President of the United States.”

Everyone stood as a sodden, defeated Bartlet entered the room and walked toward the podium. He passed CJ, who muttered, “Front row on your right,” as he took his place.

President Bartlet looked over the room. He saw Lawrence Altman, the medical expert who stood out like a sore thumb. The man was looking at him with almost taut expectation.

And it happened then. A choice was made. He turned instead and pointed at the center of the room. “Yes, Sandy.”

He could feel CJ’s shock, and he didn’t care.

If you don't run 'cause you think it's gonna be too hard or you think you're gonna lose…well, God, Jed, I don't even want to know you.

He was not going to be that man. Not in this century. Not the boy his father had raised.

“Mr. President, can you tell us right now if you'll be seeking a second term?”

The President smiled dryly. “I'm sorry, Sandy, there was a bit of noise there, could you repeat the question?”

From his left, he could feel the eyes of his staff. All of them.

Leo turned away from the monitor near the door and looked at him, his eyes wide as though realizing something.

“Watch this…”


*~*~*


“What’s happening?” Buffy demanded, her voice shrill. “Spike?”

Spike’s eyes widened and he tightened his arms around her, not tearing his eyes away from the screen. “Watch this.”


*~*~*


In the midst of thunder and lightening, with rainwater rolling down his skin, the world waited for the President to speak.

He looked at them, and they looked back.

And President Bartlet slowly slid his hands off the podium and into his pockets. He looked away in the direction of Manchester, and smiled.



End of Part I

To be continued in Gardens of Crimson Roses – Part II: Sacrament

Return to Bloodshedverse Home
 Use scroll bars to see reviews