DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Tara has filled Buffy and Spike in on some of the specifics regarding Maria, culminating in the truth about Joyce coming out, which prompted Buffy to fly off the handle and storm from the cabin...

-----

40. As Long As You Love Me So

She made it easy for him.

Ready to yell his lungs out for her to get her ass back to the house, Spike skidded to a halt when he saw Buffy leaning over the porch railing, staring into the thick of the forest. The closing of the front door prompted her to glance back, and he silently held out her coat, searching her pinched face for some hint of what was going on inside her head as she took it.

"Thanks," she muttered, slipping into the jacket.

Sunlight streaming over the rail forced Spike to hug the wall of the cabin, but he walked as far he could to the side so that he could better see Buffy's face. "So you know, offer still stands," he said slowly.

If it was possible, her muscles clenched even tighter. "I'm not going to hit you, Spike."

"Least admit you want to."

"Why? So you can get some sick, vampire idea of foreplay out of the way for later?"

"You haven't complained about my idea of foreplay yet."

Her head fell forward, her brow resting on her forearms. It effectively hid her face from his view, but he took the fact that she wasn't running even further away as a good sign.

"Just...go back inside, Spike. I'm not really in the mood to talk right now."

"Which is exactly why you should be hitting something. Or fucking something. Something bein' me, of course. Either way, you get it out of your system and we get back to helpin' the little one, which is what this whole shindig is s'posed to be about, right?"

"And you became child advocate of the year when?"

"When the three ghostly stooges co-opted us for parent duty, remember?" His eyes slid upward, assessing the path of the sunlight and noting the line of demarcation across Buffy's shoulders. Resuming a place directly behind her, Spike reached forward and slipped his hand beneath the bottom hem of her coat, finding the soft skin of the small of her back and stroking it in slow, soothing circles. As long as she didn't move, he wouldn't burn.

"Know you're worried about your mum," he said, his voice a caress to work in conjunction with his touch. "Can't say that I blame you---."

Her snort of derision cut him off. "Way to jump that fence, Spike," Buffy said. "Does that come with a side order of whiplash from changing your mind so fast?"

"What're you nattering on about?"

Pulling away from his hand, she twisted around so that she could hop up on the rail, facing him but just beyond his reach again. "It's just you made it pretty clear you were on Tara's side in there," she replied. "And now you're pulling the understanding act? How gullible do you think I am?"

"That's not what I meant."

"That's what you said."

"I said---."

"I heard you the first time. Not really interested in the encore."

"So you run off with your tail tucked between your legs? Since when is that your style, Slayer?"

"I didn't run off!"

"And that door just slammed itself after your ass went tearing through it. Right."

"Tell me, why exactly did you follow me?"

The fury that had bubbled inside was back, making her eyes flash. Spike could see Buffy's hands balled into fists inside her coat pockets, but he kept the air of insolent nonchalance that was brassing her off so much. Maybe if he pushed her hard enough, she'd lash out at him and get it out of her system. She wasn't thinking straight with so much tension winding through her muscles. Obviously, the soft and understanding approach wasn't working.

"Because you're the most infuriating, pig-headed, parochial bitch I've ever had the misfortune for caring about, that's why."

Confusion made her hesitate, but it didn't lessen the sharpness of her tone when she spoke again. "What the hell does Catholic school have to do with anything?"

He rolled his eyes. "Remind me to buy you a dictionary for your next birthday," Spike commented dryly. "Just meant, you've got this uncanny knack for seeing only two inches in front of your face. I thought letting me in might've opened your eyes a mite, but I guess I was mistaken."

"Don't you dare tell me I don't have a right to be pissed off. They put my mother in danger, Spike. And they put me in a place where I can't do anything about it. How am I supposed to feel?"

"First off, they didn't do anything. They tried stoppin' her, but I guess you were too busy seein' red at that point to actually hear what that Tara was sayin'."

"They should've tried harder."

"Do you even know your mum, Buffy? She gets something in her head and there's no shakin' it. Hell, I've only had the two or three conversations with her and I know that. How is it her own flesh and blood doesn't? Are you really that daft?"

She looked as if he'd slapped her, and for a second, Spike wished he hadn't taken this route to try and snap her from her anger. He was wishing it even harder when she said, "I guess believing we were a team now makes me even dumber, huh? My bad. Somehow I thought that you thinking you're in love with me meant you might actually care about me and my feelings."

She might as well have hit him; it would've hurt a helluva lot less. "Heard that then," he said slowly, his mood deflating as he stilled in his protestations. Fuck. This wasn't how he'd envisioned this conversation happening. He had to salvage it in some way. "Look, lemme explain---."

"I'm tired of explanations," Buffy interrupted. "Because apparently words don't mean anything to you. If they did, you wouldn't be whispering them when you think I can't hear and you wouldn't be tuning me out when I try to tell you how all this business makes me feel. So you can just keep your explanation. I'm not interested."

His lips pressed together, and before she could move, Spike's hand shot out into the deadly sunshine to curl around her arm and yank her off the railing, onto her feet and against his chest. His fingers smoked from their brief contact with the light, but he didn't lessen his grip, instead bringing his other hand up to keep her in place before him.

"You want me to say it in the light of day?" he asked. "Is that it? Fine. I love you, Buffy. And if I didn't tell you earlier, it's because I didn't know how you'd take it. Vampire and Slayer? Not exactly the natural order of things, is it? Not to mention all the lovely, sordid details of our pasts conspiring against us. Like me tryin' to kill you. You tryin' to kill me. Your teenybopper plan to share Romeo and bloody Juliet medal of honor with the Grand Poof. You couldn't even stand the sight of me before we got holed up here. Tell me how any of that would make me think you'd even want to hear how I feel. You can't blame me for keeping my gob shut."

She wasn't struggling against him, but she wasn't helping him, either. "If you loved me, you wouldn't be going against me on this," Buffy said.

"Are you kidding? It's because I love you that I'm tryin' to get you to see the other side of the coin. The only people you've got against you are the ghosts you're putting there, pet. And just so we're clear, I'm talkin' about metaphorical ghosts, not the..." He jerked his head toward the closed front door of the cabin. "...real ones."

"You think I'm being stupid for worrying about my mom," she whispered. Her eyes were shiny, like she was fighting whatever emotions were welling inside, but it felt to Spike that his words were finally starting to get through to her.

"Never said that, luv," he said softly. His thumbs began massaging reassuring circles into her arms where he held her, and he felt the muscles slowly begin to unwind. "Just don't think it's worth expending the energy to get pissed off about it when there's not a lick we can do until we get out of here."

"I can't think that. I have to help her."

"So tell me how you do that when you can't get outside the invisible wonderwall." Her eyes fell from his. They both knew he was right about that particular point, but she was too stubborn to admit it out loud. Spike released his left hand, using his index finger to gently tip her head back so that he could see her eyes again. "You give me one workable plan on how we can go rescue Joyce---hell, give me a half-workable plan, and I'll be there. At your side, marching 'til the saints cut my bloody feet off. But...I just don't see it, luv. Granted, planning's not exactly my strong suit---."

The last brought the first smile he'd seen on her face since Tara's arrival, though perhaps it qualified as more of a bemused smirk than anything else. "We're pretty much screwed if we ever have to use our brains for anything, huh?" Buffy joked half-heartedly.

"Then I guess it's a good thing we're both strong and good-looking," he replied.

Her smile faded, and tentatively, the Slayer leaned forward to press her cheek against his chest. Taking the edges of his duster, Spike wrapped it around both of them and held her close, brushing his lips across the top of her hair as he let himself fall back into the seductive rhythm of her pulse, the slow and even undertow that would drown him if he allowed it.

"Don't ask me to hit you again." It was a whisper against his tee, muffled by the cotton, but there was no mistaking the earnestness in her tone.

"I just---."

"I know what you were doing." Pulling back, Buffy looked at him, her eyes dark. "That's what punching bags are for."

"In case you hadn't noticed, we're a little short of those at the moment, pet. And I didn't mind." He grinned. "I know you can make it hurt in all the good ways."

"You don't hit people you love," she asserted. "I don't care what way you try to spin it, it's not right."

"That's not..." Spike's voice trailed off as her words sunk in. Slowly, he tilted his head. "Love?" he quizzed.

Buffy flushed. "You know what I mean."

"Know what you said. Just wondering if that's really what you mean."

"Did you mean it when you said it to me?"

"Course, I did."

"So...?"

A smile, warmer and more real than any he could remember in recent history, curved Spike's lips. "Didn't say it for you to say it back, Buffy."

"Well, that's pretty obvious considering you thought I was asleep the first time you did." But she said it jokingly, traces of her good humor returning.

"But then, technically, you haven't said it back, so guess I'm still up on the points there."

"There's points now?"

"Would you rather there was kissing?"

"We just had a huge fight, Spike. Why would I be in the mood to want to kiss you?"

"Because I'm so good at it?"

"Ha ha. You're a funny vamp. As in not."

"Because you're so good at it?"

"I'm being serious."

"So am I."

"Spike---."

"Shut up, Slayer."

-----

Through the crack in curtains, Tara could see the bow of Spike's back as he kissed Buffy on the porch, but it was the small child who had run to the window to watch as soon as the vampire had left the cabin that made her smile. Holly's hands were pressed flat to the glass as she knelt on the small table before the window, her attention rapt, a small smile of satisfaction curling her mouth. She'd witnessed the entire exchange, but it was only now that they were kissing that she was starting to relax.

"It's not nice to eavesdrop," Tara chided gently.

"It's not eavesdropping 'cause I can't hear them any more," Holly replied. "Nobody's yelling."

"It's still not nice."

Holly sighed and turned around to sit on the table. Her legs dangled over the edge and she began to swing them distractedly. "Spike loves Buffy," she announced.

"I know."

"They kiss a lot, but they don't know that I know."

"And you know what?" Tara leaned in and mock-whispered. "They never really get over that."

The little girl giggled and twisted to look out the window again. "They're still kissing," she announced. "I wish they'd come back in so we can play puppets again. Buffy says Spike is really good with socks."

Tara sighed. "I think they're going to want to talk some more, sweetie. They might be done yelling at each other, but something tells me they're not quite done yelling at me yet."

"Keep 'em kissing. They don't yell when they kiss."

All of a sudden, Holly jumped from the table, racing for the couch and scrambling to sit on top of it. A second after she was settled, the front door opened and Buffy entered, followed closely by a grinning Spike. The flush on the Slayer's cheeks was from more than the cold, Tara realized, and kept her bemused grin to herself as Holly pretended to be surprised by the newly arrived pair.

"Right," Spike announced, dropping his coat haphazardly to a nearby chair and sauntering to where his now-cold mug of blood sat on the kitchen counter. "Now where were we?"

-----

She'd given up on pounding on the door. As annoyed as she was to be locked in her own room, Joyce was smart enough to recognize a futile gesture when she saw it, and instead set to figuring out everything she could about her new prison. Every corner of her room was searched, but outside of the scary dust bunny that had lurked beneath the bed, it was completely innocuous. Just a normal guest room that had been left empty for a month too long. That left only the window, and it was there Joyce currently sat, staring out at the snow-covered lawn, wondering just what she was going to do next.

Noon had come and gone, and her stomach was growling in protest. She didn't think Maria was going to starve her into submission, but when she glanced at her watch and saw the hour creep past four, Joyce felt her heart begin to sink. Maybe she'd underestimated the other woman's resolve. Maybe it was meant to be a slow death, where the demon would've been quick. Maybe---.

Her eye caught the latch on the window, and she frowned when she saw the simple mechanism. Unlike the door, it didn't have a lock that required a key. It was just a sliding bolt that kept the window closed, with a single pane of heavy glass instead of double glazing. Leaning forward, Joyce examined the slope of the porch roof just outside, tilting her head to see it disappearing around the side of the building. She was on the second floor, and it was impossible to see what was directly beneath, but, with careful manipulation, the near level angle of the tile just beneath the sill could support her long enough to get to another room that wouldn't be locked.

First thing, though, was to check if the window even opened. And if it did, make sure no alarms went off.

It stuck for the briefest of seconds and then flew upward, the glass rattling as the wooden edge slammed into the top of the frame. Joyce froze as she waited for a response, but when none came, she took a step back to compose herself.

OK, you can do this, she thought. You're fit, you're smart, and let's face it, you're desperate.

Emphasis on desperate.

Her hands white-knuckled the sill as she lifted one leg and stuck it outside. The night was already beginning to settle in, carrying with it the sharp edge of winter cold, but adrenaline was keeping her warm, fuelling her to swing the other leg until she was sitting on the sill itself.

Joyce took a deep breath.

Buffy does this all the time. Buffy can do this blindfolded and in her sleep.

But the little voice whispered back, Buffy's nineteen and you're not.

Contrary to discouraging her, though, the reminder of her age hardened Joyce's resolve. Twisting just enough to grab the gutter that lined the edge of the roof above her, she pulled herself up to a standing position. For a moment, the world was fine, but as she put her feet down more solidly, her heel slipped on an unseen patch of ice.

The metal eaves cut into her palms as she scrabbled not to slide. Her hip slammed into the hard edge of the open window, and pain shot down Joyce's pelvis into her legs, causing her to bite down on her cheek to keep from crying out. It took a solid thirty seconds but finally, her footing was surer, and while her breathing now resembled something that should've belonged to an out-of-shape marathoner, she was at least vertical and ready to try moving again.

Her room was at the end of a hall, so Joyce knew she had two options. Take the short path around the corner of the house and risk what she might find, or take the longer path down the front of the house and hope she didn't go stumbling into Maria's private bedroom.

The longer path won.

Inch by inch, she stepped along the roof, keeping her eyes forward and her thoughts away from the ground that she knew was impossibly far away. After too long, she felt the wall disappear from in front of her legs, she glanced down to see the window she'd found and exhaled loudly. Thank god. She couldn't keep this up for much longer. Her muscles were screaming in protest.

Only problem was, the window was locked.

She hadn't thought about that. It was entirely possible that all the windows were going to be locked and Joyce would've expended all this energy on a fruitless plan. She'd end up back in her room, cold, exhausted, and even more at Maria's mercy should the woman decide to make a move, and what good would that do her?

On the other hand, she wouldn't know if she didn't try. Just because one window was shut to her didn't mean they all were.

But the next one was.

And the one after that.

She had to go around the corner of the house before she found one where the frame would budge.

Her fingers were numb as she tugged at the wood, and she couldn't feel her toes inside her shoes. But when the glass moved out of her way and she felt the blast of warm air hit her cheeks, Joyce almost sighed in relief as she tumbled inside.

Immediately, she saw a pair of men's shined shoes, and her gaze traveled upward until she was staring into the gaunt face of a rather startled looking young man.

"Hi," she said weakly, and then felt the black curtain of unconsciousness draw over her eyes.
 

To be continued in Chapter 41: Go Tell It on the Mountain...

-----

41. Go Tell It on the Mountain

She needed to seriously start reconsidering all the passing out she'd been doing lately. All it did was leave her with a headache.

Joyce groaned before she opened her eyes, her hand lifting to rub at her temple. Had she hit her head when she'd come through the window? She didn't remember. All she remembered was tumbling in and seeing a scarecrow of a young man staring at her in shock.

"Joyce? Joyce, are you all right?"

That wasn't the scarecrow's voice. She knew that speaker. Did she actually get something right for a change?

Carefully, she slitted her eyelids, the light in the room blinding. A dark shadow hovered above her and she could spy another one just behind him, but she was fairly certain she knew who it was who was gazing down at her so intently.

Her eyes drifted shut again. "Please tell me you're Rupert and that this isn't just wishful thinking on my part," she murmured.

A soft chuckle was preceded by the faint shuffling of feet. "Well, she didn't hit her head," she heard Giles say.

"What are we going to do?" This was the other person in the room speaking. She wondered if it was the scarecrow. "She was trying to escape!"

"Can you blame me?" Joyce intervened. She opened her eyes again and met the gazes of the two men. "I was being held prisoner. I think Maria was planning on starving me into submission. Ethiopian hunger strike is not a good look for me."

Rupert smiled at her small joke, but the young man with him looked stricken. "Maria wouldn't do that," he said, too quickly.

"Like she wouldn't place us under surveillance?" Giles commented. He shook his head. "I'm afraid this only confirms our original hypothesis regarding our hostess. Frankly, I'm not that surprised."

Struggling to sit up, Joyce was immediately assisted by Rupert's strong arm sliding around her back, guiding her to lean against the head of the bed upon which she'd been reclining. She was in a bedroom much like hers, but there were masculine touches that attested to its owner. The young man, she presumed, since he had been the only one present when she'd entered.

She stuck her hand out and smiled. "I'm Joyce Summers," she said.

He took it, but the clamminess of his palm betrayed his rampant nerves. "Paul McCallister," he replied. "It's an honor to meet the Slayer's mother."

Her brows lifted at his admission and she immediately turned to look at Giles. His shrug was almost embarrassed.

"I'm afraid Buffy's status is well-known in this particular household," he said. "It's part of why exactly I'm here."

"That makes sense," she said, nodding. "Maria's looking for the little girl Buffy is protecting."

Both men were stunned into silence. "What...exactly...did you say?" Giles finally asked.

They were looking at her like she was from a different planet. "I was told Buffy and Spike are protecting the girl Maria is trying to get her hands on."

The silence didn't last. Her announcement made both men start speaking simultaneously.

"Why is Spike involved in this?"

"If you know where Maria's daughter is---."

"...and Buffy hasn't staked him yet?"

"...we must tell Silas. We can stop the searching..."

"...who on earth told you all this?"

She cut them off with a frustrated wave of her hands. "My head hurts enough without trying to filter you two," Joyce complained. "Let's do this one at a time. Rupert goes first."

The first question out of his mouth proved to her just how much he cared for her daughter. "Does this mean Buffy's all right? She didn't suffer any ill effects from the accident?"

"As far as I can tell, she's fine. I haven't exactly seen her---."

"What? But you know---."

She sighed. "All right, question and answer isn't keeping me from getting interrupted, so let's try it this way. You two don't say a word, and I'll explain everything that's happened since I left Sunnydale."

-----

True to her request, both men were silent while Joyce spoke, though the quiet that ensued afterward was a trifle too heavy and lasted at least a minute too long. Finally, she rolled her eyes and said, "I know you have an opinion on this, Rupert. Voicing it today is probably a good idea."

His eyes were narrowed as he regarded her, but when he readied himself to speak, Giles surprised Joyce by turning to young Paul instead. "We should've stuck to our guns."

"And what?" Paul countered. "It made perfect sense. We did what we had to do. I don't regret a single moment."

Giles only looked at him over the rim of his glasses, forcing a flush to rise to the younger man's cheeks.

"You know my story now. What's the two of yours?" Joyce asked.

"Three," Paul said absently.

She frowned. "Don't tell me there's another ghost."

"There's not," Giles replied. "Silas is likely still in his quarters."

"Who's Silas?"

"Another Watcher Maria brought in."

It was like watching a tennis match. "Then why isn't he here? If there's three of you, why would Paul only go get you when I showed up? Is there something about this Silas I should know about?"

The two men exchanged a quick look before either spoke. "Silas' loyalties have been...questionable," Giles said. "Paul did the wise thing in leaving him out of this at the moment."

"You still haven't told me why Maria kidnapped you, though. I assume it has something to do with the girl Buffy's protecting?"

Paul nodded. "We've been searching for her. She needed us to locate Holly before she conducted the spell that would destroy the Slayer line."

Joyce folded her arms over her chest. "The girl is three," she said slowly. "Did either of you truly believe that a pre-schooler could be responsible for something that dangerous?" Their silence was damning, prompting her to sigh deeply. "You didn't know, did you?"

"We assumed she was an adult," Paul protested. "Maria claimed she was her daughter."

"Didn't you think to ask?"

"In all fairness, Joyce, I'm fairly certain Maria would've lied to us about Holly's age," Giles said. "She was more than willing to bend the truth on other details. It stands to reason she would've said whatever we needed to hear in order to follow through on her requests."

"Doyle told me that Maria was the one who actually wants to destroy the Slayer line." She'd deliberately only mentioned the lone ghost. Tara had warned about her involvement with Willow, and Joyce couldn't help but feel that any mention of Jenny would distract Giles too greatly from the issue at hand. Let him think it was just the one do-gooder ghost for now.

"That would hold with what we discovered," Giles mused.

Paul's skin had become mottled, his throat working convulsively as he seemed to be fighting some inner agitation. "We were duped?" he whispered, and in that instant, Joyce felt a flash of pity for the young man, even if she wasn't aware of the particulars. "It was all just...she used us?"

Gently, Giles set his hand on the younger man's shoulder and nodded. "She used all of us," he reassured. "Don't be so hard on yourself."

He nodded, but his thoughts were clearly running elsewhere. "We mustn't stay then," Paul began to babble. "She'll know. She'll learn of Mrs. Summers' escape, and she'll punish us. "We have to---ow!"

As he twisted away from Giles' grip, Joyce saw the white of her friend's fingertips where he'd tightened his hold on Paul's shoulder. "Focus," she heard him order, his voice suddenly cold. "If we don't maintain our wits at this point, Maria will still win."

Joyce rose to her feet and placed herself between the two men. "Not that I don't agree with you," she said to Rupert, "but I also agree with Paul. I met Maria, and in my opinion, the woman's psychotic. As soon as she finds out I'm not in my room, she's going to start looking for me. The only chance I have at this point is to make my escape real. And if I'm going, you can be sure as hell I'm taking you with me." She glanced back at the red face of the younger Watcher. "You, too."

Giles shook his head. "It's almost tea time," he said. "She'll be expecting us. You'll have to go back to your room and wait until after we've eaten. It'll be the only way for us to delay her suspicion."

"That's all well and good for you," she said, exasperated, "but my door is locked. The only way for me to get back in is the way I got out, and I am not doing that again."

"We don't have any choice---."

"We have every choice," Joyce countered. "If we get out now, we have the cover of darkness on our side. I know the general vicinity Buffy's in. Between the three of us, we can find her and help her protect that little girl until the New Year."

"And how do you plan on getting there? If you don't even want to go out on a ledge, I can hardly see you walking through the dead of winter to where Buffy's at."

"Doyle and I left the car we brought where I could get to it if I had to. It's only a mile from here."

"Provided Maria hasn't found it yet."

For the first time since Giles had hurt his shoulder, Paul stepped forward and spoke up. "I like Mrs. Summers' plan," he said. "If we're voting, I vote for hers."

"Nobody asked you, Paul," he growled.

"That's awfully dictatorial of you, Rupert," Joyce said with a raised eyebrow.

His blue eyes flickered between the two, not even the shiny lenses of his glasses hiding an iota of his frustration. "It's suicide," Giles finally said.

"It's our only hope." Joyce smiled. "It's Christmas, Rupert. Miracles are always supposed to happen this time of year."

-----

By the time Tara left the cabin, Buffy was starting to think that maybe things might not be so bad after all.

Part of it was the calming effect the ghost had when she spoke. Once she'd let go of some of her initial anger at the situation and actually listened to Tara like Spike suggested, Buffy found herself being drawn into the quiet way she wove her words, feeling the assurance and kindness as closely as if she'd been wrapped in an electric blanket. Plus, it didn't hurt when she heard her explain in greater detail about how exactly Joyce had been armed for her planned invasion. That loosened some of the knots that had formed when the subject had originally been brought up.

Part of it, too, was Spike. It wasn't that she was distracted from the luscious memories of making out with him on the porch---and she so was going to have a talk with a certain little girl about spying on grown-ups; did she really think the flicking of the curtains wouldn't be noticed?---but more the feather touch of his hand on her back, a soothing reminder that he was there, that he was right behind her, and that all she had to do to draw on his strength was turn around. He'd surprised her by admitting to his feelings aloud. When she'd confronted him, she'd fully expected to go through a round of denial and argument; it was the only reaction that made sense considering he didn't have the guts to say it to her face the first time.

But she understood now that it wasn't that he hadn't been afraid. It was just that it had taken him by just as much surprise as it had taken her.

She loved him.

Buffy loved Spike.

Spike loved Buffy.

God, it sounded like some cheesy spin-off of a sitcom, didn't it?

She hadn't said it out loud yet, of course. Somehow, twisting her tongue around the actual words made her stomach flutter with a thousand ADHD butterflies on speed. It was easier to play along with his banter and let Spike know that way. It made it just as true, not to mention being more fun. And the kissing? Definite bonus. Evil or not-so-evil, there was no denying the fact that Spike knew his way around a kiss.

She smiled, stealing a glance out of the corner of her eye to watch Spike sprawled on the living room floor with socks over his hands. His kissing prowess was probably one detail she should omit in her grand plan to sell the idea of her and Spike to the Scoobies when she got back. She didn't think Xander would be too interested in knowing the dozens of things Spike could do with his tongue.

At least, she hoped he wouldn't be too interested.

And the sudden images that popped into her brain made her flush beet-red, sending her scurrying back to the stove to stir the soup before a certain vampire noticed the change in her body temperature.

Once Tara had said her goodbyes, Buffy had set to fixing something to eat for herself and Holly, good-naturedly ordering Spike to put in his time in entertaining the little girl while she did so. The glint in his eye made promises about how he'd be putting his time in with her later, but she'd refrained from responding to it, the sly smile Holly seemed incapable of wiping from her face telling Buffy that the child had seen far too much as it was.

There was no plan in place---well, no new plan, that is. The old plan of protecting Holly from psychos wanting to use her as some sort of ritual sacrifice was still on the bandwagon. Tara had been firm in her statements regarding the barriers that kept them enclosed, so short of sending the child out to rescue Buffy's mom, Buffy really was stuck until after the New Year. Logic bit the big one sometimes. She could only hope that her mother would be smart enough not to do anything stupid that would get herself killed.

On the plus side, it meant more time to spend with Spike. She stole another look, and blushed when she caught him watching her, completely ignoring the way Holly was babbling away about "Mr. Monkeypants and his best friend, Pookie."

"Dinner's ready," she announced, her voice too loud and way too cheerful. Yuck. She sounded like Mrs. Cleaver.

Turning her back to the room, Buffy ladled the soup into bowls, setting aside the saucepan to turn to the other that contained Spike's warmed blood. As she grabbed the handle, though, his hand appeared from nowhere, curling around hers and guiding it to the mug that waited.

"I can do that," she muttered. But she didn't pull away, glorying in the cool velvet of his fingers encasing hers, the slight press of his hard body as he leaned into hers. She watched, transfixed, as together they poured the fluid, and then shivered when his mouth suddenly appeared at her ear.

"Think so much excitement for the day has earned us an early night?" Spike whispered.

"We don't have early nights," she replied. It shocked her how normal her voice sounded when her insides were quivering in anticipation of what Spike was so clearly promising.

"Pidge does." His teeth caught the delicate shell of her ear and nipped before he disappeared from his vantage behind Buffy. When she turned with the bowls in her hands, he was already straddling his chair at the head of the table, Holly sitting expectantly in her own seat.

"My tummy needs a drink," she announced.

"Soup's a drink," Spike offered.

Holly wrinkled her nose. "Soup's food."

"Do you want some water?" Buffy asked, turning back to the sink.

"Now, hang on a bit," Spike said. He leaned in toward the child, tilting his mug slightly so that she could see the viscous fluid clinging to its interior. "Do you think mine is food or a drink?"

"Food."

"But it's in a cup."

"But it's food."

"But I'm drinkin' it." He took a long swig to prove his point. "So it must be a drink."

She shook her head. "Nope. Food."

With a smile, Buffy set the glass of water down in front of Holly before sliding into her seat. "Give it up, Spike," she said. "I don't think this is one you're going to win."

"But Pidge here isn't bein' reasonable," he argued, good-naturedly.

"Am so."

"Are not."

"Are so."

"Are not."

"Now I know you're not going to win," Buffy said. "Any time the are not's start showing their faces, it's pretty much a losing battle. Trust the one who was actually a kid in this century, Spike."

Scowling, he picked up his mug and drained the rest of the blood, grumbling under his breath about estrogen levels being far too high in the small house. Buffy and Holly smiled as they settled in to eat, but when the little girl began yawning widely halfway through the meal, Spike finally seemed to snap out of his funk.

"Not tired, are you, moptop?"

It was all Buffy could do not to roll her eyes at the obvious expectation in his voice.

The response was another yawn. "I think I need to have an early night," Holly announced. She immediately stood and began padding for the bedroom door. "Buffy can tuck me in."

When it was just the two of them left in the room, Buffy and Spike exchanged a quick look. "I think we've been had," she said, rising from her seat.

"You see me complainin'?" A broad smile creased his features and he sprawled back in the chair, giving her a birdseye view of the prominent outline of his cock beneath his jeans. "Sooner she goes to sleep, sooner you and me can get back to our little conversation on the front porch."

Her body burned at the sudden onslaught of memory his words evoked, and Buffy heard him chuckle as she turned away. It might be an early night for Holly, she thought, hurrying to the bedroom, but something told her it was going to be a long one for her.
 

To be continued in Chapter 42: Oh, Dear Santa, Fill It Well...

-----

42. Oh, Dear Santa, Fill It Well

Holly was already stripped to her underpants by the time Buffy entered the bedroom, her back pale as she bent over the drawer that held her clothing. "Got it!" she announced triumphantly, and pulled out her nightgown with a broad smile.

"Awfully eager to go to bed, aren't you?" Buffy said. She knelt to help the child get dressed, and pulled the hem down once the gown was over Holly's head. "Have you been possessed by a sleep demon or something?"

The smile was gone by the time the small face reappeared, and her eyes were large and solemn. "I don't like fighting," she said.

Gently, Buffy pushed a stray strand of hair away from Holly's cheek. "Spike and I aren't fighting. There's no reason for you to be worried about that."

"But you were."

"And now we're not." She was thrown off-balance for a moment when Holly lunged forward, tightening her tiny arms around Buffy's neck. Instinctively, Buffy returned the hug, patting her back as soothingly as she could manage. "You shouldn't have been spying on us through the curtains," she said. "That was grown-up stuff."

"OK."

"And no more worrying. Spike and I are going to be fine." Pulling back, Buffy smiled, and then a split second later, realized she'd uttered the same words she'd heard from her mother so often before the divorce. Her smile faltered, but Holly had already disengaged from the embrace, scrambling for the foot of the bed and crawling into place at its head, eyes glowing from the moonlight that streamed in through the window.

"I don't need a story tonight," she announced. There was another wide yawn that made the child's jaw audibly crack, and then she was burrowing beneath the blankets, watching Buffy expectantly.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. G'night. Tell Spike g'night for me?"

"I will. Good night."

She drew the curtains before leaving the room, but Buffy glanced back one more time as she hesitated in the doorway. Holly's eyes were shut, and though Buffy had no doubts that the little girl was still wide awake, the memory of how many times she'd done nearly the same thing when she was younger, how she'd disappeared to her bedroom in hopes that privacy would be just what her mom and dad needed to sort out their differences, was enough to weigh down the good mood that had prevailed at the dinner table. With a small sigh, she closed the door.

The table had been cleared, the dishes stacked in the sink, but Spike was no longer seated. Instead, he stood at the fireplace, one hand on the mantle as he stared down into the flames, a bag of marshmallows dangling loosely from his other.

"Holly says good night," Buffy said softly. She didn't move from her vantage point. The black and white etching of his body against the orange made him seem more tangible all of a sudden, and her fingertips tingled with the memory of his skin beneath her touch. Though it had only been a few hours earlier, the certainty that it had been too long since she'd last luxuriated in the power of his embrace burned deep inside her.

"Pidge fusses too much," he replied. He glanced back, holding up the bag in his hand. "Guess it's a good thing I'm not really the sharin' sort, huh?"

She pretended to pout, folding her arms under her breasts as she leaned against the doorjamb. "What if I wanted some?"

The flames made his eyes glitter as they swept over her body, lingering on the curve of her hip before sliding back up. "Could let you fight me for 'em," Spike drawled.

"That would be a short fight. One swing from you and you'd drop the bag to grab your head."

"Maybe I'm just lookin' for an excuse to get you straddling me, pet."

"You need an excuse now? And here I thought you were so gunfire sure of your manly appeal."

He didn't say anything to that, just dropped the marshmallows to the side of the hearth before crossing the room to stand in front of her. Buffy forced herself to stay nonchalant at his approach, though the prowl within his step was unmistakable, and even tore her eyes away from his lean hips when he stopped, tilting her head back so that she could look into his face.

"Was that supposed to impress me?" Buffy asked. She kept her tone light, every cadence playful. "Am I supposed to be quaking in my boots at the big, bad vampire stalking me as his next prey?"

Spike lifted a finger to trace the soft curve of her jaw. "Not your boots I'm interested in," he said. The corner of his mouth canted when an involuntary shiver took over her muscles, and he brought his other hand to the button of her jeans. "Be a shame to waste our night nattering away. 'Specially since Pidge went to such lengths to make sure we got some alone time."

She grabbed his hand before it could steal down the front of her pants, but rather than get annoyed at the obstruction, Spike smirked and laced his fingers through hers, keeping them firmly between their torsos. "Maybe I'm not in the mood," Buffy said. Her cheeks reddened when he cocked an eyebrow in disbelief. "I could be! Not be! You know what I mean!"

"I know what your body's tellin' me."

"My body's been known to lie. I wouldn't trust it if I were you."

"So, if I do this..." Never breaking gazes with her, Spike leaned forward and brushed his lips across hers, the tip of his tongue a feather accompaniment that made her thighs tense in anticipation. "...you want me to believe it doesn't affect you in the slightest."

Her throat was dry so when she spoke it came out as a croak. "Nope."

"And if I do this..."

Coiling the fingers of his free hand in the thick tresses that hung down her back, Spike used the grip to tilt her head, exposing her neck, and nibbled downward, over the hammering pulse point, into the hollow at the base, before suckling at the curve of her shoulder. Buffy gasped, her body arching instinctively toward his, but Spike pulled away at the first hint of her response, gazing down at her with eyes that had been swallowed in ebony.

"...you feel nothin'?" he asked.

She shook her head, though they both were more than aware that she was lying.

"Guess that means I should try a bit harder, then." Before she could stop him, Spike was tugging her back toward the fireplace, and though every inch raised her body temperature another degree, Buffy knew it wasn't because of the fire.

"Sit," Spike ordered.

She'd obeyed before the thought not to even entered her head, and then silently scolded herself for yielding so quickly. She was rather enjoying playing the hard-to-get role; after acquiescing so readily to their desires the past few nights, the cat and mouse game had turned surprisingly enjoyable. But when Spike grabbed the marshmallows and sat down opposite her, pulling her closer so that their pelvises were parallel, her calves resting across the top of his thighs, Buffy realized there was still plenty of room to enjoy the seduction he was so doggedly pursuing.

"We never did finish our conversation on the porch," Spike said as he ripped open the bag. His tone was overly casual, as if they were discussing the grocery list and not emotional vows, and he seemed to be deliberately keeping his eyes from hers.

Was this still part of the game? Buffy wondered. Or was it something else entirely?

"Someone told me to shut up," she replied playfully. "And then proceeded to make sure my mouth was too busy to argue with him."

"What? Like this?"

The soft brush of a marshmallow suddenly tickled her lips, and Buffy's mouth opened automatically to take it between her teeth. Spike's gaze was locked on the sight, his nostrils flaring as she slowly bit into the fluff, and his free hand dropped to her ankle, strong fingers sliding up the bottom of her jeans to start stroking her calf.

"You're doin' that on purpose," he accused, his voice husky with desire.

She smiled as she chewed at the sweet, swallowing it down before saying, "Doing what?"

"Did you mean it?" The question was abrupt, shot-sharp as he blurted it out. "Tell me I'm not fuckin' dreaming all of this. That someone hasn't magicked me into Dickens with the ghosts and our own version of Tiny Tim tucked away in your bed."

Her voice was soft when she answered. "There was a time when you would've thought that was a nightmare, Spike."

"You're not answering my question, Buffy."

"I thought..." It was hard to think straight with the slow massage happening on her leg. "...you said you didn't say how you felt expecting to hear anything in return."

"That was then. Changed my mind." He popped the remainder of the marshmallow into his mouth, reaching automatically for the bag for another.

"Why?"

"I need a reason?"

"It helps."

Her mouth was open and ready for the second treat to slip onto her tongue, and Buffy sucked hard, taking him by surprise when she stretched to include his finger in her devouring.

"You make me think anything is possible," Spike said as she sucked. She could feel his hand trembling from the restraint he was exerting over his limbs. "You make me want it all. All of you. Not just that sweet little quim of yours, though I taste you and I think that I could give up blood if I could just dine on you all day. But...all of it, luv. Your body, your heart. You."

His hand withdrew, and Buffy's mouth felt empty from the loss. "More," she said.

But Spike misunderstood and reached for the marshmallow bag again, extracting a third but then purposefully withholding it.

"Does hearin' about your mum change things between us?" he asked. There was a veil already falling behind his eyes, and it made her ache to think her coy behavior was backfiring on her.

"Nothing's changed," Buffy insisted. She scooted her bottom forward, closing the gap between them until their thighs were touching, the hard line of his erection only just touching the cleft between her legs. "Why would you think it's changed?"

He shrugged. "Just seems...the last thing you want to do is admit to what happened on the porch, is all. Can't blame a bloke for doubting." His hand left her calf, came up to cup her cheek. "Forget it. Didn't mean to kill the mood."

The kiss was swift, his mouth hungry, and Buffy's arms rose to cling to Spike's shoulders. Around her, the heat from the fire was making the room spin---or it could've been Spike; it was eerie how kissing him could have that kind of effect on her---and she was hardly aware of the extra degrees when her blouse fluttered open to reveal her breasts to his touch.

Her nails dug into his nape as she fought to deepen the caress, tasting the sultry tang of sugar and smoke with every sweep of his tongue, and then whimpered when his mouth disappeared.

"Love you," he started murmuring against her cheek, against her jaw, against all of her. "Didn't know...but now...now, can't bloody forget, can I? Shouldn't be possible...but you convince me it can, that anything can..."

At some point, he must've dropped the marshmallow because Buffy could feel both of his hands on her now, one holding her firm by the base of her neck, allowing his mouth access to the smooth expanse of her throat, the other fluttering over the hardened buds of her nipples, each scrape of the lacy bra against the tender flesh sending shock waves straight to her clit. All thoughts of playing the tease vanished, and Buffy lifted her legs to wrap them around his waist, grinding their pelvises together until she thought the dampness of her pussy would soak through both sets of denim.

The contact made Spike growl. When she felt his body shift to lower her to the floor, she turned the action against him, using his momentum and the power of her legs to twist until it was his back that pressed into the wood.

"Why do you always talk so much?" she asked, pinning his hands over his head. Her gaze was momentarily captured by the flex of his biceps beneath his tee, and she spontaneously leaned forward to nip at the sinew. She held him down when Spike bucked beneath her, murmuring, "See what other nice things you can do with your mouth?"

"Luv...Buffy..." His jaw was lax, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, and a wicked gleam came into his eyes when her head lifted. "What happened to not bein' in the mood?"

"Changed my mind," she replied with a grin. "Isn't that the song for the night?"

"If you care to remember, I dropped my issues."

She ground her pelvis into his, the moan simultaneously escaping both of them. "Are you saying you want me to stop?" Buffy panted.

"Never. But..." His gaze darted upward, indicating the hold she still had on him. "Considering we're both still wearing pants, you're goin' to have to let me go if you want this to go any further. And if you let me go..." He didn't have to finish the sentence. The implied threat---or vow, depending upon how she looked at it---was more than obvious.

For a moment, she just watched him, drowning in the amusement that animated his features. "I want to be on top," she said softly. Her clit was tingling at the idea of the rough contact from riding him so, and her thighs unconsciously squeezed around him.

It made Spike hiss, his eyelids fluttering shut while he struggled to stay in control. "Make you a deal," he said, and his voice was thick, coated in rich promise of bliss-filled hours and rapture galore. His eyes opened, the blue stormy as they fixed on her face. "Tell me this isn't a bloody dream, and I'll let you do whatever the hell you want."

He wanted her to say it out loud. His muscles were screaming for the confirmation, his fingers twitching as he battled the urge to demand it from her in blood. And he was asking for it by bartering with the thing he held so prized, the reins to the respect she'd given him since agreeing to this new relationship.

Just as she'd given herself over to him last night, granting him the avowal of her trust by allowing him to taste her, Spike was offering the same, in the only way he knew how.

It made her heart clench.

Slowly, Buffy stretched out atop Spike, her blouse floating down to the sides as her breasts pressed into the soft cotton of his tee. Though she kept her hands on his wrists, her grip loosened, her thumbs tracing over the raised veins they found. "Why were you arguing with Holly at dinner?" she asked softly.

The question seemed like the last thing he expected, and the expectation that had been lurking beneath Spike's features hardened as he struggled to shift with her. "What does that have to do with anything, pet?"

"She thinks of us as family. You, me, her." She paused. "Is that how you think of us?"

Slow understanding. "Little one's had a rough time," Spike said. "Just...don't want her to think she's alone in it, is all."

"I said, how do you think of us."

"This has all been about us, pet." Pause. "What about you? Do you see her as family? See...us as family?"

Her mouth descended, resting on his almost chastely. When she pulled away, the wonder in Spike's aspect spurred her to say, "Nobody's dreaming here. I may not have said it when you did, but it doesn't mean I don't feel it." Another kiss across his lips, and she slid her hands down his arms, away from his wrists so that he was free to move if he wished. "I love you, Spike. Don't ask me how it happened, because I'm not nearly as good at figuring this stuff out as it looks like you are, but I do. I love you."

His smile was brilliant. "Now, was that so hard?" he said lightly. His hands came up to push her top off her shoulders, guiding her upward so that he could free the sleeves and then tossing it carelessly to the side. "I'm all yours, Buffy. Have your wicked Slayer way with me."

Her chest felt suddenly lighter, her skin aflame. "Get out of these," she ordered, slapping at his denim-clad hip. Hopping to her feet, Buffy made short work of her remaining clothes, throwing them to the couch. As she watched, Spike pulled off his tee, followed quickly by a shimmy of his hips to get his jeans off as well. Her mouth watered when she saw his erection spring free, and before he was able to disentangle his legs from the denim, she was crouching at his side, his cock in her hand, her thumb swiping at the wetness that was already dripping from its head. With a graceful dive, her lips circled the tip, her tongue darting out to probe at the slit, and then she was sliding down its rigid length.

"Fuck, Buffy," Spike said. Forgetting about his jeans, he laid back onto the floor, his hand settling around the back of her head to guide her as she began sucking up and down. Though she could feel the trembling already starting in his thighs, he still managed to surprise her when he lunged for her hips.

"Come here," he growled.

She was thrown off-balance when he pulled her leg across his chest. Pulling off his cock, Buffy twisted to ask him what the hell he was doing when she felt his tongue run along her soaking slit, lapping at her juices with audible pleasure. She gasped, frozen in place.

"You said you wanted to be on top," she heard him murmur from between her thighs. Another lick in the reverse direction, ending with a quick bite at her clit, made her settle into the position over his face. "Never said I couldn't have a spot of fun as well."

It was hard to concentrate on his cock with that amazing tongue distracting her with every lick, suck, and probe. Buffy began focusing her attention on her breathing, anything but the sensations in her pelvis, savoring the feel of his arousal as she let it slide over her tongue, past her lips, back down again to the opening of her throat.

In and out, she reminded herself. Hot and cold. Soft and steel. Buffy and Spike.

All of it.

Any of it.

All of it again.

And when he began fucking her with his fingers, his mouth suddenly hungry for the nibbles of her clit, she rocked against the movement, encouraging him deeper while she took even more of him into her mouth. She began mirroring what she could of his actions, letting her hand slip to stroke the velvet soft skin beneath his balls, feeling him jerk at the soft intrusion and try to force himself even further inside.

It was empowering beyond anything she had ever felt.

Then, she came.

She hadn't expected to. Her breathing was getting shallower, and try as she might, she was having more and more difficulty evening the rhythm as she sucked Spike's cock. He was inside her, she knew, but how many and, for seconds there, even the question of whether it was his fingers or not, kept the mystery of it just high enough to flame her flesh even more.

But then there was the faintest of touches down the crack of her ass.

The softest of probes.

And the spasms rocked her upwards, her weight bearing on her knees as her back arched, her hands clutching at his muscled stomach. Her body tensed and failed her when she begged it to support her. It couldn't. It was too busy electrocuting itself with pleasure.

Buffy's fingers dug into Spike's abdomen as she rode out the waves. Even before they began to ebb, though, she was up, off, around.

Facing him.

Straddling him.

Forcing his cock inside her with a wrenching lunge that made them both shudder.

Spike's hands came up to her hips, not guiding but simply holding on. His eyes were on her face, watching and devouring every gasp of pleasure, every frisson of emotion that she was no longer afraid of showing him, and when she began speeding up, sliding up and down so that every stroke had his balls slapping against her ass, her clit rasping against his coarse hair, he began speaking, so low that if she hadn't seen his lips moving, she wouldn't have been sure it was him.

"That's it," he coaxed. "Let it go. Just let it all out, pet. Give it to me. Gonna make you feel so good, Buffy. All you have to do is let me. Let me. Let me in. Fuck...you and me...nothin' you can't do, just do it, I want it, I know you want it...want it...fuck...love you so bloody much..."

The sudden slam of his hips to meet hers announced his orgasm, and it only took feeling the first sensations of his pulsating cock shooting inside her to set off Buffy's second. Her pussy clamped down around him, and the look of bliss that passed over Spike's features was enough to send her forward, her weight dropping to his chest as she slammed her lips to his.

The kiss lasted longer than either of them coming, and when they finally broke apart, Buffy's lungs were fighting for air. "Love you," she heard Spike whisper into her hair, but the only thing she was aware of was her own need to speak.

"Wow," she whispered. "Just...wow."

Spike chuckled, a rumble that made her sweaty skin slide across his chest. "Something tells me this might become a very familiar position for us."

She squeezed her inner muscles around him, eliciting a groan. "It's a good thing Holly wanted us to have some alone time," she said. "I just hope she doesn't start asking about all the weird noises."

"I don't have a problem tellin' her if it bothers you."

Buffy slapped at his shoulder. "Somehow, I think that might be worse." She yelped when he suddenly flipped her over, and then smiled when he merely hovered to gaze down at her.

"You know you're not alone in it, too...don't you?"

It was the earnestness in his voice that made her smile soften, and Buffy reached up to stroke the hard line of his cheek. "I think what's more important is that you know that," she murmured. "Because you're not. Not any more."

He kissed her at that, not the hard demand of wanting more, but the grateful tenor of a starving man. And when he pulled her to curl into his chest, his hands stroking her hair, she rested her cheek against his smooth skin with her own smile of gratitude.

To a little girl who just wanted to see her family happy.
 

To be continued in Chapter 43: Our Troubles Will Be Miles Away...

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Joyce is organizing an escape from Maria's, while Buffy has finally confessed the depth of her love for Spike...

-----

43. Our Troubles Will Be Miles Away

In spite of her protestations to the contrary, she'd fallen asleep almost immediately on his chest, her hair tumbling over his shoulder as she breathed out tiny little snores that tickled along his skin. Buffy's leg was thrown over his pelvis, the heat from her bare thigh just enough to keep him erect, but Spike was mostly oblivious to his arousal.

What had started as a game turned surprisingly serious when the desire to rip the truth out of her, to get everything out in the open once and for all, had stricken Spike into demanding some answers. It wasn't enough to have her legs wrapped around him so tight he'd gladly put himself back in that sodding wheelchair just to feel her come around his cock. He wanted it all. He wanted her to tell him that he bloody well did matter to her, that this wasn't a dream she was going to yank away from him and laugh hysterically when his heart shattered into such tiny slivers that he likely dusted from their impact. He wanted to know she loved him.

Then, she'd done it so effectively---so fucking effectively, good on her---bandying about words that were guaranteed to eradicate the last barriers he hid behind. Like family. Like not alone.

Like love.

Even if she never asked it of him, Spike knew there was nothing the Slayer could request that he wouldn't willingly grant. It wasn't quite the same as before, though. Though he could likely be termed love's bitch yet again, this time, he wasn't lost in it. Buffy wouldn't tolerate a partner who wasn't at least as strong as she was; it was just one of the many reasons why she and the college boy had failed. Spike had little doubt that she respected the way he'd stood up for himself, demanding equal opportunities in the space of the their newfound relationship. It was a status quo he was intent on keeping.

His fingers fell to caress the side of her breast, the swell pushed awkwardly outward from the pressure of lying against his body. He smiled when the goosebumps erupted, and shifted to allow room to reach the hardening nipple. So finely tuned, this one. It was going to be a pleasure learning exactly how best to strum her flesh, to create those glorious sounds of her orgasms again and again.

Better yet, learning how to get Buffy to be more comfortable with saying the words. Spike had had a hint of how good it could be. Now, he wanted more.

Easing her off to lay her on her back, Spike's mouth descended to start kissing the soft arch of Buffy's collarbone. She tasted sweet and salty, like honey-roasted peanuts warmed on the fire, and his veins began pulsating with the desire to devour her again. When she stirred beneath his touch, he lifted his head to watch the flames' shadows flicker over her face. God, she was beautiful.

"You stopped." She didn't open her eyes when she spoke, the two words barely intelligible in her state of half-sleep. "Why'd you stop?"

"Should get up to bed," he replied. He wasn't about to admit to staring at her like some lovesick ponce. She had enough ammunition to taunt him with for years to come. "Was just debating if it was worth wakin' you for."

Buffy's eyes fluttered open. "Short debate, I guess," she said. "Since I'm already awake."

"You weren't."

"Close enough."

Gently, Spike ran a fingertip across her swollen lips. "Say it again," he murmured.

"Close enough."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know." She burrowed back into his body, ducking her eyes. "Aren't you tired of hearing it?"

"Never." He paused. "You're not fussing already 'bout---."

Her head shot up, narrowly missing connecting with his chin in her haste. "Don't even think it," she warned, suddenly wide awake. "As hard as it was for me to say, don't you dare start thinking that I didn't mean it. That's not my style, Spike. I thought you knew that."

"I do." Capturing her mouth in a quick kiss, Spike shoved aside the doubts that her slight reluctance had roused. "Just...part of it still doesn't feel real."

"It'll be real enough when we're having to explain it to my friends. And my mom. She didn't like Angel being my boyfriend, either, remember. I've got a feeling she's going to have a few choice words to say about this relationship, too."

"Like, 'It's about time you picked a decent vamp to shag, Buffy.'"

She slapped at his chest, curling back down into his side. "For your information, she'd never use the word, 'shag.' After she saw Austin Powers, she said it once when we were at the mall, and I teased her so much about it, right in front of this really cute guy at Cinnabon, that she never said it again. Behold, the true powers of mother/daughter bonding."

Spike chuckled. Hearing Buffy sound so unSlayer-like, and knowing she was relaxed enough in his presence to allow herself that luxury, was music to his ears. "Still," he said, "not too bothered about your mum. She knows a good thing when she sees it."

"And I suppose you're that good thing."

"Bloody right, I am. Who else would put up with your mood swings like I do---." He laughed when she shoved him away, rolling on to his side to watch her sit up and fold her arms across her bare breasts. "I rest my case, Sybil."

"You piss me off on purpose, don't you, Spike?"

"Well, yeah. Gotta get my jollies somewhere."

He could tell she wasn't really mad. Though she pressed her lips into a thin line, the muscles in her cheeks betrayed her desire to smile.

"Besides..." Slowly, Spike's hand slithered forward, gliding along the length of her half-exposed leg until it could dip into the moist cleft between her thighs. "...something tells me you haven't discovered the joys of angry sex yet, luv. When all you want to do is pound the other person into the ground. Feel them twist around you while you both try to be the one to come out on top..."

Her eyes had closed halfway through his words, her mouth falling slack. "When we have angry sex," Buffy breathed, "it'll be over a real fight. Like when we get back to Sunnydale and I throw out all your hair gel."

"Hey!"

She grinned, but didn't open her eyes. "Be grateful I'm cutting you some leeway with the bleach. But no way are you going back to helmet hair. I like the curls too much. Plus, nicer to touch."

With a growl, Spike grabbed Buffy's hips and yanked her back to him, ignoring her protesting squeal to pull her back against him. "You're just lucky I love you," he said, biting playfully at her neck. "Don't know why I pick such bossy bitches to fall for."

"First off, I'm not being bossy about your hair. I just have better style sense than you do and I am not about to let you lose out on the benefit of my brilliance. And secondly..." Taking his hand in hers, she pulled it down so that it cupped her bottom. "...you just gave me a sliver, you jerk. How are you planning on making that up to me?"

The illumination from the fireplace did nothing to hide the glimmer of desire that darkened Buffy's eyes. Without looking away, Spike tugged her forward, moving back and out of her way just enough so that she could lie flat on her stomach, and then began rubbing soft circles around the swell of her ass. "You know, Harmony used to keep a stake under our bed," he commented.

Buffy wrinkled her nose. "And we're talking about skanky exes because...?"

He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to her shoulder. "Dru used to have a thing for wood, too," he said, ignoring her previous words.

"You are not comparing me to those two."

"No comparison." His tongue was on her back now, dipping into the curve of her spine to follow the path downward. "Just thought it was interestin', is all."

"Interesting is not going to get you---ohhhh..."

Her words were lost in a breathy sigh when Spike's teeth found the softest part of her ass and bit down, just enough for her to squirm her pelvis against the floor. He smiled. "Guess you're lucky my heart's not in my mouth, then," he murmured. "No chance of me gettin' staked if I do this."

The fresh scent of her juices drifted to his nose, but Spike was too intent on soothing the rough patch of skin sliding across the floor had created on Buffy's bottom. He could feel the sharp tip of the splinter against his tongue, catching it every time he licked at the spot, but only when he heard her whimper at his localized attention did he slip his fingers between her legs and past her outer lips.

Buffy exhaled with a muffled cry. As she began thrusting back against his seeking fingers, Spike let his demon emerge, his fangs elongating to nick at the tender skin around the sliver. Carefully, he caught it between his teeth and pulled it out, but not before a few droplets of her blood landed on his tongue. His growl was instinctive. Before he could think otherwise, he slid up her body, sheathing his cock deep inside her pussy as he did so.

She bucked back against him. Her eyes were open, and he knew she saw him in his gameface before she looked away, but the way she thrust down along his rigid length told him she didn't care.

He knew he could probably bite her without setting off the chip. The way she responded to his insistent pounding, pushing back and trembling as he held her firm, only half-letting her hold herself up as he fucked her from behind, betrayed her desire for him---for this---just as surely as if she'd said the words. And he had to admit, he was more than tempted. Every slam forward bared her neck to him even more, exposing the sinew of her Slayer muscles working in concord to ride him blind.

But he wouldn't. Couldn't. They'd already proven that biting could be a seductive part of their lovemaking. Spike wasn't about to abuse that trust he'd gained with her by taking without her explicit consent.

She came quickly, shuddering, a mold beneath his fingers to ply. When Spike curled his arm around her waist in order to drive deeper, Buffy helped his arousal by turning her head and sinking her teeth into his bicep. It loosed the dam within, and his body went rigid as his cock slammed one final time, the fire igniting his flesh a product of the flames and her.

God, her. Buffy. His.

The room dipped around him as he rode out the last of his orgasm. Didn't feel completely real, he'd said to her. And how could it? Slayers weren't supposed to love vampires---not the ones without souls, at least---and vampires weren't supposed to want to protect the very person so bent on their destruction.

And yet here they were, and as he sat up, taking her with him to cradle her in his lap, Spike felt a rush of completion surge through him. Buffy might think that things would be hard for them once they got back to Sunnydale, and while she might be right, Spike was of the opinion that the hardest bit was now already past.

She made him feel like he could do anything.

"Should move this to where little ones with big eyes might not necessarily see us," he murmured into her hair.

She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck. "But then there's no more chances for me to get splinters," she said, pretending to pout. "And I've got to say, that was way better than Mom with the tweezers any day."

"I can think of other ways to keep you entertained." Rising to his feet, he walked with Buffy over to the ladder, setting her on one of the rungs before stepping back. "Now get yourself up there while I seal up the fortress. I don't want any more walkabouts interrupting our games."

She kissed him quickly before climbing to the loft, and Spike hurriedly began moving the furniture around to block the door. He didn't think Holly would be sleepwalking tonight, but there was no way for them to predict what might set off her dreamworld. Better to be safe than sorry.

Besides, she was one of his girls now. And Spike knew how to take care of his girls.

Both of them.

-----

In the end, it was much simpler than she'd first thought it would be

Paul surprised both of them by volunteering to act as a diversion. "If something goes wrong," he'd said, his young face so earnest that Joyce felt like pinching his cheeks, "I'm the one most likely to escape Maria's wrath. She won't suspect me. Of the three of us, I'm the only one never to give her cause to doubt my loyalty."

Joyce thought it was incredibly brave and told him so with a warm smile.

"It's foolhardy," Giles retorted. But at the stern look she'd shot him, he'd added, albeit reluctantly, "And correct."

He left them then, to seek out Silas and Maria, keeping them busy with a faux discovery regarding Holly's location until Giles and Joyce could get to the car. It was agreed that they would come back to the gates for him, but they would only wait for as long as they thought it safe. They couldn't risk detection if they wanted to get beyond the reach of Maria's magic.

They waited for five minutes before leaving Paul's room. In that time period, Giles never said another word to Joyce, though she knew he was more than a little annoyed with her gung-ho attitude. Frankly, she didn't care. He might be Buffy's Watcher, but she was her mother, and there was no way Joyce could sit back and allow that Maria bitch to continue on with her plans. Without Giles or Paul to help fathom out Holly's location, Maria would fail. Right now, Joyce wanted nothing more than to see the woman fall flat on her face from it.

"Stay close to me," Giles instructed when they finally reached the stairs. "I know this house a little better than you do. I believe I can get us to the front door without alerting anyone."

She nodded. Now was not the time to be arguing with him.

The house was silent as they crept down the stairs, and Joyce cringed when her foot found a squeaky spot on one of the risers. They froze, listening for a response, but when none came, resumed their stealthy pace.

The front door was unlocked, and slipping into the darkness on the other side eased one of the knots in Joyce's stomach. Pulling the jacket she'd borrowed from Paul closer around her, she rushed past Giles and off the porch, leading him away from the path that cut through the front yard and into the trees that lined the perimeter of the estate.

"What are you doing?" he hissed, coming up behind her. His breath was a white plume in the air, but even that was difficult to see once they'd reached the cover of the foliage.

"You may know the inside," she said, "but I know the out. There's a wall that runs around the property. If we go down the drive, we'll be seen. This is the best way for us to get out undetected."

"You didn't mention a wall to Paul."

"Because he already knows." She led Giles past a twisted oak, noting the break just a few yards ahead. "If you'd been paying attention instead of sulking about this being suicide, you would've heard him remind me of it."

They came to a stop before the stone wall. Joyce's hands were already shivering from the cold, but she knew this was no time to take a break to warm them. Using the carved rocks as holds, she wedged her toe into one of the crevices and grabbed one over her head to start climbing over. As she started to move to a higher rock, warm hands were suddenly on her bottom, pushing her up to the top and allowing her to swing her leg over with little more difficulty.

She only had to wait a moment before Giles appeared, carefully hopping the few feet to the ground as he slid over the wall's top. "Which way to the car?" he asked, squinting against the darkness.

Joyce looked up down and the dirt road they now stood alongside. "That way," she said, pointing to her left. She began trudging along the packed snow to prove her certainty, and was quickly joined by Giles. "It's not that far."

It was silent as they walked. "I owe you an apology," he said, finally shattering the quiet.

"For feeling me up when you helped me over the wall?" she teased.

"For not believing we could do it. I'm sorry."

She shrugged, though it was barely noticeable beneath her jacket. "It's your job to be skeptical. You wouldn't be you if you weren't."

More silence. And then...

"Joyce...have you been working out?"

She smiled into the darkness.

-----

She didn't even look up when Silas came scuttling back into her study. "So, was I right?" Maria asked.

"They're gone," Silas replied. "And I saw Paul slipping out the front door as I was coming back downstairs."

She merely nodded. "Your worries about him weren't unfounded, it would seem."

"But..." His plump cheeks were flushed, his eyes darting from his hostess to the door behind him. "Why would you let them go? We'll never find your daughter without Rupert or Paul's aid."

"That's where you're wrong. They are now our best means for locating Holly." Glancing at the watch on her slim wrist, she rose to her feet. "Mrs. Summers made it more than clear that she knows more than she is telling. You and I are going to find out exactly what that is."

He shook his head. "I don't understand. How can you know this? What do you possibly believe we might gain in following them?"

"This is why I'm the one who leads and you're the one who follows, my dear Silas." She stopped in front of him and patted him condescendingly on the arm. "You've trusted me this far. You really must trust me just a tad further."

When he nodded, Maria smiled and brushed past him to the doorway. Young Paul's odd behavior had been the only telltale signs she needed to have the surveillance tapes on his room pulled. She only bothered with them when the need arose, and hadn't really given a second thought to her Watchers' duplicity since Giles' phone call to Sunnydale.

At least it was now going to pay off. Joyce Summers knew where Holly was, and now she was going to lead Maria straight to her.
 

To be continued in Chapter 44: Don't You Tell a Single Soul...

DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss', of course.
PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy and Spike have come even closer together after their vows, and Joyce has escaped relatively easily from Maria's with Giles...

-----

44. Don't You Tell a Single Soul

When she'd contemplated how she'd be spending her Christmas holidays, Joyce never thought she'd turn out funding the Great Escape of 1999.

"I'll pay you back," Rupert said when she handed over her credit card to the hotel clerk.

"I know," she replied. She didn't want to talk about this at the moment. She just wanted to get to her room and sleep until the next year.

Paul had been waiting for them when they'd returned with the car, and the trio had driven for hours throughout the night, fearful of stopping and finding Maria directly behind them. Rupert had alternated the driving responsibilities with her, but young Paul had begged off, claiming his inability to discern the reverse positions of the car and roads too hazardous to put him behind the wheel. Eventually, though, exhaustion had won, and just before dawn, Joyce had pulled into a tiny hole-in-the-wall motel to get rooms for them to recover.

Paul disappeared into the room he was sharing with Giles with a faint good night and a small wave, leaving the remaining two waiting for the other to speak.

"How long do you think you're going to need?" Joyce finally asked.

"A few hours, I'd imagine. You?"

"The same."

The awkwardness stretched into silence, but when Joyce turned to unlock the door of her room, she felt Rupert's hand come to rest softly her arm.

"What do you plan on doing?" he queried.

She smiled. "I thought it was obvious. Sleep."

"I meant...afterward. Do you intend to return to Sunnydale?"

She'd been hoping he wasn't going to ask. The issue had not been broached during their ride, but that didn't mean she wasn't considering it. She just wasn't sure how he was going to react to her decision.

"Yeah, Joyce."

The sudden voice behind her made whirl, her heart pounding even though she knew who it was. She glared at him when Doyle only grinned.

"What do you intend to do?" he finished.

-----

It could've been his weariness distorting his perceptions, but Giles was certain that Joyce and Doyle were flirting with each other. She'd invited the so-called ghost into her hotel room with barely a chastisement for so visibly frightening her, and only as an afterthought had she done the same for Giles. Then, she'd proceeded to put on a pot of coffee in the dreadfully stained miniature coffeemaker that the room sported, and started chatting away about her adventures in Maria-land---as she so eloquently put it; really, was it any wonder that Buffy spoke the way she did?---as if it wasn't unusual in the slightest to have a corporealized ghost sprawled across her hotel room bed.

Giles was left to gawp in silence.

"You didn't!" Doyle exclaimed, his eyes twinkling.

"I did," Joyce said proudly. "I went right out the window."

"And Tara and Jenny were so worried about you," he scoffed. "I guess you showed them."

The names dropped so casually yanked Giles from his preoccupation with Joyce's behavior to the lounging Irishman. "What...did you say?" he asked carefully.

Joyce sighed. "He doesn't know, Doyle," she said.

"I don't know what?" Setting aside his still-full coffee cup, Giles rose to his feet, crossing to stand between the two who couldn't help the guilty looks they kept exchanging. "What didn't you tell me back at Maria's?"

"I didn't want to upset you," she started, but though her voice was gentle, his short temper wasn't willing to pacified.

"So it's true? This Jenny he speaks of...is that...Jenny Calendar?"

He'd almost said my Jenny, for even though it had been almost two years since she'd been killed, he still very often thought of her in those terms. It was difficult not to imagine the sort of life they might've had if their chances hadn't been cut so tragically short.

And yes, he was getting upset.

He had every bloody right to be.

"It doesn't matter who it is trying to protect Holly," Joyce was saying. "What's important is that we've managed to thwart Maria's efforts by removing you and Paul from that environment. Without you, she won't be able to find out that Buffy and Spike are watching her."

It was Doyle's turn to come to attention. "Who's Paul?"

"Another Watcher Maria had kidnapped. She was using three of them to try and locate Holly."

"And you told him everything?" The jocularity was gone. Doyle was starting to get as upset as Giles felt. "How do you know you can trust him, Joyce?"

"You don't," Giles intervened.

"Why shouldn't I?" she countered. "You do."

"Out of necessity under those specific circumstances. I never suggested he accompany us on your grand plan, which by the way, still seems to have been executed just a little too easily for my comfort."

She folded her arms across her chest, turning to face him squarely. "I didn't hear you complaining when we got over that wall so fast," Joyce said.

"Yes, you did. You just chose to ignore me. Don't all parents develop selective hearing when their children become teenagers?"

"Are you saying you're acting like a teenager?"

"OK, you crazy kids, pipe down." Doyle stepped between them. "What we have here is a failure to communicate---."

"Oh, wonderful," Giles muttered, and turned away to sit back down in his chair. "Yet another one obsessed with quoting his pop culture. My day is now complete."

"That's enough." Joyce's voice was sharp and loud in the room, and her eyes were flashing as they darted between the two men. "Perhaps I should've been a little more upfront with you," she said to Giles, "but if I'd told you about Ms. Calendar when we were still at Maria's, can you honestly say you would've been just as quick to escape as you were? You wouldn't have been distracted with thoughts of her?" She turned to Doyle. "And regardless of what Rupert might say, Paul seems honestly willing to do the right thing. I wouldn't have brought him along if I thought he'd put Buffy in any danger."

"I still don't like it," Doyle said.

"You've met Buffy," Giles said to the other man. "Does it really surprise you that her mother would act so similarly?"

"And her mother is still in the room, thank you very much. Now. Can we start over, please? I'd like to get everything discussed that needs to be discussed before I fall on my face from exhaustion. I've been nearly killed, knocked out with magic, and then escaped from a psychotic's home all within the past couple days. I really don't need to add arbitrating differences with the two of you to that list."

Giles pressed his lips together. She had a point, albeit a small one. Still, to think that Jenny was somehow involved in this...

"If it makes you feel better, Jenny wasn't so keen on upsetting you, either." Doyle was addressing him now, a look of pity behind those sharp eyes.

"No, it doesn't make me feel better," he replied, "but thank you for saying so."

"Are we going to talk about this?" Joyce asked.

With a sigh, Giles pushed himself back to his feet. "My suggestion is that we discuss this after some rest," he said. "I think our ill tempers will only be aggravated further if we were to continue on as we are without it."

Doyle nodded. "Think that's a grand idea. I probably shouldn't have barged in until later anyway, but when I got word that Joyce here had managed to get out again, well, I couldn't stay away from the excitement of it all."

Giles hid rolling his eyes as he walked to the door. There was really nothing subtle about the ghost, was there? "I'll ring your room when Paul and I are refreshed," he said to Joyce, keeping his tone neutral. "If you need anything in the interim---."

"I'll call you," she finished.

He was almost out the door when she called out, "I am sorry, Rupert."

Closing it behind him, Giles sagged as soon as he was out of their presence. Jenny. He hadn't considered her for any length in quite some time. To think...

No. Joyce had been right in not telling him of Jenny's involvement. He was already distracted from the issue at hand, and they were under far less stress now than they had been under Maria's control. He owed it to all of them to pull himself together. Sleep was exactly what he needed.

-----

She felt like she could sleep for another week, but with the noise coming from downstairs, Buffy knew it was pretty much pointless.

Sighing, she rolled in the twisted sheets, opening her eyes to view the cold and rumpled pillow at her side. A room temperature body meant it was impossible for her to tell how long Spike had been up, but she reached out and fondled the cotton anyway, leaning just enough so that she could bury her nose in the folds and breathe in his scent.

She was sore, but in all the right places, muscles comfortably stretched, her bottom only slightly raw from where Spike had attacked it the night before. The memory made her squirm, and Buffy knew she was getting wet again as the feel of his mouth on her flesh returned with a vengeance to her imagination. He had vamped on her, and while it had been mildly disquieting at the time, she trusted him enough not to let him know that. It was going to happen every once in a while, and she would've been stupid to think otherwise.

"Slayer! I hear you awake up there! Get your ass down here!"

And then amidst a horrified giggle, "Spike! That's a bad word."

"Sorry, moptop." He raised his voice to call up to Buffy again. "Get your lovely bottom down here!"

Rolling her eyes, she tucked the sheet around her body as she hopped up from the bed and padded over to the railing. Her mouth opened to yell down at him, and then she stopped, frozen by the sight that greeted her.

The lower room looked as if her closet had exploded. Piles of her clothes were strewn across the wood floor, and t-shirts draped over the back of each of the chairs. Individual socks were looped around anything remotely pole-like, including the poker on the hearth, the legs of the kitchen table, and the short sword she'd left in her weapons bag next to the front door. There was even one of her bras dangling from the antlers of the deer mounted over the fireplace.

"What the hell happened?" she demanded, all good humor fading.

"We're playing store," Holly said. Her upturned face was beaming, though really, that was all Buffy could see of the child. The rest of the diminutive form was complete hidden by Spike's leather duster that she wore. "I'm selling your clothes and Spike's buying them."

Buffy turned her piqued gaze to the vampire, currently stretched out on the couch with various items from her underwear draped over him. As soon as their eyes met, he shrugged.

"It was like this when I got up," he said. "Don't be lookin' to point your finger of blame at me."

Instead, she lifted her hand and jabbed at the deer head. "You're tellin' me she got my favorite bra up there? That's too Animal House for a three-year-old and surprisingly restrained for you."

Spike grinned. "That's from when I was tryin' to distract her from this notion we were goin' clothes shopping."

"It's a slingshot," Holly piped in.

"No, it's a fifty-five dollar bra that I had to beg my mom to buy for me," Buffy bit back.

"Well, I'd say you got your money's worth, pet. Those cups have got a helluva snap to 'em."

She exhaled loudly, deliberately counting to ten inside her head before saying anything. "Is there anything left in my drawers?" Buffy asked carefully.

"Nope," said Holly.

"So what do you expect me to wear today?"

Spike's gaze raked over her. "I'd say you look particularly fetching in my sheet, luv."

She pulled the aforementioned item tighter around her, suddenly conscious of her nudity in front of Holly. "Start picking them up," she ordered the little girl. "I'll be down in a minute to help you put everything away. And then we're going to have a long talk about personal space and why you don't invade it."

"But---."

"No buts." She pointed to a pink scrap nearest the ladder. "Could you toss that up here, please? I'd prefer not to flash everyone when I come down."

Casting a glance back at Spike, Holly slowly trudged over to the garment Buffy was indicating, the black leather dragging along behind her like a queen's train. She picked it up and threw it upwards, but the underwear only made a half-hearted arc and landed on a rung that was well beyond Buffy's reach.

"Hold up, pidge," Spike said. Brushing off the clothing that was draped over him onto the floor, he rose from the couch and sauntered over, plucking the panties from the ladder with a quick flick before squatting in front of the little girl. "What say you start with the tidying while I go try and help Buffy out? Seems she's got her knickers all in a twist and seein' as I'm the resident expert on how to undo those particular types of knots, I best get up there before she falls flat on her face tryin' to sort it herself."

"Is she mad at me?"

It was a whisper, but it was a Holly whisper, which meant that it carried to Buffy's ears all too clearly. She winced as she stepped away from the railing, but she still heard Spike's response as she moved back to the bed.

"Slayer's just not a morning person. By the time she comes down from that loft, I promise you she'll be her usual charming self."

Pause.

"Does she have to be?"

Buffy's eyes closed. All those goodwill points she'd been accumulating with Holly the past few days? Out the window, it would seem.

"Now, you don't mean that, and you know it," Spike said. His voice had taken on a distinctly disapproving tone, one she'd never heard him use with the child before. "After everything she's done for you, least you can do is show her the proper respect she deserves, Holly. Yeah, she can be a right pill when the mood takes her, but she's got reason to be a little short-tempered with us about now. Don't be tryin' to turn her into the bad guy here when you know good and well we're the ones doin' the wrong, you understand?"

Silence.

Wow.

She'd never heard Spike get so stern with anyone before. He'd even called the little girl by her real name and not one of those annoying nicknames he was always using. It was enough to get Buffy starting to feel guilty about losing it so quickly at the sight of her wardrobe strewn around the room if that was the kind of response that it elicited.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, still lost in thought when Spike's head appeared at the top of the ladder. He didn't step into the loft, however, just leaned against the top rung and surveyed her from his post, her pink panties dangling from his fingers.

"You don't have to say it," she said before he could speak. "I know I over-reacted."

He shrugged. "Looked like a typical Slayer first response to me."

"Yeah, well, I was hoping I was starting to outgrow those. Silly me."

Shaking his head, Spike climbed up the rest of the way and strode to the bed to sit beside her, dropping the underwear into her lap. "Know I'm good, but I'm not a miracle worker," he teased. He began running a single finger along the upper edge of the sheet, where the cotton met the top of her breasts. "Don't be so hard on yourself."

Buffy's heart was starting to quicken at the hint of velvet each stroke was whispering into her skin. "Does she hate me again?" she asked, her voice tiny.

"She's three, pet. She just doesn't like being told she did wrong."

"So she does hate me. Great."

Spike's hand disappeared behind her, slipping inside the sheet to slide down her spine and tug her gently closer. "You don't hate family," he said, and bent his head to taste the crook of her neck. "You get pissy when they gum up the works and make you clean up the mess, but you don't hate 'em."

Inwardly, she shook her head at the ass-backwards way he'd chosen to reassure her, but it was hard to do more than sigh in relief as his teeth joined in the attention currently being lavished on her neck. When his free hand started tugging at the lower part of the sheet to allow him access to her now-soaking slit, however, Buffy pushed against his chest to force some distance between them again.

"We can't," she protested. "Holly's down there and wide awake."

"But do you have any idea how delicious you look in my bedclothes, luv?" His voice was a throaty rumble, and he grabbed her hand and pressed it to the bulge in his jeans.

Before she pulled away again, she gave him a quick squeeze, eliciting a groan that made him flop back onto the mattress. "We can do that later," Buffy said. "Right now, I have some damage control to do to my wardrobe."

She felt his eyes on her as she rose and let the sheet drop to a puddle around her feet. Quickly, Buffy slithered into her underwear and then strode over to the dresser, pulling out one of Spike's t-shirts and slipping it over her head.

"I was wrong," she heard from behind. "You look more edible in my kit than the soddin' sheet."

She glanced back and saw him propped up on his elbows, watching her through his lashes, his tongue running along the edge of his teeth. "Are you always this horny?" she teased, and pulled her hair out from the collar of the shirt.

"What can I say, luv? You just seem to bring out the beast in me."

The instinct to reply that Buffy had thought she seemed to bring out the man in him rose and then was stifled, as she decided that going soft and mushy on Spike wasn't going to rescue her clothes any faster. If anything, it was going to result in the pair of them doing something obscene---but fun---with the potential of being discovered by a more than capable Holly climbing up and interrupting at any moment.

Instead, she walked back and scooped up the sheet, snapping it at his recumbent form. "You want it, you'll have to work for it," Buffy said. "Help me make the bed."

"Well, that's not any fun."

"Work never is. Hence, the work label and not the fun label."

When he didn't move from his reclining position, Buffy sighed and grabbed his ankle. "Just remember, you asked for this," she said, right before she yanked and tossed him toward the farthest empty wall.

Though it took him by surprise, Spike twisted in mid-air and landed on his ass instead of his head. "Hey! What was that for?"

"For not helping when I asked you to." But her tone was lighter than it had been, the quick rush of adrenaline the slight physical activity had given her already bolstering her mood. Maybe that's what I need, she thought as she brushed off the blankets to get the sheet back into place. A good workout that doesn't involve being naked. Kill a few demons, and get rid of some of this energy being pent-up in this place has stored---.

Her thoughts were interrupted when something sharp dropped on her toe. Bending slightly to look around the mattress she had lifted to tuck in the sheet, she saw the object in question

It was an old leather-bound book, unlike the ones that were stored downstairs, slim and worn as if it had been held and used on numerous occasions. Her brow wrinkled as she picked it up.

"What's this?" she asked, as she started to flip open the cover.
 

To be continued in Chapter 45: In the Old Silk Hat They Found...

Next