Title: Wolf 1/?
Author: Kimi
Rating: PG-13 Action/Adventure/Mystery
Summary: Read "Reminders" and "Shepherd" All available at Fanfiction.net with other KimiFic, under kimi37212, author i.d. #182835 and at Chris' site "Amare, Dare, Pardonare"
http://www.geocities.com/cxyzjacobs/btvsfic/chrisindex.html

Spoilers: Season 7 AU, takes place after my fic, "Shepherd," which was a sequel to "Reminders," which was... oh, you get the picture!

Disclaimers: All Joss, all ME, all the time...
Feedback: You beta, you beta, you bet! kimi615@hotmail.com

Author's Notes: Well, I've just about worn out my betas and my fellow writers with this. I was going to wait and begin posting at season hiatus, since I did not want to be Jossed outright, but I'm just too impatient. I also find that I tinker too much when it's just sitting there.

Special thanks to Chris, who has got to be worn out with Chapter One by now; Kelly, who has lots of little tidbits for later on; Chenanceou, who is way too encouraging; and Colleen, who is as always, the most patient beta in the universe.

Special love and kisses to SS and the Gutter...and Mama TabRas. I love you all!

+++++++++++++++

"Wolf"

Chapter One



The main room glared with light and gleaming white tiles. Rubbing his forehead, Spike surveyed the space, wincing as his sharp eyes picked out a white piece of paper that was taped to the far wall. Pushing out a breath, he walked over and looked.

Oh, Christ. DeLuca was 'doing' him again. Finding this today was not putting him in a better mood. He snatched at the pen and ink drawing, looked down at the comic book style rendering, and headed back toward his office. He wondered when the hell he'd see the hind-end of Vale, Colorado. He was damned if he was looking at these buggering white walls at the renovated facility in Sunnydale.

The dark haired vampire almost cringed when he saw Spike pull the paper off the wall. How had he missed it? Surely, it hadn't been there earlier. His eyes followed the characteristically light blond head, as his 'boss' charged through the main room, loose paper in one hand, a case in the other, on a collision course with his office. He seemed to be muttering an unending string of curses. The fledgling vampire got up, nodded to the comm tech, and headed in the same direction.

Spike passed out of sight and a door slammed, the sound ringing above all the ambient noise from twenty-six vampires, nineteen support people, a couple of extras from maintenance...

And Daniel.

Shaking the wavy locks away from his forehead, Daniel tried to prepare for whatever waited on the other side of the office door. Obviously, the meeting hadn't gone well. Even worse than usual, he thought. Sucking it up, he reached for the doorknob, took a deep breath (he'd been around Spike way too much), and walked in. One 'bloody hell', a 'bugger', and three slamming drawers punctuated his entrance.

Bright, hard, blue eyes greeted him. "Can't find the bloody housing survey! So Ralston's in an almighty snit. Hate those Watcher pillocks! I could bleed that wanker, didn't have this sodding soul. Bleed him, gut him, fire his remains in the boiler room! That is, if we *had* a boiler room, and...."

"It's in the computer," Daniel said reasonably.

"What?" Spike's eyes bored into him, as if daring him to lie.

"You had a print out. I can do another one. Have it delivered to him," the fledgling pointed out, thankful that, as a vampire, he no longer perspired. Talk about Daniel bearding the lion in his den.

Spike stopped fidgeting and leaned back in his chair. "No doin' it over?"

"Nope."

"Oh. Good, then. I've got other stuff, and she..."

"Hasn't even left yet. Early afternoon flight. Won't be here for hours. And you have a class," Daniel reminded him.

Spike shoved his fingers through his lighter blond hair. The younger vampire had almost laughed at him when he'd seen him earlier this morning. Looked like 'Shepherd' had spent the night primping. Daniel wondered if the slayer would really be staying in the hotel he'd secured for her close by.

"You take the class," Spike said decisively.

"Well," Daniel said slowly. "I could, of course. Except this is your hand-picked team. Advanced training."

"Oh, hell. Nothin' for it then," Spike swore. "How did I let you talk me into this?" He got up and fingered the papers on his desk. "Will one of you soulless wonders bleed Ralston dry?"

Daniel laughed, relieved. Spike was already calming down. "And miss watching you spin once a week? No way. You're stuck with him until you do him yourself."

"Ungrateful rat eater," Spike muttered. "All right, fine," he said aloud, fixing Daniel with a sarcastic eyebrow. "But don't come moaning to me when the git has you packed ten vamps to a ten by ten broom closet. I'll be livin' the life of Riley at Lowell House." Spike's eyes widened as he realized what he'd said. "And don't you be tellin' the slayer I said that," he admonished him. "That was.... Forget I said it."

"You are one sick vampire," Daniel groaned. "Soul or not."

The older vampire recovered and smirked at the boy. "Be a good little soldier vamp," he said wickedly, "and you might get a room at the top yourself one day. All you need s'a bit o' seniority. Put a hundred or so years on you. Well, give or take."

Rolling his eyes, Daniel reached in the drawer and pulled out a pair of baggy sweats and a t-shirt. He threw them across the room. "Fine. Looking forward to it. Now. Dress out."

"Bugger." Spike caught the clothes. "Not changin' my boots," he grumbled.

"Like I care," the younger vampire retorted, as he shut the door behind him and headed toward the gym.

"And make sure DeLuca keeps his pen in his pants!" Spike called out.

+

Buffy waited as they tried to figure out what to do with her. Drumming her fingers on the desk, she tried not to look nervous. She was having a Maggie Walsh moment.

Which was ridiculous. She was in Vale, Colorado, not Sunnydale, California.

And that was Spike on the other side of that seemingly impenetrable door, not some mad scientist/bitchy college professor. Spike - just an ex-evil, now souled, blood-drinking vampire.

Okay. She felt better.

Nervous now, yes, but she'd been excited the whole trip to Vale, beginning when Xander dropped her off at the airport on his way to work. Jonathan was supposed to make sure Dawn got home from school, then push her over to Janice's for the night. Buffy wondered how much paying for that she'd do before it was said and done. So did not love Janice.

"Remember," Xander told her, as he pulled her overnight bag out of his car. "Dawn's covered. You just relax and concentrate on the Vale Vamps."

She laughed. "You make it sound like a basketball team."

"Hey," he said seriously. "You just check out what Dead Boy's up to. You're talking about increasing the vampire population of Sunnydale here, not decreasing." Xander had looked at Buffy with disapproving eyes. "I hope you know what the hell you're doing. What he's doing. And remember, this *is* the government that brought us Ollie North and Ronnie Regan."

And she had rolled her eyes. "Like you remember all that so well. And yeah, Spike's such a loyal servant of ... well, anything! Come on, can't you cut him a break? I think he's earned it."

"Just sayin.'"

"'Just sayin'' for about three weeks now. I am all Cautious!Buffy, 'kay? Eyes in the back of my head. Oh, wait. That's a demon, isn't it? The one we got last week?" she'd said playfully.

Xander sighed hugely. "Look, Buffster, I'm just asking you to look past those shocking blue eyes and those sinewy arms," he said candidly.

Buffy stared at Xander. "You really scare me sometimes, you know that? Shocking blue eyes, sinewy arms, compact but well-muscled body." She patted his arm soothingly. "This is gonna be good for us. You'll see."

It was the Scooby's turn to roll his eyes. "I'm making big with the anticipation quiver here. "

"I'll call and check in."

"You do that," he said sarcastically. "That is, if you can remember how after all that Spikey 'goodness.' And notice I'm turning puce and beginning to gag here...."

Buffy set her chin. "This is business, Xander."

Her friend had gotten in his car and rolled down the window. "Only business if you get paid for it, Buff." He grinned wickedly to take the sting out of his words.

Xander pulled away from the curb, leaving Buffy with a red face. Half-heartedly, she kicked his back tire.

"Oh, yeah," she had mumbled, as he waggled a wave at her. "Mr. 'I Get the Last Word.'" She picked up her bag and turned toward the glass doors of the Sunnydale Airport. "So killing him when I get back..."

She had almost been bouncing up and down when he'd picked her up at the house. When was the last time she'd gotten away from the Hellmouth, anyway? Other than the whole 'heaven' thing? After she'd killed Angel? Sent him to hell? She was overdue for a vacation, even if it was a working one, she mused, still standing at the Vale Project facility.

Buffy almost jumped when a man in a security uniform motioned her toward a large, featureless, armored door. Surveying him, she said nonchalantly, "There's a door knob on the other side, right?"

"Ma'am, when you're ready to leave..."

She nodded. "Yep, just knock. Got one of those huge knockers on the other side? Cause this is a really big, really metal, door. Mr. Pointy just won't get it..." She looked at him, shamefaced. "Sorry. Rambling. Just call me Rambling Girl. I just flew in and I must have lag jet. Um, jet lag... And no Mr. Pointy either, so don't freak on me. No one searched me at the airport, cause I..."

The door slid open onto a huge white open space. The eyes of several men, and a few women, who walked in pairs, slid interestedly to the slayer. Buffy cleared her throat. "So just... go in?"

"Yes, Miss Summers."

"Hoo-kay," she breathed out, as she stepped across the threshold. She heard the door slowly slide shut behind her, as she looked out across the white space, eyes homing on the pale, undead faces, as her gaze dismissed the pink, living ones.

There were vampires everywhere.

+

"Okay, so this is so not what I had in mind."

Jonathan held up the brass key that he'd pulled out of the heavy metal lock. "Look, Dawn, believe me, you need to start small. Do you think I just decided to do a glamour one day and made myself Tom Cruise?"

She looked him over and snorted with laughter.

Jonathan tilted his head. "Oh, right. Be one of those mean, popular high school girls who torments the geeks for fun."

Dawn frowned. "I was just..."

"Practicing to be Cordelia?" he said harshly. "You know, your sister was never like that. Never mean." His stomach lurched as he saw the hurt expression on her face. "Oh, I'm just being all sensitive, Dawn - artist's soul in a Wizard of Oz munchkin body. It's okay, it's all good. Let's get to it."

"Really, Jonathan, I didn't mean anything by it," she said, stricken.

"Hey, don't worry about it, kid." He patted her arm, and turned back to the lock. "Now concentrate and see if you can open it without breaking it, or melting it, or whatever it is you 'keys' do when you're out of control."

She looked at him with large, guilty, puppy dog eyes.

Jonathan smiled. "I wasn't trying to make you sad. Just wanted you to pay a little more attention to what you do. You're a nice girl, Dawn. And you don't want to be like them. Especially that Janice girl you hang out with."

He took a deep breath and tapped on the lock. "Now. Think how it could help Buffy if we figure this out. Cause we know you used to open dimensional portals. And we know you can knock out a security system. So let's just see what it takes to unlock this without screwing up everything in sight. Slow and steady wins the race, 'wabbit,'" he said with an encouraging smile.

Giggling, Dawn reached out and touched the lock. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to see inside it. Turn it, unlock it, make it open, open, open...

"Whoa!" Jonathan threw her back, and ducked, diving on top of her, as the lock began to crack apart. Then, it shattered, shooting off shards in all directions.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, as he grabbed his bicep. There was a gray piece of metal quivering in his arm. He jerked it out, wincing as the blood trickled out. "Gee whiz, Dawn!"

The teenager scrambled to her knees, grabbing at his arm. "Oh, God. Jonathan, you're bleeding!"

Embarrassed at her sudden attention, he pulled his arm back. "Just a scratch. I've gotten hurt worse in gym class," he reassured her. By the other students, he thought dryly.

"But..." she said, unconvinced, as she tried to see the wound again.

"No, really," he said, waving her off.

"Well, okay, then," she said, sitting back on her heels. "Got another lock?"

+

Buffy was breathing fast. Her eyes darted around the space. She wasn't sure if she could do this. Everything in her was screaming to pull a stake, a broken chair leg, a ...

Two pairs of light footsteps approached from her left. She swung around.

The vampires looked at the small woman with the angry green eyes. Jeffries stepped back in alarm. Matthews was a little braver.

"Uh, miss?"

The polite greeting startled Buffy. As she stifled the urge to take him apart, she tried to smile. She suspected it looked pretty lame. "Hi," she said uncomfortably, as she looked around for someone live. Well, this was cute. Seemed all the live ones were across the room. Buffy took a deep breath and pushed down the need to kill, kill, kill. Besides these two were the unlikeliest big bads she'd ever seen.

"I'm looking for Spike," she informed him. And how dare that smug, smirking bastard not have been waiting for her on the other side of that door, anyway, she thought resentfully. Of course, who knew she was gonna be standing here having a full scale attack of the wiggins? She sure hadn't expected it. And here she was in this clean, shiny place with polite little vamps...

Who were looking at her in puzzlement. "Spike?" the shorter one repeated.

Buffy sighed, as panic gave way to good old fashioned exasperation, Buffy-style. She wracked her brain for a minute and came up with an answer. "Randall S. Giles?" she said, one hand going to her hip. "Randy?" Ready, Joan. She let out another breath. "Blond guy? Snarky disposition? Supposedly some big hot shot around here?" she said in frustration.

The shorter vampire threw out a name, as the light bulb came on. "Shepherd?" He said helpfully.

Buffy almost laughed in relief. "Shepherd," she affirmed gratefully. "Yes." Buffy realized she was smiling, and had forgotten she was carrying on a conversation with two vampires. She let out a breath and squared her shoulders.

"Do you know where... Shepherd," she wrapped her mouth around the word, trying not to giggle, "is right now?"

The taller vampire smiled. Obviously, she'd landed in Bizarro Land, not Vale. He pointed off to the left. "In the gym. There's a class."

"We already had ours today. He's been at it since about nine this morning." Jeffries thought he might remember this woman. He'd asked Daniel about her once. Glancing at Matthews, he tried the name. "Slayer."

Buffy grinned. Now that was more like it. Much better than the 'miss.' Vampires called her 'slayer.' That she could relate to.

Matthews smiled back. "Hello, Slayer. I'm Matthews. This is Jeffries," he said, indicating the shorter vampire. "Didn't know you were coming. And I was beginning to think I'd imagined you. You kind of rescued us."

Buffy looked down at her feet. "Oh, I think you have Spike... uh, Shepherd... to thank for that. He's the one doing the 'thing.'"

Jeffries looked bewildered. "Spike? What is that? Some kind of nickname?"

The slayer laughed. "A nickname? Yeah, you could say that." She shook her head, grinning. Her blonde hair swept her shoulder blades. "So, where's the gym?"

Matthews nodded his head and moved off. Buffy and Jeffries followed. She heard Spike long before she saw him. And whoever he was bellowing at was getting one hell of an earful. She looked up at Matthews.

"It's not a class he usually works with," Matthews said apologetically. "Mostly he works with First Team, sometimes Second. Never them," he said jerking his head at the continuing harangue.

"And you're 'First Team'," she divined.

"Yes, Slayer," he said proudly. "Going to be backing you up. Jeffries, too," he said, nodding to the vampire at her side.

"Cool," she said, almost meaning it. "Now let's see if 'Shepherd' could use some help. I've been doing some wicked training class stuff myself. Just with my sister though, so..."

+

Spike had been in the gym all day. And it had been a relief.

The blond vampire had nearly driven the fledgling to self-immolation since his return from Sunnydale. It had been three of the most break-neck paced weeks he'd ever spent, undead or alive. Spike was always in the office, pouring over the renovation and relocation plans. And if he wasn't in the office, he was in the gym, working with the top teams. Daniel was often there with him in the office all night and part of the next day, or trying to bust his chops in the gym in private sparring practice, until he just couldn't keep it up anymore. Spike had laughed, told him 'fledges' needed rest.

Daniel had managed to clear a lot of reports and even delve into the psych evals some. Their 'luck' was still holding. Three weeks and the adjustment ratings were climbing for the borderline cases, while the high-end ratings had fallen slightly and were holding steady. Daniel shook his head. 'Shepherd' was doing his job, that was for sure.

The fledgling could keep the everyday routine afloat much better than Spike. The older vampire had a tendency to bury himself in a new report or pursuit and let the rest go to hell in a hand basket. But, Daniel admitted, when there was a problem, Spike had a way of looking at it, turning it upside down, and coming up with a solution. He seemed to have a gift for it. Of course, once it was squared away, he lost interest completely and moved on, but that was what Daniel was there for, right? After all, Spike wasn't army. Daniel had been. He guessed he still was.

Daniel walked over to the other desk, picked up the pen and ink drawing that Spike had laid down, and walked over to a filing cabinet near the door of the office. He smiled admiringly at DeLuca's newest work.

He just got better and better. Spike couldn't see it, because he was so hung up on the whole artist equals painter thing, but Daniel could. Just a few lines and the drawing breathed 'Shepherd.' That is, in a manner of speaking.

Shepherd's second in command had a real soft spot for DeLuca. He was as guileless as a child. Daniel had been through the files, and had discovered that DeLuca's entire life had consisted of his battle with leukemia and comic books. Naturally, his art took that form. Daniel had a drawer full of pen and ink comic book illustrations that he'd collected over the last few months. Flipping through a few, Daniel recognized many drawings of himself in the gym, of Matthews and Jeffries sparring, just about everyone in the complex in one drawing or another.

Especially Shepherd, he thought, as he put the latest drawing in the drawer. Shepherd training them. Shepherd walking. Shepherd standing. Shepherd staring into the distance. The pen and inks leashed his predatory demeanor. Daniel grinned. Shepherd looked downright dangerous in the drawings. Something the fledgling hadn't seen since the night Spike had discovered Daniel's connection to the Initiative.

DeLuca seemed to have decided that 'Shepherd' was some kind of super hero. And that was all right with Daniel, because in that sense they all were. DeLuca's psych evaluations were off the charts. His adjustment ratings were through the roof. DeLuca seemed to have the right idea.

Closing the drawer, Daniel's eyes wandered to his computer. When the slayer got in, he would send Dawn an email and let her know. Because she would want to know that her sister had gotten there safe. That the plane hadn't crashed. That...

Daniel ran his hand through his jet black hair and closed his eyes. This really had to stop. It was getting stupid and she was just a kid and he was...

Never going to get any older.

+

Leaning around the doorway, Buffy interrupted the tense scene in front of her. "Need a partner for that?" she asked. "Do a little demo?"

One of the vampires had been looking down, around, anywhere but at Spike. Obviously, the demonstration hadn't done any good. And Spike had been talking at him, voice rising. Buffy'd winced, sensing the return of 'Classic' Spike. She almost felt sorry for the vampire who was staring at the floor.

Spike spun around. Smiling, he stepped toward her. "Could use a hand, lo... uh, Slayer." His expression changed to all business.

Weird, but okay, she thought, as she stepped forward. After all, he was 'working.' Oh, and the sweats were *so* not Spike! "What are we doing?" Her eyes sparkled. "Wait. Is this that throw you used on me at the house?" she asked innocently, as she twisted her hair up and off her face with the band on her wrist.

Spike could feel all the vampires perking up. Bloody hell! She'd better keep her mouth shut.

"Yeah," he said curtly. "Slayer."

She looked heavenward. She clucked her tongue once. "Okay," she said, settling her weight, "but this is so not gonna end the way..." she started in a softer voice.

He moved in and grabbed her. Had to shut her up. Hello? Vampires? They could hear everything she said. Buffy stepped to one side, captured him at the bicep, and dived, letting go at just the right moment. His momentum carried him a good ten feet.

"My turn," he said grimly, as he got up.

"Oh, I get to be 'me' this time?" She threw herself at him. Barely recovering in time, he stepped aside, slipped in, ducked low, and released. He had the satisfaction of feeling her sail over him.

"Ow," she complained, pushing herself off the weight bench she'd half-landed on. Her eyes twinkled, as she headed for him. "C'mon, 'Shepherd,' you know you want to dance," she said archly.

He shrugged, trying not to react to her blatant come on. After all, these blokes didn't know. And a sparring session between the two of them should be educational. Spike had no reservations about how good the slayer was. He wasn't half bad himself. And at his worst, drunk and nearly catatonic, he was better than this bunch.

Spike parried her first blow and settled into a trading of moves. Nobody landed a clean hit, but there were plenty of slaps and pops as arms and legs warded off the punches and kicks. They'd settled into an old rhythm. He almost forgot where they were.

"See? And you were afraid I'd make you look bad," she said in a wicked whisper, calling him back.

"Well, you might," he admitted in the same intimate tone. "Look what I've been sparring with. Still, I'm up for a go."

She nodded. "You better be. I need to open up." She broke their rhythm and put one in, slamming a hard small fist into his chest, right over his heart.

Spike stepped back and rubbed at the spot. "Oooh, that's nice, Slayer. New?"

"New to you," she said with a savage smile. "But the boys at home have been seeing that one for months. Works even better when you're holding Mr. Pointy," she explained.

"No doubt," he said admiringly. "Got anythin' else? New, I mean?"

Her right leg shot out in a gutting kick. Blocking it, almost too late, with his left forearm, he moved inside, grabbed her wrist and spun her around, so that her back was against his chest. His right arm wound up around her chest, his mouth at her neck. He held her there, making sure that she noticed.

"Not bad," she huffed. Almost simultaneously, her elbow slammed back, earning her the loosening of the iron-like band across her chest. Sweeping her hands up, she grabbed his arm and dropped, flipping him over her back with a snap, and against the wall in front of them. He somersalted in the air, landing on his feet.

Only slightly brassed off that the wall had been the thing holding him up, he crooked a finger at her and smirked, moving toward her. Suddenly, they might have been anywhere. The audience had faded into the background.

In answer, she sailed through the air and tackled him at stomach level, caught him and slung him to the ground, pinning him to the slick floor.

"Pretty move that, pet," he said, nodding in approval.

"Oh? Like that?" she said, smiling and flushed. "Got a million of 'em. How about this one?" she asked, as she pulled him over her, preparing to push him into the wall behind them. He caught at her and let her momentum completely roll them over, twined together, twice. This was a lot like how he took out the New York slayer. Now he was on top.

"Smooth, Spikey," she said appreciatively. She blew an errant hair off her forehead.

"Been practicin'," he said modestly.

"Yeah?" she challenged. "Practice this."

She broke the pin with a twisting motion and had him on his back. He waited a little too long to react. Just milliseconds, but her fist managed to come down on his chest. Hard.

"Nice work, love," he murmured. Her eyes went wide and soft. And suddenly, she remembered where they were.

"Staked!" she called out, still with her hand on his chest. She tapped it once and got up, brushing off her pants. "You are one dead bloodsucker," she said, brazening it out.

"Pile of dust," he agreed, as he smoothly rose from the shiny floor. He turned back to the class. "This, gentlemen," he said matter-of-factly, "is a vampire slayer. You would do well not to piss her off. And believe me, I should know. Try to stay on her good side - if you can find it."

"We're gonna be doin' this again real soon," he continued, in a harder, edgy voice, "so I suggest a little more time in the gym and a little less time *anywhere* else. Unless you like sittin' on the bench," he said dismissively with a shrug.

The vampires stood milling around for a moment, as if loath to leave. Spike decided that they'd have to go to his office to talk. He gathered her in with a tilt of his head, heading out of the gym and into the main room.

"So..." she said flatly. "Got an office?"

She was reading his mind. "Yeah. That's where we're headed."

"Kay," she said, matching her stride to his.

"Your flight?" he asked.

"Bumpy. Lumpy," she laughed uncertainly, a little thrown by the question. "Vampire of a flight. Sucked me dry."

He pushed the door to this office open and walked in. In seconds, he was against a filing cabinet as the door slammed shut, with the slayer's mouth on his. He stiffened, unable to kiss her back, or do anything until...

Bloody hell. She'd hooked her leg around his waist and seemed to be considering climbing the rest of the way up.

His non-responsiveness seemed to egg her on. She pushed her tongue into his mouth. Feeling him clear his throat, she broke away with an angry noise, putting both feet back on the floor. "What?" she said argumentively. "I took you down fair and square. You gonna be all sulky about it?"

"Buffy?" he tipped his head to the left as his eyes moved the same direction.

The slayer's head turned and her eyes slammed smack into Daniel's wide green ones.

"Oh!" she squealed, as she pushed away from the vampire. Color rushed to her face.

"This isn't a private office," Spike said, unnecessarily.

Daniel got up, and headed toward the door. "It is now," he mumbled, still looking a little shell-shocked.

Buffy put out a hand to stop him. "Sorry, Daniel. Fighting just gets me..." She trailed off, her own eyes widening, and looked up at Spike, embarrassed.

The blond vampire laughed ruefully. "Fine, pet. Admit it now in front of witnesses." Spike gave Daniel a warning look. "A little discretion, mate."

Daniel saluted, as he recovered from the shock of almost seeing more than he ever wanted to see of Dawn's big sister. "Loose lips..." he laughed as he opened the door and left.

"Thanks, Rat Catcher," Spike called after him. "Be out in a bit."

As the door clicked shut, Buffy turned back to Spike. "Protecting my rep? After all the times you've wanted to blow it wide open? Drag me kicking and screaming out of the closet?"

"Things are different now," he said abruptly, as he turned to his desk.

"Well, yes, they are," she chuckled. "First of all, everyone already knows."

"Not everyone," he said tautly.

She pulled the elastic band out of her hair and ran her fingers through it. "Everyone who matters," she commented dryly.

The sound of his blow to the surface of the desk startled her. He stared at his clenched fist. "No. Not *everyone* who matters!" He pointed toward the door. "*They* matter, Buffy. And the last thing I need is them trollin' the Bronze for a live honey!"

Her eyes widened as she realized what he was saying.

"We're settin' a precedent here," he continued. "S'Dangerous. That is, if they find out. Daniel's already questioned it once. But he'll keep his gob shut. This has to stay between us, Buffy."

"We're back to sneaking around?"

He sighed in frustration as he pushed his hand through his hair and sat back on the edge of the desk. "You got a better idea, Slayer? Be stayin' in Lowell House. Comin's and goin's won't be marked down."

"You've really thought this through," she said, resigned.

"Had to," he said, eyes clear and honest, colored with the vestiges of regret.

This was the Spike she remembered. The one who had come back from Africa and sat in a chair for months worrying about every move he made. Sighing, she walked over and put her arms around him. "Sometimes I really hate your soul," she complained.

He leaned into her just a bit. "Yeah?" His voice took on a characteristic lilt. The one it had when he was hurting and trying not to show it. "Me, too. Crushin' and maimin' and drinkin' human blood really helped knock down a bloke's stress level," he said lightly, as she snaked closer, fingering the gray sweatshirt. "The sparring helped a bit, " he smirked.

"Got another idea for stress," she said softly, tugging at the neck of his shirt.

"Well, not here," he grumbled. "Don't need to get outed at work."

+

Dawn skipped down the stairs. Today's experiment hadn't had a batting average of a thousand, but still, it wasn't a complete waste of time. There at the end she'd been getting the hang of it - sometime after the third lock. Jonathan might need some of those safety glasses from Xander's job site. She wondered how she could get her hands on some, short of stealing them. Which she didn't do anymore. No, sir, not her.

And then, she had an email from Daniel waiting for her when she got home, so that was good. Life was good.

"Your sister hasn't called yet," Xander said disgustedly, from his post on the sofa.

Dawn froze at his angry tone. "Well, so? She's on vacation."

"Not a vacation," he said grimly. "She could be in a cell, being held by the government for experiments on her slayerness. Or killed by a demon that hangs out in snow-friendly airports. Some kind of yeti-yuppie in insulated overalls. Probably pink ones."

"She's fine," Dawn said in exasperation. Sometimes Xander was so anal. "Got there fine. No demonic interaction, except with the object of her visit. Even did a training class, so..."

Xander slowly turned his head and looked at Dawn piercingly. "She called? I didn't hear the phone."

Busted. "Uh, no, no phone. Email," Dawn said nervously.

"Buffy 'No Computers' Summers sent you an email?" He put the 'no computers' in air quotes.

"Not Buffy," she said quickly. "Oh, you know how useless Buffy is with things that are all pluggy into walls," she said, stalling. Dawn had a sudden thought. "Spike emailed me."

"What? And that's supposed to make me feel better?"

"Well. Yeah."

Xander shook his head. Sometimes he could hear the Spike influence oozing out of the Summers girls. Should have let him stake himself when he wanted to so bad. Even held the stake. Or landed that axe, or...

"But what if he's in on it?" he said quickly. Dawn shot him an evil look. "Okay, okay," he said, warding off her evil eye with crossed fingers. "But email from the chipless wonder?"

"Hey, Spike is email-friendly! You don't know anything about him, Xander. You really don't."

"So what did he say?" he asked suspiciously.

"Buffy's fine. Got there fine. Did a training class. Kicked Spike's ass," she watched Xander's slow grin spread across his face. "Yada, yada. No big."

"She kicked Spike's ass?" he said, chuckling softly.

"Well, duh. Slayer, right?"

He sat back with a satisfied smile and turned the volume up on the television. "That's my girl," he muttered.

+

Buffy stretched her legs in the passenger seat of the black truck, and patted her stomach. "I could get used to this whole out to dinner thing."

"Yeah, well, don't," Spike groused, as he fidgeted in the seat. "Sunnyhell's smaller than Vale. And they know us there. Can't be showin' our faces all over the place. Gonna be delivery from here on."

"We could drive up the coast," she said helpfully.

He almost jerked the truck off the road. His eyes narrowed, as he looked at her. "Wait, when did you get all 'girlfriend' about this?

"Um, about the time I realized I was stuck with you?" she retorted nastily. "Makin' lemonade here," she said in a smart-ass tone, a little stung.

"Oh, nice," he said dryly, slowly raising the scarred eyebrow. "Thanks ever so, Slayer. Lemonade," he repeated in a sarcastic tone. He drove silently for two blocks. "Well, not really the boyfriend type, y'know."

She laughed at him. "Really? Could have fooled... well, everyone we know. It's not like you're the love and leave 'em type."

"Well, no. But I *could* be," he said gruffly.

"Oh, sure. Right. You've been trailing around behind me for years. Drusilla before that. Oh, yeah, and *Harmony*, 'Blondie Bear,'" she teased.

"That's a reminder I could do without. I was a bloody bastard to that one." He shook his head. "One I'd like to do over, because I wouldn't."

"So," she said settling back against the seat. "What can we do now? Besides go back to the hotel?"

He looked over at her appraisingly. "There's bars," he ventured.

"Anything good?"

"Well, nothing with mirrors, cause, well, don't like the looks I get from the other patrons. Limits us somewhat." He smiled apologetically. "There is a right dreadful place, all mangy, dead animals on the walls. Not a piece of glass in the place, though, so it works."

"Eww. So not into deer head lodge-look. So ten years ago - or longer. Anything else?"

"Well," he drew the word out slowly, and slid his eyes to hers.

"What?" she said, interested.

"There is this other place," he said slowly, fixing his eyes on the road. "Off the beaten path."

"Like a motorcycle bar or something?" she prodded.

"Well, kind of," he said carefully. Then, he blurted it out. "But more like a demon bar. Not really dressed for it," he rushed on, "more a 'leathers' place, but if we get in a spot, well, hell, we can fight our way out."

Buffy stared at her hands as a slow smile spread across her face. "You know, you really are bad. Maybe not evil, but..."

"Well, yeah," he said testily. "But you knew that, right? And it's not like we're gonna kill anythin' - unless they try to kill us, anyway. Just have a couple of drinks." He looked over at her. "Probably none for you, missy," he said sternly. "Play a little pool, toss a few darts, talk..." His voice trailed off, waiting for her to reject the idea.

She sat there, remembering a previous visit to a demon bar. She'd had fun. Maybe. She'd forgotten a lot of it, but she did remember one thing. "Kitten poker?"

"I'm off it," he said swiftly, shaking his head. "Cross my unbeating heart."

She turned to him, teeth flashing in the dim light. "Let's go."

He looked over at her, eyes sparkling, and smiled devilishly. "We're there, Summers. Give me twenty, and we're there."


TBC

Title: Wolf 2/?
Author: Kimi
Rating: PG-13 Action/Adventure/Mystery

Summary: Spike prepares the Vale Project vampires for their return to Sunnydale and the old Initiative facility. Buffy has come to Vale to 'work' with him (and have a short vacation). They are headed to a demon bar outside town. Oh, Lord...

Read "Reminders" and "Shepherd" All available at Fanfiction.net with other KimiFic, under kimi37212, author i.d. #182835 and at Chris' site "Amare, Dare, Pardonare" http://www.geocities.com/cxyzjacobs/btvsfic/chrisindex.html
Previous part also (for now) at Fanfiction.net at http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=968864

Spoilers: Season 7 AU, maybe even 8, by now, which takes place after my fic, "Shepherd," which was a sequel to "Reminders," which was... oh, you get the picture!

Disclaimers: All Joss, all ME, all the time...
Feedback: You beta, you beta, you bet! kimi615@hotmail.com

Author's Notes: Although I had already mentioned one of the vamps who had an inclination for drawing and painting in "Shepherd," the character did not come to life for me until I saw a drawing that one of Colleen's friends, an illustrator named Stuart Immonen, gave her. His Spike is in the Photos file at
Spike's Salvation at http://photos.groups.yahoo.com/group/SpikesSalvation/lst
Because of that drawing, DeLuca became real.

Special thanks to Chris, who is betaing me and just about every one else, as well as working to make the new Troika archive work; Kelly, whose yard-mowing brainstorm named this fic; Chenanceou, who has developed a bad case of Daniel love; and Colleen, whose betas are always a delight, and so on the mark.

++++++++++

Wolf
Chapter Two




Spike handed Buffy a pool stick. He tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow in anticipation of her approval.

Hefting the cue, she shot him a look, but he'd already turned back to the rack and was choosing a stick of his own. She narrowed her eyes. "How the hell do you do that?"

"What?" he said innocently, turning back to her. "Oh." He turned back to his perusal of the pool cues. "S'good, then?" he asked absently, as if not really needing an answer.

She let out a 'hmmph'. "Yes. Of *course*. You always know..."

"What you need?" he finished for her, lips twisted ruefully. "Well, yeah. Should by now, I reckon."

A smile played at the corners of the slayer's mouth, as she looked around the bar at the motley collection of demons, in various stages of inebriation. "Pretty sad when I feel more at home in a place like this than I do at the Bronze."

"Gettin' a little old for the Bronze, Buffy," he pointed out sagely. "That's more the Bit's thing now," he pointed out. "Ones your age still goin' have pap for brains. Not that I don't enjoy it now and again, but..." He had a sudden thought and looked at her warningly. "And this *isn't* home. This bunch doesn't know you from any foolish bint in off the street," he admonished, as he began racking the balls.

"Yeah, yeah," she said, still looking around. She wasn't uncomfortable. Not really, but all of a sudden it seemed important to get into the bar 'swing.' Finally, her eyes landed on him again. "I want a drink. Don't you want a drink?"

Spike cut his eyes at her. "A drink? For you?" He barked a short laugh. "Been through this once, Slayer. Don't want to be cleaning up my shoes here."

She made a face. This was her vacation, dammit. "I think I can handle a drink," she said curtly.

Laughing derisively, the vampire looked her up and down. "*A* drink isn't the problem, love. And that noise you make is irritating as hell."

"If I wanted to vacation with my dad, I'd be in L.A.," she said nastily.

He considered what she was saying. And he owed her a vacation. "What about wine?" he said helpfully.

She grimaced. Couldn't let go on wine much. Unless you had a whole bunch. "Well..."

"And wine it is," he said decisively.

The slayer stuck out her lower lip.

Spike handed her a ball. "You rack 'em. I'll be right back. No poutin', stay put, and don't start anything. Like to finish this night out with no bloodshed."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine, *Giles*," she said sarcastically. This was getting ridiculous!

Spike gave her a dark look and headed toward the bar.

"Spoilsport," she muttered, just loud enough for vampire hearing to pick up. He heard the clunk of the pool balls as she continued racking them.

The wine she'd had with dinner had definitely taken the edge of her sarcastic quips. That could be good or bad. Spike walked up to the bar and ordered a glass of wine and a bourbon. There was talking to be done tonight, but not yet. For once, Buffy was going to get her vacation - or a bit of one, anyway.

He headed back with the glasses, after generously tipping the barman. She was leaning on the stick, waiting impatiently. Her eyes lightened when she saw him, then darkened. "Where's the rest?" She asked, looking behind him.

Puzzled, he stopped. "The rest of what?"

"The bottle," she said, taking the wine from him and putting it to her lips. She looked at him over the rim of the glass with sparkling eyes.

"Oh, bloody hell," he said, quaffing the bourbon in one slug. He slammed the glass down on a nearby table. "Is this what we're doin' tonight, then?"

She grinned.

He threw his hands in the air, and headed back to the bar without another word. The healthy tip he'd left insured that he was noticed faster than several others and soon he was on his way back to the quiet corner with a chilled bottle of wine and another bourbon. He'd decided that two or three was his limit tonight, since the slayer seemed determined to tie one on.

As he got within view of the pool table, he stopped stock-still and took in the tableau before him. Buffy's glass was empty and was sitting precariously on the pool table. The balls had been broken and she was taking her shot, as she carried on a non-stop diatribe with her new pool partner: a very large Fyarl demon.

"Yuck," she said, as the ball jumped the table. She giggled. "Sometimes I don't know my own strength. Anyway, you got family in Sunnydale? Cause I might have met up with a cousin of yours a few weeks ago."

The Fyarl moved over to consider his shot. Spike quietly deposited the bottle and glasses on a nearby table and put a hand on the back of his neck to relieve the tension. Didn't work.

The vampire let out an exasperated breath and walked up to the Fyarl. He tilted his head in the slayer's direction and said one word in the demon's own language. "Schl'k."

The horned head came up with a snap, as he dropped the pool cue. He growled, as he followed Spike's amused eyes to the little blonde who had discovered the wine bottle. After a bristling moment, he gave Spike the once over, growled again and walked away.

Spike took the wine bottle out of the slayer's hand. "You certainly have relaxed your guard, Slayer. Playin' pool and chattin' it up with a Fyarl demon. Showin' off your best moves to a bunch o' vampires."

"Hey, I had a Giles moment, okay? You sounded like him, and then there was the Fyarl, and well, I got Giles-sick."

"Well, let's get the watcher a plane ticket home, 'stead of takin' up with strange demons."

Her eyes flashed, as her hands went to her hips. "Oh, and on the best moves thing? Those were *so* not my best moves. I have way better 'best' moves. Those were like tame 'best' moves." She looked at him suspiciously. "Which reminds me," she said, taking the open bottle out of his hand and raising it to her lips for a slug, as Spike winced. "You went down pretty easy, now that I think about it."

"Wondered if you'd notice, pet. Surprised it's taken you this long," he said with a smirk.

"You threw the fight?" she said incredulously, sputtering. "That is so totally wrong! I oughta stake you for that." She took another gulp out of the bottle and set it down, turning in a circle as she looked for an exit. "Let's go. I'll show you moves!"

"Buffy, it was an exhibition. That's all. Just a little sparring..." he said hastily.

She jerked her head toward the newly discovered exit. "Now."

He spread his hands in surrender. "Don't get your knickers in a twist. I'll explain." He reached for her elbow and set her down in the nearest chair, as she grabbed for the bottle. "And obviously, drinking, even wine, is not a slayer thing." He smoothly snagged it and poured her a small glass, as he sat down across from her. "All right, pet, here it is. And no punchin' til I'm done..."

"Right," she said folding her arms tightly and leaning back in her chair.

"I'm takin' twenty-six vampires back to the Hellmouth..."

She snorted. "You call those 'vampires?' I know vampires, Spike, and those are so not the real thing."

"Oh, they're vampires, all right," he said, nodding. "Vampires that haven't fed, haven't fought, haven't killed. Now, they're headed to Sunnydale, to fight demons. Training 'em, yeah. But it's not the same as a fight. Hell, love, you know what it feels like to fight for your life. It'll be the same for them. And it'll give 'em a reason to be, right?"

She relaxed and leaned forward, elbow on the table.

"Took First Team out on a patrol here in Vale. Not a lot of vamps where I took 'em. But they did all right, considerin'. Reflexes a bit slow; comes with practice, that." He reached over across the table and grabbed one of her hands, fixing her with earnest eyes.

"But what I cannot have, even a moment, is them thinkin' a slayer can be taken. Specifically, you. Gonna have to keep a close watch on 'em a while. Daniel understands. He's killed, even if he hasn't fed. Killed friends, comrades in arms. He gets it. You have to be unbeatable, larger than life to 'em." He smiled as he squeezed her hand. "Just like you are to me."

"So you let me beat you for my own good?" she said, still a little annoyed.

"Well, I've beat the bloody hell out of all of 'em, one time or another, in training sessions. You beat me?" He shrugged, self-deprecatingly. "Puts 'em way down in the peckin' order, don't it?"

"Do you know how nervous it makes me when your twisted brain makes sense," she complained.

He smirked. "Yeah, I do. About as nervous as it makes me when yours does."

"Hey, you wanna dance?" she asked impishly.

Spike looked at her with narrowed eyes. "Dance, fight, or..."

Squeezing his hand once, Buffy got up out of the chair. "Let's get out of here. There's only one demon I want to interact with tonight."

Spike grabbed his bourbon and finished it as he stood. Buffy reached for the wine.

He stopped her hand. "Nah. Let it go, slayer. Need a navigator on the trip back."

"Navigator?"

"Well, yeah. Your hotel, right?"

She grinned impishly. "Yeah. Sheets I didn't have to wash. Mmm, heaven."

"Somethin' in that. Sheets you won't have to wash after, either."

She giggled and walked into a seven-foot demon and his friend. "Whoops! 'Scuse me. Comin' through," she said, pausing, as she waited for them to move. They didn't.

"Uh, Buffy? Think they're here to see us."

The slayer squinted her eyes and looked up - and up. "Why? Remember, nobody knows me here."

Spike looked embarrassed. "Well, I might have put the other one off with that bit of information. 'Schl'k' is Slayer in Fyarl."

"Oh."

The larger demon growled and reached for her. She ducked and came around his back, planting a booted foot at kidney level, kicking him a good five feet. Looking for Spike, she noticed that he had the other demon up against a support column.

"Just out for a drink with my lady, mate. Not lookin' for a good time - not with you, anyway."

The demon spat at him. "Soul!"

"Well, yeah," Spike said, a little surprised. "Vampire with a soul and a vampire slayer. Nothin' you want here," he said dangerously.

The bigger demon lumbered to his feet and closed on Buffy. Spike reached behind his back, with one hand, and brought out a wicked knife about ten inches long. "Here, luv," he said, tossing it to her.

"Thanks," she said, catching it out of the air, drawing it out of the sheath, and leveling it at the demon. "We can do this the hard way - or the hard way. Up to you. But hey! All up for a good fight."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Sure, Slayer. I really want demon goo on these pants." He pushed his opponent against the column, exerting bone-crushing pressure, and slowly stepped back. "Shove off," he advised him.

The two demons traded looks. The one challenging the slayer stepped back.

"Fine." But she left the knife unsheathed. "Coming, honey?" she said wickedly.

Spike straightened his sweater and smoothed his pants. "Dammit, you are bloody trouble when you're in the mood for a spot," he fumed. "Try lettin' me know next time and I'll dress for it."

"Yada, yada, yada," she teased. "Ready, Randy?"

"Oh, yeah, 'Joan'. Make fun." He stepped around, keeping an eye on the demons and grabbed at her elbow, steering her toward the nearest exit.

"You're stuffy," she complained.

"And you're half-drunk, pet. Let's get you back."

She pushed out her lower lip. "Not ready to go to bed now."

"I'll make it worth your while."

+

"Well, how was I to know there were more waiting outside?" he asked for the twentieth time, as he pushed open the door to her hotel room.

"You and your big mouth," she growled, following his inside. "'Schl'k.'"

"Seemed like a good idea at the time. Fyarl's back right off if there's no one directin' em," he said in his own defense.

"I think my skirt's ruined," she said looking down. "Between the high kick and the demon goo, that is."

"Well, these pants damn sure are," he said disgustedly. He shot her a calculating look. "And it was a very nice high kick. That is, until you landed on your ass." He looked back down at his pants. "Think I'll send you shoppin'. S'your fault. And I'm bloody well not goin'.

"Hold it. You're gonna send me to the mall?" she said hotly.

"Fine. Don't go, then. Christ, Buffy... "

"I'm thirsty," she said digging in her handbag.

"You're pissed," he said accusingly. She looked up in surprise. "Drunk," he explained, as he watched her pull something out of her purse. "What the hell?"

"What?" she said in surprise. "You paid for it! I wasn't gonna leave it."

"Summers, give me the bloody bottle!" There was wine running down the side of the bottle, but half of it was left. The purse was going to reek tomorrow.

"Come and get it," she said with a reckless grin, pulling the cork and taking a long drink.

Letting out a breath, the vampire half-heartedly reached for the bottle. "Oh, hell," he said, stepping back. "Just kill the thing and let's move along to the throwing up."

"Not sick," she said, wiping her mouth.

He sighed. "Not yet," he corrected her. He shook his head and headed for the door. "I'll have a car pick you up in the morning."

She stared at his back, took a quick drink, and put the bottle on the table with a clunk. "All done."

"Good. See you in the..."

"Hold it. Where are you going?"

"Home," he said firmly, with his hand on the door. "You're drunk and you need to go to bed."

"I'll go to bed. *If* you stay," she threatened. "If you don't, I'm gonna..." Her voice trailed off, as she tried to wrap her mind around an appropriate punishment.

"You're going to what?" he prodded.

"Go to another bar," she said with a lift of her chin.

"Really? And do what?" he said softly, moving closer.

"Get more drunk and pick up men," she said threateningly.

"Men? Or vampires?" He sauntered toward her, and impaled her on deep blue eyes.

She tossed her head. "Maybe both."

"Well," he said silkily. "Can't have that now, can we?" He ran a hand down her arm, from shoulder to elbow. "Girl like you'd kill any normal man," he said in a low voice. "Got to protect the weak."

She tried to shrug nonchalantly, but it came off as more of a shiver.

He gave her an evil smirk. "Come on now. Let's get those clothes off you and get ready for the pukin' up."

She tossed her head. "No puking. I'm not..." she gulped, and her face went white.

"Too late," he said in satisfaction. "C'mon, luv. Now." He pushed her in front of him, steering her toward the small bathroom.

+

As he did every time he walked in, Spike's eyes absently scanned the main room. Today was no different, even if the slayer was walking hesitantly a half step behind. He couldn't figure out if it was caution or a hangover.

'Something missing,' his conscious mind nagged. He dismissed the niggling thought and headed toward his office. After all, it was a workday and Spike had decided to show her the adjustment ratings on the teams as a natural extension of their conversation the night before.

'Ah, that,' he thought, mentally slapping his forehead as he came face to face with the door to his office and DeLuca's daily installment.

The slayer's hand whipped out and caught at the piece of paper, glanced at the drawing, and looked up at Spike, mouth open to make some kind of remark.

Instead she closed it and looked back down. The pen and ink showed two figures, engaged in a fight. The male, obviously Spike, was taking a kick to the stomach. A woman with her hair twisted off her face, was doing the kicking. Buffy looked up in delighted surprise.

"This is *us!*"

"Yeah," he grumped, taking one look and putting a hand on the doorknob. "Portrait of a happy couple. Be sure and put it in the weddin' album."

Ignoring his comment, she followed him inside, exclaiming, "This is wicked cool!" She shook her head. "Like a comic book and I'm some sort of Ninja! Buffy! Or Le Femme Ni-whata. Or..."

"A super hero?" he said, raising a brow. Since her 'Randy' comment the night before, that day had been on his mind. A vampire with a soul, on a mission of redemption. And Joan the Super Hero. What a naïve pair they'd been!

She laughed. "Yes!"

"Glad you're intrigued," he said flatly. Spike walked around the desk and sat down, bringing up the program that would show her the adjustment ratings. The newest set of evals would have gone into the computer last night. Those would be the ones that reflected the psych ratings on First Team - the first ones since their patrol.

"Hey!" she groused, seeing that he was already starting to work. "Can we wake up, please? Is there coffee, or just blood around here? My head hurts."

"Slayer, a chip in your head 'hurts.' A hangover is just a hangover," he said curtly. Nothing new yet. So obviously, the psychs had been out partyin', too.

She sat down on the edge of the desk, still admiring the drawing. "Boy, you're a Bad Mood Bear this morning!" she remarked idly. Laying the artwork down, she looked at him. "I think I'd make a great super hero," she teased. "And look!" She pointed at the drawing. "He fixed it where those pants don't make me look fat!"

The vampire pushed out an impatient, ragged breath, as he continued to work the mouse, moving on to other reports. "Right, Slayer. Super hero. Not fat. Got it."

Daniel walked into the office. "You made it," he said unnecessarily. Spike rolled his eyes. He walked up to the vampire's desk, eyes drawn to the illustration. A slow smile spread over his face. "Neat. Shepherd's out, Slayer's in," he chuckled.

"Spike doesn't think it's so neat," she said impishly.

"Jealous, probably. Looks like he's been replaced in DeLuca's affection."

Spike snorted. "Yeah, right. Jealous. Replaced. Got it," he said, as he brought up the most recent statistics. Four days older than he needed them to be. Wankers!

"So, Spikey," Buffy wheedled, "can I have this?"

Daniel grinned and answered for him. "Why not? Got a drawer full already."

Sliding off the desk, Buffy looked up at Daniel. "Really? More of Spike? Where?"

Finally looking away from the monitor, Spike shot daggers at her with his eyes. "Slayer. We got work." He could at least go over the earlier charts, acquaint her with what they were dealing with.

The fledgling rummaged in the file cabinet. "No," he said without turning. "You've got a class. First and Second Team, every morning until further notice."

Spike winced. "Bloody hell."

"Don't like it, you can take it up with Shepherd," Daniel commented, nursing a sly grin. "His directive."

"Need coffee," Buffy groaned. "And I thought he *was* Shepherd. Need something for my head, too. An anvil would work. Drop it, and presto, headache gone. Head, too, but hey!" She shrugged.

The younger vampire grinned at the slayer.

Spike got up and headed toward the door. No reason to cancel. Without the newer stats, he was still whistling in the dark. "Daniel, I need the newest stats. Not last week's." He looked at the slayer. "Two hours, pet. Then we're down to it." He walked out, closing the door with a snap.

She looked after him, amused. "Is he always like this? Cause... well, rude much?"

"Lately?" Daniel considered her question. "Been pretty stressed since he came back from Sunnydale," he said carefully. "Wants this to go off without a hitch." Daniel smiled. Enough said. "Let's get you some coffee and some aspirin. Then, we'll come back and find some cool Shepherd drawings. Souvenirs. Maybe a couple for your sister, too?"

Buffy grinned. "Works for me. Especially the coffee part."

+

He strode swiftly toward the gym, mumbling under his breath. Nothing for it. He'd have to explain it to her. Show her. Get her up to speed.

He'd tried to last night, but Buffy had had other things on her mind. Couldn't fault her for that. It had been a long time since she had been free enough to party at the Bronze after patrol. Of course, the evening hadn't turned out the way either of them had planned. She'd crawled off the bed at least five more times, Spike following to hold her hair back. Then, there had been the trips down the hall to get ice for the back of her neck.

No wonder he was a bit brassed off.

Spike had taken First Team out, with Daniel as back-up, two days before Buffy's little jaunt to Vale. Despite his words to Buffy, the impatient part of Spike thought it was a wonder they'd all made it back. None of the vampires had fought at the strength and speed they were capable of - some just made a better show of it than others. It had been frustrating.

Daniel said it was understandable.

The patrol had been carefully controlled; an older cemetery with fewer opportunities for new vampires. He suspected that they'd see mostly fledglings; locals that had died in what had looked like skiing accidents - skiing accidents that had involved a lot of neck trauma.

Matthews and Jeffries had kept their heads. In fact, the level of teamwork had surprised the vampire. Between the two of them, they'd managed to stake a particularly large fledgling.

And DeLuca had done all right, even if his partner had frozen up. The partner had landed himself on Third Team in the space of two minutes.

Patience was not Spike's strong suit. Didn't seem to be 'Shepherd's'. Once they were on patrol, the mollycoddling went out the window. This was business - what they were in Vale to do.

With five weeks left until the move to Sunnydale, he had to whip the lot of them into shape. And he fully expected to have First and Second Teams up and running patrols on the Hellmouth within a week of relocation. It was the goal he had set, and by God, they'd meet it.

More and more, the vampire found that his training and management methods were a little closer to 'Spike with minions,' than 'Shepherd with the flock.' And instead of rebelling, the Vale Project vampires seemed to welcome the drill sergeant discipline.

Fledgling 'Spike,' on the other hand, would have torn the sergeant's head off.

He shook his head as he entered the gym. The twelve vampires stood respectfully waiting for him to arrive. Discipline was one thing. But this?

+

Dawn crawled out of bed and headed toward the bathroom. So glad she'd been able to stay home, instead of sleeping at Janice's. As much as she liked Janice's mother, her dad made her nervous. Janice said it was because she wasn't used to having dad-types in the house. Which was so... well, not true! Cause Xander and Jonathan were downstairs and she didn't feel weird at all.

Of course, you couldn't really call Xander a 'dad-type,' even though he sounded like one sometimes.

The phone rang. She grimaced at her reflection in the mirror. Really needed to remember to take off her makeup at night, so that she didn't find mascara on her cheeks in the morning.

After the second ring, Dawn let out a frustrated breath and ran down to the hallway to grab the phone.

"This better be you," the teenager said briskly. "Xander's wiggin out big time."

There was silence. "What are you doing there?" Buffy asked suspiciously.

"Getting ready for school. Xander and Jonathan stayed here with me last night, so I didn't have to listen to Janice's dad and his snoring from the hell dimension."

"Oh." Buffy sounded confused. "So they stayed there?"

"Yep. And I did my homework and went to bed at a 'decent' hour. They watched the Star Wars Trilogy again. Geeks ahoy!" she said pertly. Then, she remembered what Jonathan had said, and winced. Needed to do some work on the newer, kinder Dawn pretty quick. "How's Vale?"

"Oh, it's like the Initiative with Spike in charge. Scary stuff." Buffy laughed. "And he's in one total bad mood today. So he's either mad at them or mad at me. I vote for me."

"You're still coming home tomorrow?"

"That's what the ticket says," she said lightly. "You gonna be there to pick me up? With the Xanman?"

"I'll think about it," she said snarkily. Dawn thought about how to phrase the next bit. "And everyone's okay?" Okay, leading questions were good.

"Sure. Fangy, but fine. Oh, and Dawn, I'm bringing you the coolest surprise! Daniel and I are looking for just the right ones."

Whew! An opening! "Daniel's there?"

"Daniel's always here. Want to talk to him? It's on the Government dime."

"Sure," she said lightly. "All for screwing the government." She waited, tapping her fingers on the table.

"Dawn?"

Oh, God. Oh, God. He sounded just the same.

"Hi, Daniel," she said nonchalantly. "Taking care of my sister for me?"

There was a moment of silence. "Spike is taking care of her. I'm just babysitting for an hour or two."

Dawn stood there, trying to figure out what to say next. They didn't have this problem in their emails. Why was it so strange? Oh, yeah. Buffy was standing right there.

"You still on schedule for the move?" she blurted out. Oh, so uncool. And what was she doing, anyway?

"I think so," he said slowly. "Seem to be."

"Good," she said. A touch of satisfaction crept into her voice. Oh, God, more uncool! She needed some kind of thing that warned her - that beeped and said 'uncool alert.'

Daniel cleared his throat. "Here's Buffy. Have a good day at school."

Oh, he was doing that 'you're in high school thing.' Ugh. Guys were so... lame. And cold. And... hello? Vampire?

"I'm back," Buffy said unnecessarily. "So you're headed off to school? Cause I'm looking at the clock and you're pushing it."

"Waking the big guy now. I'll make it. Have fun, okay?"

"Fun? Spike's on a tear, and I'm stuck in Vale. If I get snowed in, I'm staking myself."

Dawn laughed. "I love you, Buff. I'll tell Xander et al you said 'hi.'"

"Et al? Latin, right? I know Latin. Well, I know Latin when I hear it - language of the Hellmouth. Love you, Dawnie. Do good. And hurry up and get to school!"

Dawn made a face at the phone and hung it up. She walked in and looked at the Star Wars refugees, who were crashed out all over the living room.

"Rise and shine, guys. 'Key' needs a ride to school. Be down in a few," she said, stomping up the stairs at a run.

One of Xander's eyes opened blearily. "Huh?" It closed again, as a hearty snore escaped.

+

He thought she might be leaving today. She'd been closed up in Shepherd's office for two days. Lots of people had been in and out. Several he'd never seen before. And there was that general, who had actually come there to see her, DeLuca suspected. They were making plans for the move. Cause they were going back to 'her' town. To the Hellmouth.

He wanted to help her. She was so small, even if she was so strong. And fast. She'd dropped Shepherd like a sack. And hadn't even broken a sweat. The slayer was like them - without the fangs and the whole dead/undead thing.

Smiling, he looked down at the pen and ink he'd just finished. Even though he'd been through in the gym that first day, he'd heard the commotion, and had peeked around the door, just in time to see her fight. He'd been working on this one all night - wanted the colors to be just right. After all, it was the most ambitious thing he'd tried in this style, all heavy black lines and cross-hatch shading, highlighted by the primary colors in cobalts, mid-range blues, and grays. Even the flesh tones were muted. The slayer was the star of his story; the Vale Project was only the supporting cast. Even Shepherd paled in comparison.

He'd captured the look of her as she stepped forward for the kill, muscles rippling in her short t-shirt and tight jeans. He'd added boots with a higher heel than she'd actually been wearing. And a stake in her hand, of course. But pretty much, he had drawn what he saw.

The slayer would have taken his breath if he'd had any. She was everything you needed in a super hero. Well, a female super hero, anyway.

Once again, DeLuca looked at his artwork, frowning slightly. He hated the idea of using scotch tape, seemed a shame to blaspheme good work like that, but he wanted her to see it. And he'd be doing others.

He slipped toward the office. A little tape, and the door had a whole new look.

+

Spike left the gym felling better than he had when he went in. He'd worked First Team for an hour and a half - Second for two more. Both of them were making slow, but steady improvement, especially First, who had done the patrol.

There had been a real breakthrough with Jeffries. He'd punched Spike into the wall.

Certainly, no ribs were broken, and Buffy could have mopped up the floor with the fledgling with one perfect arm tied behind her back, but there had been power behind the blow. Spike grinned in remembrance. The other team members had been astonished. And suddenly, all of them had kicked in, throwing more telling blows, unleashing a little more of their vampiric strength they didn't seem to know they had.

More satisfied than he'd been in a while, Spike hummed an old Ramones song as he headed to his office, swinging his arms and bouncing a bit as he walked.

No dinner out tonight. No, they'd do room service at her hotel. Work today, play tonight, like any normal...

His eyes widened in shock. Disbelievingly, he blinked. Twice.

On the door of his office was Buffy. And 'buff' was pretty close to the mark. The color drawing had the slayer - his Slayer - turned out in a skimpy v-neck top and tight jeans. One leg was bent, muscles in her thighs, hips and stomach jumping off the page, as she lunged forward, large wooden stake in hand.

Her hair was down, golden and swirling with movement - a comic book goddess, and unmistakably Buffy Summers. Spike's nostrils flared at the care that had gone into her sleek, petite, dancer-like form.

His bellow rang the hall.

"Daniel!" His fists were clenched, eyes dark with anger.

The door to his office swung open with a jar as it flew against the office wall and bounded back, almost hitting Buffy.

"Spike, what is wrong with you?" she said hotly. "Daniel is right here. He could have heard you whisper. Vampire, remember," she exclaimed disgustedly. Spike was pushing his breath out in furious huffs. Now what? Belatedly, she realized he wasn't looking at her, but at the door behind her elbow. She slid her eyes carefully to the right.

"Oh!" she squeaked. "It's me!"

She snatched the illustration off the painted surface a second before he could react. "Look, Daniel," she said, ignoring the angry vampire. "It's like a comic book cover. Xander's gonna lose it when he sees this. Sgt. Rock ain't got nothin' on me!"

Spike grabbed at it, but she spun away gracefully. "Now *those* are abs!"

"Buffy..." he warned.

She rolled her eyes.

Frustrated, Spike turned to his assistant. Daniel stood ramrod straight by his desk, eyes darting from the crowing slayer to the murderous vampire.

Surprisingly, when he finally spoke again, his voice was devoid of emotion. The fledgling's skin crawled as Spike looked at him.

"I want that little bloodsucker in my office now. And the two of you out. When I'm done tying his balls around his neck, we're sitting down to work. Playtime over."

Buffy opened her mouth to pop off a retort, but froze when he impaled her on an icy stare. His eyes traveled purposefully back to Daniel. "Did I make myself clear?"

Daniel resisted the urge to gulp. "Crystal," he said concisely, as he went out.

"Spike..."

"Not a word, Slayer. S'none of your affair. I'm the head monkey in this zoo and the inmates are damn sure gonna behave, or I'll stake every bloody one of them myself. Do you get it? You deserve respect. Not this," he said curtly, pointing at the picture in her hand.

"Don't..." she protested.

"I'll do as I see fit," he said curtly. He softened a little. "Just talk to the lad, for now, but it isn't going to be pretty. Suggest you find Daniel now. Hurry him up gettin' DeLuca in here." He walked around his desk, and glanced at her. "We have work to do."

She stared at him, looked at the artwork and back into his cold eyes. Nodding once, she went the way of Daniel.



TBC

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