TITLE: Gifts 2/3
AUTHOR: Kelso
RATING: PG
WEBSITE: http://www.geocities.com/kelso28a/
Gifts 2/3
On Saturday morning, Buffy was too depressed to drag herself out of bed early. She didn't bother to show substantial signs of life until Willow woke up at well past 10, looking and sounding unbearably perky.
"Buffy, you were out awfully late last night. Does that mean your date with Parker went well?"
"Not exactly." Buffy propped herself against the wall and elaborated. "Let me put it this way: 'Disaster' is not a strong enough description."
"What happened?" Willow asked.
"Well, things started out okay. He picked me up and we went to the Bronze. So far, so good. Parker bought us drinks and we were talking and getting to know each other and I liked him a lot. Then I noticed these vampires luring people outside, so I had to make up an excuse to leave so I could dust them. I followed them out, took care of them, went back in. A few minutes later, more vampires came in, and I had to leave again. When I went back to the table that time, Parker acted really nice about things and he asked me to dance. So we started to, but two more vampires showed up. I had to make up some lame excuse about why I couldn't finish the date and I ran out again. I didn't see Parker around after that. He probably couldn't leave fast enough. I bet if he ever sees me on campus, he'll turn and walk the other way."
"No, he won't. I bet he'd love to go out with you some other time."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Willow, there's a difference between trying to make someone feel better, and laying it on way too thick. You've definitely crossed that line. Nice try, though. I was back late because I was so busy hunting down all of those stupid, annoying vampires and then patrolling to wipe out more of them. It's all Spike's fault, you know," Buffy declared.
Willow cocked her head. "Huh? Not following you, here."
"I bet he created most of those vampires who were at the Bronze, plus the ones in the cemeteries. We all know he's positioning himself as master of Sunnydale. And even if he wasn't responsible for that, he's still a pain. I don't even want to go to composition class because I know he'll be there. All right, to be honest, I never want to go to comp anyway, but Spike's presence is another major reason to avoid it."
"Maybe he'll get bored and go away," Willow suggested.
Buffy shook her head. "With my luck? Never." The phone rang, and Buffy picked up the receiver. "Hello?" She sat bolt upright and exclaimed, "Parker! No, this isn't a bad time. ... Tuesday? Um, yeah, sounds good." She fumbled for a pen and scribbled a message in her notebook. "Right. ... See you there." Buffy hung up and sat in a reverie for a moment until she remembered that Willow was waiting for her report. "That was Parker. He wants to go with me to a party on Tuesday night. I guess I didn't scare him away after all."
"That's great!" Willow began, then hesitated. "Did you say Tuesday? That's the night before the big psychology test. Are you sure you should go out then instead of studying?"
Buffy laughed. "Oh, come on, Will, live it up a little. This is college."
"Exactly. You have to take it seriously. Your grades are slipping, especially in psych."
"I'll be fine." And Buffy ignored the worried expression on her friend's face as she began to daydream about her upcoming date.
*****
Spike was all set for school on Monday morning. He had a new approach in mind. He would attempt to make conversation with Buffy every time they were in comp class together. The course met three times a week, which should provide him with ample opportunity. Gradually, Buffy would come to accept that he was there to stay, and she would open up to him. He was sure of it.
He was also pleased that he had successfully sabotaged her big date on Friday. He had maintained close watch over Buffy and Parker that night, but the Slayer had surprised even him by how short she had cut the evening. Before Spike had a chance to react, Buffy had called off the whole thing and sent her companion on his way. Knowing she was unharmed and seriously doubting she would ever go out with Parker Abrams again, Spike hadn't bothered to track and kill the young man. Now he wasn't sure that he even should. He really couldn't go around killing everyone Buffy associated with, no matter how great the temptation. After all, he wanted her to like him. No, he would just continue to whittle away at her defenses in his own special way.
Spike arrived in the composition classroom and chose the desk he'd taken the two previous times. Although seats weren't assigned, most of the students had established a pattern and selected the same spots every class. Buffy had the desk right next to Spike's. In their two classes so far, she hadn't resisted or attempted to move to another place, which had to be a good sign.
Class was due to begin in 15 minutes, which seemed like plenty of time to get a good conversation going. Unfortunately, Buffy wasn't anywhere to be seen. Spike alternated between staring at the clock and checking the doorway. Finally, with barely five minutes to spare, Buffy entered the room.
"Good morning," Spike greeted her cheerfully. "How are you today, Buffy?"
She threw herself down at her desk and glared at him. "Look, Spike, let's keep this simple. I leave you alone, you leave me alone. All right?"
"But I don't want to leave you alone," Spike said reasonably. "I came back to Sunnydale because of you. I even enrolled in this class for you. I love you."
Their eavesdropping classmates burst into applause.
"Thanks, everyone," Buffy said sarcastically. "You know nothing about this creature, yet you encourage him to pester me. Please stop."
The other students looked at Spike with sympathetic expressions. "Bitch," muttered one.
Undaunted, Spike tried again to reason with the Slayer. "I've done nothing but be nice to you since I've come back. I've defended you, I've given you presents--speaking of which, what happened to the ring I sent you?" He double-checked her bare hands. "Why aren't you wearing it?"
"That little trinket?" Buffy shrugged. "I don't know, I guess Giles did something or other with it."
"Oi! I brought that ring all the while from Brazil, and not for the Watcher, either!"
"He has the dagger, too," Buffy added with a falsely sweet smile.
Spike glowered beside her. Making progress was going to be a hell of a lot more difficult than he had anticipated. "If you aren't going to use them, give them back," he demanded.
"What? No!" Buffy protested loudly.
From the front of the classroom, Dr. Petrovski cleared his throat. "Buffy, William, excuse me. You two can continue your discussion after class. Buffy, may I speak to you for a moment?"
Buffy shot Spike a nasty look before she made her way over to the instructor. Seizing a golden opportunity, Spike reached over and grabbed Buffy's folder and notebook from her desk. Fortunately, the other students didn't even seem to notice his action.
Satisfied that he would get away with it, Spike flipped the folder open. It held a sheaf of Buffy's graded assignments and tests. The sociology section was marked with grades ranging from A to C. Composition was more spotty, but not too bad. Then Spike moved on to the psychology area, which was worse than he would have guessed. The instructor had written varying negative grades across the tops of nearly every paper: a large red "F," "See me, "incomplete," "unsatisfactory." It looked like Buffy was really struggling in that course, and Spike remembered how the Slayer had been complaining of that fact back when he'd first returned to town. Matters apparently hadn't improved since.
Thoughtfully, Spike replaced the papers and moved on to the notebook. It contained less interesting material: mostly class notes, unfinished assignments, and indecipherable doodles. Spike was about to shut the book when he noticed a calendar in the front area. He looked over that week's entries. Written in the space for the very next day, Tuesday, was, "8:00, Parker, party at 1830 Chesterfield."
With an effort, Spike stopped himself from changing into game face in the middle of the classroom. He'd thought he'd taken care of the Parker problem. Evidently, he'd been wrong. He threw Buffy's things back onto her desk as he pondered how to fix his mistake.
*****
After much thought, Spike had decided to intercept Buffy and Parker at the party on Tuesday night. He could kill Parker first, of course, and solve one big problem that way, but then the idiot would probably become some sort of martyr in Buffy's eyes. He couldn't allow that. Instead, he would meet them there, warn Buffy, let her catch Parker in the act, and watch the fun.
On his way to the party, though, Spike considered the potential deeper roots of the trouble: the chance that Buffy might actually *like* Parker. What could she see in him? Okay, she probably appreciated the fact that he was human--which was a drawback, in Spike's eyes. Humans were weak and mortal. They couldn't keep up with a Slayer. She needed someone who could be her equal, and not a pansy like Angel, either.
And sure, Parker had a soul. But in Spike's opinion, souls were highly overrated. After all, he'd gotten along just fine without one for more than a century. Look at what had happened to Angel when his had been returned to him. By all accounts, he'd been good for nothing for about a hundred years after that.
No, Spike was clearly the superior choice. He'd convince the Slayer of it soon enough. He sped up until he reached the outskirts of town, where Chesterfield Street lay. There, he spotted lines of cars parked on both sides of the road. If he picked a spot in the middle, he'd probably find the party house with no trouble. Spike waited for a black Jaguar to pull out of its place, then squeezed the DeSoto into the opening. As he stepped out of the car, a wave of music assaulted his ears. Sure enough, 1830 Chesterfield, a large, white house set well back from the road, was just about where he had predicted. The homes on either side were situated several hundred yards away, which was a good thing since the noise would have driven out anyone closer. From the looks of things, the party had been in full swing for some time. Maybe he should have shown up even earlier. With that thought in mind, Spike hurried to push his way in the front door.
"Hey, wait. Who are you?" demanded the burly kid who was manning the entrance.
"It's okay," interjected another boy. "I know him. We have a class together."
Spike vaguely recognized the kid, but didn't remember his name. Frankly, in his eyes one human was pretty much the same as another. They fell into two main categories: potential food, and not-food. At the moment, Buffy and her gang were the only members of the latter category. This particular human was potential food, hence nameless. Still, he *had* just been of assistance and maybe he could be of more.
Spike nodded at him. "Thanks, mate."
"No problem, William. Rockin' party, huh?"
"Yeah, sure. Have you seen Buffy around?"
"Who?" the boy said around a mouthful of pretzels.
"Buf-fy," Spike enunciated clearly. "She's in composition class with us."
"Oh, the blonde who shot you down? Yeah, she's here somewhere."
Immediately losing interest in the kid, Spike pushed past him and cast about for a glimpse or a scent of the Slayer in the crowded, noisy room. This time, he didn't care if she saw him. Hiding hadn't worked. Being nice hadn't worked. He had moved on to the "in your face" approach. If that one failed, he wasn't quite sure what he'd try next.
He scanned room after room of nobodies, stepping around and over the numerous students who were already drunk on bad American beer. Finally, in the fifth room, Spike caught a glimpse of Buffy and her much less appealing companion. They were halfway across the cavernous room, dancing to the beat of a rap song that didn't even deserve the label of "music." As Spike started toward them, the music died down and Parker led Buffy into the sea of people. Spike waded into the middle of the pack, tossing humans right and left. Ignoring the complaints of "Watch it!" and "Excuse you!" that followed him, he cleared a path until he came upon Buffy, standing apart from the crowd in a relatively peaceful corner. Fortunately, Parker was nowhere to be seen.
Spike took a moment to admire Buffy's choice of a form-fitting, midnight-blue, and, of course, very short dress before he joined her. "Good thing I tracked you down, Slayer."
Her expression instantly soured. "What are *you* doing here?"
"I'll get straight to the point. I'm here to help you."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, right. In what alternate dimension?"
"Did once before," Spike reminded her. "Angel. Acathla. Proved you could trust my word then. Look, it's about this Parker you came here with. He's dangerous, luv, I know it."
"So says the vampire who's more than once tried to wipe out every trace of me and mine. You'll forgive me if I ignore, oh, just about every single word that comes out of your mouth."
"No. No, I won't. I'm serious. Parker Abrams is bad news." Spike looked at Buffy's disbelieving face and recklessly threw a major card on the table. "He tried to drug your drink at the Bronze the other night."
Buffy's eyes narrowed. "And you know that how?"
"I was there. I saw him."
"I knew it! I *told* Willow you were responsible for that entire disaster, and now you admit it."
Spike shook his head. "The only thing about that night that could have hurt you was the drug. I was just there to observe and make sure things didn't go too far."
"I'd sooner eat glass than listen to you," Buffy snapped.
"Anything wrong?" came Parker's unwelcome voice as he wedged himself into their hideout.
"No, everything's just fine." Buffy turned as far toward him and away from Spike as space would allow.
"Here you go." Parker handed her an opened beer can. "All ready for you."
"I don't drink," Buffy began, then looked at Spike. "On the other hand, just this one time...." She tilted her head back and defiantly swigged down at least half the can in one steady motion.
Spike clenched his jaw until it ached. If that was the way the Slayer felt, let her drink herself into a stupor. See if he cared. He turned and elbowed his way out of the house, not even taking pleasure in the cries of pain and annoyance that followed in his wake. He wasted no time hopping in the DeSoto and turning the car's nose toward home. Buffy had made matters clear: She didn't trust him and she wouldn't believe him. If he said the grass was green, she'd go outside with a magnifying glass hunting for brown blades. Her sheer stubbornness was part of what he loved about her, but he did wish she'd cut him a break sometime.
Like tonight.
His anger fading, Spike reconsidered his options. If he left Buffy alone, she might learn a hard lesson and be more likely to respect his opinion in the future. On the other hand, she could end up in real trouble and never forgive Spike for not trying harder to warn her.
He was probably damned if he did and damned if he didn't, but Spike didn't really have a decision to make. He pulled a U-turn and gunned his way back to the address he'd been so eager to leave not long ago. Doubleparking his precious car, he leaped out and stalked back into the house.
Inside, strangely enough, the front of the house was nearly deserted. Spike made his way to the room where he'd left Buffy and Parker, only to find that pandemonium reigned there. He had to squeeze his way around a clump of people who were blocking the entrance. Curious, he noted that they were circling an individual who was sprawled on the floor.
"Call an ambulance," suggested one. "And the police, too."
"No, then the party'll break up," someone else protested.
"He's really hurt," chimed in a third.
Spike caught a glimpse of Parker's face in the center of the confusion and paused to listen more carefully. When he managed to make out a status report, Spike grinned. The words "broken jaw" and "Parker" sounded awfully good in the same sentence, and he knew just the person who was responsible for that turn of events.
He moved on with his hunt and was soon rewarded. At the foot of the stairs leading up to the second floor he found Buffy, wobbly and clutching the banister for support. Damn, he knew he shouldn't have left her to drink that beer. Who knew what that idiot boy had put in it?
Spike edged as close as he dared, not sure how Buffy would reach to his presence while on drugs. "Hey, Slayer, not looking too good," he ventured.
She swiveled her head toward him but didn't answer.
"Guess you got yourself into some trouble. Your friends are talking about calling the police. We'd best get you of here before that, right?"
Buffy swayed toward him and agreed, "All right," grabbing his arm.
Spike automatically moved to steady her, even as he asked, "You do know who I am, right?"
"Shpike," Buffy slurred.
Good enough. "Why don't you let me take you home?" Buffy made no protest, and Spike silently added, '*My* home, not yours,' as he guided the limp, pliable Slayer into the night air.
*****
By the time Spike drove back to his lair, Buffy had passed out in the seat beside him. He gently shook her. "C'mon, Slayer, wake up." She didn't move, and Spike began to grow concerned. He wasn't sure what kind of drugs she'd been given, how much she'd taken, really anything. He checked her breathing. It seemed good, slow but not too slow and very steady. Those were positive signs. Spike was used to his victims having rapid heartbeats, but he'd spent enough time stalking humans to know how they behaved in repose. Buffy seemed normal enough, as far as he could make out. Anyway, she was the Slayer. She should be able to shake off any problems with relative ease.
Having reassured himself, Spike carefully picked Buffy up and carried her up to the abandoned warehouse. The vampire sentry opened the door for him and then returned to his post, all without Spike saying a word. He'd been working on training his servants, and only the smart ones had survived.
Inside, the few vampires that weren't out hunting stared as Spike carried the human past them. It was the first time he had brought a live person into the base. Ignoring their obvious curiosity, Spike mounted the stairs and proceeded down the hall to his room. He nudged open the door, then deposited Buffy on the silk sheets of the bed. After assuring himself that she wasn't likely to stir anytime soon, Spike went back downstairs.
"You." He indicated the nearest minion. "Angie. Go tell everyone except the sentries to get out of here and not come back till tomorrow night."
She stared at him. "Master, where are we supposed to go during the day?"
"I'm sure you'll figure something out. Hurry up. I want this place cleared out within five minutes." While the minion scurried off to relay his orders, Spike went and instructed each of the sentries to allow no one inside for the remainder of the night. The guards would be allowed to leave a half hour before sunrise to seek shelter elsewhere.
Satisfied that his instructions would be followed, Spike returned to his room and surveyed his surroundings. The place *was* a little dark and ancient-looking, and definitely not good enough for Buffy. Maybe he should have taken her to a nice hotel instead?... No, she would have to accept him as he was. Spike wasn't ashamed of his home base. He did plan to upgrade eventually, but so far he'd been too busy with other pursuits. The Slayer would just have to understand how things were.
Having decided to stay put, Spike set about making Buffy more comfortable. All those clothes--surely she wouldn't miss some of them? Even most of them? Of course not. Spike helpfully stripped Buffy down to her underwear, but he didn't take advantage of the situation even by looking...too much. Instead, he covered Buffy with a blanket to make sure she wouldn't get too cold.
Spike couldn't help feeling a little sorry for himself. He finally had the Slayer where he wanted her, but he couldn't do anything fun with her because she was passed out. He was evil, but he wasn't that evil. On the other hand, he reminded himself, she would be sure to warm up to him when she woke up and saw what good care he'd taken of her. He was in a can't-lose situation.
Finished with his tasks, Spike stood and stared at the sleeping girl. He wondered if he could put down his feelings for her on paper. He hadn't felt the urge to write poetry in quite some time, but now he had inspiration. Yeah, he'd give it a try. He pulled up a chair next to the bed and settled down with pen and paper. Over the next few hours, he started and scrapped numerous efforts. None of them seemed to express the magnitude of his feelings toward the Slayer. But Spike persevered, and eventually came up with a piece that seemed worthy. He then painstakingly copied the final version onto a fresh sheet of paper and set it aside on the mahogany desk in the corner.
It was very late, and he needed to get some sleep. Spike gently shifted Buffy toward the right side of the bed and slid into the space next to her.
*****
Dawn came and passed with no interruptions. So did mid-morning, and noon. At about half past 1, Spike finally stirred and awakened. He felt the unmoving warmth next to him and immediately knew Buffy was still there.
Quietly, Spike crept out of bed and moved around, getting ready for the day and straightening up. Buffy didn't so much as stir. Figuring he had some time yet, Spike went downstairs to have lunch. After he'd taken his fill of stored blood, he considered what to do about Buffy's meal. The kitchen did contain small amounts of human food, since some of the vampires enjoyed it. Although not sure what Buffy liked or when she would wake up, Spike decided to prepare her a tray. He loaded it with an assortment of fruits, cheeses, and candies and toted the food upstairs.
As he reentered the bedroom, the tray loudly scraped against the door. Spike froze and watched helplessly as Buffy began to move about. Well, it was probably about time she woke up anyway. He deposited the tray on the desk, making sure to avoid his poem, and crossed over to the bed so he could reassure Buffy the second she realized she was waking up in a strange place.
Her eyelids fluttered and then opened fully. Seeing that she appeared aware of her surroundings, Spike greeted her. "Good afternoon, Buffy. I hope you're not feeling too badly after last night."
Buffy clutched a hand to her head and pushed herself up a few inches. "Wh..." She stopped to clear her throat, then tried speaking again with more success. "Where are we?"
"My...lair. Home. Temporary home," Spike corrected. "I'm in the market for a new place."
"*Why* are we here?"
Her voice sounded awful, like nails rasping over metal. "Do you want something to eat?" Spike motioned to the tray. "Or let me bring you a drink. Not blood, of course. I can get a glass of water from downstairs."
Buffy scrunched up her face. "Ew, no. I'd rather have nothing at all. Now tell me what's going on."
"Oh, yeah," Spike said, trying hard to keep from feeling offended. "You remember that little incident last night? Party? Parker? Yes, no?"
"Vaguely."
"You were in no shape to take care of yourself afterwards, so I lent a hand. No need to thank me. Well, unless you want to." Spike trailed off, at a loss as to what to say next. The conversation was hardly proceeding as he had imagined. Then a thought struck him. "Here, I have a little present for you." Spike hurried over to the desk to retrieve his masterpiece. "I wrote this poem while you were sleeping."
"Like I care?" Buffy shoved aside the covers, then realized she was nearly naked and yanked the blanket up to her chin. "I knew you were the type to molest me in my sleep!"
"Hey, I didn't lay a hand on you!" Spike paused to calm himself down. It wouldn't do to get into an argument with the Slayer and ruin things. He continued in a quieter tone. "Well, I *did* undress you, but that was completely innocent. Thought it would make you more comfortable."
"You took off almost all my clothes. I'm surprised you even left my watch." Buffy took a moment to glance at the watch, and promptly screamed, "Spike! Look at what time it is!"
He shrugged. "Maybe 'bout two thirty? Don't really care."
"Why the hell didn't you take me home instead of bringing me here?"
"I wanted to prove you could trust me."
"Yeah, trust you to make me miss three classes, including my psychology exam. Professor Walsh doesn't allow makeups for any reason. I'm going to get an F for the semester, and it's all your fault!"
Stung by Buffy's unrelentingly unreasonable attitude, Spike lost his tenuous grasp on his temper. "I made you miss class? I'm not the dozy bint who was thick enough to ignore me and take a drugged drink that caused her to pass out and sleep most of the next day away." Buffy opened her mouth, but Spike was on a roll. "As for trust, what have I done that's harmed you? Not a thing. In fact, I've been helping you all along. I warned you about your 'boyfriend' Parker, for one. By the way, you might try looking for him in hospital, where you apparently put him. I also took care of your demon roommate, and I dusted Sunday and her gang. Yeah, that's right. When you went hunting for them in their lair did you happen to notice the numerous little piles of dust scattered about the floor?" Buffy looked blank. "I thought not. Next time, try opening your eyes. Maybe then you'll figure out who you can really trust!"
Buffy turned an interesting shade of red. "I don't have to stay here and listen to this from a *vampire*!" She threw back the blanket and got to her feet with a wobbly effort. Still holding onto his righteous anger, Spike made no move to help her. He just watched as Buffy collected her clothes from the wooden chair he'd placed them on and got dressed. Finished, she stalked to the door and turned for a parting shot. "I don't want to see you around again, anywhere. If I do, I'll figure out a way to stake you, once and for all!"
"Fine, you do that," Spike retorted. He didn't move a muscle as Buffy left, slamming the door so that it rattled on its hinges. Only after she'd stormed from the building did he lower himself onto the bed and shake his head in confusion. "What'd I do wrong?" he said to the empty room.
*****
Buffy dragged herself back to campus, getting odd looks from other students as she proceeded. She ducked her head and walked faster, not in the mood to deal with anyone at the moment, except Willow. She went straight to the dorm room and found the door ajar. Willow was sitting cross-legged on her bed, the phone plastered to her ear.
"Last night. ... Yeah, she's--" Willow's end of the conversation ended abruptly when she looked up and saw her roommate standing in the doorway. "She's back! I have to go!" She shoved the phone aside and ran over to grab Buffy in a tight hug. "You weren't in class today and you missed the big test. Then I heard this rumor that you hit Parker and he's in the hospital. I was really worried. Where have you been?"
Buffy withdrew from Willow's stranglehold and sighed. "Long story. Long, disgusting story." She then recapped the events dating from the previous night, ending with, "I can't believe Spike had the nerve to bring me to his dingy old lair. And he even *swore* at me. At least, I think he did, only he used British instead of regular English."
Willow, who had grown quieter and quieter throughout Buffy's recital, finally spoke. "What did he say?"
"'Dozy bint,' I think." Buffy crossed to the closet and began to root through it for fresh clothes. "What do you suppose that means?"
"You could ask Giles for a better translation, but my guess is something like 'stupid bitch.'"
"See?" Buffy shook her head. "I'm surprised he didn't drain me while I was there, only he must have still been playing his sick game. All I can think about is those cold, creepy vampire fingers crawling all over me while I was asleep."
"Room temperature," Willow stated in a flat voice.
"What?"
"I said Spike's fingers must have actually been room temperature instead of cold. You were indoors, in California, in the fall."
Buffy replaced the hanger she had selected and turned around. "The vibes of sympathy coming from you are overwhelming, Willow. Why are you acting like this?"
"I don't know, Buffy. It just seems to me that Spike didn't do much of anything wrong, but you sure did. You went to a party with a guy you barely know, on a school night, right before a big test in a class you're close to failing. You're underage, but you drank beer at that same party full of other underage people who were also drinking. Even worse, the beer you drank was handed to you, already opened, by this same guy you barely knew and you were warned about him ahead of time. What were you *thinking*? No, wait, let me answer for you. The lights were on, but no one was home. In fact, if Spike hadn't been around, who knows what would have happened to you."
"Why are you defending him?"
"I'm *not*. I'm just being honest. For whatever reason, Spike tried to help you, and you acted like an airhead."
Try as she might, Buffy could come up with no counter-argument. "All right, point taken. It was not one of my finer nights. But it's over now, and I promise I'll try to never do anything that stupid again. It's just that it was *Spike.* How was I supposed to know it was the one time I could trust him?"
"Yeah." Willow nodded. "But it looks like Parker is a bigger problem right now. We have to concentrate on taking care of him. So what exactly do you remember him doing after you had the beer?"
Buffy considered. "My memory's kinda fuzzy, but he was definitely groping me and he wouldn't stop. So I punched him."
"I guess he didn't account for Slayer strength when he gave you your dose."
"We don't actually *know* that he drugged me," Buffy pointed out.
"Exactly, which is why we're going to the hospital to get you tested, so we have proof."
At Willow's urging, Buffy changed clothing and together they set out for Sunnydale Hospital. As they cut across the quad, Buffy spotted two familiar figures exiting the library.
"Willow." She pointed. "It's Professor Walsh and her T.A. I have to see if she'll let me do a makeup test. Maybe if I talk to her right now, she'll say yes. It'll just take a minute." Without giving Willow a chance to protest, Buffy ran ahead and intercepted the instructor. "Professor Walsh, I have to talk to you. I know I missed the test in psych today and I'm really sorry. Is there any chance I can take a makeup test? *Please*."
The professor pursed her lips. "You know my policy--no makeups unless you have a valid medical excuse. Do you?"
Buffy looked down. "Well, not exactly."
"You're out of luck, then." Professor Walsh turned on her heel and strode away.
The teaching assistant, Riley, stayed behind. "Sorry about that, Buffy. She's not in a very good mood. But tell you what, I'll try to change her mind." He trotted after Professor Walsh, and Buffy watched as the two held a brief conversation that seemed to consist mainly of long-winded sentences from Riley and short answers from the professor. At the end of it, Riley caught Buffy's eye and mouthed "No" to her.
Willow walked up beside her friend. "Well? How did it go?"
"I am *so* screwed in that class," was all Buffy could say.
*****
Maggie Walsh was fuming as she stormed off to her car at the end of the day. She'd had to put with even more of the annoyingly stupid college students than usual, and foremost among them was Buffy Summers. The nerve of that girl, trying to get the schedule changed to suit her convenience after partying, drinking, and probably popping drugs the previous night, if rumor was true. And Riley, who used to be such a sensible, biddable boy, was making cow eyes at the child and trying to excuse her appalling behavior.
Maggie proceeded to the darkest, farthest corner of the parking lot, stopped beside her car, and felt in her jacket pockets for her keys. They weren't there. She had probably tossed them into her bag earlier. Heaving it onto the hood of her car, she began to root through the contents.
A soft scraping sound alerted her to the fact that she wasn't alone. Slowly, Maggie turned to the right, now feeling in the bag for a potential weapon. As her fingers closed around a cold, hard object, a figure emerged from the shadows. It was a young blonde man dressed in a leather jacket and puffing away on a cigarette. Probably a student, Maggie decided as she relaxed a bit.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
"As a matter of fact, I believe you can. I understand Buffy Summers is a student in one of your courses." The man spoke with a British accent, and Maggie filed that information away. Getting no reply, he proceeded. "I also understand Buffy missed a test today, and you don't allow makeups. I think you should make an exception this time."
Maggie stiffened. "Oh? And why should I give Miss Summers a break?"
"Buffy is a very special student. Let's just leave it at that. And while you're about it, you might give her a little leeway with her next assignment, as well."
"Are you telling me to fix Buffy's grade?"
The blonde man exhaled a long stream of smoke. "No, of course not. You can give everyone whatever grade you want, as long as they're all lower than Buffy's. Think it over. I'm sure you'll come to the right decision all on your own."
As the stranger melted away into the darkness, Maggie forced her fingers to relax their grip on the gun in her bag. She couldn't say precisely why, but something about that young man greatly disturbed her.
*****
*****
A hospital visit, an uncomfortable talk with Giles, and one day later, a disheartened Buffy and Willow gathered in their dorm room to discuss the situation.
Buffy collapsed on her bed and fumed, "I can't believe we don't have anything on Parker. How could no trace of drugs have been found in my system?"
"I was afraid that might happen," Willow admitted. "Like the doctor said, who knows what kind he used. Some of those drugs are undetectable in the blood within just hours of ingestion. And that Parker's got a nerve--saying you're lucky he didn't press charges against you for assault. Well, not actually 'saying' because of the broken jaw, but you know what I mean."
"Yeah, the only bright spot of the past two days has been the sight of him with his jaw wired shut." Buffy smiled faintly at the memory. "At least he probably can't do much to anyone while it's healing. Now, if only I could put Spike out of commission for at least that long."
"Speaking of Spike...." Willow sat up. "I've been thinking, and I came up with a different approach you could take with him. But I'm going to warn you ahead of time, you might not like it."
Buffy waved a hand to denote permission. "Go ahead, tell me. I'm getting desperate. The last thing I need is a lovesick vampire chasing me around. How did I get so lucky?"
"Okay, here goes." Willow took a deep breath and plunged in. "You aren't making progress the way you've been handling things so far so maybe if you play along with Spike a little, you can figure out what he's up to. Before you start saying I'm crazy, listen: You don't have to suddenly become best buddies or jump in bed with him, but at least try to be polite and have a reasonable conversation. Maybe he'll let something slip. You have a class with him. That would be the perfect time to start. He won't suspect a thing."
Buffy was silent for a moment, thinking, before she replied. "I hate to admit this, but I think you're right, Willow. Only, I can't believe I have to be nice to *Spike*. That's gonna hurt. But he must have been telling the truth about taking out Sunday's gang, he helped me with Parker, and now I'm totally confused. Just answer one question: Why do I only seem to attract the undead, and total creeps?"
"Xander, too," Willow reminded her.
"Like I said... no, just kidding. Besides, if even I was interested, which I definitely am not, I think Xander's already spoken for. He's been spending an awful lot of time with Anya lately."
"See, Anya is proof that not all demons--or former demons--are bad."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Trying to make a case for Spike?"
"Not really, just pointing out that if he's really in love with you then he's pretty much harmless, which is of the good."
"You have one thing wrong, Willow: It isn't love on his part, it's obsession, and it won't last. I won't let it." Buffy had already decided; she would put on an act to trick Spike, but that was *all* it would be.
*****
On Friday, Spike anxiously waited for Buffy to arrive in the composition classroom. He hadn't attempted to approach her since the disaster on Wednesday in his lair, and he wondered how she would react to seeing him again. Should he apologize? Probably. He'd done that a lot when he'd been with Dru, even when he hadn't understood why, and it had usually made things at least a little better. Maybe it would this time, too. Spike figured he needed all the help he could get with Buffy.
He really did regret losing his temper and yelling at her. In fact, it was part of the reason he'd gone to have his little talk with Professor Walsh. After Buffy took the makeup test, surely she couldn't remain quite so angry with him. Maybe she'd even appreciate the efforts he'd taken on her behalf and start to realize his feelings were sincere.
Spike checked the clock again, then glanced back at the doorway, and this time Buffy was there. She caught his eye and instantly looked away, but she still picked her way across the room toward her usual seat beside him. Spike looked at her more closely. What was that on her finger? It looked like... yes, it was the ring Spike had sent her. Pitiful as the thought was, the fact that she was wearing it was the first real sign of encouragement Buffy had given him.
He prepared himself to grovel as she reached her desk, but Buffy started talking before he had a chance. "Look, about the other day... I was in a bad mood because I'd missed my psych test so I took it out on you. I know it was mostly my fault and I'm sorry."
Spike was struck speechless. He had never expected to *receive* an apology. He quickly regained some of his wits and asked, "But the professor allowed you to make it up, didn't she?"
Buffy shook her head. "She wouldn't give me a chance because it's against policy. Once you miss a test in her class, that's that. She doesn't seem to like me much. I even got a 'D' on the assignment she handed back today."
"How could she do that?" Spike snarled. "That wasn't what was supposed to happen!"
Buffy looked at him with wide eyes. "Um, Spike, your confidence in me is appreciated, I guess, but I'm hardly the world's best student. To be fair, I did go into that class knowing the testing policy. Plus, my other work isn't all that good. I mean, I don't think I deserve to get 'D' after 'D'--maybe 'C' after 'C' with a 'B' once in a while--but I can't do much about it except keep trying."
'Maybe you can't, but I can,' Spike thought. Professor Walsh obviously hadn't listened to his friendly warning. He would give her one more chance before he took serious action.
"Hello? Spike?" Buffy called. "You still in there?"
"Yeah, Slayer." He shoved aside thoughts of Professor Walsh for the time being. After all, Buffy was being nice to him; actually treating him almost like an equal. Her sudden turnaround was almost too good to be true, but Spike decided to enjoy the situation now and worry about that niggling doubt later.
*****
Buffy and Willow were arguing...about how to deal with a particular problematic vampire.
"Date? Spike? No!" Buffy set her lips in a firm line, not liking the idea much at all.
"It's the only way," Willow insisted.
Buffy glared at her.
"Okay, not the *only* way, but a darn good one," her friend amended. "Look, you have to get closer to Spike, so ask him out on a casual group date and that way, you won't have to be alone with him but he'll appreciate the effort and you can worm more information out of him."
"Group date. Hmmm." Buffy considered. "Could be worse, I guess. But where?"
"A Halloween party." Willow indicated the wall calendar. "It's perfect. It's coming up soon, you have the night off anyway so you don't have to worry about patrolling, and it does seem oddly appropriate, doesn't it?"
"Odd, yeah. Appropriate, no. All right, I'll talk to him about it," Buffy agreed. Dating Spike: just another sacrifice she had to make to keep the world safe from demons.
*****
That same day, Buffy had the opportunity to approach Spike about the date. She had figured she could talk to him after comp, but as she headed toward the building on her way to class she spotted Spike leaning against the door, right next to a "No Smoking" sign. He was puffing away on yet another of his disgusting cigarettes, and as he noticed her he straightened and stepped away from the door. "Slayer, hi."
"Hi, Spike." She paused beside him, trying to avoid the smoke. "I wanted to talk to you about something." She bit her lip. God, this was hard.
Spike raised an eyebrow. "Go 'head."
"Umm, Halloween. Party. You and me." She sounded like an idiot, acting nervous over making a date with an evil vampire. Buffy pulled herself together and plowed ahead, almost choking on the words but determined to force out a complete sentence. "I was wondering if you would like to come to a Halloween party with me."
Spike's face lit up. "Really?"
"Well, Oz and Willow and Xander and Anya will be coming with us, too," Buffy clarified. "It's a group thing."
Spike looked a little less thrilled at this news, but still receptive. "Yeah, I'll go with you."
"Okay, well, I'll let you know exactly when and where as soon as I have all the details myself." A stray gust of wind carried a cloud of smoke straight into Buffy's face and sent her into a coughing fit. Why did that stupid vampire have to smoke, anyway?
Spike looked down at his cigarette. "This bothering you?"
"Actually, yeah, I can't stand the smell of those things."
"Oh." Spike dropped the cigarette to the ground and crushed it out under his heel. "Sorry 'bout that."
They both moved aside as a group of their classmates headed into the building. Buffy consulted her watch. "We're going to be late for class. Better get inside." Together, they proceeded indoors. Well, Buffy thought, one fake "date" with the vampire wouldn't kill her. At least, she hoped not.
*****
Spike was pleased. He was clearly making progress with Buffy. After all, she'd actually asked him out on a date. Okay, so it was a group date with her friends, but it was still a move in the right direction. Now, he had to do something for her. Professor Walsh was at the top of his agenda. Spike's minions had obtained the information he needed to use against her, but he'd give her one last chance before he took any drastic steps. So, once again, Spike lurked near the professor's car, awaiting her arrival. He could have cornered in her office, of course, but it was best to hold their little meetings away from curious ears.
This time, it was still daylight when she approached her vehicle. Spike made no effort to hide, and Professor Walsh spotted him from a good 50 yards away. She hesitated for a brief, almost indiscernable, second, then proceeded on her way. As she inserted her key in the lock, ignoring him, Spike moved a little closer. "Good afternoon, Professor Walsh. Must say, I'm a bit disappointed. Can't follow simple instructions, can you? It's a wonder you ever graduated university."
She yanked open the door and turned to face him. "Whoever you are, I'm reporting your actions to the dean. You can rest assured, your plot to help Miss Summers has backfired. I won't be pressured into altering her grades."
"If that's the way you want it." Spike stepped back and watched as the professor, obviously startled at his quick agreement but not about to question it, got into her car and drove away.
It had been a strategic retreat, of course. Spike hadn't really expected the woman to give in to his demands, though matters would have been much easier all around if she'd just quit before she fell behind. Humming to himself, he strolled over to the DeSoto, jumped inside, and peeled out of the parking lot. He had some reconnaissance to do.
According to his most trusted minions, a demon-hunting operation called the Initiative had just recently set up shop in Sunnydale and they'd constructed an underground base that should be fairly simple to infiltrate with the aid of sewer access. Interestingly, Maggie Walsh had been spotted entering and leaving the base on several occasions. She was apparently a person of fairly high standing in the organization. Spike's plan was to sneak in, get an up-close look at the place, figure out some of its workings, and then use his knowledge to apply pressure to Walsh.
He parked the DeSoto in a safe place and entered the nearest sewer. Spike was pretty familiar with the maze of tunnels, having used them in the past to navigate around Sunnydale, so it was easy for him to wind his way to the new not-so-secret base. He turned his senses on high alert as he drew close, not sure how much security might be present.
Apparently, very little. The idiots must have assumed that any demons would be trying to break out, rather than in. As far as Spike could tell, the few heartbeats in the place came from quite a distance, probably way on the other side of the building.
He crept along to the wall and had little trouble finding a door set into a dark corner. Spike slowly pulled it open and let himself inside. Still no signs of the enemy. He found himself at the end of a long, white hallway with several doors set on either side. Not getting any warning vibes, he proceeded along the hall. No nearby heartbeats, or any sign of demonic presence, either.
At the end of the hall, Spike paused. He could go either right or left. He chose left and found himself looking at a series of cramped rooms that reminded him of prison cells. All were empty.
Deciding not to press his luck any farther, Spike returned to the exit and lit up a cigarette. So, this place was the center of operations for his newest enemies. It was big. Sterile. Boring. He already didn't like it.
The brief look he'd had was good enough for now. It had given him an idea of what he was up against. Spike didn't much like the thought of having to deal with human demon hunters, so he wasn't about to just leave the Initiative alone. The more information he could obtain about them, the better. In fact, the more allies he could rally against them, the better. It might be time to join forces with some of Sunnydale's unaffiliated demons.
Preparing to leave, he took another draw on his cigarette, then frowned. Buffy didn't like his smoking. She had been very negative about it, in fact, claiming to hate the smell. That was a problem. Well, he could always switch to those herbal things, or maybe just quit altogether if that still bothered her. Spike flicked the smoldering cigarette onto the floor and slipped back out the door. He had some preparations to make.
*****
It was shaping up to be an unbelievably easy day of school for Buffy. Professor Walsh, looking gray and tired, had announced that psychology class would run only half an hour that morning, and comp class had been cancelled. Buffy only had to sit through 30 minutes of boring lecture before she was free for the day. The time seemed to trickle by, but it eventually passed and Buffy grabbed her bag, eager to head out the door.
"Don't hurry out so fast," Professor Walsh called. "I've graded your behavior-modification essays and you can pick them up as you leave."
Obediently, the students filed to the front of the room to receive their papers. Willow and Buffy impatiently waited in line, accepted theirs, and then made their escape.
Once in the hallway, Willow stopped. "What'd you get, Buffy?"
"I'm afraid to look," Buffy admitted.
"I'll go first." Willow flipped to the end of her paper.
"Well?" Buffy prompted. "Don't keep me in suspense. What did the battle-axe give you?"
Willow held up the page to reveal a large, red B+.
"There go my chances," Buffy cracked. "If old Walsh only gave you a B+, I don't think her scale sinks low enough to evaluate my work. Is there such a thing as an F-?" She took a deep breath. "Well, I guess we'll see." Buffy stared at the last page of her paper in total silence.
"Buffy? Buffy, what is it?"
"My first A! Wow! Thanks, Willow, you're a lifesaver." Buffy enveloped her friend in a bear hug. She couldn't believe her luck. She might manage to pass pysch if she could just get a few more good grades. In fact, she was in such a great mood, she was even feeling charitable toward Spike.
*****
Speaking of Spike, he had been absent from Sunnydale for two nights and a day, collecting demonic allies in the surrounding communities who were willing to gang up against the Initiative. His work complete, Spike roared back into Sunnydale, blatantly speeding in an effort to arrive on time for his composition class with Buffy. It was the single hour her presence was guaranteed and he wasn't about to miss out on it.
Despite his best attempt, when he finally skidded to a stop in the UC Sunnydale parking lot, he had missed at least 20 precious minutes of class. Moving at top vampiric speed, Spike rushed to the classroom, only to find... a placard on the door. The instructor was out sick and class had been cancelled. Spike whirled away from the room, swearing under his breath. He really needed a cigarette, only he'd quit cold turkey the night before last. Disappointed to have missed Buffy, he began to stalk down the hallway when he spotted her near the other end.
She also noticed him and hurried over. "Spike, there you are."
"You were looking for me?" It was a nice feeling, especially since it didn't happen very often.
"Yeah, I wanted to tell you about the Halloween party. It's Sunday night in the Alpha Delta Fraternity House. We're all supposed to wear costumes and there are prizes, so start thinking about how you want to dress."
"Yeah, right." Spike's enthusiasm cooled a little at the prospect of having to get dressed up like a ponce, but he consoled himself with the knowledge that he'd be there with Buffy. For once, she actually looked like she was in an excellent mood. Spike noticed the paper she was clutching in her right hand and pointed it out. "What's that?"
"This?" Buffy displayed the last page. "Only the best news I've had in a while. I got an A from Professor Walsh for the first time!"
"See, I knew you could do it." Spike felt immeasurably cheered. He had frightened Maggie Walsh into following his instructions, and Buffy was willingly talking to him. Things were definitely looking up.
Even as he thought this, Buffy shifted awkwardly. "Um, well, comp class was cancelled so I guess that's it, then." She backed up a couple of paces, then stopped. "Hey, Willow and Xander and me were going to talk for a while. You want to come with us?"
She almost didn't need to ask. Grateful for the invitation, Spike eagerly trailed Buffy to a picnic bench on the shady side of campus where Xander and Willow waited. Upon seeing him, Xander scowled and looked away, while Willow offered a tentative smile.
As Spike could have predicted, conversation began rather awkwardly. He couldn't very well discuss his main activities with the others and Buffy clearly didn't want to get into her slaying, so Xander did most of the talking. Spike tried to pay attention. He really did. But Xander was rambling on about the latest odd job he'd been fired from and Spike could think of few less interesting subjects. He settled for staring at Buffy until she blushed and turned away. Then he contented himself with staring at the back of her head.
The conversation drifted along but Spike didn't take any notice until a couple of intriguing phrases registered in his brain. They were "underground fire" and "mysterious facility." His head snapped up. "What was that?"
"Huh?" Willow and the others stared at him.
"That bit about an underground fire. Say that again."
"Fire." Willow repeated. "All right, well, sometime the night before last, this fire destroyed a big building we didn't even know was underneath the Larson Park area. It was really weird. No one got killed but this whole huge facility was wiped out. We were wondering what would be down there to catch on fire."
"It must have been some sort of demony thing," Buffy declared. "They're always lurking underground and building hideouts and weapons. It's a good thing this place got destroyed before they could use it to attack us."
They *had* to be talking about the Initiative complex. Just in case, Spike probed, "Do they know how the fire got started?"
"The fire chief said a cigarette probably caused it," Xander volunteered. "See how dangerous those things are, Spike? The smoking might not kill you, but if you ever set yourself on fire there'd be vampire flambee."
"No worries, mate. The Slayer didn't like the smoke smell so I quit."
"Wow, really?" Buffy stared at him.
"Yes, really." A bit insulted that she'd questioned the veracity of his statement, Spike turned his jacket pockets inside out. "See? Empty."
"No, I believe you. That was actually pretty... sweet of you," Buffy acknowledged.
Xander began making gagging noises, which put a bit of a damper on the moment. Buffy immediately looked away from Spike as if she wanted to forget what she had just said, but he didn't mind too much. She'd said it, he'd heard it, and he'd remember it. He was wearing her down, slowly but surely.
A thought then occurred to Spike. It seemed fairly obvious that *his* smoldering cigarette had been the trigger of the fire. So maybe he could impress Buffy even more if he informed her of the existence of the Initiative and his participation (however unwitting) in its amazingly easy downfall. Seemed like they'd had their demon-hunting gear up to date, but hadn't done the same with their fire-prevention system. He opened his mouth to begin bragging, then shut it as he reconsidered. So far, Buffy's reactions to his little escapades had been decidedly mixed. Spike couldn't be sure she'd approve of this latest one at all. Maybe he should just avoid mentioning his involvement. Not permanently, but for a year or two, until Buffy could see the humor in it.
*****
Since the Halloween party was being held on campus at the Alpha Delta Fraternity House, everyone had agreed to meet at Willow and Buffy's dorm room. Spike made sure to arrive a little early, thinking to get some alone time with Buffy, but his hopes were dashed when she opened her door and he saw Willow, Xander, and an unfamiliar girl already there, all dressed up.
"Hi, Spike," Buffy greeted him. "We're all comparing costumes and I guess now that you're here we're just waiting for Oz to show up."
Spike examined Buffy's outfit. She was wearing a 1950s-style dress that didn't make any sense to him. What kind of costume was that supposed to be? But she seemed to be waiting for him to comment on it, so he searched his mind for an appropriate compliment that wouldn't get him into trouble. "Very creative costume, there."
Apparently, he'd said the right thing because Buffy smiled. "Thanks, Spike. I had to come up with something at the last minute and then I found this and liked it so it all worked out."
"Well, good, then." Spike continued to hover in the hallway. He didn't have an invitation into this room, the one Buffy had moved into following her previous roommate's death, and he didn't want to push too hard by requesting one. On the other hand, he didn't want to be stuck outside while everyone else was welcomed in.
Fortunately, Buffy seemed to get the hint without him having to say a word. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't even think about.... Come in, Spike."
Buffy stepped back and Spike entered the cramped room. He eyed the other occupants. Xander was wearing a Zorro costume, Willow was dressed up as a robot complete with flashing lights and an artificial hand, and Xander's date was wearing a strange, bulky costume with antennae extending over her head. Spike took a closer look at the girl. Something about her seemed off, even aside from the fact that she was dating Xander. It was like she shouldn't be there, but he couldn't quite place the sensation.
Noticing his intent gaze, Xander introduced them. "Spike, this is Anya. Anya, this is Spike. He's not nice despite whatever outrageous claims he makes so just avoid him."
Ignoring Anya's greeting, Spike pulled Buffy into the hallway, and lowered his voice. "That chit, Anya. How well do you know her?"
Buffy glanced back into the room. "Not all that well, I guess. Why?"
"Something about her isn't right. I can feel it."
Buffy looked startled; then she laughed. "I know what the problem is. Anya used to be a vengeance demon until earlier this year, when her powers were taken away. That must be what's bothering you."
"Sure she's harmless? Those vengeance demons can pull pretty nasty tricks when they want."
"Positive. Anya's okay. She's still getting used to being mortal and she tends to be pretty blunt but there's nothing to worry about with her. She's a friend."
"If you say so." Spike allowed Buffy to lead him back into the room, where Xander stared at him with a puzzled expression on his face.
"Where's your costume, Spike?"
"I'm wearing it." Spike indicated his usual duster and jeans.
"You're going as Billy Idol?"
"No, you idiot. Watch." Spike vamped out and flashed his fangs at Xander.
"A vampire? You're going as a vampire?"
"Sure, why not?" Spike asked, remaining in demon form. "It's convenient, it's quick, and no one'll know the truth. I call that a good costume."
"Or a lazy one," Xander muttered.
"Xander, stop picking on Spike," Buffy ordered. She turned to Willow. "Did Oz say anything about being late?"
"Someone mention my name?" They all turned to see Oz standing in the doorway, dressed in a gladiator outfit.
"Good, you're here, great costume, let's go. We want to get there on time so we don't miss anything." Buffy led the way out the door, with Spike threading past the others to follow on her heels.
They emerged outdoors and joined a steady flow of costumed students all heading the same way, and after a few minutes ended up at the fraternity house, a huge, dark building on the outskirts of campus.
"Hurry up, costume judging's coming up soon," the boy at the door warned them as they filed inside. He glanced at Spike, then did a double take. "Hey, that's a terrific costume. How'd you do the makeup like that? I bet you'll win a prize."
"Trade secret," was all Spike would say as he entered the building. He almost turned around and walked right back out at that moment. A cold chill crept up his spine, for a reason he couldn't name but that was no less disturbing because of that fact. The interior of the building, which was set up to look like a haunted house, contained the typical dark lighting and props such as spider webs and skeletons. All in all, the place seemed awfully amateurish to Spike. But he still had that strange feeling that something was terribly wrong. He pushed his way up beside Buffy and whispered in her ear. "This place isn't right. I think we should leave."
"What do you mean, not right? It's a haunted house. It looks like one, doesn't it?" She waved at the decorations.
Spike persisted. "Can't put my finger on it, but I know I'm right. It isn't safe here."
Buffy turned to face him, her stiff posture screaming annoyance. "Look, Spike, I asked you along because I thought you could behave yourself and fit in with the group. If you can't do that, maybe you should just leave, because the rest of us are staying." She turned her back, signalling that her end of the conversation was over.
If that was how matters stood, Spike wasn't going anywhere. He might not like the vibes in the house, but he had no intention of leaving Buffy to face the danger alone. He moved close to her side, staying alert for any hint of a threat.
*****
Buffy was not having quite the enjoyable night she had anticipated. An irritating vampire named Spike was grating on her last nerve. She jumped when he edged so close to her, he took up practically all of her private space. "Go away, Spike," she muttered between gritted teeth.
He continued to cling to her side. "No way, Slayer. It isn't safe here and I'm not leaving you."
"Well, even if you're right, I can take care of myself."
Spike nodded at her friends. "And your mates, too? What if they get in the way of whatever's about here and you can't protect all of them by yourself?"
"We've been in actual, genuine, obvious danger before and somehow we all made it through. Enough said." Buffy turned her back on Spike, wishing pretty strongly that she hadn't done such a stupid thing as invite him along. She should have known he'd be nothing but trouble.
Thankfully, before she could be tempted to try to stake him again, a young man dressed in a ghost costume began urging people out of the room. "Costume judging is in a few minutes. Everyone who wants to participate, move into the other room."
"Come on, guys." Buffy herded Anya and the others away from the refreshment table. "We don't want to miss the contest."
They moved into the next section of the house and joined the other guests who were milling about, Buffy keeping an eye out for any potential problems. Just in case. However, nothing she saw raised any warning flags. As the judges evaluated the crowd, Buffy again tried to edge away from a persistent Spike. Of course, he had nothing better to do than to stick to her like glue.
With a concerted effort, she managed to mingle and chat with a few other students and began having a better time before the prize winners were announced. As she half-listened to names she at best vaguely recognized, Buffy glanced across the room and spotted an unpleasantly familiar face. Parker Abrams, decked out in a Frankenstein costume that included his wired jaw, was also present. Damn! She'd had no clue Parker was around. It seemed like Spike had been right about something being wrong in the place after all. Parker's presence was enough to ruin her night.
The announcer continued, "First place goes to William, in the vampire costume." Amid the applause, Spike weaved through the crowd to collect his winnings. "Good job with everything--the makeup and the eyes and the teeth look great. You'll have to tell us how you did it."
"Yeah, right, later." Spike accepted his prize envelope, not bothering to look inside as he shoved his way back through the crowd toward the spot where he had left Buffy. She made sure to scowl at him, and he turned away in a huff.
"What's wrong, Spike?" asked a sympathetic-looking Willow.
"Something's not right here. This place is off."
"It's a haunted house, doofus," interjected Xander, brave from his position on the other side of the refreshment table. "It's supposed to be spooky."
"It's more than that," he insisted. "I can feel it."
"Well, what are we supposed to do?" asked Anya with supreme disinterest.
Spike looked her up and down. "You, ex-demon, are obviously going to do nothing. I don't know why I bother with you lot."
"Cause we come as a package deal with Buffy," reminded Xander.
"Guys," Buffy interjected before the conversation could turn ugly. "I hate to admit it, but Spike might have a teeny, tiny bit of a point. Parker is here."
"What? Where?" Willow practically spun her head in a circle, she looked around so hard.
Spike examined the gang with scorn. "They were too busy mingling and stuffing their faces to notice, I figure."
"Do you want to leave, Buffy?" Willow asked solicitously.
She shook her head. "Nope. Parker's presence makes me more determined than ever to stay. I bet he's up to his old tricks again, even with that wired jaw, and there's no way I'll let him trap another innocent girl who won't have the strength to fight back."
"If you'd just give me the go-ahead to kill him, problem solved," Spike offered.
Secretly, Buffy had to admit the idea held at least a little appeal, but it wouldn't do to encourage Spike to murder a human. Any human. Even a sub-human like Parker. "You kill him, and I'll never even look at you again."
"Do it, Spike!" Xander yelled.
Spike growled at his least favorite member of the Scooby Gang. Since he was still vamped out in his "costume," the effect was impressive enough to instantly shut Xander up.
"Stop intimidating my boyfriend," ordered Anya.
Spike turned to Buffy. "Remember what I said about wanting to save your friends? Forget those two."
She really felt like screaming and never stopping, but instead Buffy glared at Spike and ordered, "Shut up. Just shut up and listen to me. We have to keep an eye on Parker and see if he tries to pull anything tonight. If he does, maybe we can catch him in the act and get some proof against him so the police can arrest him. At the very least, we can make sure he doesn't hurt anyone else."
"Agreed," piped up Oz with his usual brevity.
"We can explore the haunted house at the same time," pointed out Xander. He looked at his date. "What do you say, Anya?"
She shrugged. "I suppose it is one of the points of the human celebration of Halloween. Therefore, I have no objection. But, like Buffy, I'm more concerned with monitoring this Parker. If I still had my vengeance powers, he would have been taken care of long ago."
Buffy began to lead the way across the room to the place where she had last seen Parker. "Coming?" She looked over her shoulder.
The others promptly lined up and trailed her the short distance, with Xander snatching an extra M&M cookie on the way.
Buffy came to an abrupt halt, nearly causing Spike to careen into her. "He's not here." She began looking about desperately. "Where did he go? Do any of you see him?"
"There!" Oz pointed to the far door. "He just went through there."
"Great." Once again, Buffy took the lead and crossed to the door, yanking it open and continuing into the narrow hallway. She ducked under a low-hanging moon decoration and was about to move on when Spike's voice called from behind her.
"Hold up, Slayer. Trouble back here."
"What?" Buffy whirled to see Willow and Oz leaning against the wall, looking very unsteady on their feet. "What's wrong, guys?"
"Don't know exactly," Willow explained. "I just feel really light-headed all of a sudden."
"Ditto," Oz volunteered, slumping down a bit.
"Here, let me help you." Xander reached toward Oz and staggered himself. "Or not."
"I feel strange, too," Anya admitted, holding a hand to her head.
"Whatever the hell is in here, it's trouble and now we have proof," Spike declared. "It's causing you lot to act all wonky. I've seen something like this once before. Let me think on it a minute."
Through her concern about her friends' well-being, Buffy calmed herself as much as possible. So far, she felt fine and apparently Spike did, too. She only hoped that situation lasted. Could Spike have been right about something being wrong in the house? After all, he'd known something was off about Kathy and he'd sensed the same with Anya. Spike was an experienced demon. She should have given him more credit from the beginning.
Spike snapped his fingers. "Got it! I think I know what's about. Some sort of witch is in this house, zapping up your essences of good. You'll keep feeling worse and worse till it drains you. Saw the same thing happen in Spain once. It was quite the massacre. We have to get you out of this house before it's too late. We don't have much time."