CHAPTER 1 -- The Body

Buffy woke to a blinding pain radiating at the back of her skull. She opened her eyes only to be greeted by an equally blinding light streaming from the open curtains. Grunting at the light in an effort to make it go away, Buffy sat up and attempted to take in her surroundings. She was in a stereotypical hotel room -- bare white walls, more drawers than one person could ever need, and complete with funky smell. Buffy noted the lack of a mini-bar. Reaching a hand out to steady herself, she came in contact with a fleshy arm. Whipping her hand away, she made a disgruntled face, trying to focus in on what was next to her. After a few moments of concentration she saw the bed’s second occupant -- a stiff, unmoving body.

Buffy squinted at her bed’s intruder. Making a growling noise in the back of her throat, she mustered all the energy possible in her fuzzy-headed state and heaved the body onto its back. It revealed to her a sandy blonde haired, broad shouldered man. He showed no sign that he had been disturbed by the sudden flip. Buffy frowned, leaning close to the man’s face, “Hey, Mister, I didn’t kill you did I?” She reached for a wrist and found a steady pulse that told her she hadn’t. Buffy shrugged, ignoring her own nakedness she stretched across the man and fumbled though his trousers laying on the edge of the bed. Ransacking his wallet, she pulled out an ID.

“Riley Finn,” she read aloud. She ran the name through her head a couple times, something eventually clicking. Oh, yes, Captain Cardboard. It had taken a lot of alcohol to loosen that one up. Buffy usually didn’t drink on the job . . . Well, not that much anyway. But the dull drone of the man’s idea of conversation had caused her to turn to the bottle.

Okay, she remembered Finn, now if she could only remember why she was there . . . . Buffy again turned her gaze to the plastic card in her hand. It wasn’t just any ID, it was one for Sunnydale University. Sunnydale . . . That was the shit hole-in-the-wall town she was in now. If she could only remember why . . . . Her mission ran in a constant stream though her head. Ah, yes, Principal Snyder. Principal Snyder had been a bad boy -- something involving kiddie porn. Buffy was to get the school district information about Snyder off Finn’s laptop.

Now confident in what she was supposed to be doing, Buffy reached for the hotel phone, pressing the numbers to connect to the next door room.

“Okay, Will,” she spoke before replacing the receiver.

Seconds later there was a knock on the door. Buffy slipped a shirt over her head and threw the door open to reveal an eager looking redhead -- her partner in killing-crime.

Willow hightailed it to the table that housed the laptop and quickly began smacking at keys that meant nothing to Buffy, who was busy trying to find her purse.

Finding her bag, she spilled out what would look like scrap metal to the naked eye. With it, she expertly assembled an impressive looking gun. Loading it with ammunition found in a secret compartment of her blush, she aimed it around the room.

Willow glanced over at the figure in the bed, “You had enough Ambein, you know. You could have saved us some time and knocked him out before you lost your clothes.”

Buffy poked at the motionless body with her weapon, “I though he was worth it,” With the barrel of her gun, Buffy lifted the starched sheet, exposing his naked torso. She grimaced at what she saw, “I was wrong.”

“Done,” Willow announced, slipping a floppy disk out of the computer.

Buffy was impressed, “Wow, you’re good at that.”

Willow smiled proudly, “That’s why you do the killin’ and I do the hacking. Computer hacking I mean, not body parts -- that’s your department.”

As Buffy continued to fumbled around searching for her panties. She looked suspiciously at the form in the bed, “You sure we’re not suppose to kill this one?”

Willow shook her head, “Angel specifically said not to kill this one. Don’t you listen to any of the debriefings?”

Buffy frowned, “They’re boring and he laughs at his own jokes. I can’t believe I used to fall for that.”

Willow shrugged, “Love is blind.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, “If that’s what you want to call it.”

“I think the meetings are exciting,” Willow bounced a little in her chair. “They make me feel like we’re in some sort of secret club.”

Buffy looked at her friend, bemused, “Will, we are in a secret club -- a secret club that kills people for money.”

TBC
 

CHAPTER 2 -- The Assignment

Back at the L.A. home base two days later:

Buffy and Willow walked briskly through the revolving doors of Wolfram and Hart. Entering the lobby, Buffy gave a knowing nod to the security guard stationed at the desk. She tossed her weapons bag over her shoulder and they made it through the metal detector without a problem. Buffy looked around at all the professional suits scattered around her. Little did they know how their employer really made his millions.

The façade Angel put on was a genius, albeit simplistic one: Mr. Smith comes to Wolfram and Hart looking for representation in his impending divorce. Mr. Smith’s wife has cheated on him. Feeding off the scorned party’s bitterness and anger, Angel suggests that not only will he represent Mr. Smith in court, he can take the cheating spouse out of the picture completely. He then sends out one of his contract killers, such as Buffy, to do his dirty work. Not only does Mr. Smith get all the marital assets and the satisfaction of knowing his ex-wife can’t put anymore dicks in her mouth while six feet under, he gets a grade A lawyer should he ever come under investigation for his ex’s mysterious death.

If you had an honest employer, an assassin could save up a impressive amount of cash in about a decade if he or she works steadily enough. But Angel was not an honest man. He kept his hired guns under strict contract for X amount of years, paying them in increments per job -- enough money to live off of and not much more. Then, when he no longer needed one of his employees he paid them out in a large lump sum. When Buffy would see any of her money was anyone’s guess. So Angel continued to live in his mansion and fuck any girl, and Buffy suspected any guy, he wanted while Buffy and Willow lived in a two room apartment on the shady side of the city.

Buffy had been a young runaway when she happened upon Angel and his business. But she had not come in looking for a job. On the contrary, she was Angel’s girlfriend -- one of his many. She spent two years living luxoriously, spending time sitting next to Angel during his many meetings with lawyers and assassins alike. When he decided he didn’t need her cunt anymore, she was sent back to the streets. With no where to go, no one to turn to, and no high school diploma, Buffy swallowed her pride, and asked Angel for a job. He was more than smugly happy to offer his former sex slave a place in his empire. He did not hesitate in handing her a semi-automatic and sending her out to make his millions. Angel jacked off every night to the idea that the girl he used to make do anything he wanted sexually, now had to do anything he wanted period.

Buffy and Willow breezed past the secretary, ignoring her cries of “Hey, I totally did not say you guys could go in there!” Flinging open the door the team stepped into Angel’s office, coming to a stop in front of his mahogany desk. Wesley, Angel’s yes-man, stood behind him awaiting orders.

“You got another job for us?” Buffy asked.

Angel opened his mouth to replay, but he was interrupted by his own intercom, “Boss, Buffy and Willow are here to see you.”

Angel sighed and answered, “I can see that, Harm.”

“Wow, she’s a keeper,” Buffy said sarcastically.

“What can I say, she’s a good fuck.” Buffy rolled her eyes at his reply.

Angel threw a file on the desk in front of them, Willow snatched it, shifting through its contents. “It’s Cordy, she thinks she can play with the big boys.”

Cordy was another one of Angel’s ex-girlfriends. He had sent her to the street as abruptly as he did Buffy. But Cordelia was smart and self-sufficient. She decided to beat Angel at his own game -- she began her own assassination business. L.A., according to Angel, was not big enough or filled with enough freaks willing to pay to get someone killed for the both of them. “She has a favorite shooter, goes by the name of Spike. What kind of stupid name is that? Are we playing cops and robbers or are we killing people for money?” He laughed at his joke and Wes followed suit.

Buffy crossed her arms over her chest, “Are we done? Because if I don’t get something sharp in my hands right now . . .”

“I got something sharp for ya,” Angel lifted his hips pointedly off the leather chair, thrusting the dick Buffy used to know intimately at her.

Wielding a switchblade she snapped out of her boot, Buffy addressed Angel innocently, “Oh, I got something sharp, I just need something to use it on,” Buffy gazed at Angel’s suggested area.

Angel had the decency to look shocked before smirking down on her, “Feisty. I knew I kept you under contract for a reason.” At the mention of her binding, Buffy sobered. “Oh don’t worry, honey, maybe some day I’ll let you go.”

“What do you want me to do?” She ground out.

“Spike . . . I want you to kill him.”

“Hold on, since when do we carry out your personal vendettas?”

“Since when do you disobey orders?” He challenged. Sensing yet another verbal uprising out of her, he continued, “If you’d rather it be you that’s going to be chopped up into millions of unrecognizable pieces, by all means say the word.” Her own practiced restraint and Willow’s worried gaze were the only things that kept Buffy’s mouth shut. “That’s what I thought.”
____________________________________________________________

“Fucking bastard.” Buffy stormed down the corridor, leaving Willow running to keep up. “How did I let it get this far, Will?”

While Buffy was linked to Angel and his business through law and threat of imminent death, Willow could walk away anytime she wanted. The only thing that kept Willow tied to him was her intense friendship to Buffy. Willow was an independent contractor who was brought in for a few hits that involved a thorough knowledge of computers. The two women bonded instantly and Willow had been by her side ever since. On several occasions Buffy had all out insisted that Willow get out while she still could, but Willow had put on her resolve face and Buffy was forced to drop the issue.

Willow smiled sadly at her best friend‘s plight. She cheerily rubbed Buffy’s shoulders. “Don’t worry little killer, we’ll get you out of this somehow.”

Buffy didn’t respond.

“But, hey, nothing cheers up an professional assassinator’s soul like a good kill. You never know, maybe this one will give you a run for your money, literally speaking.”

“Yeah maybe. Let’s go track down this fuck.”

TBC

CHAPTER 3 -- The Men

Xander picked up another rag off the coffee table, wiping the quickly drying blood off his hands. He surveyed the room. It could be classified as a cubical really -- hospital white walls. Well, they were. That was until Spike had gotten trigger happy, hitting a multitude of Mr. Wakefield’s major arteries, severing the head and spraying blood, guts, and Mr. Wakefield’s lunch all over the walls.

Spike had had a bad day. And this is really how all of Spike’s bad days transpired after terrorizing Xander with his caustic sarcasm and snarkiness. But he must admit, putting a round into some guy’s chest who embezzled thousands of dollars from his company and mentally calculating the money they were making for a job well done never failed to take Spike out of his self-pity wallowing.

Spike threw down the rag he was holding, picking at brain chunks and intestines that threatened to stain his shirt. “I wish you Americans would stop eating such filth. A diet of Sloppy Joes, corndogs, and potato chips makes for a messy cleanup.”

“Says the man who lives off the Blooming Onion.”

Spike strided over to the severed head, lying in the middle of the room. He picked Mr. Wakefield’s cranium up by its black gelled hair, turning its still open eyes towards the spatter patterns on the walls. “If you were still alive, mate, I’d make you lick your stomach’s contents off the bloody walls.”

“Did you get in this business just to keep the Brit slang? I can’t tell if you’re just being British or serious, ‘cause man these walls are pretty nasty.”

Spike tossed the decapitated head across the room haphazardly and sighed, “This one’s done. Who’s next?”

“Not sure, I’ll have to call the boss lady, but I do believe it’s a fellow businessman.”

“Another assassin? Really?” Spike was intrigued. If he had to kill another cheating spouse or scorned lover he’d turned the barrel on himself.

“So what does that take us to?” Spike asked.

“It should be up to $850,000 by now. I’ll have to call Anya.”

Spike raised his eyebrow and looked pointedly at his friend, “Yeah, you do that.”

“What?”

“We are perfectly capable of keeping a mental running tab of our bank account. No need to bring your girlfriend into our dark lives.”

“She’s not my girlfriend!” The expression on Spike’s face told him that he could easily argue otherwise, so he let it drop.

“Let’s go get food, killing always makes me hungry.”

“Everything makes you hungry.”

TBC
 

CHAPTER 4 -- Anne

“You go ahead in, I’ll go call the boss lady. Hey, order me a cheeseburger, huh?” Xander jogged across the street in search for a place with half decent cell phone reception. Spike entered Tom’s Diner and slid into a booth by the window facing the door.

Spike really wasn’t hungry. He would never admit it, but the last few hits he’d done had left him queasy. Assassination was an acquired taste, one he feared he was losing the stomach for. Though he didn’t have time to dwell on the idea because the waitress was coming -- and she made his stomach do a different kind of flip.

She was a tiny little blonde thing, the mini waitress dress she was wearing rode up a little higher in the back -- just screaming for Spike to drop his fork so he could watch her pick it up. It made him want to bend her backwards over the table and kiss her. That or spank her, Spike couldn’t decide which.

Spike dropped his voice to a lower register, “Hello, luv, I’d like two coffees . . .”

“What did you just call me?” She interrupted.

Spike furrowed his brows, trying to comprehend her question, “Um . . . ‘luv’ probably.” Then it dawned on him the reason for her objection. He looked at her incredulously, “Oh, don’t flatter yourself, I call my landlord ‘luv.’”

“I have a name,” she ground out. Spike’s eyes narrowed.

“Well okay then . . .” Spike leaned dramatically over the booth, staring purposefully at her nametag, lingering too long on the breast which held the Hello My Name Is, “Anne.”

Anne the waitress glared at him.

“Well then, now that we’re such good friends, could you get me two coffees and a cheeseburger.”

Anne turned on her heels and headed to the kitchen. Spike watched her until she was out of view. The girl looked like the picture of delicate femininity. That was until she opened her mouth and became the walking poster girl for Looks Can Be Deceiving. That girl was anything but diminutive.

Spike reached across the table and grab a leftover newspaper and tried to catch up on the daily politics. After fifteen minutes of being engrossed in an article about Christina Aguilera’s rumored engagement, he was startled by the clanging of plates and cups down on the table in front of him.

Anne looked over him critically, “Is that blood on your pants or are you just happy to see me?” She asked coolly.

Spike looked down to see a stain of Mr. Wakefield on the crotch of his pants. Spike opened his mouth to say something but the waitress zipped away.

“I bleed for you, baby,” Spike called to her. Xander swerved around Spike’s leaning form, flopping down in the booth and following the retreating form Spike was leering at.

“What was that all about?”

“Let’s get out of here,’ Spike grumbled before standing up. He threw a couple bills on the table before pivoting to leave, Xander stuffing as much of his double-decker in his mouth as he could.

TBC
 

Chapter 5:

Spike needed to kill something. Soon. That waitress had pushed all his buttons -- the ones that pissed him off and the ones that got him hot.

The two men made their usual shortcut though the abandoned warehouse on their way to their car, parked on the nicer side of L.A. Tom’s Diner and the building they were currently walking through rested smack dab in the middle of the more violent section of the city -- referred to as the District. The District, where Spike and Xander spent the bulk of their time, worked as a buffer between the swank city offices where they went for assignments and ammo, and where most of their business took them, a suburb by the name of Pleasant Valley. It was surprising, or maybe not surprising at all, that the locale that was most willing to pay a ridiculous amount of cash to have their neighbor killed was the same place that golf-outing country club folk called home. Spike supposed that in the District, if you wanted somebody killed, it was considered to be quicker and more satisfying to do it yourself.

“You should see this new gun, man! Cordy let me try it out. It has a silencer and everything. I’m thinking if we could get our hands on a couple of them beauties we could do double the business we do now! I can see it . . .”

“Harris, shut up,” Spike slowed his steps a bit.

“What?”

“Listen,” he commanded.

Xander let a beat go by, “I don’t hear anything. God, Spike, you’ve been in this business too long. You’re getting paranoid.”

Spike tried to scan their surroundings while continuing toward the door at the other end of the building. Granted, drug deals and gang hangouts were not unheard of in this part of the city, but Spike and Xander had gone out of their way to assure the warehouse be left as is. The locals had understood why two men in their profession needed certain places left alone and had easily complied. Well, there was that group of young high school white boys who fancied themselves gangstas, but a few blanks and an easily staged fake execution by Spike and Xander had scared them back into their school uniforms. But other than that, their comings and goings were ignored. Maybe that’s why they hung out so much in the District -- their lifestyle was accepted and not asked about.

The warehouse had a sort of balcony framing the entire parameter about fifteen feet above them. Spike tried to glance up but the platform was sheathed in darkness.

“Spike, for the last time there’s nothing . . .” He was interrupted by the distinct sound of two guns cocking behind their heads, “there,” Xander finished halfheartedly.

“Turn around,” one of the gunman barked. “Slowly and keep your hands up.”

The two men pivoted on their heels to face them. Spike kept his body tense, his hands by his ears. Xander flinched for a second before screwing his eyes at the person with the gun pointed at Spike, Xander flopped his hands back down from behind his head. Shifting his weight to his right leg, he waved his finger at the gun and its holder.

“Spike, why does our waitress from the diner have a gun pointed at you?”

Spike eyed Anne warily, not moving, “I don’t know mate. Why don’t you ask her.”

Anne interrupted them, “You say one word and I blow your fucking head off.” She turned to Xander, “What’s your name?”

Xander looked confused, “But that’s insane hitman logic.”

“Yeah,” Spike agreed, “You see, you just told him not to say one word and then you asked him a question so you can see the contradiction . . .”

“Quit acting like a smartass.” Buffy barked.

Spike challenged her, “Oh but is it considered acting if you really are one? I’ve been told on many occasions by a number of sources . . .” Spike seemed more inconvenienced than upset that this blonde chick and her redheaded friend had guns pointed at them. Having a lot of guns pointed at you in your lifetime did that to a guy. And she was a waitress -- how much damage could she possibly do. Spike kept in the back of his brain the fact that he had been wrong about this girl before.

Their bickering was interrupted by the ringing of Xander’s cell phone. Spike’s eyes raised to the Heavens as Xander fumbled with his phone behind him.

“Harris, is it completely necessary you answer that right now?”

“It might be Anya.

“Oh for the love of . . .” Then turning back to Anne who was glaring at him over the barrel of her gun, “Give us a second, luv.”

Xander turned away from the situation to speak softly into his Mobile -- a fact that made the redhead watching him a little more edgy, but Anne didn’t seem to mind.

Spike turned back to his waitress, “What’s your problem anyway?”

“You forgot to leave a tip.” She answered smartly. She waved her gun at the man on the phone. “Who’s that?”

“My weapons man.” Spike took a glance at the nervous looking redhead holding a shaky 35mm at Xander. “Who’s Red?”

“My computer hacker.”

Spike look at her with feigned confusion, “Now why would a waitress need a computer hacker?”

The waitress didn’t let down her guard, “I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure I know why a man with blood on his pants needs a weapons man.”

Spike shrugged, “It’s hard to find good help these days.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Spike?” Xander called, putting away his phone.

“What?” Spike was getting irritated now -- there was more to this girl than she was willing to give away.

“That’s her,” called Xander.

“That’s who? Honestly, Harris, in this type of situation specifics are really important.”

Xander wouldn’t look the waitress in the eyes, now obviously more concerned for their safety, “That’s the assassin you’re supposed to kill.”

The waitress darted her eyes to Xander, Spike, then Red before transforming back into her cold exterior -- she was getting worried, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Spike as understanding dawned on his face.

“Oh, is that what this is all about? You takin’ me out as a preventative measure? Trust me, it won’t help. I bet Anne isn’t even your real name. Say, what is your name, luv?” Anne said nothing. He angled his head back toward Xander, eyes never leaving Anne, “What’s her name?”

“Summers. Buffy Summers.”

Spike looked her up and down, a predator gleam in his eye, “So, Buffy Summers, I’m supposed to kill you.”

“No, I’m supposed to kill you.”

“Looks like we’re in quite the predicament.”

“I’d say you’re the one in the predicament considering you’re the ones with guns pointed at you.”

“I would say not.”

“Oh and why exactly would you say not?”

“Because unlike your sidekick, mine knows how to shoot a gun.”

Red jumped excitedly, “I do to know how! I mean . . . how hard could it be? You just . . . You know . . . Pull the trigger and then kablewie” She looked to her blonde friend for reassurance, “Right?”

The excitement of the redhead had distracted everyone, allowing Spike to slowly drop his hand to the back of his neck -- inching down his collar. He could feel the cool metal of the revolver strapped against his shoulder blade.

Spike liked Red, you just don’t see that innocent glee in the assassination business anymore. But this blonde one -- more your typical runaway-turned-killer type -- was probably sexually abused by some deranged uncle at one time or another.

Spike’s fingers were wrapped around the butt, one swift motion and it would be drawn and he could fire.

Buffy tore her gaze away from her friend, instantly noticing Spike’s hand movements, “Hey!” she yelled at the instant Spike pulled his gun, aiming it at her. As their fingers weighed down on the triggers, shots rang out from above them. The four immediately hit the ground, everyone with guns ready.

Spike glanced up to see four gunman posted up on the balcony -- reigning heavy shots down on them. The four ducked behind a deserted Oldsmobile, its windows already shattered and offering limited coverage.

Spike turned to Buffy, “I know I’m good honey, but you didn’t need six guns to kill me.”

Buffy motioned to the four gunners, “They aren’t with me!”

Spike studied her face and believed her. Mulling over their ways to get out he sighed, “There’s a side door about sixteen yards from us -- behind those crates.”

Buffy realized he was talking to her again, “What!? We don’t need your help.”

“Do you wanna get out of here or not?” Buffy considered their other options. Finding them lacking, she nodded.

“OK, I’m going to have to blow the lock off the door. You’re going to have to not shoot me in the head while my back is turned.” Buffy took a little longer to agree -- it was give up the mission or get out of here alive. She nodded for Spike to lead the way.

“Xander, cover Red,” Spike spoke, and the brunette got in position behind the scared girl. Sure, she’s seen Buffy hack up a fair share of bodies, but live fire was something she’d never experienced before. “Go,” Spike yelled over the tirade of bullets.

Spike felt a bullet graze past his shoulder. Pressing flush against the wall, he succeeded in blowing the lock. Xander and Buffy shielded themselves behind the crates, shooting up into the balcony. Even Red got in a few close-eyed shots.

Heaving himself against the steel door, Spike succeeded in knocking the rusted thing open. Light flooded the lower level of the warehouse and the four stumbled out and slammed the door shut. Everyone stopped to catch their breathes and gather themselves after a brush with death. Looking around at their present company, reality snapped back into place and all four yanked their guns back into position, each with a barrel pointed between the eyes.

Spike picked at the sleeve of his black t-shirt, lifting it off his skin he revealed an impressive tear, a result of the reign of bullets, to Buffy, “Nice coverage.”

“I didn’t shoot you in the head did I?”

Xander saw where this conversation was headed and didn’t like it. “Look, I know the whole your-job-is-to-kill-each-other thing, but considering we have four guys who seem to want to kill us all what do ya say we consider this a get out of death free card and go our separate ways?”

Spike and Buffy locked eyes, each itching to run the other way and blow each other’s heads off at the same time. Buffy swallowed at Spike’s intense gaze, a mutual agreement flickering though their eyes. Xander and Willow were already set to go, gently pulling their partner in opposite directions. The blonde pair seemed unwilling to break from the force of energy keeping them and their weapons locked into place. Abruptly Spike pulled his elbow back down, clicking the safety back on the gun and hesitated before taking a few steps backward. Buffy allowed herself to be yanked back by Willow. It was a few yards before the two broke their intense stare of each other and ran.

Xander took in his glazed over partner. He motioned back to where Buffy had disappeared, “What the hell was that?” he demanded.

It took a minute for Spike to shake the effect of the little blonde off him, “I have no idea.”

TBC

CHAPTER 6 -- Regrouping Pt. 1

Spike and Xander slumped through the thick double doors of their boss' office. She was in her usual position -- reclining back in her posh leather chair, Prada stilettos crossed up on the desk in front of her. Although her surroundings suggested otherwise, Cordy did not sit back and reap the benefits of Spike and Xander's work. She was completely shrewd when it came to business and negotiating contracts for kills. If you wanted your wife, husband, or neighbor killed, it was going to cost quite the pretty penny. And the effectiveness of Spike and Xander allowed for that. All three of them made a more than decent living, working as a team in the way they did. All proceeds from every kill was split three ways. It worked out best for all of them -- the more kills Spike and Xander completed, the more money they made -- and the business transactions of Cordy made that split-able amount very high. They were willing to help each other out -- Cordy allowed Spike and Xander to call it quits whenever they wanted and, if the situation called for it, she would not object to picking up her own Firestar 9mm and getting her hands dirty. But the three had made a verbal pact early on that not until they reached one million each would they consider quitting the contract killing business. And they were relatively close to their goal.

Cordelia slid out of her chair when Spike and Xande walked in, moving to lean against the front of her desk, "There's my boys. So, how'd it go?"

Spike was more than happy to explain just how "well" it had gone, "Let's see . . . after picking Mr. Wakefield's guts off my boots for two hours, I was duped by a diner waitress and almost shot in the face."

Cordy grimaced, "Ohhhhh, bad day then?"

Spike rolled his head towards her, "Bad? Oh, bad doesn't cover it." The men flopped into the leather couches in front of her, Spike throwing his leg over the arm. Xander seemed more than happy to lean his head back, close his eyes, and let his anger fume while Spike did the talking.

"Who's the waitress?"

"The what?"

"The waitress that duped you."

"Buffy Summers."

"Wait, she's a diner waitress? I thought she was an assassin?"

"She is. Oh, and then I bet you didn't know that this Buffy Summers I have to kill is also trying to kill me."

"Really? Wow, didn't see that one coming."

Spike didn't think the soap opera twist amusing, "Who signed the contract to have her killed?"

"It was done over the phone and threw a Swiss bank account. No name, but the money went through, so I didn't ask."

"How much to kill her?"

"$150,000."

Spike sighed, "So that's, what, $50,000 each?"

"No, that's $150,000 per person," Cordelia corrected.

Xander jerked up in his chair, speaking for the first time, "That takes us to 1 million each exactly."

Spike quirked an eyebrow at his boss, "That's convenient."

Cordelia shar5ed his line of though, "A little too convenient."

Xander's eyes bugged, they had just hit the lottery and the two of them were turning it down, "Luck is what it is! Don't question luck! We could be out of this soon."

The three of them focused on the reality of it -- eyes darting in excited silence. The electricity buzzed off them -- they got into this together and they were going to get out. All that was standing in their way was the one simple kill of the little blonde, then it was over. The three of them had never dared to verbalize how desperately they wanted out. They had only gotten into it to make ends meet financially and the end seemed so very far away. For the first time they let themselves daydream about what their lives would be like without the never-ending stream of dead bodies. Cordelia was distracted out of her mind's wanderings as she inspected Spike's ensemble.

"Spike, what happened to your shirt?"

Spike picked at the hole, "Oh, did I not get to the part about the lone gunmen?"

"Gunmen? Who were they?"

"Don't know. Didn't get a good look at 'em -- too busy dodging bullets," Spike was obviously annoyed with the situation.

If Spike was annoyed, Xander was having a fucking cow. His agitation with his partner over the past twenty-four hous was quickly coming to a head. "You mean with all the saving of the girl we're supposed to kill? The Spike I knew would have pushed her out into the line of fire and have been done with it. What were you thinking!? Saving her life!"

Cordy was shocked, "Wait, wait. You saved this girl's life?"

Xander continued to gang up on his best friend, "And then he stands there for five hours staring at her like he's in love with her. He could have shot her right then and there. Her friend wouldn't have had the guts to fire her gun. Do you know that if you would have just killed her then and there we would have already called U-Haul for a truck to move all our stuff out of our apartments? We would have had all the money and been gone."

Spike tried to defend himself, "Well, I didn't know that at the time, did I!?" He bellowed.

Their anger was quickly spiraling out of control as they continued to ream each other out, "It doesn't matter, you knew you should have killed her and you didn't! What the fuck is your problem, Spike!?"

Cordelia figured correctly that there was too much testosterone being throw around the room, "Whoa, whoa, whoa! This isn't helping!" The two men instantly quieted at her scolding. They may be in this together equally, but Spike and Xander repected her authority over them. When their labored breaths calmed and the red flush on their faces faded to a pink hue, she ignored the glares they were giving each other and continued, "Now, these gunmen, who could they have been?"

Spike shrugged, "Police? Maybe they thought we were some type of cartel."

Xander shook his head, "They didn't look like police. And since when do police use bazookas to break up a four person drug deal?"

Spike nodded, "Good point."

After a beat, Xander spoke, "Are these guys a direct threat? I mean, maybe they were after the girl, not us. I say we forget about them until Buffy Summers is six feet in the ground before we go diving into a distracting side project."

Codelia stood, "I agree. Let's take care of killing Ms. Blondie and getting our money before anything else."

Spiek wasn't so convinced and was about to voice his feelings when the familiar sound of "Freebird" filtering through the phone in Xander's back pocket interrupted them. He checked the ID, "That's Anya."

Cordy cocked her head, "Yeah, are you with her yet or what?"

"No, I think she's too wrapped up in Spike -- always talking about his 'bone' and the number of orgasms it could give her."

Cordy was more amused than the bleached blonde, who seemed distracted in his thoughts.

Xander turned to his friend as he moved across the room to take the call, "Can I tell her you were castrated in a freak accident? I'm thinking that's the only thing that's gonna work."

Spike waved his hand absentmindedly, "Tell her whatever you want." His mind was stuck on Buffy Summers -- the girl that stood between him and a million.

TBC

CHAPTER 7 -- Regrouping Pt. 2

Buffy and Willow breezed through Angel’s office doors, only to come screeching to a halt. Standing in the middle of the room with her back to them was a raven haired woman. She whipped around at their entrance.

Her eyes roamed over Buffy’s body, lips curling up on one side, “Hey B.” It was a greeting she hadn’t heard in three years. Over that time she had not grown to like it any more than the first time the brunette had said it.

Faith was another contract killer. She was brought in by Angel four years ago and was immediately given the same status as Buffy, who had been working for him as an assassin for several years already. The girls hadn’t exactly taken to each other, an event Angel had to have known would take place. Faith’s method of killing contrasted directly with Buffy’s. Faith didn’t do her research. If she was told to kill someone, she didn’t take the time to be methodical about it. Her habit of killing innocents almost outweighed her ability to get the right person killed. Her sloppiness had landed her in a coma after killing an undercover cop -- one of the few that wasn’t on Angel’s payroll -- and trying to frame Buffy for it. People around the office claimed it was Buffy that had thrashed her, the blonde didn’t try to deny it. The story was she snapped out of the coma a couple months ago. Until this moment, Buffy had suspected it was only a rumor.

“Where were you a couple minutes ago, B? Me and Angel were having a little fun on his desk. Knives were involved, you should have been there.”

Faith picked up a lethal looking knife off Angel’s unoccupied desk, nonchalantly tossing it up in the air, “Although, knives were never really your thing, were they? You never found joy in the kill. It’s an art form, really. Even that year we tried to work together, you never let me torture them.”

“Because it was wrong.”

“They’re bad people, B . . . cheaters, liars, child molesters. All these people threaten your precious little world. You’ve killed more people than I have, what’s makes you such a saint?”

“I don’t kill people for the fun of it. And I don’t kill people who are innocent.”

“This is the twenty-first century -- everybody’s guilty.” Buffy knew Faith was simply trying to instigate her by proving Buffy was no better than herself -- a conscienceless killer. Buffy may be immune to the horrific actions she takes to do her job, but not conscienceless, it took a person like Faith to remind her of that.

“What are you doing here Faith?” Buffy spat.

“Here to clean up your mess apparently.”

“What mess?”

“Your last little exploit didn’t go so well.”

“We were shot at by four gunman!”

“And you should have seen it coming,” Angel’s voice floated to them. Buffy pivoted around, Angel had come through the door on the far end of the rectangle room, buttoning his shirt. “You never work in that part of the city, you should have taken the proper measures and made sure the area was clear.”

“I did and they weren’t there,” Buffy’s voice lowered, her eyes glaring. She didn’t like to be ganged up on. Willow looked on silently. She never talked during these meetings, they tended to get violent.

“You didn’t here them or see them?”

“No. But that’s beside the point now, isn’t it? What’s she doing here?”

Faith answered her question, “The hit was put out on Spike. You couldn’t get the job done so the contract goes to me.”

Buffy’s eyes went wild, “No, I’ll do it. I can kill this guy.”

“You’ve already proven that you can’t, B.”

“Shut the fuck up, this has nothing to do with you.” She turned to her boss. “I’m not asking you for another chance, because you don’t give those. I’m not a fucking idiot, I know you give more time for a hit to be done.”

Angle shook his head, “He knows who you are. He might have already gone to the cops to have them bust you.”

“No he didn’t,” Buffy countered.

“And how can you be so sure?”

“Because he’s been hired to kill me, too.”

Angel’s eyes lit up, “Really? Now this could be interesting. Two assassins hired to kill each other. You don’t see this kind of stuff in the movies.”

Faith could see where this was going and objected, “But boss, you told me . . . .”

“Faith, I’ll give you Buffy’s contracts for the rest of the year.” Faith seemed satisfied with the exchanged and said nothing. Buffy didn’t object to the money she’d be losing.

Angel looked over his petite assassin, “Maybe Buffy’s wrong, maybe I do give second chances.”

TBC

CHAPTER 8 -- At the Café

A deafening static resounded in Spike’s ear. “Bloody hell!” he exclaimed, folding over in his iron cast chair outside Café Ross, clutching his ear. The packed café porch glanced over their coffee and muffins nervously at him.

“Blondie-bear, blondie-bear, do you copy? Do you copy?” Xander’s voice filtered through his ear.

Spike sighed, “Harris, are these ear pieces completely necessary? And do not call me blondie-bear, you twit.” Spike looked at the worried expressions of the families and couples around him, all of them looking at the weird guy sitting alone at a table talking to himself. Some old grandma looked particularly upset. Spike rolled his eyes.

“Oh, come on!” Xander continued. “These James Bond ear things are great! I just got ‘em from Cordy and I want to try them out. Think of all the undercover operations we could pull with these things.”

“You do remember this is it, right? Once this job is done there is no more operations, let alone undercover ones.”

Xander sounded deflated, “Could you not let me live out a boyhood dream, just once?”

Spike smiled, “Sorry mate.”

Xander interrupted, “Slayer, one o’clock,” he stated urgently.

Spike furrowed his eyebrows, “Who?”

“The Slayer.”

“Who?”

“The Slayer -- it’s codename.”

“Codename for what? Harris, generally the idea of code is that at least one other person besides yourself knows what it means.”

“Buffy Summers!”

“What!? Where? I thought she went into that clothes store?” Spike hissed.

Xander sighed, “One o’clock. Do you see her?”

Spike took in the form of his nemesis. Her slender legs peeked out from her white A-line skirt, he watched her stride towards him in her black strapped sandals. “Yeah . . . I see her.”

She saddled up next to his table, directly in front of him, whipping off her sunglasses. Spike looked up at her, “Fancy meeting you here.”

Her voice was annoyed, “Yeah, fancy that. Now can we get this whole thing done soon? ‘Cause frankly, I’m getting sick of you stalking me.”

Spike leaned back in his chair nonchalantly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, luv.”

“Oh I think you do.” She sat down in the seat across from him. “Ever since the warehouse fiasco you and your boyfriend have been following me around,” she spat.

“Buffy, please put your hands on the table,” Spike said calmly.

She was instantly suspicious at his request, “Why?” But his tone had Buffy moving her hands slowly into view. He smiled at her subconscious compliance. He quietly crept his hand towards her slim digits.

At his movement her hand whipped away towards her waist that held her hidden pistol. He caught her wrist and tsked at her, “You don’t want to do that pumpkin.”

Buffy’s eyes were wide at his quick reflex, “Why not?” They were starting to get looks for their tense movement and heated words. Granny looked temped to call the police. Spike looked down, her hand still rested in his. Buffy’s jaw twitched in agitation as Spike gently, but firmly pulled her arm towards him. Her eyes locked with his as he brought her wrist up and caressed the sensitive skin to his cheek. Buffy fought her reaction to the gentle, yet dangerous touch. She had to argue her body’s automatic relaxation, reminding herself she was not safe with this man.
_______________________________________

Meanwhile, in the bushes ten yards away . . .

“What are they doing?” Willow asked. Xander jumped at the noise, wobbling on his haunches before stumbling onto his ass. He had been hiding behind a thick section of bush that divided the café from the park across the street. Willow had spotted him when Buffy had left her side to confront Spike.

Xander, more concerned about getting seen by a cop thinking he was some kind of perv, was strangely relieved it was just the accomplis of the girl trying to kill his best friend.

Xander reinstated his previous position, poking his binoculars back through the hole he had created in the brush, “Don’t know . . . but my assassin just called your assassin ‘pumpkin.’”

Willow crouched over him, getting her own view of the show being put on by their respective partners, “Potato chip?” she offered, holding out the shiny yellow bag.

“Sure.”
___________________________________________


Her smell was intoxicating. The jasmine she was wearing had his blood pumping. Spike swiped his tongue against her pulse point, her eyes went comically wide. He sealed the searing heat from his tongue with a chaste press of his lips to her heated flesh. Buffy may have looked calm, but in her mind she was struggling with whether to make a scene or keep a low profile. He distracted her further with kisses and licks up and down her arm. The crowd around them seemed convinced that the blonde couple were having a slight marital spat and that there was no need to alert the authorities so they turned back to their lunches.

“Why should I not pull my gun out right now and shoot you?” she asked quietly. Her question brought Spike out of his delusion -- the delusion that they were here to be together, not kill each other for money.

Spike locked his scorching eyes onto hers and answered her calmly, “Because, my love, Xander has a gun trained on you right now and if you even try to pull the knife out from your boot, he’ll pull the trigger. I’d hate to see that pretty little head of yours scattered all over the pavement.”

Meanwhile, in the bushes . . .

“Do you have a gun?” Willow gasped.

Xander shrugged, “Not that I know of. But I do have these really cool ear things.” He handed on to Willow so she could better hear the conversation they were eavesdropping on.

Willow brightened, “Neat!”

Xander sat back for a minute shaking his head, looking nothing but utterly perplexed, “I don’t get it. My assassin should of killed your assassin by now. At least try to anyway. All they’ve done is talk.”

Willow nodded in agreement. “Buffy’s never taken this long to get a job done before. I think they’re turning it into some type of game.”

Xander grumbled, “Game? More like foreplay.”

TBC

CHAPTER 9 -- The Dance

Spike and Xander entered the swanky ballroom. Xander tugged on his tuxedo tie, searching the room, “How do you keep finding out where she is?”

“I have my sources,” Spike replied, walking further into the room, scanning its contents. It was some type of black tie event. All the women wore sequenced gowns to the floor, some a little more dramatic than others.

He spotted her on the other side of the dance floor. She looked stunning, wearing a floor length scarlet gown that had a diving neckline and a daring slit up the left leg. When she turned around she revealed her bare back. She was laughing at something her redheaded friend had said. They were talking to an older gentlemen. A waiter walked by and the man stopped him, handing out champaign flutes to the group.

Buffy must have felt his gaze because she spotted him immediately. She had the decency to hide her anger and politely excuse herself from the conversation before storming over to him, her legs gracefully elevated in black stilettos with ties wrapped around her ankles.

“This is a fundraiser banquet for children. What are you doing here?” She barely had control of her voice, it wavered in hatred.

“I have about as much right as you to be here,” he raised an eyebrow at their questionable occupation.

“Willow runs a grade school for underprivileged city kids. I help her with the fundraiser gala every year.”

Spike’s eyes softened. Waves of guilt washed over him for ruining her night with his need to see her. Her hair was up in a simple twist. Spike fought with his hands to keep himself from taking out the clip and running his fingers through it.

“Let’s take this dancing out onto the floor,” he gestured towards the area with waltzing couples.

“You call this dancing?” she hissed, as she let him take her forearm and lead her onto the dance floor.

Spike smirked, “That’s all we’ve ever done.”

The band began a new song, a jazz number with moody trumpet solos. Spike took her hand at arm’s length before smoothly pulling her against him. Buffy gasped and swallowed as they began to sway to the music. The hand on her back drifted to the low line of the backless dress. Buffy was too aware of his hand against her skin and his azure eyes searching her face. She looked anywhere but at him, her body stiff in his arms. An older couple drifted by, smiling at the young blondes. Buffy nervously returned the man’s smile and the woman winked at her as they went by. Oh, if she only knew, Buffy thought. She tried to relax -- it was just a dance, not a tango with death. He wasn’t there to kill her -- too many witnesses. But the effect he was having on her caused her to worry. He was everywhere and she couldn’t help it. She buried her head into his chest, inhaling his scent -- tobacco and cologne. She imagined the smell of leather would be there too had he been in his street clothes. She felt him rest his cheek in her hair. It was all strangely comforting. Was it strange to find comfort in you mortal enemy’s arms?

He breathed in her perfume -- intoxicating. The wariness he had for the world disappeared when she was around him. The feeling of her in his arms and the overwhelming sense of protection and possession that overtook him -- it was addictive. And scary. The idea that he could find his place in the world in making this girl happy worried him. He’d never felt this way before. The emptiness inside he always thought was a necessity with the job, now didn’t seem so important.

“Spike . . .” she whispered. She sounded tired, worn.

He hugged her tighter, “Don’t talk.”

She immediately stiffened, “Why? Does your boy have another gun pointed at me?” She met his eyes for the first time since they started the dance.

He brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek. He smiled, “No, I asked you to shut up because when you’re cussing me out it makes it harder to kiss you.”

Buffy’s eyes went wide, “Wha . . .” but she was cut off by his warm lips pressed to hers. It wasn’t a long kiss, or necessarily an in-depth one, but she didn’t fight him, and when he did pull back, she was breathless.

“Admit it,” he requested, also gasping, “there’s something between us.”

Her eyes were glazed, “Hatred? Disgust?” She offered half-heartedly.

“Heat. Desire,” he countered. His eyes roamed over her, trying to memorize her entire form at once. “God, I want you,” he breathed.

“To kill me?” she asked, a slight twinge of hope. Killing . . . killing she could deal with, the threat of imminent death she could handle, but this man . . . this man she could not.

Spike turned Buffy, her bare back pressing to his front. He ran his hands possessively down her arms before intertwining his hands in hers. “See that chair there?” he nodded at a gold backed chair at an unoccupied table at the edge of the dance floor.

“Yes,” she whispered. He brought her hands up, placing hot kisses on the backs of them before wrapping them around his neck. Buffy continued to stare at the chair as he let go of her hands -- they stayed where he had placed them. “I want to bend you over it while I take you from behind,” he spoke, voice low and seductive. His long fingers ran a trail down her sensitive flesh, running over the outsides of her breasts and wrapping around her waist. He continued to sway them to the sultry trumpet floating to them from the stage.

“I’d take you so hard your legs would get weak.” He kissed he shoulder. Buffy’s eyes continued to watch the chair, visualizing all of his words while the rest of the world continued to fade around her until all that was left was her, him, and the gold chair. “I’d slide these little straps down until your dress fell to the ground.” He smirked, “Although I’d leave the shoes on,” he breathed in her ear, her eyes drifted shut at his words. “They’re fucking hot.”

“No,” she forced out. She whipped around in his arms, startling him. “I don’t want you. I’d rather kill you. I’d rather you kill me.” Her eyes were watering, “I can’t want you.” He watched her helplessly, “I can’t . . .”

Shots broke out around them. Spike swept Buffy to the floor, his body fully covering hers. Screams echoed off the ballroom walls, the sound of tables and chairs being turned over surrounded them while patrons fled.

Spike was grabbed by the neck of his tuxedo shirt and heaved off Buffy. He rolled back up onto his feet, the gun from inside his jacket out and pointed. Four men surrounded Buffy -- they were dressed in high-tech black ensembles with ski masks and goggles -- the same men from the warehouse. The one on the right yanked Buffy up off the floor. Another had a gun to Buffy’s head.

“Who the hell are you?” Spike ground out.

“No one of your concern just yet,” one of the men replied. He took a cloth out of his pocket, placing it firmly over Buffy’s mouth.

“No!” Spike yelled.

“Spike . . .” Buffy whimpered as she struggled against the four men, each twice her size.

He felt a sharp pain in the back of his skull and everything surrounding Spike faded to blackness.

TBC

CHAPTER 10 -- Bedknobs and Bold Maneuvers

Author’s Note: Sorry this chapter took a bit longer. My creative juice was mysteriously all dried up. Nothing a little fanfic and Bloody Bones by Laurell K. Hamilton reading didn’t fix.

“Spike? Spike?” Xander’s voice waded through the blackness. Spike opened his eyes, relieved to see a friendly, albeit worried, face in front of him. Spike took a moment to gather himself, blinking rapidly. God his head hurt. Why did his head hurt? Why was he dressed like he was going to a wedding? He ignored Xander’s requests to tell him what year it is and who’s the president. Spike overheard a woman wearing a horrible looking fur around her neck telling a police officer what had happened. He tried to focus on her voice, but all her heard was “And then they took her by force . . . .” Her? Force? Buffy. The memories flooded over him. Oh Jesus, Buffy.

“Help me up,” Spike scrambled urgently. Xander grabbed Spike’s forearm and helped him off the ground.

Willow spotted them and rushed over to Spike and Xander -- the only people she could think of that would be able to help her. There were tears in her eyes, “They took Buffy! You gotta help me!”

Spike tried to shake away the blinding headache, “OK, Red, calm down. What happened?”

“They were the same guys from the warehouse. The gunman burst in through the back doors,” Xander explained. “The ones that lead from the kitchen. They took Buffy and ran.”

“Do you know where they could have taken her?” Spike asked.

“Taken her? I don’t even know who they were that took her!? How should I know!?” Willow was getting more and more shaken by the minute.

Spike placed a hand on her shoulder, “You shouldn’t, it’s okay.” He turned to Xander, “Give me your cell phone.”

“Spike are you okay? The paramedics are here, maybe they should take a look at . . .”

“I’m fine,” Spike interrupted,

“Spike, you’re bleeding.” Spike put a hand to the back of his skull and brought back a hand covered in blood. It wasn’t a big gash -- just in a particularly vulnerable spot.

Spike shook his head, “Forget about it. We have to find Buffy.”

Willow looked hopeful. Xander looked confused, “Why?”

“Because I’m fucking in love with her.” Xander’s eyes bugged and Willow’s face softened in an “awwww” type of expression. Only she could find the romance in all the blood and guts.

“You don’t even know her!” Xander cried incredulously.

“I know,” Spike responded.

“You’re supposed to kill her,” Xander continued.

“I know.”

“She’s supposed to kill you.”

“I know.”

“For a lot of money.”

Spike was forceful, “Harris, I know. And if you don’t want to help me, that’s fine. But whether you do or not I’m going after her.” Willow watched as the two men squared off.

The ultimatum had Xander considering his best friend. They had been through everything together -- most things best friends just don’t go through. They had killed people for money for God’s sake. There was always danger in everything they did, but they always did it together. There was just no way Xander would let him go through this alone. If Anya was in trouble, his friend might gripe about it, but Xander knew Spike would have his back. Xander sighed, his partner had always been an incurable romantic at heart, whether he admitted it or not.

Xander handed him the phone, “Take your time, it’s free after nine.”

Spike smiled dialed the number by memory. Walking away from Xander and Willow, he left a short message and closed the phone, handing it back to Xander.

“Who is it that you keep calling?”

“I have a source. We know each other from a couple years back. We’ve never seen each other, but I call when I need a little tip.”

“Do you know who it is?”

“No. I leave a message on a voice mail and I’m called back with a location.”

“And what does your source get out of it?”

“Money.”

Willow blinked at Spike, “That’s how you kept finding Buffy? Through a source?”

“Yeah.”

She looked a little disappointed, “And here I was being impressed by your tracking skills.”

Spike made towards the door, Willow and Xander following behind him. “We’ll take my car and drive toward the District, hopefully we’ll be in the area when I get a location.”

Xander, being the uncharacteristic voice of reason, interjected, “What if we don’t get a call?”

Spike was hearing none of it, “We’ll get a call. We’ll get a call, find Buffy, and get the hell out of here.” Spike slid into the driver’s seat, Xander in the passenger, and Willow in the back. He squealed out of the lot.

They sped around the city impatiently for ten minutes before the inappropriately cheery tune of Xander’s cell filtered loudly out of his pocket. The sound had all three jumping and Spike grabbing at his friend for the phone.

“Yeah?” he spoke loudly. He stayed on the line for mere seconds before abruptly hanging up. “We got it,” he told the other two and increased his miles per hour.

They rode for twenty minutes before Spike slid the car to a halt outside of an old house. It had a series of steps leading to a miniscule porch and the front door. Boards with gang symbols and “T.J. and Nikki 4-Ever” spray painted on them covered the windows and littered the surrounding area.

Spike jumped out of the car and bounded up the steps, gun drawn, Willow and Xander tagging along behind him. The house was cramped, made smaller by all the trash and debris all over the place. Spike jogged through what would have been a living room and quickly scanned the first floor, finding nothing.

He ascended the staircase that went up then cut sharply right onto the second story landing. Someone had knocked down the walls that separated the house from the duplex squashed up next to it, making the second floor bigger and more expansive than the first.

Spike was getting worried as he glanced into every room. They all had furniture and signs that someone had been there recently, but no Buffy. It wasn’t until he reached the last room on the left that he relaxed. Spike couldn’t help but sigh in relief.

Buffy was tied to an old iron bed. Her hands were held above her head by thick, coarse rope. There was a white cloth tied around her mouth. Her legs were tied to the other end of the bed. When she saw him her jaw twitched, she didn’t know whether to be relieved she’d been found or worried that she was secured nice and tight as a Christmas turkey being served to her potential killer.

Spike was amused at the rainbow of emotions that played across her smooth features. He leaned against the doorframe, “If you’d taken up my offer last night, you’d be enjoying this position much more I can assure you.”

Buffy attempted to curse Spike around her gag, but all she succeeded in was creating a series of muffled hums.

“You know you would have rather it been me that tied you up to that bed,” he smirked.

She made urgent noises in denial, her body arching away from him.

Spike approached the bed, Buffy twisted trying to get free. He crawled, a little too seductively in Buffy’s opinion, up her body until he hovered above her. Buffy jerked more violently against her restraints, her doe eyes brimming with tears, terrified to die, not knowing who to trust. Spike leaned down, nuzzling her neck and whispering in her ear, “Shhhhhh. Be a good girl for Daddy and stay still while he takes care of you.” He nipped at her earlobe, his lower body resting on hers. He trailed kisses and licks down her neck. He felt her entire body instantly surrender to him. Buffy closed her eyes and turned her head to the side, offering her neck. He ran a hand over her cheek, taking the gag away from her mouth, but quickly replaced it with his lips before she could protest. It was an urgent, bruising kiss at first, Spike afraid he would have never seen or tasted her lips ever again, but quickly slowed, reveling in the feel of her writhing under him. He rested his weight on his right forearm, taking his other arm down to her hip. She was concentrating on the kiss and didn’t notice his wandering hand when he continued to lower it, reaching the slit in her dress. Sliding his hand under the high cut, running up the outside of her thigh, his thumb hooking into the band of her thong. He moved his body so he was straddling hers, his mouth never relenting as he moved back to her neck and sucked harder. His actions had Buffy arching into him. When he removed his hand from the caress on her hip, she whimpered, but he replaced the touch with the strong grind of his groin into her heat. She groaned and opened her eyes, clouded by desire. The rope around her feet left her little room to open up for him, but his cock was rhythmically grinding into her clit through the thin material of her dress. Her lips parted as her breaths became more labored. Spike gazed into her eyes and lowered his head to kiss her. He swiped his tongue across her bottom lip, hers immediately came out to meet it, but Spike pulled back a little, forcing her to reach her pink tongue to play with his outside their mouths. He made a sensuous stroke up the insides of her bare arms to her wrists. With out ceasing his movements he began working at the series of ties holding her to the bed. When the ropes were gone and her hands free, Spike was satisfied when she left her hands right where they were, fingers wrapped around the intricate designs in the headboard. He nipped at her tongue and her swollen lips. And then, just like a ghost, he was suddenly gone.

When he stopped, she opened her eyes. Her mind hazy with lust, she looked around the room. He was standing away from the bed, arms crossed and smirking.

She shot up on the bed. Buffy gave him a pointed death glare before quickly untying her feet and flinging herself from the bed, seriously brassed off, “Was that completely necessary?”

Spike continued to smirk, “I think I proved my point.”

“Which is?”

“You want me as much as I want you.”

Buffy opened her mouth to respond. But the sound of heavy footsteps coming from the back hall behind Buffy silenced their bickering. Whoever it was, he or she was quickly approaching the door.

Spike’s face morphed instantly into business. He reached into his jacket, pulling out a pistol and tossing it over the bed to her, “Who brought you here?”

“I don’t know. They drugged me, I just woke up about fifteen minutes ago.”

They could of ran, maybe they should of ran. But then the problem wouldn’t have been fixed. They would have continued to be chased by these people. Spike and Buffy had an innate ability to read each other, and in face of crisis they agreed -- face them and get it over with. Even if they were dead in the end -- at least it was over.

There were two ways out of the room they were in -- the way in which Spike had entered and a door, the only one in the house still on its hinges, on the opposite side of the room. Spike and Buffy raised their guns as the door swung open.

A man about 6’1 entered the room. He was built like a football player. He was unarmed and dressed in some sort of army get-up.

He smiled at Buffy, who looked surprised to see him, “I see you’re awake.”

Spike stole a glance at Buffy, “Who’s this?”

“Captain Cardboard.” Buffy ground out. “Some guy I screwed over a couple weeks ago.”

Cardboard smiled at them both, “Well, screwed anyway.”

Military-man addressed Spike, his face showing no concern or surprise that he was there or currently had a gun pointed at him, “How’d you know she’d be here?”

Spike eyed the man suspiciously, “A little birdy told me.”

Another series of steps echoed down the hall Finn had just come from. The three waited in silence. A long-haired brunette turned the corner. Faith smirked, “Tweet, tweet.”

TBC

CHAPTER 11 -- Catch My Fall

Author’s Note: I have no freaking clue how far L.A. is from any mountains (I live on the other side of the country), so let’s pretend it’s generally as far as I say it is. Thanks.

Faith looked at Buffy, impressed, “I’m surprised you went so far on the first date, B. We were watching from the back room -- pretty hot stuff. And you,” she addressed Spike, “I’m glad to finally put a sexy bod to a sexy face.” She raked her eyes over Spike.

Buffy’s eyes jumped from Faith to Spike, “You two know each other?”

Spike didn’t take his careful gaze off the brunette, “She’s been feeding me information for a while. She’s the one who told me you were here.”

Faith patted Spike on the cheek, “I really didn’t want to screw you over, baby. But you got involved with the wrong girl,” she motioned to Buffy and began pacing the room. “I thought luck had finally gone my way, ya know? Soldier-boy here walks into Angel’s office, looking to kill a certain blonde girl who screwed him and took some info on his boss. I find out he’s lookin’ to take out one of our own, and I start thinking. I was gettin’ cash from Sexy here for doing a little work for him on the side, and I figured he’d be willing to take out my arch nemesis for all that cash Finn was dishing out. So we work a little something out with Angel -- hire B to kill Spike and vice versa. You two kill each other and nothing gets traced back to us. Everything would work out for the best -- both of you would be dead and I’d finally get the work and attention I deserved, Riley gets his revenge, and Angel’s competition gets her favorite assassin taken out.”

Finn stepped up, “See, I was bitter, and Faith here was looking for quick results. We figured the best way was to work as a team along with the most successful businessman in the city. But, then Angel got pissed when Buffy couldn’t get the job done and impatient when Spike wouldn’t fire the first shot.”

“The two of you are so stubborn! Made for each other, really. You wouldn’t kill each other! That forced us to get directly involved.” She waved her gun around.

“I wouldn’t fire the first shot, huh?” Spike asked calmly. “Well, is this ‘first’ enough, for ya?” Spike yanked out a gun from behind his back and two single shots rang out in the air, each hitting its target square in the chest. Faith, who was raising her gun, was flung away and to the ground. If either body showed signs of life still in it, Spike and Buffy didn’t stay in the room long enough to find out. Spike grabbed her hand and they fled the room, pounding furiously down the stairs. Xander and Willow met them at the bottom of the staircase, startled by the gunshots and running.

“Let’s go, NOW,” Spike pulled Buffy out the door and towards the car. The redhead and brunette behind them smartly followed without asking questions.

Spike yanked open the driver’s door, letting everyone else slide in, his eyes and gun on the door to the house, ready to shoot at any sign of movement.

It wasn’t until Spike had already sped down the road, the house out of sight, that Xander felt it safe to question, “Spike, where are we going?”

“To the cabin,” Spike answered tensely, his eyes never leaving the road. The cabin was a place in the mountains that Spike, Xander, and Cordelia owned together. It was a sort of a vacation spot they each visited by themselves throughout the year to get away from their business in the city. It stood alone, hidden to anyone who didn’t know it was there. There were acres and acres surrounding the place, acting as a barrier from civilization.

The four made the two hour drive in absolute silence, the only major movement had been Spike maneuvering his tuxedo jacket off himself and wrapping it around Buffy when the temperature dropped.

An hour after getting to the cabin, Spike, Xander, and Willow were on the couches surrounding the fire place. When they had arrived, Buffy had gone silently into an empty bedroom and shut the door. The remaining three sat trying to process everything that had happened that night and consider their options for tomorrow.

Spike was the first to call anyone to action. He addressed his partner in a subdued but firm tone, “Harris, call Anya. Transfer my money into Cordy’s account until it reaches a million. Call her and tell her it’s over.”

“You’re buying her out?” Xander spoke calmly.

Spike shook his head, “Don’t want her involved.”

“What should I tell Cordy?” Xander asked, motioning to the room that held their ex-target.

“Tell her whatever you want. I don’t care.” Spike left Xander and Willow in the living room and quietly turned the doorknob and entered the bedroom.

Buffy sat curled up at the window seat, staring out the window. She hugged a thick maroon blanket to her small form, a frame made even smaller by the large blanket and the black t-shirt of Spike’s that was too big on her. When he first entered the room, she looked back startled, but soon turned back to the nothingness out the glass pane.

Spike didn’t say anything, and quietly padded barefoot towards her. He sat down on the window couch and stared out into the trees with her. He tried to locate what she found so interesting, but the view before them was nothing but thick woods. He lifted his hand and traced her delicate features with his fingertips, her face scrubbed clean from any indication that she was all dolled up earlier in the night. She showed no reaction to his touch.

He cupped her cheek, caressing his thumb over her smooth skin, unmarred by the type of life she led. He felt her slightly lean into his touch, allowing him to comfort her. She nuzzled his hand and he felt wet tears hit his fingers. She turned to him.

“I don’t want to be an assassin anymore,” she whispered. The pleading look in her eyes had Spike wanting to take his gun and systematically slaughter anyone who had put his angel into this life. If only it was so easy. The inner-workings of this business were too complex with too many people with too many guns for it to be simple.

“You don’t have to be, luv,” he answered her quietly.

Her eyes, which shown more anguish and heartbreak than a young girl’s should, pained a little more at his simple explanation. He was so good to her. If only they had met under different circumstances, maybe . . . . She shook her head, tearing up more, “We’re supposed to destroy each other.”

Spike smiled softly, “And we fell in love, so what?”

Buffy’s eyes hardened a little at his mention of love, her old defensive walls trying to reconstruct themselves around her, “Who said I loved you?”

Spike was unfazed, “Who said you didn’t?” he challenged.

Buffy’s eyes softened again, not trying to deny his claim, “When Angel wants someone dead, he gets it done. I’m scared.”

He leaned his forehead against hers. “We’ll keep you safe. We’ll hid out here for a few days and then . . .”

Her thoughts returned to Angel, “No,” she cried, pushing away from him, her voice raising unevenly, “You don’t understand, he won’t stop.”

“Shhhhhhh,” he pulled her back to him, “We’ll stop him. We will. I promise you, we’ll get you out of this.”

Buffy thoughts wandered to the people in the other room, “I don’t think your partner shares your sediments.”

Spike shook his head, “I gave him his ultimatum already. He can leave whenever he likes.”

“And if he does?” she looked fearful.

“Doesn’t matter. I stay,” he answered. He smiled, “I just found you, sweetheart. I’m not ready to give you up just yet.”

That got a slight smile out of her. He kissed her, his lips chaste and light. His fingers lightly outlined her body, his touch pleading with her to forget, just for a little while, and allow him to ease her. She surrendered, placing her hand on his jaw, holding him to her. He encouraged her to let go further, swiping his tongue against her lips. She opened her mouth to him. This she knew. They had kissed before and she took comfort in the familiar tongue play.

She shed her blanket, wrapping her arms around his neck. He shifted and she came with him, straddling his hips. She didn’t rub against him and he didn’t raise his hips. They sat on the window seat, the world framed behind them, quietly and comfortably probing each other mouths.

He leaned her back, her head hitting a decorative pillow, her legs intertwined around his. She ran her feet up and down his calves. He pulled back, studying her hair laid in a hallow around her. He ran his finger through her mane, letting them run all the way through and twirling at the ends. “God you’re a knockout,” he breathed. She gave him a watery smile. He rained kisses all over her face, drying her tears.

He extracted himself and snaked an arm under her legs and lifted her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck, letting him carry her like a princess and lay her gently down on the bed. He climbed onto the bed after her, capturing her swollen lips. She rolled them over so she was hovering above him. She smiled at the love and lust clouding over his eyes. She crossed her arms and peeled away his t-shirt from her body. She sat above him in nothing but white cotton panties.

He lifted up on his forearms and she met him halfway for another heated kiss. She took advantage of their position to reach between them to undo the button of his black dress pants. Sitting up she slowly pulled down the zipper. He gamely lifted off the bed, allowing her to pull them down his legs. His cock sprang up, straining towards her. She gave the underside one long lick on the way back up his body. His eyes closed in an effort to control himself. She ran her hands through his hair, disheveling it to her liking, and unbuttoned his shirt, sliding it down his arms and off.

He rolled them over again, nothing between them but her panties. He kissed and licked his way down her body. She arched into every touch of his lips. His tongue probed her through the thin cotton material. He brought the fabric off her body, tossing them on the floor.

Buffy brought his mouth back to hers and flipped them one last time. Spike sat up on the bed, Buffy straddled him. She wrapped her fist around his cock, her thumb and forefinger forming a ring, pumping him a few times before sinking down on him. They both moaned as he stretched her vaginal walls, her muscles clamping down on him. She began rising and falling on his dick. Her hands holding onto each side of his face, grounding herself. He looked at her in pure awe. This amazing woman undulating above him. His hands wandered, up and down her arms before snaking under her arms, massaging her breasts. She leaned so their foreheads touched, looking into each other’s eyes. A delicious roll of pleasure waved through her and she arched back, her hair cascading down her back, neck extended in carnal bliss. He put his hands on her hips, leaning her back further and took her breast in his mouth, sucking strongly. She moaned and rocked on him faster. He felt his balls tightening and brought his hand down to Buffy’s clit. He rubbed in a circular rhythm. Her muscles fluttered around him. He pumped up into her a few more times before he came, his face buried in her neck.

Buffy sighed in boneless relaxation as her head slowly floated back to earth. But when she comes down from this high she would still be there, her life still in immediate danger. But for this moment, just for tonight, she can pretend that it’s just the two of them and that she is safe.

TBC
One more chapter and it’s done!

CHAPTER 12 -- Before Today

Author’s Note: Well, this is it! The last chapter! It makes me sad, it truly does. This was my baby and I’m VERY proud of it and am sad to see it go, but I got down in this story all the ideas I had originally planned and then some. But now I can fill the void by focusing on “Game of Love” and “Comedown”. I really hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. And thank you to every single person who reviewed Before Today -- it kept me writing.


Buffy woke up tangled in a white sheet. The feeling of her constricted limbs startled and panicked her, but with a look over to the man sprawled out to her right, her heart palpitations quickly ceased.

He looked like a sculpture she’d see in one of those fancy New York museums. One arm was under his pillow, the other flung over his lower abdomen, the entire expanse of his chest open for her to see. The only thing covering him was the sheet seemingly strategically placed between his legs. Buffy took a deep breath of the forest air, running a hand through her mused hair. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so well rested and relaxed. A slight stirring in the corner of the room distracted her. She smiled at Spike’s sleeping form, running her fingers over the curly ends of his hair. She readjusted the sheet over her body before turning towards the noise, thinking it was merely an animal outside the window.

There, in the corner of the room the morning light had yet to reach, was Angel. The look on her face must have pleased him because he smirked, “Not so eager to loose your panties now are you?” He spoke in a dangerous, low tone. He stood and began to approach the bed. Buffy glanced worriedly at the man beside her.

“Don’t wake him,” he said. His voice turned mocking, “He looks so cute when he’s asleep.” He had a knife in his hand.

Buffy curled up into herself, “What are you doing, Angel?”

“What can I say, Buffy? You proved to be expendable.”

Spike whipped around in the bed, a hand coming out from under his pillow, a gun in hand.

A hole exploded in Angel’s chest, spraying scarlet onto the sheets. He stumbled forward as two more bullets ripped though him. Spike’s gun remained unfired.

The smoke of the barrel cleared to reveal a well manicured brunette in a Prada miniskirt and Malano Blanik boots standing in the doorway. She sighed, blowing her long bangs out of her line of vision, “God I’ve always wanted to do that.” Spike stared at the room’s newest occupant, Buffy clung the sheets to her chest. “That felt good . . . Really good.”

Buffy sat, purely stunned, her eyes not able to tear themselves away from the body on the floor. The entire evidence of her past, ever dark bit of it, lay dead at the foot of her bed.

“You must be Buffy,” the girl extended her hand, “I’m Cordelia, the one who sent Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber out to kill you for a lot of money,” she finished in a friendly manner. Buffy numbly took the girl’s offered hand. Cordy nudged Angel’s lifeless body with the toe of her boot, “It seems we have an ex-boyfriend in common.”

Right then, Xander and Willow came running from their respective rooms, crashing over each other to reach the commotion. Xander ran in, a gun in each hand and a knife tucked into the waistband of his boxers, “Where is he!?” His eyes darted around the room, not fully focused to the morning light.

Spike twisted, reaching over to the nightstand on his right. Grabbing a pack of smokes, he lit one and took a drag, calming his nerves, “Do the two of you purposely hide from conflict or is it just your impeccable timing?” He motioned to the carcass bleeding into the carpeting.

Xander and the redhead looked past Cordy, “Oh,” gasped Willow.

Cordelia addressed Spike, “Sorry it took me so long to get here. It took me until Loose Lips here called me to put it all together,” she motioned to Xander. She glared at the blonde man in the bed, “But if you EVER try to leave me in the dark again when you have grave peril on your hands, I’ll blow your fucking balls off, got it!?” Spike nodded in agreement.

“Now what?” asked Buffy quietly. Yes, her past was now abruptly behind her, but what about her future? She had always banked on the idea that one day Angel would pay her out and she could start anew off of the money he gave her. Her future had disappeared along with her checkered history.

When no one in the room jumped with a suggestion, Spike ran his hand up and down Buffy’s back comfortingly, “Well, I have a bit under a million in my bank account . . . .”

“You have a million dollars,” Cordelia corrected.

Spike looked at her questioningly, “But I told Harris to take money from my account and put it in yours.”

Cordelia shrugged, “You need it more than I do. You earned it. I mean, how many shoes can one girl buy, am I right?”

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The four stood in front of Spike’s old Desoto. Buffy was dressed in a white sundress with cherries on it, Spike in a white t-shirt, brown leather jacket, blue jeans, and sneakers.

“So Harris, what are you going to do now?”

Xander stuck his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels, “Well, I’ve always been pretty good at fixing things. Remember that window I had to fix that you blew out when we went on the McRenyolds hit?” Spike chuckled at their disastrous assassination years ago. “Maybe I’ll open up my own construction company.”

Willow gazed at the blonde couple wistfully. Leave it to the redhead to find the romanticism amidst all the bloodshed and gore. “What about you guys? Off to see the world?”

Buffy rolled her eyes at her best friend, “A world of no. I’ve seen enough of the world and its inner workings, thank you.”

Spike wrapped his arms around Buffy’s waist. She leaned back into his chest. “We were thinking London. Get a loft, work in a café or art gallery somewhere.” Buffy closed her eyes and relaxed at the thought of being on the other side of the ocean, in a country she’d never set foot on, with a man that she ultimately loved, with the possibility to do whatever they wanted -- absolutely liberating.

Willow sighed, “Well, I guess this is it then.” She wiped at the water beginning to pour out of the corners of her eyes.

“Bye Will,” Buffy’s eyes began to tear as she wrapped her arms around the girl that saved her life and kept her sane for so many years.

Xander shook the hand of his partner, “If you’re ever in the L.A. area, give me and Anya a call, huh?”

Spike smiled, “Will do,” he clapped his best friend on the back. He picked up Buffy’s last bag, tossing it into the back seat. “Time to go, luv,” he rubbed her arms, kissing her shoulder. They crossed to the other side of the car, Spike opened the door for her and she slid in. He closed the door behind her and waved one last goodbye before getting behind the wheel.

Xander and Willow stood, watching as the taillights disappeared into the far distance.

Buffy closed her eyes, resting her head back in the passenger seat. Spike looked over at her and smiled. She was the youngest he’d ever seen her. Her hair shiny and her skin vibrant. He intertwined his fingers in hers. She opened her eyes to gaze at him silently, giving his a sweet smile. He lifted their arms, placing a kiss on the back of her hand, then turned back to the long road ahead, leaving them both to drift into their own thoughts.

Before today.

Before this man.

Before this girl.

There was nothing.

THE END

(End credits -- “Maps” by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and “Closing Time” by Tom Waits)