Chapter Thirteen

            “Hey, Will!”  Xander leapt up and rushed over to hug his friend as she hovered in the doorway, looking uncertain.  Xander had been sitting talking earnestly with Giles and Anya and from the way the blonde was looking at him it was clear to Willow what they were talking about.

            Xander wanted to marry Anya.

            Willow would be alone.

            She hugged him back and let him lead her over to a comfortable chair, as if she was an invalid.  She had a few very minor burns, but it had been her white cotton shift that took most of the damage.  It wasn’t as bad as last time when the fire had actually burnt her.  Tara was slightly worse off - the fire had been higher on her side and her arms and legs were burnt a bit.  Willow had wanted to go and see her but Cordelia had advised against it.

            “She’s sleeping, and she needs lots of rest.  Why don’t you go and see Mr. Giles?  He was worried about you.”

            So Willow had dressed and gone downstairs, trying to figure out exactly what had happened back there with her and Tara.  Since they’d been overheard talking about Willow’s previous accusations of witchcraft, the villagers had realised she didn’t go to church and she’d tried to explain that she wasn’t Christian, but they’d got that far and proclaimed her a witch.  Especially since they’d seen her kissing Tara, who was an odd girl anyway, surely a witch also, and they must both be burnt.

            They’d been put in separate cells, and the next Willow had seen of Tara was when they were led out to the pyre.  On the ride to Angel’s Willow had shared a horse with Xander and Tara with Giles, and they’d been taken to different rooms and Willow had spent the whole night and a good portion of the morning trying to figure out exactly what the hell was happening.

            She’d kissed another woman.  Willow hadn’t even ever kissed a man before.  She knew Xander had occasionally caught the eye of a pretty lady, but Willow had never been interested before.  Why on earth was she now?

            What would Xander think?

            “How are you feeling?” Giles asked.

            “Oh, I think I’m okay.  Bit tired.  Smoky.”

            “You should be resting.”

            “No, that was driving me crazy.  I wanted to say thank you, for trying to rescue me.  I mean, for rescuing me.  I mean...”

            “It was really Buffy and Spike who did the rescuing,” Anya said.  “Giles and Xander just got in the way.”

            “Yes, thank you, Anya,” Giles said, and she beamed at him.  “Have you seen Tara?”

            Willow blushed.  “Um, no, not since...”

            There was a silence.

            “It’s okay, Will,” Xander said, touching her hand.  “We talked about it and, well, it’s a bit weird, but, well, you’re sort of not very normal anyway and...”

            “You don’t mind?” Willow asked in amazement.

            “Actually, I think it’s sort of-” Xander caught Anya’s eye and stopped.  “If it makes you happy,” he finished lamely.  “But hey, listen, on a more conventional note, how would you like to hear some good news?”

            Willow nodded and smiled.  Suddenly she felt deliriously happy.

            “We’re engaged!” Anya held up Xander’s hand and waved it.  “I don’t have a ring yet because he only asked about half an hour ago, but as soon as he’s stopped worrying about you and Buffy then he’ll take me and get one, won’t you, Xander?”

            “Buffy?” Willow said.  “I mean - that’s great, I’m so happy for you, but - Buffy?  Why are you worried about her?”

            Xander and Giles looked at each other.  “She didn’t follow us here,” Giles said.

            “Probably she and William just stopped off somewhere,” Xander said.

            “To have lots of sex,” Anya nodded, and they all winced.

            “Or to sleep,” Xander offered, weakly.

            “But - but the last I saw, the fire was spreading,” Willow said, her euphoria fading fast.  “What if they got caught?”

            “I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Giles said, but he didn’t sound too convinced.

            “Buffy’ll be fine,” Xander said.  “She seems to be able to take care of herself pretty well.”

            “But what about William?”

            “He’s a highwayman, Will,” Xander said.  “He tried to rob us.  He could have killed us.”

            “But he didn’t,” Willow said.  “He didn’t.  None of the times he escaped he hurt anyone.  He was nice to me and Tara when he tied us up.  He knows Shakespeare,” she added, visibly upset.

            “He probably stole a book from someone,” Giles said in despair.  “He’s very good at taking care of himself too, Willow.  I’m sure he’ll be fine too.”

            “And he’ll be taking care of Buffy,” Anya added.  They all looked at her.  “Don’t give me those patronising ‘Anya’s talking crazy again’ looks.  He will.  He’s the crazy one - he’s mad about her.  Don’t tell me you couldn’t see it?”

            Giles looked distressed.  Xander, even though he’d pretty much figured it out, looked nauseated.  Anya rolled her eyes at them both.

            Willow gave them a smile, feeling better.  “I’m sure he’ll be taking care of her,” she said.

            “Spike, I’m fine,” Buffy said.  “See me?  Completely fine.  I am the epitome of fineness.”

            He poked the loose bandage on her arm and she flinched.

            “Yes, I can see that.  Let me look at it.”

            “It hardly hurts.”

            “I want to see.”

            They glared at each other, but Spike looked the stubbornest, so Buffy gave in and peeled the bandage off.  It did hurt quite a bit.  She didn’t remember where it had come from - she’d ducked a lot of swords while she was trying to escape.  Maybe she hadn’t ducked far enough.

            Spike was sitting up, leaning against the headboard, looking very heroic with his bandaged shoulder and scarred eyebrow and his cheekbones and his lips and his... Buffy shook herself, and held out her arm to him as she sat crosslegged on the side of the bed.  He took it and peered at the cut.

            “That might need stitches, love.”

            “No, it won’t.”

            “Yes, it will.  And a cleaner bandage than this.  What if you’ve already infected it?  You could get gangrene,” his fingers tightened on her flesh, “a fever, you could die.”

            He was staring at the cut, which looked like nothing to Buffy, but his expression was fierce, and she realised he was trying hard not to cry.

            “I’m not going to get a fever,” she said gently.  “I feel fine.  And it’s a clean cut, see?”

            “You need stitches,” Spike said stubbornly, not looking at her, and she recognised his tone.  The same anger and fear she’d had in her voice when she’d yelled at him to wake up last night.  Anger that he’d got so hurt and fear that it could be very bad.  That it could kill him.  That she’d lose him.

            She couldn’t bear to lose him.

            She gave him a smile, because she understood, then gently prised her arm from his grip.

            “All right.  Let me go downstairs and get some clean water, and maybe see if I can find some food.”

            He let her go, reluctantly, and she kissed his forehead and pulled her clothes on, tying her hair back and pulling her hat down low over her face.  She slipped his leather coat on, loving the heavy settle of the leather on her shoulders, the soft silk of the animal skin, the scent of smoke and sweat and alcohol that was Spike.

            She turned at the door, and he was watching her.

            “It worries me slightly that I still find you attractive when you look like a boy,” he said, and she laughed.

            “Maybe this is the problem Willow and Tara have,” she said, and went downstairs.  Now she’d had time to think about it, she realised she’d overreacted when she’d heard about Willow and Tara’s Sapphic tendencies.  Willow was an odd girl anyway, but she had a good heart.  And didn’t the Bible say, ‘Judge not, lest ye be judged’?  She had robbed people for years, and now she was hiding out with a known highwayman.  Giving her body to a man who was a virtual stranger.  No, she couldn’t judge Willow.  Love was a fine thing, wherever it came from and wherever it went to.

            With this thought in her mind, Buffy flirted with the barmaid for some clean, hot water and a couple of bowls of stew.  And while she was there she borrowed a pen and some paper and wrote a quick note to Angel to let Giles and everyone know she and Spike were all right.  She paid a man in the village to take it to Sunnydale House and only realised afterwards that there was a possibility Giles and the girls hadn’t got there.  And then she dismissed it.  She didn’t need to worry about that now.  She’d go mad if she did.

            She took the food and some thick beer upstairs and went back for the water.  They ate first, and then Spike poured whisky into the cut on Buffy’s arm and sterilised the needle and thread.

            “See, when I sewed you up, you were unconscious,” Buffy said, her heart beating faster.

            “Afraid of a little needle, Slayer?”

            She looked right at him.  “Yes.  Would you like me to stick a needle in your flesh while you’re wide awake?”

            “I could handle it,” Spike said offhandedly.

            Buffy poked his shoulder, and he sucked in a breath.

            “See?” she said smugly.

            He glared at her, then picked up the needle.  “Come here,” he said, getting her to sit facing him, and when she was closer, leaned forward and kissed her.

            “I’ll try not to hurt you,” he whispered.  “Not any more than I have to.”

            Touched, she gave him a smile, stroking his cheek.  “I know.  I trust you.”

            It was probably the first time anyone had said those words to Spike, and it took him a second to recover.

            I love you, he thought, and this time he knew it was true.  He kissed her again, briefly, for courage, then started to sew the cut on her arm.

            Buffy figured it probably wouldn’t hurt too much, but after half a dozen stitches there were tears rolling down her face.  By the time Spike had finished, her fingers, which had been resting on the mattress, had dug a hole through the sheet.

            He set down the needle and wiped away the blood with a clean cloth.  Then he wiped her face and Buffy, who’d tried to keep her tears turned away, looked up, slightly ashamed she’d been caught crying over a few stitches.

            Spike’s eyes were so full of compassion she nearly started crying again.  He pulled back the bandage holding his arm against his chest, and showed her a faded scar on his wrist.

            “Sword practice when I was an ensign,” he said.  “Needed thirteen stitches.  I howled like a baby.”

            Buffy gave a bit of a smile at the thought of him sobbing so hard, and he smiled back, reaching for some clean cloth to bandage her arm properly.  He kissed her skin, then he kissed her mouth, and she held onto him, grateful and relieved and... and... and oddly sad.

            She didn’t know why.  He was going to be fine: his enthusiastic sexual performance had convinced her of that - and he was being pretty nice to her.  Maybe that was the problem.  The compassion.  The concern.  The sweetness of his kiss.

            She didn’t want to lose him.

            Buffy kissed him a little harder, trying to remember him completely, because she knew she’d have to-

            Have to what, exactly?  Leave him again?  But why?  Now she had her memory back she remembered that she’d been a pretty rebellious kid in the first place.  Giles had probably been more shocked by her compliance, than he would if she announced she was running off with a highwayman.

            Why shouldn’t she?

            They’d make a great team.  Buffy remembered she’d been a damn good highway robber.  She’d worked well with Angel and with Faith.  And judging by how well they got along in... other areas... Buffy was fairly sure she and Spike would get along famously-

            Or infamously-

            -in a professional sense.  She suddenly broke the kiss and smiled at him and he paused, taken aback by how lit up she was.

            Glowing.  Wow.

            “You recovered pretty quickly,” he said, for want of anything else.

            “Magic kisses,” she said, still grinning daftly.

            “Dare I ask what makes you so happy?”

            You.

            “I feel like celebrating,” she told him.

            “Celebrating what?”

            Us.

            “Your recovery.”

            “I’m not exactly recovered yet-” Spike began, but then she pulled the sheet away from him and started kissing down his stomach.  “But a bit of future celebrating - Jesus, Buffy!”

            She looked up and gave him an innocent look.  “Oh, I’m sorry... didn’t you like that?”

            “Uh...” He tried to get his brain back so he could answer her.  “I’m not sure.  Why don’t you try it again?”

            “She says William has been injured and she doesn’t want to risk moving him,” Giles said, looking up from Buffy’s letter.

            “How badly?” Dawn asked nervously.

            “She doesn’t say.  And there’s no indication of their whereabouts.”

            “Who delivered it?”

            Giles looked exasperated.  “Mute boy.”

            “I could follow him back?” Angel suggested, and Giles nodded.

            “Good idea.”

            Angel went to get his coat as Giles wrote a quick reply, assuring Buffy that they were all fine, and the boy took it silently, went out to his horse, and was miles away before Angel had even got a saddle ready.

            Spike wasn’t sure what had come over Buffy, but he didn’t care: he’d never seen her so happy.  She touched him almost constantly, whether awake or sleeping, even if she was just curled up by his side, telling him about the plantation in Virginia or her family or the coaches she’d robbed.

            She fell asleep, exhausted, as the sky got darker, and Spike gently eased her away from him and had a go at standing up.  There.  Not so bad.  Didn’t seem like he was going to fall over, or die or anything.  He pulled his clothes on, with difficulty, abandoning his boots and his coat, pulling Buffy’s large cloak around his shoulders to hide the arm strapped to his chest.  He pulled his hat down low and went down the stairs, locking Buffy in, to see where the hell they were.

            The barmaid looked very pleased to see him and asked if he wanted any female company for the night.

            “But I-” Spike began, and realised that they all thought Buffy was a boy.  “Er, no, but thanks anyway.  Still sleeping off the effects of last night.  Wouldn’t be much good to you, love.”

            She looked disappointed, and about to suggest something else, when he said, “Got any food?  Me and the boy are starving.”

            “He came down for some earlier,” she said, wandering into a large and scruffy kitchen.  “Bit scrawny, ain’t he?”

            Spike, busy remembering how he and Buffy had worked off their food, gave her a vague smile.  “And something to drink,” he said.  “In a bottle, so’s I can hide it from the boy,” he gave the barmaid a wink, and she grinned back at him, displaying a mouth full of brown teeth.  He tried not to recoil, and instead asked for some bread and cheese.  He’d been about to ask for meat, too, but saw the state of kitchen and decided not to risk it.

            When he went back up Buffy was sitting up in bed, looking alarmed.  As he opened the door she aimed the pistol at him, then relaxed.

            “Where have you been?  I was worried, and - and you’re not supposed to be out of bed!  Spike, you lost a lot of blood, and you’re still all weak, and...”

            She was dragging him over to the bed, all warm and soft and naked, and he happily allowed her to do it.

            “I went for some food,” he said.  “And I got you something, too.”

            “What?” she asked suspiciously.

            He withdrew a folded bit of paper from inside the cloak and gave it her as he sat down beside her on the bed.  “Came while I was chatting up the barmaid.”

            “That hag with the teeth?  What were you doing-”

            He grinned and kissed her pouty lip.  “Getting grub, love.  Mmm, I could kiss that lip all day...”

            He kissed her again, and again, slipping his arm about her and taking her mouth completely.  She started to kiss him back, but then pushed him away and said, “I want to read my letter.  Kissing later.”

            Spike pouted.

            “You can’t wait five minutes?”

            “No.”  He shoved the sheet away from her body and caressed her breasts.  “But this’ll do.  You read.  Fast.”

            She rolled her eyes but didn’t stop him.  Giles’s note was short, telling her that he, Anya and Xander had got Dawn, Tara and Willow safely to Angel’s, and that none of them were badly hurt.  Buffy frowned at the ‘badly’, but she remembered how practical Cordelia had been, and knew that any injuries they had would be taken care of.

            He wanted to know where they were, and said Angel was following their messenger back to the inn, and when she read that she stilled Spike’s roving hand and read it again, out loud.

            He froze.

            “He’s coming here?”

            “Well, if the letter got in half an hour ago, then he’s already here,” Buffy said.  “Shit.”  She started grabbing clothes, and was out the door in seconds, leaving a rather confused Spike sitting there on the bed.

            “She rushes off to see him,” he said.  “Bloody Angel.”

            He picked up his boots and tried to get them on, but it was impossible with only one hand and a raging temper.  So she’d shag him into oblivion, and then when her old boyfriend turned up she’d run off to see him.  Okay, so he’d be the first familiar face she’d seen since she got her memory back, but still...

            But still, he didn’t want her running off to see anyone.  She was his now.  Didn’t she know that?

            He’d just given up on trying to fasten his boots and was throwing them across the room when Buffy came back in.  She looked slightly startled, especially when she saw his mardy expression.

            “Well?” Spike asked moodily.  “Peaches down there?”

            “No,” she said.  “I talked to the boy - he said - well, he didn’t say anything, but when I asked if anyone followed him he shook his head.  Not that you’d know with Angel, but I checked around.  No one’s seen him.”

            Slightly mollified, Spike stood up to collect his boots.  “Will you give me a hand, love?”

            “Why, where are you going?”

            Away from Angel.

            “I figure it’s only a matter of time before the witch-burners come after us,” he said, and watched the fear come over her face.  “We should move on.”

            “But you’re not-”

            “I’ll be fine,” Spike said, and he was almost sure it was the truth.

Chapter Fourteen

They spent a week slowly travelling from place to place, not wanting to be found by anyone. Buffy couldn’t remember being happier: despite his injury Spike was cheerfully lusty and several times he stopped the horse and pulled her off and made love to her by the road, because he just couldn’t wait to get to the next inn. And neither could she.

Twice Buffy robbed coaches to get enough money for new clothes, food and somewhere to stay. It occurred to her to steal a horse too, but she rather liked riding with Spike, and he certainly didn’t seem to have any objections.

At the end of the week Spike reluctantly suggested they go to Angel’s. His excuse was that he didn’t want Dawn to go off and get married without him, but when he casually said, “And I suppose you’ll be wanting to see if the girls are okay,” she knew he was worried about them too.

Her heart swelled with love.

And it was love. She’d never loved Riley and she’d known that, but he’d loved her, and oddly, that had seemed enough. She’d had a crush on Angel - a reciprocated crush, but a crush nonetheless. At the time she’d been sure it was love, but now she knew. Love was wanting to be with someone even when he annoyed the hell out of you, even when you knew you had no future with him. Wanting him so desperately your skin itched. Knowing that if he was taken away from you, you’d burn up and turn to ashes, because-

“Stupid bloody ponce,” Spike muttered in front of her, and she shook herself.

“What?”

He nodded at the house just coming into view. “Angel. Look at that place. Five thousand rooms for him and his bint.”

“Don’t call Darla that to her face.”

“Why? Never hurt before.”

She smiled and rested her head on his good shoulder. She’d tell him, she decided. When they’d got to Angel’s and seen everybody and talked about everything and they were alone again. Then she’d tell him. Her skin twitched with nerves. She wasn’t afraid, exactly, because she was pretty sure he felt the same, but she was excited. This was the man she was going to spend forever with.

There was a horse trotting out of the stables, and its rider looked up when it saw Buffy and Spike ambling over the fields on their stolen horse.

“Spike?”

It was Dawn. She kicked her horse into a gallop, rushing towards them, and Spike muttered, “Silly little chit.” But he didn’t sound too annoyed.

“Where the hell have you been?” Dawn demanded when she reined in a few feet away.

“It’s nice to see you too,” Buffy murmured.

“Buffy?” The girl’s face turned to a smile. “I didn’t see you there. I thought - you’re both here! That’s great. Come on. I think Giles is in the library with Willow, I don’t know where the others are...”

They followed her into the house, gathering people as they went. Tara was showing Darla and Cordelia a hairstyle in the parlour; Anya was talking about weddings to Xander in the drawing room. Angel came out of his office and they all met up in the library, where Willow was fetching down a book and Giles was reading at the big table.

Buffy stopped, and looked at the man she’d known since she was a child. She was so happy to see him she ran in and threw her arms around him, nearly knocking him over.

“You know, I might get jealous at that,” Spike said, taking a half-smoked cigarette from behind his ear and sticking it between his teeth to light it.

“What happened to you?” Willow asked.

“Got shot,” he said, a touch proudly, and Buffy rolled her eyes.

“Willow! How are you? And Tara? You’re not hurt?”

Tara shook her head shyly and Willow said, “Nothing that won’t heal. Where have you been? We were trying to find you...”

“Lying low,” Buffy said easily. “But listen, I’m just so tired, we’ve been riding all-”

“Before you go,” Giles said, and Buffy turned. Such small words. Meaningless, really. She’d no idea what was coming.

He handed her the letter he’d been reading, explaining, “It came this morning. From Virginia.”

Surprised, Buffy took it.

“Spike,” Dawn tugged at his sleeve. “Come look at the horse I bought.”

“Bought?” he said, distracted. “With what?”

“That necklace you stole last week.”

“Who’ve you been buying horses from?”

“Me,” Angel said, and his expression said Dawn was a hard bargainer.

Spike grinned, proud of his girl. “I’ll be outside, Buffy-?”

She nodded vaguely, not looking up. “I’ll see you later.”

She sat down at the table to read the rest of the letter. The others faded away: soon it was just her, Willow and Giles left at the big table. They exchanged worried glances as Buffy read.

Then she started laughing.

“All right, this is a joke, yes?”

“Erm, no,” Giles frowned at Willow. “It’s not.”

“But it says here - they’ve issued a warrant for the arrest of one William Darling, also known as William the Bloody,” she waved her hand to show she knew all this, and added in an incredulous tone, “also known as the Slayer?”

They both nodded.

“But that’s insane! He’s not the Slayer!”

“How do you know?” Willow asked.

“Because I’m the - because I know,” Buffy finished lamely, aware that neither of them knew who she was. “He’s not. He’s never been to Virginia!”

“Actually, he has,” Darla said, and they all jumped. None of them had noticed her lurking in the shadows.

“He has?”

“It’s where we met,” she said, coming forward. “After Angel had left you, Buffy, he teamed up with Spike. And then Spike left with some silly blonde twit - Harmony, I think her name was. And Angel asked me if I’d like to be his partner. We sort of migrated up here. Got a house when we found somewhere we liked.”

Buffy noticed she said ‘got’, not ‘bought’, but she didn’t really care.

“Spike was in Virginia?”

“Before all that with your fiancée,” Darla said. “He’d left well before all that started. There was a lawman... Snyder? They crossed paths and Snyder wouldn’t give up. I guess he pinned the Slayer things on Spike just to give himself an excuse.”

Buffy stared at the letter. It was from her foreman, a tall dignified man called Wood who’d been taught to read and write by her mother. His writing was careful and his spelling appalling, but there was no mistaking what he meant.

‘Theirs posters awl ova town fer him miss. The hole of Virginny wants his blood. Lookes like it mite be safe fer you ter come home.’

He’d known, of course. All the servants had known. They’d quietly hidden Faith, then buried her when she died. Wood had been the one to suggest Buffy and Joyce made a break for it at Riley’s funeral.

“Wait, how did he know I was here?”

“Angel’s letter,” Darla said. “He’d already sent one to your mother, remember, before we knew she was dead. I guess this Wood of yours found someone to deliver it pretty quick.”

“People did what he said,” Buffy murmured vaguely. She looked at the poster Wood had enclosed. There was a very bad woodcut of someone who might be supposed to look a little bit like Spike: he had prominent cheekbones and a scar through one eyebrow, although she noticed it was the wrong one. But he was far uglier than her Spike. Whoever had made this picture had obviously never seen him.

“Right,” she said. “So we just keep him away from Virginia, right?”

“Whatever you do, don’t tell him Snyder’s after him,” Darla said. “Those two hate each other’s blood. And,” she pointed to a bit of the letter where Wood had massacred the spelling of ‘militia’, “he’s got a lot of men behind him.”

“There were a lot of men in Giles’s village,” Willow said. “He escaped them.”

“After setting a village on fire and getting shot,” Buffy said. “No. You’re right. We have to keep him out of Virginia.”

“It’s four hundred miles away,” Willow said. “That shouldn’t be hard.”

“...Anyway, the letter said Buffy’s estate was in a really bad state,” Dawn said, brushing the mane of her beautiful new horse, “so she should go right home.”

“Home to Virginia?” Spike said. “It’s kind of a long way...”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t object to you going with her,” Dawn said, and looked at him sideways. “I mean, you two are pretty... cosy...”

“That’s enough,” Spike said.

“Oh come on. You helped her save her friends, she saved your life, and besides, I’ve heard you two, remember?”

She thought she almost saw him blush.

“Are you going to marry her?” she asked uncertainly.

“Marry her? Are you mad?”

“Don’t you love her?”

“Of course I bloody do,” Spike sighed, and the admission didn’t surprise him. “But she’s... Well, I watched her take two coaches. She’s way out of my league, Dawn, although if that gets out I’ll have to kill you. She’s the Slayer. The last thing I heard when I left the poof to his bint was, ‘This is Slayer territory. Not worth staying’.”

“So, you’re pretty good too,” Dawn looked up at him with a hint of admiration. “Maybe you could learn from her.” He glared at her, and she amended, “Well, I mean, maybe you could be a team. Like you used to work with Angel.”

“He told you that?”

“Yeah, he told me. And he told me all about Buffy. Does she have her memory back yet?”

“Yes,” Spike said. “And she remembers a whole lot of trouble in Virginia.”

“So... Maybe she shouldn’t go back?”

“No, she’ll go,” Spike sighed. “I guess I’ll just have to go too. Keep her out of trouble.”

Dawn said nothing, but she was smiling.

Buffy listened to Spike tell her all about his time in Virginia, and wasn’t it odd that their paths had never crossed, and he’d like to meet this Wood and see her house and where she’d made her first robbery, and weren’t they going to have a fantastic time together? Oh and by the way, he loved her.

That was how he said it. They made love - they didn’t have sex, they made love, and it was amazing - and as he pulled her sleepily against him afterwoods, he said in her ear, “By the way, Summers, I love you.”

Buffy fell asleep with tears soaking into her pillow.

The thing was that she couldn’t just up and leave him like before. It was different now.

He’d find her.

And if he found her, he’d be killed.

She’d read the rest of Wood’s letter, explaining how, with no one there to stop them, the servants were just leaving. There were only a few left now, slaves bought by her father, people loyal to her family. And they were starving. There weren’t enough of them to bring in any kind of crop, and when Wood had tried to trade a little of it, he’d been ignored. People didn’t trade with darkies, he said, and he was right.

Buffy knew she had to go back. There were people there depending on her. She knew how to run the place - she’d been more interested in robbing coaches, but she’d paid attention to what her mother did all day. One day, Buffy knew she’d inherit the place.

And now she had. And it needed her. And she had to choose: her home and her family - because Wood and the others were her family - or Spike.

And if that was her choice then there was no choice. He’d find another woman. It’s kill her to think of it, but he’d live without her. The world was full of women. He’d be all right. He’d have Dawn to scold and annoy, and women falling at his feet for a casual shag.

She had to leave him. It was simple.

She woke when it was early, having slept for about an hour. During the night she’d been making plans, and it bloody hurt, but now she had to see them through. She’d looked at it all over, and this was the only thing she could ever see working.

If it worked at all. She half hoped it wouldn’t.

“Where’s Angel?” she asked Cordelia in the entrance hall.

“He rode out with Darla about ten minutes ago,” she said. “Boy, everyone sure is up early today.”

“I have a lot to do,” Buffy said, and went out to the stableyard. She saddled up a chestnut gelding and rode off towards the village, where she’d been told Angel and Darla were. And, sure enough, when she rode into the square there they were, a man bound with ropes suspended between the two horses.

He looked familiar.

“Hey, I know you,” Buffy said, frowning.

“Bad luck for you,” Darla said.

“Why have you got him tied up?” Buffy asked, trying to remember where she’d seen him before. So many memories had flooded back over the last week, it was tough trying to keep track of them all.

“He’s the man who raped Drusilla,” Angel said, and Buffy stared. The man glared at her, and she said slowly, “I know you.”

“Godless devil-worshipper,” he spat.

“Yep, I definitely know you. He’s the guy who tried to have Willow and Tara burnt.”

“They were-” the judge began, but Darla cracked her whip at him, and he shut up.

“He’s not a nice chap,” Angel said. “We’ve run afoul of him a couple of times. Lucky for us though, he likes bribes.”

“What kind of bribe is it going to take to cover up his rape and murder of Dru and her family?” Buffy asked.

“I’m thinking a couple of pounds,” Angel said, and lifted his pistol. He fired, and the judge slumped to the ground. “Of lead,” he added, grinning, and let go of his end of the rope. Darla tugged on her end, and dragged the dead man away, followed by a crowd of fascinated villagers.

“How did you know?” Buffy asked, as Angel helped her up behind him.

“He turned up this morning looking for money. I’d had enough of him anyway,” Angel said, “but then Dru came downstairs and started screaming, and he ran away... and we got the story from her.”

“I didn’t hear any screaming,” Buffy said.

“You never do. You and Spike.”

There was a pause. Angel turned his horse back to the house and Buffy absently curved an arm around his waist.

“Not that I’m complaining, but don’t let our William see you do that,” Angel said.

“What?”

“He gets very jealous over his women.”

“Is that what I am? His woman?” Buffy snuggled a bit closer. “I’m no one’s woman.”

“Well, you two seemed pretty...”

“Cosy?” Buffy said in disgust.

“You hardly stop touching him.”

“Well, he is very nicely shaped,” Buffy said dispassionately. “And great in bed. Not as good as you, though,” she let her hand slip down to his crotch, and Angel nearly fell off the horse.

“What are you doing?”

“Come on, Angel. Don’t you want to play?”

“But - I thought you were with Spike!”

“I’m bored with him,” Buffy said in his ear. “I want to play with you.”

“He loves you,” Angel said, and Buffy nearly screamed.

“So he says. You know, he was fun until he started saying that... You don’t love me, do you, Angel?”

“Well, I-” Angel sounded flustered.

“Because you know, that’s what put me off last time. The others never told me they loved me.”

“What others?”

“The other men I had.” She laughed. “You didn’t think you were the only one, sweetie?”

Angel went very still.

“Oh, you did? That’s adorable. And incredibly stupid.”

Angel stopped the horse and slid off. “I think we need to-”

Buffy winked at him. “See you later,” she said, hitching forwards into the saddle and riding off, leaving Angel yelling after her.

Her heart was thumping as she galloped away. That had not felt good. Touching Angel only reminded her how much she’d rather be touching Spike. Hurting Angel reminded her how much she didn’t want to hurt Spike.

But she had to. She’d started now. She couldn’t stop.

She left the horse for someone else to take care of, and strode into the house. “Doyle,” she said, catching sight of him, “I’ll need to borrow a couple of horses. I’m leaving today.”

“Alone?”

“Well, I’m going to see if Giles will come with me,” Buffy said. “That’s where the ‘couple’ comes in.”

She found Giles eating breakfast with Xander and the girls. “I’m leaving today,” she announced. “I’ve been thinking about what Wood said in that letter and I need to go home.”

Anya kicked Xander. “Ask her,” she said.

“I’m going to!”

“Ask me what?” Buffy said, distracted.

“Well, we were kind of wondering... Since Giles’s house and Anya’s store got sort of totally ruined in the fire-”

“Oh no!”

“Well, we were thinking. As you’re going down to Virginia, and you have this big house and everything, and in need of help...”

“Xander can mend things,” Anya piped up. “And I’m very good with money.”

“You want to come with me?”

They nodded.

“Of course you can,” she smiled. “I’d be happy to have you.”

They grinned in relief.

“What about you, Giles?” Buffy asked. “Do you want to come with me?”

He shook his head. “I think you’ve shown me you can stand on your own feet,” he said, smiling slightly sadly, and on impulse she put her arms around him. “I’m going to Boston. I’ve a friend there who’s repeatedly offered me a teaching position and I think I’ll take him up on it. And I’ll be taking the girls with me, too.”

“Probably we won’t be allowed to study properly,” Willow said, “but if you put on an apron and carry a teapot you can get into any library in the world.”

Buffy laughed. “I’m happy for you,” she said, and meant it. “Xander, Anya, can you be ready to leave after breakfast?”

“It’s not like we have a lot to pack,” Xander said.

“I’ll meet you in the stableyard in-” she broke off, distracted by a loud, annoyed voice from the lobby.

“She can take whatever the hell she likes,” Angel snarled, and then Doyle came into the breakfast room and said, “No problem with the horses.”

“Wow, something rattled him,” Xander said.

“Erm, yes. Irishmen,” Buffy rolled her eyes. “Look, I’ll meet you in half an hour. There’s something I, er, have to do...”

When she closed the door and saw Spike still fast asleep, sprawled bonelessly across the bed she’d shared with him, she almost changed her mind. With the bandage on his shoulder he looked vulnerable and she couldn’t bear to hurt him.

But she’d started it now. She couldn’t go back.

She started packing up the clothes and trinkets she’d acquired during her week with him. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to fill a saddlebag.

She stopped as she came to a pink ribbon with a silk rose sew on it. She paused, then tied it around her neck. Spike had bought it for her at a fair they’d come to. She was dressed as a boy, but she’d put it on under her stock and loved it, because he’d got it for her. She had far more valuable things in her possession: ruby necklaces and gold watches and sapphire ear bobs; but she loved this silly, pretty thing, because he’d given it to her.

Her eyes stung, but she shook her head and told herself not to be so soft. That would get her nowhere.

She untied the ribbon choker and stuffed it in the bottom of her bag. Maybe Anya would like it.

She fastened the buckle on her saddlebag, and the clink woke Spike. He stirred, nuzzled the pillow and clutched at the sheets, frowning, then he rolled over and opened his eyes to see where Buffy’d gone.

He saw her fastening the bag, and said sleepily, “Buffy?”

Don’t, she told herself. Don’t fall. Don’t give in. You have to do this.

If he follows you, they’ll kill him.

“Hey,” she said, slinging the bag over her shoulder. “You slept long enough.”

“You wore me out.” He stretched, looking like a big sensual cat, and Buffy flinched with desire. “You going somewhere, pet?”

“Yes,” she said. “Home.”

“Your plantation? Now?”

She nodded. “It’s best. The place is in trouble, so...”

He paused, looking a little confused, a little hurt. He sat up in bed, and she watched his stomach muscles flexing and wanted to lick them.

“Don’t I get to come with you?”

“Come with me?” Buffy forced a look of light puzzlement. “Why would you do that?”

A look of panic flared across his face. “Um, because I love you. Did you miss that part?”

She laughed, and it came surprisingly easy. Buffy supposed it was all those months laughing at Riley’s jokes. “No, and it was very sweet of you to say so,” she said. “You were great. Thanks.”

He flinched visibly at that. “Goodbye and thank you? Is this a joke?”

If it is, it’s not bloody funny, Buffy thought. “No,” she said. “Look, you were fun and all, but did you really think I was going to take you with me? Happily ever on my plantation in the sun?”

Spike’s guarded expression said that yes, that was what he’d thought.

“Oh, Spike. If you only knew how many men have thought that...”

“I do know,” he said stiffly. “Angel and your Lieutenant Lousy.”

Buffy laughed.

“You said there had-”

“I said there had been the two of them, yes,” Buffy said. “I never said it was only the two of them.” She hoped she hadn’t said that. But then again, what did one more little lie matter? “Spike, listen. You were great fun. Really. You were nice in bed and-”

That brought him to his feet and he strode, naked and glorious, over to her. “Nice?”

“Well, sure. I mean, you didn’t do anything wrong, exactly-”

“I made you scream.”

“No, the boredom made me scream. I was composing recipes in my head most of the time.”

He stared at her, apparently speechless. Buffy wanted desperately to tell him that when he was touching her the only thing she could possibly think of was him. Of she could think of anything at all. He made her mindless with pleasure.

I have to get out of here, she thought, and made to move away but Spike grabbed her arms and held them tight.

“Let go of me.”

“You were faking it?”

“Well, of course I was. You were-”

“If you tell me I was fun again-”

“I won’t, because you weren’t. Kind of fun to look at, maybe, but soo intense. Look, the letting you down gently thing clearly isn’t working.”

“Clearly,” he said through clenched teeth. She’d never seen him so angry and for a second or two she was afraid. But only a second.

“Did you think you were special? Did you think I loved you?”

He was silent, looking down. Buffy’s toes curled and her eyes stung. God, he looked ruined.

“Did you think it was forever? You men never understand. Angel never did.”

His head snapped up. “Angel-”

“-also thought I was madly in love with him. Spike, I’m not the loving sort of person. Maybe I was confused for a while because of the memory thing - and really, it was great of you to help me out like you did. Although I have to say: taking advantage of a girl like that is not a nice thing to do.”

“I didn’t take advantage. You let me - you made me-”

“I didn’t make you do anything,” Buffy said. She reached up and touched his short spiky hair. “You were always so eager. And I confess, I was a bit too. Like I said, I couldn’t remember what it felt like to be with a man. To feel his hands on me. His lips on my skin. His weight on top of me. To feel him slide, hard and hot, inside me, moving...” She caught herself. This was getting her nowhere good.

“You were just convenient,” she patted his cheek. “You reminded me. Now it’s over.” She gave him a cruel little wink. “Virginia’s full of delicious men who are so much better than-”

Almost before she knew it, he’d lifted one hand and aimed it at her face, but she ducked it, shocked, and caught his arm, gripping hard.

“You’re lying,” he said, struggling against her. She was strong, but he was stronger, and really angry, too.

“You’re a fool,” she hissed. “You really thought I loved you? Like we had a future? Poor little lost Spikey, can’t have children, only half a man. You’re pathetic.”

“You’re a bitch.”

“It took you this long to notice? I’m a highwaywoman,” Buffy said as contemptuously as she could. “I don’t give a damn about anyone.”

“You-”

“It’s over,” Buffy said, and Spike stopped struggling and stared at her, so angry and so damn hurt Buffy nearly cried. “I’m leaving.”

“You can’t,” he said tightly.

“I damn well can.”

Spike’s eyes closed, and she saw his lashes glisten with tears. She bit her own lip and stamped her foot and told herself not to cry. “I can’t lose you again.”

“As far as I remember, you never had me.”

His eyes snapped open. “I had you, Summers. I had you every which way.” He started backing her against the wall. “I had you from behind, I had you outside, I had you in broad daylight by the side of the road. I had you while your old boyfriend was listening. I had you on the back of a horse. I had you, tight and wet and screaming for me.”

Buffy’s breath caught again. Her bosom was heaving.

“Let go of me,” she said.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Spike asked, and he sounded broken.

Because I love you, Buffy thought, and knew she’d never been more miserable in her entire life.

“Let go,” she said, and when he didn’t, she reached up to his injured shoulder and dug her fingers in.

He howled in pain and fell back and she shoved him to the floor, kicked his ribs for good measure, and stepped over him. She picked up her saddlebag and walked out of the room.

“Goodbye, William,” she said, and closed the door.

Spike watched her go, his heart breaking, and wondered how the hell he’d got it so wrong.

Chapter Fifteen

“Are you alright?” Cordelia asked as Buffy ran down the stairs, sniffing furiously.

“I’m fine. Just in a hurry.”

“Xander said you were leaving. What about Spike - he’s not even up yet.”

“No,” Buffy said. “He’s not coming.”

Cordelia blinked. “But I thought you two-”

“Wait, you’re leaving?” Dawn said, and Buffy whipped round to see her coming out of the breakfast room.

“Yes. It was nice to meet you-”

“What about my dad? Is he going to leave without saying goodbye to me, or-”

“He’s staying,” Buffy said, and Dawn looked confused.

“But I thought-”

“Apparently so did a lot of people,” Spike said, appearing at the top of the stairs in only his breeches, the white bandage on his shoulder stained with blood.

Dawn groaned. “Put some clothes on - wait, your shoulder!”

“Healing wounds bleed when you open them up,” Spike said, looking right at Buffy.

“I guess they do.” She tried to look nonchalant. “Goodbye, Dawn, and good luck with your marriage. Cordelia, thank you for all your help.”

“But-” they both began.

Buffy turned and walked out, ignoring Spike who stayed right where he was, scowling horribly.

Cordelia ran after Buffy, and Dawn turned to her father. “What was that all about? What did you do to her?”

“I didn’t do anything.” He sat down on the top step, and leaned against the railing, suddenly exhausted. His shoulder was bloody killing him. He shouldn’t have taken it out of the sling.

No, he shouldn’t have let Buffy stick her fingers in it.

He shouldn’t have let Buffy do a lot of things.

“But last night - you said you were going with her. You must have done something.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Spike snapped. “She was playing with me. The whole time. She was just playing. Killing time while she got her memory back.”

“Her what?” Dawn said, just as Angel appeared at the end of the corridor. He saw Spike and frowned in surprise, then he came a few steps further and saw Dawn scowling, and hesitated.

“What did I miss?”

“Buffy,” Dawn said, and Angel started scowling, too.

“Oh. Her.”

“She did you too, mate,” Spike said, and Angel sat down beside him.

“Did what?” Dawn demanded, and blushed when they both looked at her. “Oh. Oh.”

“Bloody bint,” Spike said, and she could tell he was trying hard not to cry. She turned and ran outside, round to the stables, and found Buffy arguing with Cordelia.

“You broke his heart,” Cordelia was saying.

“That’s his fault,” Buffy said.

“You did it on purpose,” Dawn said. “He loved you.”

“Well, that’s his problem-”

“The hell it is,” Dawn spat. “You did it to Angel, too.”

Cordelia glared at Buffy. “Is this some sort of game to you?”

“Yes,” Buffy said, and looked up as Xander and Anya came clattering round the corner on their horses. Doyle was leading a third for Buffy and she darted for it, swinging up into the saddle before either of the girls could catch her. “It’s a game. You can ask Angel.”

She rode away before either of them could say anything else, and Xander and Anya had to ride hell for leather to catch her up.

When they did, she’d stopped crying and the pinkness around her eyes was easily explained away as the wind stinging her eyes.

But Xander wasn’t fooled. “What was that back there?”

Buffy kept her eyes straight ahead. “Nothing.”

He exchanged a look with Anya. “You made Dawn cry.”

Buffy’s heart wrenched. “Good. She’s an annoying little brat.”

“But-”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Buffy said, tight-lipped, and Anya looked over at Xander and said, “I’m so glad we’re going to live with her.”

Buffy ignored her and rode on.

It was on the fourth day, when they were not too far from the plantation, that Xander eventually wore her down. They were in an inn, the last people in the bar, Anya snoring upstairs after the day’s long ride and the inn’s bad food, and a drink or two had loosened both Buffy’s muscles and her tongue.

Her misery came flooding out.

“I had to do it,” she sobbed on Xander’s shoulder. “I had to make him hate me. Don’t you see? If he still loved me he’d come after me.”

Xander stared at her. “That’s it? You were trying to make him hate you?”

“I can hardly remember what I was saying to him,” she sniffed. “I was telling him anything - I made up other lovers and told him he was no good in bed and that I’d been bored and I’d lied and, and...”

He patted her shoulder. “He doesn’t know about Snyder?”

“No. He couldn’t know. He’d get all foolhardy and brave and follow me and then they’d kill him. And it’s better we’re apart than he’s dead. I couldn’t bear it if he was dead.”

“Well, no,” Xander tried to think of some way to comfort her, but nothing came.

“And now he really hates me,” she sobbed. “Now he thinks I’m a heartless fake and I just sleep with men for a game. So he can’t have ever loved me, can he, if he thinks that of me? How can he have ever loved me?”

How can he not, Xander thought. He loved Anya, he was sure of that, but he looked at Buffy and saw her strength and her beauty and her compassion and her intelligence - well, okay, maybe that last one was hiding right now - and he knew that Spike had loved her completely.

And that he was coming after her.

Or he was a complete fool.

Days passed darkly, blearily for Spike. He went home, and he drank. At some point his daughter showed up with some smooth-talking git of a lawyer and said she was going to marry him. He only had one hand, Spike noticed through his haze of cheap rum and whisky.

“Wha’ happened to your-” he gestured vaguely, having forgotten the right word. “With the fingers ‘n’ stuff.”

“My hand?” The lawyer held up his folded cuff. “Had a run-in with a highwayman. Maybe you know him? Calls himself Angel.”

Spike thought that was hilarious and laughed for several hours, until Dawn asked in faint disgust if he was coming to the ceremony, and the thought of marriage reminded him of love, and love made him think of Buffy, and he was miserable again.

It was three days until his rum ran out, and when he hollered to Dawn for some more, she stomped in and threw a bucket of very cold water over him.

“You are a disgusting excuse for a human being,” she said.

“I’m mizzerble. Leave me ’lone.”

“No. Sober up or I’ll shoot you.”

“So shoot me. Lemme out of my misery,” he slurred, starting to feel a hell of a hangover come on.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Dawn said, and went out to get more water. But as she passed the front door she saw someone sliding elegantly off a horse, and realised it was Darla.

“Dawn,” the blonde gave her a cool smile. “Is your father at home?”

“Barely,” Dawn said, and jerked her thumb at his study. Darla swayed over and pushed open the door. She recoiled only slightly at the stench coming from inside, and Dawn was impressed.

Darla shut the door. “For God’s sake,” she said. “This is disgusting. What, have you been drinking since you left?”

“No,” Spike said, hauling himself to his feet and feeling so awful he toppled back over again. “Since before then.”

“Still over Buffy.”

“Bloody cow,” he slurred. “I loved her. You understand? I sodding loved her.”

“Do you still love her?” Darla asked.

“No,” Spike said, but he didn’t sound very convincing.

She sighed and looked for somewhere to sit down. There was nowhere. All the flat surfaces were covered with bottles and sticky circles of alcohol. “Look, I wasn’t going to tell you this, but... All right. Buffy had news in that letter that - Spike, are you falling asleep? Spike!”

It took Darla and Dawn a while to get him sober enough to understand what Darla had to say, but once she’d told him about Snyder and his army, and what she and Angel had worked out about Buffy’s stupid, stupid plan, he was stone cold sober.

With the worst hangover in the world.

He stumbled onto a horse and when he looked back down at the ground, it seemed very far away.

“Darla,” he said before he rode out of his stableyard.

She looked impatient. “Yes?”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Her eyes shifted away. “I’m getting soft,” she muttered. “Must be motherhood.”

Spike and Dawn stared at her.

“Yes, I’m pregnant,” she snapped. “I came up here to ask if you wanted to be godfather. But now I’m not sure if I want my child to have a drunken outlaw for a godfather.”

“Why not?” Dawn said. “He has one for a father.”

Spike was laughing as he rode away.

It was hell, because his hangover lasted for two days, and halfway through the second one it started raining and didn’t stop for another seventy-two hours. He’d lost count of the days and nights when he found himself in the nearest town to the Summers plantation and saw a poster with his face on it, tacked up against a tree.

He changed direction, checked his pistol, and asked the first person he saw for directions to Snyder’s house.

When Snyder answered the door, Spike blew his brains out.

Then he rode back out of town, pulling off his mask and letting it flutter to the ground as he rode. Buffy’s house swam into view, blurring through his tired eyes, and he got to the front door, spied Anya talking to a dark man, and fell off his horse.

He woke to shouting, and winced.

“I’m tired, I’m dirty, I’m still hungover, and I’m tired,” he said. “Can we have less shouting, please?”

Then a voice, still far away but close enough to recognise - he’d always recognise it - said, “Spike?” and he opened his eyes.

There was Buffy, pushing through the press of people around him, looking divinely pretty in a sprigged muslin dress and a wide-brimmed hat, looking down at him in amazement.

“Hello, pet.”

He tried to sit up, but every muscle he had complained, so he stayed where he was and moaned, “I think I’m dying.”

“Oh God,” Buffy said. “Fetch the doctor-”

“No,” he grabbed her skirt as she turned away. “I’m fine. Stay here. I’m fine.”

She turned back and looked down at him, shading her eyes. “Spike?”

Anya looked around and said, “All right, everyone, get back to work. Leave them.” Her voice was steely, and Spike spared a smile in her direction as she shepherded everyone away.

Buffy flopped down, straddling him, and grabbed his dusty shirt front to pull him upright and give him the sweetest kiss in the world.

Then she let him fall back with a thud.

“You complete idiot,” she said, “don’t you know the whole colony is out looking for you? Snyder will-”

“Snyder’s dead,” Spike said, rubbing his head, which hurt, like the rest of him.

“He’s what?”

“If not, then he’ll have a hell of a time finding a wig to cover up that big hole in his head.”

Buffy stared.

“Darla told me,” he said, and she slumped in defeat. “And I think you’re a bloody simpleton for trying something like that on me.”

“Worked, didn’t it?”

“Until the rum wore off and I realised the only time you’d ever played me was when you said you were playing me.”

Buffy looked sulky. “You believed me.”

“You were good,” he admitted, and then he grinned at her and shifted his hips where she was sitting on him. “But I’m better.”

Buffy sucked in her breath and looked down at him warningly. “Not here.”

“You’re the one who’s sitting on me, love.” He reached up and pulled her down to him, leaving dirty marks all over her pretty dress, but Buffy didn’t seem to care as she kissed him as hard as he was kissing her.

“God, I’ve missed you,” she sighed.

He touched a loose curl of blonde hair. “Tell me you didn’t mean it.”

“Any of it. It was all to make you hate me.”

“Oh, I do, pet,” he said, and she stared. “Almost as much as I love you. It’s just the other side of the coin. I need you, Buffy. Half an hour apart and I can’t finish my sentences. I was like a bloody shipwreck without you.”

“Can’t have been that bad,” she said, with feeling.

“Wanna bet?” He ran his hand up her leg, under her skirt, and Buffy caught her breath. “I rode through three days of rain and two days of hangover and a lot of other days and a lot of other nights,” he said. “To see you. To be with you. Sod Snyder and his posse. They can’t pin anything on me.”

“They probably-”

“My son-in-law is the slipperiest lawyer there ever was,” Spike said. “So if Dawn ever forgives me for being a drunken twat while I didn’t have you, then maybe he’ll help me out.”

She looked down at him, stroked his cheek, and smiled. “I’m sorry for what I said.”

“So you bloody should be.” He peered at her, and amended, “I mean, I forgive you.”

She laughed. “Spike - William-”

“Spike, please.”

Yes, Spike please, Buffy thought, and said, “I never loved anyone but you. Not ever.”

“You love me now?”

“And always.”

He kissed her again, and only stopped when she pulled back, hearing her name called.

“Buffy? Buffy!”

She sat up, belatedly realising that she was sitting on top of a dusty, hot man on her own front path.

“Erm...” she turned, and saw one of her neighbours coming up the path, maid in tow, basket in hand. Kathy. Buffy tried not to shudder.

“Buffy, whatever are you doing?”

Buffy looked up and gave Kathy her brightest smile. “Kathy, this is William. My husband.”

Spike stared at her, and then he raised his hand for Kathy to shake. She did, looking faint, and when he released her gloved palm she wiped it on her skirt.

“William...?” she looked down her nose at him as if expecting Buffy not to know his surname.

“Darling,” Buffy supplied, and grinned, adding, “My darling.”

She went back to kissing him, ignoring Kathy who eventually ran away, ignoring the servants who stood and laughed, ignoring Xander and Anya who got inspired and ran upstairs to their bedroom.

And when she’d finished kissing him, he looked up and said, “About that husband thing...”

“Hmm?”

“You didn’t... mean it, did you?”

“Oh, no,” Buffy said. “I think I’d prefer to live in sin, wouldn’t you?”

He looked at her, frowned, and said, “You’ve been holding up coaches, haven’t you?”

She blushed. “Maybe one or two...”

Spike laughed delightedly. “That’s my girl.”

Yes, Buffy thought. Your girl. “Anya’s fallen in love with this place,” she said. “She runs it better than I ever could. So, I was thinking...”

“Hmm?”

“Staying in one place is so boring...”

“It can be, pet.”

“How about we take to the roads...”

“Self-funding?”

She grinned. “I was thinking...” She trailed her fingers along his cheekbones. “Ho about going out west? Undiscovered country. Lots of Spaniards to rob. Frenchmen too.”

“How far out west?” Spike asked guardedly.

“As far as we can go. To California,” Buffy waved her arms expansively. “Let’s conquer the west.”

Spike looked up at her and wondered if there was anything he could refuse her. “All right, but I just have to ask one thing of you first…?”

Thinking he was going to beg for sleep or food, she nodded.

Spike sat up. “Stand and deliver!”

She laughed then, and he laughed too, and then she wriggled forwards and kissed him. “Well,” she said, “if you insist.”