Chapter 20:

"Giles? We have to go to L.A." Buffy demanded as she burst into his apartment.

"Hello Buffy. How nice to see you. Some day perhaps you'll learn to knock."

"No time, we have to go to L.A. ASAP. Grab your keys and coat." Instead of waiting for him to do so, Buffy pulled a coat from the coat rack by the door, and began to look for his keys.

"Perhaps we should slow down a bit. What has happened."

"Darla."

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

To Buffy's dismay her Watcher wasn't flying into action, instead he was cleaning his glasses.

"Darla. She's back, she's human, and she's after Angel. L.A. now."

Having found his keys, Buffy began to haul her Watcher to his feet.

"Now hold on just a second. Are you sure? More importantly, why not just call Angel and warn him?"

"Because he needs help Giles. I need to go help him. And I'm sure. Spike told me." When she saw that Giles didn't consider Spike to be a reliable source, she continued, "he didn't mean to. It just slipped out. See there's this law-firm Wolfman & Harp, and they brought Darla back. But you see, they manage Spike's money. Turns out he's loaded. Anyway, not the point. He saw her there, and they said something about a plan and Angel, and WE HAVE TO GO."

"First of all, Buffy, I believe you mean Wolfram & Hart. Secondly, I doubt even they have the power to do such a thing. Thirdly, Angel has a phone. I suggest we use it to call him. If he needs our help, he can ask for it. Then perhaps we can see about going to L.A. In the mean time, I suggest you calm down."

"Giles, I can't take that chance. Please. I need a ride to L.A."

"Then I suggest you look somewhere else. You know, I do have things to do. I can't just pick up at the drop of a hat and go traipsing around the country."

"It's not around the country! It's just a couple hours away. And what do you have to do? You don't work, you don't go to school, and your girlfriend isn't in the country right now."

"Yes, well. Thank you for pointing out the inadequacies in my life. Now good bye," he dismissed her as he closed the door in her face.

"Fine. Be that way. I'll just find someone else to take me."

Unfortunately, that proved harder than she thought. Xander had to work, and didn't have his own car, anyway. Neither did Willow or Anya, and her mother wouldn't take her or lend her the car, claiming she had too much to do preparing for a new show at the Gallery.

Buffy was determined - and more than that, she'd always been self-reliant. If she could take a bus to L.A. when she was seventeen and running away from home, she could certainly grab one now. Not that a trip to the Sunnydale bus station was her idea of a good time.

She had just packed up some things: several changes of clothes, stakes, and even a crossbow. That's when she realized that there was one more person she knew with a car. Spike. All she had to do was think of a way to convince him. She grabbed her bag and started toward the cemetery and his crypt.

She'd paid him for stuff in the past, but now he had money, so that wouldn't work. She didn't really see hitting him working, either. Not only was it not likely to convince him, but she didn't think she could bring herself to hit Spike anymore. She'd thought about it, that's for sure. That satisfying crunch whenever she broke his nose. But she knew she wouldn't be able to forgive herself if she hit Spike. It was one thing to punch your mortal enemy, it was another to hit a guy whom you'd slept with and had taken you out to dinner.

Things had forever changed between her and Spike. If she hit him now, part of her would always think of it as abuse. Knowing Spike probably wouldn't really hold it against her didn't make it any better - it made it worse. She still remembered from good old Hellmouth High, Debbie, who had defended her boyfriend Pete even after he hit her. Debbie who had been killed by her Jeckel and Hyde boyfriend. She'd never blamed him. She'd always forgiven him. The thought that Spike might forgive her for hitting him made her sick to her stomach.

'Oh god,' she thought. 'What if he ever gets the chip out? What if I have to fight him? To kill him?'

She stopped dead in her tracks at the thought. Then she laughed. A passerby looked at her strangely, and no wonder. Her laughter was half hysterical. What if she had to kill Spike? She'd killed Angel, hadn't she?

Tears began to run down her face at the memory. Buffy had put a lot of swords through a lot of things in her time, but she could still remember exactly how much resistance there had been as she had thrust the sword into Angel's chest. The way the sword cut through him, the tiny sound it made, the way it shook in her hands. It was possibly the most tactile memory she possessed, a memory she was sure she would carry to her grave.

How could she possibly doubt that she would kill Spike if it ever came to it?

There was of course a third option when it came to convincing Spike. Sex. But Buffy could see the path that would lead to. She could imagine a future in which whenever she needed help or information from Spike, he made her sleep with him. She could imagine him demanding specific sex acts depending on what she wanted or needed from him.

The thought frightened and disgusted her, in no small part because it also turned her on. Her mind began whirling with the thoughts of the kind of things Spike might want her to do. All the ways he might want to do her.

She shook her head, trying to clear it of such thoughts. She didn't really want that, she knew. If she wanted anything from Spike, it was the impossible. A real relationship. A loving, caring, relationship between equals. Of course, Buffy was starting to believe that the fact that Spike was a vampire was the least of the reasons that wasn't possible. In fact in some ways that made it more possible with him than with any other guy.

She knew. She'd always known. From the first time that Riley had discovered that she was the Slayer, that he felt inadequate. It was stupid. So she was stronger than him, so what? In almost every relationship in the world, the man was stronger than the woman, that didn't mean the woman wasn't the man's equal. It was one thing. One small part of who she was, and not, Buffy thought, the most important part.

Riley was better than her at a lot of things. That didn't make him better than her in general, or make her a lesser person than Riley. It just made her a different person than Riley. But he had never seen it that way.

Spike would be different. She knew that she and Spike could have a relationship and spar on a regular basis, and that she would never have to hold back. She could beat him in every single fight, and he would never be insulted, never take it personally unless he thought she was holding back.

She was at the cemetery now, and she still hadn't figured out how to convince Spike. She'd just have to play it by ear. Spike's crypt came into view and Buffy completely forgot about everything she'd been thinking. the door to his crypt was wide open. He never left it open.

She dropped her bag and ran to the crypt yelling, "SPIKE?!"

She peered inside at the gloom. The place was a mess. The lid of the stone coffin had been overturned and a corner of it had broken off. There were smashed bottles everywhere. In one corner a knocked over candle still burned. Luckily, since it lay on the stone floor the place was in no danger of burning down.

"SPIKE?" she cried again.

But there was no answer. Who ever had done this was long since gone. Quickly Buffy scanned the floor. It was dusty, but there were no large piles of dust. It was all the natural kind that just accumulated over time. No vampire dust.

That was both good and bad. Good in that it meant that Spike could still be alive somewhere. But bad because it meant that either none of his attackers had been vampires, or there had been so many, or they had been so good that Spike hadn't managed to dust a single one before they took him away.

Just to be sure Buffy checked the lower cavern. It seemed undisturbed. The fight must have completely happened upstairs. Buffy grabbed a machete that Spike kept, and went back outside to retrieve her bag. She pulled out a stake tucking it behind her back, under her jacket, and then retrieved the crossbow. She threw the bag and the rest of her stuff into the crypt and closed the door. She would come back for it when she had found whoever had decided to mess with Spike. Whether they were demon or vamp, she was ready. And god help whatever got in her way.

Chapter 21

Buffy burst into Willie's instantly scanning the room for signs of trouble and of Spike. It looked like she wasn't the first rambunctious person to come in tonight. A couple broken chairs indicated that there had been a fight earlier in the evening.

There was no sign of Spike - not that she'd expected one. She'd come here for the one thing Willie always served: information.

"Not you, too," she heard Willie complain. She spun around to face him. "Not that you aren't always welcome in my establishment, Slayer. Please have a seat; can I get you something to drink?"

"I'm not here to drink, Willie. I'm here for Spike. Where is he?"

"You just missed him - well, maybe half an hour ago. Don't know where he was headed, although there's this dive on first street by the pier, 'The Mermaid's Grasp'. Can you believe they actually named a place that? No sense of class."

"Whoa, slow down. What do you mean, 'I just missed him'? Was he here?" Buffy was confused, especially by the idea that Willie would call some other place a dive, or talk of class.

"Yeah, came in, had a few drinks, ticked off a Kreslaw demon, Lenny there's still cleaning up the mess." He motioned to a scaly, grey demon who was picking up the remains of the broken chairs. "Then he left. He was pretty drunk. Glad to see you're finally doing something about him. That vampire is a menace."

It wasn't until she was out the door that it occurred to Buffy that she'd never gotten information out of Willie that easily. She hadn't even had to pretend to punch him. Her first thought was that it was a trap. But Willie was a better actor than that. He'd have played harder to get. He must really hate Spike. Something that most of the time Buffy understood. She also understood how Spike could be especially bad for business at a place like Willie's.

She had no choice but to head for the pier and wonder what was going on. Willie had made it sound like Spike was just on a drunken rampage, not in any trouble. Maybe he got away and was out looking for the mastermind behind the attack on his crypt. Or maybe, said a voice in the back of her head, he was never in any danger at all and he's just being Spike.

But she couldn't take the chance that Spike had gotten himself into another mess. After all, even if he was just being Spike, he could still be in serious trouble.

When she found 'The Mermaid's Grasp', Willie's talk of dive and class started to make sense. The building was old and run down. The windows had been painted over with thick black paint - probably for the sake of vampiric clientele. There was a big neon sign which showed what some people might have called a mermaid. The neon figure had impossibly large breasts and instead of a tail she had tentacles. She was really more of a squid-maid.

The bouncer at the door let her in without any question. His eyes lingered equally long on her crossbow and her cleavage. But he didn't say a word. As she walked inside she could almost feel his eyes on her ass. She was very self-conscious, wondering if she was wiggling or swaying in a way that anyone could construe as sexy. She really hoped not. In fact, she really wished she was wearing some really baggy sweats instead of her jeans and a tank-top with a jacket.

As she got passed the entryway into the main part of establishment, she realized sweats wouldn't be necessary. Most of the room was almost without any light, allowing the patrons to disappear into the gloom; only the center was lit. In the center was a runway with a pole.

As Buffy watched, a green skinned she-demon, with tentacles instead of arms, and wearing only a red thong and knee high boots, wrapped one tentacle and one leg around the pole. She leaned all the way back and spread her other leg out to the side giving the audience a very good view of her. . . thong. The audience hooted and hollered, making several rude and lusty comments.

"I could do that," Buffy said under her breath. Then she blushed bright scarlet as suggestive chuckles from the nearby darkness told her that several of the patrons had superhuman hearing.

Buffy wanted to run. She had never felt so uncomfortable in her life. But there was no way the Slayer was going to let a bunch of demons see her run. Especially the low lives who frequented a sleazy strip joint like this.

It would, however, take her forever to scan the room. The lighting was obviously meant to show off the girls, and keep the patrons from having to look at each other. Even Spike's platinum hair would be hard to spot in the gloom.

So, she headed to the bar which was mostly empty. Obviously, people got their drinks and moved to the tables around the stage. That made it easy to catch the bartenders attention.

"Um, hi. I'm looking for Spike. Have you seen him?"

'Lame,' she thought. But she was too flustered by the show going on behind her to be intimidating.

"Spike? Yeah, he's here."

It wasn't the bartender who responded but an average looking guy sporting the 70's pimp look who was the only other person sitting at the bar.

"Hi, I'm Lou. The owner. You said you were looking for Spike?" Buffy nodded. Lou seemed to be human and she wondered why demon bars were always owned by humans. "Come with me. He's in the V.I.P. room."

"Thanks. After you," Buffy said. There was no way she was letting this sleaze-ball behind her.

He got up, and lead her across the room to a door. Buffy noticed the sign on the door read, 'Staff Only.'

"There's just one thing," he said turning around. Buffy had only a moment to wonder why he had put on red sunglasses before there was a bright flash.

Chapter 22

Spike paced angrily around his crypt. Angry at himself for letting slip about Darla, angry at Darla for being alive, angry at Wolfram & Hart for bringing her back, angry at Buffy for running off, and angry at Angel for being Angel.

He took another drink straight from the bottle, then for no particular reason, he threw it across the room. It shattered as it hit the stone wall.

"FUCK!" he yelled. 'Brilliant, bloody brilliant, Spike. Now you have nothing to drink,' he thought.

His fury mounting, he grabbed the lid of the sarcophagus and using all his strength, flipped it over against the wall. He'd used so much force that a corner broke off when it hit the tomb wall. But it wasn't enough. Spike spun around in his crypt like a tornado. Turning over everything - throwing things. It was only when he picked up his TV to throw it that he realized he was destroying his own home.

Carefully, he set the TV back down, grabbed his duster, and went out the door. The sun had just gone down, and he intended to get completely pissed and start a fight or two.

He went straight to Willie's. It took only a couple shots before he could find a flimsy excuse for starting a fight. Unfortunately, there just wasn't anyone worthy of his fists there tonight. Only a few punches and his opponent was down, and Spike was completely unharmed.

Willie begged him to leave. Spike grumbled something about it not being the sort of action he was looking for anyway, and left.

'Right now,' he thought, 'Buffy's probably in L.A. all curled up with Angel.' The thought caused him to punch a brick wall. The pain felt good, but since Angel wasn't there to hit, it was ultimately unsatisfying.

He could see Buffy sitting on Angel's lap making puppy eyes at him as they began kissing. Well, he'd show her.

His feet took him to 'The Mermaid's Grasp'. He couldn't remember actually deciding to go there, but once he was, he decided he might as well go in.

He paid the bouncer the entrance fee. This was not the sort of place where one messed around. They were deadly serious about business here.

Once he got inside, he headed straight for the bar.

"Whiskey or O Neg?" the bartender asked him. Spike had been a regular since getting his chip. Even though he hadn't been in since his night with Buffy, they still remembered him.

"Whiskey," he ordered.

He downed the drink in one gulp. Then he looked around. Lou was there, by the bar, just like always.

"Hey Lou, don't suppose Sophia is available for a private performance?"

Lou looked almost startled for a minute, but then he smiled. Spike had never done anything other than sit at the foot of the stage, and on occasion paid for a lap dance.

"That can be arranged."

Sophia was quickly brought over, and after an exchange of money, she led Spike up to the private rooms on the upper level.

Sophia, Spike thought, must have been the most inappropriately named vampire on the planet. She made Harmony look like Einstein. But at least, he hoped, she was a professional, and wouldn't yap the way Harmony always had. Besides, the important thing was that she was tall and dark, completely the opposite of Buffy.

"So what can I do for you tonight Spike?" she cooed.

"Blow me."

She smiled, and let her face relax. Since it was a demon bar she normally wore her vampiric face, the patrons finding it more attractive. But for this she retracted her fangs. She knelt down in front of him and unzipped his jeans and her hands reached in to pull out his cock.

The moment her cold hands touched him his stomach turned. She began to stroke him as she kissed him up and down his length, trying to urge him to life. But she was a cold dead thing. Spike knew suddenly that nothing she could do would make him hard.

For the first time in his entire vampiric existence, Spike felt dead. He felt cold and hollow. He also felt stupid. Stupid for thinking that Buffy would ever have him. Would ever touch him again. Would ever want him. He was a corpse, and she was alive. Completely and utterly. It was why he longed for her, why he burned for her.

Except at that moment he didn't. At that moment he was a shameful dirty thing.

"Get off!" he cried, pushing Sophia to the floor.

"Wow, guess those soldiers didn't just make you fangless, huh?" she retaliated cruelly.

"What?"

"Come on. Everyone knows. Big bad Spike got neutered by the government. Didn't know it went so deep, though. Can't kill, can you? Can't get it up either?"

Without thinking, Spike leapt toward her, grabbing a stake he always carried out of his jacket. Her eyes went wide as the stake penetrated her heart.

"Stupid bint. I can still kill vampires," he snarled as she exploded into dust. "Fuck," he said quietly the next minute.

She may have been stupid, and less than professional teasing him, but he'd just made a monumental mistake. He'd just killed one of 'The Mermaid's Grasp's girls. The chances were, he wasn't going to survive. You could do just about anything you liked to the girls here, except chop off anything that wouldn't grow back - or kill them.

He tried to think of what to do, of how to get out without ending up a pile of dust himself. Okay, so probably he could get out safely, even if he had to fight his way out. But there would be no staying in Sunnydale. Lou wouldn't rest until Spike had been made an example of.

There were no windows he could leave through. There was no way out but through the front. If he went down right away, they'd be suspicious though. He should wait. He checked the time.

But how long? What was the appropriate time? He'd never been with a whore, and he'd never paid attention to the other patrons here who had. He was a vampire which meant that he had incredible stamina, but did vampires just use a whore once, or did they do it over and over? He had no idea what was normal. And how long should he figure for each time?

Again, his own experience gave him no guide. Every other woman he'd been with - even Harmony - he'd taken the time to please. So how long would sex take if he was selfish, and just trying to get off? Would it be like masturbating? He had no idea, but that seemed to make sense.

He checked the clock on the wall again, and to his surprise realized that fifteen minutes had passed while he was worrying. How long had he been with Sophia before he'd killed her? Before he'd checked the time? Five minutes at least. Maybe more.

Before he left the room he did one more thing. He opened the drawer in the bedside table. Much as he hoped the room was fully equipped with anything the occupants might need. Lubricant, handcuffs, feathers, candles, knives.

He hid one knife in his boot, and another up his sleeve, where he could get to them easily. Then Spike took a deep unneeded breath and readied himself to look normal, or at least look like he'd just been fucked. Which wasn't entirely untrue, except it turned out he'd fucked himself this time.

As calmly as he could, he made his way back down into the main room, lighting a cigarette as he went. Trying to be casual, he headed to the bar to order a drink. As he walked over, he realized that Lou wasn't there. Lou was always there.

'Bollocks! They know!' he thought. Then he calmed down. No one knew anything.

He ordered his drink and something tugged at his senses. Just the tinniest trace of vanilla in the air. Almost as if Buffy had been there. 'Rubbish,' he thought. 'She'd never come in a place like this. Just someone else wearing vanilla. Probably not really vanilla, probably just wishful thinking.'

But he couldn't remember any of the girls here ever wearing a scent even remotely like that. As he downed his drink an awful thought came to him. What if Buffy had been here? What if she was the reason Lou wasn't anywhere to be seen?

Putting his glass down, he said goodnight to the bartender, and followed the scent into the dark room. Once his back was turned to the bartender, he vamped so as to heighten his senses. He hoped no one - other than the bartender - would know that he rarely wore his vampire face. As soon as he did so, he became sure that the scent was Buffy's.

It took everything in him not to run after this slight trace of her. Instead, he continued to walk calmly toward a door marked 'Staff Only'. Hoping no one was looking, he went through the door. Luckily, in a strip club no one was likely to look at him - they'd be too busy eyeing the girls.

The door lead to an empty hallway. He could hear the sounds of girls getting ready, he also heard Lou's voice, "Too bad we can't use eBay, auction her worldwide. Do you have any idea how much some demons would pay to have a Slayer to do with as they please?"

Spike ran headlong down the hall and into the room where he could hear Lou, and smell Buffy. He burst into the room. The first thing he saw was Buffy, standing totally still with a blank expression on her face, and Lou who had just slapped her on the ass.

Spike was filled with so much rage, such murderous thoughts toward Lou, that the chip in his head fired before he could even decide on how to hurt the bar owner. Spike fell to the floor, clutching his head in agony.

Lou didn't even flinch. "You shouldn't have come in here, Spike. Didn't you see the sign? Kill him."

"Yes, Master," said Buffy without any emotion as she turned on Spike.

Chapter 23

'What else could possibly go wrong?' Spike thought as he ducked one of the Slayer's punches.

On the other hand, things could be worse. Sure he was stuck in a fight where he couldn't throw a punch for fear of setting off his chip, however, in her trance like state, Buffy was slow and predictable. The creativity and spirit which made her the most deadly fighter he'd ever faced were completely lacking. Had he been able to hit back, he would have won hands down.

She wasn't his only problem. Lou and the flunky he'd been talking to when Spike entered the room, were simply watching the show at the moment, but Spike was sure if he did somehow defeat Buffy, they would raise the alarm.

And just like that he had a plan. Brainwashed Buffy continued in her mindless and predictable attacks. It was easy to second guess her, to move her into just the right spot, and then to duck at just the right moment.

Her fist flew over his head and connected with Lou's face. Lou went down like a sack of potatoes. For the first time that night luck shone down on Spike. The moment Lou lost consciousness, Buffy regained hers.

"What's with the glass- Huh? What's going on?" came her confused questions.

"No time for that now, luv. RUN!"

He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out of the room. Behind him he could hear the stunned flunky say, "Boss?" before he started running for help.

Spike's luck seemed to hold however. By some small miracle, 'The Mermaid's Grasp' was actually up to code, and bright green signs pointed the back way out. Also, Buffy didn't stop to question him or protest but followed him outside. In Spike's book, that was a rather large miracle.

As soon as they were outside, Spike headed for the street.

"Of all the nights to be a good boy and not drink and drive," he muttered under his breath. He didn't see how Buffy and he would make it very far without wheels. Having no other choice they took off at a dead run down the street.

Behind them he could hear bouncers, strippers, and patrons, all pour out of 'The Mermaid's Grasp', eager for blood. In front of them a single headlight bore down on them. Spike smiled as he managed to make out the non-human form of the rider. Luck hadn't abandoned them yet.

"Stay here, and be ready," he told Buffy as he stepped out into the street.

The motorcycle bore down on him, unaware, or uncaring. Timing it just right, Spike leapt up into the air, kicking out his foot. He caught the rider square in the chest knocking him off the motorcycle. Spike quickly righted the bike and got on. Behind him he thought he heard Buffy mutter, "I could do that." When he looked at her she was blushing bright red, though he couldn't imagine why.

"Come on, luv," he called to Buffy, holding out his hand.

She hesitated for just a moment. But one look at the angry mob behind them decided her. She took Spike's hand and got on behind him, hugging him tightly. He headed out of town as fast as the bike could carry them.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Buffy had lost track of time. Riding behind a cute, dangerous guy on a motorcycle should have been sexy and glamorous. It always was in the movies. Instead, Buffy thought she was about ready to jump off the back.

Her fingers were cold and numb, and the muscles in her arms were cramping from holding onto Spike. It seemed like every time she tried to look around him she got a bug in the face, and the wind whipped her hair into her eyes. At the speed they were going, she was too scared to hold on with only one hand and brush them out of her face. She had no helmet, and images of gruesome road safety videos from Driver's Ed kept flashing through her mind.

Not to mention that something had happened. Something really bad. Or maybe it had only almost happened. But despite her brief memory loss, Buffy was sure that blacking out in a place like 'The Mermaid's Grasp' could not be good.

She wanted to ask Spike about it. Wanted to ask him what happened. But there was no way she could carry on a conversation on the motorcycle.

All she knew was that they had been riding without a break for some time now. Spike had looked beaten up, and he had run. Buffy had never known Spike to run from a fight unless he was fighting her.

Finally, to her relief, Spike pulled over into a 24-hour gas station. He got off the bike and began to put gas in it. Whimpering a little, Buffy got off as well. Her arms weren't the only things that were stiff. She happily thrust her hand under her armpits to warm them up.

"You all right?" asked Spike as he put the nozzle in the tank. His voice was flat, as if he was angry but trying not to show it.

"Just a little sore. Where are we going?"

"Don't know. Away."

"Gee, that sounds like a plan."

"Well, someone has to do the thinking around here." He started to raise his voice, "And I sure as hell don't trust you to do it. What the hell were you thinking going into a place like that?" he roared.

"I was rescuing you," Buffy said defensively.

"FROM WHAT? You know, Slayer I've been taking care of my self longer than you've been alive." he barked.

"I don't know. I got to your place, and there had obviously been a fight, so I went looking for you, and Willie said something about that place. So I went there and asked about you, and I don't know what happened after that."

Spike sank down to the ground, leaning against the gas pump, his face in his hands. He made a strangled sound which after a moment Buffy identified as laughing. He looked up and tears were running down his face.

"Figures. It's all my fault. There wasn't a fight, Buffy. I was just. . . mad. The way you ran off I figured you'd gone off to go save Angel. I was just, blowing off some steam."

Buffy was both startled and frightened by Spike's tears. His voice was soft now. As if he'd been defeated; broken. She couldn't understand this Spike; she didn't know how to deal with him, so she did the only thing she knew how. She tried to get him back on the defensive. Make him fight her again. Make him stop being broken.

"And you go to a place like that? I don't see how you have any more business there than I do. Not to mention those 'girls'. Eeeew!"

"You're right," his voice was almost a whisper. "Or rather you were right. You should stay away from me."

A clicking noise told them that the tank was full. Spike got up and pulled out the nozzle, busying himself with the bike.

"I'll take you somewhere and then. . . I'll leave. Go away. . ." his voice trailed off.

"What? Why?" She pulled on his arm, spinning him around to face her. "You can't do that. I need you. What's going on, Spike?" Desperation was beginning to rise in her voice.

"Yeah?" he asked quietly, the faintest edge of hope in his voice.

Before she could answer, he straightened up and he was Spike again: arrogant, egotistical, jackass (not to mention evil vampire) Spike. Buffy felt the knot that had been forming in her stomach undo.

"Right then," he said in his decision making voice. "Look we're in trouble you and me. Lou, he's not the kind to give up. He doesn't put up with trouble in his club and we caused a bunch. We can't go back. . ."

"L.A. We could go to L.A." Buffy volunteered.

The moment the words left her lips she knew they'd been a mistake. She could see the anger flare up in Spike's eyes. Still angry Spike was better than broken Spike.

"L.A.'s on the other side of Sunnydale, pet."

"But. . ." she thought about the long ride on the motorcycle. "We need to go back to Sunnydale. Get your car anyway."

"That's absurd! They'll be looking for us. We can't go back there, not till we have a better idea what's going on."

"Spike, we only have a few hours till sun up so, either we need a car with blacked out windows, or we'll have to call it a night soon. There's no way I can drive that," she indicated the bike.

He thought it over for a minute.

"True, in my baby we could get farther. I suppose Lou won't know which underground garage I park it at. But we're not going to L.A." he told her, firmly.

"Pleeeeease," she begged in her best little girl voice as she purposely looked up at him through her eyelashes.

He sighed. "Fine. Whatever."

He stomped off to pay for the gas. When he came back a few minutes later he thrust out his hand under her face. He was holding a pair of knit gloves, the price tag still on them.

"You want my coat?" he asked.

Buffy was stunned by the gesture. She hadn't told Spike she was cold. At that moment the five dollar pair of gloves seemed like the best present she'd ever been give.

"Yes, please. If you don't need it."

He gave her a look that said, 'Are you daft. Bloody vampire here,' as he shrugged off his coat. As he did so he winced. Buffy once again noticed that Spike looked like he'd been in a pretty serious fight. She wondered again what had happened in the club, and how she had escaped unscathed.

"What happened, anyway?" she asked. "You don't look like the winner. And don't, 'You should see the other guy,' me."

"You were the other guy." When she just looked at him blankly, he continued. "Lou put you under some kind of obedience spell. When I tried to save you, he ordered you to kill me."

'That would explain why he looks so beat up and I don't,' thought Buffy. 'He couldn't hit back, not with the chip.'

"So what broke the spell?" she asked, intrigued.

He chuckled. "Your fist. I managed to get Lou behind me, and you to swing at me. Ducked out of the way, and when he went down, you snapped out of it."

He was obviously very proud of himself, and Buffy was rather impressed. He'd managed to fight her off and plan all at once. Of course, Spike was the best vampire fighter she knew. If he hadn't been, she would have dusted him long ago.

"So let's get going. Time's a wasting," he insisted.

She nodded, and got on the bike behind him. This time the ride wasn't as bad. The gloves kept her hands warm and Spike's jacket was no longer painfully flicking against her legs. Not to mention that now she could press her cheek against his cotton clad back. It only took a few minutes for her cheek to warm him and she felt content to let him get them back to Sunnydale.

Still she was glad when they finally got to the DeSoto. She'd never have thought she could be so happy to see Spike's old car. He insisted that she get in the back and sleep until they got to L.A. He even let her keep his coat to use as a blanket.

Even so, her sleep was fitful. The events of the night still haunted her. She wasn't used to being rescued. She was the rescuer. She couldn't help but wonder how Xander and Willow did it time and time again.

Chapter 24

"Buffy, pet, wake up."

Buffy felt a hand shake her gently.

"Hmm? What?" she asked.

It took her a moment to remember where she was and why. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, but all she wanted to do was turn back over and get more sleep. The couple hour nap hadn't done her much good.

"There's a bit of a problem, luv. Have a look outside," Spike told her.

She started to reach for the handle of the door, but Spike stopped her. "Other side. Sun's up, not really looking for a tan."

She nodded groggily and turned around in the back seat, to exit on the other side of the car. She tried to be careful and not let any of the dawn light in. As she stumbled out of the car, she wondered why Spike had stopped where he had.

She was looking at a typical city block, in what she guessed was L.A. However, there was a construction site in front of them where a building was being torn down. It took her a moment to get her bearings - especially considering the building was mostly missing - but then she realized that Spike had taken her to Angel's office. Or rather Angel's old office which had been blown up.

She carefully opened the front door of the car and got in the passenger seat.

"Guess Angel didn't send you a forwarding address, huh?" Buffy asked Spike. "Someone blew up his old place. He's at a hotel now."

"You have the address?"

"Yeah. But. . . Speaking of hotels, do you think that we could maybe not go see Angel right away? I'm still really tired. I think that nap only made me sleepier. Plus I could really use a shower and stuff."

"No problem, luv," was all he said but Buffy was half-sure he was smiling.

It didn't take long for Spike to find a hotel with an underground garage. Buffy noticed that the hotel shared the garage with a shopping mall, but she didn't have any money to do any shopping, so it didn't really matter.

"Crap," she said when they got to the room.

"Something wrong, pet?"

"You know, we really should have stopped by your place to get stuff. I mean how many minions could Lou have had waiting there? There's almost no point in taking a shower, considering I'll just have to put these clothes back on," Buffy whined.

Spike reached into his back pocket and pulled out a bunch of cash. "Here." He handed her the money. "Looked like there were some stores nearby. Get some sleep and then go get yourself some clothes to wear."

"I can't. . ."

"If it bothers you, pet, pay me back. But you don't have to."

The lure of L.A. shopping was too much for Buffy. Trying not to look greedy, she took the money from Spike and put it on the table by the bed.

"Thanks," she said, then she headed into the bathroom to take her shower.

Showers always made her feel better. She used the hotel soap to scrub her skin, hoping to get rid of any trace of the demon strip joint she might carry with her. She was wary of the shampoo though and decided that she would just rinse her hair for now. When she went shopping for clothes she would get herself some shampoo and conditioner.

The hotel provided a blow dryer, which was permanently plugged into the wall, so she could dry her hair. Unfortunately, she didn't have a brush, so she had to use a comb. She added brushes, both hair and tooth, to her mental list of necessary things she needed.

When she was done fighting with her hair, she realized she had yet another lack-of-packing related problem. Nothing to sleep in. With a towel wrapped tightly around her, she peered into the main room. Spike was asleep on one of the two beds. As she had hoped, his clothes were piled on the floor by his bed.

She scurried into the room - towel clutched tight - and stole Spike's t-shirt. She slipped it on, slipped the towel off, sat on the edge of the vacant bed and looked at Spike.

While she had been showering and drying her hair, she'd had things to occupy herself with. Little things, yeah, but by concentrating on them, she'd been able to not think about some stuff. About scary stuff like the events of the evening.

After several minutes of watching Spike's still form, she called to him softly, "Spike?"

His eyes opened. He hadn't been sleeping. As he looked at her, his eyes settled for a moment on his shirt, and he smiled.

"Something I can do for you?" he asked.

'Yes, hold me. Keep me safe,' she wanted to say. But she was too scared he would laugh at her, or be mad.

Instead she asked him, "Do you ever miss it?"

"Miss what?" He propped his head up on one arm.

"Being alive? Being human?"

He laughed, "You really have to ask?" He cocked one eyebrow at her.

"I just thought. . . Never mind. You're right. It's stupid."

He looked at her puzzled. Studied her. She thought maybe he knew that wasn't her real question. Wasn't what she really wanted to know. Or maybe he knew she was just trying to find something to talk about so that she wouldn't have to think.

"Oranges," he said suddenly.

"Huh?"

"You asked me if I missed anything. I miss oranges."

"Spike, they still have oranges. Or at least if they are going extinct, Florida's doing a real good job of covering it up."

"I know they still have oranges. They just don't taste the same. All your senses change when you become a vampire. I remember what oranges tasted like, they just don't taste that way anymore. Blood kind of does. Sweet and a little sour all at once." He drifted off a little caught in some memory. "I still get some every now and then. They smell like I remember. I peal them, and it's like I'm a little kid again on Christmas morning, an-" He stopped suddenly, embarrassed by what he'd said. "You ever tell any one I said that. . . "

"Not a living soul. Not even a dead one," Buffy promised with false solemnity. "Wouldn't want anyone to know that your mom was one of those health freaks that gave fruit instead of candy."

He looked at her like she was clueless. "It wasn't like that. Oranges were a real treat back then. Expensive. Didn't have refrigeration and airplanes and such to ship stuff all over the world. Didn't have all the confectionaries you lot have nowadays either."

"Did you just say confectionaries? Isn't that a lot of syllables for you?" Buffy teased.

Spike evidently wasn't in the mood.

"Go to sleep," he said. And turned over so he wasn't facing her.

Inwardly Buffy cursed as she got under the covers. For once she didn't want Spike to shut up. She was stuck alone with her thoughts again. With her fears. The more she thought about the part of the night she couldn't remember, the more frightened she became.

Buffy should have been used to fear. She lived with it all the time. Fear that she wouldn't get somewhere in time and that another person would die. Fear that her friends would be hurt because of her. Fear that the demon she was fighting would be the one who killed her.

But she could deal with those fears. She could confront those fears with her fists and her feet. Even magic could be fought. But how could you fight when you didn't have any will? When you had no control over what you were doing?

She hadn't been this scared since her eighteenth birthday when Giles and the council had drugged her and taken away her powers. Her fears turned over and over in her mind, refusing to let her sleep, blocking everything else out. She was working herself up into a panic, but she couldn't stop.

"Aaah!" she screamed when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

She spun around to find Spike crouching by her bed. Her heart was beating a mile a minute.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you." He looked at her with eyes full of worry. "You all right, luv?" His voice was full of concern.

As her breathing came back under control she noticed that he had bothered to put his jeans back on. Spike wasn't known for his modesty or politeness, and she wondered what might have prompted this courtesy.

"I thought you were sleeping?" she asked weakly.

"Hard to sleep with your heart going like a snare drum."

"Sorry."

He looked at her exasperated. "It's not a problem. I just. . . What's wrong?"

She wanted to tell him, but she couldn't seem to find the words. She was terribly hungry for his comfort but the thought he might withhold it from her was too much to bear.

"Thought we were going to tell each other things, pet?" The concern in his voice was now tinted with hurt. "You know, 'Did you have that dream again?' and all that."

When she still didn't speak, he sighed, pulled the covers away from her, and crawled into bed next to her, pulling her into his arms.

She buried her face in his chest and began to sob. Once she started, she couldn't stop, and she cried until there was nothing left and she fell asleep.

Chapter 25

Buffy woke up snuggled comfortably against Spike. This was the second time she'd ended up sleeping with him after crying in his arms, and the second time she'd slept wonderfully and woken up feeling refreshed. Like things were going to be okay.

Careful not to wake him, Buffy got out of bed and got dressed. She ran a comb through her tangled hair, then grabbed the money Spike had left her and went shopping.

She had originally thought that she'd have to make do with just a couple of cheap changes of clothes, plus the toiletries she needed. It turned out, however, that Spike had left her a little more than three hundred dollars.

Her eyes lit up at the thought of all the shopping she could do. She could get herself some really nice stuff. But after she thought about it, she realized that she'd feel bad spending Spike's money on stuff she didn't really need. She'd stick to reasonably priced stuff; just get herself what she'd be likely to need while she was in L.A.

Buffy started her blitz of the stores. She moved from store to store, looking for the best deals. Since her parent's divorce, Buffy had learned how to get stylish clothes cheap. She didn't just buy stuff for herself, though. She also bought clothes for Spike. After all, he didn't have anything with him either.

She was tempted to improve on his style, but she had a feeling the two of them would find enough to fight about in L.A. without adding fashion to the list. So she just got him some plain black t-shirts and jeans.

She found a store that sold her brand of shampoo and conditioner. As she was grabbing the bottles, she noticed another brand that had a citrus scent. It was a cheap one, and there was no way she'd use it on her hair, but it gave her an idea. She started looking for an orange scented body wash. She had to go to three different shops before she found one that really did smell like oranges.

"Is it a gift?" the clerk asked as she wrung Buffy up.

"Huh?" Buffy asked.

"I just thought maybe it was a gift. Usually when people come in looking for a specific scent, but they don't know the brand, it's a gift."

"No, it's for me. I just wanted a change," Buffy said.

She hurried out of the store. 'Stupid salesperson, with her stupid questions,' Buffy thought, trying not to think about why she had decided to change what body soap she used.

She had most of what she needed, but she still had money left. It occurred to her that she should get a gift for Spike. Even if it was his money, it seemed the right thing to do. She would pay him back anyway, although she wasn't sure how. But she would find a way, and then it really would be a real gift.

The problem was, she didn't know what to get him. Suddenly the mall seemed incredibly preppy. What could she possibly find here that Spike would like? What did Spike like anyway?

She wandered from shop to shop, aimlessly. Hoping that something would reach out and grab her. That was how she found herself in a store that sold cheap jewelry and accessories, and looking at a black leather, studded dog collar. It was the only remotely Spike like thing she had seen in the whole mall, but she couldn't really see him wearing it. It was simply the most rebellious thing she'd seen in the mall.

"I hope you have the boots to go with that," a husky voice said in her ear.

Spike put his hands on her waist as he slid up behind her. Buffy could imagine what she might be wearing in his head and tried not to blush.

"I would never wear this," Buffy stammered, trying to sound stern.

"Is it for me then, luv? Thinking of chaining me to the bed?" he teased her.

Buffy could no longer keep from blushing as the thought of Spike naked, and chained to the bed in his crypt, crept into her mind.

"I was just looking. And I'm done anyway. So let's go."

"Not quite done yet. Come with me."

He led her out of the store, and through the mall to another shop that sold women's clothing. He led her straight to the department that had the formal dresses.

"What. . ?" she started to ask.

"Look, pet," he interrupted. "Sunnydale's not exactly a cultural mecca. Figure since we are here in L.A. anyway, I should take you out nice and proper. Take you to see a show. Any show you like, even if it's bloody Cats." He rolled his eyes.

"Any show I like?"

He sighed. "Whatever you want. Now get yourself a dress."

Buffy smiled at the thought of buying herself a new fancy dress. Especially from a stylish establishment like the one Spike had picked.

"Well?" Buffy asked when Spike just stood there.

"What?"

"I can't pick out a dress with you standing there. It's no fun if you see it ahead of time."

Spike thought it over for a minute, handed her some more money, and left the store. She saw him move out into the mall and hang about some benches while looking menacing and aloof.

Giddily Buffy dove into the racks. At first she worried about what sort of dress would be appropriate to wear in front of Spike. She worried again about color and cut, and what signals they might send. But all of that just gave her a headache. She knew she'd never find the right dress that way. So she put it out of her mind that the dress was for Spike, and simply chose one for herself.

Finally she found her dress, paid for it, and rejoined Spike outside.

"Finished?" he asked impatiently.

"Yes. Do we still have the hotel room?" He nodded. "Good, I want to shower again and change."

They headed back to the hotel.

After a few moments of silence Buffy asked, "So you don't like Cats?"

He looked at her from the corner of his eye, "The only good thing about it, is that most people think that that Andrew Lloyd Weber bloke wrote it. Even so, they ruined Rhapsody on a Windy Night."

"Huh?" Buffy asked. She had no idea what he was talking about. If Andrew Lloyd Weber hadn't written Cats who had? She was pretty sure it wasn't Rogers and Hammerstein.

"Rhapsody on a Windy Night? T.S. Eliot?"

When she still gave him a blank look he gave her his, 'You really don't know anything,' look. They had moved into the garage that was shared by the hotel and the mall. Spike stopped, closed his eyes, and began to recite:

Twelve o'clock.
Along the reaches of the street
Held in a lunar synthesis,
Whispering lunar incantations
Dissolve the floors of memory
And all its clear relations,
Its divisions and precisions,
Every street lamp that I pass
Beats like a fatalistic drum,
And through the spaces of the dark
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium.

His voice had shifted. It softened. His accent changed, became what Buffy thought sounded more proper. Almost like Giles'. Spike had opened his eyes, but it was as if he was looking at a vision that only he could see. Or maybe reading from a book that only he knew of.

Half-past one,
The street lamp sputtered,
The street lamp muttered,
The street lamp said, "Regard that woman
Who hesitates towards you in the light of the door
Which opens on her like a grin.
You see the border of her dress
Is torn and stained with sand,
And you see the corner of her eye
Twists like a crooked pin."

The memory throws up high and dry
A crow of twisted things;
A twisted branch upon the beach
Eaten smooth, and polished
As if the world gave up
The secret of its skeleton,
Stiff and white.
A broken spring in a factory yard,
Rust that clings to the form that the strength had left
hard and curled and ready to snap.

Half-past two,
The street lamp said,
"Remark the cat which flattens itself in the gutter,
Slips out its tongue
And devours a morsel of rancid butter."
So the hand of a child, automatic,
Slipped out and pocketed a toy that was running along the quay.
I could see nothing behind that child's eye.
I have seen eyes in the street
Trying to peer through lighted shutters,
And a crab one afternoon in a pool,
An old crab with barnacles on his back,
Gripped the end of a stick which I held him.

Half-past three,
The lamp sputtered,
The lamp muttered in the dark.

The lamp hummed:
"Regard the moon,
La lune ne garde aucune rancune,
She winks a feeble eye,
She smiles into corners.
She smoothes the hair of the grass.
The moon has lost her memory.
A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone
With all the old nocturnal smells
That cross and cross across her brain."
The reminiscence comes
Of sunless dry geraniums
And dust in crevices,
Smells of chestnuts in the streets,
And female smells in shuttered rooms,
And cigarettes in corridors
And cocktail smells in bars."

The lamp said,
"Four o'clock,
Here is the number on the door.
Memory!
You have the key,
The little lamp spreads a ring on the stair,
Mount.
The bed is open; the tooth-brush hangs on the wall,
Put your shoes at the door, sleep, prepare for life,"

The last twist of the knife.

For a moment, they were both caught in the same trance. Then suddenly Spike moved. He tucked his thumbs through his belt and looked around, embarrassed.

"Right, well. Doesn't matter," he mumbled. He set off in the direction of the hotel again as if he was in a big hurry.

"Wow," Buffy said, running to catch up to him. "How'd you learn all that?"

"People used to do that, you know. Before television. Learn things. And I didn't stop reading once I died you know."

"Oh." She didn't know what to say. "It was nice. I don't know that I get it. But it was nice," she encouraged him.

"Just forget about it." He stopped suddenly, and Buffy almost ran into his back. He spun around to look at her, his eyes glinting golden. "Not a word to Angelus."

Buffy almost corrected him, but he was too serious. If she didn't know better, she'd almost say he was scared. So she nodded.

"I promise. Not a word."

Chapter 26

Spike paced around the hotel room waiting for Buffy to finish getting ready. She'd insisted that since she'd had to put on the same clothes she'd worn the day before, she needed another shower. Then she'd proceeded to produce enough toiletries to fill a small shop.

He was actually grateful for the delay. Anything that put off seeing Angel was good. However, it left him with time to relive how much of a fool he'd made of himself just a little while earlier.

The poetry had been a horrible mistake. If life had taught him anything, it was that poetry was always a bad idea, especially where women were concerned. It didn't help that the poem made him think of Dru. Eliot always made him think of Dru.

Who knew what Buffy would think if she suspected that he'd quoted to her a poem he'd committed to memory after Dru had left him. Of all the many poems that he'd filled his head with during his life, why did it have to be that one?

At least she hadn't laughed at him. Then again, who could laugh at Eliot? Maybe. . . maybe she'd even liked it. Maybe he'd impressed her just a bit.

That was almost worse. It was one thing to look foolish in her eyes, but it was somehow worse to impress her with other people's words. He was no Christian de Neuvillette wooing a girl with stolen words. Courting her with borrowed sentiments.

Which brought up another problem. Why had he told Buffy he'd take her to any show she wanted? If he had half a brain, he would have simply told her he was taking her to the theatre. Cyrano would have been an excellent choice. Or if she was determined to see something light and musical, maybe Kiss Me Kate was playing. Who knew what she'd choose.

Finally the door to the bathroom opened and Buffy reemerged wearing a tank top with a loose skirt. She was carrying her dirty clothes in her hand, and moving to put them in a bag. She wasn't paying any attention to Spike at the moment, but he had his full attention on her.

She smelled like oranges. The thought slowly penetrated his brain, then rushed straight to his cock. Before she knew what had happened, Spike had her pressed against the wall and was kissing her passionately.

"Whamul?" she uttered as his tongue filled her mouth.

She returned the kiss for a moment, then her hands moved to his chest to push him gently away. He tried to keep the kiss going, but his neck was only so long, and he was forced to release her lips as his body was gently moved back from her.

The moment the kiss ended, she stopped pushing against him, and he tried a new tactic. He kissed her neck, burying his face in her hair. He took a deep breath and determined that she was still using the same shampoo, that it must have been her soap she had changed.

'For me!' the ecstatic thought came, 'She changed it for me!'

"Spike," Buffy giggled as he nibbled on her ear. "What are you doing?"

She pushed at him again, but there was no strength behind it. She was just playing with him.

"Smell nice," he mumbled as he began to kiss his way down her neck.

His hands - which had been on her waist this whole time - slipped up the back of her shirt, and began to caress the skin of her back.

"Hey," she cried with fake modesty. But she made no move to stop him, and her scent told him that she was enjoying his attention.

He kissed his way down her collabone, then looked up at her with a grin, "Bet you taste nice too."

Before she could protest, he was on his knees kissing her stomach while he reached under her skirt, to remove her panties.

"Hey," she protested again, "We have to. . . um . . ."

That obstacle removed, he lifted her left leg up, and over his shoulder, and began kissing the inside of her thighs. She giggled again as his breath tickled her.

He'd meant to go slow. He'd wanted to make her beg. Make her pay for all the silly rules, all the distance she'd kept between them. But he just wasn't that strong. Seeing her opened up before him like that, smelling the intoxicating mix of her arousal and oranges, he had to taste her.

His tongue darted out and began to lick her outer folds, eliciting a series of moans from her. One of her hands became tangled in his hair, and she held him close to her. Then he thrust his tongue into her core so he could taste her hot juices.

He moaned with delight as she gasped his name. While one hand still held her in place, the other one undid his zipper, releasing his cock from it's denim prison. He began to lightly stroke himself as his tongue circled her inside. He had no intention of making himself come yet, but he couldn't stand not to touch himself.

She began to move against him as the heel of her foot dug into his back. As her moans became louder, he pulled his tongue out from her core, and went to work on her clit.

"Oh, God!" she cried as he gently kissed her. "Spike. . . Please," she began to beg him as he flicked his tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Please what?" he mumbled, making sure to direct his breath against her clit.

"I need. . . " she gasped for breath. "You. . . inside me. . . please! I can't. . . . can't take this. . . now."

He let go of his cock and got off his knees, taking her leg down from his shoulder, then wrapping it around his waist, as he stood up. With his other hand he cupped her face, and he looked her dead in the eye.

"Say it again. Tell me what you need." His voice came out demanding, but inside he was begging her. He was anything but sure.

Her eyes met his for a moment, before she closed them and whimpered with need.

"You. I need you!"

That was enough for Spike. He plunged into her.

But Buffy wasn't done yet. "Take me! Fuck me!"

Her pussy had become wondrously tight from lack of use. Even so her hot depths sucked him in greedily. As he slid into her, she wrapped her other leg around him. As the last bit of his length filled her, he pressed up against her pushing her clit against his pelvic bone.

"Make me yours," she screamed as the orgasm hit her. "YES!"

Her body convulsing around him was incredible. It threatened to pull him over the edge and it took every bit of control he had not to follow her.

"Spike! Claim me! Take me!" her litany continued as she passed the peak of her orgasm.

He had begun to move inside of her, a slow rhythm so as to draw out the experience of being inside her. But her words grabbed him in a deeper way than even her body could. The demon roared forth, eager at the invitation she had given him. As his own body began to shake with his orgasm, his fangs sank into her neck.

Hot blood, sweeter than any he had ever tasted greeted his tongue. Even if he hadn't been aroused, he thought he would have come at the taste of her blood. But he didn't bite deep. It wasn't a conscious decision, he was long past rational thought. But neither was he a fledgling. His fangs only barely broke her skin. He was trying to mark her, not hurt her.

She gasped with pleasure when he bit her, he could feel her body start to respond to him in all the right ways. Which was why he was so surprised when she pushed him away and he hit the floor.

He looked up to see Buffy standing there with a look of revulsion on her face and one hand on her neck covering the bite.

"What did. . ? Why . . ? You bit me," Buffy accused him.

His face reverted to his human form, the demon driven away by the fear that he'd messed things up, and by a sensation Spike was not used to. Shame.

"You told me to. You asked. . ." he defended himself. But he felt guilty. It was an old, unfamiliar feeling.

"When. . ? What on earth would make you think I wanted you to bite me?" There was a touch of hysteria in her voice.

Spike flinched. How had he done this? How had he gotten things so wrong. He hadn't meant to, but it was clear that he had hurt her.

"You said," came his weak defense. "You asked me to claim you."

"What are you talking about. I said. . . I don't know what I said, but how does that translate into make me a snack."

"I wasn't trying to eat you!" Spike snapped, before the absurdity of the statement hit him. "I mean. . ." He stopped, and suddenly things came clear to Spike. "You don't know what a claim is, do you?"

The blank look on her face told him all he needed to know.

"Bloody idiots." He zipped his pants back up, got to his feet, and began to pace. His other emotions where displaced by rage at the other men in Buffy's life. "Can't believe your Watcher never told you about the claim. Not as if you were the bloody Slayer. Not as if you didn't date a bloody vampire."

"Hello? Spike? Topic?"

"Right, look pet. The claim. It's something vampire's do. The claim, it would mark you, make you mine. It shouldn't have hurt. Did it hurt?"

"No, that's not the point. You don't go around just biting people." She paused as a new thought hit her. "The chip?! It's not working."

"Of course it's working. Damn thing nearly split my head open last night when I was trying to save you. I wasn't trying to hurt you, would never hurt you. That's why it didn't go off."

Buffy just started at him for a minute, then she backed into the bathroom and closed the door on him.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Buffy looked at herself in the mirror, examining her newest wounds. The marks on her neck weren't bad, they should heal quickly, but not quickly enough. Now she was glad that she had bought a turtleneck. She'd have to change, anyway. She couldn't see Angel in her current state.

She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself down. Her heart was beating a mile a minute; she could hear it pounding in her ears. She could still remember the feel of Spike's fangs, how nice it had been.

If she had been anyone other than the Slayer, she would have succumbed. She would have let him drink her dry, but an alarm had gone off. Some slayer sense that responded to Spike's bite as an attack.

It hadn't felt like an attack though. It had felt like sex. Felt like something deep and powerful and primal. She couldn't argue with Spike's chip logic, either. He hadn't meant to hurt her. Still, she felt betrayed. Whether by herself or by him she wasn't sure.

Claim. The word both attracted and repelled her. She was the Slayer; she could never belong to a vampire.

But she was also Buffy. A girl. The thought of belonging to someone was wonderful. It's what she'd always wanted. To be a couple. To be part of something that was more than just her. To be connected.

That's why she'd bought the citrus body wash, she now realized. She'd already started to mark herself as Spike's. She closed her eyes and remembered for a moment how wonderful it had felt when Spike had reacted so passionately to the new scent. She'd been afraid he wouldn't even notice. Guys never noticed it when you did stuff like that for them. But he had, and he'd liked it, and she'd liked his liking it.

But maybe the claim didn't mean all that. She'd never heard of it before, and she was pretty mad at both Giles and Angel for overlooking that part of her education. Maybe a claim was just a fancy vampire term for brand. Maybe it was just a way of marking a favorite human to feed off of.

There was only one solution Buffy could see. She would clean herself up and they would go see Angel. If she was busy worrying about him, she wouldn't have time to worry about herself.

Chapter 27:

They drove in silence to Angel's hotel. Spike didn't dare speak. He was too angry. Angry at just about everyone. How was he supposed to know that the Slayer didn't know about claiming? It drove him crazy to think he'd been so close to having her, and had ruined it so quickly.

There was just one thing that gave him hope, even if it was only a tiny sliver. Buffy had showered again and insisted that he do the same before they saw Angel. But she hadn't gone back to using the hotel soap. She'd used the orange stuff again.

"This the place?" he asked her.

"It looks right. Haven't been here yet."

Spike nodded, and noticed that Angel wasn't considerate enough to have covered parking. He reached into the back seat and grabbed the blanket he kept there for just these occasions.

Buffy got out of the car. He waited until she got to the door, so he wouldn't have to knock her down, and then made a dash for the entrance. As soon as he was inside he threw the blanket on the floor, and stamped out the flames.

"NO!" he heard Buffy scream, at the same time that the shrill voice of Cordelia announced, "SPIKE!"

He looked up just in time to see a crossbow bolt whizzing toward him. Luckily he hadn't burnt his hands too badly, so he was able to catch it, just before it would have hit him in the chest.

"Nice shot," he said to the large black man holding the crossbow. His voice was calm, almost bored, but Spike was sizing up the other fellow, and didn't like what he saw. The man who'd just tried to stake him was young, but everything about him spoke of a confidence that came from surviving many battles. Not to mention the shot had been spot on. If Buffy hadn't warned him, he'd be a pile of dust.

"Stop wait!" Buffy ordered as she stepped between Spike and the black man. "It's okay he's with me."

"And you would be. . ?" he asked.

"Buffy! I knew it was you," Cordelia said. "Angel acting all crazy. What else could be the cause."

"Huh?" asked the black man. He never took his eyes off of Spike though, and calmly loaded another bolt into the crossbow.

"Buffy is the Slayer, and Angel's former. . ." said a British voice. "Although what she could possibly be doing with William the Bloody I cannot fathom."

The newcomer, Spike decided instantly, was not a threat. Even if he did have 'Watcher' stamped all over him like he'd just stepped out of the tweed factory.

"Hey Wesley," Buffy greeted him. "Look about Spike. It's okay. He drove me here, and he's harmless."

"Am not!" Spike protested.

"He's a vamp, ain't he?" the black man asked.

"Yeah, but the military, they put a chip in his head. He can't harm anyone. Anyone human at least."

"Are you sure Buffy?" Wesley asked.

"Would I be traveling with a vampire if he wasn't safe?" Buffy asked.

Gunn lowered his crossbow, but didn't put it down. Spike decided this was an opportune time to go grumble in the corner. Did she really have to call him safe? True, he didn't particularly want to get into a brawl with Gunn, but still, a fellow had his pride.

However, he didn't grumble for long. Something else, something far more interesting caught his attention. Low moans, moans he remembered from over a century ago. He would bet his fangs that somewhere upstairs, Darla and Angel were having sex.

He made his way upstairs, trying not to attract much attention. Of course that was made easier by the grilling Buffy was receiving from Angel's sidekicks.

He became doubly sure of what was going on once he got to the top of the stairs. Now he could smell them. Carefully, quietly he crept down the hallway, careful not to make a sound that a fellow vampire could hear. He paused outside the door, to confirm it was the right one, and that his suspicions had been correct.

"Spike what are you doing?" Buffy called out loudly behind him.

He hadn't noticed the conversation downstairs stopping, or the others following him. He'd been intent on what was happening on the other side of the door.

"Hey! That's Angel's room," pointed out Cordelia.

Inside he could hear hurried scuffling. Obviously the two of them didn't want to get caught. Spike on the other hand could think of nothing more pleasant at the moment than further ruining Angel's fun. Without a second thought he burst through the door and was greeted with the unpleasant sight of naked Angel, lying asleep on the bed.

He rushed to catch Darla who was trying to make her escape. He grabbed her arm. Unfortunately, although Spike had forgotten Darla was human, his chip knew it, and went off.

"Ahhhhhh!" he screamed as he clutched his head.

"Huh? Spike? Hey what are you. . ?" Angel said as he woke up. Then he realized he was naked and erect, and made a desperate grab for the blankets to cover himself up.

"Darla!" Buffy and Cordelia yelled in unison as they appeared in the doorway.

"Oh God!" Gunn said, as he backed out of the room covering his eyes.

Buffy tried to make a dash for Darla, but ran into Spike, and Darla made it out the window and down the fire escape. Buffy leaned out the window, looking for some sign of Darla, but she was gone.

"Everyone out!" yelled Angel.

"Sorry," Buffy said sheepishly, trying not to look at Angel as she pulled Spike out of the room.

They all stood around awkwardly as they waited for Angel to dress.

"You know, I'd always heard that Darla was a better shag than that. Course Angel always was about as observant as a log." Spike chuckled.

"I heard that!" Angle shouted through the door.

Spike rolled his eyes. "I meant you to, you bloody git. You're not the only vampire here remember?"

An angry Angel emerged from the room. He looked awful, like he hadn't slept in a week. His shirt was untucked, and his hair ungelled.

"What are you doing here, Buffy? And why the hell did you bring Spike?" Angel demanded.

"I came to warn you about Darla. Spike drove me here."

Inwardly, Spike winced. He hadn't expected Buffy to call him her boyfriend or anything, but he thought he deserved more than simply being allocated to the role of taxi driver.

"How did you know about Darla, Buffy?" Wesley asked, trying to get the conversation under control.

"Spike told me. He saw her at Wolfram & Hart."

"Okay, so not only is he a vampire, but he hangs out at Wolfram & Hart. Why are we not staking him again?" Gunn asked.

"Good point. I'll go get the stake," Angel said.

"Stop. No one stakes Spike. Are we clear?" Buffy looked at them each in turn.

"What?!" Cordelia said. "Hello, have we forgotten about the torturing of Angel, not to mention the numerous times he tried to kill us back in Sunnydale?"

"No, I mean he did all that but. . . " Buffy stopped looking for a justification. "He's my ride?" she offered weakly.

Spike had never wanted to tear her head off so much since he'd met her.

"Tell you what. I'll make this easy for you lot. I'll leave." Spike stormed down the stairs.

He got downstairs, realized it was still daylight out, and stopped. He figured Angel must have sewer access somewhere. He looked around the lobby and noticed the door to the basement. Just as he opened the door and stepped into the darkness Buffy put her hand on his arm and stopped him.

"You're coming back right?"

He almost snapped at her that is she needed a ride she could call a real taxi, but then he looked at her and saw how vulnerable she was. 'She probably just can't stand another bloke walking out on her, even is she doesn't want him,' he thought. But he couldn't do that to her. He couldn't hurt her. It was enough to know that he could if he wanted to.

"I'll be back. Tonight. Just need to stretch my legs."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

She smiled, nodded, and let him go.

Chapter 28

Buffy turned around and found herself face to face with Angel, who didn't look very happy.

"What the hell is this?" he demanded as he yanked the neck of her sweater away from her throat.

"OW!" she cried.

There hadn't been any Band-Aids at the hotel, so she had simply patted the bite marks on her neck dry. However, some of the fuzz from the turtle neck had stuck to the wounds, and the scabs reopened when Angel had yanked on the fabric. True that on the scale of Buffy injuries, this wasn't all that bad - but it was the principle of the thing.

"I just don't get it. Everyone tells me to leave Sunnydale. 'Spike's not a threat.' 'Don't worry about, Buffy. She can take care of herself.' And now I find he's biting you!"

"It's not what you thing. It was an accident."

"Let me guess. You 'accidentally' fell on his fangs."

"No, it. . . It's none of your business."

"And yet you bring Spike into my hotel and- Hey!"

Angel turned around to find Cordelia poking him with a stake.

"You're not evil, are you?" she asked holding up a cross in her other hand.

"What?! No! Stop that." Angel raised his hands, ineffectually trying to fend Cordelia off.

After a moment she seemed satisfied and put down the stake and cross. She walked back over to him and hit him across the back of his head.

"What the hell were you thinking? Do you want to get the big happy, and go all grrr?" Cordelia asked him.

"No!" Angel protested. "It wasn't like that. I didn't even know she was there. I mean, I thought I was dreaming."

Cordelia glared at him, unconvinced. Deciding he was safe for the moment, Angel turned back to Buffy. Before he could say anything more, Cordelia interrupted once again.

"Not that we wouldn't all love to watch you two get all movie of the week," she said sarcastically. "But we do have a case, remember. You know, the things that pay the bills around here?"

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

It didn't take long for Spike to find himself a demon bar to hang out in. The sewers of every major city had signs for such establishments in them, if you knew what to look for. He hadn't been there long when trouble found him.

Lou had put a price on his head, and a couple vampires had decided to collect. Spike welcomed the distraction. A good fight was just what he needed to work some of his frustration over his relationship, or lack thereof, with Buffy.

Not to mention that, as long as Lou kept sending demons after him, Spike felt he was pretty safe. Demons, vampires and assorted monsters he could handle. If Lou smartened up, though, and sent humans after him, Spike would be in trouble.

After tossing one of his brethren out the door and into the sunlight, and staking a second, the rest of the bar decided to leave him alone.

At least he thought they had until he sat back down at his table and a woman asked, "Mind if I join you?"

"Actually, I do."

He didn't know who it was, and he didn't care. At the moment he wanted nothing to do with the entire female sex. The woman sat down anyway. Annoyed he bothered to look at her. He knew her, but it took him a moment to figure out where from. Then it hit him. She was the female lawyer who'd been with Darla.

"Bollocks." He didn't want anything to do with Wolfram & Hart. "What the bloody hell do you want?"

"Just to offer you a job."

"Not looking for one. . . "

"Lilah. Lilah Morgan."

"That's right. How could I forget. What, was it your parent's fondest wish that you should be evil? Didn't really give you much choice with a name like that did they?"

"Is this the part where I blame my parents for my wicked ways?" she asked with a face with wide-eyed innocence. Then her voice hardened. "Sorry, I got where I got all by my lonesome."

"Still doesn't mean you have anything I want."

"Oh, but I think we do, Spike. Help us out, and we'll remove your chip."

Spike couldn't help but be startled by the offer. No chip meant he didn't have to worry about humans any more. He could protect Buffy, even from the likes of Lou. He could be free again.

"And just what would I have to do for you?"

"Nothing hard. You see, a couple months ago Angel stole something very valuable from us. A very old, one of a kind scroll. We want it back."

"Seems to me you could get your own people to steal it back for you. Why me?"

"True, there's just one problem. We don't want Angel to know it's gone. At least not right away. If any of our people stole it, they'd leave their scent behind. But if Angel smells you in his office, he'll just figure you were snooping around."

Spike sat there for a minute, Thinking over what she had said. It seemed to make sense, and yet he couldn't help but be suspicious. There must be more in it for Wolfram & Hart.

"So what's this scroll, anyway?" he asked.

"A prophecy about the end of the world, and oh yeah, a vampire with a soul. Let's just say our people weren't done studying it when Angel stole it. He keeps it in a safe in his office. The safe is behind a painting on the wall behind his chair. The safe shouldn't give you any problems. It's nothing fancy, not much different than the one you broke into in, 1932 was it?"

He nodded. It bothered him to think they'd been watching his actions so closely. No need to let them know that though.

"So all you do is crack the safe, grab the scroll - it's in an ivory container, you can't miss it - and head out the front door and south for two blocks. There will be a semi parked in an empty lot. We'll have a mobile surgical unit set up, and you'll get your chip out then and there. Easy as pie."

"How do I know you won't double cross me?"

"Cause we're evil of course." When he looked unconvinced she continued, "I'm a criminal defense lawyer at Wolfram & Hart. Do you know what that means? It means that every day I put in long hard hours making sure that 'innocent'," she indicated the quotes with her fingers, "Men go free. Like you. You may not be in jail, but that chip is like a muzzle, keeping you from following your natural instincts. If we take that chip out and you have your self a massacre, hey, I'll probably get a bonus."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

"That bit about leaving his scent, that was very nice, Lilah," Holland Manners told her. "Do you think he'll do it?"

"To get the chip out? He'll do it. And once he starts killing, the Slayer will be too busy hunting him down to worry about Angel and Darla. Not to mention, we'll get the Shanshu prophecy back, so hey, bonus."

"What if he doesn't kill?" Lindsey asked.

"He's a vampire, of course he'll kill. And if he doesn't, all we have to do is let Miss Goody-Two-Shoes know he had the chip removed, and she'll try and kill him anyway," Lilah said with complete assurance.

"Lilah's right," Holland agreed. "Although this Slayer is more flexible than many of her predecessors, she still sees the world as black and white; soul or no soul. She won't suffer an unrestrained vampire to live."

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Life as a private eye? Pretty boring, Buffy had decided. She'd trailed along with Angel's gang when they'd gone to a hotel to find out if some guy's wife was cheating on him. She was, but first they had to sit around in the lobby for hours waiting for her to show up.

Things had gotten a little more interesting when Darla had showed up, pretending to be just some girl. She'd actually gotten hotel security to stop Angel. Treating him like a stalker. Now Angel had gone off on a mad hunt for Darla. Buffy had tried to help him, but he had pulled one of his disappearing acts on her.

That had really pissed her off. First of all, he'd just sort of stranded her in the sewers. By the time she'd found her way out of the stinky underground tunnels, it was already dark, and she was in a part of L.A. she wasn't familiar with. It had taken her almost an hour to find a pay-phone which still had its phonebook. Finally, she'd gotten in touch with Wesley and he was on his way to pick her up.

More than anything else, the thing that made Buffy mad was that Angel wouldn't talk to her. It had to mean something to him, Darla coming back from the dead. And human to boot. But he wouldn't say a word on the subject. All man of mystery.

She hated that. It had been cool when she was sixteen. Well, except for all the times it had nearly gotten her killed. Like when he'd first shown up in Sunnydale and said, "Beware the Harvest." Like she was just supposed to know all her ancient vampire rituals. Even Giles had to look that up. It was bad enough that he was that secretive about life and limb 'end of the world' stuff. Trying to get him to open up about emotional things was about as easy as getting Anya to shut up about her and Xander's sex life.

"Buffy?" a black SUV pulled up next to her and Wesley stuck his head out the window.

"Hey, thanks a bunch," she said as she climbed into the car.

"Of course. Are you all right?"

"Just kind of worn out."

She buckled up her seat belt. For a moment she stared out the window. Her left hand crossed her chest in an unconscious gesture, and she began to tug on the seat belt with her thumb and forefinger.

"There's like a Watcher/Slayer confidentiality thing, isn't there?" she asked him.

"Actually, no. A Watcher is supposed to report anything of consequence to the Council. However, I'm not a Watcher anymore," Wesley added. "And I always keep my friends confidences."

Buffy nodded. "Do you know about claiming?"

Wesley cleared his throat. Buffy rather suspected that if he wasn't driving he would have cleaned his glasses.

"Well, um, yes. What the Council taught me anyway. It's a very complex subject, misunderstood by the Council for generations. When a vampire claims someone, it leaves a mystical marking on the claimed that other vampires can sense. The claimed is understood to be off limits for feeding -if they are human- and. . . sex, if it is another vampire. If another vampire violates the claim, that vampire is marked and can be hunted down by the vampire who initiated the claim."

"So it's like being branded?"

"Not at all. In fact that was the crucial mistake the Council made for many years. Vampires are very territorial, as you know, and yet claiming is very rare. You see the claiming effects the vampire more than the claimed. The vampire gains a sort of physical awareness of the claimed. They can always locate their mate, and they experience what the claimed experiences."

"So they can read the person's mind?"

"No, not ESP. Rather the vampire experiences the physical experiences of the claimed. How intense those sensations are varies depending on how recently the claim was made or renewed, and the distance between the two.

"That's the reason the claim is so rare. The most common type of claiming is a sire claiming a childe, but that it only done after the childe has been around for some time and is - for lack of a better phrase - well trained. A Sire is greatly limited in his ability to punish his childe if he will experience some degree of the punishment himself.

"Of course, vampires don't react to pain quite the same way we do. I'm sure you've noticed that vampires can usually shrug off pain not caused by fire, holy water, crosses and sunlight. However, if a vampire claims a human, they experience that human's pain the same way the human does.

"That fact has lead to fascinating and diverse uses of the claim throughout vampire society. Many vampires shun the whole notion, fearing it will make them vulnerable to their enemies. Supposedly there is a master vampire in the Balkans who claims a human once every hundred years, then allows his followers to torture the human to death. Just to prove how strong he is. There have even been stories of female vampires who keep heavily guarded harems of claimed men so that. . . Um, well. Anyway, you get the idea."

"Yeah. I get the idea. Thanks," Buffy told him.

For several minutes they drove on in silence.

"Buffy," Wesley said as he pulled up outside the hotel. "I know it's none of my business and perhaps I'm completely mistaken, but if you allow Spike to claim you, you'll never be rid of him. There's no going back; no changing your mind."

She got out of the car.

"Thanks again for the ride, and everything. You won't mention this to Angel?"

"Not a word. In fact, I think I prefer he not know about this more than you."

She nodded, waved, and went inside the Hyperion. Worn out, she collapsed on the ottoman. There were no vampire's in the hotel, so she lay there, her mind mulling over what Wesley had said, as she waited for Spike to come back.
 

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