*************

It was weird seeing Spike treated as royalty.

It had started almost immediately after he made his surprising proclamation about Iris’ duplicity.  The waiter had appeared at his shoulder, lowered his head to murmur something directly into the vamp’s ear, and immediately Spike had straightened, head swiveling to gaze over at the bar, Buffy’s eyes following his as they lighted on the elegant older couple that stood there.  A moment of hesitation, and then he’d nodded, the smallest of confused smiles playing on his lips.

“What’s going on?” Buffy had asked.

“Apparently, my reputation precedes me,” the vamp had murmured.  His face had been thoughtful as he’d turned back to the table, absently picking up his drink but not raising it to his lips.

“And?” she’d prompted.  “What’s the punchline here?”

“We’ve been asked to join a private party for dinner,” he’d explained.  When she’d blanched at the suggestion, sudden images of a score of vampires taking their turns with helpless victims popping into her head, Spike had hastened to add, “Proper dinner.  Only a few of them are vampires.”  His smile had widened.  “Seems I’m not the only one hangin’ out with humans these days.”

“But what about Iris?  And Willow?  The whole reason we’re here in the first place?  Just two minutes ago, you didn’t want to leave.”

“And we’re not.  By private, I just meant only for a select few.  It’s here at Midnight.”  He rose to his feet, setting down his glass and extending his hand for hers, waiting distractedly for her to take it.  “We can still keep an eye out here,” he’d said.  “And you’ve got the bonus of gettin’ a four-star meal to boot.  Iris has excellent taste in everything.”

Buffy had grimaced at the mention of the female vampire, and reluctantly stood up.  “I’m sure,” she grumbled.  “Because Iris is just perfect.”  She’d dragged out the last word, feeling silly as she did so, but unable to stop the pettiness from creeping into her voice.

He’d already had his back to her, ready to pull her out into the throng to join the couple at the bar, when he heard her.  She felt his fingers tighten around hers, his blond head ducking to look back at her out of the corner of his eye.  “What’s with the green?” Spike had asked cautiously.  “You were like this in Iris’---.”  He’d stopped then, the mere uttering of the vamp’s name sending a spiral of electricity through the Slayer’s heart, her hand constricting instinctively around his.  She wasn’t…was she?

“You’re jealous,” he’d said, and stepped around the chair to stand directly in front of her.

She wouldn’t meet his eyes, hazel glittering brightly as they darted everywhere but at his face.  “Jealous?” she’d aped, and inwardly cringed at the too-high tone of her voice.  “Of what?  The fact that she can pick her own apples without needing a ladder?”

His free hand had come up to brush away the lock of hair that had loosened in her vehemence, fingertips straying over her too-warm skin, the burn traveling down his arm to heat the bowels of his flesh in kind.  “We’re not even really friends, you know,” he’d murmured, inexplicably needing to reassure her.  “More like…flirtatious acquaintances whose paths have crossed on more than one occasion.  Not anything to get yourself all fussed over.”  Those blue eyes, now dark, had settled on the Slayer’s jutting lower lip, and his mouth had watered at the memory of its taste.

“I’m not fussed.  I just…don’t…like her very much.”

“Why’s that, luv?”

“Well, the phrase ‘skanky ho’ comes to mind, for starters.”

He’d chuckled, and she’d thought for a split second that it was the sexiest sound she’d ever heard.  “You are jealous.”

“I’m not!” she’d protested.  “It’s just…we’re supposed to be having a…thing, right?  Who’s going to believe us if you’re drooling over every bimbo with legs that go up to her fangs?  I wouldn’t, that’s for---.”

His mouth over hers had effectively shut her up, and it had taken only a moment for her to respond to the demanding pressure of his tongue, parting her lips to allow its entry, sweeping in sure strokes that forced her eyes closed.  From the back of Buffy’s throat, a moan had escaped, her body leaning automatically into his as her hand went up to his neck, every inch of her begging to feel his muscled sleekness against her.

She was breathless when they pulled apart, cheeks blazing.  And the troika of kisses has now become a four-ka, she thought crazily.  Wonder if we can make it a five-ka, or better yet, six, and seven, and eight…

His mouth swept across her jaw to the pulsepoint below her ear, the tip of his tongue darting out to snag the reverberations of it into his own.  “How could you think I’d even be able to look at anyone else when you taste so scrumptious, pet?” he’d murmured.  “Got me hooked good and proper, you do.”

“I didn’t…mean to…hook you,” she’d breathed.  Why was he still talking?  Why wasn’t he kissing her?

He’d pulled away then.  “Think tonight’s probably the right time for us to have that little chat,” Spike had said.  The glittering promise in his eyes made her flesh tingle in anticipation, but the quick dart of her gaze to the door of the club had been cut off with, “When we get back to the flat.  First, we’ve got some bread breaking to do.”  At the obvious disappointment in her face, he added, “Maybe we’ll suss out some reasons why Iris isn’t coming clean about that Stella.  I’m not too keen on bein’ lied to these days, even if it’s to be expected from a vamp with her kind of power.”

Without another word, the pair of them had joined the couple at the bar, and Buffy had been whisked away to a different table, far in the corner, seated between the other two humans in the party, a retired schoolteacher with a penchant for Anne Rice and an over-groomed tax attorney.  Within five minutes, her library of mindless chatter had been exhausted in favor of their more mundane subjects of conversation, and she’d settled herself into watching the other vampires fawn over Spike, pleading with him to share some of his and Dru’s more famous exploits.

He was in his element, lounging in his chair while letting that Big Bad bravado that had been stifled so long in Sunnydale work its wonders on the other two demons, not to mention charming the pants off their human companions.  Buffy seemed the only one disinterested in the gory details, although when the issue of the Slayers he’d killed came up, she had to admit to being mildly impressed when he deftly changed the subject, the sideways glance at her more telling than any words he might’ve uttered.  It was genuine concern for her feelings that prompted the consideration, she recognized, and sipped at her third glass of wine in a surprised delight that seemed to come out of nowhere.  Would wonders never cease.

Dinner came and went, and though everyone else at the table seemed to be absorbed in Spike’s This Is Your Life show, Buffy kept a wary eye out for Iris, hoping that the vampire would put in an appearance so that they might be able to get to the bottom of her lies.  She didn’t even notice the fact that her wine glass never seemed to be empty, though she was constantly sipping at it, nor was she aware of her growing fixation on Spike.  She kept alternating between musing on Iris and staring at him intently, and when the notion that she should really take matters into her own hands popped into her head, Buffy didn’t for a second question its veracity.  It made sense.  Crystal clear as only ideas can seem when one is either dreaming or drunk.  It was just too bad the distinction that she was awake, leaving only the other as an alternative, escaped her currently tipsy state.

“Excuse me,” she chirped with a bright smile, dropping her napkin to her plate as she rose to her feet, weaving slightly in place as the colors of the room swam brightly before her eyes.

Spike frowned as he automatically rose to his feet, hand at her elbow as she tried to brush past him.  “Where are you rushing off to, pet?” he asked.

“The little girl’s room,” she replied.

He saw the color staining her cheek, the reflective sheen in her eyes, and silently reprimanded himself for letting her drink as much as she had.  So much for doing this for Red, he thought as he felt the Slayer sway within his grasp.  He’d gotten himself all wrapped up in reliving the glory days, the feeling of importance being around those who respected him a balm to his bruised ego, and lapsed in his promise to Buffy to help with Willow.  Bollocks.

“Think that’s such a good idea?” he quizzed, leaning in a little closer.  His blue eyes drifted to the various vampires around the room.  “Don’t like the idea of you bein’ on your own in this place.”

“Oh, Spike.”  Buffy laughed, her hand coming up to slap lightly at his chest.  “It’s the bathroom.  I’m hardly in danger of falling in or anything.  Besides, I think I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”  Standing on her tiptoes, her breath tickled his ear as she whispered, “Do you want to know where I’ve hidden my stake?”

He felt like a gaping teenager as a giggling Buffy almost skipped toward the other side of the room, the images of just where the stake could be placed driving all the stolen blood in his body southward.  Little tease, he thought, eyes glittering as they swept over the seductive sway of her bottom.  She’s got to know what sayin’ that kind of stuff does to me.

Slowly, his lip curled.  Well, I’ll be damned, Spike mused.  She does know.  There was no doubt in his mind now that they’d be having their chat later.  At least one good thing had come from showing at Midnight, even if they hadn’t been able to get anything useful from Iris…

*************

Buffy pressed into the wall of the corridor, her stake clutched tightly in her sweaty hand.  Sneaking past the guard had been surprisingly simple; retrieving the weapon from its sheath around her thigh had not.  She’d tripped herself more than once struggling to get it out, managing to get a splinter the second time.  Now, though, she was armed, she was ready, and she was going to get some straight answers from that Iris if it killed her.  Iris, she meant.  Just had to find her first.

She was expecting the door to be locked when she found it, which explained why she shoved on it just a little too hard, stumbling inside the lavish interior.  From the couch, Iris turned her head, frowning slightly at her new guest.

“Back so soon?” she commented coldly.

Buffy straightened, slipping her hand behind her back to hide the stake.  “This isn’t the bathroom?” she asked, looking confusedly at the door before sniffing pointedly at the air.  “Smells like a bathroom.  My bad.  But you can understand why I’d be confused.  You’ve got that whole call girl boudoir thing going on with the décor.”

Iris turned away, returning her attention to the book that rested in her lap.  “Run away, little girl, before I decide to forget that Spike is my friend and have you for a midnight snack.”

Folding her arms across her chest, Buffy lifted her chin, nudging the door closed behind her with her hip.  “OK, first of all, I’m not a little girl, so I’d appreciate it if you’d stop calling me that.”

The sound of the door whisking shut caused Iris to rise, facing the Slayer with mild annoyance, eyes narrowing as she saw the stake the other blonde had already forgotten she was trying to hide.  “Really, jealousy does not become you.  Does loverboy know you carry one of those things around?”  The corner of her mouth lifted.  “Although, knowing Spike, I wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t his twisted form of foreplay.  Does he make you play Slayer games?  He’s killed two of them, you know.  He considers it a badge of honor.”

“I know.”  Buffy’s voice was tight, the vibrant colors in the room hurting her eyes as she struggled to maintain control of her temper.  Something about this bitch really rubbed her wrong, and in more than just the normal it’s-a-vampire-and-I-need-to-stake-her way.  “And Spike told me you two weren’t even really friends, so there’s no reason for me to be jealous.  Which I’m not.”  How many times was she going to have to say it for people to start believing her?

“I believe I told you there was no reason for it.” 

“You also told us you didn’t know anything about Stella and you lied about that, so why should I believe anything you say?”

“So you’re saying you think there is a reason for you to be jealous?”

“No, I just told you I wasn’t.”  Buffy’s head was starting to cloud as she watched Iris take a step forward.  What was with the word games?  Why was she talking so much?  The wine fuzzied her brain, and she swallowed hard as if that would clear it. 

“So, if you believe me about nothing going on between me and your boyfriend, there’s no reason you shouldn’t believe me about this…Stella you’re so worried about finding.”  Another step.

“No, you’re lying about that.  Spike said so.”

“The same Spike who thought he could fool me by showing up at my club with the Slayer?  That same trustworthy Spike?”

Buffy’s eyes widened as Iris took another step.  Shit.  So maybe they hadn’t been able to fool her after all.  What had they done to give her away?  Well, at least she didn’t have to pretend anymore.

“You know, I have to give the vamp credit though,” the female demon continued, still moving with that stealthy grace.  “Getting a Slayer under his control?  Very impressive.”

Her heart quickened at Iris’ words.  They still had hope; she still believed in the thrall thing.  Out loud, she said, “I told you before.  I think Spike would surprise you.  He certainly surprised me.”

*************

For the third time, Spike cast a glance in the direction Buffy had disappeared, wondering what in hell was taking her so long.  Could she have run into something beyond her control?  Normally, he wouldn’t have worried about the Slayer handling herself amidst a group of vampires, but in her current inebriated state, she was slightly more vulnerable.  If anything happened to her, it would be his fault.

A small knot of fear lodged in the back of his throat, his dinner companions’ voices fading from his awareness, and absently, Spike rose to his feet.  “Excuse me,” he said.  “Goin’ to go see what’s keepin’ Buffy.”

He didn’t even hear the amused titters that drifted after him, the murmured, “They’re so devoted,” lost in the gentle swell of the band.  Instead, he focused on sluicing through tables, weaving with a feral grace that alerted those around him to his presence, concentrating on the door he’d seen Buffy disappear through earlier.  It was only when he reached it that he realized that it didn’t lead to the bathrooms as she’d claimed; the exit for those was on the other side of the bar.  He’d never really noticed that before.

“Bugger,” Spike muttered as he pushed his way through the door.  He was immediately met with the burly form of a guard, and stopped short.

“I’m sorry,” the guard said, holding up his hand.  “This is a private area.”

“Not as sorry as I am, mate,” the vamp replied, and before the other could react, Spike’s fist had shot out, connecting heavily with the guard’s jaw, sending him unconscious against the opposite wall. 

Thank god Iris only hires fellow demons, he thought as he stalked down the corridor.  Makes this so much easier for me.

He didn’t even consider how Buffy had gotten past the guard.  Knowing the Slayer, if she was set on this as her destination, one measly vampire wasn’t going to stand in her way.

He heard their voices first, Buffy’s artificially exuberant thanks to the wine, Iris’ smooth and even, and stopped outside the door, his hand reaching for the doorknob.  It stopped, however, when the Slayer’s next words reached his ears.

“You know, if you touch him, I will kill you.”

Iris laughed.  “You are a little spitfire, aren’t you?  Remind me to applaud Spike when I see him next.  You’re a far sight more interesting than that vapid Drusilla.  At least you’re reasonably sane.”  Another laugh.  “Spike, on the other hand, is utterly mad for getting himself involved with a Slayer.  It must be Dru’s lingering influence.  Does it bother you that she still has such power over your boyfriend?”

Spike grimaced.  Shit.  Iris knew Buffy was the Slayer.  No wonder she’d lied earlier about Stella.  His credibility was shot to hell with her now.

“Stop right where you are are.  I can see what you’re trying to do.”  This was Buffy.

“Oh?  And what am I doing?”

“I said, stop.”  Firmer this time, followed by the faintest of rustles from the other side of the door.

“I can see the appeal you have for Spike, little girl---.”

“I told you to stop calling me that!”

“---but why on earth are you choosing to stay around him?  Is it the sex?  Does sleeping with the enemy make you quiver?”

“If I wasn’t so sure you could help us find Stella, I’d be staking you faster than you could blink right about now.”

“And you’d never get out of here alive.  Kill me, and you’ll have every vampire in the place on you.  A drunk Slayer is a sloppy Slayer.  And Spike would be dust as well for bringing you here in the first place.”

“Leave him out of this!”

Another chuckle from Iris.  “Poor little Slayer.  What does it feel like, knowing you’re falling in love with William the Bloody?   Are you prepared to have your heart broken when he drops you, or better yet, kills you, when he gets bored with his little mortal dalliance?”

He was getting tired of eavesdropping, his muscles screaming at him to just march in there and yank Buffy out, but the implication from the other vampire that the Slayer was developing true feelings for him froze his hand, his desire to hear the response to this greater than his need to interrupt.

“What happens to my heart is none of your business,” Buffy said coldly.  Spike could hear her heartbeat through the door, and knew that it wasn’t just because of the alcohol.  “What we have is…fresh, and…raw, and…and exciting, and wait, none of your business.”

“You made it my business when you barged in here with your little stake.”

Stake.  Shit.  

No more time to listen.

The knob twisted in his grip and Spike rushed inside, knocking the edge of the door against Buffy’s shoulder.

“Ow!” she cried out, stumbling from his path.  She would’ve fallen to the floor if he hadn’t grabbed her, his strong arm wrapping around her waist to pull her tight against him.

“Why do I bother hiring bodyguards if just anyone can push their way in?” Iris complained, turning away from the blond pair to collapse in elegant annoyance on her couch.

She fought against his grip, straining to be released.  “Let me go, Spike!” Buffy ordered.   She didn’t really expect him to listen to her, but felt his arm disappear.  Oh look, she thought as she tumbled to the floor.  Gravity works.

“I suggest you get your little girlfriend out of my club,” Iris said nonchalantly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.  “And it would probably be a very good idea if you didn’t come back.”

Spike’s hand guided Buffy back up as she used his trousers leg for leverage.  A quick scan over her form revealed nothing amiss, and he shifted his attention briefly to the other woman in the room.  “This isn’t over,” he warned her.

Iris smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.  “Oh, I know that,” she replied.  “It’s really only beginning.”  Her mouth hardened.  “Now, get out.”

*************

They left by the back entrance, sliding into the car in mutual silence.  Spike watched as Buffy pressed herself against the door, slouching in the seat as she twirled the stake between her fingers, pouting when she kept dropping it into her lap.

“What did you think you were doing?” he finally asked.

“I was bored,” came the reply.  “And you said she was lying.”  She lifted too-bright hazel eyes to gaze at him.  “Iris is a bitch.”

Spike chuckled.  “You’re not tellin’ me anything I don’t already know,” he concurred.  “Still doesn’t tell me why you thought you should go after her on your own, especially when you’ve been drinking.”

“You’re the one who said I couldn’t get drunk off one glass of wine.”

“And you proved me wrong, didn’t you?”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Whatever you say, pet.”

“And I’m not jealous.”  She stifled a wide yawn, her jaw clicking shut in embarrassment.

“Think the jury’s still out on that one.”  Time for a cigarette.  Iris’ no-smoking policy was leaving him a little itchy, and he fumbled in his pockets for his lighter.

“And I’m not in love with you.”

By the time he’d lifted his surprised gaze to look at her, Buffy’s eyes had already drifted shut, her blonde head leaning against the glass, her weapon dangling lifelessly from her hand.  She’d avoided answering the female vampire’s accusation directly when she’d been housed up with her, and now, hearing the unsolicited protestation for his own ears sent the questions reeling inside his skull.  What was that about the lady doth protest too much? he thought, drinking in her passed-out form, listening to the steady tattoo of her pulse.  This thing between them wasn’t about love, just…mutual respect, and incredible attraction, maybe friendship on the outside.  Why was the Slayer talking about love?

For the same reason he’d been mulling over the shift in his thoughts about her.  Because all of a sudden, the possibility was there, each moment they spent together reinforcing their needs instead of gathering the grounds to drive them further apart.  He wouldn’t call it love, not yet, not for him anyway, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it ended up there at the rate they were going.  Had she beaten him there?

That question, and more, kept him quiet as they pulled up to the small cottage.  Buffy didn’t stir, even when Spike leaned over and gently shook her shoulder to wake her.  Out cold, he realized, and sighed as he climbed out of the car, hurrying around to the other side to open her door.  He caught her before she could tumble out, scooping her into his arms, and carrying her inside.

She was so fragile, her bones as weightless as a bird’s, and Spike resisted the sudden urge to throw her into the sky to see if she would fly.  Instead, he stood on the step of the house, the moonlight splaying in silver streaks across her lashes, deepening the flush in her cheeks to make the life within her unmistakable, and pursed his lips together to blow a gentle stream of air across her forehead, watching as it caught the faint strands of gold.  So beautiful.  So deceptively strong. 

Would it be so wrong to allow himself to love her?

*************

The engine rumbled to a quiet as he rolled to a stop beneath the sweeping boughs of the trees.  Exhausted, Freddie slumped forward, forehead resting on the steering wheel.  If he could sleep until Christmas, he just might start feeling human again.

Stella’s bus was scheduled to arrive in the morning, which was not soon enough for his tastes.  There had been no more incidents with Willow for the remainder of the trip, but that was because he’d kept her sleeping, drugged to the gills with whatever it took to make sure her and her magic didn’t get loose again.  He still had a bruise on his side from where the cassette case had slammed into him; he didn’t even want to think about what other possible damage she could inflict if she was actually awake.

Wearily, Freddie lifted his head and stared out over the water, watching the slight rippling under the stars.  He would’ve preferred staying in the city, but they needed Willow in the djab’s proximity once she was wakened, and with its home here within these trees, that left few options for resting elsewhere.  The next forty-eight hours would be frightening, and exhilarating, and more of a dream than he’d ever imagined.

Provided, of course, that he lived through them…

*************

Chapter 12: It's About That Time

She could smell him all around her, leather mingling with the fading cigarette smoke, churning with that musk that was uniquely Spike's to create a scent that prickled her taste buds. Groaning softly, Buffy turned her head, fully expecting to be greeted by the vampire's sleeping form, but instead saw only the padded expanse of the snowy white comforter.

Blinking into the darkness, she propped herself up on her elbows, the hair that had been loosened from its knot spilling around her shoulders. She was in the cottage's bedroom, and it was still nighttime, although a quick glance at the clock on the nightstand announced that it was actually quite early morning. She groaned again. Four o'clock. What in hell was she doing waking up at four? And how exactly had she gotten here in the first place?

The gown she'd worn to the club still clung to her body, but her feet were bare, her sandals scattered haphazardly across the floor. She didn't remember taking them off. Of course, she didn't remember getting home, either, so that really didn't say a whole lot. If she tried---and the slight throb of her head made trying just a shade on this side of difficult---she remembered drinking at the club, and watching Spike play King of the Castle with his groupies---and wasn't that just a little scary because she almost didn't recognize him, playing nice-nice with the other demons, like he was trying to impress them or something---and…

Her eyes widened.

Crap. Iris. I went and tried talking to Iris.

With a stake.

While I was drunk.

Not a shining Slayer moment.

The memory of Spike coming in after her, and helping her get out to the car, came rushing in after, and Buffy realized then that she must've passed out on the ride home. He probably carried me in, she thought as she sat up. And I'm just smelling him because he slept in here last night.
Her mouth was parched, her tongue feeling twice its thickness, and she swallowed compulsively, trying to coat her throat in anything remotely resembling liquid. Water, she decided. I need water. Like, yesterday. It could've been worse, though, she knew. A little dry mouth, a little headache…considering how much wine she'd had, she was actually getting off pretty lucky.

As she rose from the bed, Buffy plucked at the dress twisted around her legs, the stale scent of wine wafting to her nostrils, and grimaced, deciding then and there that any more sleep would be much better gained in something that was actually meant to be slept in. She whisked it over her head, but it wasn't until it was tossed to the chaise under the window that she realized her other clothes were still in the outer room, her bag probably still sitting outside the bathroom door where she'd left it earlier that day. Can't go out there like this, she thought, folding her arms across her bare breasts as she looked around. Not with Spike sleeping on the couch.

Her eyes lit on the discarded t-shirt the vampire had been wearing prior to going out. She shouldn't, not without asking, but he wouldn't know, right? He'd be asleep, she'd get her water, grab her bag, and be back in the room without him ever knowing she'd borrowed it. But even as her fingers closed around the cotton, Buffy couldn't deny the small flutter in her stomach as Spike's scent renewed its assault on her senses. He'd promised at the club that they were going to have their little "chat" when they got home, and while she couldn't say that she really knew what in hell she was going to say in it, the notion that the chat would be followed by more of those amazing kisses Spike seemed to excel at flushed her system in warmth. Sleeping in his shirt might be the closest she got to that tonight. And what he didn't know wouldn't annoy him, right?

If she wasn't still suffering from the effects of the alcohol, she might have noticed the faint music that was coming from the living room when she emerged from the bedroom. As it was, it wasn't until she'd stepped from the hall that she heard the halting melody being plucked from the piano, and froze in her place, hazel eyes locked on the shirtless form of Spike sitting at the baby grand on the other side of the room.

"You're up," she said needlessly.

"Same could be said for you," he replied, not bothering to turn around. He still wore his tuxedo trousers, but the belt had been removed, draped uselessly over the back of the couch, and he sat on the piano bench tapping out a tune with his right hand. "Thought you'd be out for the count until sunrise."

"I was…thirsty." Buffy frowned, taking a step closer to him. "What're you doing?"

"Looks like I'm playin' the piano."

She rolled her eyes. "I can see that. I just…why?"

"I couldn't sleep and the telly's in the bedroom, remember? Bloke's gotta keep himself entertained somehow." His fingers hovered over the keys for a moment. "Fuck," she heard him mutter, fist pounding once on the keyboard before resuming its work, picking up the melody at the beginning again. After a moment, he added, "Been a while since I played, though. Remembering how it goes isn't comin' as easy as I thought it would."

"I didn't know you could play at all."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Slayer," he said, and shifted his weight to glance back at her for the first time since her arrival.

She saw his eyes narrow as they swept up her bare legs, absorbing the sight of the black cotton skimming across the top of her thighs before lifting his gaze to her face. The music hesitated, then stopped, the vampire removing his hands from the instrument to turn around to look at her fully.

"That's not what you fell asleep in," he commented, and she felt the cadences beneath his words like a satin caress across her skin.

"My stuff was out here, and I didn't feel like walking around naked just to get a glass of water." She was desperately trying not to make it too obvious what he was doing to her, and decided that now was just as good a time as any for that drink, silently ordering her feet to start moving toward the kitchen even though they seemed determined to stay rooted in that particular spot.

"I dunno." His voice floated after her. "Buffy in the buff sounds pretty appetizing to me."

"You're a pig, Spike," she shot back, but her heart wasn't in it, his responding chuckle proof that he knew it as well.

He was still sitting there when she returned with her water, eyes dark and contemplative, as if he was waiting for her to say something. Instead, keeping her eyes averted, Buffy lifted the glass to her mouth, forcing herself to drain its contents in one pass. Anything, really, so that she wouldn't have to speak to him just yet. Not that she really thought she could at the moment, anyway. Seeing him like that…wearing his scent so close to her skin…she was on Slayer sensory overload.

God, he thought. She can even making gulping down that water look sexy. This was one of the few times he was grateful not to be wearing his black jeans; the bagginess of the tux trousers gave his cock plenty of room to get hard without making it obvious to her. Not that he thought she would object if she knew. He could smell her desire all the way across the room.

"What were you playing?" she asked, striving for normal as she the glass down on the breakfast bar.

He shrugged. "Just a little ditty from a long time ago," he said, and tilted his head, the corner of his mouth lifting. "You play?"

Buffy laughed at the absurdity of the question. "Uh, no. I think my music gene got eaten by my Slayer gene somewhere along the line."

"Betcha I can teach you. It's not really that hard, and you've already got two things in your favor."

"And what're those?"

Spike smiled. "Me as a teacher, and the fact that we both know you're already good with your hands."

The giggle that rose to her lips helped ease some of the nervousness in her system, and she took a few steps closer to him. "You should be warned Mom tried making me take piano lessons when I was little. My teacher went missing after three sessions."

"Ooo, a challenge." He smirked as he rose from the bench, gesturing for her to take a seat. "'Course that's to be expected, I'd guess."

Her heart was thumping as she slid onto the cold bench, the t-shirt riding up so that it pooled slightly around her hips when she positioned herself in the seat's middle. What are you doing? she demanded of herself silently. Half-naked Buffy plus half-naked Spike does not add up to Slayer goodness.

No, it adds up to sexy goodness, the little voice inside her chortled.

Shut up, she admonished. You're not helping.

Oh, please, it said. Like you're not loving every second of this.

"Do you know where middle C is?" Spike was asking. At some point, he had moved to stand directly behind her, touching but not, his thighs just inches away from her back.

She blushed and was glad he couldn't see her face. "I'm going to guess…somewhere in the middle?" Buffy quipped.

Spike sighed. "Scoot up, Slayer," he instructed, but when she started to slide sideways, his hand came down on her shoulder, stopping her movement. "I said, up." He made a sweeping gesture forward, nudging at the small of her back with his knee.

Slowly, Buffy inched her bottom forward along the bench until she was just as much off as she was on. Keeping her eyes glued to the black and white keys in front of her, she felt the vampire settle himself behind her, legs straddling either side of hers, hips pressing gently into her ass. For a moment, she thought she felt a hard reminder of his earlier arousal, but it quickly disappeared when Spike eased himself back, separating their bodies with the narrowest slivers of air.

His right hand took hers and rested it on the keyboard. "This is middle C," he said, trying not to make it obvious that he was drowning in the scent of her hair. "Everything starts from here."

"Everything?" Her voice sounded like a squeak to her, and she couldn't help but wonder…when did the air conditioning stop working?

"Yeah. Let's do a scale first."

Her bottom lip jutted out of its own accord. "I want to learn a song," she said, the slightest of whines tingeing her voice.

He heard the pout in her tone, and immediately flashed back to the previous autumn, when the pair of them had been under Willow's spell, and the most delicious thing in the world to him had been the taste of that bottom lip. His mouth watered at the memory, and Spike swallowed, resisting the urge to just bury the crook of her neck in hungry kisses.

Relax, he chided himself. Keep it slow. One wrong move, and she's goin' to stake you for good.

It was eating at him, though, he had to admit. He wanted nothing more than to just get all the cards out on the table, right then, right there, but with Buffy's history, and her penchant for jumping to the worst possible conclusion about him, Spike knew that would be the worst thing he could do. He'd thought for awhile at the club that she might be seeing him with just a little more respect, that hearing how he was esteemed and feared by demons that seemed a cut above the norm might make a difference. That had been shelved, unfortunately, as soon as the issue of his killing the other Slayers had come up. She might've been able to forget before that, but the reminder that he had two Slayers under his belt was most likely what drove her to act out so rashly in confronting Iris while under the influence.

That was actually his fault, and he knew it. He should've warned Buffy ahead of time. Iris was one of the most powerful vampires in New Orleans; they were on her turf at Midnight and any unprovoked attack on their part would've surely cost both of them their lives. It was the only reason he'd let the bloody bodyguard live. Kill one of Iris' minions? Only if Spike had a deathwish, which, in light of his current situation with the Slayer now situated between his knees, was the farthest thing from his mind.

"You learn a song later," Spike replied in answer to her complaint. "First, you've gotta learn your scales. Consider it a building block." Deftly, his fingers skated over the keys, the strains of the simple scale the only sound in the small cottage. "See? Easy. Now you try."

She fumbled like a child with her first few attempts, and in spite of the vampire's coaching, was no better on the fifth try than the first. Part of him thought she was being difficult on purpose. Part of him was already so frustrated that he just wanted to slam the lid down on the piano and say sod it all to the entire exercise. But he bit back against both those parts, squelching his impulses, knowing that anything retaliative on his behalf would send the Slayer scurrying faster than a cockroach in sudden sunlight.

"Like this," he said resolutely, and placed his hand directly over hers, forcing her fingers to meld to his and follow the deliberate motions of the scale. Up, and then down, and it wasn't until their thumbs were back on middle C that Spike realized that her heartbeat had accelerated, the temperature of her body rising in discernible degrees. It wasn't the effect he'd been after, but nothing he was going to argue with at this point.

"Again," he said, this time softer. She started it this time, keeping her hand pressed to his as she faltered through the scale. If it would've been possible, Spike was certain his palm would've been sweating before they'd returned to home position.

"And again."

The rote continued two…three…four more times. On the fifth, after Buffy had managed the last pass with little assistance from the vampire, he lifted his hand away, hovering just above hers as she executed it on her own.

"See?" he said, and fought to keep the huskiness out of his voice. "Not so hard."

"Can I learn a song now?"

"Scales now. Song later."

"You know, you're as bad as Giles."

"That's hittin' below the belt, pet."

"So I can learn a song?"

"No. Scales."

When she did that sharp exhalation he recognized as her frustrated sound, Spike tensed, knowing this was his cue that she was going to bolt. Patience was not one of her strong suits---usually not his either, but for Buffy, he was willing to work at it---so when her fingers began gliding over the keys again, he was surprised, dropping his hand to his side as he watched her play.

"Did I mention yet that I really don't like Iris?" Buffy asked nonchalantly.

His frown of confusion was accompanied by the thought, she's tryin' to make conversation with me?, and Spike held himself straight, ready for the other shoe to drop. "Did you find anything out from her?" he asked carefully.

"Nope. She was all about the word games." She sighed. "Why can't you vampires just give a straight answer when someone asks you a question? Why do you have to play at being so cryptic all the time?"

"Because it's our job to mess with you humans," Spike joked. "And not all of us do it, you know. I rather fancy myself as the straightforward---."

Buffy's bark of laughter took him by surprise. "Oh, please," she said. "When was the last time you were straight with me when I asked you a pointblank question, Spike? You revel in the entendres. Single, double, triple, whatever the sitch calls for."

She was still playing, her scales not interrupted by their conversation, when he responded. "Just give what I get, luv," he said, not masking the annoyance that crept into his tone. "When was the last time you gave me the same courtesy?"

She had no answer to that, and hesitated. Why do we always end up arguing? she wondered. The memory of his hand on hers still burned into her flesh, and she surprised herself---although maybe only a little bit---by wishing he would put it back. Get the conversation back on track, she ordered herself. You can do this. You did it in the car, you can do it sitting at a stupid piano.

"I guess I'm not going to get a chance to wear those other dresses," Buffy commented, resuming the steady pace of the scales. "I think we burned our bridge with Iris. She's not so thrilled about having a Slayer hanging around her club."

She's trying, he thought. I'll be a son of a bitch, the Slayer's actually puttin' an effort in here not to turn this into something ugly. He'd thought he'd blown it with his crack, but the retort had been said in reflex, not meant to be said out loud even if he did believe it to be true. It was then that he decided to hell with it.

She wasn't running. She wasn't being a bitch. And she smelled like heaven.

"I'm sure if you want," he said casually, "we can probably find a reason for you to wear 'em. But have to tell you…" Spike lifted his left hand and began tracing circles across the top of her bare thigh. "…don't think one of them could hold a candle to seein' you in my shirt."

Her breath hitched at his first touch, her fingers stopping to settle on the keys. As soon as they did, though, his hand disappeared, and Buffy almost moaned in frustration. "You…stopped…" she breathed.

"So did you."

"Huh?" She twisted to look back at him. "What're you talking about?"

Spike nodded to the piano. "You stopped playin'," he said.

"And your point would be…?"

"You stop. I stop. Sounds like a fair trade to me." His eyes were dark, flickering to her mouth, drinking in the slight tremor in its bottom lip before rising back to meet the hazel. Would she rise to the bait? Either way, Spike thought he'd finally get a clue as to what she really wanted. The choice was going to be hers.

Time stopped as she stared at him, her skin crawling to protest the tantalizing promise of his body being withheld from it. A beat…then another…and slowly, deliberately, she turned back in her seat, her hand returning to the keyboard.

When the first note came from the piano, Spike's lids fluttered closed in disbelief, his jaw dropping ever so slightly as his teeth caught the tip of his tongue. Though the proof of her arousal hung in the air, burned through the cotton of the shirt to sear his chest, part of him hadn't thought she'd still be sitting there. Yet there she was, and she was doing those bloody scales, and…why wasn't he touching her yet?

Feather light, his fingers returned to the satin of her thigh, and he pressed himself forward, allowing his erection to nestle in the cleft of her ass. The small gasp that escaped Buffy's throat made him smile, and his head bowed forward to hover just beside her ear.

"Think I promised you a chat," he murmured.

"Now?" It was bad enough he was expecting her to continue with the playing just to get him to touch her; now he wanted her to talk, too?

His other hand joined the first, a single finger running along the length of the well-defined muscle. "Told you this couldn't go any further without us gettin' some kind of understanding between us, pet. 'Course, if you want me to stop…"

"No…don't…" Even as the words came out, Buffy couldn't believe herself. At that moment, nothing seemed more important than Spike, and his hands, and that mouth she was just dying to turn around and kiss. Reason seemed to have fled, but she didn't care. Not when she felt like this.

Alive.

"What is it you want, Slayer?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Is it like Iris says? Just fancy a walk on the wild side?"

His hands skimmed to the top of her thighs, palms brushing across the surface, raising the goosebumps across her skin in tiny shivers. Somewhere deep within her hips, Buffy felt a tingle begin to pulse, and chewed her lip, trying to focus on the black and white keys before her. "How'd you…know she said that?" she breathed.

"Overheard you two." Spike's tongue snaked out, pointedly skirting the inner curve of her ear.

Her hands fell from the piano, ready to turn and confront him about eavesdropping, but as soon as the music stopped, Spike pulled back, forcing himself to separate from the lure of her skin. Buffy froze.

"Told you I'd stop," the vampire said unnecessarily.

But she couldn't bring herself to start again, every nerve in her body racing, blurring the muscle memory in her hands so that she knew it would be impossible to return to the scales. What was it she wanted? A pointblank question, and here she was, wondering what the shortest answer was that she could give Spike so that he would just go back to touching her.

Her hesitation cut through his euphoria, and Spike silently reproached himself for insisting on the piano game. Stupid idea, of course she wasn't going to go along with it. He had to bring up the chat and bugger the whole arrangement up.

Except a part of him wanted that chat, wanted the truth the chat was supposed to bring. Everything had been going so good. She wanted him, and he wanted her, and…

…and she was playing again, not well, not even, but still…playing.

His hands were back on her in a shot, strong fingers gripping her thighs to prise her legs apart, allowing him access to the soft inner satin between her knees. "See, I'm of the opinion," he murmured, "you don't know what you want. Or rather, you want it both ways. You want the birds singin', bells a-ringin' romantic claptrap that those nancyboy college prats gave you, but you also want the fire that comes from lettin' those wild instincts of yours take over.

"Problem is…" His mouth dropped down the side of her neck, blunt teeth nibbling the length of the vein that ran there, tongue trailing to the curve of her shoulder. "…it scares the hell out of you because it means lettin' go, putting your trust in something you hate. Except…" Spike's voice dropped to a silken growl. "…you don't hate me, do you, pet? And that's actually just a tad bit scarier..."

"You've…" Her breath was coming in short pants now, his cool fingers stroking the length of her inner thigh, each time higher, closing in on the damp between her legs. "…helped us," she managed, and wondered how in hell she was doing all this at the same time, talking and playing and god that feels good and listening to what he had to say. "Like now. With…Willow."

She could feel Spike shake his head. "Excuses," he said. "Something tangible for you to lay the fact that you and me might have more in common than you want to believe." He sucked at the muscle at the nape of her neck as one hand left her leg to sneak under the t-shirt, pressing flat against her abdomen as he held her closer.

"I'm not a monster," she protested amidst the shivers that ran through her small frame.

"No," he agreed. "You're a warrior. A strong…" And his mouth was on the other side of her neck now, lapping at the slight tang of sweat it found. "…beautiful…" A nip just under her ear. "…glorious fighter, who needs someone strong enough to keep up without havin' to hold you back. That's why you don't hate me, luv." One finger caught the waistband of her panties, sliding beneath it to follow its path to her side, gliding down the hollow where her leg met her hip. "Because you know that that someone's me."

"Someone got a little jealous," he said to the other demon. "And then that same someone got a little drunk. I got her out of there as soon as I realized what she was doin'. You think I'm stupid enough to get Iris good and brassed off at me?"

For the first time, Pablo noticed their attire, Spike in his trousers, Buffy in Spike's shirt, and smelled the distinct smells of sex and alcohol in the air. His eyes widened, and he took a step backward. "So…you two…really are a couple?" he asked warily. "This isn't some crazy I Love Lucy plan to get the goods on whatever it is you're planning? 'Cause the way Iris is talking---."

"I was just pissed because Spike was flirting with her in front of me," Buffy said quietly. Her eyes were solemn, and she allowed herself a glance up at the blond vamp so that he could see the truth in the hazel depths. "I get a little possessive about things I think belong to me."

The dipping of Spike's head to capture his lips with hers caused Pablo to grimace, squirming uncomfortably at the deliberate show of affection between the two. "OK, now you're just trying to gross me out," he complained, and scurried back to the door. He stopped, his hand over the doorknob. "Look, Spike, word of advice. Old friend to old friend." He waited for the vampire to look up. "Don't go flashing your little Slayer girlfriend around any more demon hangouts. Iris has put the word out on you two, so…it might not be one hundred percent safe. I don't know how long you're planning on this little vacation of yours lasting, but maybe you should start thinking shorter instead of longer. Because like I said, Iris is pissed as hell, and I don't think even you want to be on her bad side right now. Not with the stuff I keep hearing is supposed to be coming down."

The warning sent shivers down Buffy's spine, and she pulled away from Spike to take a step closer to the scaled demon. "What's going down?" she asked, and shook off the vampire's warning hand on her shoulder.

His pink eyes darted between the two blonds, and he visibly debated how to respond. After a full minute had passed, Pablo sighed. "I am not the one who told you this," he prefaced himself, holding up a single finger. "Something happens, and I'll turn you over to Iris faster than Spike can snap your neck."

"What is it?" Spike demanded.

"There's this place outside the city. Something big's supposed to be going down there tomorrow night. Something Iris is very interested in."

"What place? What kind of something?"

Pablo shrugged. "I don't know details. I just know it's got something to do with the vodou mojo and this girl from out of town being brought in to get the ball of wax rolling. I heard Iris' guys talking about California and bus schedules, but I swear, that's all I know."

The look Buffy exchanged with Spike said it all. According to what he'd dug up in Sunnydale, Stella's bus was due to arrive in New Orleans mid-morning; the Slayer had been planning on being there in hopes that she could catch the singer. Her mind was in overdrive as he ushered Pablo the rest of the way out, not even noticing when he came up behind her when they were alone.

"You know you've got to get some sleep now," he said, hating that he was taking the high and mighty route in suggesting it.

Buffy nodded, chewing at her lip. "We've got to get to Stella before Iris does. I just know this is all about Willow." The look she shot him was apologetic. "I guess our timing really sucks, huh?"

The corner of his mouth lifted. "Don't be thinkin' I've got any regrets for what happened here tonight, pet," he said. "Told you. Appetizer. I still plan on havin' that main course at some point."

Buffy stifled the yawn that rose unbidden to her lips. "Sleep will be good," she admitted. She was halfway to the bedroom when she realized he hadn't moved, and stopped, turning to look back at him with a small frown. "You're not going to stay up, are you?"

"No, just thought---."

She knew what he thought, and after everything she'd admitted tonight, decided it was ridiculous. "It's a big bed, Spike," she said with a smile. "You promise me you're not a kicker and I'll let you share it with me."

The flame of hope in his chest was no longer a struggling cinder. Instead, he could feel it burning safely behind his ribs, fanned by her invitation, the soft gleam in her eyes doing more for him than any physical act they might have shared at that moment. He sauntered over the distance between him, fingers lacing through hers. "Least I already know you're not a snorer," he commented as he led her into the bedroom, and chuckled when she slapped playfully at his bare shoulder.

*************

The bus groaned to a stop at the terminal, the stars above the city twinkling as they fought against the approaching dawn. Sighing, Stella waited until the other passengers had disembarked before rising herself, reaching overhead for the single bag she had taken with her to California. She hated traveling, and certainly not by bus. It would've been nice to be able to make the trip with Freddie, but they both knew that was risky. Better to keep them separated until they were ready to waken Willow. There would be fewer opportunities for screw-ups that way.

She sensed the presence as soon as she stepped from the bus, and froze, head swiveling to gaze at the gloomy shadows around her, searching for the subtle variances in shade that would tell her where they were hiding. Already, she was summoning some of her magic, preparing herself for whatever lay ahead, but her exhaustion made her slow, her reflexes sluggish.

An icy hand clamped over her mouth, its partner clenched around her neck, squeezing just enough to make the spots dance before her eyes, and Stella found herself unable to fight as whoever it was pulled her silently away from the station. Her feet stumbled, tangling with her assailant's, and she heard him curse under his breath.

"Don't hurt her." A female's voice rose from the night, and Stella stopped, straightening as a woman emerged before her. For one of the few times in her life, the singer found herself having to look up, meeting the golden aspect of Iris' vampire visage. It swept over her form before returning to her face. "You're early," she said. "That's good. It means you might yet be successful…"

*************

Glints caught on the amber of Iris’ eyes as she surveyed the black singer before her.  “I don’t know why you’re so scared,” she commented nonchalantly.  “Oh, wait.  Yes, I do.  Because you know I can kill you.”  She smiled as Stella thrashed in her minion’s grasp, but it quickly disappeared when he jerked just a little too roughly to calm his captive, the audible crunch of a bone being broken cracking the night air.

“You idiot!” Iris hissed.  “Kill her, and we might as well have let Spike and his little Slayer find her.”  She took a step closer, and allowed her vampface to slide away as she returned her gaze to Stella, watching the pain shine behind the unshed tears in the singer’s eyes.  “You are a very popular lady, you know.  You should really feel quite flattered.”

“I’m hungry,” one of the guards flanking Iris whined.  “Can we eat her now?”

The blonde shook her head in mock disappointment, rolling her eyes conspiratorially at the other woman.  “I hate surrounding myself with such halfwits,” she complained.  With a casual toss over her shoulder, she said, “Go find yourself some tourist to snack on.  This one’s not for eating.”

When she turned back to her hostage, Iris was met with Stella’s widened gaze, surprise etched above her hurt.  “I told them to grab a bite before we left, but do they ever listen to me?”  She sighed.  “Now, as much as I love the sound of my own voice, I’m getting kind of tired of standing here talking to myself, so I’m going to tell my man to let you go in about a minute.  Do you promise to be a good little girl and not try with the hocus-pocus?  Because if I can sense anything magical about ready to come spilling from that pretty mouth of yours, you can guarantee that your blood will be spilling even faster.  I don’t care if you are necessary in getting back the voix mortelle.  Understand?”

There was a hint of hesitation, and then Stella nodded as best she could within the vampire’s grasp.  A corresponding nod from Iris, and the singer was released, crumpling slightly, breasts heaving as she struggled to restore her breathing to normal.  Pain radiated through her chest, and she felt the uncomfortable scrape of bone along her ribcage, knowing that the demon had snapped something there when she’d struggled.  “Who are you?” she rasped, eyes locked on the blonde.

“Did I forget to introduce myself?”  Iris tutted under her breath.  “I get so used to people knowing me already, I totally forget my manners sometimes.  I’m Iris, you’re Stella, and where is the girl you were supposed to be bringing back from California?”

She waited too long to respond.  “There must be some mistake.  I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Iris sighed.  “Have I not already made it clear that I can kill you if I have to?” she said.  “Don’t lie to me.  I’ve had more than my fill of that tonight.”

From the direction of the station, a woman’s shriek pierced the air, quickly stifled with a gurgling cry, and Stella stiffened, fear crawling down her spine.  She was fully awake now, and probably could’ve mustered the strength to focus her magic for one good spell.  She didn’t, though.  Though she’d walked in a world of magic since she’d taken her first step, consorted with the occasional lwa in her vodou studies, coming face to face with the demonic visage of one of the monsters who dwelled in the shadows of her existence shattered any preconceptions about her own strength she might have had.

Part of her was intrigued by the vampire’s power, jealous of the force she commanded, the fear she evoked.  Wasn’t that why she had pursued the voix mortelle in the first place?  It was all about the power, and who had it.  In the face of that, however, an even larger part of Stella’s being was screaming in terror, knowing full well that her life lay at the mercy of this soulless creature.  She didn’t want to die, never had, and she wasn’t about to encourage it now by doing something foolish that might anger the vampire.

“I traveled alone,” Stella finally said, keeping her tone as light as possible.  “We thought it best that way.”

“We?”  A carefully groomed eyebrow lifted.  “You have a we?”

“The girl is probably already here.  My friend brought her.”  She smiled, desperate to appear calm in spite of her pain.  “Now, do you care to share how you know about the voix mortelle?”

“You humans are so constrained in how you view your actions.  Did you really think you could try and toy with such powerful forces, and the demon world wouldn’t notice?”  She shook her head.  “You disappoint me.  Here I was, hoping that the Stella I’d been hearing about was this brilliant tactician, coming up with this frankly ingenious plan in retrieving what’s been lost this last century, and instead I get…you.  Pity.”  She glanced into the sky, sniffing pointedly at the air.  “We should really get going.  The sun will be rising soon.  I can’t very well protect you if I’m a big pile of dust, now can I?”

“Protect me?  From who?”

“From Spike and his Slayer, of course.”  Iris’ eyes narrowed as she scanned the blankness in Stella’s gaze.  “And you have no idea who they are, do you?”  She didn’t wait for a response.  “Strange.  He even had a picture of you.  It didn’t do you justice, of course, but at least it gave me the means to recognize you here.  If he hadn’t come waving that thing around…”  She let the thought trail off, lost in her musing, and began strolling into the shadows from which she’d emerged, ignoring the singer getting shoved along behind her.

Stella grimaced in pain as the vampire who’d been holding her roughly grabbed her arm.  “Are you going to tell me who this Spike is?” she asked of the female vamp’s retreating back.  “And what’s a Slayer?”

“At the moment, your enemies and a pain in the ass,” Iris replied.  “A powerful pain in the ass, though.  Don’t go underestimating him.  The vamp never ceases to surprise me.”  She stopped, turning slightly so that Stella could see the profane smile distorting her smooth features.  “But this is your lucky day, because I’m your friend now.  And I’m more powerful than both of them put together.”

*************

He had yet to sleep.  Though he could feel the heat of the morning light seeping through the walls of the cottage, Spike stayed in almost exactly the same position he’d been in ever since Buffy had led him to the bedroom---on his side, head propped up on his left hand, his right arm curled possessively around the Slayer’s waist as she slept spooned against him.  He was going to have to wake her soon; the time on the clock kept ticking dangerously close to the bus’ scheduled arrival.  Then, she would leave, and he would be forced to stay behind, prowling around until nightfall when he could make himself useful again.  He knew it was for the best---getting their hands on Stella was their best chance at locating Willow quickly---but it didn’t mean Spike had to like it.  Buffy was still new to the city, and even in daylight, Iris was a formidable enemy.  He wanted to be able to be there to help her fend off any potential attacks.

This wasn’t what he’d been expecting.  Being with Buffy was supposed to be all fire, and fighting, and maybe a laugh or two before one of them said something to piss the other off.  A lark.  A means of getting her out of his system so that he could go back to his orderly unlife, minus the Slayer fantasies and distractions that went with it because he would’ve had his taste of the wares and been satisfied.

Somehow, it wasn’t turning out that way.

When did it get to be about tenderness, he wondered.  Or about feeling like I could drown in those little sighs of contentment she makes in her sleep?  He had been lost in watching her all night, occasionally lifting his arm from her waist to trace a finger along the slope of her shoulder, basking in the golden sparkle that seemed to emanate from her skin.  More than once, he’d leaned forward, just to inhale the scent of her hair, his nose nuzzling against her neck, and had been rewarded by tiny whimpers escaping Buffy’s throat as she burrowed back against him.  He was hard, and though he’d considered the notion of rousing her with sex, fulfilling his promise of more, Spike held himself back, a lingering desire deep within…somewhere wanting her fully there when it actually happened.  To have her know completely that she was making love to a vamp---.

Ice ran through his veins as his brain skidded to a halt and he viewed the wreckage of the thoughts that had just been racing through his head.  Making love?  Where the hell had that come from?  Back it up there, mate, he told himself, and deliberately rolled over, extracting himself from her body to stare blankly up at the ceiling.

So…yeah, maybe once, or twice, or…hell, maybe half a dozen times, he’d considered what it would be like to be at her side all the time, to show up back at the Hellmouth hand in bloody hand, showing it off to her little slaymates, to be her back-up in the fight, able to watch her battle with unabashed pride.  Not having to skulk around after her like a sewer rat was a definite bonus as well.  He’d have a place again.

Maybe that’s all this was.  Maybe he was just hankering after a little respect and being at the Slayer’s side could give it to him.  That could be it.  Probably all it was, really.

Except…

…and he couldn’t help but turn his head to look at her as he remembered.  That look in those gorgeous eyes last night when she’d referred to him as hers to Pablo, stark vulnerability shining from the hazel, cutting honesty that he’d only glimpsed on the rare occasion when she was speaking to her friends.  She’d meant it.  There was no doubt in his mind that Buffy had wanted him to know how much she’d meant it, which was why he’d been unable to resist kissing her again.

And each time he did, he lost just a little bit more of his heart to her.

As he watched, a restless mumble accompanied the slightest of lines between her brows, and she turned herself over, her arm reaching out to flutter over his chest.  “You moved,” she complained sleepily, nestling into his shoulder.  “I was all comfy.”

The flush of heat as she pressed herself back into him spurred Spike to wrap his arm back around her, mouth lowering to brush lightly over her mussed hair.  “Goin’ to have to rise and shine here, pet,” he said, though having her get up was the last thing he currently wanted.  “The clock’s tick-tockin’ away, and you don’t want to miss the songbird’s bus when it gets in.”

The mention of Stella drove Buffy’s lids up, and she pouted as she lifted her chin to look at him.  “Spoilsport,” she said.

He would forever be slave to that bottom lip, Spike decided, and had crossed the distance to take it between his teeth before he could even consider otherwise, feeling her yield to the nibble by rolling herself on top of him.  The arousal he’d been trying to ignore now ground into her pelvis, the delicate fabric of her panties the only thing preventing him from sliding into her then and there, and the vampire groaned as the nibble deepened into a kiss.

Say sayonara to another slice of that heart, he thought as he tumbled into the incandescent eddy of her caress.

When reason finally returned, strong hands grabbed her wrists, pulling them away from their bodies as he tore his mouth from hers.  “Not the best idea,” Spike said huskily, not really believing it but knowing it had to be said.

Doubt flickered behind the hazel, and Buffy sat up, jerking herself free as a veil seemed to descend over her features.  “You keep trying to get rid of me,” she said, annoyance shading her words in gray.  “You roll over, you try to kick me out of bed, now you won’t even kiss me.  What’s the deal?  You’re not…having doubts…are you?”

Too fast, she thought.  I went too fast.  He’s had time to think about it, and now he thinks this is crazy, and he probably regrets everything that happened tonight.  Fear gripped her heart.  How did I mess this up already?

His eyebrow lifted in sardonic amusement at her query.  “That has got to be the stupidest thing you have ever said, Slayer,” he said dryly.  “Do I feel confused to you?”  To punctuate his declaration, Spike grabbed her hips, forcing her to press harder into his erection, watching as her pupils dilated, her mouth softening to part in reckless desire.  When she gasped in pleasure, he smiled, letting his thumbs caress the bones of her pelvis in soothing circles. 

It would be so simple to just say fuck it, Spike realized.  Ignore the rest of the world and surrender to their bodies, wile away the hours as they submerged themselves beneath the claret waves of the attraction they had both denied for so long.  A week ago, he probably would’ve done it, no questions asked.

But a week ago, she had yet to offer him the possibility of something more.  And for some reason, he found himself holding out for that.

“Red’s probably in town already,” he said in explanation, sitting up so that her legs scissored around his waist, her arms automatically coming to anchor themselves around his neck.  Tiny shivers cascaded down his vertebrae as her fingers toyed with the stray hairs there, and he cupped his hands around her back, holding her steady on his lap. “You and me, we’ve got all the time in the world to be wasting it away in bed.  It’s Red whose clock is tickin’.  Something happens to her and you’ll never forgive yourself.”

He was right.  She knew that.  One of these days, all the stuff she’d been learning about him over the past week was actually going to sink into her skull and she was going to realize that Spike was a lot smarter than she gave him credit for without jumping to the wrong conclusion every time.  With a sigh, Buffy’s head inclined, and she rested her brow against his, letting the tenor of his touch assuage her lingering insecurities.  “You know you’re bucking for another comparison to Giles by being Mr. Maturity, don’t you?” she teased.

He chuckled.  “S’long as it’s my bed you come back to, I might be able to learn not to hear those,” he joked in response, and grew serious, returning to the topic at hand.  “I was thinkin’, while you’re checking out the bus station, I can start seein’ what I can dig up on whatever’s goin’ on tonight.  I know some people---.”

“Ha!”  She couldn’t help the bark of laughter that spewed from her lips, her head jerking back as the smile spread across her face.  At his confused stare, she said, “You’re kidding, right?  I think we need to make that your catchphrase for this little trip down Big Easy way.”  She did a bad impersonation of his accent.  “‘I know some people.’  Maybe we should put a ‘bloody’ in there.  Might make it sound more authentic.” 

Her joke fell on deaf ears.  “There’s this guy, works down at---.”

Her hand came to his mouth, settling over his lips to silence him.  “Look, Spike, I appreciate that you want to help here, but after what happened with Iris, getting any more involved in people or demons you might know is probably not the best thing for Willow.  I mean, sure, if it comes down to a fight, I want you right there beside me because, let’s face it, that’s what you’re good at.  I certainly heard enough of your war stories last night to have learned that much.  But, whatever happens tonight, it’ll be you and me facing them down.  Just you and me, all right?  I don’t want any more outsiders involved in this.  Just people I can trust.”

She didn’t even wait for his response, leaning in to give him a quick kiss before peeling herself away.  “I’m going to hop in the shower really quick before heading out,” she tossed back over her shoulder.  “Get some sleep.  I’ll call you if I turn anything up.”

Alone in the room, Spike stared at the open door, disbelief mingling with frustrated anger in his eyes.  Like it was his bloody fault Iris had cottoned on to her being the Slayer?  He was the reason they had as much information as they did.  If it wasn’t for him, they’d be shacked up in some cheap hotel, scrambling for whatever leads they could sink their fingernails into, not calling it rich by sleeping on satin, or getting fancied up for a night out on the town.  Leave it to Buffy, and they’d both be dead, just because she couldn’t control those impulses to stay away from vamps without a stake in her hot little hand.

As he heard the shower start up in the bathroom, he slumped back onto the mattress, staring into nothing as his emotions boiled under his skin.  Yeah, he was pissed.  He had a right to be.  She had just discounted everything he had done for them by turning it into a bad joke.  But, under that, lurking in the corners of his heart, cowering for fear of exposure that would shred him finer than worries about what was happening between him and Buffy, Spike was hurt, bitter throes twisting his gut as the simple joys from the last twelve hours fled in the face of reality.

Fists and fangs.  That’s all he was to her.  After everything---after all her words, after all his explanations, even after that damn “All of you” she’d uttered when he’d asked her what she wanted at the piano---she still only saw him as someone who could offer her some help in a fight.  Not as an equal, or even a partner.  Not someone with a brain to help suss out the answers, and the experience to contribute in getting past the problem.  In spite of her protestations to the contrary, she still didn’t get it.

Fists and fangs.  That’s all.

Spike’s lips twisted as the memory of her pressing against him flared in his brain.  Don’t forget cock, he thought bitterly.  Buffy’s showed she’s more than interested in that part of me as well.

But it wasn’t enough.  Not now.  Not after everything.

I’ll show her, he decided, letting his eyes flutter closed as the cessation of the water returned the cottage to quiet.  Let her think I’m goin’ to sleep and as soon as she’s out that door, do what I can to find out where Red is.  She’ll see then.  She’ll have to.

*************

“I think this is new,” Tara said from her seat on the couch.  She lifted her head to gaze wearily at the two men in the room, watching as Giles rose from the desk to stand behind her and look down at the book that rested in her lap.

“What is it?” he asked, leaning over for a closer look.  They had had little sleep over the last twenty-four hours in their search for some answers.  He was ready to grab onto whatever straws they could find.  “Have you found the identity of the djab yet?”

“I’m not sure, but…”  Her fingers traced over the spidery words, searching for the passage she’d just found.  “I’ve been wondering why they would take Willow to New Orleans instead of doing whatever they need to here.  So, I was looking at the different djabs, and that was when I learned that some of them are restricted to where their power can be effective.  Like they’re bound to it.”

“Yes, I remember reading that as well,” Giles agreed.  “But there are dozens of references to such places around New Orleans.  We have no way of narrowing our search parameters without more information.”

“That’s what I thought.”  She was perking up, enthusiasm for her discovery revitalizing her worn features.  “Then I started thinking about how weird Willow acted around Stella the night she disappeared.  She got so wrapped up in the singing.  And that’s when I found this.”  Holding up the book, Tara kept her fingers on the text she wanted Giles to read, waiting expectantly as he took it from her grasp.

“’…and it sang with the serpent’s voice, stupefying those who listened, until the mortals revolted and separated the tongue from the crown, destroying the power and banishing the serpent to the morass from whence it came.”  The Watcher frowned, turning the tome over to look at the title on the spine.  “Where did you find this?” he asked the young witch.

She pointed to a nearby pile.  “It was one of the books Anya said she’d looked at.”

From his seat on the floor, Xander sighed, leaning back on his hands in exhaustion.  “Have I mentioned recently how sorry I am I couldn’t find her?” he said.  “I don’t know what’s going on.  I mean, I know she and Willow have never been best friends, but it still doesn’t explain why she’d deliberately try to hide this stuff from us.”

“She acted scared,” Tara commented. 

“And Anya is not exactly known for remaining stalwart in the face of what she fears,” Giles added distractedly.  He was scanning the text, walking over to the desk as he did so.  “This morass the tale refers to is located outside of the city’s limits.  I’ll ring Buffy and tell her about it so that she can look into it further.  Perhaps they will have discovered something else that will aid us in our research.”

“Does anybody care to fill the non-college student on what exactly this morass is?” Xander asked.  “Because to these vocabulary-challenged ears, well…you really don’t want to know where my mind is going with that one.”

“A morass is a swamp, an area of soggy ground,” the Watcher explained.

“Well, this just gets better and better,” the young man grumbled.  “Vodou demons.  Swampy serpents.  Buff’s going to love hearing about this one.”  In spite of his jocular demeanor, Xander was blaming himself for the shambles everything seemed at the moment.  Anya was gone, and he hadn’t been able to find her.  Willow was gone, and each day that passed made the odds of finding her even worse.  And Buffy was gone, on the other side of the country with the bleached wonder, probably running around in circles, all because they couldn’t give her anything more concrete than “vodou.”  Which brought him back to Anya.

The young man sighed.  What he wouldn’t give to know what was going through his girlfriend’s head at that exact minute.  Why did she feel like she had to hide from him?

*************

With a firm blow, Anya scattered the ash from the palm of her hand and watched it settle within the circle she’d inscribed on the floor, standing back to watch as the sharp clap cleaved the air, followed immediately by the brilliant flash of light announcing the arrival.  She folded her arms across her chest and stared back at the surprised face of Halfrek smiling back at her.

“Anyanka!” the vengeance demon exclaimed, taking a step forward.  “This is a---.”  She stopped, halted by the invisible barrier provided by the circle, her smile immediately vanishing.  “What is this?” she demanded.  “You’re containing me?”

“I’m keeping you from going off in a cloud of smoke before I get some answers,” Anya replied grimly.

She kept her face impassive.  “Oh?  Answers to what?” Halfrek queried nonchalantly, her hand straying to her neck to play with her pendant.

“Look.”  Anya held up a warning finger.  “Now is not the time to fuck with me.  I’ve been hiding out from my boyfriend for the last twenty-four hours, I’m tired, I’m hungry, and to top it all off, I’m PMS-ing like there’s no tomorrow.  So, no more games, Hallie.  No more cryptic warnings.  Answers.  Friend to friend.”

“I was of the opinion friends don’t cast containment spells to keep them from leaving.  Is that something you’ve learned from being human?”

“Friends also don’t pop up out of nowhere with fake forewarnings of doom when they haven’t bothered to keep in touch for the past year.”

“I told you.  I’ve been busy.  And it wasn’t fake---.”

“Can it.  I’m tired of excuses, and explanations, and having to hide out from my favorite orgasm partner.”  Sighing, she leaned against the table behind her, gaze firm as she stared at her ex-friend.  “Now.  I’m going to ask you one question.  You answer it truthfully, I’ll let you go.  If you don’t, I’ll make you sit in there until the cows come home.  Got it?”

Reluctantly, Halfrek nodded.

“This mess in New Orleans.  The one you tried making me steer clear of.  Does this have anything to do with the voix mortelle?”

The tension was thick between the two women as they surveyed each other, neither of them willing to look away for fear of appearing weak.  Finally, Halfrek sighed.

“It’s got everything to do with it,” she admitted, resignedly.  “And D’Hoffryn is going to kill me for telling you that…”

*************

Suspecting what the hullabaloo was about was one thing.  Hearing it with her own ears was something else entirely.

As soon as the admission came from Halfrek’s lips, Anya visibly deflated, her shoulders slumping.  “Crap, crap, crap,” she muttered, shaking her head.  “Why do I always have to be right about these things?”

“I don’t see why you’re having a problem with this,” Halfrek said, casually inspecting her nails.  “Doesn’t knowing what this is all about just make it more of a good idea to stay away from it all?”

“Normally, my answer to that would be a resounding yes.”  The ex-demon sighed.  “But normally, Xander isn’t having his heart ripped out of his chest all because of some stupid apocalyptic artifact.”

Her friend wrinkled her nose, waving an elegant hand in dismissal.  “It’s hardly apocalyptic, Anyanka.  Inauspicious perhaps, especially for the local residents, but certainly not the end of the world.”  The look on her face was condescending.  “Really, being around these humans is turning you into a veritable doomsayer.  There would’ve been a time you would’ve guaranteed yourself a ringside seat, just to enjoy the mayhem.”

“I was there the last time, remember?  You were the one who skipped out on all the festivities.”

“If memory serves, you were also the one who stopped them.”  Her tongue tutted in admonishment.  “D’Hoffryn was not exactly pleased about that.  He complained about that for a decade.”

Anya rose from where she was leaning against the table and began pacing the length of the small room, one nail almost constantly in her mouth as she chewed it away in nervousness.  “The girl made a wish!  I didn’t have a choice in the matter.  And it’s not like I destroyed it.  Although, you know, if I’d known that in a hundred or so years, I’d be human and potentially on the wrong end of the damn thing, I would’ve just turned it into a huge pile of goo and told D’Hoffryn to go screw himself.”

Halfrek watched as the smaller girl prowled around the room, her large eyes wary.  “The question remains, Anyanka.  Now that you know…what are you going to do?”

It was what she’d been asking herself.  She knew what she wanted to do.  The problem was, every time she considered her actions, Xander’s face rose before her mind’s eye, giving her the puppy dog eyes that said to her louder than words, “I’m so disappointed in you.”  It’s not fair, she grumbled, her face screwed up in frustrated anger.  This shouldn’t be that big a deal.

“Crap,” she muttered again, kicking helplessly at the table leg as she stopped before it.  Slim fingers drummed along the wooden top, before she sighed in disgust and grabbed her bag from its surface.  “Don’t let anyone ever tell you that having a conscience is a good thing,” Anya warned the bound demon as she marched past her toward the door.  “Because trust me.  It really bites the big one.”

The sound of Halfrek pointedly clearing her throat stopped her.  “And did you forget something here?  Or maybe, someone?” Hallie called, her tone cold with annoyance.

Anya didn’t even answer.  Instead, she just pivoted on her heel, tramped the few steps to the edge of the circle, and kicked over one of the candles that lined the inscription.  The flash of the vengeance demon disappearing forced another weary sigh from her throat.  “Tell D’Hoffryn I said hi,” she said to the now-empty space.  “And thanks for nothing.”

*************

There was no mistaking the bounce in her step as Buffy rounded the corner of the block, the sprawling shape of the bus station beckoning to her from across the street.  This must be afterglow, she thought cheerily, darting through the traffic.  Spike and afterglow.  Who’d’ve thunk it?

The brief interval that morning when she’d doubted his feelings regarding what had happened between them had shaken her more deeply than she wanted to admit.  She’d never really experienced anything before that could remotely compare to the happenings on the piano bench and the chat that accompanied it; the sudden fear that it would be a one-time occurrence had left a void in the pit of her stomach.  Spike had this uncanny knack for not allowing her to hide from herself, forcing her to confront her feelings even when she didn’t want to, and though she personally found it more terrifying than having to face even the scariest of demons, the exhilaration that followed afterward was more than worth it.  For the first time in forever, she had woken with a sense of wholeness, a sense she knew she could only attribute to him.  There was no way she was ready to lose that just yet.

As she pushed open the doors of the station, Buffy was greeted with a blast of humid air and grimaced, feeling her tank top cling stickily to her back, a fine film of sweat beading on her upper lip.  Air conditioning must be out, she thought, blowing up at her forehead to loosen her hair, aiming herself toward the arrival screens.  It’s gotta suck to be working here today.

It took standing before the monitors for almost five minutes, scanning over the green type, before the edge of her mood began lessening, her face settling into a frown as her gaze lowered.  Two steps took her to an empty customer service window, and she tapped on the glass to get the clerk’s attention.

“Can I help you?” the clerk asked, setting aside the Glamour magazine she’d been reading.

“Can you tell me what time the bus from Sunnydale gets in?” she queried.  “I thought it was scheduled for some time around eleven.”  She waited, glancing around the nearly empty waiting room, as the attendant tapped a few keys on the computer.  There must be some master blueprint they make bus stations from, Buffy thought distractedly.  They all look the same, no matter what part of the country you’re in.

“Sunnydale, you said?”

“Yeah.  California.”

“That got in early.”

Buffy felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.  “How early?”

“Four-fifteen this morning.”

The time hit the Slayer like a sledge, and she thanked the clerk distractedly as she stepped away from the counter.  Four-fifteen.  Seven hours ago.  That would be right about the time she and Spike had been…

Her mouth went dry.  While she’d been busy playing sex games with Spike, Stella had been arriving in New Orleans early, getting away from them yet again, sneaking off to do whatever vodou mysticism she had planned for Willow.  And Buffy hadn’t caught her in time.

Though reason told her she had no way of knowing it would happen, the Slayer couldn’t help the chagrin that rose in her throat, burning away its lining as her good mood vanished, to be replaced by anger, directed both at herself and at the singer.  What the hell was I thinking? she admonished herself.  Willow’s more important than a fling with a vampire.  I should’ve known better.  I should’ve been here.  I should’ve---.

She was back at the window in a flash.  “Excuse me,” she said, getting the attendant’s attention again.  “Is the driver of the Sunnydale bus still around?  Or anyone who might’ve seen the passengers get off?”

“No, Ralph’s already left for the day.”  At Buffy’s crestfallen face, the clerk added, “But I think Clyde’s still around.  He was the janitor on duty last night.  I think he’s still talking to the police about that woman who got attacked.”

She had already half-turned away when the attendant mentioned the attack, and froze, sliding her gaze back.  “Attack?  There was an attack here this morning?”

“Yeah.  It made a real mess out by the bathrooms.  There was blood everywhere.  Clyde’s been complaining all morning because nobody will let him clean it up.”  The clerk gestured toward the double doors that led to the bus bays.  “They’re all out there.”

Buffy thanked him and practically ran through the doors, pulling the sketch of Stella from her purse as she did so.  Anything associated with blood was never good in her experience; she only hoped that the singer wasn’t the casualty.  Or if she was, that she was at least still alive so that Buffy could get some answers from her.

The police were just walking away, leaving behind a portly man dressed uncomfortably in a pair of gray coveralls.  Sweat was dripping down his nearly bald head, and he was mopping at it with a stained handkerchief when the Slayer approached him.

“Hi,” she said with her brightest, you-can-trust-me smile.  “You must be Clyde.”

“I must be,” he replied, “unless you’re another cop, in which case I’m not.”  Holding out the hanky to his side, he balled it into a meaty fist and squeezed, wringing the fluid from it so that it dripped onto the cement, then used it again blow his nose.

Buffy’s grin faded slightly, and she lowered her eyes to draw attention to the drawing in her hand.  “No, not a cop.  I was hoping you could tell me if you saw this person this morning.  She came in on the Sunnydale bus.”

He barely gave the picture a glance before shaking his head.  “Nah, don’t know her.  Didn’t see any of the passengers, actually.  I was out back emptying the trash when the bus got in.  Well, except for the woman who got attacked.  Her, I saw.”  He stuffed his handkerchief into his pocket.  “Just wish they’d let me clean the mess up.  Nothing I hate more than things being unsanitary.”

Thinking of the scrap of cloth he’d just used for his various bodily fluids, Buffy couldn’t help the fleeing somehow I doubt that from skittering across her brain.  Out loud, she said, “So lots of blood, huh?”

Clyde nodded.  “I don’t know what they thought they were doing.  They wanted to slit her throat, they should’ve just done it.  The lady’s going to have a nasty scar on her neck now, I’ll bet you.  Real shame, too, on account I don’t think they’ll ever catch the guy who did it.”

If she’d had any doubt that it was a vamp attack, it was now dispelled with his mention of the woman’s injury.  “Why’s that?” she asked, folding her picture back up to tuck back into her purse.

“Because he was as normal looking as they come.  Average height, average weight, average everything.  Now, if they do the smart thing and look for the woman who was with him, then, maybe, they might stand a chance.  She stands out in a crowd.”

“Oh?  How?”

“Well, by being about seven feet tall, for one thing.  She’s probably a model or something, but what a looker like that is doing hanging around behind bus stations in the middle of the night is beyond me.”

She was tempted to ask if the woman was blonde, but somehow, Buffy already suspected what his answer was going to be.  Vampire attack.  Tall, gorgeous woman loitering around at the same time Stella’s bus arrived.  She had no doubt who it was, or what she was doing at the station at four in the morning.

Iris.

“Thanks anyway,” she said distractedly, not even aware of being left alone when Clyde walked away.  Something was going on between Iris and Stella; all her lies and smokescreens the previous night had been completely for her and Spike’s benefit.  She must’ve been keeping track of the schedules or had a contact here at the station to know that the singer was arriving early; it had to be the only reason she would show up. 

Something was going on tonight.  Something that the female vampire was very interested in.  Something involving a girl from California.  The reference to a girl meant it had to be Willow, but if Iris and Stella were in it together, why didn’t the vamp know that she was traveling alone?  Unless she was just a ride, there to guarantee Stella’s safety by picking her up in person.

She needed answers.  Iris had them.

Time to go see Iris.

Determinedly, Buffy strode over to the pay phone against the wall, digging around in her pockets for the scrap of paper she’d scribbled the number of the cottage on.  She was going to need back-up on this, and if anyone knew Iris, it was Spike.  Time to cut short his little beauty sleep and drag him over to the club.  Not like he’s actually going to argue about getting in a good fight before lunchtime.

She frowned when the busy signal came over the phone line, hurriedly disconnecting before looking back down at the paper.  Maybe I dialed it wrong, she thought, and punched in the number again.  Still busy.

What’s Spike doing on the phone? she wondered.  Maybe it’s Giles.  A glance at her watch reminded her how early it still was in California, but past experience told her that the time of day didn’t seem to make a difference to the Watcher when it came to research.  It could be he’s come up with something that could help them find Willow.

Except she had their best lead right at her fingertips now, and the more time she wasted, the longer Iris had to get Stella away, or hide what they were up to, or any number of other things that could screw this up for Buffy.  Better to do it now.  Without Spike unfortunately.  Not with the cottage in the opposite direction of the club.  She’d just have to promise him first swing in the next fight they got into.

*************

They stood outside the closed door, golden eyes flashing in the dim light, fangs bared as they squared off with each other.

“I’m not waking her up!  You do it!”

“I’m not doing it!  You do it!”

“She likes you more than she likes me.  You do it.”

“Are you kidding?  She’s still pissed that I broke that black chick’s rib.  You do it.”

“No way.  That Spike stomped a mudhole in my ass last night.  I’m not about to let Iris finish the job, just because I disturbed her beauty sleep.”

“Maybe we should go get that black chick to wake her up.  She won’t kill her.  She needs her for---.”

“And maybe…,” Iris growled, whipping the door open to stare at the two minions in undisguised fury, her black negligee swirling around her long legs.  “…I’ll just kill all of you and start myself a new group of minions.  Ones that know better than to wake me up in the middle of the morning.”

The two male vampires shrunk back at her verbal onslaught, pressing themselves into the wall opposite her bedroom door.  This was exactly why they hadn’t wanted to do this in the first place.  Iris may have been scary when she was wide awake, but roused from her daily rest, she turned into the she-bitch from hell.  It didn’t matter how good the reason.

A long moment passed, and Iris let her gameface slide away, folding her arms across her chest as she glared at the two demons.  “I’m up now,” she said coldly.  “What’s so damn important that you risked life and limb to do it?”

After a quick glance between them, the vamp who’d held Stella still at the station spoke up.  “It’s Spike’s girlfriend,” he said.

Mention of Buffy immediately stilled Iris’ tapping foot, and her eyes narrowed.  “What about her?”

“She showed up at the station like you said she might.  Jimmy called in from there to say she just left.  It looked like she was heading over to the club.”

“She’s on her way to Midnight?” 

“That’s what Jimmy said.  He’s been tailing her since she and Spike left last night, just like you asked.”

“And she’s alone?”

“Yeah.  Spike’s still at the house Pablo set them up in.”

She was quiet for what seemed an eternity, eyes contemplative as they focused on the empty space between her and the two vamps.  This was exactly why she didn’t reside full-time at the club; it was much safer to have a separate place where she could disappear to when the need arose.  At the moment, the singer was sleeping away in one of the spare rooms of the sprawling mansion Iris called home, having already been tended to by the doctor, so Iris had no fear of her being caught.  Her true fear rested in the procedures that evening getting interrupted, and this Slayer was looking just a little too resourceful for her own good.

“I want Pablo here in ten minutes,” she said firmly.  Her lips spread in a cruel smile.  “And in the meantime, get me Chief Thibaut on the phone.  I think I need to report a crime.”

*************

If asked, Spike would’ve had to claim to being quite chuffed with himself at the moment, replacing the phone back on its cradle and stretching himself out on the bed.  After an hour of talking with half a dozen old cronies, he had all his chips lined up in getting the information they needed about Iris’ little shindig that night.  Now, he just had to sit back and wait for them to come rolling in.

His anger toward Buffy had dissipated in light of his surprising glee at being able to one-up her on information gathering.  Show her, he thought, satisfied.  Thinks she’s such a bigshot.  This’ll prove to her once and for all I can be just as big and just as much of a shot.  She’ll have to appreciate me for real reasons after this.  All of me.

The faint sound of pounding at the front door brought him to his feet, and Spike frowned as he went to answer it.  Probably forgot her keys, he thought, and then grinned at the sudden image of Buffy standing on its other side, small fist working away at the wood, face screwed up in annoyance because she was locked out.  See?  She does need me to do her thinking.  Can’t even remember her soddin’ keys.

The door had only opened a crack, with his body safely behind it to avoid the streaming sunlight, when a force from outside propelled it forward, shoving the heavy wood into Spike’s gut and thrusting him against the wall with a muffled grunt.

“Spike!” Pablo called out as he rushed past him.

“Right here, mate,” the vampire growled, kicking the door closed.  He glared at his guest.  “I know this is your place and all, but this storming in thing’s got to stop while we’re staying here.  It’s gettin’ dangerous.”

The scaled demon ignored the admonition and whirled on his heel to look at the partially clothes vamp.  “Get dressed,” he ordered.  “We need to get going.”

“Oh?”  Spike cocked his scarred eyebrow.  “If it’s a fire you’re rushing me off to, hate to tell you, but I gave those up in favor of a longer life.  Survival instincts, you know.”

“Well, that longer life is going to be all on your lonesome if you don’t come with me right now,” Pablo said.  He held his hands up in surrender.  “But, hey, she’s your girlfriend.  Maybe she won’t be too pissed you let her rot in jail.  Because women are just so understanding about that sort of thing.”

The amusement vanished from Spike’s face as he launched himself at the other demon, strong hand wrapping around his skinny neck to thrust Pablo against the wall.  “What’s this about Buffy and jail?” he said, flashes of gold buried in the blue of his eyes. 

Pablo scrabbled at the vise now blocking off his breathing, fingers clawing ineffectively at Spike’s hand.  “She broke into Iris’ club just a few minutes ago and set off the alarms,” he whined through his gasps for air.  “Except she doesn’t know it.  And at this exact moment, there’s a whole bevy of cops on their way over to arrest her for breaking and entering.  We go now, you can get her out of there before they show up.”  When the sudden release from Spike’s hold dropped him sliding down the wall, he choked, pink eyes flickering over the vamp’s bare torso.  “You might want to cover up before we go though.  I don’t think you’d last long enough like that to risk a sunburn dressed like that.”

He was halfway to the bedroom before the question popped into his head.  “How exactly do you know all this?” Spike asked suspiciously, stopping in the middle of the living room to look back at Pablo through narrowed eyes.

“I thought it might be a good idea to keep a lookout for you guys after what happened last night,” the demon confessed.  If he could’ve blushed, he would’ve.  As it was, his gaze ducked, avoiding looking at his friend directly  “I had someone ready to follow you around in case you left.  I still have to live in this town after you leave, you know.”  He frowned.  “Why would your girlfriend go to the bus station?  You don’t think she’s planning on leaving you, do you?”

The explanation satisfied him, and he continued his march to the bedroom.  “No,” he replied firmly.  “I’m not letting her go anywhere.”

*************

With a heavy sigh, Giles replaced the phone back on its cradle, eyes dark behind his spectacles.

“Still busy?” Xander asked from the couch.

“No,” the Watcher replied.  “Now there’s not an answer at all.”

“Maybe they stepped out or something,” the younger man offered.  “Don’t worry.  Buff will be back.  Could be she’s already found Willow.”

“Yes,” Giles murmured, though he sincerely doubted the veracity of Xander’s claim.  A knock at the front door jerked him from his reverie and he strode the few feet to answer it.

On the other side, Anya affected a bright smile as soon as she was revealed, holding up the brightly colored box in her right hand.  “I come bearing donuts,” she announced, but when she saw Xander rise to his feet in the depths of the room, shoving his hands deep inside his pants pockets instead of coming up to greet her, her grin faded. 

“And information,” she added, not so helpfully, eyes darting between the disapproving faces of the two men.  “I can’t tell you why Willow’s gone, or what a half-baked witch with a lion’s share of insecurity issues has got to do with any of this mess, but I can at least fill you in on some of the details you’re missing.”

“And you couldn’t have done this yesterday?” Xander asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

“I wasn’t sure yesterday,” she complained.  “I had my suspicions, but…Look.  I’m here now.  Shouldn’t that count for something?  I should get credit for that at least.”

“We’ll see.”  Giles stepped away from the door, holding it open to allow her entrance.  His mouth was grim as she swept past.  “We’ll see.”

*************

It almost seemed too easy.  The club was deserted---well, it was deserted now that she’d staked the lone vampire who seemed to be guarding the place---and Buffy had broken the knob on the back door in order to let herself inside.  Though her Slayer senses told her right away that Iris wasn’t around, a situation she suspected meant that Stella wasn’t around either, this seemed like the perfect opportunity to see what she might be able to dig up on the vampire.  Maybe she had something in the bordello of doom that might tell Buffy what exactly was going on.

The scent of Iris’ perfume hung heavy in the air as Buffy slipped inside, leaving the door slightly ajar so that she could make a quick exit should the need arise.  Her nose wrinkled in distaste.  Eau de Slut, she thought petulantly.  Must’ve had a killer sale at Tramps ‘R Us. 

She knew she was being petty, but at the moment, the young blonde just didn’t care.  It wasn’t like Spike was there to scold her or anything.

She started with the liquor cabinet, quickly going through its contents before moving on to the rolltop desk.  Everything was neatly arranged, and while she found plenty of stuff regarding the running of Midnight, nothing seemed to hint at vodou, or Stella, or even Willow.  Just ledgers with long columns of numbers that looking at gave her a headache, and various notes directed toward the staff about policies and procedures.

“Now if I were an evil plot, where would I be hiding?” Buffy mused as she stood in the middle of the room and looked around.

“Not in the bloody living room, I can tell you that,” sniped Spike from the doorway.

Her hair flew around her in a cloud as she whirled to see him leaning against the doorjamb, his thumbs hooked through his beltloops.  “What’re you doing here?” she hissed, as if she feared someone could hear her.

“Saving your ass,” he replied, and straightened, taking a step toward her.  “Let’s get out of here.”

“I haven’t finished looking around yet,” she said with a frown.  “And what makes you think my ass needs saving?”

“Because you tripped about a dozen alarms breaking into this place.  As we stand here wastin’ time talking about it, New Orleans’ not-so-finest are about to descend on you for your little b-and-e here.  Now, let’s move it.  Pablo’s got the motor running.”

His hand curled around her elbow to guide her out of the room, but Buffy yanked herself away, staring at him questioningly.  “Pablo?  How did he know where I was?”

Spike rolled his eyes.  “Can we have this discussion after we’re free and clear?  Time and essence and all that rot, you know.”

“But she’s got Stella.  She picked her up at the bus station.”

“And neither of ‘em are here, so let’s move it!”  His voice was rising in anger, his hand curling into a frustrated fist at his side.  If it wasn’t for the chip, he would’ve just clocked her one and carried her out, then worried about the consequences after.  Of course, if he didn’t have the soddin’ chip, he wouldn’t have come to New Orleans in the first place, so the entire issue was moot anyway.

He was surprised to hear her agree.  “Fine,” Buffy said, brushing past him.  Blue eyes watched her back in curiosity, widening further when she paused in the doorway and glanced back.  “And thanks,” she added softly.

His ire immediately faded.  Damn.  Was there ever going to be a day when he didn’t turn into a poofter when she looked at him like that?

*************

When she stepped into the sunshine, Buffy stopped, brow furrowed as she scanned the empty alley.  “I thought you said Pablo was waiting,” she said.

From his vantage point on the shadowed side of the door, Spike did his best to search the space where he’d been dropped off, his blanket dangling from his hand.  “He was s’posed to wait,” he said.  “Maybe he had to drive around the block or something.  Give him a second.”

The screeching of tires predicated four police cars pouring into the end of the alley, effectively blocking it off as a means of exit.  Buffy’s lips tightened.  “We don’t have a second,” she said as she turned and grabbed his arm, ready to lead him back down the hall from which they’d come.  “Come on.”

They didn’t make it five feet.  From around a corner in the interior corridor, a trio of beefy cops appeared, all of them bearing weapons, one of which was a very deadly looking crossbow.

The two blonds skidded to a halt, heads swiveling to see a group of similarly armed men materialize in the alley exit.  “Something tells me we’ve been set up,” Buffy murmured, body tensing as it prepared to fight.

“Remind me to kill Pablo when we get out of here,” Spike said as he dropped his blanket.

“Freeze!” barked the nearest of the officers.  “Hands in the air!” 

“Do cops really say that?” the Slayer asked the vamp at her side.  “I thought that only happened on TV.”

He shrugged.  “Looks like these do.”

“I said, hands in the air!”  The order’s repetition was accompanied by an audible click as someone in the doorway released the safety on his gun…