Chapter 20

"I need to pee."

Buffy looked at Anya, who was sitting beside her in the back of Spike’s car. "But we only just stopped."

"It’s the caffeine. They were out of decaf at the last service station and when I have caffeine, I have to pee. William, you’ll have to stop."

"We’re on the bloody M6. I can’t just stop." Spike sounded like he was barely holding on to his temper. They were only an hour into the journey to the Lakes and already they’d had to make three bathroom stops.

Anya squeezed her legs together. "Please William, I’m desperate."

"Look, it’s been barely fifteen minutes, can’t you just hold it or something?"

"I need one too." It was Andrew. He’d hardly said a word for the whole journey, but had niftily managed to grab the front seat after their last stop.

It was turning into a game of musical chairs. Buffy had started out next to Spike, but after the first rest stop, Anya had been the first one out to the car park and had jumped in before she could get there. She’d also beaten her to it the second time, but the third time Andrew had been waiting by the front passenger door with a smug little smile on his face. Buffy didn’t mind really. They had to be discrete this weekend, and she was only a little bit concerned by Anya’s continued ‘Seduce Spike’ campaign.

Yesterday had been another turning point in her relationship with Spike. They’d lain in bed and talked quietly in the dark. She’d made him laugh with her tales of Buffy the Spoilt Brat, and he’d made her want to cry when he’d told her what had happened with his mum. How his dad had dumped him in a boarding school and gone abroad because he couldn’t cope with it. How no-one had ever talked to him about it. She felt privileged that he’d wanted to share it, realising that it reflected the depth of his feelings for her.

She’d tried to make him understand the nature of her relationship with her dad. He said he did, but she doubted it. He was so fiercely independent, having been thrown back onto his own resources from an early age, where she’d been cosseted and protected all her life. He’d said himself that he didn’t feel he owed his dad anything, had no guilt about making his own life. She was just the opposite.

What they really needed was to meet somewhere in the middle, she thought, wondering if she should suggest he visit his dad next time he was home. She was learning to let go of hers. He needed to reconcile with his, and forgive him for whatever he thought he’d done to him. The upshot of it all was that today she felt a new-found confidence in herself, and in Spike. She could happily sit in the back of his car and not worry in the slightest that Anya was sitting next to him in a totally inappropriate -for- travelling micro- mini skirt, that had obviously been chosen for maximum impact. She was even less worried by Andrew, who was being a little more subtle, but who nevertheless seemed to have his sights firmly set on Spike for the weekend.

She’d given Spike her heart, and she knew that she could trust him with it. It was a nice, comfortable feeling. Not the most poetic way to put it, but it was just how she felt as she snuggled into the seat and watched the scenery flash by. It wasn’t very warm, but the sun was shining, albeit weakly, and England really was a green and pleasant land. Spike had told her she wouldn’t be disappointed by the Lake District, and she was really looking forward to it. She’d never got to go to that cosy country pub with Xander, so that was high on her list of things to do. If they could get away that was.

"William." Anya reached forward and grabbed him by the shoulder, almost causing him to swerve. "We’ve got to stop soon, or I’m going to - you know?"

"What?"

Buffy caught a glimpse of his expression in the rear view mirror and she had to bite her mouth to stop herself from laughing.

"Buffy, you don’t need to stop, do you?"

"Well, actually, Spike..." It was the power of suggestion. The more you talked about it, the more you wanted to do it. And now she needed to go too. "Sorry, Spike."

Spike indicated and changed lanes. "Bloody hell, this is turning into an outing for the incontinent. Right, every one cross your legs for the next mile, and then there’s another service station. Okay?"

They all chorused yes at the same time, which made them laugh.

Anya turned to Buffy. "So, are you coming to the Medieval banquet tonight?"

"That’s where we all get to dress up, right? I’d like that, never been to one before. What about costumes?"

"You can hire them from the Hall. William, Andrew, you’re coming too, aren’t you? Anya leaned forward, and very blatantly stroked the back of Spike’s head, causing another mini-swerve.

"I can’t wait to see you in tights."

Spike ducked his head as he tried to avoid her hand. "I am not wearing tights, no way."

"I am," Andrew chimed up. "I’m doing Robin Hood. Going as, I mean." He corrected himself hastily as Anya let out a loud snigger. "So, what are you going as, Spike?"

"Myself. I’m not wearing any poncy costume. In fact I’m not going at all." Spike fed the car on to the slip road and left the motorway for the service station.

Buffy felt a pang of disappointment. She really wanted to go to this. Fancied herself in a long flowing dress with the steeple hat. And she had been fantasising about Spike in some sort of costume. Perhaps not tights exactly, but chain-mail, or something manly. Surely he’d agree to that?

"You could go as a knight, Spike." She hadn’t spoken to him much on the journey, and it felt a little strange having to watch what she said. "You know, chain mail, that sort of thing. I’m really looking forward to it."

"Are you?" He sounded a little flustered at that. "Look, I might turn up, but I'm not dressing up. Does that please everyone?"

"Yes," everyone chorused at the same time, once again, causing more laughter.

"Just be quick, will you." Spike parked up and they all trooped into the service station.

"So, how am I doing?" Anya took out her lipstick and added another coat to the many she was already wearing.

Buffy took out a comb and swept it through her hair. "Doing with what, Anya?" She wasn’t worried about Anya going after Spike, but she wasn’t going to make it easy for her.

"William. Are you blind, Buffy? Don’t tell me that you don’t fancy him as well."

Buffy put her comb back in her bag and surveyed herself in the mirror. "Well, of course I fancy him. Everyone does, right? But he’s like, our tutor isn’t he? You know, forbidden fruit and all that. Besides, he’s probably got a girlfriend already. I’d be surprised if he hadn’t."

Anya’s face fell practically down to her feet. "You think?" Then she brightened. "Never mind, after this weekend, she’ll be the last thing on his mind."

"Oh yeah." Buffy was definitely curious now as they walked back to the car. They stopped in the shop and Buffy bought a bag of sandwiches and drinks for everyone.

"So what did you have in mind?" Did she need to worry about this? Of course not, but it looked like Anya was going to be a prize pain-in-the-ass for the whole of the weekend.

"Just wait and see," Anya replied cryptically. "Let’s just say that the signs are looking very good." She increased her pace as the car came into view, obviously making a play for the front seat. Spike was leaning against the car smoking a cigarette, which he hastily threw down and stamped out as he saw Buffy approach. She shook her head and mouthed ‘naughty boy’ at him. Last night he’d promised he was giving up. Andrew reappeared, looking disappointed that Anya had grabbed the front seat. He jumped back in surprise as Spike threw him the keys.

"You’re driving, okay?"

Andrew accepted them with good grace and Spike slid into the back seat with Buffy. He strapped himself into his seat belt and turned to her.

"So, Buffy, You’re American, eh. I’ve seen you around, how are you settling in?"

"Quite well, thank you. I’ve been made very welcome."

"Good, we wouldn’t want you to feel neglected, would we?" Spike winked at her, obviously enjoying himself. Having chosen the seat behind Anya, he was out of her line of sight, but Buffy wasn’t, and she was having to watch her reactions very carefully.

Spike spent the next hour giving her every sexy facial expression he could think of. The tongue between the teeth, the sucking of the bottom lip, and his hand kept straying to his crotch in a very suggestive manner. By the time they stopped to change over drivers again, Anya, who had spent the whole time twisted around, keeping tabs on Buffy, was complaining of a sore neck and Buffy was on the verge of barely contained hysteria.

Part of it was due to Spike’s antics, but the other was due to the fact that Andrew had been watching it all in the rear view mirror and obviously thought it was aimed at him. She’d definitely seen him adjusting the mirror so he could get a better view.

He spent the rest of the journey returning all of the gestures Spike had made, only it didn’t look anything like as sexy. By the time they arrived, Anya was convinced that Andrew had the hots for Buffy, Spike was wondering if Andrew had gone mad, and Buffy seemed to be the only one who had a clue what was going on.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike smartly side-stepped Andrew as they both reached into the boot of his car to retrieve their luggage. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d been pulling all sorts of funny faces for the last hour of the journey, and for a moment Spike had thought that he was making a play for Buffy. He decided that Andrew must be suffering from some sort of facial tic, and it would be impolite to mention it, but the lad was definitely strange. He hefted out the bags, Buffy’s weighed a ton, and dumped them on the ground.

"Okay, get yourselves checked in. There’s a two hour meeting in the small hall, then there’s that banquet thing." He picked up Buffy’s bag. "Do you need any help with this?"

"Thanks William." Buffy stopped her perusal of the old building and turned to him. "Or do you prefer Spike? I’ve heard that’s your nickname."

"Whatever." He picked up the bag, wondering if he was going to get Buffy alone for a few minutes before the meeting started. He’d got himself properly worked up, sitting in the back of the car with her and he needed at least a quick snog to tide him over. Then he was going to get to see her dressed as a medieval maiden, and his fertile imagination had already run through all the fantasy role-play opportunities that had to offer. He had a very interesting night in mind for the both of them.

"William, would you get mine too since you’re being such a gentleman?" Anya grabbed hold of Buffy and linked arms with her. "We’ll go on and check us in."

Spike stood and watched as Buffy was herded into the hotel by Anya. Damn her, she seemed determined to monopolise Buffy. He couldn’t seem to get anywhere near her without that irritating bint popping up. And Andrew was still pulling those funny faces. He blew out a long breath as he watched the girls disappear through the ornate doorway and picked up the rest of the bags. At least he’d managed to fix it so that him and Buffy had rooms next to each other. Sneaking in after lights out should be no problem, as long as Anya left them alone, that was. He caught up with them at the check-in desk, stopping to have a few words with some of the other students who’d just arrived. By the time they got to Buffy’s room, he could barely contain himself.

"Bloody hell, I thought she’d never go," he said between breathless kisses. "She has to be the most irritating person on the planet."

He eyed the four poster bed and swept Buffy off her feet and carried her over to it.

"Gonna give this a proper workout tonight, love. Can’t wait to see you in that costume." He rolled her onto her back and propped himself up on his elbows over her.

"How long have we got Spike?" Her eyes had already gone smoky with desire.

He looked at his watch. "Half an hour, then I’ve got to go get ready. Meeting starts at four. But that gives up more than enough time for..." He dipped his head for a kiss, groaning as her tongue swept into his mouth, sliding his hand up her leg, pulling her skirt with it. She tugged at his sweatshirt and he let her manoeuvre it off him and throw it onto the floor.

They both jumped at the sharp knock on the door.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike leapt off the bed, followed by Buffy, who pushed him towards the bathroom. "I bet it’s Anya, get in there."

He didn’t seem in any hurry to go, pulling her in for another kiss. "Go now," she said, peeling him off her and pushing him through the door. He yanked her to him for another kiss, took her hand, and brushed her fingers over the front of his jeans.

"Get rid of her, I’ll be waiting."

"Buffy!" The knocking continued.

"Coming," Buffy replied, hastily combing her fingers through her hair and straightening her clothes. She took a calming breath and opened the door. Anya stood there, wearing a bathrobe, and looking a little flushed. She pushed past Buffy and stood in the middle of the room expectantly.

For a moment Buffy thought she was going to ask to use the bathroom. How the hell was she going to explain Spike being in there. What? He’d taken up plumbing in his spare time and was checking the pipes?

"Wanted to show you something." Anya grabbed the front of her robe and yanked it open, just like a flasher Buffy had seen in a film.

"So, what do you think?"

Buffy just about managed to stop her jaw from hitting the floor. "It’s, umm, it’s very nice." She felt a bit strange saying that to a woman. A woman who was standing before her wearing some of the raunchiest underwear Buffy had ever seen. Stockings, the lot. Well, that wasn’t quite true, Buffy had quite a bit of raunchy underwear herself, but she didn’t go around flashing other women with it. Was Anya coming on to her as well? She took a step back.

"Do you think he’ll like it?"

"Who?" Buffy’s nonchalance towards Anya was beginning to wear a bit thin.

"William. I’m going to surprise him later on."

"He’s a man, Anya. Yeah, he’ll like it, and I’m sure he’ll be very surprised. Very surprised indeed." She raised her voice for the last bit and she could have sworn she heard a choking noise from the bathroom. Anya turned round, and Buffy held her breath. At least Anya didn’t seem to have noticed Spike’s sweatshirt, which was still lying on the floor where it had landed.

"You want to get them to see to those pipes. Gosh Buffy, you must have the most expensive room in this place. Look at that bed." Anya sauntered over to the four poster and jumped up onto it. "Hey, we could have an orgy on this." She jumped off again, obviously catching the look Buffy was giving her. "Goodness, loosen up, Buffy. You’re so straight laced. Want me to set you up with someone?" She thought for a moment, completely ignoring Buffy’s attempted protests. "Riley Finn, he doesn’t have a girlfriend, and he’s probably kind of desperate. He could take you to the Banquet."

"No." Buffy virtually grabbed hold of Anya, managing to kick the sweatshirt under the bed as she did so, and shepherded her towards the door. "No Riley, please. I’m happy as I am Anya. Don’t need a boyfriend right now, thank you."

"Everyone reacts like that at the mention of Riley." Anya shrugged. "Wonder what it is about him, he’s not that bad looking."

Buffy had to virtually shove her out of the door. "If you don’t mind Anya, I need to take a shower."

Anya took the hint. "Honestly Buffy, you’d think you had a man in there the way you’re behaving. Where is he, in the wardrobe?"

"Yeah, they’re all in there. You know, the whole group. I’d ask you to stay, but hey..."

Anya laughed and gave her a playful, but rather hard punch on the shoulder. "You’ve got a sense of humour after all. Well, I can’t stand here talking, the meeting’s in fifteen minutes. See you downstairs."

Buffy closed the door on her at last, then she went into the bathroom. Spike was sitting on the side of the bath, his arms folded, a bored look on his face.

"Has she gone?"

"Yeah, thought I’d never get rid of her." Buffy looked at her watch. "Well, that’s our spontaneous moment gone."

"You think?" Spike got up and moved towards her with that swagger he was so good at. "We’ve got plenty of time."

Buffy didn’t put up much of a fight. So she’d have to sit through the meeting with a big grin on her face more than likely, but hey, she had Spike, and Anya didn’t. And that was a secret worth having.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike looked at himself in the mirror. More hair gel, that’s what it needed. He squeezed a generous dollop onto his hand and ran it through his hair, encouraging it to stand up. Bloody medieval banquet. He was only going because Buffy was. He really wanted to see her in that dress, and if he was truthful with himself, also wanted to keep an eye on the other students. He hadn’t missed how the lads had been drooling hopefully after her. She’d given them no encouragement, of course, but they obviously though she was unattached. Maybe he could pull rank on them to sit next to her, without making it too obvious. He took out his mobile phone and dialled her number.

"Hi darling, it’s me, yeah, love you too. Look make sure you sit next to me tonight."

"What? No, I’m not jealous, well, yeah, I might be a bit. What are you wearing? Yeah, the dress, and underneath?"

"They didn’t?" Spike felt himself getting hot. "Gonna give me a sneak preview?"

"Aww, spoilsport, okay see you downstairs."

He flicked his phone closed. Now he had that visual to think about all evening. Medieval underwear, or the absence of it. She certainly knew how to get his motor revving, which was good. He just wished he didn’t have so much work to do this weekend. If the prof was up to his usual tricks, he’d bugger off with his new boyfriend and leave it all to him. He locked his door and went downstairs to the lounge. Buffy was sitting on a sofa talking with some of the other students and she looked absolutely gorgeous. Just like he’d imagined her when he’d called her a fairy princess at the well-house. Enchanting, that was the word. She turned and gave him a look that started as a smile but changed to one of barely contained surprised.

~*~*~*~*~

He looked great. He always did, Buffy thought, but she really wished he’d dressed in costume. He was going to stand out like a sore thumb. Nobody wore combat boots to a medieval banquet, and the hair? It looked like he’d used a whole tube of gel on it. Very trendy, but totally the wrong period by about eight hundred years. Anya poked her in the ribs with her elbow.

"He is so going to get it tonight."

"Get what?" Buffy hoped she didn’t mean what she thought she meant.

"From the jester, the MC. They always choose someone to pick on, you know, make jokes about. And it is so going to be William. What’s he done to his hair?"

"I don’t know," Buffy affected a nonchalant air. "I kinda like it. Bad boy image and all. I guess girls go for that."

Anya glared at her for a couple of seconds before pasting a cheesy smile on her face. "But you’re not interested, right? Said you didn’t want a boyfriend."

"But he’s so yummy. Do you think he’d go for an American?"

Anya nearly choked. So much so that Buffy had to thump her on the back. "Calm down Anya, I’m only teasing you. No-go area, remember?"

Anya managed to get herself under control, but she continued to give Buffy suspicious glances. "Don’t know where you got that idea, Buffy. Where do you think the prof is now?"

Buffy didn’t want to know. She looked up, noticing that the rest of the group had begun to make their way to the Great Hall. Suddenly Spike was standing in front of her.

"May I have the pleasure of escorting you in to dinner?"

Buffy and Anya both stood up at the same time.

"Er, both of you, of course." He crooked both of his elbows and Buffy took one side, while Anya latched on to the other.

Anya let out a howl of laughter. "Oh my god, look at Andrew. He looks a complete prat."

"Shh, he’ll hear you." Buffy managed not to laugh, but Andrew did look totally ridiculous. The tights were much too big, so that they sagged around his knees and he had an enormous multi-coloured cod-piece that made him look unfeasibly well-endowed. Along with the curly toed shoes, he made quite a spectacle.

"I thought he was supposed to be Robin Hood."

Buffy shrugged, hoping that Andrew wasn’t going to sit anywhere near them. They were going to have enough problems with Spike drawing attention to them.

~*~*~*~*~

By the time he’d downed his fifth glass of mead, Spike was feeling thoroughly pissed off with the Jester. He’d started on him the minute he’d sat down and he hadn’t let up once. Now he was trying to get Spike to join in with the dancing, just so he could make some more of his stupid-ass jokes, Spike thought. He was dying to go to the bathroom, but he knew that the moment he got up the spotlight would be on him again. He allowed the buxom serving wench to fill up his glass again, hoping he was going to be able to control himself in the face of such provocation. It wouldn’t do to show himself up in front of the undergrads, but if that bloody jester didn’t piss off, then he was going to clock him one there and then.

"Come on love, don’t be shy." The jester was as gay as they came, or at least he sounded it. He ruffled Spike’s hair. "Ooh, it’s stiff tonight. I’ll be seeing to that later."

Andrew, who had managed to get on the other side of Spike, let out a huge guffaw at that and spat his drink all over him, causing Spike to nearly fall off his chair. "Oh god, I’m sorry." He grabbed a napkin and started wiping at Spike’s chest. Spike had to practically fight him off.

The jester opened his mouth to say something else but Spike gave him such an evil look that he closed it again and moved on to Buffy.

"My lady has been in the wars," he said pointing to her cheek. "But your loveliness remains untouched." He took Buffy’s hand and made her stand up. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have our Queen of Love and Beauty." He led a rather bemused looking Buffy up to the stage and sat her on one of the two thrones. "Now we need a king."

The minute Buffy vacated her seat, Anya moved into it. "Riley Finn." She shouted it so loud that Spike jumped. Bloody hell, now he wasn’t even going to get to sit next to Buffy. And the jester was all over her. Hands everywhere. He was definitely pretending to be gay.

"Riley Finn." Anya clapped her hands and encouraged everyone to take up the chant. Riley was dutifully found and hauled up onto the stage.

Spike spent the rest of the evening drinking far too much mead, trapped between Anya and Andrew, who just ‘accidentally’ kept touching his leg, and gazing forlornly at Buffy who hadn’t been allowed to leave the stage.

After an ugly encounter in the men’s toilets, during which he’d threatened to remove some of the jester’s more private parts, he hauled himself off to bed, feeling very sorry for himself, threw off his clothes and waited.

Two hours later he hear the bed creak and he rolled over and reached out for Buffy, smiling to himself as he thought of what she wasn’t wearing under that dress. He put his arms around her as she crawled over him and he threaded his hands into her hair. Which she’d cut? He may have been drunk, but he definitely remembered Buffy having long hair. The woman above him moaned and latched her mouth onto his. He shot his arm out in panic and groped for the bedside lamp. As the light came on, he twisted away and was confronted by a very drunk looking and extremely scantily-clad Anya straddling his thighs. She wasn’t about to let go either. Her mouth came down on his once more and she latched on so tight that it made a loud popping sound as he pulled her off.

"I know you want me William." She grabbed his face and tried to pull him back in for another kiss. "I’m all yours."

Spike scooted up towards the headboard. "Anya, what are you doing?"

"This." She flung herself back on him with abandon, leaving a slobbery trail across his face, and then the door opened and the real Buffy appeared. Spike caught her eye as she put her hand over her mouth and backed hastily out of the room, closing the door softly behind her. Anya meanwhile, had collapsed onto his chest and was snoring lightly. Spike pushed her off and she landed in an untidy heap on the other side of the bed. He stared at her, and then at the door.

Boy was he was in trouble.

Chapter 21

Spike slid out of bed and groped for his jeans. Heck, this couldn’t be happening now. Not after all they’d been through. He hopped into them, nearly falling over in his haste to get them on, and opened the bedroom door. Then ran straight into Buffy who was standing right outside.

"Buffy." He had to make her understand that he would never want anyone but her. "Buffy, what you saw..."

She put her finger to her lips to quieten him. "Shh. You’ll wake the whole floor. It’s okay Spike, I knew where Anya was going, I followed her. I just didn’t want her to see me, that’s all."

"You did? You didn’t?" Spike tried to get his alcohol-fogged brain to work out what she’d actually said. Was she saying that she’d seen him in bed with another woman and she didn’t mind? That she was prepared to forgive him? She was wonderful! He tried to get his arms around her and give her a hug, but she pushed him off.

"Not now Spike, we’ve got to get Anya to her room. She can’t stay in there."

"You are the most understanding girlfriend anyone could have, do you know that?" He tried for his best puppy-dog look, thinking it wouldn’t hurt to get an extra bit of forgiveness in. "And that dress, did I mention that you look fantastic in it?" He laid his head on her shoulder and gazed at her. "You’re a fairy princess, that’s what you are."

Buffy pushed him upright. "Quit messing around Spike. What about Anya?"

Spike stood up, feeling a little offended at the way she was brushing off his compliments. Women! There was just no pleasing them. Then he suddenly remembered the comment she’d made about the medieval underwear, or lack thereof. He pasted what he hoped was a sexy grin on his face and took a handful of the dress, slowly sliding it upwards. "Gonna show me what you’re wearing under this thing?"

"Spike!" Buffy firmly removed his hand and gave it back to him. "Just how much did you have to drink?"

"Can’t remember. Aww come on Buffy, you promised."

"I did not, and someone’s gonna hear us. Keep it down will you." He felt himself being propped against the wall as he staggered a little. She had promised, he thought sulkily. She definitely said so on the phone. And she had no right to look so gorgeous. He leaned in for a kiss, lips puckered and realised that she wasn’t there any more. She was peering around the door to his room.

"Come on Spike, she’s still asleep. Let’s get her back to her room while the coast is clear."

"Okay, I’m coming." He followed her rather unsteadily into the room, the world tilting at odd angles as he moved. Whoa, that mead packed quite a wallop. Just how many had he drunk?

~*~*~*~*~

He was in a very strange mood, she thought, tiptoeing into his room and beckoning him to follow. Anya still lay where she’d landed, and she looked pretty much out of it. Buffy wasn’t sure she wanted Spike man-handling Anya back to her room since the girl was all but naked, but given Spike’s current state of drunkenness, he probably wouldn’t remember any of it anyway. His face had been something else when she’d walked in on them. What on earth had Anya been trying to do to him? No, don’t answer that, she thought. It wasn’t his fault. Anya had had this planned from way back. Still, it had been a bit disturbing seeing them together like that. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind as she contemplated the best way forward.

"Can you pick her up Spike?" He didn’t look as if he was listening. Instead he was staring straight at Buffy’s cleavage, which was rather revealing. She waved a hand in front of his face. "Spike, are you with me? You’ve got to pick her up. I can’t do it by myself."

"Let’s shove her in the bathroom, then you can show me that medieval understuff." He made another play for her skirt but she slapped his hand away.

"I can’t believe you just said that," she replied in an appalled whisper. "We can’t put her in the bathroom. What if she wakes up?"

"She won’t be waking up any time soon. Plenty of time for you know what."

Buffy didn’t know what to do with him. He was in a very silly mood, but they did need to move Anya. She’d initiated this, but there was no telling what kind of trouble she could make for Spike. Especially if she woke up in his bathroom, feeling like a scorned woman. Anya seemed very much the type for vengeance, and Spike seemed totally oblivious to the seriousness of the situation. She contemplated him as he swayed before her, a pleasant grin on his face. He didn’t look capable of carrying anyone anywhere.

"Look, you grab her top half, and I’ll take her feet. And please, keep your voice down."

As she jumped up on to the bed, very hampered by her long dress, she prayed they wouldn’t meet anyone. Most of the students were still at the banquet, but some had to be in their rooms. She’d had to plead for a trip to the bathroom to get away from the jester, who’d been having a wonderful time groping her for most of the evening. It was a good job that Spike had sneaked out early because his glares had been getting darker and darker as the evening wore on, and Buffy had started to be seriously worried at the prospect of a fight breaking out. She slipped her hands under Anya and tried to roll her to the edge of the bed, but she was a dead weight and refused to budge.

"Don’t just stand there, Spike, help me," she hissed. She really wanted Anya out of there, and she was going to get her out if she had to drag her down the corridor herself. Buffy suddenly found herself getting unreasonably angry at the situation. How dare she throw herself at her boyfriend, wearing what she was, or rather wasn’t, wearing. How could she imagine Spike would go for that cheap get-up? Buffy gave Anya another heave and managed to get her to roll over.

"Catch her Spike, she’ll fall off the bed." God, she so did not want Anya to leave Spike’s room with bruises. "Spike?"

Spike shook his head, and leaned forward to help, at last. He’d definitely been looking at Anya, Buffy thought , with a slight twinge of jealousy. Staring even. Buffy hadn’t ever seen him like this before. She kept reminding herself that he was drunk, but he would never do anything. Not even drunk And he was a man, after all, not a saint as he’d so recently reminded her. She could cope with this. The main thing was to get Anya safely back in her bed. She slid off the bed and went to take hold of Anya’s feet. Anya chose that moment to semi-wake up and start babbling to herself. Buffy held her breath, and grabbed Spike’s hands as he suddenly started to be helpful and lift Anya’s head up. Anya flopped back down again and, crisis over, Buffy let go of Spike’s hands and indicated that he should pick her up.

She was a lot heavier than she looked. Either that or Spike wasn’t pulling his weight in the picking up department. They just about made it to the door without dropping her, then Buffy heard footsteps coming down the corridor. Oh no, this was turning into a French Farce.

And they couldn’t get back into the room fast enough.

"What are you doing?" It was Andrew, also looking a little worse for wear, and also not talking very quietly. "Is this a private orgy, or can anyone join in?" He grinned widely at his own joke, and then peered very closely at Anya.

"Is that..."

How the hell was she going to explain this?

She wasn’t, Buffy decided, and Spike obviously wasn’t going to be any help to her whatsoever. He was frozen in place, staring at Andrew as if he’d suddenly grown two heads. This was no time for back-pedalling and excuses. She could bluff her way out of this.

"Oh, thank god you’ve come," she said, putting on her most concerned expression. "Poor Anya, she got the wrong room, and then she sort of passed out, and, well, you can see how it looks."

She nodded at Andrew, who nodded vigorously back, with the sort of look that told her he had no idea what she was talking about.

"Would you mind?" She indicated Anya’s feet to him. "Just help Spike get her to her room, will you?"

Andrew seemed to notice Spike for the first time, and suddenly Buffy had another staring idiot on her hands. Spike and Andrew, both looking at each other like startled rabbits, Andrew’s eyes squarely planted on Spike’s bare chest.

Buffy tapped her foot and pulled a face. "Now would be good."

The two men both jumped into action at once and between them they managed to haul Anya into her room, which luckily, she’d left unlocked. They dropped her unceremoniously on the bed and tiptoed out. As Buffy was shutting the door she caught a glimpse of the prof disappearing around the corner with his arm around what definitely looked like a man. She shook her head. This was turning into one strange evening.

"Thank you Andrew. You will umm, keep this quiet, won’t you?"

Andrew nodded, still looking a bit dazed, and still reluctantly trying to tear his eyes away from Spike’s chest. Spike, to give him his due, was starting to look rather embarrassed by the whole affair. Buffy decided she’d already forgiven him for the ogling of Anya, back there, but she couldn’t resist the thought of having some fun at Spike’s expense later on. "Well, goodnight Andrew, and thanks." Why wasn’t he going? She couldn’t take Spike to her room until Andrew disappeared and he didn’t look like he was going anywhere.

"I’ve got a bottle of whiskey in my room," he suddenly said. "Would you like to..."

"No. I mean," Buffy affected a big yawn. "Goodness I’m tired, Sorry Andrew, I’ve just got to get to bed. And Spike, he’s tired too, aren’t you Spike?"

"Uhhm yes." Spike joined in with the yawning, a little too enthusiastically for Buffy’s liking. She didn’t want Andrew to suspect what was really going on. After a few beats he waved them a goodnight and they all set off for their rooms. Buffy went into hers and decided to wait a few minutes to let Andrew get safely into his. She brushed her teeth and refreshed her perfume. Spike looked so good without a shirt, she thought, feeling all glowy inside. It had really started to get her in the mood.

She peered out, found the coast clear and scuttled into Spike’s room. He was already in bed, cuddled up with his pillow, and, unfortunately, fast asleep. She looked at him fondly, and reached over to smooth his hair off his face. It was stiff with the huge quantity of gel that he’d used. Poor Spike. She’d never seen him look as insecure as he had tonight. She’d seen him sad and vulnerable, angry and sorry for himself, but this was something else.

She slipped out of the dress, draping it carefully across a chair and took off the underwear she’d been going to surprise him with. A rather redundant gesture after Anya, she thought, but never mind. At the end of the day, she was still the one getting into bed with Spike, and staying the whole night. And lot’s of nights after that. Poor Spike. He really didn’t need this after what they’d just been through. She wrestled the pillow out of the death grip he had on it, and pulled him into her arms. He did a quick snuggle and settled back into sleep. Then she switched the light off and held him as she thought about the little boy who’d lost his mother, who had grown into the man who wrote erotic poetry, and computer games. The man who loved her, and who at this precise moment she loved with such an intensity that if she put it all into a hug, she’d be in danger of squeezing him to death.

Lovely, sexy, beautiful Spike. And, she thought smugly, he’s mine, all mine. So there, Anya!

~*~*~*~*~

Spike woke up without much of a hangover, which considering how much he’d had to drink, was remarkable. He was however, alone and he couldn’t remember whether Buffy had spent the night with him or not. He did remember the debacle with Anya, though, and he cringed inwardly as he got out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. What the hell had she been playing at? Well, that was obvious, but what was she going to do next? She could make trouble for him, that was for sure. He only hoped that she’d be as embarrassed as he was about it and maybe they could quietly forget about it. And Buffy - was she mad at him? He had to know.

"Buffy?" He changed his phone to his other hand, picked up a comb, and squinted into the mirror. What the hell was wrong with his hair? It had set like concrete.

"No, I’m fine, about last night..." He breathed a sigh of relief as she answered him cheerfully. At least she didn’t sound mad at him. In fact there was a definite giggle in her voice.

"I did what on the stage? I don’t remember that." Spike felt himself getting hot. "You’re joking, Buffy, please tell me you’re joking." He heard another giggle and then she went into great detail about something involving a chastity belt and suit of armour. "Christ, Buffy, tell me I didn’t. Please say I didn’t." The trouble was, that he did remember both the chastity belt and the suit of armour, he just couldn’t make the connection between him and them. And Buffy had lost it totally now.

"Okay, okay, you got me there. Very funny." He deserved it he supposed, but did this mean that he was forgiven for the Anya incident? "Look, Buffy...You do? God you’re wonderful. See you downstairs. Love you."

He snapped his phone shut feeling mightily relieved. Not that he doubted that Buffy would believe him, but it hadn’t looked good. And how would he have felt if he’d found Buffy in that position with Riley, or one of the other students? He hoped he’d never have to find out. Now all he had to do was face Anya, who unfortunately was in his group for the morning meeting. He finished dressing, grabbed the folder of handouts and made his way downstairs, hoping that the prof was going to turn up for a change. The students had to be organised into groups and sent off on location to get whatever inspiration they could for a piece of poetry, and they were all going to present what they’d written at the end of the day.

This was at least his chance to get Buffy alone. She didn’t know these parts, so he had a perfectly legitimate excuse to be her escort for the day. There was no way Anya was going to want to go with them, was there? But there was the problem of getting rid of Andrew, who had managed to perfect his leech impersonation and was even now running to catch up with him as he made his way down the stairs.

"Morning, Spike," he panted. "How are you?"

"I’m fine." Spike slowed down. Andrew may be annoying, but he was an undergrad, and Spike felt kind of responsible for him. "You don’t look so good though. Rough night?"

"A bit." Andrew grabbed Spike’s arm. "Your secret is safe with me." He spoke in a very loud whisper, and winked several times.

Oh hell, Spike suddenly remembered Andrew’s involvement in last night, and the poor lad still had that facial tic. "Uhh, last night? You sure you got the right person Andrew?" Denial. That was going to be the only way out of this mess. He’d just deny everything and maybe Andrew would leave him alone.

But Andrew wasn’t giving up that easily. "Last night. You know with..." A light bulb suddenly seemed to go on over his head. "Oh, I get it. Last night didn’t happen. Of course, Spike." He laid his hand dramatically on Spike’s arm and gave him another knowing wink. "My lips are sealed."

Spike removed Andrew’s hand and moved hastily away from him. It was suddenly beginning to dawn on him what all the funny looks were about. "Well that’s sorted then. Good lad." He handed him the folder of handouts. "Look after these for me will you? They’re very important, make sure everyone gets one."

Andrew beamed as he took the folder. "Sure thing Spike, you want me to go now?"

"Yes please. Umm, I’ve got something to do." Spike watched him turn the corner of the stairs, giving him a good head start before he followed him. Bloody hell, he hoped those moon-faces Andrew was giving him weren’t what they thought they were. That’s all he needed.

~*~*~*~*~

"Alone at last."

Buffy slipped her arm around Spike’s waist and contemplated the view. Nothing like the Great Lakes, or Niagara Falls, but Lake Windemere was charming in a very English sort of way. And it satisfied the American tourist side of her which had always imagined that England looked just like this. They were sitting on the deck of the boat that took excursions along the length of the lake, and thankfully neither Anya, nor Andrew were with them.

Buffy took the tourist brochure from Spike. "Can we go to the Beatrix Potter Museum? Peter Rabbit is so cute."

"Yeah, anything you say darling." Spike leaned in for a nibble of her ear, then trailed a line of kisses down her neck. "After last night, I’m your slave, Buffy. I don’t deserve you."

Buffy laughed. He hadn’t left her alone for a minute since they’d got on the boat. She’d already said there was nothing to forgive a dozen times, but he seemed determined to prove how contrite he was. She smoothed her wind-swept hair back and reached into her pocket for her notebook. "Okay, inspiration."

Spike favoured her with one of his sexy grins. "I could help with that."

"It’s not that sort of poem, got to be about nature and, Spike, stop that, people are watching."

"Don’t care." He hooked his arm around her neck and kissed her hard on the lips. "Let them look, I don’t care who knows."

Buffy kissed him back, she didn’t really want to say no, and then pulled back to look at him.

"But what about the student-teacher relationship. Haven’t we got to be careful?"

Spike leaned his head on her shoulder. "Look I’ll have a quiet word with the prof. He’s the one that counts in this, and the other students aren’t going to say anything, are they?"

"Anya might. Spike, can you imagine how she’d going to feel if she sees us together? You rejected her and then she sees you with me. She could make all sorts of trouble."

"Yeah, I’d thought about that." Spike’s head stayed on her shoulder, his hand running lightly up and down her jean-clad thigh. "Would you have a word with her, woman to woman, like? I don’t have a clue what to say to her."

Buffy’s heart sank. Someone had to talk to Anya. Find out what her take on last night was, and unfortunately, Spike was right. It would be better coming from her. "Okay, but I don’t have to tell her about us yet. Do I?"

"S’pose that can wait." Spike stood up as the boat started to dock. "But she’s gonna find out."

Buffy took his hand as he pulled her up. "I’m not looking forward to it, she’s had this planned for weeks."

"Then you should have told me, Buffy. Why didn’t you?"

"Because I didn’t think for a minute she'd go through with it. My bad. Which way’s the museum Spike? I don’t want to talk about Anya, I’ve got a poem to write."

"I hate to tell you this, but Wordsworth did not write Peter Rabbit. And you’re getting very good at changing the subject."

"Well, I learnt from a master." Buffy took his hand and pulled him after her. "Are you gonna show me the way or not? Cool, a souvenir shop, come on."

She bought a variety of things that she thought her father would like and paid an outrageous sum of money too have them parcelled and shipped to the States. Her father. That was another conversation she was going to have to have when they got back. It was nice being all grown up at last, but boy, was it complicated at times.

As luck would have it the first person they bumped into when they got to the museum was Andrew. He was still very much in ‘being- discrete-about-last-night’ mode, although Buffy thought he definitely looked a little surprised to see her and Spike together again. Spike actually managed to pay for something, at last, and despite her protests, he insisted on buying her the biggest cuddly Peter Rabbit they had in the shop. And then, as they were leaving, they walked straight into Anya, who was looking very much worse -for- wear.

It took her about five seconds to suss out what was going on. Buffy couldn’t help the glowy feeling she had inside as she walked beside Spike, carrying her big, stuffed rabbit, and even though they weren’t touching it was obvious they were a couple. Anya lifted her sunglasses and stared at them, a range of emotions playing over her face. Disbelief, hurt, embarrassment, surprise and betrayal. Then she spun round and walked away. Buffy made to go after her, but Spike stopped her.

"She’s a big girl, Buffy, she’ll get over it."

"But she looked so upset, Spike. Let me go after her."

"It’ll only make matters worse. Let her go."

Buffy looked from Spike to Anya’s retreating form. She only had herself to blame, really, but she couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. Okay, so last night she’d been feeling smug that she’d got the prize, and Anya hadn’t, but heck, the girl looked so upset.

"She’s gonna win the poetry contest, Spike."

"How’s that?"

"Angst. Bucket-loads of it. We don’t stand a chance."

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy was right. Anya turned in a poem of such gut-wrenching heartbreak, while still managing to fulfil the ‘nature’ brief, that even the prof. was moved. She duly collected her prize, stopping on the way back to her seat to give Buffy a look of smug condescension. Oddly enough that made Buffy feel better. She had deceived Anya, so she deserved it, but Anya’a behaviour had been appalling, so Buffy decided to stop feeling sorry for her.

Anya cornered her briefly as the meeting broke up. "You should have told me Buffy. About you and Spike, you made me make a proper fool of myself." She folded her arms and looked as if she was waiting for Buffy to reply.

Buffy didn’t know what to say. Which was lucky because Anya wasn’t going to let her get a word in anyway.

"Had a good laugh behind my back did you? Well, you’ll be pleased to know I won’t be requiring a lift home. I have other friends." She turned and walked away, leaving Buffy with her mouth still half-open. Then she stopped and turned back. "And I’d be careful if I were you. Spike’s practically your teacher, in case you hadn’t noticed. In this country, it’s just not done."

Heck, Buffy thought, you’re one to talk, but maybe she was right about the other thing. If she’d told Anya straight out about her and Spike, then this disaster would have been averted. But what if Anya had decided to make a thing of it, and got Spike into trouble? Were they worrying about nothing? Did anyone really care? Spike had said that she should have told him about Anya, and recalling that made her remember that other thing she hadn’t told him yet. About the time Dru had come to his flat. Was that still important? She snapped out of her reverie as Spike came over to her.

"Group of students are going down to the pub. Feel I ought to go." He looked at her enquiringly. "All cosy and countrified with the log fire and everything, you’ll like it. Yes?"

She nodded absently. She should tell him about Dru. Would he be mad that she hadn’t?

"Okay, Spike," she picked up her notebook and slung her bag over her shoulder. "I’d like that. I’ll get my coat." She went back to her room thinking that secrets weren’t a good thing in a relationship. But, she’d been working from the best of intentions, because she really believed that if she had told him there would have been trouble, and Dru seemed crazy enough for anything.

Buffy found her coat and slipped it on. She needed to return the costume too - it was still on it’s hanger. She picked it up and draped it over her arm, intending to hand it in when she went down, but then she hung it up again. She still owed Spike his little medieval fantasy, and perhaps when he was in a very good mood, she’d tell him about Dru.

Chapter 22

After the trip to the pub most of the group wanted to go on to a night club in the next town. Spike declined their invitation to join them because he had work to catch up on, and someone actually commented that Buffy looked tired, which gave her the perfect excuse not to go either. That left Buffy and Spike and another couple who had hooked up during the trip. They talked for a few moments until it was obvious that the couple wanted to be left alone, so Spike rose and handed Buffy her coat.

"Come on Buffy, I’ll walk you back. See you tomorrow, guys."

They walked out into a crisp, moonlit night where everything seemed to be washed with silver. Buffy shivered and Spike slipped his arm around her as they made their way down the lane that led to the hotel.

"Have you enjoyed the trip?"

Buffy nodded. "Yeah, it’s been interesting."

Spike stopped and turned her to face him. "I am so sorry about Anya."

"I know, Spike. You’ve got to get over it. You wouldn’t have done anything, would you?"

"No, of course not. You didn’t think I would have, did you?"

"No, I trust you Spike, and I love you very, very much." She went up on tip-toe for a kiss and for a few moments they were both lost in it.

They resumed their stroll, Buffy marvelling at how beautiful the distant hills looked, washed in moonlight. She wondered if Spike was worried that he might have done something with Anya. He had been very drunk last night, but she rejected the thought. She did trust Spike implicitly, but she was having a hard time convincing him of that.

"Spike."

"Yeah."

"I’ve still got the dress."

"Yeah." His fingers gripped her arm slightly.

"I could put it on for you. You didn’t really get to appreciate it last night."

"No, I didn’t, Buffy I’m..."

"Spike, don’t say you’re sorry again. You are so forgiven."

"Okay, I won’t mention it again, promise."

"So, what was that medieval fantasy you were dreaming about? I’m open to suggestions."

"You are? It was something I read on the Internet. A fanfic actually."

"You read fanfiction on the Internet?"

"And you don’t?" He cocked an eyebrow at her, not the slightest bit embarrassed by his admission.

"Well, yeah. What was it about?"

"Well, there was this couple right, and he loved her, and she loved him."

"With you so far, Spike."

"But, she thought being with him was wrong, but she couldn’t stay away, so she made up this little fantasy about them being Lancelot and Guinevere. Then they could be together, and somehow it didn’t seem wrong because they weren’t themselves."

"But that’s not us, Spike. There’s nothing wrong with us being together, well apart from not being able to tell anyone about us this weekend." She nodded. "Yeah, I sort of see where you’re coming from."

"How do you fancy being Guinevere to my Lancelot, just for tonight?"

They reached the steps of the hotel and went inside.

"Did it have a happy ending, Spike?"

"Don’t know yet. From the way it’s playing out, I suspect not."

Buffy wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. "But we will, won’t we?" She couldn’t keep the note of anxiety out of her voice. Role playing, simple as this suggestion was, always involved a lot of trust. She trusted Spike, but she wasn’t sure what he wanted of her here.

"Count on it Buff. Heck, there’s the prof, I’ll have to say hello. Look, why don’t you go upstairs and, umm get changed. I’ll join you in a minute."

She entered her room, took off her clothes and slipped into the dress. She’d worn a low-cut bra last night, but she didn’t tonight. Luckily the dress had a well shaped bodice that gave some support, but she so very rarely went bra-less that it felt strange. She looked at herself in the mirror, cupping her breasts and letting them drop. Perky enough to get away with it. Then she set about her hair. It ought to be down, she thought, taking out the clips and reaching for her brush.

And then there was that other piece of underwear. She knew what he really wanted, although she’d been the one to plant the thought in his head. She finished brushing her hair, then wriggled out of her panties and stuffed them into her case. Going pantie-less was definitely something she’d never done before, and she was amazed at how erotic the soft velvet felt against her bare skin. At least they didn’t have to worry about visible panty lines in those days, she thought, inspecting her rear view in the mirror. Would she have been able to go to the banquet like this, and would anybody have been able to tell? Poor Spike. He must have worked himself up into a frenzy thinking about it, and then that jester had grabbed her and kept her on the stage all evening. No wonder he’d got himself so drunk. And where was he? Who’d have thought going medieval would be such a turn-on. She lifted the skirt and let it slide down her legs, then twirled around. Come on Lancelot, where are you?

~*~*~*~*~

Spike opened Buffy’s door and called softly to her. The room was dark, except for the bedside lamp, which illuminated Buffy’s form on the bed. She was propped up against the pillows and wearing the dress, the light making a sort of halo around her head. He felt his pulse start to race as he moved towards her, all thoughts of fantasy role-playing disappearing beneath the need to be inside her right now. It was starting to seem like an eternity since he’d made love to her and Lancelot would just have to wait. He grabbed the hem of his sweatshirt and tee-shirt together and pulled them over his head, dropping them on the floor as he walked over to the bed. Then unlaced his boots and kicked them aside as his hand moved to her ankle and began to slowly slide the material up her leg, sensuously caressing her silky skin with the velvet. He climbed up beside her, reaching down to unbutton his jeans, which were suddenly much too tight for comfort, and his breath started coming in short gasps as he watched his hand travelling higher and higher, and felt her legs moving restlessly under his attention.

"My lord is very late. Where has thou been?"

She startled him out of his daze. "Uhh?"

"Has thou been with a serving wench?"

"What, a who? No." Spike tried to refocus on what his hand was doing but Buffy’s big grin was somewhat putting him off.

"Why art thou wearing such strange attire, my Lancelot?"

"Umm," Spike looked down at his jeans. "I’m from the future."

Buffy exploded with laughter and rolled over on to her side. "Cans’t thou not do better than that?"

"No, I cans’tn’t. Bloody hell, what kind of word is that?" He sat back on his heels and ran a hand through his hair. It wasn’t working. Buffy couldn’t keep a straight face, and now he was feeling a bit of a prat. All he wanted to do was find out what she had under the dress, then take it off her.

Buffy rolled onto her back and composed herself. "Okay, let’s try again, call me by my name."

"Buffy."

"Not that one, come on Spike, this was your idea."

"Guinevere."

"Yes my Lord."

"Umm, what art thou wearing under, umm, thy dress?"

"That’s no question to ask a lady, my lord."

"And art thou a lady?" he said, his hand moving in to finish what it had started.

"Yes I bloody well art," Buffy said, mimicking his accent. Then she doubled up and exploded with laughter once more. "I’m sorry Spike, I can’t do this. I keep thinking of you in tights, and...eek."

Spike unzipped his jeans and rolled her onto her back, then he grabbed the skirt, pushed it up to her waist and moved on top of her. "Sod Lancelot," he said, capturing her mouth with his. He felt her hands pushing his jeans down, and he reached down to help her. He kicked them off with a little difficulty, and groped in the back pocket for a condom, since she hadn’t said it was safe to go without one yet, then he sheathed himself and settled between her thighs. Her ankles went around his waist, locking him to her as he slowly slid inside.

He didn’t think he’d last long, and he didn’t, but he did manage to remember to say Guinevere instead of Buffy as he gasped out his release, and he was vaguely aware of her almost screaming the word Lancelot as she clamped around him and sent him to his own special heaven. When he’d got enough breath back to talk, he lifted his head and grinned at her. She grinned back at him, looking like the cat that got the cream.

"God, Guin, you’ll be the death of me if you keep doing that."

"Verily, but what a way to go, my Lancelot."

"Yeah, verily." He let his head fall back onto her breasts and started nuzzling them gently, his hand sweeping up her thigh and over her hip.

"By the way, love your medieval underwear."

~*~*~*~*~

Two days later, Spike and Xander were just finishing up working on the computer game.

"And then she turned up apparently. Buffy’s only just told me." Spike picked up his coat and followed Xander out of his flat. "Nice job, Xan, You finished that contract work yet?"

"Yeah, mostly." Xander waited while Spike locked up. "You gonna tell me what the deal is about Dru?"

"I already did, mate. She’s into something bad. Don’t know what exactly, you know what she can be like."

They strolled the few hundred yards to the pub, Xander pumping Spike for information about Dru, and Spike reluctantly telling him.

"You should have told me this a long time ago, Spike. Who is this Johnny guy? I ought to go punch his lights out."

"Whoa." Spike stopped and turned to his friend. "He’s big-time, Xan. Got Dru and her friends running around him like minions, but that’s just a front. Like’s to make out he’s just one of the regulars, but he’s not."

"What, we’re talking gangsters here?"

Xander was starting to look genuinely worried and Spike was beginning to wish they’d never started this conversation.

"We might be, I don’t know." They reached the pub and walked inside. Spike fished in his pocket for some money. "How is Dru?" He had to ask, hadn’t abandoned her completely.

"Crazy as ever, crazier if that’s possible. Spike, why didn’t you tell me all this?"

Spike caught the barmaid's eye and ordered two pints. "So you’d do what? Get yourself beaten up?"

Xander accepted the beer and followed Spike to a table. "It’s better than doing nothing, Spike. She’s in trouble, and she needs us."

They sat in silence for a moment. Dru had always done her own thing. Gone her own way. Short of putting her in a cage, there was no stopping her.

"Look, Xan, do you want me to talk to her?" Spike didn’t relish the thought, but he knew that’s what Xander really wanted.

"Would you, I mean, would it do any good?"

"Probably not, if she’s addicted Xan, then it’s not a talking problem any more."

"I know." Xander ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up at odd angles. "What if me and you go and see Johnny together? We’ve got to do something Spike. Go to the police or something. Get him put away."

"Yeah." Spike got out his cigarettes. "Supposed to be giving these up. Buffy’d kill me if she saw me. There’s something else, Xan. I’m pretty sure Dru’s been dealing too. Johnny goes down, then she does."

"Bloody hell. Anything else you didn’t you tell me?" Xander was starting to look distraught. He took a large gulp of his drink, then slammed the glass back down on the table, sending beer sloshing everywhere. Several people looked round to see what the commotion was and Spike had to grab Xander’s arm to stop him getting up.

"Where the hell are you going?"

"I’m going to see Johnny." He shook Spike’s hand off, kicked back his chair and took off towards the exit.

Spike took a hasty swig of his own beer and followed him. Xander had no idea what he was messing with, but if he was insisting on doing this, he owed it to him to be by his side. He caught up with Xamder just outside the pub, narrowly avoiding being run over by a black, stretch limo that was just cruising past. The car stopped and a suited gentleman got out.

"William Giles?"

Spike stopped in his tracks. "Who’s asking?" The suited gent did not look friendly. In fact, Spike knew exactly what he looked like. One look at Xander’s face, and he knew that Xander was thinking the same thing. Spike backed up slowly, his hands up, palms forward. "Look, we don’t want any trouble. We’ll just be on our way." He glanced around as another identically dressed gentleman got out of the other side of the limo.

"We just need you to come for a short ride, sir. Get in the car, please."

"Sod off." Spike was starting to sweat now. He tried to back up, but they were on either side of him, and before Xander could help him he was pushed into the car in one smooth move and they were away.

"What the fuck’s going on?" he demanded, sounding more confident than he felt as he stared at the two enormous men flanking him. There was no way he was going to beat then in a fight.

"Did Johnny send you?"

The first big man looked at him innocently. "Who, sir?"

"Johnny. Drug-dealer." Spike waved his hand around the car. "This is just about his style. What the hell does he want with me?"

The second gent flicked a catch and a drinks’ cabinet appeared in the back of the seat in front of them.

"Why don’t you have a drink and relax." He picked up a bottle. "Good vintage, this." Then he gave Spike a benevolent smile.

"The boss just wants a little word with you, sir, that’s all. There’s absolutely nothing to worry about."

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