DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Holly had a tantrum in her fear about hurting Buffy more, but got settled down. Buffy and Spike had a small talk about some of the things he'd said to Holly about his mother, ending in a new understanding between the two...

-----

35. A World Outside Your Window

There were striking similarities to the last time she'd woken on the couch with Spike.

The hard, lean length of him against her back, arousing Buffy's nerves to a bow-tight zenith long before her mind could fully sharpen.

His cool hand splayed possessively across her stomach. Still. Firm. Ready to act at the slightest provocation.

His nose buried in the golden tangle of two-days-spent-in-bed hair. Even if he wasn't breathing, Buffy was convinced he did it only to soak in the scent of her. Spike seemed to be just as smell-fixated as he was orally.

But there were differences, too.

When the shadows had lengthened and Holly had made no appearance at waking from her nap, Spike had climbed onto the couch without invitation, his eyes solemn when they met Buffy's as he rolled her over, molding her to him with the silent command of a man convinced it was his right. She would've asked him anyway, but the assurance with which he claimed his place beside her was both terrifying and heart-warming.

He made no overt sexual advances, either. Yes, she could feel his erection through his jeans where his hips pressed into her bottom, and yes, he'd allowed no hesitancy before slipping his hand beneath the t-shirt she wore, but that was where Spike stopped. His fingers never strayed above her navel, and the closest his mouth came to hers was when he'd nuzzled at the tender spot below her ear. There was still affection in every brush of his skin; it was just tempered by the understanding that now was not the time for more.

Achy from inactivity, Buffy stretched as best she could within the circle of his embrace in order not to wake him. The slight arching of her back drove his arousal deeper into the cleft of her ass, eliciting a sleepy growl from her bed-partner along with a tightening of his grip.

"Dirty pool," Spike grumbled. "S'posed to be resting, not doin' your best Delilah."

"I've been in bed too long. I'm all stiff."

"Believe that's my line, luv."

"What time is it?"

"Middle of the night. You still tired or are you wanting to get up?"

Buffy's eyes drifted open. The cabin glowed from the dying embers in the fireplace, the air crisp with the promise of midnight. "I get up now," she said, "and my body clock won't ever forgive me."

"Could move upstairs," Spike murmured. For the first time, the hand he held to her stomach crept lower, probing fingers teasing and entwining with the first wiry curls they found. "You could let me tire you out good and proper."

The prospect was appealing. She wasn't all that ready to return to sleep, and she wasn't sure a devoted Spike wouldn't disappear once she was back in top form. It might be her best move to take advantage of this while she could.

Slapping playfully at his encroaching hand, Buffy said, "It's cold down here anyway. I want it on the record that I'm only agreeing to this because your bed is way cozier than this couch."

She felt him peel reluctantly away from her. "I'll just give the fire a good stoke before we go up then," he said. "Won't be---."

The sudden freeze of his muscles prompted a corresponding tension in her, and Buffy twisted to see what had stopped him.

"What is it?" she started to ask, but the words died in her throat when she saw.

The front door of the cabin stood open to the elements.

As did the bedroom door.

It explained the cold. Without Spike's body as a shield, Buffy felt the frigid air of the outside dampening the warmer air in. She felt it even more acutely when he shot off the sofa, the blanket tumbling to the floor as he bolted to the bedroom.

"Fuck!"

He didn't linger. In a flash, Spike was at the front door, fangs and ridges in full display as he stretched his every sense out into the darkness. For a long moment, his body was utterly still and Buffy's pulse quickened as each second passed.

Fuelled by adrenaline, her feet were on the floor the instant he moved. "I'll be right behind you," she said as she hurried to the bedroom. "I just---."

"No." The single word cut through the air, but when she turned to look at him, Spike was too busy pulling on his boots to notice. "Pidge just did another walkabout. I can handle it."

"We can fan out. We don't know how long she's been gone."

"I said, no!" His eyes gleamed in yellow as he finally lifted his head to glare at her. "You've only just been knockin' on death's door. I'm not risking losin' you, too."

She was still motionless when he grabbed his coat and disappeared from the cabin, slamming the door behind him. A mixture of anger and awed disbelief churned in her stomach at his proclamation; too many implications from his words ran amok inside her head. Stubbornness won out in the end, though, and Buffy whirled on her heel to return to the bedroom and her quest for clothes.

-----

The chill whipped over the planes of his face as Spike chased Holly's scent through the trees. The trail was clean, no evidence of other demons on the prowl, but the knowledge that it was merely the child's sleepwalking did nothing to assuage the fury that burned through Spike's veins.

He'd failed. He'd known he was the only one on the watch and still, he'd allowed himself to be lulled into complacency, drifting off into a satisfied slumber with Buffy in his arms where she belonged and little thought that there might be repercussions to his simple action clouding his mind. He hadn't even noticed the lack of a second heartbeat when he'd awakened. All he'd been aware of was the ripe and ambrosial Slayer he surrounded.

And now the little one could be endangered because of it.

The trail wound through the trees, circuitous and abstract in a vague pattern that was all too déjà vu. How many times had he followed after Drusilla when she'd gone wandering? Sometimes he was lucky. He'd find her before she stumbled into more trouble than she could handle, coaxing her back to their current hideaway with promises of sweet girls and sparklies.

Sometimes, he wasn't so lucky. Sometimes, he had to claw and bite to get her out, staying steadfast in her presence in order to keep her calm, only to rage afterward at the haunting specter of her bruised and bleeding loveliness.

This could not be one of those times.

Around Spike, the trees began to thin, and he tracked the scent through a break, only to skid immediately to a halt. The lake Buffy had told him about earlier loomed before him, desolate and crystalline under the starless sky, its surface glittering from the new frost that had freshly hardened its surface.

And there, twenty yards out towards its center, stood Holly.

Because she'd never woken to be changed, she still wore the sweater and pants from earlier, her feet still sporting the shoes he hadn't bothered to remove before settling in to her nap. Thank the bloody hell for small miracles, he thought as he stepped tentatively onto the ice. At least she had some protection from the surrounding winter.

"Jealous of my attention to the Slayer, huh, pidge?" he called out. The slow and steady of her pulse was the only testimony Spike needed to attest to her somnambulism, and he wasn't surprised when she continued to walk haltingly toward the lake's center, ignorant of his words.

"You got me now," Spike continued. The ice was holding, but the further he went out, the thinner he knew it would be. "Let's say you and me go back. Have some hot chocolate to warm up."

No response. Just the delicate crunch of her tread on the ice.

"Holly!"

Roaring her name did the trick. Slowly, the little girl turned her head, and even from that distance, Spike could see the vacancy in her gaze.

"You're skating," she said.

"No, I'm fetching you," he countered.

Ten yards away now. He could hear her shivering.

"I have to go. I have to hide."

"You are hiding. Back with me and Buffy."

"Buffy's dead."

The simple declaration, wrong as he knew it was, made his blood run cold. "No, she's not," Spike said. "She woke up, remember? She woke up, and she's doin' just fine. She wants you to come back with me, pidge. Now, you don't want to let Buffy down, do you?"

Five yards. She wasn't moving, neither farther away nor closer to him. He wasn't sure if that was good or not.

"They all died. I didn't want them to, but they did. Why didn't Buffy die?"

"Because she's a fighter, that's why. Because there's nothin' she can't beat, just like there's nothin' you can't beat if you set your mind to it. Now, c'mon and be a good little girl, and let me get you back to the house before you catch the death of you from cold."

Beneath his boots, the ice trembled with Spike's weight, and he imagined tiny spider webs lacing its frigid belly. He shoved the images away. He had to focus on success.

Three yards.

All he had to do was reach out to her as he took those last few steps---.

His hand jerked back at the electric shock of the magical perimeter, driving his foot unexpectedly hard into the ice so that he could retain his balance from the sudden jolt. The audible creak of the ice groaning against the onslaught made him freeze, and Spike strained to hear for more telltale weaknesses in his precarious perch on the lake.

He only heard the harsh rasp of Holly's cold breath.

He couldn't get to her. Just a few feet away and the bloody barrier penning them in kept him from scooping her up and running back to the cabin. For a second, the confusion of how she could've slipped through the invisible wall when he couldn't made Spike frown, but the answer quickly presented itself.

The child was insusceptible to magic. Doyle had said so himself.

Bloody ridiculous way to try and cage a kid who could walk through the walls they erected.

Tamping down his growing frustration, Spike slowly crouched so that his eyes were level with Holly's. If he couldn't go to her, then he just had to get her to come to him. "Pidge," he said softly, though his demon was screaming inside, "need you to listen to me."

-----

Her body was livid in its silent protestations of the limits Buffy was forcing upon it, muscles kindled in icy heat as they fought to perform as she expected them to. In the back of her mind, she knew Spike had been right in his demand that she stay behind, but it was too late for her to admit that now. She could only press onward, following the path he'd created, and hope that she didn't collapse before she reached him.

Buffy's heart lodged in her throat when she saw the two dark figures on the ice. There was no detail; the inky sky allowed little illumination, and she had to squint to confirm that it was indeed Spike and Holly. Only the stark whiteness of his hair made it possible for her to know for sure, and she froze where she was, her legs grateful for the temporary reprieve, to watch as he reached out to the child.

And then jerk back as if suddenly burned.

It took a moment for Buffy to realize what was stopping Spike. The barrier that kept them contained now separated the vampire from Holly, the magic that created it obviously no obstacle for her. How were they going to get her back? The Slayer's feet were already moving toward the lake's edge, ready to help in whatever way possible, when Spike's voice floated back to her.

"...need you to listen to me," she heard him say.

Buffy hesitated. She couldn't see his face, and she could barely make out his words, but the fragile timbre of Spike's voice begged compliance, compelling her to check her advance.

"Know you're scared," he continued. "And I know you don't rightly understand everything that's goin' on. Can't say that I do, either. But that doesn't mean you need to do a runner every time things get a little rough. How do you expect me and Buffy to help you if you're not around for us to help?"

"Buffy can't help me. I hurt her. I didn't want to."

"She knows that, moptop. And she can help you. You just have to give her a chance. The Slayer's got more surprises in her than she does quips, and I know you've heard her speak."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you here?"

"Told you. I'm fetching. Now let me get to it before the both of us end up goin' for a swim. Don't particularly fancy playin' polar bear with you, 'specially since I'd automatically win."

She could tell Spike was losing his temper. Frankly, Buffy was surprised he'd managed to last this long. She should probably intervene---.

"---couldn't bear it, you know."

Buffy watched as Holly took a tentative step closer to him. OK, so maybe he didn't need her help.

"You're not goin' to remember a spot of this in the mornin' which makes it a mite easier to tell, but you're not so different from Buffy, you know. The pair of you drive me barmy, and half the time I want to throttle the two of you, but bugger if you haven't made me care. If something were to happen to you, pidge, and there was something I could've done to prevent it..."

"Don't cry, Spike."

"I'm not. It's the blasted wind."

Except the air is still. What's going on, Spike?

Holly inched even further forward, and Buffy felt the tension in her body unwind when Spike scooped her into his arms, the child's tiny fingers wiping at the angles of his cheeks. His next words were lost when he buried his face in Holly's, but the Slayer was backing up already anyway. This wasn't something she was supposed to have witnessed, she realized. And if Spike were to come off the ice to find her, she'd have more than an angry vampire on her hands.

Stumbling back through the trees, Buffy only glanced over her shoulder once to see the pair edging their way back to the shore, Spike's coat wrapped around Holly to protect her from the frigid air. She'd known he was developing a soft spot for the little girl, in spite of his assertions to the contrary, but hearing him bundle Buffy into the same sentiment left her feeling insanely warm inside.

And it was under the weighted branch of a towering pine that the understanding came to her.

She was falling in love with Spike.

It made her halt in her paces, her heart pounding inside her chest. Lust was one thing, even strong like. But love? That was more than she'd ever bargained for. Did she want that? It was completely in her power to put a stop to any advancing of feelings, to keep this completely casual with the amazing sex and joking camaraderie their newfound appreciation created between them.

Only...she didn't want to. Not really. She liked where things were going. Wasn't Spike proving, time and time again, that there was more to him than she'd ever imagined? He didn't have to be so nice to Holly; he didn't know he'd had an audience. That meant it was real, and probably something he'd be ashamed to admit to Buffy, so rabid he was about maintaining his Big Bad persona.

She began to walk again, determined to beat him back to the cabin so that he wouldn't be aware that she'd slipped out.

Smiling the entire way.

-----

The hour was late. The Watchers had long retired, their work from the day exhausting them further than they were willing to admit, and Maria was left to go over their findings---or lack thereof---on her own.

Five days. She only had five days left to find the little brat before the magic would cease to work. Five days before a lifetime of searching for power that should've been hers in the first place would be wasted. Did they not understand the gravity of her situation?

Of course not. Because the fools only had part of the story.

At least she had Rupert in check now. Silas had done exactly as she'd requested, ingratiating himself back into the others' good graces with the faux text she'd given him. They were even more confused about Maria's motives than ever, which was good as long as it didn't get in the way of their locating the child. It was a good thing none of them were in more direct contact with their previous employer; if they'd had access to even an iota of the Council's information on Holly, Maria knew they would never have agreed to help her find the girl.

She paced the length of her study with a weary grace. Sleep was probably her best option at the moment, but rest escaped her, her mind too twisted with the details of what was to come to allow her that freedom. Five days could be an eternity or a pindrop, depending on what the men discovered. If they failed to---.

No. She wouldn't dwell on that. Failure was not possible.

Maria was startled from her reverie by the ringing of her private phone. With a frown, she crossed the room to answer it, her gaze flickering to the clock on the mantle on the fireplace as she did so.

"It's late," she said into the receiver.

"I know, miss, but it can't be helped." The cracked voice of the groundskeeper broke through the static on the phone. "There's been a slight disturbance at the front gate."

"A disturbance? Of what sort?"

"I thought it was some wild animals at first, what with all the noise they were making. I'm surprised you couldn't hear it all the way up to the house---."

"Get to the point."

The groundskeeper cleared his throat, and Maria could imagine him rubbing at his rheumy eyes in exhaustion. "I went down to see what it was and found...well, I'm not sure what it is. It's built like a man, but...its skin, and the way it smells. Like rotten eggs. I've never seen anything like it."

She stiffened at the description. The Ijua she'd sent after Joyce Summers wasn't supposed to come to the house. That wasn't part of the plan.

"Put him on the phone," she demanded, her voice cold.

"Don't think that's possible," the groundskeeper said. "I think whatever it is, is dead. Been worked over pretty good and it's got what looks like scorch marks all over its skin."

This was not what she needed to hear. What had happened to prevent the Ijua from fulfilling his task? And did that mean the elder Summers was that much closer to getting in the way of everything? What means of control could she possibly exert over Rupert now?

"...call the police?"

Maria jerked back to the present. "There's no need," she said firmly. "Burn the body."

"What about the woman?"

She froze. "What...woman?"

"The one passed out next to him. I think they were traveling together when they were attacked or something. Wait a sec." She heard him set the phone down and step from the guardtower, long seconds passing before she heard him return. "Found a wallet in her coat pocket. Her driver's license says her name is Joyce Summers."
 

To be continued in Chapter 36: All I Want for Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth...

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Spike rescued a sleepwalking Holly while an unconscious Joyce has shown up at Maria's house...

-----

36. All I Want for Christmas Is My Two Front...

The holidays hadn't transpired in any fashion similar to what he'd envisioned. His imagination had conceived a quiet day spent in his flat, a small meal of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding to remind him of days past in England, with Buffy and any of the others popping around to wish him a "Merry Christmas." He would've indulged in some of the Ardbeg he saved for special occasions, and he most likely would've been good-natured---or drunk---enough to allow Spike a taste as they settled down to enjoy some good music and barely tolerable company. The vamp would've probably insisted on putting some inane program on the telly, but Giles would've conceded that one point, reminiscences of a youth listening to the Queen's speech on Christmas afternoon invoking the remainder of his holiday spirit.

Instead, Giles had spent Boxing Day with Silas and Paul, poring over translations that made their hostess look like Mother Teresa, his dwindling hope that Buffy was still safe somewhere consuming his thoughts to the point of distraction. Even Silas, who'd been reluctant to question any of Rupert's actions since their physical confrontation a few days previous, had voiced his concern, and Giles had snapped at him with the thinning patience of a man near the end of his tether.

He didn't want to believe that his instincts had been incorrect about Maria. She'd threatened him, for God's sake. What woman would do so, with as much aplomb as she'd exhibited, without having a cruel streak within her, capable of acts more selfish than saving the world? He could buy that she was worried about her daughter, but the evidence of her actions countered the evidence of the texts, and the contradiction was dizzying.

That was why he found himself wandering the halls of the manor long past the hour everyone else had retired. He'd debated going to Maria and engaging her in conversation, hoping that she would do or say something that would help to shed light on his current conundrum. But the prospect of another confrontation had left Giles weary, and instead he aimed for the kitchen, the one room that had been declared completely accessible without undue question.

He was surprised to find the light on, and the cook hovering over a steaming kettle. She looked up when he entered, nodding in acknowledgement, but quickly returned to whatever she was preparing, placing a pair of cups and tea accoutrements on a waiting tray.

"I don't suppose there's enough for a third," Giles said with a half-smile.

"Should be," came the response. "I just have to get this to the mistress, if you don't mind waiting."

He nodded. "I hadn't expected she'd be entertaining at such a late hour," he commented. "Silas and Paul were both asleep, last I checked."

"You didn't hear the flap?" At his denial, she added, "There was a woman found out front with a dead body. The mistress had her brought in, to find out what happened to her."

Giles' heart sped up in his chest. It was too farfetched to consider that it could be Buffy; he sincerely doubted that Maria would be so casual about inviting the Slayer into her home. Still, Buffy had a habit of leaving dead bodies in her wake. With as many other fantastic turns of event that had occurred over the past week, it was certainly within the realm of possibility that she might appear on the doorstep.

"Is she all right?" he asked carefully. "I assume because Maria hasn't called for an ambulance---."

"Out cold when she was brought in," the cook interrupted. She was warming up to the idea of gossip. "She came to soon enough, but she complained of a headache and asked for tea." She shook her head. "Don't know what a woman her age is doing out in the middle of nowhere this time of night, though. At least the mistress understands her limitations. And the thing she was found with? The gardens are going to reek for a week. It's just not natural for things like that to exist."

Not Buffy then, Giles realized as he hung back. Which was a shame, because he would've rather enjoyed seeing his Slayer have a word or two with Maria. The only one who would be more enjoyable to watch tell Maria off was---.

The kitchen door clicked behind the cook as she left the room, leaving Giles lost in a newfound hope.

It couldn't be.

But Maria had already told him about the possibility. He'd just assumed that she'd follow through on her threat from a distance. He'd never imagined that she'd bring Joyce Summers into her direct influence.

He was going to have to find out for himself once morning came around. If Joyce was here, she needed to know about what was going on.

-----

Holly had curled into a tight ball beneath his duster, her eyes shut tight in sleep, by the time the pair returned to the cabin. The sound of the shower filtered from behind the closed bathroom door, but Spike only gave it a cursory glance before heading straight for the fireplace. The child was chilled to the bone; he needed to get her warmed up before her exposure began to have any more ill effects than it already had. This was one of those times he hated the fact that he couldn't generate his own body heat.

Spike's hands worked expertly over her exposed limbs, massaging with gentle power until the temperature of the fire began to seep into her languid muscles. Though he hadn't been affected by the cold, a shivering had started deep within his gut long before he got back to the cabin, and now, with Holly's pallor a too-loud testimony to his failure to protect her, it was threatening to overwhelm him.

It wasn't until he'd been caught with the barrier between them that the depth of Spike's fear had struck him. Being unable to truly help Buffy had shaken his sense of power; he held little doubt that his efforts were just a minor contribution to her recovery. But with Holly...having the child look up to him, being important to someone who believed unequivocally in him...it was only when he thought he might lose that, that Spike realized just how desperately he needed it.

So, his words for the duration of the flight back to the cabin had been all the same theme.

"Promise you, pidge," he'd said. "No more need for you to be afraid, not with Spike on the watch. Promise with everything that I am, or was, or will be. I'm not goin' to fail you again."

Not having to face Buffy right away was almost a relief. There had been a moment out in the forest that he could've sworn he smelled her, but that had been dispelled when he walked in and heard her in the shower. He hadn't actually expected her to listen to his request, but knowing that she had, knowing that she'd trusted in his judgment as well, almost made him buckle. He couldn't have her knowing how he'd come so close to losing the little girl; how much ground would he lose if Buffy were to find out just what a royal screw-up he actually was?

His hands were still shaking when he heard the bathroom door open behind him, the steam curling in slippery fingers out into the main room. Hiding the tremors with the task of tucking Holly into the place on the couch they'd vacated earlier, Spike felt Buffy approach, her warm hand settling momentarily on his shoulder before stretching past to touch the child's forehead.

"How is she?" she asked softly.

"Got a bit chilled," he replied, just as quietly. "But she seems to be sorted."

"And you?"

He glanced back at her, a small frown drawing his brows together. "I just fetched her in from the cold," Spike said. "What would be wrong with me?"

Buffy shrugged, but there was a seriousness to her gaze as she bent to meet his eyes. Her wet hair stuck to her cheeks, proof to her haste to get out of the shower and meet him, and she smelled like heaven, soap and skin and Slayer mingling to divert him from his worries. For the first time, he noticed that she wore only a towel, beads of water still clinging to her bare shoulders, and his mouth watered at the sight. The instinct to drop his attention from Holly and pour out his frustrations into Buffy's flesh was overwhelming, but he stifled it by breaking from the Slayer's stare.

"You were just gone a long time," she said. "I...I didn't know if you might've met up with some kind of nasty out there."

"No need to worry about me. I can take care of myself." He had to bite his cheek not to comment on how he was the only one he seemed able to do that for these days.

She moved away at that, seemingly taking him at his word, and Spike felt an instant pang at the loss of her body heat against his back. "I think I'm hungry," Buffy said. "Do you want me to heat you up some blood?"

"God, yes," Spike muttered. An even better idea spurred him to his feet, and he was reaching over her head before she could even open the refrigerator. "Think a shot of something stronger might be in order, too."

He didn't even bother with a glass. Opening the Jack Daniels, Spike brought the bottle up to his mouth and gulped down a long swig, feeling the borrowed heat sear his throat, coating his lungs in fire before settling to a familiar burn in his stomach. The only thing it didn't do was chase away the ache of failure that still clutched at his heart; all the alcohol could do for that was make him forget about it for a few precious minutes.

He was downing his second swallow when Buffy's voice startled him.

"Do you ever think about biting me any more?"

His head snapped around, and he saw her gazing down at the blood she was pouring into the saucepan. "Where the hell did that come from?" Spike demanded.

"Does that mean you do?"
"That means, where the hell did that come from?"

Her skin was pinking from the heat of the burner, her eyes unable to meet his. "I'm getting your food ready, I'm in a thinking kind of mood. It's not really the Grand Canyon of leaps, you know."

He didn't need another of her mistrust tirades right then. Granted, it had been a few days since he'd been on the wrong side of one of Buffy's speeches, but with his ego as fragile as it currently was, the last thing Spike needed was to be cut even lower.

"Thanks ever so," he growled, his hand curling protectively around the Jack bottle as he slumped into one of the kitchen chairs.

It was snatched away from him before he could take another drink. "Will you stop being the drama queen for two seconds and actually remember that we're on the same side now?" Buffy snapped. She set the whisky on the counter, beyond his reach. When she turned back to face him, her eyes were sparking, but what could've prompted her reaction, Spike had no idea.

"It was a genuine question," she continued. "Complete with question mark and snideness lackage. How many times are we going to have the I actually trust you argument before you start believing me?"

"Shouldn't," he shot back.

"Shouldn't what?"

"Trust me. I'll only fuck you over, too."

"What? You haven't---." Her head jerked to where Holly was still wrapped up in front of the fireplace, and she sighed. "It's not your fault she went sleepwalking," Buffy said, her voice calmer.

"No, it's my fault she got out in the first place."

"You brought her back, safe and sound."

He stayed silent. If he spoke, he'd have to lie to hide just how close he'd come to losing Holly, and, given his current state of mind, Spike was fairly sure Buffy would rip through his façade like tissue paper. Instead, he jerked his chin to the stove. "Blood's burning."

With a muffled curse, Buffy turned away, grabbing the panhandle and then almost yelping as the sudden heat seared into her palm. To her credit, she didn't flinch as she moved it off the burner, gritting her teeth in silent determination, but the instant it was free from her grasp, she was running for the sink, turning on the tap to let the cool water flow over her skin.

"You're infuriating, you know that?" she queried. She didn't bother looking back; Spike had a sneaking suspicion she wouldn't have been so blunt with him if she had to look at him to say it. "You spend so much time convincing me to give you the benefit of the doubt, even getting me to go all lovey heart which is so not my style, and then you turn around and pull out all these crap insecurities and you expect me not to react? Do you do it to deliberately piss me off? Because inquiring minds are dying to know here."

"Buffy---."

"I'm not done." Grabbing a dish towel, she deftly wrapped it around her hand, busying herself with the minutiae of tending to her wound instead of meeting his gaze. "You honestly think I forget for a second that you're not a vampire? Open your eyes, Spike. I'm reminded every single time you touch me, and considering how much touchy-feely has been going on here the past few days, that's pretty much all the time."

Now, she looked up. Spike could see the anger brightening the green, the tight lines at the corners of her mouth as she held her temper in check. But he could also see the hurt buried within her aspect, masked by the pride she wouldn't let slip, not even for him, and felt shame swell up inside his gut.

"I asked you the biting question because I'm amazed that you've gone to the lengths you have for Holly and for me, especially knowing what you are. I know you hate having the chip, but I also know it's the only reason I've had the chance to get to really see you because without it, you would've tried killing me the first chance you got. Hell, without it, you wouldn't even be here. So, tell me. Where do you get off telling me who I can and can't trust? You want me to love you, but the second I think I could---."

"What was that?" He had to have misheard her. It was completely impossible for Buffy to have just admitted what she did. Just in case, though, he rose to his feet and closed the distance between them. No chance of his ears not working right if he was standing right in front of her.

Her cheeks went white, her eyes wide. "What was what?" she backpeddled.

Spike's head tilted, all thought of his fears regarding Holly and the potential of hurting Buffy scattering in the face of her almost admission. "Never said anything about lovin', pet. All I ever asked for was a little respect, maybe a spot of honesty. So what's this about thinkin' you can love me?"

"It's nothing---," she started, but when she tried to push past him, Spike's arm shot up to block her way.

"If it was nothin', you wouldn't be so quick to rabbit off."

"And if it was anything, don't you think I'd tell you?"

"No, I think you'd be doin' exactly what you are." Keeping her path barred, Spike lifted his other hand to cup the side of her face, holding her firm when she tried to pull away. "Should apologize to you for bein' such a sourpuss," he said softly. His thumb stroked the delicate line of her cheek, the guilt at the fact that she'd been trying so hard to talk to him and he'd refused to accept her at face value spurring him to continue. "Just...still a bit keyed about the little one. She almost---."

"Ssshhh." She silenced him with slim fingers rising to his mouth, and his lips automatically parted to allow him to taste them. "You don't have to explain anything. I know you've been through a lot the past couple days. If that doesn't give you a reason to be cranky, then I'm not sure what does."

She meant it. Spike could see it on her face, in the possessive lean of her body. He'd been so wrapped up in his own feelings that he hadn't seen just how strong hers were, too. And while he was dying to push the envelope on her aborted confession, he also knew that doing so would probably just push her further away. Right now, that was the last thing he wanted.

So, he gave her what she wanted.

"Your answer's yes," Spike murmured, his eyes downcast with the confession. "I think about what you'd taste like more often than'd probably make you comfortable. Not to kill you, mind you. Not even to hurt. Don't think I could bear that any more anyway. But...biting and drinking is more than the kill, pet. It's about a connection. Don't expect you'd know anything about that, though."

"I know a little." Though he didn't see her face, he saw her fingers rise to ghost over the scar on her neck, and he grimaced at the thought of Angel's mouth pressed to that tender spot. The Master had had his taste, too, but Spike doubted she felt anything remotely romantic in regard to that little nibble. And the blazing flare of jealousy that sprang to his heart at the thought of having to relinquish such a pivotal part of Buffy's history to the Grand Poofah made him want to tear into her even more.

"That first night was hell," he admitted. "You were bleedin' all over the place, and I couldn't shake the smell of you."

"But you didn't even try anything." She said it almost as if she still found it impossible to believe. "Even then---."

"Don't be turnin' it into anything noble. That was all about savin' my own hide. I knew you'd stake me if I so much as blinked at you wrong, and when it comes to gettin' through a rough patch, you're pretty much ace. I was just pitchin' my tent in the winning camp."

"And saving Holly? Don't try telling me that's anything close to self-centered."

He gnawed at his cheek, wondering how he could phrase it without giving too much away. "Made her a promise," Spike finally said. "I don't have much, so I've got this sick need to make my word worth gold. Thought you might've sussed that out by now."

Buffy's lips quirked. "Gold, huh? That's why you came back to Sunnydale after promising me you'd stay away?"

She was teasing him, a faint good-heartedness meant to draw the sting from their earlier squabble. Spike took the olive branch, shoving aside the emotional drain that had been his evening, and lifted his eyes to meet hers.

"Like you could bear not havin' my manly self around to keep you distracted," he taunted.

Buffy's gaze flickered over his shoulder. "Do you think Holly's out for the night?" she asked.

"Doesn't matter," he replied. "I'm not sleeping any time soon to miss her goin' out and about again."

He sighed in pleasure when her fingers began running along the upper edge of his waistband, the tip of her index disappearing beneath his tee to etch a thin, fiery trail across his navel. "You should probably warm up," she said, and her voice was thick with emotion. "We've had enough sickies around here not to be adding you to the list."

Spike's eyes drifted shut when Buffy stretched to run her tongue along the side of his neck. "Don't get sick," he rumbled, and groaned when her blunt teeth bit into his jugular. Sliding his hands beneath her towel, he cupped her ass to yank her forward, eliciting a small squeak from her throat when he did so. "Can prove to you just how not sick I am."

When her arms slid around his neck, giving him the control he hadn't asked for but so desperately wanted, Spike buried his face into her shoulder, his mouth and tongue thanking her with an adulation that brought goosebumps to her exposed skin. Memories of the lake still hovered on the periphery of his awareness, but every second that Buffy forced him to remember her trust in him dimmed its vividness, driving him to replace his dissatisfaction with the deepening roots of his feelings for her.

She was making it far too easy to love her.

And if she could come that close to admitting it, then, damn it, so could he.
 

To be continued in Chapter 37: Love Came Down at Christmas...

38. There's a New Kid in Town

She awoke with a small headache, the kind that pulsed right behind the eyeballs so that it was impossible to ignore its presence. Doyle had warned her that would be an effect of the knockout spell they used to simulate being unconscious, but Joyce had hoped that having the cup of tea with Maria before going to bed would contravene the magical repercussions. It was the only reason she'd so readily agreed to it. From the moment she'd seen the older woman face to face, it had taken every ounce of her self-control not to demonstrate just how tough someone had to be when they lived on the Hellmouth.

The house wasn't what she expected. From the way the ghosts had talked, Joyce had envisioned Maria as the Evil Queen from Snow White, tucked away in a stone turret as she cackled over her steaming cauldron. What she'd found instead was Martha Stewart's much richer cousin in a house packed to the gills with style and art that made her gallery feel like a second class citizen. The room Joyce had woken in was the epitome of elegance, and the bed put hers back in Sunnydale to shame.

Note to self, she thought as she pushed the feather-filled comforter off her legs. It's not the best idea to start getting jealous of the bad guys.

She was surprised to see fresh clothes laid out for her, the jeans and sweater she'd worn on her arrival completely missing from her search of the room. If they had fit perfectly, it would almost have been easier to gird her determination against the older woman, but the fact that the blouse was just a bit too baggy and the trousers an inch shorter than she would've preferred only made Joyce more ill-at-ease. It was too much like she really had just stumbled across the house. If Maria was such an all-powerful witch like Doyle and the others had testified, wouldn't she at least have offered clothing that fit properly?

She hadn't gleaned anything from the one brief conversation she'd had with her, either.

"I can't thank you enough for...well, for getting me away from that thing," Joyce had said, feigning a damsel in distress tone to her voice that she knew would make Buffy cringe. It certainly made her wince. "Do you know what it was? It didn't look human."

"I wouldn't know," Maria had claimed. Her eyes had been steady on Joyce's as she'd lied through her teeth. "You were found alone, Mrs. Summers. I have only your assertion that this...creature was even responsible for your condition."

She had only nodded. Maria's pretense that Joyce had been the only person on the grounds would've been completely plausible if Joyce didn't know for a fact that the demon's dead body had been left with her. Doyle claimed it was the only way to confuse the witch into letting her inside. With Joyce's story, Maria was to believe that the demon had been forced to amend his kidnapping, taking her directly to the witch when it looked like he was being pursued. It would explain his charred body being found with her.

She just hadn't anticipated having to face a woman who purported not to know anything about it.

Joyce had been taken to the guest room and fallen asleep before she could consider anything else. And now here she was, suddenly a doubting Thomasina about the whole arrangement because there was no sign of Rupert and there was no sign of evil-doing. She would've expected being able to pick up on those sort of indications after so many years in Sunnydale.

The doorknob twisted in her hand before she could open it, and Joyce jumped back, startled, to see Maria standing on the other side.

"So glad to see you up," the older woman said with a warm smile. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Better. Thank you." It occurred to Joyce that she hadn't heard a knock, and silently pondered why that had been.

"I thought you might like to join me for breakfast," Maria was saying. "Something a little more substantial than tea, if your stomach can handle it."
Her stomach made the reply for her, by choosing that moment to gurgle loudly. Joyce flushed. "Breakfast sounds lovely," she said, and closed the door behind her to follow Maria down the hall.

They walked in silence for a long moment, all sounds of their tread sucked up by the plush carpeting beneath their feet. It was only when they reached the curved staircase that Maria spoke.

"I find myself curious about this...traveling companion of yours," she said, not bothering to look behind as she descended the stairs.

"Did you find him?" Joyce was eager to start testing the waters of what exactly Maria knew. She needed to know how close she was to finding Buffy; it was the only way to ensure that she didn't get too close to the truth.

"No." The answer disappointed Joyce. "What intrigues me is that you would be traveling with someone such as that in the first place."

"I told you. He was holding me against my will. If it wasn't for that last attack, I don't know what I would've done."

"So...you're unaware of what exactly his purpose was?"

She was supposed to say no. She was supposed to feign ignorance of any of the kidnapping arrangements. The way it had been planned out, Joyce was supposed to play the innocent puppet in all this and let Maria sink her own ship.

The only problem with that was Maria seemed far too in control of her rudder to allow any sinking to occur. Joyce needed to start looking for an iceberg.

"He was hired to kill me," Joyce said. The bald statement was the first to stop the other woman, and Maria paused at the bottom of the staircase to look back at her with a raised brow. "I think someone considered me a threat."

The cool sweep of her hostess' gaze was accompanied by a small smile. "No offense, Mrs. Summers, but you don't seem the type. Why would anyone possibly consider you a threat?"

"Because my daughter is the Slayer."

There wasn't even a blink of recognition.

"Is that some new teenager thing?" Maria quizzed. "I'm afraid I'm rather cut off from much of the modern world. I can never keep up with the latest trends and whatnot."

"It means she's the Chosen One." Joyce was very glad none of the ghosts were around to hear her. None of this was meant to be revealed, but she just couldn't think of any other way to chink at this woman's armor. "Buffy the Vampire Slayer? Surely you've heard of her."

"And why would you think that?"

Joyce's lips pursed shut. No, she just couldn't go that far. That would be suicidal.

Maria resumed walking again. "Perhaps that blow to your head did more damage than you think, Mrs. Summers. I believe I'll call my personal physician so that he can take a closer look at you."

"I told you, I'm fine---."

"Women who are fine don't profess to have birthed some supernatural demon killer. They also don't have delusions about kidnapping schemes."

"I'm not delusional!"

She stopped before heavy double doors and glanced back at Joyce before pushing them open. "Perhaps breakfast is too much for you," Maria mused. "You seem...aggravated."

"Because you called me delusional!" She took a deep breath. Calm down, Joyce thought. She was too quickly losing her cool. That would only get Buffy killed.

"I merely suggested that maybe you underestimated your injuries." She stepped into the empty dining room, the scent of bacon wafting out into the corridor to tickle Joyce's nose. "Are you normally so susceptible to suggestion? Should this be a...character flaw I should be aware of?"

There was no malice in her tone, her face placid, but Maria's choice of words made it all too clear that she was deliberately goading her new guest. Joyce balled her hands into fists at her sides, and she counted to ten in her head before crossing the threshold into the dining room.

"Maybe you're right," Joyce said. Time to switch tactics. "I should probably get a hold of my doctor and see if he can see me. If you could just let me use the phone---."

"That's hardly necessary. I've told you, you can full use of my personal physician."

"I don't want to impose."

"And I don't want to be held liable should you leave my care and promptly have an attack or get hurt in some way." Maria unfolded her napkin into her lap. "Do sit down, Mrs. Summers. The least you can do is have a good breakfast before you're examined."

"You can't possibly think you're going to keep me here against my will?"

"I'm keeping you here for your own good."

"I don't think so." Whirling on her heel, Joyce marched toward the open doors. Before she could reach them, though, they slammed shut of their own accord.

"I said...Sit. Down."

A shiver ran down Joyce's spine as she slowly turned back to the table.

Maria hadn't moved. She was carefully stirring sugar into her teacup, her other hand casually resting on the side of the table nearest the doors, but her eyes were fixed on Joyce, icy and calculating. "Is this any way to act as a guest in my home?" she commented.

"I'm a prisoner, not a guest."

"Trust me, Mrs. Summers. Prisoners do not get treated as well as you have been. However, if those circumstances are more to your liking, I'm sure I can accommodate you. Now. I do believe I asked you to sit down."

Reluctantly, Joyce took a seat at the table. She had been warned about the witch's power, but since the older woman had been acting so...normal, Joyce had momentarily forgotten. No more. From now on, she had to play this smart.

They sat in silence as the food was brought in from another door, a cornucopia of eggs, sausage, pastries and bacon overfilling the plates. Another gurgle from her stomach betrayed Joyce's hunger, but she waited until she saw her hostess begin eating before picking up her own fork.

"You're not really going to arrange for me to see your doctor, are you?" She asked the question carefully, watching Maria's reaction out of the corner of her eye.

"I might have," Maria conceded. "If you had perpetuated your little myth about not knowing the truth about your traveling companion, I would likely have played the same game. For as long as you found it entertaining."

"You think this is a game?"

Maria sighed. "No, Mrs. Summers, I think this is quite serious, and just the fact that you would treat it so lightly disturbs me more than you might guess." She chewed thoughtfully. "Tell me. How is it you were able to convince the Ijua to bring you here? And how did you ever manage to overpower him?"

"I told you the truth. We were attacked."

"And did you ever find your daughter?"

The question made Joyce's blood run cold, her temper flare. "Obviously, since you're so aware of my actions, you know that answer already."

"Why would I ask if I already knew?"

"You tell me."

Wiping her mouth on her napkin, Maria took a long moment to regard Joyce before rising to her feet. Her hand made a small, elegant gesture toward the doors, prompting them to open again, and Joyce did everything she could to remain as stoic in the face of the magic as she could.

"I believe it's time to return to your room, Mrs. Summers," Maria said. "I have work to do, and you...are proving a waste of my time."

She waited, and Joyce knew that if she didn't do as the woman requested, things could get ugly. Well, uglier. This was most definitely not turning out as she'd thought it would.

"Locking me in my garret," she commented casually as she stood. "How very Wicked Witch of you."

Maria's smile was cold. "Except there will be no Prince Charming to ride to your rescue," she said. "I'm afraid he's already in my employ and will be far too busy for the duration to aid you."

Joyce's step was automatic as she followed the older woman from the dining room. Maria's last words had sent her thoughts skittering in hope.

This was just one of the pieces of information she was hoping to glean in doing this.

Giles was here.

-----

The little one roused just before dawn, but Buffy had heard the first sounds of her waking and scrambled to her feet before Spike could. Quickly donning a pair of sweats and a tee, she had bent to brush her soft lips across his temple, her hand on his shoulder keeping him down, murmuring, "Go to sleep, Spike. You've done enough for now."

So, he'd slept, with visions dancing in his head not of sugarplums, but of green eyes gazing up at him in trust. Of golden skin splayed out below him like a glorious canvas. Of blood that flowed sweeter than any he had ever tasted. It was a Christmas unlike any he could remember.

When he woke, Spike's vampire senses told him right away that it was only mid-morning, but his body attested to a more protracted slumber. It felt like he'd rested for a week and given Grade A infusions along the way; the only explanation he could fathom were the tiny bits of Slayer blood that he'd ingested in his encounter with Buffy.

Thinking of it made him smile as he rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling in satisfaction. Now that had been bloody amazing. He hadn't really thought about biting her---not seriously, because the reality of the chip made the contemplation pointless---but when Buffy had deliberately cut her tongue on his fang, and those first coppery drops had suffused his being, the prospect had been too tantalizing. He had to know.

It wasn't the taste of her blood that pleased him so profoundly this morning, though. Sure, there was no discounting the sheer ecstasy of her taste, or the amazing fucking that had accompanied it. But the belief she held in him, the confidence she carried that he wouldn't hurt her, that was worth more than any of the other combined. It wasn't about thinking he was too weak for her to worry about. It was about her trusting that he was strong enough to follow his gut, his heart.

It was about respect.

And that meant more than any words she could've given him.

Speaking of words...

Spike's smile faded as he remembered what he'd whispered to her as she fell asleep. It had been the swell of the moment that had battered down his last defenses and allowed the emotion to surge forward, to take command of his better senses even before he realized the truth of it. Had she heard him? She couldn't have. She wouldn't have been so tender with him when Holly woke up.

But the feeling was still there.

He loved Buffy.

...Huh.

It wasn't what he expected. Loving Dru had been about devotion, about worshiping the ground she walked on and ensuring that she was cared for every step of the way. There was unmistakably passion, but that came with its own baggage because Spike knew, under the right circumstances, that she was willing to share that passion with others. Like Angel. Like Darla. Like a pretty young thing she saw in the street. The fact that he was always having to be on his best to try and please his dark princess tainted the purity of his feeling for her. He didn't know it at the time, of course. This was only a realization he had come to long after the fact.

He had little else to compare love with. There was William's love for Cecily, but Spike knew it wasn't real. It was just a young man's desperate need to cling to an ideal; he had never known the true Cecily. And there was his love for his mother, but that was something else entirely. And Harmony...well, the less said about Harmony, the better.

Now...there was Buffy.

Loving Buffy.

It was easier than he thought it would be. The woman he'd slowly come to know over the past week was not the woman he had thought she was. Yes, she was strong, independent, and could go from sweet to stubborn in half a second flat, but she was also funny, and smart, and perversely narcissistic in all the right ways.

And if she cared for someone, there was nothing she wouldn't do for them. Spike had tasted that one firsthand.

Loving Buffy wasn't about trying to claim some ideal. He'd done that. With Cecily. With Dru. These days, Spike's eyes were far too open to the Slayer's faults, and it was those that actually drew him in the hardest.

The fear of failure she masked under a self-confidence that so rarely cracked called to him with particular fervor. Because when Buffy failed, people died. And when people died, so did a tiny part of her. He admired that kind of passion.

What was so strange was that, somehow, in the past week, Buffy had come to see him as an equal. Gone were the days when she would tear him down, just for the sheer pleasure of hearing her own voice. She hadn't even tried hitting him in days, which, truth be told, Spike wasn't so sure was a good thing. He was going to have to teach her how a little pain could make the pleasure all that much better.

His smile returned.

What a glorious lesson that would be.

Maybe it was the little one's influence. She'd taken to him like a fish to water, and though it had infuriated him at first, the fact that Spike had grown attached to her had to have been obvious to Buffy. Maybe that had been the deciding factor for the Slayer.

Whatever it was, it made them partners. Equal partners.

Her words.

Her actions.

Was it any wonder he loved her?

Still, wouldn't hurt to tread carefully today. She hadn't been willing to admit that much yesterday; without being certain whether or not she heard him, Spike wasn't willing to destroy what they had built during the night. It was the most precious thing anyone had given him in a very long time. He wasn't so stupid that he was going to bugger it up with a few wrong words.

At least, he hoped he wasn't.

He was buttoning his jeans when he pulled the door open, but the sight that greeted him made him stop and tilt his head in amusement.

In the middle of the living room floor, Buffy and Holly sat opposite each other, legs crossed Indian-style, their hands covered in socks. The child's were a pair of Buffy's, white anklets with a pink stripe around the ribbing, while the Slayer had a pair of Spike's, the tip of her left index finger visible through a small hole in the tip.

The opening of the bedroom door caused the pair to stop what they were doing, and both of them turned their head toward him.

"Hi, Spike," Holly chirped brightly, the waggle of her fingers obvious even through the sock.

"Someone's lookin' bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this mornin'," he drawled.

Holly giggled. "I don't have a tail, silly," she said, turning back to their game.

Buffy's eyes were locked on his, and he knew she was more than aware his statement had been meant for more than the child. "I didn't expect you to get up so soon," she said. "It's not even lunchtime yet."

"Since when have you known me not to be up when the occasion merits it?" He waggled his eyebrows at her, and was answered by a shake of her head, though she smiled as she turned away.

"Oink, oink, Spike," she simply said.

"That's a pig," Holly announced.

"Yes, it is," Buffy confirmed.

"People aren't pigs."

He wasn't sure if Buffy would come back with her usual retort---Spike's not people---and couldn't help the widening of his grin when the Slayer merely said, "No, they're not."

"So," he said, striding over to the kitchen, "do I want to know why you've nicked my socks? Looks kind of kinky."

"Mine's not hinky," Holly chirped. She held up her hands, palms out. "Mine's white."

Buffy rose from her place on the floor and crossed to join him, hopping up on the counter as he began to warm up some blood. "Holly started getting upset this morning about touching me again," she explained. "The socks seemed like a good alternative."

"For what?" he asked.

"Well, it started out as Miss Susie, but she's a little young to be that coordinated---."

"Miss Susie?"

"You know." She began to mime the game as she chanted. "'Miss Susie had a baby, she named it Tiny Tim...?'"

A single eyebrow lifted.

"What? That's the way it goes!"

"Whatever you say, pet."

"It's not what we were playing when you came out, anyway. She kept smacking me in the knee so we switched. To hand puppets." Buffy held up the hand with the holed sock, wiggling her finger even more through the opening. "I call this one Mr. Pokey."

Holly's voice stopped the riposte from coming.

"Um...Buffy?"

They turned simultaneously to see the little girl staring wide-eyed at the front door of the cabin, and their gazes slid to match hers. Immediately, Spike stiffened, just as Buffy jumped down, crossing the distance to put herself between Holly and the object of their attention.

She wore a flowing skirt and soft blouse, her long dishwater-blonde hair pulled away from her simple features in a low twist. Her fingers twisted anxiously in front of her, but even if she hadn't been dressed completely inappropriately for the weather, Spike would've known from the lack of any scent or heartbeat that this was another of their bleeding ghosts.

The young woman raised a hand in nervous greeting. "Hi, guys," she said.
 

To be continued in Chapter 39: Angels and Shepherds...

-----

39. Angels and Shepherds

Buffy was poised in stiff caution as she faced off with the intruder, lips thin as her green eyes swept over the young woman's form. Whoever she was, she wasn't dressed for the elements, and Buffy hadn't seen or heard the door open in order to let the woman in. That left only the mystical, or ghostly as the case may be, and the Slayer opened her mouth to address the issue of uninvited guests when she paused, her eyes meeting the other's for the first time.

"Wait," Buffy said slowly, when she felt Spike come up behind her. It was just as much to him as it was to herself. "I know you."

"Don't tell me this is another of Angelus' castaways," Spike commented. "First the gypsy girl, then Doyle. He's really got a way of makin' people into turncoats, doesn't he?"

She ignored him. "You're Willow's friend, right?" Buffy continued. For a fleeting second, hope flared in her chest, her eyes darting to the door. "Is Willow here? How did you guys find us? Was it Giles? I knew he'd---."

"Slow down," the woman said with a small chuckle. "Maybe you should sit. This might take awhile." Her gaze slid over Buffy's shoulder, and the Slayer could've sworn she saw her eyes warm. "And Spike can just hover if he wants. I know how hard it is for him to sit still."

"Awful friendly considerin' I don't know who in hell you are and this is our bloody house," Spike said.

She sighed, shaking her head. "I keep forgetting you and I haven't met yet," she said, more to herself than to the vampire, before adding, "I'm Tara. We're friends, or we will be. It's all part of what I need to explain to you."

"You're a ghost, pet. And I don't have any friends. Let's say you try again."

But all Buffy heard was the ghost part of his proclamation. "But...I just saw you with Willow a few days before finals," she said. "What happened?"

"Oh, boy," Tara said. "I knew this was going to be tough, but I didn't think it was going to be this bad." She knelt in front of Holly, giving the child a soft smile. "I'm a friend of Doyle's," she said gently. "Do you know what that means?"

Holly nodded. "I heard you and Doyle talking. 'Bout protecting me."

"That's right. And I need to talk to Buffy and Spike about some grown-up stuff. Do you think you can go into the bedroom and play with your dolly while I do that?"

The little girl glanced back at Buffy, waiting for confirmation of the request. After a moment, the Slayer nodded. "It won't be long," she said. "And then we'll get back to our puppets. I promise."

"Can Spike be Mr. Monkeypants this time?"

She couldn't stop the grin. "I think Spike would love to be Mr. Monkeypants," Buffy replied. "Now shoo."

The three adults waited while Holly tucked her doll under her arm and carried her from the room, casting one last lingering look at the trio before slowly closing the door. As soon as they were alone, Spike looked sideways at Buffy.

"Mr. Monkeypants?" he drawled. "You can't be serious."

"Be thankful she didn't ask for you to be Mr. Pokey," Buffy said. "There's no way I could've kept a straight face for that one."

"I'd forgotten how sweet she is," Tara mused. Her eyes were still on the closed door, her face thoughtful.

"You forget how toxic she is, too?"

Spike's question brought the edge back to Buffy's mood, and she lifted her chin to stand with him against the intrusion of the ghost. "Yeah," she said. "You'd think that would've been a detail you guys could've been a little bit clearer on."

"I suppose I deserve that," Tara said. Her head tilted toward the kitchen table. "Are you sure you don't want to get more comfortable? Maybe finish getting your drink? I really do want to make this as easy for you as possible."

Maybe it was the soft way she spoke, or maybe it was the nervous twisting of Tara's hands, but Buffy's natural inclination to argue with the ghost seemed to wane with each word she uttered. Whatever it was, this one was a hell of a lot more congenial than Jenny been. "How come you haven't been the spokesghost all along?" she asked as she walked back to the table. She sat down and watched out of the corner of her eye as Spike returned to finishing his mug of blood. "I get why Doyle couldn't because he was bringing her here, but why Jenny instead of you?"

"Because you just saw me alive a few days ago," Tara replied. She didn't sit, but instead stood at the head of the table. "You really think you wouldn't have been weirded out by seeing me as a ghost?"

"Not any more than Jenny," Buffy said. "I thought she was the First."

"But you don't now."

The Slayer hesitated. "Let's just say, I'm a little more open to the topic of conversation than I was before," she said. "Holly can be very persuasive."

"Speaking of the little one..." Hopping up on the counter, Spike leveled narrowed eyes at their guest. "Why is it none of you lot told us about the blood thing? Almost lost Buffy there and all because nobody bothered to share that little detail."

"We didn't have reason to think her blood would be an issue," Tara said.

Buffy's eyes widened. "She's three! Are you really trying to tell us you didn't expect her to skin her knee or cut her finger or something?"

"It didn't occur to us," came the reply. "You have no idea how sorry we are about that now."

"What about the sleepwalking?"

Spike's inquisition was far from over. Buffy could feel the frustrated tension that had been such a frosty tenor in his being over the past few days, and knew he was struggling to keep from lashing out. She didn't even have to think. Rising from her seat, she took the step necessary to position herself between his legs, flashing him a reassuring smile before leaning against his chest and facing off with Tara as a joined front.

Tara's smile softened at the sight. "I missed this," she said, ignoring Spike's question. "This was what I kept trying to get the others to see."

"What're you talking about?"

"You. The two of you. Like this. Maria doesn't stand a chance with you two working together."

The mention of Maria was all Buffy needed to stop dwelling on the casual manner in which Tara consolidated the two of them and get back to the matter at hand. There was enough going on for her to sort out when it came to Spike and the last thing she wanted right now was for it to be done publicly. Not before she got a chance to talk to him herself.

"Sleepwalking," she prompted. "You're avoiding the issue."

"No, I'm not. We thought it was a non-issue."

"She goes wandering around in the middle of the night! How is that a non-issue?"

"She also has two guardians looking over her, both of whom are extremely nocturnal. We assumed when you took over the responsibility of watching her, one of you would always be awake." The barbed accusations were drawing the good-humor out of Tara's face, and she visibly stopped to compose herself before continuing. "Look," she tried again, "this isn't why I'm here. We know we made some mistakes. We should've been a little more upfront about some of Holly's...specialness. But that's why I'm here. To try and explain it a little better for you."

"Why now?" Buffy asked. "Why not in the beginning?"

"Because I was outvoted. They don't even know I'm here now."

The solemnity of her statement made Buffy stop. Behind her, Spike's hand absently stroked the line of her spine through her shirt, but she knew without having to look that he was just as affected by this young woman as she was. "Let's start from the top," Buffy said, deliberately softening her tone. "Beginning with how you can be involved in this when I just saw on campus a few weeks ago."

-----

It was hard to concentrate with Buffy between his legs.

Well, hard to concentrate on this Tara chit, at least. Spike wasn't having any problems concentrating on the glorious Slayer scents that were assaulting him or the possessive tilt of Buffy's head as she leaned it against his chest.

Those, however, had nothing to do with keeping the little one safe, and more than once, he had to wrench his attention away from daydreams of taking Buffy from behind at the kitchen counter to focus on Tara's words.

Starting with the time issue hadn't helped. Though he didn't recognize her, Spike quickly gathered that this was a friend of Willow's, someone Buffy knew only peripherally from the college campus, and that she'd been breathing and kicking just before they'd left for the Watcher's faux conference. When the Slayer questioned her on being a ghost, though, Tara smiled and nodded knowingly.

"I know it's confusing," she'd said. "But time doesn't have any meaning on this side of life. The Powers can be everywhere and everywhen, so those of us who continue to fight the good fight when we die follow many of the same rules. On your plane of existence, I won't die for a few more years yet."

"But...if you can just jump around in time, can't you just stop whatever it is that kills you?" his Slayer had asked.

"But I don't. Just jump around in time, like you say. I'm only involved in this time now because of my belief in you two. The Powers wanted warriors to protect Holly. I'm the one who pushed to have Spike here."

"But why? Spike didn't want to be here any more than I did."

He held his tongue when the instinct to argue with Buffy leapt to the fore. While what she said was technically true, it didn't encompass the depth of how he felt about the matter now. It was inconceivable for him to consider not having the past week with Buffy. How would he have gained the opportunity to get so close to her otherwise?

The look he shared with Tara told him that she, somehow, understood that.

"It couldn't just be one," Tara said, skirting the question. "A three-year-old is hard enough to handle without having the mystical going on as well. What if something had happened---?"

"Something did," Spike piped up.

"And you took care of it, just as I knew you would," she directed at him. "And don't try telling me that you haven't. We've been watching you. We know how much you've actually done. For Holly. For...each other."

There was no mistaking Tara's blush. Spike felt the rise in Buffy's body temperature as it dawned on her what the ghost was referring to, and tightened his grip, refusing to let her yield to the embarrassment he knew was shaking her resolve. "So, why are you here now?" Spike asked, eager for his Slayer to change the topic at hand. "If we haven't mucked anything up, why poke your nose in what doesn't concern you?"

"Because I thought you needed to know the truth. In light of Buffy's...encounter with Holly's blood, the more information you have regarding her situation, the better equipped you'll be to protect her."

And so the story unfolded, and in spite of Spike's rising misgivings, he listened without any more interruption.

"Holly's mother was a potential who was never called," Tara began. "Holly never knew her. She died in childbirth."

"Did...?" Buffy started, but the question refused to coalesce into anything more definitive, just hanging between the two women before the ghost slowly nodded.

"She doesn't know that," she said quietly. "She will never know that. Holly will have a hard enough time in life without thinking her mother would be alive if it weren't for her."

The Slayer nodded in silent assent. There was an undercurrent of something more than vehemence in Tara's choice of words, but neither was willing to call her on it. Though she seemed perfectly harmless on the exterior, there was a tightly contained power in the young woman's demeanor that warned against interference.

"The Council was aware of Holly's uniqueness from the start, but it wasn't until Maria made her first attempt to kidnap her that they realized the gravity of the situation. They hid her away where they thought she'd be safe, in a remote part of Canada where they conducted training for potential slayers. Their reasoning was, that with so many skilled fighters around, she would be safe from Maria until the time passed when Holly wouldn't be usable in her plans any more. Unfortunately, they were wrong."

"What's Maria's connection to the Council?" Buffy asked.

Tara paused. "Familial," she finally replied. "Her sister was a Slayer."

"Then it must be revenge. She wants Holly because Holly has the ability to kill Slayers."

"Not quite. That's why Maria wants her, but that's not the motive."

"Then what is?"

"Jealousy. And greed. Maria's discovered a way to use Holly's blood to destroy the Slayer line and take the power for herself."

The room fell silent at the simple statement. The urge for Spike to squeeze Buffy close and physically stop anyone from trying to take her away from him was overwhelming, but he refrained from anything overt, choosing instead to run his fingers softly up and down her arm. Her muscles were taut in disbelief, though what Tara offered certainly made sense, and he knew she felt like lashing out. Only the fact that they were speaking to a non-corporeal being prevented her.

"Why are you telling me this now?" she demanded. "Why not come clean about this from the start?"

"There were fears you'd react...unpredictably," Tara said. "We didn't want it coloring the way you treated Holly." She took a step forward, her face earnest. "Buffy, she's just a little girl. An innocent. And she's already had such a hard life. Would you have acted the same way around her if you knew the truth? She doesn't need people being scared of her, or feeling sorry for her. She needs a family. She needs people who aren't going to treat her like a science experiment or the next apocalypse." She stopped, her eyes begging them to understand. "She needed you guys."

It took Buffy a long moment to respond. "That still doesn't clue me in on why the big show and tell now," she said, and the hollowness of her voice made Spike pull her in closer to his body.

"We've found Maria---."

"Then it's over!"

Tara shook her head. "No, we've only located her. Her magic is too strong for us to get past. It won't be over until New Year's Day. Holly will be four then, and it'll be too late for Maria to do the ritual."

"Then why---?"

"Because of a lot of things that have happened that none of us could have predicted," Tara answered. She seemed to be steadying herself for the next. "There's no way you could've known this, but your mother was looking for you, Buffy. Giles called her and---."

"Giles is alive? You've found him?"

The constant interruptions were beginning to wear thin, and Spike leaned in to whisper in Buffy's ear, "Let her tell the story, luv."

Tara simply nodded, as if his aid was entirely expected. "He's alive," she confirmed. "Maria has him." Quickly, she outlined how Giles had contacted Joyce, the pretenses he'd used to rouse her suspicions, and how Mrs. Summers had then taken it upon herself to search for Buffy on her own. When Buffy heard how close Joyce had actually been, her mouth opened to pose another question, but then closed again when Spike tightened his arms around her.

"This is the part where I need you to not get upset," Tara said, when she'd finished.

"Well, now that was just dumb," Spike commented with a wry cock of his brow. "Tellin' the Slayer not to get riled is usually the surest path for that to happen."

"I mean it," the young woman pressed. "There's nothing you can do at this point. Right now, it's all in your mother's hands."

"What's in my mother's hands?"

"She wanted to help. We didn't want her coming here because then you'd only start worrying about protecting her, too, so we tried to get her to go back to Sunnydale and wait for this to be over. But she wouldn't. And when the assassin Maria sent after her---."

"Whoa. Back up. Assassin? This Maria bitch tried to kill my mother?"

"We don't know why. But then Mrs. Summers got it into her head that she could help from the inside, and we couldn't talk her out of it, and the next thing you know, Doyle and Jenny are helping with the magic to get her inside Maria's house---."

"She's where?"

There was no way Spike was going to hold the Slayer back on this one, and he just watched as she wrenched from his grasp to stand nose to nose with the ghost. The color had blanched from her cheeks, her hands balled into fists at her sides, and she was using every ounce of her self-control not to draw Holly's attention from the other room.

"You did not," she said in a low voice, her jaw nearly clenched from her constraint, "tell me that my mother is now in the house of the same woman who's trying to kill that little girl."

"It wasn't my idea. We couldn't stop her. All we could do was help as best we could. You have to understand that."

"I understand that you've been holding out on me from the start," Buffy continued. "And I understand that you probably expect me to fix everything you guys have screwed up. What I don't understand is how you could let my mother get put into such danger when she doesn't have anything to do with all of this!"

"She chose her own path, Buffy. In case you haven't noticed, your mother is a little strong-willed. And it's not like I could step in front of her to physically stop her from going. She would've just walked straight through me. Doyle got all the corporeal mojo for this, remember?"

The mild attempt at humor fizzled disastrously, but Spike could see the point the gentle ghost was trying to make. "You forget this is the same woman who knocked me out with an axe to protect you, luv," he said. "Your mum's fierce when it comes to you. This doesn't surprise me in the least."

She whirled, eager to redirect her pent-up anger on something a little more solid. "What do you know about my mom?" she hissed. "A little hot chocolate and you think you're bosom buddies?"

Hopping down from the counter, Spike closed the gap between them. "Don't have to know her," he said. "I know you. And not all of that piss and vinegar comes from bein' the Slayer. You get that backbone from your mum, and if she thinks she can handle herself, then I'm inclined to believe her. Just like I'd be inclined to back you up if you decided to go waltzing into the lion's den."

"Oh, get over yourself, Spike. If you thought I was in any danger, you'd be the first one to try and tuck me back into my bed. That's what you've been doing all week, remember?"

The muscles in his cheek twitched as he fought not to lose his temper. "That's different," he said. "You were hurt. I was just makin' sure you didn't make it worse, is all."

"My mom doesn't have super Slayer strength, or magical powers, or anything that's going to help her if Maria decides to take a hands-on approach to killing her."

"She's got her wits. Counts for a lot."

"Try telling that to the pointy end of a sword when it's aimed at your heart."

He shook his head, tired of the word games. "Just bloody do it and get it out of your system, Slayer," he growled.

"Do what?"

"Hit me. You're itchin' to, and it'll make you feel better. Just do it and get it over with so we can get back to sorting out this mess." He lifted his chin in preparation for the blow, but his gaze never left hers.

The blunt request stunned Buffy into silence, and she took a step away from him, disbelief shining in the green of her eyes. Behind her, Tara sighed, finally stepping forward to intervene in their discussion.

"You two just never take the easy way, do you?" she commented.

But Buffy ignored her, her attention still trained on Spike.

"I'm not like that," she said, more to herself than to anyone in the room. "I don't hit people I---." Then, she stopped, as if a memory chose that moment to make itself known, and her skin paled even more.

"It's all right, luv," he said, and this time, his tone was gentler. "I know what you need, and it's all right."

"No, no, it's not." And with that, she pivoted on her heel and ran from the cabin.

The slamming of the front door was followed almost immediately by the bedroom door being opened and Holly poking her head out between the crack. "Can I come out now?" she asked in a small voice.

Spike growled as he marched to where his and Buffy's coats were draped over a chair, snatching them up before continuing on to the front entrance.

"Spike!" Tara's voice made him glance back, his hand poised over the knob. "You can't follow her. It's still daytime out there."

For a moment, he considered her words, his gaze sliding to where Holly watched him in wide-eyed expectation. His Slayer was hurting, and to top it all off, she'd run out without her coat again, and bugger if he was going to just stand back and let her suffer when he could do something about it.

"Then I guess I'll be yellin' at her from the porch," he announced, and yanked the door open, his final words just barely trailing back inside. "Always knew the bitch would be the death of me anyway."
 

To be continued in Chapter 40: As Long As You Love Me So...

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