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

“I think it’s a Y.”

“Are you kidding?  That’s clearly an X.”

“An X?  How many words have X’s in them?  I’m telling you it’s a Y.  You forget.  We used to pass notes in class.  I’ve seen her Y’s a billion times.  And that’s most definitely a Y.”

“All I’m saying is that I got just as many notes as you did, so I am intimately aware of what Willow’s X’s look like.”  He bridled when Tara glanced up from where she was sitting cross-legged on the floor, the book in her lap momentarily forgotten.  “Not that kind of intimately,” Xander quickly backpeddled.  “I meant, intimately as in very.”

“I still think it’s a Y.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s a bloody rune!” Spike exploded.  Simultaneously, Buffy and Xander turned in their seats at the lone desk in the hotel room to look at the vampire sprawled in the chair.  “You haven’t got a single word from that note to make a lick of sense, so why sit around and fuss about one soddin’ letter?” he went on to say.  “Call it a wash, toss it away, and let’s do something about it before something else happens to cock everything up.”

The group sat in stunned silence at his outburst, Giles stopping in mid-pace to scrutinize him carefully.  “I believe Spike’s right,” he said slowly.

“’Course I’m right,” he grumbled, slouching further into his chair.  “And it’s about bloody time you realized that.”

“Clearly, we’re not going to decipher any more of Willow’s note,” he continued, ignoring the interruption.  “What’s important here, is now we know Willow is at least partially in control of her faculties.  She must be, in order to sign her own name.”

“But that wasn’t Willow in the swamp,” Buffy argued.  “She called herself Sandrine.  Even Spike knew it wasn’t her.”

“Think I was the one who told you first,” the vamp mumbled, and rolled his eyes when she shot him a pointed look.  The lot of them had been arguing for the better part of an hour, ever since their arrival from their failed recon, only stopping long enough for each of the trio to take a quick shower.  He’d ignored it at first, lost in his own thoughts, actually welcoming the respite to mull over his own course over the next few hours, but as it became increasingly clear that they were accomplishing nothing, his nerves began to fray.  Too much talking and not enough doing. 

Fidgeting had been inevitable, nudging at Tara’s book on the floor with the toe of his boot so that her pages would flip, dropping bits of cellophane from his pack of cigarettes onto what she was reading.  She’d given him more than one annoyed but amused look, but hadn’t moved from her position near his legs, settling for replacing the book in her lap so that he couldn’t reach it and slapping playfully at his knees when it looked like he was moving again.  Even that had lost its interest, though, and so his outburst had been pretty much inescapable.

“Perhaps Sandrine doesn’t have total control,” Giles suggested.  “Perhaps, Willow has discovered a way to regain some power.”

“But a note to Freddie?”  This came from Tara, her voice soft in its confusion.  “Why would she want to talk to him when he’s the reason she’s here in the first place?”

“I don’t know,” the Watcher admitted.  “That…remains a mystery.”

Silence descended again as they considered their options.  This time it was Xander who broke it.

“So, Chips Ahoy, you seem to be all about the ideas on what we should and shouldn’t be doing,” the brunette said, swiveling in his chair to face Spike.  “What is it you think should be next on the itinerary?”

He didn’t have a clue.  He’d just wanted them to stop nattering on so that he could have a few moments of peace.  No way was he going to give Harris the satisfaction of knowing that, though.  For a moment, Spike entertained the daydream of demonstrating for the young man just how gone the chip really was by giving him a matching black eye to go with the shiner he’d gotten in the sewers, but just as quickly, dismissed it.  Would be pleasant, but not worth the hassle.  Still, he had to come up with something.  They were all sitting there, looking at him, waiting for him to speak up.

“S’pose it’s safe to wager Red’s not at Midnight since that’s where you say the goon squad with the note was headed,” he said speculatively.

“Oh!  But Freddie probably is!”  Buffy visibly brightened, perking up in her seat as the connection finally made it in her brain.  She immediately deflated again.  “Or…was,” she added with a small frown.

“Then you should’ve thought of that before you scarpered off,” Spike replied with a cock of his brow.  “’Sides, goin’ into that place was daft, and you know it.”

“Thank you!” Xander exploded.  “It’s so nice to know I’m not the only one around here who thought that plan was suicide.  Even if it does mean having to agree with Bleach Boy here.”

“Great,” the vamp muttered.  “Me and Harris as the voices of reason in this lot?  Red’s doomed.”

“You still haven’t told us what your suggestion is, Spike,” Giles prompted.

Damn.  They’d picked up on that.

“Well,” he said, stalling.  His mind raced, the fragments of a thought lighting on his tongue.  “I’d say, we need to suss out where that Sandrine bitch is---.”

“No?  Really?”  Xander feigned shock, as if the idea was something none of them had considered.

Tara’s glance at the brunette was just shy of reproach, and she twisted to face Spike.  “But we tried that already, remember?” she said.  “My spell didn’t work.  Every time it looked like I was getting somewhere, a big block would come up and scatter my spell.  She’s doing an excellent job of shielding herself.”

“So, don’t go looking specifically for her.  Look for someone around her.  What about Iris?”

She shook her head.  “I don’t have anything of hers to focus on.”

“So try a more generic spell.  Something for the demon set.”

Tara poked at his leg.  “I think this heat has melted your brain, Spike.  We’re in New Orleans.  I cast a spell to locate demons and it’ll set my whole map on fire.”

As he chuckled at the small joke, Spike caught the puzzled frown on Buffy’s face as she glanced from him to the witch.  She didn’t know what to make of the newfound camaraderie that had seemed to sprung up from nowhere between them, he realized, and felt a twinge of satisfaction.  It wasn’t often he enjoyed equal footing within the Scooby dynamic; this most certainly was a welcome change.

“The note,” Giles said abruptly, straightening as he put his glasses back on.  At everyone’s confused faces, he said, “It’s been touched by both Willow and the vampires she had acting as courier.  Perhaps we could modify the locator spell to instead focus on the path the note followed prior to our intercepting it.”

“Make it act like a homing device, you mean?” Xander asked.

“In a sense.”

Tara was shaking her head as soon as he made the suggestion.  “I’ll have the same problem I had trying to find Sandrine,” she said.  “As soon as I get anywhere near her, I’ll lose the spell.  She’s way too good.”

“We haven’t tried a locator spell on Anya yet,” Buffy offered. 

“Actually, we have,” Spike said.  “While you lot were out gettin’ your sewer groove on, we had a go at it.  Didn’t work.”

“Well, that’s not entirely true,” Tara amended.  “It started to work, and then it looked like she was moving, and then it just kind of fizzled out like my spell for Sandrine did.”

“That would suggest she was relocated to somewhere in Sandrine’s proximity,” Giles mused.

“Which takes us back to square one,” Xander complained.  “Find Sandrine.”

“Perhaps we’re approaching this in the wrong manner,” the Watcher said.  “It’s obvious magic isn’t going to help us at this point, not until we can find some way to neutralize or overcome what Sandrine can do.  Perhaps we should resort to doing it the old-fashioned way.”  He looked at Spike.  “Didn’t you use your local contacts to get to Iris in the first place?”

The vampire’s eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out where the other Englishman was going with this.  “Yeah…”

“And with Willow using vampires as couriers, it would probably be safe to assume her alliance with Iris is keeping her in close contact with her.  Couldn’t you use those same contacts to discover where Iris is during the day?  Outside of her club, of course.”

Spike shook his head.  “I used Pablo for that,” he said.  “And he’s officially crossed off my snitch list.”

“Well…uncross him.”

“We can’t.”  This came from Buffy.  “He kind of had a little accident with a piano.  And my fists.”

“And my cigarette,” Spike interjected.  “Don’t forget that.”

“And Spike’s cigarette,” Buffy added.  “Pablo’s definitely a no-go.”

“Are you telling me you only had one contact in this entire town?”

“Hey!”  Spike sat up and glared at the Watcher.  “I’ll have you know, I’ve got a literal bevy of contacts here.  I’m not goin’ to sit here and listen to you sully my bad name---.”

“So, call one of them.  I’m sure someone must be able to tell us what we need to know.”

He was caught, and he knew it.  As he scowled at Giles, Spike silently fumed for having fallen so cleanly into the Watcher’s plan.  How is it I’m the one who always seems to be saving their tails? he groused.  Where would they be without me?

“Fine,” he muttered, stomping to his feet.  Stepping over Tara, he grabbed his blanket and began heading for the door.

“Where are you going?” Buffy asked.

He stopped with his hand on the doorknob.  “If you think I’m goin’ to make those calls here with you lot staring at me,” he said, “you’re off your nut.  ‘Sides, I’m peckish and all the blood’s back in our room.  I’ll be back once I’ve found something out.”

Tossing the blanket over his head, he was about to yank the door open when Buffy’s hand closed over his on the knob.  “I’ll come with you,” she said when he glanced back at her.  She smiled, and then said to the others in explanation, “Just to keep an eye on him.  Make sure he actually makes the phone calls instead of just hanging out long enough to make it look like he did.”

They seemed to accept her reasoning, and the two blonds stepped outside, Spike nearest the wall to avoid the sunshine that filtered in through the overhang while Buffy walked along beside him.  She was silent until they reached their room, and he felt his irritation ease, her presence soothing his disjointed thoughts.  It was just a couple calls.  Nothing to be wasting time or energy complaining about.  And if it helped Red and Tara, then so be it.  He wasn’t sure why the Slayer had insisted on tagging along, though.  She of all people should trust in him to help out in this.

Back in their room, Spike dropped the smoking blanket by the door, and was about to go to the phone when her hand settled on his forearm.

“What’s going on?” Buffy asked.  She was chewing at her lip, the tiniest of lines between her eyebrows, and Spike tilted his head as he regarded her.

“Thought I was doin’ my good deed for the day, pet,” he said.  “Unless you’ve got something else in mind.”

“No.  I meant…what’s going on with you and Tara.  You’re all…buddy buddy.”

He grinned.  Ah.  Now it made sense.  “And that bothers you?  Thought we talked about that little green chip sittin’ on your shoulder, luv.”

“I’m not jealous.  It’s just…where did it come from?”

“Well, considering she spent half of yesterday playin’ nursemaid for me, and then you foisted me off on her again this morning, don’t see why you’re so surprised we might’ve actually gotten along.”

“You do know she’s a lesbian, right?”

This was just getting too rich for words, and Spike had to refrain from laughing out loud.  “Do you know she’s a lesbian?” he countered.

“That’s not the point.”

“No, the point is, you’re goin’ to have to realize that there are a lot of birds out there who might find me interestin’ to talk to, pet.  And that I might find interestin’ back.  But it doesn’t mean I feel any differently about you.  Or us.”  He reached out, cupping the side of her face, long fingers intertwining with the hair at the base of her skull.  “Isn’t it better like this anyway?” 

“How do you mean?”

His blue eyes softened, and he leaned forward, catching her lips in the lightest of kisses before pulling back again. “Me gettin’ along with your mates makes them finding out about us easier, and that Tara’s a bit of all right.”  He stopped, considering for a moment, and then decided what the hell.  “You know she knows about us, right?  She sussed on to it and asked me about it this morning.”

Buffy’s eyes widened.  “How?  I thought we were being so good about not letting anything show.”

He shrugged.  “She’s a lot smarter than you think.  Not such a country mouse, that one.  She certainly surprised the hell out of me.”

“Is she…going to tell?”

Flashes of his conversation with Tara caused Spike to pause.  Tell.  As in the chip.  He needed to get it out of the way, and now, being here alone with Buffy, it was just as good an opportunity as ever.  Except for the fact that Anya was still missing and the little Scooby gang seemed to think they were under some kind of deadline to get her back.  Get this out of the way, and then I’ll tell her, he decided.  When she’s not distracted by something else.  It’ll make it easier for her to take in that way.  Sooner didn’t have to mean now, after all.

“She promised not to,” he said out loud.  “Said…it was our story to tell.”

She seemed relieved with this answer, and relaxed into his touch, stealing her arms around his waist to hold him tight.  “I’ll do it tonight,” she promised.  "Over dinner.  Xander with food in his stomach is much easier to control than Xander without.”

He smiled, brushing lips across the top of her head.  And he could tell her about the chip after.  Make it a whole night of confessions.  Yeah.  That sounded like a definite plan.

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

“Do you think that’s such a good idea?”  Iris had her arms folded across her chest, ignoring the doubled-over form of Anya on the floor in front of her, as she stared down at Sandrine.  Briefly, her gaze flickered to Freddie hovering in the corner of the room.  “The boy’s an idiot.  You should really get rid of him.”

“He got Anyanka here, didn’t he?”  Lounging into the cushions of the vampire’s couch, her leg bounced where they were crossed, green eyes watching as Anya managed to rise to her knees.  With a quick flick of her foot, she shoved at the ex-demon’s shoulder, knocking her sideways against the cairn they had used for the spell, and smiled when the girl cried out as her forehead smashed into the stones.  “Plus, he lost the Slayer when he got her away.  Score bonus points for Freddie.”

“But leaving him here alone---.”

Sandrine rolled her eyes.  “You’ve got how many guards around here?  Besides, we left him alone at Midnight and he did just fine.  Stop being a crankypants about this.”  She pointed at Anya’s prone form on the floor.  “She’s bleeding on your carpet, by the way.”

Gold flashed in Iris’ eyes as she grabbed a box of tissues from a nearby shelf and threw them at Anya.  “Clean yourself up,” she snarled.

Brown eyes glared at the other women in the room as she reached for the tissue, wiping at the blood that dripped down the side of her face.  “You should really consider investing in hardwood floors,” she said coldly.  “They’re much better on the pocketbook for when you need to clean up after all those messy magic spells that make the poor humans bleed all over the place.”

“Oh, stop whining, Anya,” Sandrine said with a scowl.  “You didn’t bleed because of the truth spell.  You bled because it was fun for me to kick you over.  Be grateful I’m in such a good mood right now.  I could’ve set you on fire like I did to Spike.”

“Well, that truth spell wasn’t exactly a bed of roses,” Anya muttered.

“It’s your own fault.  If you’d just told me where the skull was in the first place, none of this would’ve happened.  But no.  You had to be Miss Holier Than Thou and stick to your guns, which, coming from the girl who ran from high school graduation?  Hello?  Big shock there.”  Her gaze swept over the black gown.  “Betcha Buffy gets pissy because you ripped her dress.”

“You ripped it!”

“Because you wouldn’t lie still.”

“I’m sorry if I get a little squirmy when being coerced into spilling secrets I’d rather not share.”

Sandrine’s eyes narrowed.  “I think my good mood is starting to wear off,” she warned, and sat up, deliberately flexing her fingers so that Anya could see.  “Maybe a little inferno by numbers might cheer me up.”

“As much as I love having bonfires in the middle of my living room…”  Iris’ lips were curled back into a sneer, eyes glittering.  “…don’t we have a staff to be retrieving?”

“Right.”  Lazily, Sandrine rose to her feet.  “You were really dumb about hiding it, you know that, right?” she said, nudging Anya with the toe of her shoe.  “Access to thousands of dimensions and you leave it in this one?”  She clicked her tongue, shaking her head in reproval.  “Dumb with a capital D.”

“Are you coming or not?”  As the vampire strode for the door, Freddie darted out of her path, pressing into the farthest wall, completely motionless for fear of doing anything that might set either of them off.  “I’ve had a car waiting outside since your boy toy dropped the bitch off.”

“I’ll give you bitch,” Anya muttered.  When Sandrine looked down at her, however, she averted her eyes, staring at a suddenly fascinating spot on the floor beside her.

In the doorway, the redhead paused, watching Iris disappear down the hall before turning a venomous face to Freddie.  “Don’t let any of those fangfaces anywhere near her,” she ordered, indicating Anya. “I don’t know what Iris told them, but until I have the voix mortelle back in my hands in one piece, I need her to stay alive.   Anything happens to her, and I’m holding you personally responsible.”

The room was silent after she left, echoing her threats between its walls for only its occupants to hear.  “You are so dead,” Anya finally said as she managed to pull herself up into a sitting position.  Her gaze was calm as she stared at the pale young man, his eyes wide and dark, sweat beading on his brow in spite of the air conditioning that cooled the room.  “If you come out of this with any of your insides actually still on the inside, I’ll eat my hat.”

“Shut up,” he said, but there was no strength behind the command.

“Maybe you’ll get lucky and she’ll just let Iris eat you,” she mused.  “Of course, then you have to worry about being turned, and becoming a bloodsucking fiend that gets hunted down by the Slayer, but hey!  That’s not really that different from right now, is it?  Except for the fact that you’re actually still alive, that is.”

“I said, shut up.”  A little harsher this time, and Anya could see the flaring of his nostrils as his breath began to quicken.

“It doesn’t have to be this way, you know,” she said.  “Buffy found me pretty darn fast over at Midnight.  It’s probably not going to take her long to find me again.”

“Won’t matter if you’re dead, now will it?”

“But I won’t be.  You heard Sandrine.  She needs me in case her little truth spell didn’t work.”  She snorted.  “Which it did, of course.  I can’t believe I was so stupid not to just give it back to D’Hoffryn in the first place.  Then I wouldn’t even be in this mess.”

For the first time, Freddie seemed interested in something she had to say.  “Who’s D’Hoffryn?” he asked.

“My old boss.  The original owner of the voix mortelle.  The one who’d do just about anything to get it back.”

He seemed to crumple at this.  “So, he’s a demon, too, then?”

“Kingpin of the vengeance world,” she confirmed.  “So if you think dealing with a pissed off Sandrine is touchy, just wait until D’Hoffryn finds out she’s got the other half of the staff.  Nobody does vengeance like him.”

“Great,” Freddie muttered, and slid down the wall to sit on the floor, putting his head in his hands.  “Just great.”

No longer able to see him, Anya sat up, grimacing slightly as her aching body silently complained, and eased herself onto the sofa to look over its back at him.  “Whatever happened to my purse?” she asked.

The query took him by surprise, and he lifted his head to stare at her.  “What purse?” Freddie said, his voice a little too loud, a little too clear.

It was the only confirmation she needed.  “It had a phone in it.  And in its memory, is the number of the phone Xander and Giles and Buffy are using.  You could---.”

“Don’t even suggest it.”

“If you haven’t guessed by now, Sandrine is pretty much gone over the deep end.  If she actually summons Sira, she’s going to be ten times harder to beat.  Toss D’Hoffryn into the mix, and things are going to start getting ugly.  If we get out of here now, Buffy can---.”

“I said, don’t!”

Freddie’s face was flushed, his hands shaking as he rubbed at his eyes, as if that simple movement would clear his head.  He was a wreck, fear clinging to him with a ferocious tenacity that would’ve been contagious if she wasn’t already terrified out of her mind.  The only difference between them right now was that Anya was used to being fearful of her losing her life.  Living on a Hellmouth had a tendency to do that to a person.

“Buffy would protect you,” she pressed.  “Even if she didn’t like you, she’d still make sure you were safe.  You should see what she’s done for Spike, and he’s not even human.  At least…consider the option, Freddie. Getting killed by Sandrine because she decides you’re expendable?  Or, getting a lecture on how not to be evil from the Slayer but coming out of this whole mess alive?  The choice is yours.”

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

They were huddled over the map, watching as Spike drew circles around three different street blocks.  “According to my sources, she gets bored,” he said to the group.  “And she’s got enough dosh to have more than one hidey-hole around town.  These were the only three I could get confirmation on.  They’re all high-class, low-profile kind of places.” 

“If I get close enough,” Tara said, “I’m pretty sure I’d be able to tell if Sandrine was near, or had been there.  Her magic leaves a very distinctive signature.”

“I don’t want to split up to check them out,” Buffy said, shaking her head.  “I’m not risking losing anyone else.”

“We don’t have to,” Spike said.  “You three sit in the back of the Desoto and the witch sits in the front.  Weapons go in the boot.”

Giles frowned.  “Why are you driving?”

 “Because I know this town.  And because I’m not spending the afternoon under a blanket if I don’t have to.”

“But you don’t have air-conditioning,” Buffy said with a grimace.

“You’ve got your little fan---.”

“Why does Spike even have to go?” asked Xander.

“Do we need to have our talk again about Spike being a member of this team now?” the Slayer shot back.  “Besides, if it comes to a fight, I want him---.”

The muffled ringing of the phone took them all by surprise, cutting Buffy off as all heads swiveled to Xander’s pants.

He fumbled as he pulled the cell from his pocket, its ring growing louder as it cleared the fabric, and froze as he saw the number splashed across its display.  “It’s Anya,” he murmured, and broke out into a wide smile of relief as he hit the “talk” button.

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

Spike’s brow inched higher with each new addition to the bed, his amused gaze jumping from an intent Giles to Xander’s laden arms.  “And you flew here,” he observed as a third sword was laid out with its mates.

“Yes.”  Giles frowned, noticing a cracked trigger on the crossbow Xander handed to him next.  “When did this get broken?” he asked the young man.

“That would be when our sewer friend decided to introduce it to my face.”

A duffel of stakes was emptied with a clatter onto the bedspread.

Spike’s grin was spontaneous.  “And you flew here?” he repeated, folding his arms across his chest.

“I believe I already answered that question,” Giles replied.  “And what on earth are you finding so funny?”

Behind him, the door opened, and Tara and Buffy entered the hotel room, the witch carrying the pair of charms from Clara, the Slayer with another armload of weapons.  When his head swiveled to see them, Spike bark of laughter was sharp.

“How in bloody hell did you get all that through airport security?” he demanded.  “Stakes, sure.  Maybe even a small blade or something.”  He picked up the nearest sword and gave it a full swing, narrowly missing slicing the front of Xander’s shirt open.  “But these sort of things tend to draw a little attention,” he finished.

The Watcher looked uncomfortable at the query, turning his back on the vampire to keep from looking at him, busying himself with trying to fix the broken crossbow.  “There are…ways,” he said.  “I’m accustomed to traveling with quite a few…irregular items.”

“Quite a few, huh?  Looks more like a medieval arsenal, if you ask me.  C’mon, Rupes, spill.  You had to have some sort of juicy story to try and explain all this.”  A deft flick of his wrist with the blade knocked the crossbow from Giles’ unsuspecting hands, causing the Watcher to curse under his breath as he leaned over to pick it up.

 “This is hardly the time for this,” he muttered as he straightened.

“Aw, you might as well tell me,” Spike said.  He was enjoying this far too much.  What had started as a simple wonder had evolved into a gleeful malice when it became apparent the other Englishman didn’t want to share the story.  He hadn’t had a chance to wind Rupert up this much since that whole Adam debacle.  This could be fun.  “You know I’m just goin’ to bang on about this until you do,” he continued with a grin.

When he lifted the sword to pretend to jab at Giles again, Buffy stepped forward, effortlessly disarming him though her eyes were dancing playfully.  “Let it go, Spike,” she warned.  “It’s not nice to menace the wound-up Watcher.  They get a little grouchy when you do that.”

“I’m not grouchy,” Giles argued.  “I’m…intent.”

“I don’t see why he’s got such a stick up his ass about it,” Spike said.  He tilted his head as he regarded the Watcher.  “Did you tell ‘em you were planning a museum exhibit or something?  Although, that might not explain all the stakes.”  He sniffed pointedly.  “Also doesn’t explain why they reek of tannis.  Did you spill your magic supplies or something?  ‘Cause the only use I know for tannis outside of healing is for hiding something, and I know you’re not daft enough to try and pull the wool over an entire airport of prying eyes.  Not without Red around to back you up.”

Picking up one of the stakes, Spike was thoughtful as he twirled it in the air, missing the look exchanged by Giles and Tara.  “Oh!  I know,” he said.  “You’re the stakemaster for a club of tent makers, and you were bringin’ them here for your annual convent---.”

Buffy’s slap on his arm shut him up.  “I said, let it go.”

Rubbing at the spot, he feigned being in pain with a scowl.  “Right lot of fun you are, Slayer,” he groused, but stepped back anyway, dropping to sprawl in the chair, the stake twisting between his fingers.

Giles cleared his throat.  “Back to the matter at hand,” he said.  “Since Freddie was unclear as to how many guards Iris actually has around her apartment---.”

“I’ll wager a lot,” Spike interjected.  “Of the three spots I got info on, that’s the one she outright owns.  There’s probably demons galore hangin’ about.”

“We need to split up,” Buffy said.  “Two teams.  One goes in the back, one goes in the front.  Freddie said the entrance to the tunnels was off the furnace room so we have to make sure that stays covered in case they decide to sneak Anya away again.”

“The back’ll be darker ‘cause of the alley,” Spike said.  “That’ll be mine.”

“That leaves the front for me,” the Slayer said.  At the curious lift of his eyebrow, she said to the vamp, “We can’t go in together, Spike.  You and I are the strongest fighters, and since you shouldn’t run into any humans except for Anya and Freddie, you should be all right on your own.”

“I’ll go with him.”  Everyone, including Spike, looked at Tara in surprise. 

“No offense, kitten, but you’re best off not goin’ at all,” Spike said.  “Not that it thrills me to have to be saddled with Harris or Rupert, but they’ve had a bit more experience at this sort of thing than you have.”

“But Buffy said, no more leaving people alone,” Tara argued.  “And if all you’re going to be doing is guarding the back way out, I won’t really be in the middle of too much of the fighting.  Not as much as Buffy will, at least.”

“She’s got a point,” the Slayer said.  Spike watched as she struggled to overcome the initial shock at the statement, a quick nip of her bottom lip followed by a rapid nod of her head as she conceded the witch’s argument.  Their talk about his budding friendship with Tara had only superficially eased her feelings of jealousy, he could tell.  In spite of her confession to him the night before, she still wasn’t comfortable with the idea of sharing him.  Maybe because of her confession, he thought.

“Plus, I can sense Sandrine’s magic,” Tara went on.  “I’ll be able to tell if she’s on her way back so we don’t get ambushed.”

“I trust that Spike is more than capable of protecting Tara, as well,” Giles said.  “He’s certainly proven he has the…wherewithal to do so.  And weren’t you the one who was only telling me yesterday that we can trust him?”

She nodded.  “That settles it then,” she said.  “Xander, Giles, and I will go in one car to handle the front and do the rescue, while Spike and Tara will go in his heap---.”

“Clas-sic---.”

“---and cover the back and the tunnels,” she finished, ignoring the vampire’s annoyed interjection with a grin. “Time to get Operation Spring Anya on the road, I think.”

Will wonders never cease, Spike mused as he gathered his blanket from by the door and waited for Tara to finish as she tucked holy water and a stake into her over-sized purse.  He’d fully expected to get some sort of cutting down from the Watcher for his taunting about the weapons, and yet, it had never come.  Rupert had even gone so far as express his support for Spike as a contributory member of the team.  If he didn’t know better, he’d swear someone had cast some sort of spell over the other Englishman.

In some ways, it was like that night last fall, when everyone had been held fast by Red’s will-be-done mojo.  Part of the group.  Buffy loving him.  Him loving Buffy, even if he and Tara were the only ones who knew that particular part.  Wonder if Rupert would be so open-minded about it if he caught us in the middle of the same smacking he complained about last time, he wondered.  That would be an interesting theory to test, not to mention fun.

Still, he couldn’t deny the current circumstances offered the hope of something better.  Something he hadn’t achieved the first time.  This time, he wasn’t the obsequious toady sucking up to the potential daddy-in-law.  This time, if he dared to think about it, he could be his own man, holding his own within the dynamic, capable of doing anything he wanted, whether it was poke fun at Rupert or stand at the witch’s side in battle.  He wouldn’t have thought it was possible before, but seeing them all here, hearing the words that came from their mouths, the potential was too hard to resist.  It just might work out after all.

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

“You haven’t told her yet, have you?”

He hadn’t even been able to turn over the ignition before the question had popped from Tara’s mouth.  Ignoring her words, he leaned over and popped open the glove compartment, extracting the small fan.  “Here,” he said, dropping it in her lap.  “In case you get hot.”

Her fingers played with the rotary blades.  “You’re avoiding the issue, Spike,” she said. 

“It’s not like I’ve had miles of opportunity since we last spoke, you know.”  Still wasn’t going to look at her.  She would have that stubborn face he was beginning to recognize.  One she must’ve nicked off of Red.  It was easier to be evasive if he just concentrated on the road.  Or on starting the damn car in the first place.

“What about when you went back to your room to make the calls?”

“Slayer had other stuff she wanted to talk about.”

“Oh?  Like what?”

The corner of his mouth lifted, and Spike had to resist the urge to glance over.  “You.”

“Me?  What did I do?”

“You were nice to me.  She didn’t know what to make of it.”  He chuckled.  “You can relax, kitten.  All’s right in the world.  I’m planning on lettin’ her know about the chip tonight.  After she tells the rest of you lot about her and me bein’ together now.”

“Did you at least tell her you loved her?”

His silence was her only answer.

At his side, Tara sighed as he pulled the car out of the parking lot.  “You can’t have a good reason not to tell her that,” she scolded.  “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

“Hardly.  Just think it’s more suited for a bit more romance than, ‘By the by, love you, Slayer.’  It’s all a matter of timing.”

“Well, I think your timing bites the big one.”

This time he looked at her.  “You’re goin’ to be the one gettin’ the biting if you keep nagging me like this,” he warned with a definitive tease.  “And since when are you so bound and determined to be Little Miss Matchmaker, eh?  You were fine with me sussing it out for myself before Buffy and the rest came back from their mission impossible.”

The flickering of the purple blades took hold as Tara turned it on, its soft whir filling the car.  When she held it up to her face to cool it, there was no mistaking the shadow of a smile on her lips.  “I guess I’m just in a good mood,” she said softly.  “I think…this is the first time since she went missing, that I think Willow’s really going to be all right.”  A glance at him through her lashes, and then her gaze was back on her lap.  “I-I-I was so scared, and I didn’t want to think it, but for a while there, I was beginning to lose hope.  I mean, this doesn’t necessarily get us Willow back, or stop Sandrine from using the voix mortelle, but it’s a forward step when all we’ve been doing lately is going sideways or backward.  And forward is good, right?”

Awkwardly, Spike’s hand reached out to pat her knee.  “Red’s goin’ to be fine,” he assured, mimicking the words he’d used on Buffy.  “And as long as that prat Freddie isn’t two-timing us with Sandrine, we should have what it takes to get everyone home, safe as houses.”

Her head jerked up at the latter part of his words.  “You don’t think…this could all be a trap, do you?” she asked, her eyes wide.  Obviously, the possibility hadn’t occurred to her.

Spike shook his head.  “I think Buffy would’ve been able to tell from talkin’ to her if she was bein’ set up or something.  We just have to get them out from Iris’ thumb so the tosser will start giving us enough to stop the summoning and get Red back.”

She settled back in her seat, now lost in thoughts of life as normal with her girlfriend.  Inwardly, the vampire sighed in relief at the respite.  Her questions were starting to make him regret not being upfront with Buffy when he had the chance.  What was wrong with telling the woman you loved about your feelings?  Well, maybe if she didn’t love you back, but he’d had it straight from the Slayer’s lips so that wasn’t the issue.  So, no more excuses.  No more waiting.  Ok, a little bit of waiting.  Couldn’t very well do it if she wasn’t even in the car with him, now could he? 

Once they got Harris’ girl back to the hotel.  He’d tell her then.  Even if it meant havin’ to say it in front of all of her friends.

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

Getting into the building was a doddle, which Spike decided was a good thing since the alley proved to be much brighter than he’d originally given it credit for.  Leaving the Desoto parked near the dumpsters, he’d refused to let Tara get out of the car until he’d reached the door, just in case some non-sunlight-sensitive nasties were lurking about.  Once there, though, he’d stood within the shadows of the threshold and scanned the area, not sensing anything amiss before he gave her the go-ahead to join him.

The back entrance led into the service area, and Spike vamped out in order to navigate the lightless room without the need for alerting anyone to their presence by turning on the overheads.  Behind him, Tara clutched her holy water in one hand and his duster in the other, tripping only slightly as he led her through the darkness.  They were both silent, nerves already starting to accelerate in anticipation, albeit for different reasons---Spike’s because a good fight was always worth the trouble, and Tara’s because getting Anya back meant one step closer to Willow’s return.

Their luck ran out as soon as they stepped from the furnace room.  Hesitating just before he opened the door, Spike heard the indistinct shuffle of a footstep, a moldy smell bereft of humanity.  Demon.  Not that it would’ve made a difference given his current chipless state, but it was nice to know what he was going up against.

Putting his finger to his lips, he motioned for Tara to remain quiet, and waited, fingers tense on the knob, until the step was just outside.  The shove open was quick, slamming into the body on the other side to send it crashing into the opposite wall.  Spike pounced, plunging his stake into the felled vampire before it could rise again.

“One down,” he said, and swiveled to see the trio approaching from the end of the hall.

“And lots more to go,” Tara said.

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

“Where are they?” Freddie complained as he paced the length of the room.  “We called ages ago.”

“They’ll be here.”  She sounded more sure than she felt.  Though she trusted in Buffy’s ability to do the right thing, having heard Freddie’s admission on the phone that he had absolutely no clue how many vampires were actually in the building, she was beginning to wonder if maybe there had been too many even for the Slayer.  Of course, it wasn’t just her.  She had the others for back-up, as well as Spike, and according to what she’d heard, they were only on the third floor.  It shouldn’t be that hard to get to her.

But if that was true, why in hell weren’t they here yet?

“This was a bad idea.  Baaad idea, baaad idea,” Freddie was chanting under his breath as he moved.  “Sandrine’s going to have both of our heads.  Hell, how much you wanna bet she makes me slit my own throat?”

“Stop over-reacting,” Anya scolded.  “She’ll probably just set you on fire or something.  She definitely exhibits some latent pyro tendencies.” 

Shouts emanated from the hall, jerking Freddie to a standstill and Anya to her feet.  She smiled at him smugly as the walls rattled, an expensive mirror next to the door loosening from its hook to crash to the floor.  “That would be Buffy,” she announced.

Her words were enough to shake him from his arrest, and he bolted to the door.  Before he could reach it, though, it splintered from the frame, a vampire flying through the now-gaping hole to crumple to a heap when it met the far wall.  Freddie shrank back, alarm shining in his eyes as he scrabbled along the furniture, and watched as the Slayer rushed in, stake driving through the demon’s ribcage, the dust spraying through the air to settle into a fine mist along the carpet.

“Took you long enough,” Anya said.

“It’s good to see you, too,” Buffy replied, tucking her stake into her waistband.  She frowned as the other girl approached, her eyes scanning her lithe form.  “What happened to my dress?”

“A redhead with a massive superiority complex,” the ex-demon replied.  She gestured toward the door.  “Can we go now?  I’d rather not be around when she decides to come back.”

“You must be Freddie,” Buffy said to the cowering young man.  “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused?”  She grimaced.  “God, I’m channeling my mother.  Someone shoot me now.”

“Nice to meet you,” he stammered, and stuck out his hand.

A lift of her eyebrows, and a glance at Anya.  “Is he for real?”

“I’m afraid so.”  She pointed to the clock on the wall.  “Tick tock, Buffy.”

“Right.”  Taking Freddie firmly by the arm, the Slayer led him from the room, running into a breathless Giles and Xander in the hallway.

“Xander!” Anya called out.  She rushed forward to meet him, a wide smile on her face, only to stop halfway there, remembrance of their last encounter rankling within her memory.  Still mad at him, she reminded himself, and affected a nonchalance as she folded her arms across her chest.  “Xander,” she repeated in a much cooler tone.

“Are you all right?” he asked, and ignored her seeming indifference to step forward and pull her into a close hug.

Her ill-will dissipated upon contact with his warm chest, and Anya’s arms crept around his waist.  “Other than feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck and being in desperate need of a shower and clean clothes, I’m just fine,” she replied.

“Escape now.  Hygiene later,” Buffy said.

“The lift…is clear,” Giles heaved between gasps. 

“Good.”  Shoving Freddie toward her Watcher, Buffy was halfway to the elevator before her words reached their ears.  “Get them back to the hotel,” she ordered.  “I’m going to make sure Spike and Tara are OK.”

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

He was beginning to wish he’d opted to go in the front.  Have I tapped into some demon pipeline here? Spike wondered as he blocked an awkward punch from the seventh vampire he’d faced since emerging from the furnace room.  Behind him, Tara was hovering with the bottle of holy water she had ready, waiting for an opening so that she could help.  She was wary of using it; when the fifth one had attacked, she’d jumped to the fore, spraying the demon in the face just as Spike’s fist connected with its jaw.  His scream of pain was accompanied by a distinct sizzling, and she’d cringed at the amber glare he’d shot her as he staked it.

He was still fighting through the pain, though, and her eyes kept darting from his scorched hand to the face of the current vampire blocking the exit to the rest of the building.  A grim shove from Spike landed his opponent back against the door, but as the blond pinned him in place, pulling the stake from his pocket to dust him, a quiet rap came from the other side of the door.

Everyone froze.  “Since when do you vampires knock?” Tara asked.

“Hello?”  The voice was faint, but clear, and Spike smirked as his gaze locked with the other demon.  “It sounds like there’s something going on in there,” Buffy said, overly innocent.  “Can I come in?”

“Sorry, mate,” Spike said.  “But you are officially standin’ in the way of me and my girl.”

He didn’t even wait for the dust to settle before he pulled it open to see the Slayer standing on the other side with a curious smile on her face.  “Did I miss the party?” she asked.  “Damn.  And it sounded like a good one, too.”

“I take your presence down here means your little operation was a success.”

“The patient is most definitely going to live,” Buffy quipped, and glanced down at the dust around her feet.  “So was that one it?  Don’t tell me I was busting my butt upstairs with the army of darkness and all you had to fight was one little vampire.”

“Hey!  I’ll have you know there was a half-dozen---.”

“Seven,” Tara corrected.

“---seven vamps who met the right end of this stake, luv,” Spike finished. 

When he held up the weapon to emphasize his point, Buffy noticed for the first time the splattering of burns across the back of his hand, and frowned, taking it in her own to look at them more closely.  “What happened?”

“’S’nothin’,” he said.  “Just got caught unawares at one point.”

“I have some cream out in the car,” Tara said, backing away from the pair.  “I brought it with the first aid kit, just in case.  I’ll just…go get it.”

Neither Spike nor Buffy was fully aware of the witch’s stealthy exit.  “You should be more careful,” she scolded, but there was no malice in her tone as her fingers skated over the crimson splotches.  “What is it with you and getting burned?”

“Like to live dangerously, I s’pose,” he said.  The flutter of her pulse, echoing through her fingertips into his hand, created an accordant tattoo inside his own flesh, and his eyes softened as he noticed for the first time the flush in her cheeks, the dishevelment of her hair as loose strands from her ponytail framed her face.  A glitter rose in the green as she looked up at him, and he could smell the musk of arousal stemming from her skin, his cock hardening in response. “Wasn’t expectin’ you to come down here and check up on me, though,” he murmured.

She shrugged, fingers absently stroking the leather of his sleeve.  “I couldn’t just leave without knowing everyone was OK.  Without knowing…you were OK.”

When his lips met hers, the unspoken words guided his tongue, tangling with hers even as he fought to keep it gentle.  Her hands fisted into his shirt, and though she tried to deepen the caress, he refused her, pressing her back onto the wall until his body was desperate to meld with her hers. 

Her small breasts were heaving when his mouth left hers, and Spike reached up to cup her face in his hands, long fingers tickling the loose hair at her neck, one thumb quivering across her swollen bottom lip.  “Should’ve said this earlier,” he said softly.  “And bugger me for bein’ a fool in not.  But…just…want you to…”  His head dropped, his brow resting against hers as his lashes drifted closed.  “I love you, Buffy,” he breathed.

The distinct speeding up of her heart accompanied the flush that permeated her skin.  “I love you, too, Spike,” she replied, and then smiled against his touch.  “Just remember who said it first.”

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

As delicious as the scalding hot shower had felt when she’d started it, now, with the steam so thick in the bath Anya was convinced it would be visibly sticking to her skin should she peel away the towel to look, she was anxious to escape the small room and breathe more freely in the cool hotel air.  The aches within her body were receding, and while the scrape across her brow from where she’d hit it on Sandrine’s cairn that morning smarted as she wrapped the other white towel around her wet hair, it was minor compared to the relief she felt at being rescued. 

Not that she hadn’t thought it was going to happen.  OK, maybe that was a little fib.  Lying sprawled at Sandrine’s feet, bleeding all over the carpet, staying optimistic when she was used to seeing the bad in a situation had been about as likely as staying awake during one of Giles’ lectures on demon history.  Would that man ever remember she’d been a demon herself for well over a millennium?

But Freddie had finally seen reason and called Buffy.  And she’d never been so glad to see the Slayer in her entire life.

They were questioning him right now, but Anya had begged off, her disheveled state granting her a stay of execution from the inquisition, disappearing to her and Tara’s room to clean up.  All she’d wanted was to wash away the detritus of the past twenty-four hours, and maybe spend a few minutes fantasizing she was anywhere but in New Orleans at the moment. 

It had worked to a degree, but now it was time to step back into the real world.  Time to face the most recent apocalypse.  And maybe get some answers on how to help Willow at the same time.

She squeaked in startled shock when she opened the door, stopping short when she saw Xander sitting on the edge of the nearest bed watching her.  “What are you doing here?” she demanded, pulling her towel even closer around her.  “Don’t tell me they’re done with Freddie already.”

“I don’t know,” Xander admitted.  “I snuck out of there about five minutes after you left.  I was hoping we could talk, but you were already in there,” he gestured toward the steam-filled room behind her, “so I decided to wait you out.”

“Oh.”  A glimmer of hope began to spark inside her chest, but Anya squelched the desire to smile in relief.  Part of her shower fantasies had included a ski lodge, being snowbound, and a contrite Xander waiting on her hand and foot, but she’d known even as she’d imagined his scraping and bowing as he peeled her grapes that it was just a dream.  She just wasn’t as important as Willow to him.

“Did it help?” he asked as she skirted him and the bed to get to the dresser.

“Did what help?”

“The shower.  Cleaning up.  Do you…feel better now?”

She shrugged as nonchalantly as she could manage.  “I feel clean now, if that’s what you mean.”  Her fingers trailed over the black satin, where the dress she’d been wearing sat crumpled into a ball on the dresser.  “You don’t think Buffy will make me pay for this, do you?” she mused with a frown.  “I’d hope not.  After all, she didn’t exactly pay for it herself.  It wouldn’t really be fair to expect me to reimburse her for it.”

“I think she’s just glad we got you home in it while you were still breathing, Ahn.”  His voice was so quiet, so reserved compared to its usual jocularity, and she couldn’t resist sneaking a peek at him over her shoulder.  Not even a shadow of his usual grin graced his lean features, and his brown eyes were darker in gravity.  “I’m glad you’re home still breathing,” he added.

“Have you…found out any way to stop Sandrine yet?” she asked.  It wasn’t what she wanted to say, but fear held her in its thrall, driving her tongue to address the mundane and not the questions that lingered inside her gut.

“We haven’t even been trying since she got you last night.  We’ve just been concentrating on getting you back.  We even got the Chipped Wonder to help out on it.”  He rose to his feet, hesitating only when she took a step away from him, pressing herself into the dresser.  “I am so sorry, Anya,” Xander said.  “I should never have…”  He stopped, the specifics of what it was he shouldn’t have done escaping him.  “It shouldn’t have happened,” he finished lamely.

“You’re right.  It shouldn’t have.”

Her words brought a flinch behind his eyes, but her satisfaction with it was fleeting.  Why wasn’t hurting him, even a fraction of how much he’d hurt her, making her feel better? she wondered.  She stood there awkwardly, tugging at the corner of her towel to tighten its tuck, and felt the flush creep upward from her neck when his head dropped.

“And here I thought anything you might say couldn’t make me feel worse than I already do,” he said in a low voice.  “Color me stupid.”

Her cheeks burned as the heat finished its trail.  She had a funny feeling that this was what shame felt like; did she really have to be so hard on him when he was trying to make her feel better?

“Were you with Buffy this morning?” she asked, her tone deliberately lighter.  “Is that why your face looks like a Monet painting?”

His eyes lifted then, and she caught the ghost of a smile returning to his lips.  “And here I was hoping for Picasso,” he joked.

“Your nose would be on the side of your head then.  Not really the most attractive of looks.  Although I did know this guy once whose wife actually found him more appealing after I put his penis on his---.”

“I get the picture,” he hastily interrupted, wiping his grimace at the image it produced as quickly as possible.  Taking a deep breath, Xander stepped forward, and this time, she didn’t move away.  “Like I was saying,” he said.  “I’m sorry we didn’t get to you in time.  And I know, broken record here on the sorries, but I’ve never felt so---.”

“I know.  It’s all right.  You don’t have to keep saying it.”  Well, it would’ve been nice if he would, but she had to be willing to give on something here.

One hand reached up to tentatively grasp her upper arm, his thumb stroking her damp skin.  His exuberance of earlier was gone, replaced by this gentle hesitation, a fear of hurting her more, especially as most of her bruises were now beginning to bloom just as deeply as his.  When the gooseflesh erupted along her arms, Anya shivered, almost swaying to close even more of the distance between them.

“When I realized you were gone,” he said, and she looked up to see the deep brown of his eyes fixed intently on hers, “something inside me clicked.  Like…it made sense.”

“Me going missing made sense to you?”  Maybe she’d been too quick to stop that string of I’m sorry’s.  Her voice was rising, taking on that whiny tone even she hated, but… “It made sense?” she repeated.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant.  I mean, it did, but not in the way you’re thinking.”  Xander’s hand dropped, leaving her feel oddly bereft in spite of the return of her anger.  “I just…it wasn’t until then…damn it, how I do explain this?”  Another deep breath.  “When Willow went missing, you saw how I reacted to that, but that was because I knew what her place in my life was, what it had always been.  But when you weren’t there…”  And it was back, only this time when he touched her, she could feel the tremor in his fingers, as though fear was squeezing his wrist and cutting off his circulation. 

“What?”  Her heart was pounding in her chest, a combination of anticipation of his coming words and the heat of his hand.  She missed him---god, how she missed him---but how could she even consider letting him back into her bed when he still didn’t get it?  Except his words were clouding the certainty she’d believed that up until a few minutes ago.  And god, did he smell good.

“Even when we were fighting, after Will was gone, you were still there, so I didn’t have to think about what it might be like if you weren’t.  I wasn’t…forced to think about it.  And then when I was…god, Anya…I didn’t know everything---life---could be so boring.  And empty.  You can’t not be there.  I need you.”  He swallowed, and she was mesmerized by the graceful bob in his throat, unsolicited memories of other talents his mouth possessed crowding in to confuse her befuddled head even further.  “I love you, Anya.”

She’d been so rapt in the remembrances, she almost missed the last.  “You…what me?” she asked, eyes wide.  Oh good, the whine was gone.  Now she sounded like Tiny Tim except without the helium effect.

“I love you,” Xander repeated.  “That’s what finally made sense.  I didn’t know it until you weren’t there.  And then seeing you today, even just hearing you on the phone, you have no idea how relieved I was.  Because I knew I had to tell you as soon as possible.”

“As soon as possible would’ve been at Iris’,” she said faintly, not even aware that she was arguing with him as she stood there transfixed.

He smiled.  “Covered in vampire dust and looking like I’d just been pummeled by The Rock?”  He shook his head.  “That might be Spike’s idea of romantic but that’s not mine.  I wanted to wait until it was just you and me.”

“You love me.”  It wasn’t what she’d been expecting him to say.  More apologies, more lame explanations on why Willow was so important to him, those would’ve been expected.  How had he managed to surprise her so thoroughly?  “You love me,” she said again, this time with a small smile.  A nice surprise, though.  A very nice surprise.

“I love you,” Xander said, laughing at her obvious shock.  Gingerly, his arms slid around her back, tugging at the end of the towel wound around her hair so that it fell with a damp thud to the floor.  “Please don’t leave me again,” he murmured as he tucked a loose strand behind her ear. 

Anya was mute as his lips, soft and probing, descended to hers, her arms lifting automatically to wrap around his neck.  He resisted her urgency, battling her tongue’s attack with a slide across her cheek, and her eyes flickered shut as he pulled her tight against him, for the first time ignoring the bruises on both of their bodies.  The whimper that escaped her throat when his mouth began sucking at her throat was both a measure of her desire and her pain.

“I should…still be mad at you…you know,” she panted, fingers curling into his hair.

“I know,” he said against her skin.  

She gasped when his teeth caught her earlobe.  “Just because you said, I love you, doesn’t mean that…everything’s now…all right.”

“I know.”

His tongue swirled the inner shell of her ear, and Anya’s hard nipples rubbed against the rough terry of her towel as she pressed herself harder into him.  “Sex doesn’t…solve everything,” she breathed.

That made him pull away, a wide grin splitting his face.  “You sure you didn’t get a concussion when you hit your head?” he asked jokingly.  “Because now I know you’re just playing with me.”

She grinned in kind and shrugged.  “Yeah, but it sounded good.”  One hand grabbed his, pulling him toward the bed, while her other yanked the towel from her body.  “I think we’re way behind on orgasms,” she said, and toppled with him onto the bed.  “Time for you to start trying to catch me up.”

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

There was no way in hell he’d ever admit it out loud, but at that exact moment in time, Spike was wishing that it was Harris pacing around the room nattering on about nothing and everything instead of that prat Freddie.  Every other word out of the tosser’s mouth was a complaint, or some barmy story, or a piece of nonsense that didn’t even make sense to the Watcher, and in spite of Buffy and Giles’ attempts to keep the young man focused, his effortless slides into tangents was making Harris look like Stephen Hawking.

They’d been able to glean a few details from him---confirmation that Sandrine wanted to summon Sira in order to establish a power base here in New Orleans, her snatching of Anya to learn the location of the crown portion of the voix mortelle, the fact that she had yet to retrieve the staff half of it.  But other parts, some twaddle he kept coming back to about losing his best friend and how he was certain to rot in hell, only made Freddie’s babble rise in incoherence, his nerves skittering like a virgin on her wedding night.

And if Spike had to listen to one more minute of it, he was going to thump the lad and say bugger off to any hopes of getting any sense from him, the witch’s fate be damned.

The smell of sunset had never been more appealing, and as soon as its siren call reached the vampire’s nose, he was on his feet, his hand on the door, very much in a repeat of the previous night when he’d stormed out after listening to them have a go at Buffy.  This time, though, it wasn’t the Slayer who stopped him.

“Where are you going?” Giles asked, looking up from his notepad to see Spike standing in the doorway squinting up at the dusky sky.

“I believe the word you’re lookin’ for is out, Rupert,” he said.

“But we’re not done here.”

“And I’m doin’ what exactly?  Not that sittin’ around, twiddling my thumbs and lookin’ pretty doesn’t mean a grand night out for these old bones, but I’ve got better things to be doin’ with my time than watching you try and put a cork on Freddie the Freeloader here.”

“Like what?”

“Like eating, for starters.”  He caught Giles’ frowning glance at the clock, and smirked when the other Englishman flushed.

“Oh, dear Lord, I hadn’t even realized.”  He looked up, obviously flustered.  “I normally rely on Xander’s stomach rumbling to remind me…”  A pause as his gaze swept the room.  “Where is Xander?”

“Scarpered off about five minutes after this whole charade started,” Spike replied.  “Never thought I’d say it, but I think Harris might be the smartest of the lot of you right about now.”

“Why would you say that?”  This was from Tara, the first thing she’d really had to say since returning from Iris’.

“Because he’s either eating or makin’ up with his vengeance bird, and if he’s not totally daft, he’s doin’ both.”  He straightened his shoulders, tossing Buffy a knowing look before stepping outside.  “I’ll be in my room if he actually decides to be helpful for a change.”

He didn’t even have to pause on the balcony.  Within seconds of him closing the door, it opened again and Buffy slipped out, stopping short when she saw him waiting for her. 

“Big dramatic exits work a helluva lot better if I don’t run into you on the other side,” she complained, folding her arms across her chest.

His head tilted, the distant sound of a phone being dialed reaching his ears.  “Not so dramatic when I know your Watcher just called a dinner break,” he drawled.

“He did not,” she argued.  “I told him you were right and walked out.”

“And that’s why he’s in there ordering a pizza…”  He paused, listening.  “…with ham, pineapple, and extra cheese?” he finished. 

Both of their mouths quirked at the same time.  “You can be a real spoilsport, you know that?”

“Just don’t want you to start thinking you can pull the wool over these eyes whenever you fancy, pet.”

His irritation with the interrogation was dissipating, the rush and glow from the post-battle moments at Iris’ apartment building returning to settle somewhere inside his torso, oddly concentrated in two very distinct spots both above and below his belt.  Not a word had been said on the car trip home, Buffy much more reserved in front of Tara in spite of the witch’s knowing the truth, and Spike had settled on the satin touch of the back of her hand under his fingertips as he drove back to the hotel.  Once there, questioning Freddie had driven away any talk of who was together with who and who was currently without any hardware in his head.  Little things like that seemed not so important in the face of finding out what exactly Sandrine had in mind.

Now, though, it looked like the time might be at hand for certain little things to get said.

“How long is the headmaster adjourning class for?” Spike asked, nodding toward the closed door. 

“We’ve got two hours, so that gives us until ten-thirty.”  She smiled, stepping closer so that she could run slim fingers along his waist, tracing the hard edge of the denim.  “Were you serious about wanting to eat?  Or do you think you might be…up for a little dip in the pool?”

When her hand dipped to squeeze his erection on the word “up,” he growled, pulling her roughly against him.  “Wouldn’t be so little,” he murmured, but when he ducked his head to nip at her neck, Buffy laughed and twisted away, darting in the direction of their room.

“Last one in’s an evil, bloodsucking fiend!” she called behind her.

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

She beat him to the gate of the pool area, laughing and taunting the entire way, but truth be told, Spike had let her do it.  Give up watching those lean muscles flex and stretch as she ran ahead of him?  Not enjoy the sight of the firm globes of her bottom tucked snugly inside the shorts she was wearing to swim in?  He was competitive, but he sure as hell wasn’t stupid.  No way was he not savoring that view.

The pool was tucked away from behind the hotel, away from prying eyes of most of the guests and lost to the sight of the road he could hear in the distance.  A sign bolted to the wrought iron fence that surrounded it announced that its open hours would be over in less than thirty minutes, and he was about to growl in frustration for not having more time when he saw the accompanying notice about the whirlpool’s hours underneath it.  Eleven.  So, wouldn’t be a total rout after all.

Buffy stopped just inside the gate, surveying the deserted interior.  “Looks like we got lucky, evil bloodsucking fiend,” she tossed back in a tease.  “No audience of unsuspecting kiddies.”

“It’s not exactly high season for the Big Easy’s tourist trade,” Spike replied.  He sauntered past her, dropping the towels he’d been carrying to one of the plastic loungers before tugging at the hem of his tee.  “And can’t say that I’m all that fussed at havin’ an audience.”

Her eyes widened when she saw his hands drop to his waistband.  “What’re you doing?” she demanded.

“Looks like I’m gettin’ ready for a dip.”  He chuckled as her eyes jumped around, trying to assess if they were being watched, sliding down the zipper to free his raging erection from the confines of his jeans.  “Don’t know what you were expecting, pet.  I’d’ve thought by now you’d sussed on to the fact that me and underwear don’t mesh.”  His darkened gaze dropped to the delicate bra she was using as a bikini top.  “Well, least not the kind I’d wear,” he drawled.

“What about shorts?”

He cocked his eyebrow at that, pushing the denim down around his ankles and kicking them away.  “Outside of that very unfortunate drying incident at Harris’, have you ever seen me in anything remotely resembling shorts?” he asked.  He stood there, naked, enjoying the flush that was creeping over her golden tan, knowing it was both embarrassment and desire that was causing it.

“But…this is a public pool, Spike.  Well, almost public.  Semi-public for being part of the hotel.  Anybody could come on by.”

“And again, I ask you…do you honestly think I give two figs?”  With a smirk, his body pivoted from his perch, diving cleanly into the blue water, and Buffy walked forward, stepping out of her sandals near the edge, as she watched his pale form slice through the length of the pool.

Her eyes glittered.  The water did nothing to distort the sleek beauty of his arms, all sinew and lean muscles that made her thighs quiver.  The power in his back as his strong strokes made his swimming seem effortless was matched only by the strength in his thighs, and the sudden flash of how they felt against hers made Buffy’s breath quicken.

He loved her.  He’d said it.  So, OK, he didn’t exactly pick the most romantic time to tell her, but there had been no denying the force of the moment as relief knowing he was all right combined with the relief of a mission succeeding without casualties for a change.  She’d been just as taken with it as he, swept along the tide of his confession, and grateful that Tara had granted them just a few minutes of peace to seal his declaration with a fitting kiss.

Life was beginning to look good again.  Anya was back and hopefully Xander was fixing whatever was wrong between them, Freddie would help them figure out how to stop Sandrine, and she had Spike.  Now she just had to figure out how get her best friend back and tell everyone she was in love with a vampire.  Again.  She wasn’t one hundred percent sure which one was going to be harder.

His head broke through the surface, the water dripping down the planes of his face as Spike gripped the edge of the pool right in front of her.  “So who’s the evil, bloodsucking fiend now?” he teased with a smile.

“Excuse me?  I believe I was the one who got here first.”

“Yeah, but you were also the one who said first one in.  Which would be me.”  His grin widened.  “Pool’s too big for just one, pet,” he drawled.

Before she could react, his hand shot out, latching onto her ankle and carefully hoisting her into the air so that she went flying over his head.  Her outcry of surprise was stifled when she splashed into the water behind him, and Spike turned in his spot just in time to see her come spluttering back up to the surface.

“I was coming in!” she argued, pushing her hair away from her eyes.

“Maybe,” he conceded.  “But my way was a helluva lot more fun to watch.”  He darted out of her path when she splashed at him, laughing the entire way. 

“It’s not nice to try and dunk an unsuspecting person when she’s been drowned before,” Buffy said, affecting an exaggerated hurt even as her eyes danced.  “You could’ve seriously traumatized me.”

“Guess that means I shouldn’t do this then.”  Using the tiled wall as leverage, Spike propelled himself forward, ducking below the surface to tackle her around the waist, dragging her down with him to the bottom of the pool.

Trying not to laugh, Buffy twisted in his arms, kicking out with her heel to slam against his hip.  It knocked the vampire just enough off-balance to loosen his grip and she tore away, breaking for air and the opposite end before he could react.

One hand held on to the side, while the other helped her tread water, watching Spike kick off from the bottom to swim to her side.  He didn’t come back up though, and she had to squelch the niggle of fear for his safety as she reminded herself of his lack of need for air.  A brief question of how he could be attacking her so without his chip firing flashed across her brain, but she just as quickly explained that one away as well.  Doesn’t hurt me, can’t hurt him.  Mystery solved.

What is he doing down there? she mused as she felt his hand begin skating up the back of her calf.  His touch was artificially warmed from the heat of the pool, and at moments, it was hard to discern the pressure from his fingers from that of the water’s.  His bowed head partially blocked her view, but when she felt his other hand tighten around her ankle again, Buffy tensed, ready to fight whatever assault he had planned now.

It didn’t come.  Instead, Spike’s grip held her firmly in place, forbidding her movement as his shoulder nudged her flat against the tile.  The touch of his fingers grew firmer, and she gasped as the gentle strokes turned into playful pinches, awakening her muscles as they slid up her leg, traveled around to the softer skin of her inner thigh.  Her arms spread out to her side, supporting her weight against the wall, as her head fell back and she stared up into the dark sky.

“Spike…” she murmured, not really caring if he could hear her or not.  His touch had grown tender again in the more private apex of her thighs, his hand that had rooted her gone to join its mate.  Buffy knew without even having to look that the vampire was worshiping her flesh, his mouth now engaging in the play, and she felt his teeth pull at the waistband of her shorts in an attempt to shed them from her skin.

Wonder if I can count this on the list of positives to having a non-breathing boyfriend? she thought as the fabric was freed from her legs.  Funny, but I’m not convinced Giles really wants to hear about how lucky I am Spike can go down on me in the pool without having to come up for air.  If the sound of smacking weirds him out, his head will probably explode trying to come up with that imagery.

Her legs were lifted to rest on the vampire’s shoulders, and Buffy held her breath, waiting for the sensation of what she knew was coming next.  Lean fingers boldly caressed her outer folds, tickling at her opening in a delicious tease before sliding up the opposite side.  Her inner walls clenched in anticipation, and when the delicate bite finally came at her clit, she bucked against his face, fighting the swell of the water to drive him closer.

Vibrations against her inner thigh told her Spike was laughing, and his grip tightened, spreading her before him to allow his tongue to follow the path his fingers had blazed.  This time, instead of finishing the route, he stopped at her entrance, slipping inside to begin a languorous thrusting she matched with the movement of her hips.

Each slide in and out made her skin burn hotter, her breathing growing increasingly erratic as every movement seemed to steal away more of her air.  When his hand snaked up her bare stomach to pinch the hardened nub of her nipple through her bra, Buffy’s back arched away from the wall, the force of it driving her forward and causing Spike to fall back toward the bottom of the pool.

Immediately, his hold on her disappeared, and the Slayer kicked to regain her balance, struggling between the pounding within her flesh for more and the need to stay above the surface so that she could breathe.  Her hand shot out to grab onto the tile, steadying herself, a bleached head bobbing up next to her.

“What happened to that super Slayer sense of balance?” he teased.

“You’re the one who fell over,” she countered.  “And let go, I might add.”

“Only ‘cause I didn’t want to drag you down with me.”  His smile softened, and Spike reached up to cup the side of her face.  “One of us still requires air to breathe, you know.”

Her response was to drift closer to him, her lips meeting his as her arms took the place her legs had just enjoyed around his shoulders.  The tip of his erection brushed against her hip, and she lifted herself just enough from the water to hook her ankles around his waist.

Spike growled as his cock lay nestled in Buffy’s slick folds, the water lapping against their bodies as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping against hers in a sympathetic rhythm to their sway.  The sudden desire to taste more than his mouth swelled through the Slayer, and when she broke away to gasp for air, she released her hold on his hips to thrust him hard against the wall.

His eyes were almost black, lids hooded, as Buffy sidled around to his side, her hand scratching down his abdomen to rake along his thighs.  The water softened the sting where her nails broke the skin, but his sharp hiss was one of delight when she dove beneath the surface to take the length of his cock into her mouth in one fell swoop.

He was already pressing against the back of her throat, long and hard, but as Buffy tried to slide her lips back up his length, she was countered by the rising of his hips, pulling away and leaving her frustrated.  She blinked as she emerged from the water, tiny drops raining from her lashes onto her cheeks, and saw him stretched out on top alongside her, floating as he maintained his balance by gripping the tile behind him, the head of his erection breaking through the soft surface to bob along of its own mind.

“Might as well make it easy for you,” he said with a smirk.

She was about to retort in kind when laughter filtered from somewhere near the gate, and her head jerked when she caught the unmistakable sound of voices.  “Crap,” Buffy muttered, pulling away from his porcelain frame to look frantically for her shorts.  Good thing I didn’t wear underwear, she thought as she darted forward to grab them.  Sliding into them when they were so wet was distinctly harder than when they’d been dry, but she managed it, even swimming halfway back to the other side of the pool before the new arrivals showed up.

Spike’s face was a thundercloud as he saw the three young women come through the gate, nubile bodies be damned.  Couldn’t they read the damn sign? he groused.  Bloody pool was only going to be open for another fifteen minutes; what was so damn important about a swim that they had to bugger up his moment with Buffy?

The trio was giggling as he moved to join the Slayer, and she realized in horror that the pale curve of his ass gleamed beneath the clear blue water. Grabbing one of the towels, she dropped it to him as he reached the side, watching it sink into the wet, and then grabbed the rest of their clothes. “Whirlpool,” she said in a voice low enough so that he was the only one who could hear. “Now.”

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

Though he’d briefly considering not bothering with the towel---since when was Spike embarrassed to show his usually hidden assets?---the idea was dismissed when the possibility that it would piss Buffy off enough to forgo any more fooling around sprung into his head. So, he wrapped the sodden terry around his waist and dripped the entire way to the whirlpool room, tossing the young girls a smirk when not even the weight of the wet towel could keep his erection from tenting out the front.

He’d barely pushed open the door when he felt the knob twist in his fingers, causing the slightest of stumbles as he stepped into the sultry space.  Buffy was on him in a flash, tearing at the covering to bare his skin to the steam, the heat of her flesh rivaling that of the small room.  “Luv,” he groaned as her sweat-slicked skin slid down his, her tongue smoothing the way until she was on her knees before him.  He leaned back against the wall, fumbling to his side to close the door.  Maybe she was right after all.  Maybe they didn’t need an audience.  He wasn’t willing to share her with anybody.

Her tiny hand pumped down the length of his cock, and Spike could feel her breath across its head wafting in audible pants.  The anticipation of feeling her mouth around him again, without the encumbrance of the water to soften the sensation, made his toes curl into the floor, his hands clawing at the wall behind him.

One lick, right across the dripping tip, and this time, his groan ripped itself from his throat.  “Buffy, please,” he begged.

Her laugh was low.  “Somebody’s sounding a little anxious, I think,” she singsonged.  “Maybe I should stop…”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” he growled, and his eyes glittered in gold as he looked down to see her smiling at him.

Slowly, deliberately, she held his gaze as her lips parted, her mouth descending to encircle the head of his cock, never breaking away from his eyes as she slowly slid down the rigid shaft.  The hand that had been holding tight at its base now relaxed, sliding down to fondle the heavy sac that hung between his legs, and Spike’s legs quivered as she began to suck and lick the length. 

Hotter than he’d ever imagined.  Burning and teasing and searing his skin as every touch, every flick of her tongue, every nip of her teeth, coaxed him closer and closer to the edge.  He had to fight to keep his hands away from her hair, from twining his fingers in the wet strands and holding her there so that he could pump away at her willing mouth.  Instead, Spike let his fingertips dance over the slope of her cheek, running down the side of her neck in a barely there feather that urged her skin to flame as high as his.

When he felt the familiar tightening in his balls, it took every ounce of his control to push her away, taking her by the hand to pull her to her feet and lead her to the whirlpool.  For the first time, he noticed that she’d removed her clothing before he’d arrived, and his heavy gaze slid over her, drowning in her golden beauty before it disappeared in the churning water.

Buffy yelped in surprise and Spike chuckled as she looked over her shoulder to see the blasting jet she had just sat down on.  “One plus over the pool,” he murmured, and tugged her forward.  “C’mere, luv.”

“You’re being bossy tonight,” she complained good-naturedly.  “Since when do you get to be the one in charge?”

“Considering how many times I’ve had to put up with you leading me around by the short hairs, I’d say I’ve earned my turn.”  Spike pulled her onto his lap, deliberately arranging it so that his erection was pressed between them. 

This was his chance, he knew.  If he waited any longer to tell her, no matter how well she took it, Buffy would be angry at how long he took, let alone that she wasn’t the first to know.  Still, his stomach boiled in revolt, arguing that ignorance was bliss, while his still-throbbing cock seemed to have even other ideas about what exactly bliss was.  But he’d been planning this from her first suggestion, attending the needs of her body in the pool before they’d been interrupted, trying to keep it focused on her as he tried to charm her into as good a mood as possible.  Distraction through desire seemed a good enough idea to him.

“Have I said lately just how beautiful you are?” Spike started, brushing his knuckles across her cheek.

She smiled.  “Your mouth’s been a little busy elsewhere for that,” she joked.

“I’m serious, pet.”  Dark eyes lifted to lock with hers.  “I’ve always thought so.  Even that first time I saw you.  Absolutely glorious, you were, dancing around the Bronze like you owned the place.  Probably should’ve known then you’d steal my heart away.”

Her smile stayed but softened, sadness tingeing it around the edges.  “That doesn’t even seem like this lifetime,” she mused.  “We were both totally different people then.  I was with Angel and you were with Dru.”

“Ever wonder…what if we hadn’t been?  Think it would’ve still turned out this way?  You…me…straddling…”

Buffy slapped playfully at his chest.  “Oh, because the Slayer and the Scourge of Europe were a match made in heaven,” she said.  She kept waiting for him to join in her teasing but the solemnity of his eyes riveted her in her play.  “You’re serious,” she said needlessly.

Spike nodded.  “Maybe it was meant to be, no matter what.  Dru saw you before I knew, and that Clara bird certainly had her own ideas.  Who knows?  We could’ve been together all this time if things had played themselves out a tad different from the start.”

“But you know that’s impossible.”  Her words, though soft, sliced through his heart as effectively as if she’d used her stake.  “You didn’t have the chip then.  Sooner or later, you would’ve done something all Big Bad-y and I would’ve had to kill you for it.”

“I’m not the chip, luv.  Don’t you think---.”

“No, I don’t think.  I know you hate it, Spike, but that little piece of plastic is the only reason we’re together now.”

His brow was furrowed, eyes searching hers to try and understand what she was saying.  “Because you can see me now that I’m leashed,” he finally said, words carefully chosen and articulated.  “That’s it, right?”

“You were a menace before.  Have we forgotten about the numerous death threats you gave me, including our little slaying in the sunshine when you got the Gem?  Having the chip means we can get past---.”

He didn’t give her a chance to finish.  “Maybe it was that way in the beginning, but what about now?”  Without realizing it, his fingers were digging into her hips, his frustration at her obstinacy driving his blood to surge in anger.  “What happened to you believing me makin’ my own choices?  You said that, remember?  Or was that just all lipservice to stop the depressed vamp from turning into Brood Boy?”

“I meant that, every word.  You know that.”

“Then tell me why you think I’d go back to that, knowing what we have now.  Knowing what we could have tomorrow.  Just…tell me, Buffy.”  The entreaty in his blue eyes shone, even through the steam that swirled from the eddying water around them.  Every fiber of Spike’s being was screaming out to her to understand what he was saying here, but even as the words tumbled from his mouth, he could see the belief in her peeking its head out and felt his hope crumble.

“Because that’s what you are,” she murmured.  “You’re a killer.  That’s what you do.  You’ve told me that yourself.”  She’d said the words so many times, having them come out now was reflexive.  Yet as they hung between the blond pair, Buffy couldn’t help but wonder if they were still necessarily true.  She had told him he was capable of making good choices; she’d witnessed it firsthand with Pablo.  And she loved him, there was no denying that.  But was it possible to love someone who didn’t have some measure of good inside?  And if there was good in Spike, how fair of it was her to try and slap such an awful label on him?

“When?  When was the last time I said that?”  He shook his head, the damp from his tousled curls spattering droplets across their shoulders.  “I love you, Buffy.  I know I only said the words today, but the feeling…it’s…fuck, it’s been around in one shape or another for a bit now.  Maybe it’s been there from the beginning.  I don’t know.  I do know that I’m not the same person I was when we first met.  Just like you’re not.  And yeah, maybe I think about what it was like before, and I remember how much easier life was, how much simpler, and just maybe I’ve wished I could have that back again, all of it.  It doesn’t mean I would.  Because it’s all about choices, right, pet?  I can choose not to do that again if I want.”

In spite of the heat of their flesh, and the fire from the water, her body was rigid within his arms, growing cooler with each passing second.  “What is it you’re trying to tell me here, Spike?” she asked. 

The knock at the door made both of them jump, and her hair slapped him in the face as she whirled to look at it.

“What?” Spike snarled, his eyes flashing gold.

The door eased open, and Tara’s ducked head poked inside.  She kept her eyes averted from the two blonds in the water as she spoke.  “Mr. Giles w-w-wants everyone back in the room as soon as possible,” she rushed.  “Freddie’s f-f-freaking out.”

“We’ll be right there,” Buffy assured.  As soon as they were alone again, she hopped from the pool, grabbing the lone dry towel to begin scrubbing at her skin.  “We’re going to finish the conversation as soon as we can,” she said as she dried off.  “I want to know what’s going on inside that bleached head of yours.”

Numbly, Spike nodded.  His moment was lost, his anger at being interrupted receding to a dangerous ebb aimed specifically at himself.  Whatever happened now, he had no doubts how it would turn out.  Buffy had made herself more than clear.  She couldn’t see him as anything but a killer without the chip in his head, and no amount of persuasion on his part was going to alter that fact.  She needed that crutch in order to allow herself the leeway of loving him.

The only question now was…was it worth it to risk the truth if it meant losing her in the process?

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

She was even more terrified than she’d been in those first few minutes after realizing Sandrine had control of her body.

Within the confines of her thoughts, Willow shrunk back as she witnessed the ravaging the woman was doing to Iris’ living room---glass flying from the shattered window embedding itself into her bare arms, peppering her skin so that the dozens of pinpricks seemed to bleed black in the dark of the room.  She’d hurled the lamp through it once she’d realized just what had happened, rage boiling from nowhere to bury everything else in its rush to explode.  The curses she screamed pierced the eardrums of the vampires who hung back in the doorway, and even Iris seemed to shy away from the rampaging redhead, not even trying to intervene when a shelf of collectible crystal dissolved under a blaze of magic.

Though she was happy that Anya had been rescued, Willow was more frightened of what was going to happen next, now that Sandrine had seen the surveillance tapes and witnessed firsthand how Freddie had sold her out to the Slayer.  She could feel the ice beginning to creep past the fury, squeezing its path into her veins even as she destroyed the interior of the room. 

Sandrine wanted someone to pay for betraying her.

Willow just wished she knew who that someone was going to be.

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

It came out of the blue.

One moment, he was sitting on the bed, talking with Tara while they awaited the arrival of the pizza, laughing more amiably than he would’ve expected considering he knew how she blamed him for Willow’s kidnapping, wondering not for the first time how he could’ve gotten himself involved in hurting such genuinely nice people.

The next, it felt like a swarm of bees had decided to make their home on the inside of his wrist, buzzing and stinging and moving as if a dervish had excited them past agitation.

Freddie’s hand jerked at the sudden sensation, stopping in mid-sentence to look down at his arm.  Most of the time, he wasn’t even aware of the garde that he bore there; he and Stella had been only nineteen when they’d first initiated themselves with the symbol of the swamp djab.  But now, the twin circles seemed even more raised from his flesh, angry and pulsing, while the line that cut through their intersection seemed to scissor its way past the confines of the scar, slicing a path straight up his arm.

“Freddie?”  Tara’s voice was hesitant, fear beginning to trickle back into her demeanor by the abrupt change in his manner.  It had vanished while they spoke, his assurances that he was there to help them now enough to allay her worries, but his unexpected quieting had called them back.  He was almost not aware of the shifting of the mattress as she eased herself further away from him.

It’s never done this before, he thought wildly, his heart hammering in his chest as he saw his marked wrist begin to shake.  Quickly, he grabbed it with his other hand, but the trembling only increased, transferring its waves along his other limb as waves of heat suffused his muscles. 

“Freddie?” Tara repeated as if he hadn’t heard her before.  This time, she reached forward, an unsteady hand coming to rest on his arm as if to comfort him.

At the first contact, her skin to his skin, every nerve in Freddie’s body exploded in frightened protest, his arms flailing as he leapt from the mattress and away from the young witch.  Vaguely, he was aware of his hand coming into contact with her jaw, heard the soft thud of her body as she tumbled off the bed, but Freddie was more focused on trying to contain the skittering of fear that was coursing through his body.

“Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong,” he chanted, his voice coarse.  He could feel her then, and as the furnace within his torso became stoked with his fear, he heard her screams of frustration inside his head, just as if she was in the same room with him.

Sandrine.

She knew.

Oh, god, she knew, and she was pissed.

Not possible, not possible, his mind ranted, but even as he thought the words, there was no denying the sensations of his body being torn apart, his head being in two different places at the same time.  While he knew he was still in the hotel room, and could now see Giles rising from his seat at the desk, Freddie could also see the destruction of Iris’ apartment, saw the shards of crystal flying through the air, smelled the pungent smell of Sandrine’s blood from where it flowed on her arm.

And more than that, he felt her fury reaching out to torch anything and everything in her way.

Terror turned his body into tinder, and his instincts took over.  As he began thrashing about, trying to extinguish the fire that only existed inside his mind, strong hands took hold of his shoulders, fighting to contain his movements but failing to maintain a grip.

“Go get the others!” he heard Giles bark.  “Now!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Freddie saw the flash of blonde scramble for the doorway, but Tara’s exit was of little concern to him.  It wasn’t supposed to be possible, his brain was arguing.  Sandrine never got the garde; she’d stated with little room for discussion that she didn’t need one to connect with the djab in the swamp as he was the one who’d brought her back.  Yet, there was no doubt in his mind that that was why he was experiencing what he was.  Their connection through the spirit they’d worshiped now linked them in more ways than one.  Somehow.  For whatever reason, maybe her heightened state of anger, maybe something else, he was now caught in her vortex, seeing what was swirling around her, burning from the poker-hot ire that was aimed at her surroundings.

But if he could see her…did that mean she could see him?

For a moment, he stopped struggling against the Englishman, the icy daggers of panic temporarily sluicing through his veins.  She was going to know.  After everything, all of Anya’s promises of protection, the Slayer’s words of support, Freddie was going to do the exact thing he feared would happen, outside of getting killed himself.

He was going to lead Sandrine straight to those who were trying to stop her.

They would be dead faster than they could realize what had hit them.  The Slayer may be physically capable, but not one of them could hold a candle to the redhead in the magic department, and Sandrine was getting stronger with every passing day.  If she came after them, he just knew she was going to annihilate each of them, their history be damned.  And it would be all his fault.  Their blood would be on his hands.  Just like Stella’s.  Hell, Sandrine just might make him do it himself before she killed him, just to twist the knife all that much more viciously.

Can’t do it.  No more.  Not worth it.  I’m so sorry, Stella.  Can’t.  Won’t.

Run.

The cessation of his thrashing had lulled Giles into a sense of security, his hold on the young man’s shoulders loosening.  When Freddie lifted his gaze to meet the bespectacled one before him, he swallowed, silently apologizing for what he was about to do.

“Are you---?”

Giles never got to finish the sentence. 

Freddie’s fist shot out, connecting with his jaw, and without even bothering to look behind him as the Englishman fell away from him, he bolted from the room.

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

Don’t even know why I bothered with the drying when my clothes are still sopping wet from the pool, Buffy groused as she pulled her shorts up over her hips.  Behind her, she heard the water splash as Spike stepped out, the quiet shick of his jeans being tugged up over his wet legs.  For someone who had been so talkative just moments before, he hadn’t made a single sound since Tara’s announcement, and Buffy glanced back at him with a frown.

“You’ve gone all quiet,” she said, noting the flex of the muscles in his back as his arms stretched to slip his tee over his head.

“Thought you wanted to finish this up after we get your Watcher sorted.”  He didn’t even turn back to look at her, and his voice was almost indiscernible over the humming power of the whirlpool.

Immediately, warning bells rang in Buffy’s head, and she hesitated at the button on her waistband.  There was a coolness in his tone that hadn’t been there before.  Was he angry?  Wait, no ranting and raving and snarky comments.  Those usually accompanied Spike bad moodiness.  What, then? 

He was past her before she could stop him, yanking the door open and striding out of the whirlpool room without another word.  Her frown deepened.  She would almost say he was trying to get away from her quicker, but why would that be?  They’d been playing in the pool, and laughing, and there’d been the amazing oral sex on both ends, and then the whirlpool…and their chat.  Something about the chat.  Had she said something specifically to set him off?

“Are y-y-you all right?”  Tara was standing in the doorway, waiting for her to come out, and Buffy shook her head to clear it, grabbing her sandals to march to the other girl’s side.

“Yeah,” she said, though she really didn’t mean it.  Using the jamb as a perch, she stopped to slip the first of her shoes on, and then the second, before taking off for Giles’ room.  Spike was already gone.

Tara was quick to follow.  “Did something happen?” she asked.  “Spike looked upset.  He didn’t even look at me when he went by.”

“What?  No.  Nothing happened.  Just…”  The yank she gave the gate was too hard, and the hinges groaned in protest.  Still no sign of Spike.  Is he running? she thought irritably.  Stupid vamp.  What the hell did I say?

“Did you…talk?”

The hesitation in the witch’s voice lassoed Buffy to a halt, and she whirled to face her.  “How’d you know that?”

She couldn’t quite meet the Slayer’s direct gaze.  “I know h-h-he…he s-s-said something…this m-m-morning.”

In spite of the rush of knowing she was needed back at the room, and in spite of the anxiety curling around her stomach about what could possibly be wrong with Spike, there was no way Buffy couldn’t notice how the sharpness in her tone had sent friendly and relaxed Tara scurrying away, leaving behind the stuttering young woman who had hidden so well from them before she’d come to know the group.  Consciously, she took a deep breath, trying to soften her presentation before speaking again.

“I’m sorry,” Buffy said.  “I didn’t mean…yeah, we were talking.  In a not so finished way.”

“And it…didn’t go well?”  A little more sure, her shoulders a little less sloped.

“I don’t know what the hell happened,” the Slayer admitted.  Looking into the wide eyes of the other girl, she felt the wash of empathy coming off from her, and decided to take a risk.  “You and Spike…I guess you’re kind of friends now, right?”

The corner of Tara’s mouth lifted shyly.  “Don’t say that in front of him,” she instructed.  “Somehow, I’m not sure he’d like that.”

Buffy couldn’t help but smile in kind.  “Yeah,” she agreed, imagining the bleached blond pretending to get ruffled at the mere suggestion.  “So, I guess that means you know what it is he wanted to tell me.”  It almost came out as a question, and she caught her lip between her teeth as she waited for some sort of acknowledgement.

“Oh, I…couldn’t.  That’s for Spike to say.  Not me.  It wouldn’t…I really shouldn’t.”

“But you know.”

“M-m-mr. Giles is waiting---.”

Buffy caught her arm as she tried to brush past.  “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important, Tara.  I hate that I hurt him when I didn’t mean to.  I have to make it right.  Please?”

Long hair fell to curtain Tara’s face from her view as the witch ducked her head.  “What did he tell you?” she finally murmured.

She jumped at the opening.  “He kept talking about choices,” the Slayer rushed.  “About wanting to know if I thought we were always meant to be together, even before he got the chip.”

“And do you?”  She looked up, meeting the green eyes with more strength than Buffy had seen since the girl had shown up at the whirlpool.  “Do you think you could’ve…fallen for him…without it?”

“He was a killer then.”  God, that sounds even less believable the second time around, she thought.  And what does it really have to do with anything?  “An evil killer,” she tried again, but mentally shook her head.  Nope.  That sounded even worse.

“You called him an evil killer?”

Buffy frowned at the quiet reprimand in her voice.  “You do remember he’s a vampire, right?” she countered, suddenly defensive.  “That’s what they do.”

Tara took a long time to answer.  “That’s also what Slayers do,” she finally said.

“But…I’m not…”  She stopped, words once again failing her.

“And neither is Spike.”

The witch’s soft voice cast aside the lingering confusion in Buffy’s mind as she released the iron-grip she hadn’t even realized she’d been exerting on her Slayer mantra to see what had been before her the entire time.  Her heart had known it, had let her fall in love with the blond vampire even as she continued to stumble along blindly in her black and white world.   It had just taken her word-deficient brain too long to catch up, to see that underneath the swagger, behind the fangs, was a creature capable of so much more, a partner who was just as afraid of being hurt as she was.  Someone who loved her, not in spite of who she was, but because of it.  The only one to ever really understand that.

No wonder Spike had run.  She’d betrayed her faith in him.  After everything she’d said to him, after admitting to her that he loved her, after telling him she trusted him, she’d negated all of it by reverting back to her tried and true killer line.  Except not so true.  He’d proven that to her over and over again.  And she owed him so much more.

Her mouth opened to speak, only to close again when the words refused to come.  What was the point?  Tara wasn’t the one who should be hearing this.  Wrong blond.

Instead, she gave her a quick smile, and turned to run toward Giles’ room.  The sooner they got Freddie calmed back down, the sooner she could tell Spike how sorry she was and hear just what exactly he wanted to tell her.  She owed him that.

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

The girls stopped short when Spike emerged from the room.  “Canary’s flown the nest,” he said tersely.  As his head turned to scan the parking lot over the balcony, he added, “He clocked Rupert right good.  Your Watcher’s out cold in there.”  As they started to rush past him to see for themselves, he added, “He’s not bleedin’ or anything.  And I put him on the bed so he’s more comfortable.”  He snorted.  “Is there a state Rupert hasn’t gotten himself knocked out in?”

Buffy turned toward Tara, all thoughts of her personal issues shuttled to the back of her mind as she went into Slayer mode.  “When you said freaking out, what did you mean?  What was happening in there?” she demanded.

“We were talking and he just started shaking, and when I tried to find out what was wrong, he…exploded.  Not literally,” she hastened to add.  “More having a seizure-like.  Like Rainman?  He kept saying something about it being wrong.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll just want to drive around the parking lot then,” Buffy joked harshly, stopping when she saw Xander and Anya running up behind the witch.

“What’s up?” the brunette asked.  He glanced at the open door behind Spike.  “Tara said Giles needed us.”

“Freddie’s gone.  Tara, see to Giles.  Make sure he’s all right.  Xander, Anya, search the hotel.  Lobby, closets.  Anywhere he might hide.  Spike and I will take the outside---.”

“Prat’s scared.”

She frowned, watching the vampire as his narrowed eyes followed the slow turn of his head.  His nostrils flared and she could almost feel her own lungs swell in kind as he sniffed deeply at the air.  “Can you find him?” she asked.

His hands were curled around the edge of the balcony before the question was out of her mouth.  “Already have,” he said, and with a graceful leap, disappeared over the railing.

The four rushed forward to see the blond head sink into the darkness, landing silently on the pavement below before breaking into a run.  “Take care of Giles,” Buffy repeated to the group, aping Spike’s hold before following after him.

They were silent for a moment as the two pale streaks vanished out of their view.  “Should we go after them?” Anya asked.

“I’ll go,” Xander said.  A quick glance over the side, and then he pointed to the stairs.  “I’ll just take the long way down.”

As the two remaining women hurried into the room, Anya glanced back over her shoulder at the railing and said, “Why were Buffy’s clothes all wet?”

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

They caught up to him almost at the same time, Spike stepping aside at the last moment to allow Buffy to be the one to grab Freddie’s arm.  The young man jerked to a halt, looking wildly behind him as he struggled to get free.

“Let me go!” he said, ignoring the odd glances from the people waiting at the nearby bus stop as he fought against the tiny blonde holding his arm

“Kind of defeats the purpose of chasing you down, don’t you think?” she quipped.  Holding him wasn’t difficult, but the feel of his skin beneath her fingers took her by surprise.  Not enough to let go, though. 

Hot, like feverish hot, as if someone was lighting him from within, with a Sahara dryness that was unnatural in this kind of heat.  He should’ve been dripping in sweat, what with running and external temperatures that were still through the roof in spite of being past sunset, but he wasn’t.  Flushed, yes.  Perspiry, no.

And it pulsed.  Maybe it was his nerves, or maybe it was the adrenaline from fleeing, but Freddie’s muscles were quaking enough to make her hand vibrate.  Spooked in a major way, she decided.  This one’s definitely getting cut off from the caffeine.

“You don’t understand,” he whimpered, still trying to extricate himself from her grip as he stumbled along after her.  “She knows.  She’s going to come.  Let me go.  You have to let me go.”

“She?”  Back on the edge of the parking lot and away from prying eyes, Buffy stopped.  “Do you mean Sandrine?”

He nodded furiously.  “I saw her.  You have no idea how mad she is.  You really don’t want to see her when she gets angry.”

“Don’t know about that,” Spike drawled.  “Green’s a good color for Red.”

She ignored his sarcasm, and frowned at Freddie.  “Take a deep breath and let’s try this again, OK?”  She waited as he followed her instruction and noticed for the first time the raised edge of the scar on his arm.  “Now.  You.  Running Away.  Why?”

“I saw her.  Felt her.  Sandrine, I mean.  I’m not sure how, but I think it’s because of this.”  He turned his wrist out so that they could both see the garde.  “She’s back at that vampire’s place, and lemme tell you, she is not happy.”

Behind them, Xander came trotting up.  “Who’s not happy?” he asked.

“The vodou bitch who’s shacking up with Red,” Spike replied.

“So you’re running back to her?” Buffy quizzed.  “That makes about no kind of sense.”

“Don’t you get it?”  Though he wasn’t moving, his skin was still twitching, his agitation not abating.  “If I can see her, she can see me.  And I can’t do it anymore.  I can’t do the killing.  You don’t know her.  She’s out of control.  Just ask your friend Anya.”

“As much as I appreciate your thinking you need to protect us,” she said, although her tone made it more than clear that she didn’t, “we can take care of ourselves.  We’ve had a little practice with the not-so-nice guys.”

“Is that why she lit your boyfriend up brighter than a summer day?” Freddie countered.  “I didn’t see you doin’ so well at taking care of yourselves out at Sira Sommeil.”

“Things have changed since then,” she said tightly.  “We’re ready for her this time.”

“Boyfriend?  You think Spike is her boyfriend?”

Xander’s laugh grated down Buffy’s spine and her grip unconsciously tightened enough around Freddie’s arm to make him wince.  She had to clear the air.  She could practically hear Spike grinding his teeth just outside her line of sight, and the desire to yell at Xander about how wrong he really was swelled inside her gut.  Get back to the room and tell everyone all together, her head said.  Now’s the time to show Spike just how serious you are about the two of you.

Before Buffy could say anything, though, Freddie was already speaking up.  “There is no ready.  She’s crazy.  Look at what she did to Willow.  She made your friend go bye-bye.  You’re telling me you really want to cross Sandrine’s path?”

“Willow’s still there,” Xander said.  “So just goes to show how much you know.”

“What?  What’re you talking about?”

“We intercepted a note Willow wrote to you.  Somewhere inside her perky little body, she’s still kicking and fighting to get back to us, just like the scrapper she is.  So why don’t you trust Buffy when she says we can handle this, OK, and come on back without us having to drag your butt up those stairs?”

The Slayer almost didn’t hear any of the exchange.  When she turned to talk to Xander, she was caught by Spike’s inky gaze locked on her, and stopped, drinking in the shadowed planes of his face.  I’m sorry, she thought at him, and wished that she could say it out loud.  But this was an apology that needed to be said in privacy, so when she realized that the young man in her grasp had relaxed at Xander’s words, she eased her grip on him, waiting to see if he would run.

He didn’t.  Though his body was still strung tight as a bow, his eyes betrayed his desire to believe them.

“Take him back to the room, Xander,” Buffy said softly.  “Spike and I will be there in a second.”

“C’mon,” the brunette said.  As he reached to take the other man’s arm, a pizza delivery truck pulled into the parking lot, its headlights flooding them momentarily in brilliance before aiming itself at the bottom of the exterior stairwell.  He smiled.  “I’m going to call that fortuitous timing.  No way can pizza ever be the bearer of bad news.”

She waited until they were out of earshot before stepping forward to stand in front of Spike.  Inside her ribcage, her heart thumped in anticipation, while the clean scent of his skin filled her nostrils, making her head swim.

“Don’t tell me you want to finish our little convo now,” he said quietly.

With his back to the streetlights, his eyes were hidden, bottomless pools that made her want to drown, and instead, Buffy settled for lifting her hand to cup the side of his face.  “Not really,” she said.  “That can wait.  What can’t wait is me telling you that you have a real idiot for a girlfriend.”

Just because she couldn’t see his eyes, didn’t mean she couldn’t see how quickly his scarred brow shot up at her statement.  “Sounds like you know something I don’t,” Spike murmured.

“Yep.  I know that my mouth often decides to do its own thing before consulting my brain.”  Her thumb glided over the satin skin and she felt her mouth water as his hand came up to cover hers.  “Whatever it is you think you need to tell me, I don’t want you to worry about how I’m going to take it.  I trust you, Spike.  I’ve seen you do the right thing.  And I’m sorry that it took me this long to realize just what you are.”

“And…what’s that, pet?”

How she ached to see the look in his eyes.  It always amazed her how expressive they were, changing color depending on his mood, revealing every little thought and feeling that he seemed to be experiencing at that particular moment in time.  Stretching to brush her lips over his, she whispered, “The man I love.”

Her deliberate use of the word “man” and not “demon” didn’t go unnoticed, and Spike’s arm curled around her waist to pull her against him, the slight tremor in his muscles betraying to her what his eyes did not.  His mouth danced over her brow, peppering butterfly kisses as it blazed a path down her face, only to meet hers with a shaky sigh.

There was no hesitation in her response.  Lips parting, tongues darting out to dance with the other in a heated tango, coaxing and soothing and urging all at the same time.  Hands curled into hair, desperately clinging as if needing the anchor to root them to the ground, each believing that if they let go, the other would disappear in a diaphanous dream, leaving them to wonder if such a thing as what they’d felt was even possible.

“Love you so much, Buffy,” he breathed when she broke away.

She rested her cheek against his chest, feeling her pulse pounding in her ears as his body picked up on the rhythm.  “I know,” she murmured, and then because she knew he needed to hear it again, just as much as she needed to say it, “I love you, too.”

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

The room lay in shambles around her, a small fire still burning in the corner of the couch.  Disdainfully, Sandrine plucked the shard of glass from her palm and tossed it aside, sneering with disgust when the vampires who still hovered in the doorway sniffed hungrily at the blood that clung to it.  “Can you be any more gross?” she complained.  “I’m having an epiphany here and seeing you drooling after my little boo-boos like they’re filet mignon is kind of distracting me.”

“Does an epiphany include full-scale destruction of my home?” Iris said coldly.

Her eyes were like brittle emeralds as they swung to meet those of the vampire’s.  “This isn’t even close to full-scale so don’t start whining unless you’re interested in being kindling for my next bonfire,” she warned, a casual flick of her fingers sending a bolt of magic off to Iris’ right.  She smiled when the demon flinched.  “And no, my epiphany has absolutely nothing to do with your hideous décor.  If you really want to know, I’ve decided we need to go on a little road trip.”

“We just got back from a road trip.  You said you wanted to wait until morning to get the staff.”

“And we are.”  The vampire hadn’t seen what she had, hadn’t felt Freddie’s fear as he witnessed Sandrine’s wrath.  And she certainly had no clue that the Slayer and her little friends had actually managed to convince the idiot to go back with them.  “Think of this as more of a…midnight raid.”