Never Alone Again

Chapter 2

It took them another month to gain the weight back that they’d both lost. They’d still moved around – it was easier and safer that way – but spent the majority of the time relaxing and reading through the books they’d acquired.

Piecing together locations alluded to amongst the voluminous texts, Spike had created a makeshift map. Buffy wasn’t sure if it would work, but anything was better than what they had. Now if they could just find a starting point for the series of cryptic directions, they’d be one step closer to actually finding the Order’s stronghold and eradicating their army of assassins.

Disgusted with the vagueness of the passage she was currently reading, she slammed the leather-bound volume closed and set it aside. Vagueness? Who was she kidding? Vagueness was a compliment to the author of the journal. The paragraph of text she’d been trying to decipher read like someone had had an attack of ADHD. The journal entry was a mixture of random thoughts that made absolutely no sense to the Slayer. No matter how many times she read it. Spike hadn’t faired much better, having passed the journal to her about a half hour ago to see if she could make heads or tails of the thing.

Sighing, she leaned back in her chair, rubbing her weary eyes.

“Think it’s time we took a break, luv.”

“You know what I’d really love?”

“What’s that, pet?”

She sat up, opening her eyes. “Dancing.”

“Dancing?”

“Yes. Dancing. As in, you and me throwing on some clothes and going out to do some boogying.”

“I don’t boogie,” he stated flatly.

Buffy stood up and affected an exaggerated hip swagger as she walked around the table to where Spike was sitting. She noticed his eyes flare and grinned seductively.

“We don’t have to boogie,” she purred in his ear, settling in his lap and grinding herself into his erection. “Something to be said for a little slow dancing too.” She rubbed her upper body against his, her hardened nipples digging into his chest. “Please….” she begged, adding a hip gyration for good measure.

Buffy squealed when he stood abruptly, easily bearing her weight in his arms.

“Spike….”

“Wot? My girl wants to go out. Gotta get cleaned up first, now don’t we?” he reasoned, striding towards the bathroom.

‘My girl wants…’

His words repeated themselves over and over in her mind as she stripped out of her t-shirt and panties and stepped underneath the warm spray. She told herself that it probably meant nothing, was just Spike playing along with her.

Still didn’t stop her from crooking her finger at him just before she reached up to grab the pipe of the showerhead.

It was a good long while before either got out of the shower.

~*~*~*~*~

“Slayer, put that down and come to bed,” Spike grumbled.

“Geez, grumpy much?” Buffy didn’t bother to look up from the journal, something about the last passage she’d just read setting her on edge. Her eyes remained fixated on the text, willing it to spill its secret.

This is no game of which I speak. You would cringe at the horrors I’ve witnessed. Red rivers of blood pooling from the feet to Jachin and Boaz. Eternity will not see my relief, for I am in hell. Would that it were of my own making. If I could go back, Loose my ties with my calling. Live with my eyes blind, my ears deaf to the Secrets of the order. Heed well my warning. Only the foolish dare trespass beyond the borders. Would you not agree? There are some that will not listen. Heroes, thinking they might overcome. Everyone that enters the foot shall perish. Writhe beneath the sword of his champion. At the altar, your blood renews their strength. You were warned, were you not?

“Here I was, tryin’ to enjoy a little post-coital snuggle before catchin’ some kip, but someone scrambled out of bed like they couldn’t be bothered. Slayer, I’m hurt.” Spike pulled a dramatic pose, bottom lip jutting out, his hands clutching over his chest in the vicinity of his unbeating heart.

“Oh, stop. You know you just want to use me as an electric blanket.”

“Well, yeah…” He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

Buffy couldn’t help it, she laughed outright. But she compromised, taking the watcher’s journal with her back to bed. After she’d settled in, her head resting on Spike’s arm, she showed him the passage she was looking at.

“It just doesn’t make sense. These people live for this shit. Hell, you’ve seen Giles’….well, maybe you haven’t… but I have. And, I’ll tell ya, they’re all about duty this, obligation that… So why would this one… one, warn us away…. and two, want to forget his calling. It just doesn’t add up. And what’s with the darkened words? I know when this was written they were still using pen and quill, but this looks deliberate.”

“Hey!,” she gripped when Spike sat up abruptly dislodging her.

“Bloody hell, Slayer! You’re a genius! Quick, grab me a piece of paper and a pen.”

She frowned but did like he'd asked, rolling her eyes when he snatched it out of her hand and started scribbling furiously. When he was finished, he had a column of all the words that were given emphasis, one right under the other.

“He couldn’t make it easy, pet,” he explained as he handed her the completed list. “If this book were ever to fall into the wrong hands, it would have sealed his death. Look at the words, do you see a pattern?”

Buffy stared at the list, again trying to make it give up its secrets.

“Concentrate on just the first letter,” he urged.

“‘Tyre will show the way’? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What it means, pet, is that you’ve found us our starting place.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Then I am good, aren’t I?”

“A genius, just like I said.”

“And being...a genius... deserves some type of reward, does it not?”

“Oh, most definitely!”

Spike tossed the journal onto the unused bed and snagged the paper out of the Slayer’s hands. He licked his lips, leaning her back against the pillows to give her her reward.

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy shook the rain out of her dark hair after having let herself into their hotel room. She dropped her latest purchase on the table and slid out of her leather duster. The clerk at the book store had looked at her rather strangely for buying a book comprised of maps of the Middle East; she’d rolled her eyes, shown some attitude, and told the lady to bag it – and almost gotten kicked out of the store for her efforts. Damn people and their biases. Like she wouldn’t be interested in buying something from her store just because she looked like she’d just stepped out of Goths-R-Us.

The sound of water running could be heard and she figured Spike must have woken up recently. She’d only been up for a few hours herself, wanting to make it to the store and back while there was still daylight. The crowded streets of New York City were a little more animated than she was used to, and she’d not wanted to have to worry about getting into a sticky situation and having notice drawn her way because she’d had to defend herself. Plus, there was the whole vengeful vampire equation she couldn’t overlook.

A few minutes later, the water cut off. Spike emerged from the steaming bathroom, a towel wrapped around his lean hips. Before they’d arrived in the city, she’d helped dye his hair black again, matching hers except for the red streaks she now sported. Buffy hadn’t trusted herself with cutting it, so she’d taken him to a demon barber – and yes, it had shocked her to realize that demons had them – and snickered while he’d sat in the parlor seat while the male beautician gushed over his curling locks. The stylist hadn’t even raised an eyebrow over his client’s lack of reflection, had just pointed to the sign that proclaimed, “No Eating the Help.” When he had wanted to add on hair gel, she’d put her foot down, fingering the spiked curls and whispering to the disgruntled vamp that she liked it this way.

He’d given her his tongue-curling smirk and declined the gel.

Now, as she looked at him, at the beads of water trailing down his chest and abs, she wanted to pounce on him and give him a reason to take another shower. He knew it too, the tease, if his shit-eating grin was any indication. Determined to ignore him and his mostly-naked parade about the room, she grabbed the map book out of the bag and settled into one of the chairs at the table to try and find Tyre.

She started with Israel, figuring that since the Order dated back to the time of King Solomon, it stood to reason that their stronghold would lie somewhere in that vicinity. An hour later, having expanded her search to include Lebanon, Jordan, Syria, and parts of Egypt, Buffy was no closer to finding this Tyre. She was beginning to think it didn’t exist.

“Come on, pet. Time to take a break. Besides, ‘m feelin’ a mite peckish.”

“Huh?” She looked away from the book and up at him. “Yeah... Ok. I could go for something to eat as well.”

On the seedy, cheaper side of the city, there was no small amount of available “prospects” for Spike to choose from. The smell of blood and a muffled scream slammed into his senses, and he darted into the darkened alley, leaving the Slayer standing on the curb. The glint of steel caught his eye, and he reached the perpetrator, his grip easily crushing the mugger’s wrist and preventing him from finding his target once again. A second later and he’d snapped the man’s neck, dragging him off the unconscious woman lying helplessly on the ground. Spike made quick work of his meal, licking clean the blood on the back of his hand where he’d used it to clean his lips. The carcass he dropped to the ground without another thought.

He made to pass the woman, leave her for someone else to find, but stopped. Rolling his eyes, disgusted with himself, he bent down and lifted her over his shoulder. The cut to her cheek was going to need stitches.

Buffy’s eyes grew wide when she noticed Spike emerge from the darkened alley with a woman slung over his shoulder.

“Are you crazy?” she hissed.

“Yeah…prolly. But, didn’t think it was right, leavin’ ‘er unconscious an’ all. Bird’s gonna need some sutures. We can leave ‘er with someone inside and let them call the cops.”

“Fine. Gimme a second.”

Buffy darted inside the nearest convenience store, shouting for someone to call an ambulance, that they’d found a woman being mugged. Only when she saw him pick up the phone did she step outside and wave Spike forward. They were going drop the girl and run. There was no way they could hang around and be forced to answer questions.

The clerk stared wide-eyed as Spike stormed into the store and laid the girl on the floor.

“Quit yer gawkin’ and get some bloody towels, you git!”

The man, startled at first, quickly recovered, nodding emphatically as he raced to the door marked “Employees Only.” When he came back, Buffy and Spike were long gone.

~*~*~*~*~

Both of their bellies now full, the pair wandered around the darkened city, neither wanting to return to their tiny hotel room just yet. Buffy was enjoying the sights and sounds of the nightlife that was New York; with Spike by her side, all gave them a wide birth.

The sound of techno music drew her attention, and when the Slayer saw where it was originating from, she tugged on Spike’s hand to get him to follow.

“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me, pet,” he complained, seeing her destination. “Don’t fancy myself sittin’ around a bunch of snot-nosed kids tryin’ to play at bein’ the Big Bad.”

“We’re not here for that. We’re here for that.” And she pointed to the cyber café logo. “Just please tell me you can work your way around a computer, because me? Not so much with the techno savvy.”

He sighed resignedly. “Come on, luv. Let’s get this over with…”

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