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

Though he sensed Tara’s proximity long before they rounded the corner by the vending machines, Spike didn’t move his hand from where it rested in the small of Buffy’s back, or stop the gentle stroking of his thumb along the hollow created by her spine.  He was fairly certain the young witch was alone, but even if one of the others was with her, there was no way in hell he was backing away from the Slayer now.  Not after what she’d just said to him.

Man.  She’d referred to him as a man, not a monster, offering her trust to him unequivocally, without even needing to hear what it was that he needed for her to know.  It didn’t mean he wasn’t still terrified of telling her, but he wasn’t dreading her response nearly as badly as he had before.  She understood he was going to do what it took to do the right thing, that he had the strength to control himself, that he could be his own man without risking anyone else.

His own man.  He liked the sound of that.

The man Buffy loved.  He liked the sound of that even better.

So, if someone other than Tara was around that corner, well, sod it.  He didn’t care who knew now.  She had said she was going to tell the others, but if they happened to find out by accident before the words could actually come out of her mouth, well, then that was just an added bonus, wasn’t it?

But the witch was by herself, and as they stepped into the vending area, Buffy and Spike saw her pull the ice bucket away from the dispenser and clutch it to her stomach, long hair swishing around her shoulders when her head jerked to see who was approaching.

“Oh.  Hi.”  The tension eased from her body, and she smiled knowingly when she saw the lean of Buffy’s body into Spike’s, the possessive graze of their hands that not even they seemed to be aware of.

“How’s Giles?”

“Conscious.  And sore.  Which makes him a little cranky.”  She held out the bucket.  “I offered to do a poultice, but he asked for ice instead.”  Tara’s gaze jumped from each of their faces.  “Is everything…OK?”

He caught the lingering second the two women shared.  So that was it.  The witch imparting her wisdom for the grace of the good around her yet again.  For a brief moment, Spike debated whether he should be pissed off at her intervention, but even before he felt Buffy’s fleeting nuzzle against his arm, he had dismissed the notion as ridiculous.  Any words that paved the way for him and the Slayer had to be good, and it certainly wasn’t as if he hadn’t taken her advice onboard as well.

“Things are great,” Buffy said.  “Except for the part where Freddie’s convinced Sandrine knows where he is now.  That’s not so great.”

Tara’s smile faded.  “Was that what his freakout was about?”

“Turns out our serpent summoners have a little psychic connection,” she explained.  “One gets upset, the other one feels it.  And vice versa.  At least, that’s what he claims.  And he’s saying Sandrine was wigging out in a grand slam kind of way.”

“What does this mean?  Are we moving again?”

Spike snorted.  “Not if I can help it.  Been in more beds since we hit the Big Easy than the Happy Hooker.  I think we deserve at least one night where we wake up in the one we went to sleep in, don’t you?”

Her smile returned at his obvious meaning, twisting in amusement at the pink flush that settled over Buffy’s cheeks.  “Not that I’m trying to be nosy or anything,” Tara said, “but it might be a good idea if you went and changed your clothes before you come back to the room.  Anya was asking why you were all wet.”  She shook her head before either of them could say anything.  “I told her you’d wanted to cool off in the pool, but I didn’t mention you were there together.  I didn’t want to…overstep my bounds.”

Buffy looked up at the vampire at her side, eyes settling on the tousled curls that were still mildly damp from the water.  “I think we’re pretty much boundless at this point, don’t you?” she said softly.  The question wasn’t directed at Tara; it was directed at Spike, and the reflection of the moonlight in the green of her eyes made him wish it was possible to drown himself in them.

“Still might not be a bad idea to go change, luv,” he said.  At her puzzled frown, he gestured toward the bra she’d worn as a swimming top.  “Unless you’re all right flashing the goodies in front of Harris.  Just don’t think you want to be givin’ him and his demon bird any more reason to scrap when they’ve only just made up.”

“Since when did you become Dr. Phil?” Buffy asked in surprise.

“Not anything like that wanker,” Spike argued, but when Tara smothered a giggle, he glowered in protest.  “I’m not!  And if I am, it’s all your bloody fault,” he shot at the young witch.

The Slayer laughed along.  “Don’t worry,” she assured.  “Your secret is safe with us.  But you do have a point.  Dry clothes, here I come.”

When she started to walk away, a quick slap against her bottom from the vampire made her squeal and whirl around in surprise.  He flipped her the card key from his pocket with a mischievous grin.  “Wouldn’t mind my boots while you’re at it,” he drawled, his tongue curling under his upper teeth.  “And maybe a packet of blood?”

“Anything else, your highness?”

He pretended to think about it and then shook his head.  “That’ll do,” he said, and chuckled when she rolled her eyes.  The grin melted into a wistful smile as he watched her stride away, her skin gleaming in the evening light, the heartbeat he recognized better than his own body’s rhythms fading into the darkness.  Even after it was gone, the echo of her essence breathed through his flesh, and he let himself disappear momentarily into its promise, remembering strong kisses and stronger words from only minutes earlier buoying his existence.

“Did you tell her yet?”

Her quiet words slid him from his reverie, and Spike glanced over at the waiting witch.  “Not yet,” he said.  “But soon.  We got…a little distracted back there with the prat running and all.”

“C’mon,” Tara said with a nod of her head toward the stairs.  “If we don’t get up to the room soon, I think Xander’s going to have eaten all the pizza.  And my stomach is rumbling from all this excitement.  I don’t want to miss out.”

“Want me to thump him if he has?” he teased as he followed her away from the vending machines.

“Spike…”

“I’m just sayin’…”

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

Pushing open the door, Sandrine stepped out into the parking lot, the flashing neon from the hotel sign bathing her face in alternating crimson and black.  She looked down at the various cars that were pulling into empty spaces before sweeping her emerald gaze across the cement.  “This is it,” she said, not deigning to turn her head when Iris emerged behind her.  “He’s here.”

“You’re sure?”  The blonde vampire’s tone was disbelieving, but after the show back at her apartment, she was hesitant to directly counter her partner again.  Not without knowing for sure she wasn’t going to go up in flames for it.

Energy seemed to crackle around the witch, her hair blazing even in the moonlight.  “Positive,” she murmured.  Fingers lifted, and her hand floated in a horizontal line across the picture before her.  “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she singsonged.

“Wait a minute.”  This was too much.  Iris swept around to stand in front of Sandrine, forcing the human to look up at her.  “Don’t tell me you don’t know which room is his.  I didn’t come here to play hide and seek with your little playmate.”

“We don’t need to know.  He’s going to tell us.”

Carefully plucked eyebrows shot up.  “Oh?  And why’s that?  Because we say pretty please?”

“No.”  Sandrine smiled, her teeth gleaming maliciously white.  “Because he’s with the Slayer.  And there is no way the Slayer will ignore a slaughter going on.  Right.  Under.  Her.  Nose.”

It took her a moment, but slowly, Iris joined in the redhead’s grin as understanding dawned.  She turned to face the coterie of vampires who had collected behind her.  “You heard the lady,” she said to them.  “Let’s eat.”

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

“Just because you don’t like the pineapple, doesn’t mean you have to throw it away, Ahn.”

“Why couldn’t Giles’ have ordered any good pizza?  He knows I don’t like this Hawaiian crap.  He does this on purpose, you know.  Just to annoy me.”

“No, he doesn’t.  Here.  Put it on mine.”

“You’ll taste like pineapple then.  That makes kissing you not so much fun.”

“I promise I’ll brush my teeth.”

“You always say that.”

“I always mean it.”

Ducking her head to hide her smile, Buffy listened to Xander and Anya bicker with a growing sense of warmth inside her stomach.  Funny how such a little thing could make even a hotel room in the middle of New Orleans feel like home.  She hadn’t even realized she’d missed it until they started up again tonight.  Of course, the fact that Spike was sprawled on the floor at her feet, lacing up his boots and taking every opportunity to “accidentally” brush up against her bare legs, didn’t hurt, either.  Not even Freddie’s fidgeting, even if it was silent, was enough to detract from her good mood.  With him now on their side, she had every confidence that they’d beat Sandrine once and for all. 

“I think I have more aspirin back in my room,” Tara was saying to Giles.

The Watcher shook his head.  The ice she had brought to the room was wrapped in a white towel and pressed to the side of his jaw, and he sat at the desk carefully watching Freddie pick at his pizza, his lean body tense in case another unexpected attack was sprung upon him.  “I’ll be all right,” he said.  “And we should really start going over Freddie’s story again.  I have some questions---.”

A woman’s scream from outside cut through the conversations that were going on around the room, silencing all of them even as it jerked Buffy to her feet.  Immediately, Spike was at her side, but both of them glanced back when Freddie’s agitations sent him scurrying to the farthest wall away from the door.

“I told you, I told you, you should’ve listened to me, I told you so,” he babbled.

Another scream punctuated the air, and this time, the Slayer didn’t hesitate before pulling the door open to look outside.  Her gaze scanned the parking lot, and as the gang crowded behind her, she saw a flash of dark clothes and pale skin disappear around the corner.

“Look who’s coming to dinner,” she said tightly.  She pushed her way back inside and headed straight for the stack of weapons on the floor in the corner.

“Maybe it’s just a normal vamp attack,” Xander offered.

Tara shook her head.  “No, Freddie’s right.  Sandrine’s here.  I can feel her power.”

“Told you, told you, told you,” Freddie chanted.  “Nobody ever listens to me.  I told you she would come.”

“Somebody shut him up,” Buffy ordered.  She pulled a stake from the pile and tossed it to Spike before grabbing one for herself.

“What’s the plan?” Xander asked.

“We get out of here,” she explained.  “Spike and I’ll handle the vamps who’re attacking while the rest of you sneak our resident Rainman here out.”

“What about Sandrine?”

“We’ve got top of the line, roadkill accessories for that.  We just have to get back to our room to get them first.”

Giles picked up one of the crossbows.  “I’m coming with you.  Xander can drive the others out of here in the rental.”

“I can’t protect you, Giles---.”

“And we have no idea how many of them are out there,” he countered.  “We need as much firepower as we can get.”

Her lips were tight, her eyes hard.  “Fine,” she said.  “I don’t have time to argue with you right now.”  Turning to the others, she added, “Go to the IHOP where we had breakfast.  As soon as we can get to the Desoto, we’ll get out of here and meet you.”

“Be careful,” Tara warned as the three rushed from the room.

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

“Why are we just waiting here?” Iris growled in complaint.  Her heels clicked along the cement as she paced in front of the car, her body a lean exercise in feral grace.  The scent of blood hung like copper in the air, causing her face to ripple from human to demon and back to human again, and every time she passed in front of the headlights of the vehicle, she had to resist the urge to kick out the glass.  Her nerves were that much on edge.

“Because good things come to those wait,” Sandrine replied.  She didn’t appear the slightest bit ruffled by the vampire’s outburst, sitting cross-legged on the top of the car as she watched the various doors of the hotel being flung open by Iris’ minions descending upon the unsuspecting guests, her aimless humming almost drowned out by the occasional scream of terror.

“You are far too calm for someone who was so mad just a little while ago,” Iris said.  “It’s not natural.”

“Oh, I’m still mad,” she replied with a smile.  “Don’t worry about that.  It’s just that I’m in sniffing distance of paybacks here.  I’m just savoring the moment.”  A flash of black leather and bleached hair streaked across a far balcony, and the redhead straightened, sitting up until she was on her knees.  “Bingo,” she murmured, and laughed.  “God, Buffy is so predictable.  This is almost too easy.”

“I’m glad you think so.”  The vampire watched as Sandrine slid off the vehicle, her sneaker-clad feet silent against the pavement.  “Does this mean I can go eat now?” she demanded.

“Just don’t touch Freddie,” she instructed.  “Take whoever else you want, but that little jerk is mine.”

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

It felt good to fight, even if she knew that somewhere on the other side of all the vamps was someone wearing the face of her best friend, determined to see her fail.  Adrenaline surged through her veins, pumping her heart while her muscles sang in a sympathetic rhythm with the dance around her.  The cord of the gris gris whipped around Buffy’s neck as her leg swept out to fell the demon in front of her, and she plunged the stake through its back before it could even hit the floor, its dust scattering in her wake as she moved on to the one beyond it.

Sandrine had arrived with a veritable army, vampires surging through the halls and balconies of the hotel, pulling victims from their rooms and feasting as if the world was about to end in a giant blaze.  The stench of death pricked at the Slayer’s nose, but instead of distracting her, it only served to fuel her anger, quickening her blows as she lashed out.  Not everyone would be saved, though she would do her damnedest to try.  The important thing was that her friends got Freddie out safely.  They needed his information too badly to allow him to slip back into Sandrine’s clutches.

Somewhere behind her, she heard Giles yell at Spike, something about an enemy behind him, but by the time Buffy had dispatched her current foe and turned to look, she only caught the explosion of dust, followed quickly by the blond’s proud smirk when he caught her eye.  “This way,” she yelled, pointing toward the stairs that led to the parking lot.  Too many vamps were coming from that direction; she just knew that that was where Iris and Sandrine lie in wait.

The two Englishmen broke into a run to join her, the brief lull she’d created allowing them to cover the distance quickly.  “Haven’t had this much fun in ages,” Spike commented as he stopped at her side.  Flashes of amber danced in the blue of his eyes, his glee at the violence surrounding them twitching his body in delighted anticipation of more.  “Why haven’t we been doin’ more of this?”

Before she could reply, a cry from the room behind him came whimpering into the night.  Buffy paused, turning to look at the closed door.  “That sounded like---.”

“---a child,” Giles finished with a frown.

A quick twist of the knob broke the lock and the Slayer pushed it open to see two vamps crouched over the inert form of a young woman, her throat slashed and her blood flowing freely to stain the carpet.  In the corner, a third demon struggled to control the squirming of a little boy.

Spike was the first to react, leaping over the bed toward the vamp.  With a growl, the demon tossed the child to the side, tackling with the oncoming blond in a fury. 

At the same time, Buffy quickly kicked the other two away from the woman’s body.  So wrapped up in killing the pair in front of her, she didn’t even notice the dust that suddenly obscured the black leather of her partner.  She only heard the boy’s scream as it split the air of the small room.

Her blood froze as she imparted the deadly blow to the second of her targets.  Looking up as quickly as she dared, she was greeted with the sight of the child struggling against Spike, the wastebasket in his tiny arms, swinging it awkwardly toward the demonic visage of his would-be savior.

“I’m one of the soddin’ good guys,” Spike snarled, but as the bin glanced across his brow, the boy’s foot shot out as well, connecting just below the vampire’s belt.

“Bloody hell!” he roared at the contact, and shoved the boy from his chest, sending him tumbling to the floor where he then scuttled away towards the Slayer.  “Save the ankle-biter’s life and that’s the thanks I get?”  He winced as he kicked at the metal bin, sending it flying across the room to clang against the wall, bending slightly at the discomfort in his midsection.

Buffy stooped down to the sobbing child and saw the rug burn that grazed the side of his bare leg.  Crimson oozed from the broken skin and without even thinking, she pursed her lips to blow on it, just as her own mother had done on countless occasions when she’d been growing up.  “It’s OK,” she said quietly.  “It’ll only sting for a minute.”

“Spike…”  Giles’ voice seemed lost in the now-quiet room, and Buffy glanced up to see him staring at the bleached blond opposite him.

“What?” Spike barked.

“You practically threw that little boy off you.  And…your chip.  It…didn’t go off.”

Slowly, as if time had turned into a glacial morass, seeping in inexorable languor as it passed by, she swiveled her head to match Giles’ gaze.

He had frozen, muscles caught in a limbo of unadulterated awareness, looking back at the Watcher with something akin to fear etched across his angular features.  As soon as he felt Buffy’s eyes on him, however, Spike looked down at her, his vampire mask slipping away so that she was left staring up into blue depths that pleaded with her to understand.

That was it.

That was what he’d been trying to tell her. 

That was what had terrified him so thoroughly about her finding out, convincing him she would leave him when she discovered the truth.

The sound of her blood filled her ears, her heart hammering in her throat in a desperate attempt to escape.  Behind her, she heard Giles cock the weapon in his arms, clearing his throat as he did so.  “Buffy,” he said, and this time his tone was firm.  “Come here.  Now.”

Spike never looked away from her.  Even when she stood up, pulling the little boy with her, his gaze remained steady, a midnight entreaty as he seemed to be waiting for her to run.

“Buffy,” Giles repeated.  “I---.”

“It’s all right.”  Her voice was clear, ringing cleanly in their ears.  With a gentle push, she guided her charge toward the Watcher, but didn’t let her eyes waver from the blond. 

I’m not the chip, he’d said. 

I can choose not to do that again.

Love you so much, Buffy.

“C’mon,” she said, finally turning away.  “We’ve got to---.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” Giles demanded as he stood in front of her.  The boy clutched his pants leg, hiding behind his tall frame.  “Spike’s chip didn’t fire when he hurt the child.”

“And I said, it’s all right.”  Lifting her chin, she half-turned to the vampire, so that he could see her face as she spoke.  “I knew it didn’t work anymore.  It…doesn’t matter.”

Awed disbelief lingered in his aspect as he heard her lie for him, but it was quickly dampened by the small smile that curled his lips, his love shining through as he stepped forward to her side.  If Spike’s hands hadn’t been thrust into his duster pockets, Buffy would’ve taken one into hers as she faced back off with her Watcher, her mouth determined as she refused to wait for him to argue with her.

“You can trust him, Giles,” she said.  “Just like I’ve been telling you ever since you got here.  Spike knows what he’s doing.”

“I don’t doubt that,” the older man replied.  His face was grim, his body taut.  “The question is…do you?”

She didn’t even bother with a response.  Grabbing the edge of his jacket, she pulled the vampire past the body on the floor, around the Watcher and the cowering little boy, and back out onto the balcony. 

“Buffy…”

He stopped when she released her hold on him, looking up into his now serious countenance.  “I trust you, Spike,” she murmured, low enough so that only he could hear.  “Please.  Don’t make me regret it.”

An explosion erupted behind the hotel, orange and red and yellow streaking into the air as smoke and gasoline fumes clogged their senses.  All thoughts of the events inside the room were momentarily erased as one name came to both of their lips.

“Sandrine.”

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

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Tara closed her eyes against the sound of her lover’s voice singing through the air, trying not to cough as the stench from the inferno raging in the car they’d just fled from sickened her lungs.  It’s not Willow, she kept reminding herself.  It’s not Willow.

“OK, we’re going to have to make a break for it,” Xander whispered.  “On the count of three---.”

“Why?” Anya demanded.  The four of them were crouched behind a bright yellow Volkswagen, sweat streaking down their faces as the heat raged nearby.  “So she can just blow up the next car we decide to hide behind?  She already took out the rental.  I think Giles can say sayonara to his security deposit.”

“Without Buffy or Spike, we can’t do a thing to her,” Xander said.  “We don’t have any other choice.”

“Yes, we do.”  Her brown eyes settled on the shivering form of Freddie.  “We give him to her.”

“What?  No!” Tara argued.

“And why not?” the ex-demon countered.  “He’s already told us everything he knows.  He’s useless to us now.”

“B-b-but, he saved your life!”

“He kidnapped Willow!”

“He’s sitting right here!” Freddie exclaimed.  The trio looked at him.  “It won’t make a difference if you hand me over or not,” he added.  “The mood she’s in, you’ll be lucky if she doesn’t blow you all up, too.”

Another explosion ripped through the air, and with a series of shrieks, the group ran for the cover of the next space, their heads ducked.  It wasn’t until they escaped the cover of the Beetle, though, that they realized that the next space was also devoid of a vehicle, leaving them exposed to the open air.

“There you are.”  The four looked up to see Sandrine standing in the middle of the lot, a pleased smile creasing her friendly face.  The flames from the nearby fires danced across her pale skin, and her eyes glittered in the dark.  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Freddie.  It wasn’t very nice to go and run away like that, now was it?”

“Speaking of not very nice…”  Buffy’s voice cut over hers as she and Spike appeared out of the shadows.  “Was it really necessary for all the kabooms?  There are people trying to sleep around here, you know.  You missed Mardi Gras by a few months, I think.”

All levity vanished from Sandrine’s face, leaving a stark mask in its place.  “This isn’t about you, Slayer,” she warned.  There was no mistaking the flick of her eyes as they took in the charms dangling around the two blonds’ necks.  “I just stopped by to pick up my little Judas over there, so be a good little girl and go away.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”  Buffy folded her arms across her chest, being careful to keep the gris gris exposed as she took a definitive step forward.  “Freddie’s on my watch now.”

“He’s useless to you.”

“And you need him for…what?  Charades?  He does an excellent Dustin Hoffman impression.  I’ve seen it.”

Sandrine’s gaze followed Spike as he circled around behind her, taking a position on the opposite side of the Slayer to prevent another avenue for her potential escape.  She laughed.  “Like you can actually stop me,” she chortled, and turned back to face the quartet.

When her hands came up, his reaction was automatic, long fingers ripping the leather strap from around his neck as his body twisted toward the group.  “Catch,” Spike called, and threw the gris gris as the bolt of magic left Sandrine’s palms.

Freddie’s hand closed around the charm just as the magic crashed into its power, disintegrating into a shower of sparks onto the cement around him.  He stumbled back in surprise, and then looked up to see the redhead turn with a frown to the bleached blond.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, bitch,” Spike snarled.

“Looks like,” she agreed.  Her frown faded into a small smile.  “What are you going to do?  Snark me to death?  Please.  I know all about your little chip issue.”

“Oh, really?”

“Spike!” Buffy yelled.  “No!”

Her shout distracted him for a second, and he glanced past the redhead to the Slayer just long enough for the witch to raise her hands again.

“Well, if I can’t have tit,” Sandrine said, and aimed her palms at the vampire, “I’ll just have to settle for tat.”

The flash blinded all of them, driving their hands up to shield their eyes from the light.  When it finally faded away, Buffy had to blink twice before the white spots cleared, making it painfully obvious what had just transpired.

Spike and Sandrine were gone.

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

Though sweat was beading along her forehead from the heat generated by the explosions, dripping down between her breasts in a ticklish track, Buffy’s skin was chilled as she stared at the empty space in front of her, frost swathing her muscles so that movement was impossible. 

Gone.  They were gone.

Both of them.

Where in hell did they go?
She heard the tentative steps of the others as they merged onto the lot, but couldn’t tear her gaze away, not even when Tara came up beside her and rested a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“What happened?” she heard Xander ask behind her.

“Sandrine teleported out of here,” Freddie replied.

“She can do that?”

“She did it before,” Buffy murmured, finally finding her tongue.  “In the swamp.  After she attacked Spike.”  The ice spread its resolve, stiffening her shoulders.  When she spoke again, her voice rang like a crystal through the smoke-filled air.  “Where’d she go, Freddie?  Where’d she take him?”

“I don’t know.  Anywhere.”  He flinched when she turned blazing eyes toward him.  “Maybe back to Iris’,” he hastened to venture.

“It’ll be all right.”  Tara’s tone was gentle as she gave the Slayer a reassuring squeeze.  “Willow’s still somewhere inside Sandrine.  She won’t let anything happen to Spike.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Anya said loudly.  “Because she did such a bang-up job in making sure I didn’t get hurt.  Bang-up being the key phrase here, of course.”

That settled it.  “We’ve got to find him,” Buffy said, but as she began turning toward the others, the squeal of tires from the other side of the parking lot captured her attention, and the group watched as a trail of cars began pealing away from the hotel.  “That’s going to be Iris’ group.  We’ll follow them.  They’ll lead us back to Sandrine.”  This time, she looked at Xander.  “Where’s the car?”

With a grimace, he pointed behind them.  “It would be that flaming ball of scrap metal over there.”

“The Desoto then,” she said, but before she’d taken two steps, she stopped, shaking her head.  “Except…Spike has the keys.”

“I can probably hotwire it,” Xander offered.  “Although it might take me a few minutes.”

“Do it.  We need transportation as soon as possible.  Iris has got an in with the police around here, and I’m thinking with as much noise as her little minions have made tonight, it’s not going to be long before they decide to show up.  We don’t need to be sitting in a jail cell all night while Sandrine’s doing god knows what to Spike.”

Giles’ sudden approach at her side cut her off, and she hesitated when she realized he’d overheard the last part of her conversation.  “What’s this…about Spike?” he wheezed as he fought to regain his breath.

“He’s gone,” said Buffy.  “Sandrine took him.”

“He saved my life,” Freddie volunteered, holding up the gris gris that still dangled from his hand.

“Why?” the Watcher asked.

“Because Sandrine tried snatching him away again.”

“And she took Spike because…?”

“Because she’s a pissy bitch who doesn’t like others to play with her toys!” Buffy exploded in frustration.  “I don’t know, Giles.  I just know, she came looking for Freddie, Spike intervened, so she took Spike instead.  Does she have a grand master scheme?  Probably.  Do I know what that is?  No.  What I do know is that the longer we stand around here and play twenty questions, the more time she’s got to get away.”  She refused to quail beneath her Watcher’s direct stare.  “We’re going after them,” she said.  “We’re getting him back.”

“And how do you…propose to find him?”

“Between Tara being able to sense her magic and Freddie being a member of Sandrine’s psychic friends network, I’m thinking it’s not going to be that hard once Xander gets the Desoto running.”

“Actually,” Freddie interrupted, “I’m not really sensing anything with Sandrine right now.  I only did when she got so upset.  She must be calmed down now.”

“She’s got Spike with her,” Xander offered.  “The way his mouth goes, it shouldn’t be too long before she gets good and angry again.”

“Buffy,” the Watcher started.  “We need to talk about this---.”

“No.”  The single word was clipped as it hung in the air between them.  “This is not a time for talking, Giles.  This is a time for doing.  I’m not going to just stand back and let her get away with this---.”

“And she won’t.  But without a definitive plan, you’ll merely be charging at windmills, and someone else is bound to get hurt as a result.  Do you really want to lose a third person you care about to this…debacle?”

He wasn’t chastising her for her feelings for Spike.  With the soft cadence of his voice, the firm but gentle weight of his gaze, he was attempting to cut through her heightened state, to force her to see reason when all she could distinguish was the immediate pain and fury at the vampire’s disappearance.  The weight of Tara’s hand on her shoulder only served to remind Buffy of the circle of friends she had around her, of how much she had to lose if it dwindled even further, and she felt the tug of resistance loosen in the pit of her stomach.

“What do you suggest then?” she asked quietly.

“We need to get to safety first,” Giles replied, matching her tone.  “The vampires seem to be retreating, but the hotel is in a shambles.  Staying here isn’t an option, not with Sandrine and Iris knowing our location.”

“It’s a good thing this is a tourist town,” Xander commented.  “I’d begin to worry about running out of hotels to wreck.”

“No.  No more hotels.  That makes us too easy to find,” Buffy said

“And having Freddie around like our own personal homing beacon for Sandrine doesn’t make us easy prey at all,” Anya commented dryly.

“If he can’t sense her, then we have to play the odds that she can’t sense him either,” the Slayer went on.  “We have to go someplace where she won’t expect to find us.”

“Did you have anyplace specific in mind?”

She nodded.  “It should be all clear.  It’s only got one bedroom, but the couch is comfy, and there’s tons of floor space.”

“Right.  So, let’s pack up and get going then.”  The Watcher stood aside as the group filed past him back toward their rooms, before squinting in the direction of the flaming cars.  “By the way, what happened to the rental?”

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

Asking Tara for help in packing didn’t garner any unnecessary attention from the others, so Buffy was relieved when she shut the door behind them.  This was going to be a lot easier if she could get her own answers first, without having to worry about fielding questions from the rest of the gang.

“Did you guys have separate bags?” Tara asked as she crossed to the clothes hanging by the bathroom.  “Or do you want me to just put Spike’s things in with your yours?”

“How did you know?”

Her query, though out of the blue, only brought the shortest of hesitations to the witch’s movements, and she turned calm eyes to the Slayer.  “He finally told you,” she said simply.

“No, he hurt a little boy.”  She shook her head at the sudden shock that sprang across Tara’s face.  “It was an accident.  He was saving him and there were feet connecting with very sensitive parts and Spike over-reacted.  But that doesn’t matter.  What matters is that his chip went kaplooiey, and that you knew this before I did.”

“Actually, Spike thinks it’s not there at all.  Something the seer you got the gris gris from said.”

“She knew before me, too?  Was there some billboard on this that I missed or something?”  Buffy collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.  “I thought Spike being on our side was supposed to make things easier.  He’s done so much, and…he’s trying so hard.  And did you see how he just threw that gris gris to Freddie?”  She exhaled heavily and closed her eyes.  “Stupid vamp,” she muttered.

Setting down the t-shirts she’d already started pulling from the hangers, Tara crossed to the edge of the bed and sat down next to the Slayer.  “Everything will be all right,” she soothed.  “Telling the others shouldn’t be a problem now, not now that they’ve seen him like we have.”

“Giles already knows.  He was there for the floor show.  He wigged in a huge way, so I lied to him and told him I already knew about it.  That it was all right.”

“Which it is…right?”

The soft question drew Buffy’s eyes back open.  “Only if we get Spike back in one piece.  That’s the only all right scenario I’ll be happy with.”  Trying to be upset with Tara was as hard as it was trying to be upset with Willow for extended periods of time, she realized.  And was it really fair?  “So how come you get to be the best friend and confidante, while I just get to be his kept-in-the-dark girlfriend who has to find everything out the hard way?” she asked.

Tara smiled at the slight annoyance in the other girl’s tone.  “It’s not like he came out and told me, Buffy,” she said.  “He saved me from getting attacked by a couple of jerks at the magic shop.  I’m sure you would’ve been the first one on his list of people to tell if I hadn’t figured it out first.”

“I’m going to ask Giles to do a drive-by of where we rescued Anya,” Buffy said as she rose from the bed and began pulling her things out of the drawers.  “Not that I really expect Sandrine to go with the obvious and take him back there, but at least you’ll be able to confirm for us whether it’s still an option.”  She glanced at the witch as Tara returned to the hanging clothes.  “You can still do the sensing of her magic thing, right?”

She nodded.  “It’s actually stronger now.   She’s…growing in power, I think.”

Not exactly what she wanted to hear right now, but Buffy remained stoic.  “Then that just means we have to work faster to get Spike and Willow back,” she said.  She didn’t vocalize the thought that came immediately after; they needed all the positive attitudes they could manage right now.

Before it’s too late.

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

The car was the last place she had wanted to talk about it, but as soon they had gone by Iris’ apartment building and found no traces of Sandrine’s magic, Giles had introduced the subject of Spike’s chip.  To his credit, he had waited until Xander had turned on the radio, keeping his voice as low as possible as he addressed Buffy, but with so many sets of ears crammed into the vehicle, it was unavoidable that someone would overhear something.

“Is that the chip Sandrine told me keeps Spike from hurting people?” Freddie asked from Buffy’s other side.

“What’s this about the Spike’s chip?” Xander piped up from the driver’s seat, turning down the music slightly.

She saw his eyes flickering to the rearview mirror, and Buffy pressed her lips together, wishing that for once, Giles had kept his opinion to himself for longer than five minutes.  But her talk with Tara had bolstered her determination to do right by Spike, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t already committed herself to standing by him.  The only thing she had to worry about was whether or not Xander would drive them off the road when he heard the news.

“It’s gone.”  Best to just get it out there.  Short and sweet.  Keep the shock value to a minimum.

“Gone?  What do you mean gone?”

“Gone.  As in…not there anymore.”

The car coasted to a stop at a light.  “How?  How is that possible?”

“I thought it just didn’t work anymore,” Giles stated with a frown.

She caught Tara’s eye, and swallowed in resolve.  “Nope.  Gone.  At least, that’s what Clara said.”

“Clara…?  Isn’t that the vodou mama who gave you your little mojo forcefield?  What, does she have X-ray vision, too?”

Buffy shrugged at Xander’s question, trying to make it seem as nonchalant as possible as she shared the details she’d gotten from Tara.  “I don’t know the specifics.  I only know that she said it wasn’t there, and that nothing fires when Spike…”  Her voice trailed off.  Any word she picked was going to get attacked, and while it didn’t bother her, she knew that wasn’t going to be true with the other men in her life.  “…hurts humans,” she finished, finally deciding to just say it like it was.

The light changed to green, and she was grateful when his eyes disappeared from the mirror to concentrate on the sliver of window he could actually see through in front of him.  “And again with the how,” he demanded.

“We’re not sure,” she conceded.  She grasped for the few particulars Tara had volunteered.  “Spike’s got a theory that his little Cecily wannabe visitor had something to do with it, but that would mean she’s either the world’s best brain surgeon or some kind of witch.  Given our history, I’m leaning toward witch.”

“Or demon,” Tara said.  “That’s always a possibility, too.”

“So why wasn’t he stake food as soon as you found out?” Xander asked.  “Why is it we’re even worrying about getting him back from Sandrine if he’s gone all evil again?”

“Because he’s not evil,” she shot back harshly.  Her eye caught the terrain outside the open window.  “Turn left here.”  She saw the grim determination on her friend’s face, and though her anger was rising inside at his casual bandying of the word “evil,” she could see how he’d get that.  Hadn’t she been there herself before this whole New Orleans trip?  It had taken the intensive time they’d spent together to see past the façade Spike so studiously erected in her presence.  How could she expect Xander to see him any differently?

“This is Spike,” he said, as if that was enough explanation.

“The same Spike who saved my life,” Tara said quietly, ignoring the confusion lingering on the brunette’s face when he glanced at her.

“And not like I’m head cheerleader for anyone vampy after havin’ to put up with Iris the past few days, but he was awful willing to play catch with me with his little gris gris,” Freddie added.

In the mirror, Buffy caught Xander’s frown, but she deliberately turned her head when the house appeared out of the corner of her eye.  “This is it,” she said, pointing out the window.  “Pull over here.”

Seeing the darkened windows of the Green Dolphin cottage sent a stab of melancholic nostalgia through her chest, and she sighed as the car eased to a stop along the curb.  “What is this place?” she heard Giles ask as he opened the door to step out onto the sidewalk.

“The house Spike and I stayed at before Pablo sold us out to Iris,” she replied, clambering from the back seat.  “As long as it’s empty, it’ll be the last place they expect us to go back to.”

“Is it safe?”

“As safe as anyplace is, provided no one’s around.”  She held up a hand to stop the others from getting out of the Desoto just yet.  “Let me just do a quick sweep to make sure it’s clear.”

Giles turned back toward the car, but surprised Buffy when instead of getting in, he pulled out the crossbow from earlier.  “I’m coming with you,” he said, straightening, and his tone brooked no argument.

They were both silent as they skirted the outer edge of the cottage, but once the internal view from the lanai confirmed for them that the house was just as it was when the pair had left it before---minus a scaled demon unconscious on the still-shattered piano---the Slayer let loose the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.  “It looks like Pablo skipped,” she said, “but other than that, we should be OK.”

“Buffy…”  His quiet voice halted her turn back toward the car, and she glanced up to see his face hidden in the shadows, the moonlight haloing his head in silver.  Though the combination of the dark and his spectacles kept the intent of his gaze sequestered from her scrutiny, his voice held no recriminations when he spoke.  “No matter what you may want to believe, a chip is not a soul.”

With that one statement, Buffy realized he wasn’t going to ask her to qualify her relationship with Spike.  Not when he already seemed to know.  “I’m not saying it is,” she said quietly.  “And I’m not so blind not to see that it’s going to be hard.  For either me or Spike.  But I’ve seen his heart, Giles.  And I’ve seen how much he’s trying to be more than what we think he is.  This isn’t about judging him for what he might do.  This is about giving him the chance to be judged for what he actually does.  If something goes terribly wrong and he decides to kill again, you know I’ll be the first one in line to do something about it.  Didn’t I prove that with Angel?  But…after everything here, with choosing to save Freddie when he didn’t have to, with…everything else…right now, he deserves our faith in him.  I think he’s earned it.”

He was silent as he regarded her, his mouth thin.  She wasn’t good at the explanations, or in trying to put words on the instincts that she usually let rule her life.  She could only hope that some of her logic made sense, and that Giles would trust her opinion on this.

When he spoke, his voice was still so low, she had to strain to hear him.  “I have a theory about the garde on Freddie’s arm and how we can use it to locate Spike,” he said.  And it was that statement, the careful avoidance of any direct argument with her statements, the casual utterance of his thoughts on how to rescue the vampire, that assured the Slayer of her Watcher’s acceptance of Spike’s integration within the group, and his trust in her belief of him.  Though the desire to throw her arms around him and hug him in gratitude was great, she refrained, bestowing upon him instead her brightest of smiles.

“Let’s get everyone inside first,” she said.  “I think we’ll think clearer once we’ve got some walls between us and Sandrine.”

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

The first thing he became aware of was the cool feel of something hard against his back.  Bare skin, he realized, pressed into the relative smoothness of what was unmistakably stone.  The question as to why his torso was bare, however, was soon forgotten in Spike’s realization that he wasn’t physically bound, and slowly, he opened his eyes to survey his surroundings.

Dark, but not too dark, with the faint faraway drip that suggested damp.  Carefully, he turned his head, eyes glinting in gold as he vamped just enough to take it all in.  Someplace underground, but not a tunnel.  More like one of the numerous hideaways that lurked beneath the surface of the Big Easy.  An open entrance disappeared into ebony, while candles glinted at the side of a king-sized bed that seemed very much out of place in light of where he was.

He quickly realized that it wasn’t just his back that was bare.  Looking down, Spike noted the absence of his usual attire, his upper body and feet both bereft of covering, while blue silk pyjama bottoms billowed around his legs.  Another sweep of the room didn’t reveal his belongings, though, and he scowled at the loss.

“Not that I’m all that fussed about the cold,” he called out to whoever just might be in attendance.  “But taking a bloke’s kit isn’t exactly the way to get onto his good side.”

“I like this look better.”  He turned his head to see Sandrine lounging in the open doorway, but kept his face aloof as he absorbed the black slip dress that molded to her curves.  “And can I just say?  For being such a bitch, Buffy sure does have yummy taste in boyfriends.”

“Is that what this is all about then?  You got an itch for a bit of cold comfort?  Hate to disappoint, ducks, but you’re not really my type.”

She smiled, her teeth gleaming white in the flickering candle as she stepped toward him.  “See, now, it doesn’t do you any good to lie to me, Spike,” she said lightly.  “Because I have all of the little witch’s memories, so I know all about the times you went to see her.”  Her brow furrowed as she pretended to try and remember.  “Wasn’t it just last fall that you told Willow you’d even considered biting her?  Something about a pink fluffy number, I think.”

He kept his gaze cold.  “The thing of it is, though, you’re not Red.”

“No, I’m not.”  Coming to a stop directly in front of him, Sandrine’s head tilted as her eyes drank in the sight of his sculptured chest, one hand coming up to trace the outline of a well-defined pec.  “I’m better.”

With a blur, Spike’s hand flew up to catch her wrist, keeping his touch firm but painfree so that she wouldn’t know about the status of his chip just yet.  That was his wild card, and he knew it.  “Like I said,” he said, his tone clipped.  “Not interested.”

Her bottom lip jutted out into a pout.  “See, I don’t get you, Spike,” she said.  “From everything I have from Willow’s memory, and everything Iris has told me about you, you should be chomping at the bit to get out from under the Slayer’s stylish heel.  What happened to wanting to wreak havoc and go for the jugular?  I thought you’d be excited to get out of Buffy’s shadow and finally start having a little fun again.”

“Now, you’re just not lookin’ at it from the right perspective,” he drawled with a smile.  “’Cause the way I see it…pissing you off?  Best spot of fun I’ve had in a bloody moon.”

The rake of her nails across his cheek was expected, but Spike’s grin only widened as he felt the familiar sting of the cool air hitting his exposed scratches, swiveling his head back to stare into the glittering green depths of her eyes.  “So pathetic,” she bit out.  “Like a whipped little puppy.  I don’t know what it is that you and the witch see in the Slayer.  Bossy, holier than thou, with a god complex the size of Texas.  You could do so much better.”

“You mean, like a skanky, two-bit, has-been mambo, who has to satisfy her bout of penis envy by summoning a soddin’ snake demon?  Yeah, pet, you’re right. That’s just soooo much better.”

She pulled herself away then, her face contorted into a snarl, and Spike saw too late the magic erupting from her hands.  Fire burst into a wall around him, encasing him in a coffin of flames against the wall, and he pressed himself back into the stone to keep it as far away from his skin as possible.  When he tried to test his prison by reaching forward, wondering if he dared to make a break for it and risk momentary immolation before getting free, the inferno blazed and crackled harder, thickening to molasses until he knew with certainty that getting through it would take more time than he could guarantee not going up in dust with it.

Through the orange and crimson, Sandrine’s mouth twisted in angry glee.  “Now that’s fun,” she said.

“Don’t know why you’re bloody pussyfooting around with me,” he snapped.  “Just stake me and get it over with.  I’m of no use to you.”  Not that he really wanted that to happen, of course, but the bitch was annoying him with her parlor tricks.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” she replied.  “And really, it’s your own fault by sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.  If you’d just let me take Freddie in the first place, we could’ve avoided all this.  But no, you had to go all John Wayne and ride to the rescue.  So, instead of me using Freddie as my sacrifice to Sira, you get to take his place instead.”  She smiled, but this time there was no mirth in it.  “Aren’t you the lucky one…?”

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

The guys were taking the bedroom, at Buffy’s insistence.  “Not that I don’t trust Freddie not to make break for it again,” she said.  “But I don’t.  And he’s less of a flight risk if he’s contained in an inside room.”

There was more to it than that, but she was keeping the rest of her reasons to herself.  Did the gang really need to know about the memories she harbored of her last night here with Spike?  The intense pleasure from their escapades on the now-demolished piano, followed by the cuddling in the bed they shared, the argument that ensued after she awoke.  It seemed like a lifetime ago, ages apart and separate from the Slayer that now stood impatiently in the middle of the living room, waiting for the others to finish the protection spell they were casting around the bedroom in an attempt to keep Sandrine at bay.

This Slayer was doing everything she could to hold back the fear about what might happen if they didn’t get to Spike in time.  Command mode, full on.  Try not to think about the emotional ramifications of him being gone.  Concentrate on what it’s going to take to get him and Willow back.

But the anxiety swelled inside her chest like a balloon filled with acid, burning through the rubber to scorch her lungs and drive her feet to pace the length of the room.  What was stopping Sandrine from killing him?  Why take him in the first place?  Actually, she knew the answer to the latter question.  She did it to piss Buffy off.  And boy oh boy, did it work.

She couldn’t think about the possibility of him not being around for her to rescue, though.  Dwell on that and she’d never get anything done.  Remember what it had been like when things had been good…telling him she loved him…hearing him say the words back to her…seeing the wonder gleaming in his eyes when she’d stood by his side in front of Giles about the chip.  She would get it back. 

She would fight the bitch to hell if that’s what it took.

Buffy froze in mid-step when Xander and Anya emerged from the bedroom, Tara close behind them.  “Well?” she demanded.  “Is it all done?  Where’s Giles?”

“He’s trying some meditation techniques with Freddie to try and get him to focus on Sandrine,” Anya explained.  “He’s going to be a while.”

“A long while,” Xander chimed.  “I can’t believe how wound up that guy is over this vodou chick.”

“You saw what she did to those cars,” Tara said.  “Can you really blame him?”

“So…that’s it?  Giles’ big plan is yoga?”  She’d started to pace again, blonde hair swinging as she kept shaking her head.  “Willow is missing in action, Sandrine’s probably got plans to make Spike vamp on a stick, and we have no idea if Giles channeling Deepak Chopra is even going to work.”

“Listen, about Spike---.”

“Not now, Xander,” Buffy said harshly, holding up her hand to cut him off.  “I really don’t have the patience to be dealing with your issues, right now.”

“This isn’t about that.  This is about the chip.”

Her veins ran cold as she braced herself.  It was going to keep coming back to this, wasn’t it?  Why was it they couldn’t trust her when she said it was all right?  Or listen to Tara?  OK, so maybe they didn’t know her as well as they did Buffy, but they’d have to be deaf, dumb, and blinder than Giles during Willow’s spell last fall not to see that she was the most rational one of the bunch.  “What about it?” she asked tightly.  “We’ve already had this conversation in the car.  It’s not like we can put it back inside his head, you know.”

“As much as I love the idea of trying, that’s not what I’m talking about here.”  He perched himself on the edge of the couch, taking a deep breath.  “It just doesn’t make sense, Buff.  Why would anyone want to unleash Spike?”

“Yeah,” Anya said.  “This Cecily person that you and Tara were talking about.  The one Spike seems to think is responsible.  What’s her motive for making him capable of killing again?”

“We don’t know,” Buffy admitted.  “We don’t even know who this Cecily person really is.  Spike said the only Cecily he’d known was from his pre-fang days.  We toyed with the idea that it might be Sandrine’s doing, but that doesn’t make sense to us now.”

“Why?  Sandrine’s powerful.  What we saw at the hotel is just the tip of the iceberg.  If she wanted, she could sink us faster than the Titanic and we’d never even know what hit us.”  She nodded as all eyes settled on her.  “Trust me on this.  I’ve run across some strong witches in my time.  She’s one of the best.  Taking the chip out would be child’s play for her.”

“Because Freddie said she’s got all of Willow’s memories.  She knows that Spike’s chip made it impossible for him to hurt her.  She knew he wasn’t a threat.  Taking it away turns him into one, and if there’s one thing I have figured out about Sandrine, it’s that she’s not stupid.”  Her energy seemed to fail her, and Buffy collapsed onto the opposite end of the couch, sighing wearily.  “It’s got to be just some fluky coincidence.  Spike’s got some mysterious benefactor who just happened to be in New Orleans the same time we did, and wanted to do an old friend a favor by magically cutting out his chip…”  Her voice faded, and she grimaced.  “OK, I’m not buying that, either.”

“Maybe it’s Iris,” Xander said.

Buffy shook her head.  “She didn’t even know about the chip.”

“Maybe Sandrine told her.”

“And that would accomplish what exactly?  I’ve turned this over and over in my head until the big wheel just smashed into the wall of no good answers, Xander.  There isn’t anyone I can think of---human, demon, or otherwise---who could have the smallest iota of motivation in seeing Spike get back into the buffet line.  All it’s really done is serve to distract you from thinking about our Sandrine problem and focus instead on him when he’s not the issue here.”

“Maybe that’s it,” said Anya.  “Maybe it’s a diversionary tactic.  That could be why Sandrine did it.  She probably figured that if Spike was loose, you’d go after him and leave her alone long enough to summon Sira.  Of course, she didn’t take into account that you’d care enough about him to be willing to overlook the fact that he’s now capable of ripping out the throats of your family and friends.”

The bluntness of her tone took all three of them aback, but Buffy was the first to find her tongue.

“Spike is not going to hurt anyone!” she argued vehemently.  “How many times do I have to tell you guys that?”

“I didn’t say he would,” Anya countered.  “Just that he was capable of it.”

“And what’s this about Buffy caring about Spike?” Xander said.  “Last time I checked, she found him just as repulsive and irritating as the rest of us do.”

The quiet that met his words echoed dully around the room, the only responses they garnered a bemused raising of his girlfriend’s eyebrows, and the sudden stain in the Slayer’s cheeks.  His gaze darted between the girls, expecting some sort of back-up from one of the others, but gradually clouded as he realized it wasn’t coming.

“Oh, no,” he said.  “Don’t tell me you’re all Blind Vamp’s Buffy when it comes to Spike, now---.”

“Don’t.”  Her eyes flashed in warning.  “You don’t know him the way I do, Xander.  He’s changed.”

“But you haven’t,” he said in a low voice.  “It’s always about the vamps with you, isn’t it?”  Whirling on his heel, he marched through the patio doors and into the midnight, slamming them behind him so hard that they rattled in their frames.

“Crap,” Buffy muttered.  They couldn’t afford to have any dissension now, not with both Spike and Willow at risk. 

“Don’t worry,” Anya said, surprisingly cheerful.  “He’ll come around.  He may be slow, but he’s been remarkably insightful the past couple days.  And if he gives you a hard time, just remind him that he’s head over heels with an ex-vengeance demon.  That should shut him right up.”  Both girls looked at her with wide eyes, and she shrugged.  “Just because I love him, doesn’t mean I’m not aware he can be a complete ass sometimes,” she said.  “Now, about Spike’s chip.  Do you think it could’ve been Sandrine who came around the hotel wearing some kind of glamour?”

Tara shook her head.  “This felt totally different.”

“Well, what did she look like then?  Maybe I saw her hanging around with Sandrine and Iris.  In between being kicked, magicked, and generally abused, of course.”

“Just…normal.  Pretty.  Dark curly hair.  Huge eyes.  Great skin.”

Anya seemed to muse on it for a moment, repeating Tara’s words under her breath.  On the second reiteration, she stopped and rolled her eyes.  “Damn it,” she said.  “I should’ve known better.”

“What?  You know who this Cecily is?”

“She’s not Cecily.  She’s Halfrek.” 

Tara frowned.  “That is…your vengeance demon friend, isn’t it?  The one you told us about?”

“That would be her.  The bitch.”

“But I thought vengeance demons only were able to cast spells like that if someone made a wish.”  Buffy felt her stomach plummet.  Spike hadn’t mentioned this even as a possibility.  “That would mean…”

“He didn’t.”  Tara was firm.  “He was just as taken surprise by the chip being gone as any of the rest of us.  He didn’t know what to make of it.”

“She could’ve still done it if D’Hoffryn authorized it as a valid use of her powers,” Anya explained.  “That’s one of the perks of being the boss.  Damn it all!”

“And this is the guy who tried to stop you from getting involved back in Sunnydale,” Buffy mused.  Rising to her feet, she resumed her pacing, her body screaming in gratitude for the diversion.  Something she could tackle.  Something definitive.  A demon.  A demon she could kill.  “Sounds like he’s got a vested interest in seeing Sira summoned.”

“No, he’s got a vested interest in getting the voix mortelle back.  Which means it has to be intact, which means he’s probably planning on getting it after she’s fixed it and done her job.”

“So…he wants his staff back.  We want to get it away from Sandrine.  It sounds to me like we’re on the same side here.  So, why is he trying so hard to stop us?”

“How about, because you’re the Slayer.”  Anya spoke as if she were addressing a child.  “Opposite sides of the fence, remember?  Good, evil.  He takes those labels very seriously.  And, frankly, he probably thinks you’re beneath him.  He’s Mr. Man in Charge when it comes to the vengeance world, and you…you’re just another vampire slayer with a limited life span and a pointy stick.”

Buffy stopped in her tracks, her head already lost in potential plans.  “You can summon him, right?  Isn’t that what you were going to do when Willow’s spell went wonky last fall?”

“No, I can open a portal to Arashmaharr, which, please tell me, you’re not even considering.  That’s suicide.  That’s playing on D’Hoffryn’s home turf, and if that’s your grand plan, you might as well just kill yourself now because if you try and attack him there?  You’re just going to be one more bloodstain on his floor.”

“Maybe we don’t need to kill him,” Tara volunteered.  She ignored Anya’s muttered, “Like you even could,” and added, “Maybe we just need to convince him that it’s better to work together on this than apart.”

“Convincing him requires his presence, and I already told you, I can’t do that,” the ex-demon argued.

“So we get an envoy,” the witch countered.  “Halfrek.  You summoned her before.  We’ll just summon her again.”

Brown eyes flickered between them, resulting in a long-drawn out sigh.  “Fine, I’ll do it, but I’m telling you, it’s a waste of time,” Anya said.  “D’Hoffryn will never agree to a truce.”

“Time seems to be our favorite commodity today,” Buffy commented.  “And lucky for you, my schedule seems to be free.”

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

He wasn’t in pain, but he was bored as all fuck, staring at the witch’s prone form on the bed through the flames that danced around his head in a serpentine scarlet.  She’d left up the barrier before collapsing into a traitorous slumber, green eyes shooting daggers with every passing glance in his direction.  Keeping himself still and far away from the danger wasn’t an issue, but it couldn’t keep his mind occupied, and Spike was hungering for distraction.  Even Harris would be welcome, at that exact moment in time.

When she stirred on the bed, he almost didn’t notice, accustomed already to her restless sleep.  When she sat up, though, muscles sluggish like liquid tar, and turned her head in an inexorable arc to look at him, Spike frowned, trying to listen past the magical barrier to her body’s rhythms.  It was impossible, he knew; every thump and pulse of her veins was hidden beneath the hiss and crackles of the conflagration that bound him to the icy wall.  Yet, when she rose from the mattress and crossed the distance between them, he could’ve sworn he could hear the adrenaline pumping incognito beneath her skin.

Her pale face was distorted behind the fire, eyes locked on his as her thin hands came up to press palm-side out against her spell.  Immediately, the licks of crimson disappeared, vanishing in a vapor that left him facing her in confusion.

“If you think all it takes is a little time for me to change my mind,” he said, the tension easing slightly as he relaxed his stance, “you’re goin’ to be sorely mistaken.”

A slow shake of her head, as if the exertion took her full attention.

Spike’s eyes narrowed, blue searching green.  The same emerald orbs that had burned into him so maliciously just a few hours earlier now glinted in quiet desperation, begging him without a word to look past the façade.  “Red?” he murmured, and felt a stab of satisfaction when she smiled back at him.  “What…?  How…?”

She quieted him by putting her hand to his mouth, and instead pointed toward the exit.  His eyes followed only to return to her uplifted face.

“You want me to go.”  A nod this time.  “Not without takin’ you with me.”

He saw the struggle play itself across her fine features, and heard the heart that had been pumping in lazy beats begin to quicken.  The small rise of her breasts was accompanied by the closing of her eyes, as if she were preparing herself for a race.  The last thing he expected was to hear her voice.

“I can’t.”  Soft, and breathy, and oh yeah, that was Red.  “She’s…stronger than me.  I can only take control when she’s sleeping, or just waking up.”

“I’ll protect you.  Just let me get you back to the Slayer.”

“No.”  Eyes open now, shining up at him.  “Sandrine’ll kill you before you make it out of the sewers.  But there’s a way to stop her, to send her back.  Tell Freddie…”  Her voice broke off in a harsh rasp that sent shivers down his spine.  As Spike watched, the redhead’s muscles tensed and released, tensed and released again, as she fought for control.

“…tell Freddie…”  Whispers now, and he began to inch away from her, torn between not wanting to be caught by the mambo’s fury when she awoke and not willing to leave the fragile witch behind.  “…if he calls for the djab, it can be reversed.  But…it has to be soon.  She’s…summoning Sira…tonight.”

His heel caught a small stone on the floor, hesitating his gait.  “I’m sorry, Red,” Spike said.  “I wish…”

“Just go.”

Those words were rougher, and he watched as she stumbled back against the bed, finishing his flight to the door.  “Tara,” he said.  “She loves you, y’know.  She’s fighting for you.  We all are.”

He caught the shine slip down her cheek before fleeing into the darkness of the tunnels, his bare feet slapping against the stone as he ran as fast as his legs would carry him.

Distance first.  Get away from her vicinity so that she couldn’t find him.

And then get to Buffy.  Before the sun came up and he was trapped.

The question was…how?

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

He’d known someone would come out after him.  Nobody could ever let anything go in this group, gnawing at each and every word or action like it was a bone and they were a starving dog.  The fact that it was Buffy didn’t even surprise him, either.  After all, she was the one he’d just flayed open with his words.

“Hey,” she said softly, sitting beside him on the bench that overlooked the lanai.  She leaned back onto her hands, staring up at the night sky, hair trailing down her back in a fluid sheath made silvery by the moon.

“Hey,” Xander replied.  He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his forearms resting on his knees.  The stress was getting to her; he could see it in the tautness of her muscles.  Yet, at the same time, a softness lingered behind the limpid pools of her aspect, one he hadn’t witnessed in the Slayer for a very long time.  And the possibility of why it was there made his heart ache.

“For as many hours as I spend outside at night, you’d think I’d have learned at least some of the constellations by now.”  Her tone was light, but he’d known her too long not to have noticed the sobriety behind her words.

“Ah, but then slaying would be an educational activity, and we can’t really have that now, can we?” he joked half-heartedly.  “Mindless violence.  That’s what it’s about.  Leave the booklearning to Will and Giles.”

A ghost of a smile curved her lips.  “Tara and Anya aren’t so shabby in the brains department either.  I think they’ve figured out who might be behind Spike’s chip being gone.  They’re in there now getting things set up.”

And there it was.  The albatross he’d been hoping to avoid.  It was stupid, really, to think that she would come out here and not talk about the very thing that drove him from her presence in the first place.  After all, subtlety was never Buffy’s strong suit. 

“Why do you hate him so much?”

Neither was patience.

Xander’s head dropped at her question, blankly staring at his feet.  “I don’t hate him,” he said quietly.  “I don’t like him, but that’s different.”

“Then what’s your problem with this?  With him…and me, being together?”

“Because…”  Long fingers ran through his hair, rumpling it even more, as if his answers could be pulled out from his follicles and grant him a reprieve from his ignorance.  “…you can do better than that,” he said.  “You…deserve better than being with another vampire.”  He looked up then, and Xander knew that his confusion shone in his eyes, though he hated looking so weak in front of her.  “Is it a Slayer thing?  Is that why you only seem to be truly happy when you’ve got a vampire for a boyfriend?”

She stiffened, head turning from the velvet of the sky to look at him with a frown.  “No.  Why would you say something like that?”

“First there was Angel, and you bent over backwards to get us to accept him.  But he finally figured out he couldn’t give you what he needed and he did the smart thing and left town---.”

“He ran away, Xander.  Call it for what it is.”

“Maybe that’s the way it looks to you, but trust me.  From this male’s perspective, it makes perfect sense.”

“Spike doesn’t think so.”

His hands balled into fists at the sound of the demon’s name.  “My money says he just told you that so he could get into your pants, Buff---.”  He never got the chance to finish the sentence, the words choking in his throat as she shoved him forcefully from the bench to send him sprawling against the cement.

“Is that what you think of me, Xander?”  She was standing over him, hands on her hips, righteous indignation seeping from every pore of her exposed skin.  “You think I’d go all weak in the knees and soft in the head, risking everyone and everything, just because Spike’s so good in bed?  God, what kind of a person do you think I am?”

“Buffy, that’s not what I meant….”  His head was aching as he pulled himself up into a sitting position, his fingers automatically going up to feel the knot already forming over his eye.  When her hand shot out to help him to his feet, he took it silently, staying his tongue until they stood facing each other.

“I’m sorry.”

Their apologies were mutual, as well as their corresponding blushes.  He held his hand out to let her know to proceed first.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you,” Buffy said.  “It’s just…my nerves.  I’m a little frazzled right now.  I’m lashing out.”  She snorted, rolling her eyes.  “Literally.”

“And I’ve got to learn to keep my big mouth closed,” he replied.  “You don’t need to be hearing my garbage when we’ve got so many other things to be worrying about.”

“It’s not garbage.  Your opinion…matters to me.  It’s just…I don’t think you’re giving Spike a chance here.  He’s…it’s…he’s not like he used to be.  I mean, he is, but there’s more, like he’s letting us, or me rather, because if you were seeing it too, we wouldn’t be having this conversation…”  She stopped.  “I’m turning into Willow.  Listen to me babble because I’m terrified I’m going to say the wrong thing here.”

“Then that makes two of us.”

She took a deep breath.  “I’m not asking you to be his best friend, Xander.  I’m just asking that you trust my judgment enough to know what I’m doing.  Spike’s doing everything he can to try and be a better person, and OK, so maybe you guys haven’t seen a whole lot of that, but I’m telling you.  It’s there.  I’m not being blinded by his hair, or taken in by the accent.  It’s real.  What’s between us…is real.  And it’s not going away.  Not even if you guys don’t approve.”

“It’s not that I don’t approve.”  He blushed at her lifted brows.  “OK, so maybe it is a little bit.  It’s just…you deserve better than just another vamp.”

“I know.  But…he’s not just another vamp.  He’s more.  He’s taking what he’s been given and trying to make himself into something better.  The chip being gone doesn’t change any of that.  All it does is prove to the world that Spike is stronger than his demon.  That he has the power to choose to do good.  Which he has, Xander.  He saved Tara’s life, and he’s doing everything he can to help get Willow back, as well as countless other things you guys haven’t had a chance to see.”

“And you love him.”

“Yes.”  Her eyes ducked.  “I wasn’t expecting it, but you of all people should know that you don’t get to pick who you care about.  I mean…”  And her gaze came back up, searching his with an openness that pleaded him to hear her.  “…did you ever see yourself falling in love with an ex-demon?  I know we sometimes give you a hard time about Anya, but…I can see now what you see in her.  How she’s trying so hard to do the right thing.  Because she cares.  Just like Spike does.”

For the first time since she’d come out, he realized he couldn’t hear her breathing over the song of cicadas in the shadows, not even with having her stand so close to him.  Waiting.  She was waiting.  Holding her breath while she anticipated the sentence she knew he was going to pass onto her.

“I still think you deserve better,” he finally said, and was relieved to hear her exhale.  He smiled, a crooked grin reminiscent of easier days.  “And chip or no chip, if he hurts you in any way, I’ll stake him myself.  Or get Willow to cast a spell that gives him gout or something.  I’m not sure which.”

Her laugh was musical in the clear air, her relief palpable.  “Vampires don’t catch human diseases.  You know that,” she joked.

“Wood it is, then.  Which is probably better in the long run anyway, because my luck with magic borders on the obscenely bad.”

They were chuckling as they began walking toward the house.  This was better.  He didn’t like it when people argued.  He especially didn’t like it when he was one of the arguers.  And she was right about Anya, which meant there was a good chance she was right about Spike, as much as he hated to admit it.  People changed.  Demons changed.

And life went on.

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

It was the creak of the floorboards that woke her.  Muscles froze as Clara tensed, listening to the soft tread of whoever had just let themselves into her apartment near her bedroom.  Peeking through her lashes at the clock at her side, she noted the early morning hour, and wondered just what it was that was bringing someone to her before the sun could even rise.  An emergency, obviously.  That’s all her life was these days.

When the door opened, she had already sat herself up in her bed, reaching for the robe that was draped over the foot of the mattress.  Her dark eyes captured the reflection of the low-hanging moon through the window, but it was nothing compared to the ivory cut of Spike’s bare chest as he stepped into the pool of light.

“Just because you have a standing invitation into my home,” she said, the slightest of scolds in her tone, “doesn’t mean you can stop on by and visit for a spell whenever the fancy takes you.”

“This isn’t a visit.”  The fabric of his trousers shimmered as he moved closer to her, deceptively dark against his pale skin.  “I need your help.”

“I know.”  She sighed.  “I just wish you didn’t need it at this hour of the morning.”  She swung her legs over the side of the bed.  “I’ll have to call Peter.  I don’t do much driving anymore.”

“Hang on there.  I haven’t even told you what I need you to do.”

Clara shook her head.  “Not necessary,” she said.  “I already know.  Seer, remember?”  Softly, she patted his cheek, as if she were reassuring a child.  “Don’t worry, Spike.  I’ll help you find your Slayer.”

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

Chapter 36: Baby, Won't You Please Come Home

“Really, I thought we’d grown past demon-napping each other, Anyanka.”

“Well, you don’t write, you don’t call…what’s a gal supposed to do?”

“I thought I’d told you everything you wanted to know.”

“Maybe if you’d kept your big nose out of Spike’s head, that might’ve been true, Halfrek.”

“Not that I know what you’re referring to, but that’s a gruesome image, even for you.”

“Stop playing dumb. We know you’re the one who took Spike’s chip out. Did D’Hoffryn put you up to it?”

“Spike? I don’t believe I’m familiar with that name. Is he your dog? Oh, please don’t tell you’re indulging in human whimsies regarding pets, now.”

“It’s pointless trying to pretend, you know. I’m the one who let you into the room, remember?”

The last was from Tara, and with her now joining in on the confrontation of the vengeance demon, Buffy sighed, leaning as casually as she could against the arm of the couch, arms folded across her chest as she waited for something to do. Halfrek was contained in whatever magical thingamabob that was binding her to the room, which meant the Slayer couldn’t touch her. And as for questioning her, well, when it came to nagging as an interrogation method, she had to admit Anya was her better. And Tara was there to play good cop, so the equation was already balanced. Everyone else was pretty much superfluous.

Of course, everyone else consisted of only her and Xander at the moment.  Giles was still hard at work in the bedroom, trying to get Freddie to relax.  He’d emerged at one point, as the girls were setting the spell up, but promptly disappeared into the kitchen, giving them only a perfunctory nod when he came back out with two steaming cups of what she assumed was tea.  The decaffeinated kind, she hoped.

So she and Xander waited, their earlier chat returning the comfort to their proximity.  He’d taken it better than she’d expected, and though she wasn’t proud of herself for hitting him---I really have to start learning how to control those instincts around my friends, she thought---it had been just the thing to snap her out of her anger, to finish talking to him like a rational adult.  It was probably still weird to him, but given time, Buffy was sure he’d adjust.  He’d gotten used to Spike living in his basement, hadn’t he?  And this wasn’t nearly as close.

Of course, that required Spike to actually be there, which meant rescuing him and Willow as promptly as possible.  Hopefully, Giles was making some headway in that area.

Because Anya’s ex-friend was driving her batty with her bitchy prattling.  If something didn’t break on that front soon, Buffy was going to have to do some breaking herself.  Preferably on Halfrek’s smug face.

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

His frown deepened as the car rolled to a stop.  The shadows drowned the front yard in inky waves, but he could still see the faint lights glimmering from beneath drawn curtains in the cottage, indicating occupants.  Buffy’s scent was still strong in the air, so though Spike knew that Clara’s directions to Green Dolphin Street had been accurate, why the Slayer would choose to return here when there were countless hotels available in the Big Easy, he had no idea.

“For someone who was so itching to get to his Slayer,” the seer said, swivelling to look back at him from the front passenger seat, “you’re certainly taking your merry time getting out of the car.”

“Yeah.”  Glints of gold sparked across Spike’s eyes as his nostrils flared, inhaling deeply the early morning aromas.  Unmistakably Buffy, as well as the others, but mixed in with it, echoing of something magical, was definitely something non-human.  Demon.  Only one, but since none of the gang ranked among his kind, its presence could not bode well.

“Wait here,” he ordered, when he saw Peter’s hand go for the door handle.

“Something wrong?” Clara asked.

“She’s got company.  No reason to be draggin’ you lot into this if there’s goin’ to be a fight.”  Besides, after having been caged in by Sandrine for so long, a fight was exactly what he was in the mood for.  No way was he going to share in that.

“I think you’d be surprised at how good Peter is when it comes to steppin’ up to help.”  He shot the seer a frown.  She wasn’t letting this go.  “Might not be such a bad idea if you took him with you.  It never hurts to have a back-up.”

“Then he can back me up parked out here,” Spike countered.  “That way you two have the front covered if something goes wrong.”  Not that he thought anything would, but it seemed like as good an excuse as any for him not to tag along.

Her measured gaze told him she wasn’t buying it, but after a moment, Clara shrugged.  “She’s your Slayer,” she said, her surreptitious glance at the large black man at her side not going unnoticed by the vampire.  “You do as you see fit.”

Damn straight she’s my Slayer, he thought as he slid silently from the vehicle.  Of course, if Buffy actually heard that thought, he was sure she might have a different opinion.  Something about him being her vamp. 

A warm flush slithered down his bare abdomen, disappearing beneath the silk pyjamas to heat his groin as he padded lightly across the grass toward the back of the cottage. 

On second thought, he rather liked that version better.

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

“Even if I did what you’re so rudely accusing me of, what difference does it make?  What’s done is done.”

“It’s not the difference we want to talk about, Hallie.  It’s the why.  And the potential of you going back to D’Hoffryn and offering him a deal for us.”

When the vengeance demon laughed at the suggestion, Buffy bolted to her feet in irritation, pacing along the far length of the room.  This was getting them nowhere.  Halfrek seemed determined to be as close-mouthed as she possibly could, barely even admitting that she’d had anything to do with Spike in the first place, in spite of Tara’s firm reminder that she had actually seen her there.  They were only just getting around to the whole wanting to speak with D’Hoffryn angle, and Giles still hadn’t emerged from the bedroom with anything useful.

She needed to hit something.

Now.

Because if she didn’t, she was going to explode in frustration.

She was making a third pass by the lanai doors, watching the festivities on the other side of the room out of the corner of her eye, when the first sensation tingled along her skin.  It wasn’t enough to make her stop, but Buffy’s step faltered slightly as she continued to pace, glancing back at the closed exit with the faintest of frowns worrying her brow.

When she approached on the fourth go, the one tingle turned into a plural, electrifying her nerves so that the hair stood up on the back of the Slayer’s neck.  This time, she halted, grey-green eyes staring intently through the glass, seeing instead of the darkened garden, her own reflection gazing hazily back at her.

Only Xander noticed her distraction, darting glances between her and the others before rising to his feet and crossing to her side.  “What’s up, Buff?” he asked, sotto voce.

“Vamps,” she replied in equally low tones.  Her lips thinned, a gleam overtaking her irises as her hands curled into anticipatory fists at her sides.  Looks like my prayers just got answered, she thought.

Xander’s eyes widened.  “You think Iris found us already?” he rushed.  He didn’t bother lowering his tone this time, and the sharpness in it caused all other talking in the room to cease behind him.

“Iris is here?” Anya asked, looking at them with alarm.

“Someone’s here,” Buffy clarified.  She was trying for soothing, but judging from the way the ex-demon grabbed the nearest weapon, she had a sneaking suspicion she was failing miserably.  “Someone of the vampire persuasion.”  With definitive strides, she marched to the open weapons bag near the kitchen.  “Everyone stay in here,” she instructed as she tucked a stake into her waistband.

“Don’t you want us to b-b-back you up?” Tara asked.

The Slayer shook her head.  As jittery as she was, these trespassers were hers and hers alone.  She needed the slays to iron out her nerves.  “You guys just make sure nobody else gets in.  Get ready to run if I say the word.”

“And what’s the word going to be?” Anya asked as the Slayer’s hand hovered on the door knob.

“Probably me yelling ‘run’ if I come running back inside,” the blonde replied, and slipped out into the night.

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

The air hummed from the various songs of the nocturnal insects that thrived in the sultry atmosphere, joining with the tingling in the Slayer’s skin to create a quivering rhythm that made her flesh resonate.  Her steps were silent as she crept toward the hedge that marked the edge of the garden, mouth set as her gaze swept along its length.  Within the proximity of the approaching threat, she could tell it was actually just one, accompanied by a near-undetectable swish of what sounded like something silken. 

Has to be one of Iris’ minions scoping out the back entrance, she thought as she stopped before the wall.  Who else would insist on her employees dressing like some out-of-date glam rock star?

Whoever it was, was nearing, and Buffy’s body went into automatic mode, grateful to at last have the opportunity to vent some of the energy that had been building up inside her, in spite of the earlier fracas at the hotel.  With a coiled spring, she leapt the height of the hedge, aiming for the approach, to gracefully collide with the familiar cold form on the other side, sending them both in a heap to the ground, hers landing beneath what was unmistakably a him.

Her elbow lashed out instinctively at the body trapping hers, but was met with a firm grip that twisted her arm to pin it behind her back.  The sharp jerk of her head backwards was reflexive against the pain radiating through her shoulder, but it wasn’t until she heard the muttered British curse accompanied by the sudden rush of air along her legs when her captor rose, that she made the connection.

“Spike?” Buffy said, rolling onto her back and onto her feet.  Her eyes widened at the pale echo of his flesh against the dawn-blushed sky, shoulders carved out of the darkness as he rubbed painfully at his nose.  Without another moment of hesitation, she vaulted herself at him, arms outstretched, throwing both of them into the hedge.

Her heart was thumping inside her chest, her rational thoughts scattering to the winds as relief suffused her system.  He was back.  He was safe.  Oh god, he’d managed to escape and he was standing right there and he was…

“Why do you look like you’ve just escaped from some male harem?” she asked, sliding down the length of his body to look again at the pyjamas that graced his lower half.  The silk left very little to the imagination, clinging and shimmering as it captured the scattered light.  Even the outline of his growing erection was unmistakeable in the dim illumination, and she couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and trace the line of his cock through the fabric.

Spike hissed in pleasure at her feather touch.  “This would be Sandrine’s idea of play wear,” he commented.  When Buffy’s brows shot up, he chuckled.  “’Course, she didn’t really fancy it when I asked her to cease and desist.”

Slowly, she relaxed.  “You know, for as much as I hate to say it, I’m going to have to agree with her on this one.”  Her mouth curled into a hungry grin as she slipped her fingers inside the edge of the waistband.  “We get to keep these when this is all over, right?”

The growl rumbled from the back of his throat as his fingers dug into her hips.  “You get me my duster back, pet, and I’ll even wear Harris’ castoffs.”

Buffy’s jaw dropped.  “She’s got your coat?” she exclaimed in mock indignation.  “Well, that just won’t do.  I say, let’s string her up.  Off with her head.”  She smiled.  “Figuratively speaking, of course, because technically, it’s still Willow’s head and cutting it off might defeat the purpose of getting her back and…”  She threw her arms around him again, squeezing him tightly.  “…I’m sooo glad you’re back.”

“Me, too, luv.”  His voice was muffled as Spike buried his lips in her hair.  “Me, too.”

She could feel his excitement pressed against her stomach, but in spite of the initial exhilaration that had surged through her veins at the potential fight, it was eclipsed by the joy and relief at seeing him in one piece that now flooded her body.  Having him gone had been excruciating, but it was only having him back that made her realize just how deeply that had cut.  How much of her had felt like it was missing.  God, how could it hurt even more now that he was back?

Her fingers knotted in the stray curls at the base of his neck, pulling far enough away so that she could slide her lips to his.  Hungry, and desperate, her tongue swiped across the lower swell before plunging through the gap as his mouth parted, fighting and tasting and devouring him down as she pressed her body into his.

Spike’s response was immediate, hands tightening in his need.  The arousal that had been semi-present at the fight urged itself to the fore with a vengeance, demanding for release as the silk barrier that prevented its escape tortured him along his length, sliding up and down as Buffy ground her hips into his.  All thoughts of the threat that had initially brought him to the rear of the cottage vanished from his mind, replaced instead by dancing green eyes and nimble fingers that promised both pleasure and pain, drawing him to the edge of forgetting the world around him as he met her tongue, stroke for ravenous stroke.

Buffy let one hand slide between their torsos, sliding inside the trousers to snake along the tip of his dripping head.  Giving it a firm squeeze, she chuckled against his groan, and then squealed in delight when he cupped the globes of her ass, tucking and pulling her tighter against him.  The tips of his fingers settled beneath her shorts, into the moist arch where her thighs met her now-soaking cleft, and her squeal turned into a corresponding moan as she itched herself lower, desperately trying to force his touch deeper.

“Don’t…you…dare…scare me…like that…again,” she panted as he broke apart from the kiss, raining a parade of blunt nibbles along her jaw to the sinewy arc of her neck.

“Oh?” Spike murmured.  “Would you rather be scared like this?”

His teeth sank into the muscle of her shoulder, the explosion of sensations it wreaked down her spine forcing her head back, her nails to rake down the arcs of his blades as the cry was torn from her throat.  The line of fire that had just been created between his mouth and her clit pitched higher, glossing her skin to a fine sheen as she felt the tip of his cock brush against her wetness, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that there was even more moisture soaking her slit.

“Bastard,” she rasped, the smallest of laughs coloring her cadences, and with a graceful flip, she twisted him around to the ground, now straddling his lean hips as her hands braced herself on either side of his platinum head.

Two sets of eyes glittered as their adrenaline raced, both nearly black with desire as they seemed to hang there in the moment, watching, and waiting, Buffy’s breath the only audible sound to either of their ears.  The same realization crashed to both of their attention as they lay there.  The fact that Spike’s chip was now gone meant more than questioning his attitude toward killing again.  It meant that he and the Slayer were back to being equals, matched in form as well as in hearts, neither able to claim superiority no matter what the circumstance.

It created a swell of satisfaction in Spike’s gut.  Equals.  Never had that before.  Not as a human.  Not even with Dru, not with the whole sire thing, and then her being completely nutters.  Leave it to Buffy to surprise him yet again.

The corresponding sense of right that rose in the Slayer’s breast was surprising, though.  She’d missed this.  Fighting with Spike had been a vicarious tango that had crisped her moves, forced her to push mind and body to their limits until she was better than when she started.  Knowing that he could now return her to that precipice was thrilling, to say the least.

Unfortunately, it also reminded her of just why she’d come outside in the first place.

He seemed to sense her shift in mood, and his lips curled into a smirk.  “Don’t get used to this position,” he warned.  “Not when I can fight back now.”

The tone of his voice was teasing, but there was no mistaking the hint of worry that fluttered behind his eyes.  It was then that Buffy realized…though she had supported him back at the hotel, he knew they had yet to really talk about what the ramifications of his returned state would mean, and she reached forward to feather her fingertips across the line of his brow in what she hoped was a soothing manner.  “I told everyone,” she said softly.  “Giles…Anya…Xander.  Surprisingly enough, their heads didn’t combust.”

Spike’s hand reached up to catch hers and he turned his head to press a kiss into her palm.  “Never asked you to lie for me, pet.  I don’t want you to think you have to.”

“I know.  I didn’t do it for you.  I did it for us.”  Slowly, she peeled herself away from his hips, rising to her feet and pulling him up with her.  “It’s not like you weren’t going to tell me.  You kept trying.  I can see that now.  We just kept getting interrupted.”

“And you’re not…fussed ‘bout that?”

The bend of his body was still wary, and Buffy shook her head as she pulled him against her again.  “Just don’t turn it into a habit,” she said.  “That’s a bad one.  The…keeping stuff away from each other part of it, I mean.  If you have something to say, don’t hold it back.  I’ve had enough of guys trying to tell me what they think I need to hear.  No more whitewashing for this gal.  Just like I swear not to hold back with you.”  She laughed.  “And that’s enough Oprah for this hour, methinks.  Time to get back to some good old-fashioned apocalypse averting.”

“Please tell me you managed to nick my clothes when you went scampering off from the hotel,” Spike said as followed her over the hedge.  “Not that I’ve got a problem showin’ the wares to Rupes and the boy, but I think it might make Tara just a mite uncomfortable.”

“She’s a lesbian…remember?” she joked back.  “But, yeah, we’ve got all your stuff.  We’ll just have to sneak into the bedroom to get it.”  She stopped when she noticed he’d halted behind her, turning to see him staring intently at the patio doors, nostrils flaring.  “What’s up?” she asked.

“Tell me you know there’s a demon in there,” he said, his voice gruff.  Stupid of him to forget that’s why he’d come out alone in the first place.

“Oh, yeah,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.  “That’s just Halfrek.  One of Anya’s ex vengeance buddies.  Turns out she’s the one who took the chip out of your head.  Tara and Anya figured it out.”

“And you’ve got her in there because…?”

“…we thought we could use her to get to D’Hoffryn.”

He nodded as if he could’ve really expected nothing less.  “Something tells me we’re goin’ to have some blanks to be fillin’ in for each other here, luv.”

His question reminded her of her earlier doubts.  “Yeah,” she agreed.  “Like…how in hell did you ever figure out I was back here?”

Spike smirked as he ambled to her side.  “Those two particular blanks happen to be parked out front.”

“So…Iris and Sandrine aren’t nipping at your heels?”

A shake of his head.  “And there’s no imminent danger inside?” he queried, his gaze dropping to her mouth.

Her turn to say no.  “And you know…”  Somewhere along the line of their questioning, Buffy’s voice had grown husky, her desire for him returning to burn even higher.  “…those pants don’t so much show your wares, as they do put out a full page ad.  We should probably…wait before going in.”

“Or do something about it,” Spike muttered.  The last of his words was silenced by the crushing of his mouth to hers, his arms scooping her about the waist and carrying her to the shadows of a nearby willow tree.

“Off, off,” Buffy gasped as she pushed at her shorts.  The bark of the tree scraped against her back from the force he was pinning her there, and she found herself holding her breath as dexterous fingers pulled the article of clothing away, baring her skin to the pre-dawn air for only a fraction of a second before being covered again by his insistent hips, his lips once again attacking hers.

He had freed himself at the same time, and it only took a small shift of the Slayer’s hips to feel his hard length nudging along her cleft, each sweep brushing against her screaming clit.  Once, and twice, and three times, and oh god was he ever going to enter her?, and there it was again, the gentle but firm pressure on the nerves that threatened to explode already.

She gulped for air as his mouth left hers, travelling along her cheek to capture her lobe between his teeth, biting and nipping as a sympathetic rumble vibrated from his chest into hers.  Buffy’s fingers clawed at his back, and though somewhere in the back of her head, she knew that was she was doing was going to leave marks, marks that the others would undoubtedly see when they finally went inside, she didn’t care.  All that mattered was him.  And getting him inside her.  Now, now, now, her inner voice chanted like a greedy child.  Want him now.

He seemed to be reading her thoughts.  Without breaking his tempo at her ear, Spike pulled his hips just far enough away to direct the tip of his dripping cock to her entrance, holding her still for the moments---long, excruciating, wonderful moments, she decided---it took to impale her on his length.

Inch, by inch, stretching and filling and engulfing her until she felt him buried completely to the hilt, his coarse hair tickling at her clit as he held himself there…and waited.

She was the one to begin the rhythm, lifting her body just enough to encourage him to start pumping in and out of her, each stroke driving her harder into the trunk, her skin aflame as the world tilted around her.  “God…Spike…” she murmured into his neck, tasting the cool satin of his flesh as it prickled against her tongue.  Everything seemed so much easier when he was there, like the answers that insisted on vanishing with the advancing light suddenly decided to stick around, provide her grounding upon which to stand.  “Love you…so much…”

Though his thrusts became harder, his mouth softened, leaving the hollow of her neck where he had been sucking to lick across the tender spot just below her ear.  “Love you, too, Buffy,” he replied, his voice a whisper across her soul.  “Always.”

It was all she needed to drive herself over the edge, muffling her cry by burying her mouth against his skin, her skin and limbs and insides and outsides detonating in syncopation with the ripples that shuddered her muscles.  Spike came almost immediately after, as if he’d been waiting for her release before allowing his own, and he held her tight against him, forehead pressed to hers, lashes dark against his pale skin.

“It’s good to be home,” he said softly as their bodies quietened.

She could only nod in silent agreement.

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

Her foot was tapping impatiently within the confines of her bindings, her carefully manicured nails drumming silently along her upper arms, as Halfrek waited with the others for the Slayer to return.  Not that she was worried about what might happen; the Slayer had said it was only vampires outside.  As a fellow demon, she really had nothing to worry about, since it was most likely the humans they were after.

But when the doors opened, and she saw the familiar platinum head walk in at Buffy’s side, his fingers entwined with hers, the conspicuous scent of sex clinging to their exposed skin, all motion in her body came to a stop, her hope in the situation plummeting.  Nothing showed on Halfrek’s face, though, not even when Spike turned his head to look at her, and she lifted her chin higher when she saw his eyes narrow in speculation.

“Geez, Spike,” exclaimed Xander as everyone else exhaled in relief.  Though it was obvious the humans noticed the new closeness between the two blonds, it was just as apparent to Hallie that they had no clue about the more intimate aspect of their relations that had just occurred.  “Way to go for wigging us out here.  Care to share why you didn’t bother, oh, I don’t know…using the front door and knocking?”

“Sensed you lot weren’t alone in here,” he said vaguely, and released Buffy’s hand to step toward the confines in which they held the vengeance demon.  When he came to a stop before her, she could’ve sworn time slowed down as he tilted his head, his sapphire gaze glittering as it languorously swept up and down her body.

His lips pursed in his examination.  “So….” Spike drawled.  “I hear tell you’re the one I’m s’posed to be thanking for my little chipendectomy.”

She didn’t say a word, only watched as Buffy came up to stand beside him.

“So this is our Cecily wannabe?” she asked unnecessarily.

Spike nodded.  “No wonder she was able to pull off the masquerade so well,” he commented.  “She’s got bitch written all over her.” 

Buffy giggled at the joke, and turned away, no longer interested in his evaluation of his so-called savior, issuing instructions to the others that for some unknown reason included retrieving a pair of mysterious persons from a car out in the front. 

I told D’Hoffryn this wasn’t going to work, she thought.  His plan had rested on the premise that Buffy would want to kill Spike.  He hadn’t accounted for the fact that she was going to fall in love with him.  What choice did Hallie have now but to try and do what the stupid Slayer wanted?

The room was quieted when Anya held up her hands.  “Not to be the voice of doom and gloom here,” she said.  “But I’ve got a funny question to ask.  Not that I’m not glad we don’t have to go on some suicide search and rescue for Spike, but…if Sandrine got as angry as she did when you guys got me and Freddie away from her, how pissed do you think she’s going to get when she finds out that you’ve done it to her…again?”

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

If Willow could’ve paced, she would’ve.  But, hello.  No control over her feet.  She’d wasted what little bit of control she’d actually had to get Sandrine roused enough to allow Spike to escape.  And even that had been a close one.

So when the other presence woke from the slumber that had kept her to the bed the remainder of the night, Willow was practically giddy from nervousness, waiting---and really, really hoping it wouldn’t be as bad as last time---to see what the mambo’s reaction was going to be.

For a long minute, Sandrine stared at the empty wall opposite her before allowing her gaze to trail to the just as empty entrance.  “Huh,” she finally said out loud, only the mildest of surprises in her voice.  “That sure happened a heck of a lot sooner than I thought it would.”  Her lower lip jutted out in a pout.  “And that bitch Slayer didn’t even bother to stick around here long enough for me to pretend to put up a fight.”

Relief that she hadn’t been found out, that Sandrine automatically assumed Buffy was the responsible party for the rescue, surged through Willow’s consciousness, bathing her nerves with temporary succour.  OK.  Everything’s A-OK.  Spike got away, Sandrine thinks Buffy is the one who got him out, which means she doesn’t know I’m here, and…

Just as quickly, her distress returned.

Wait.

Did she say pretend to put up a fight?

Holy moley, what did I miss?

She watched in growing horror as Sandrine picked up the duster that was tucked underneath the bed, slim fingers gliding lovingly over the softened lapels.  “Hello, baby,” she crooned.  “You’re going to take me right to them…aren’t you?”