Chapter 15:

Giles wasn’t at the Summers' house.

By the time they arrived, Buffy was able to walk on her own; when they walked in she headed straight for the weapons chest, pulling out a long and dangerous-looking sword.

Spike arched a brow when he saw it. “Hero complex, luv?”

“He took Jenny,” she replied grimly. “There’s no way I’m letting that bastard get away with it.”

He might have taken Giles, too—that thought was first and foremost in Spike’s mind. Angelus was a sick fucker, and he probably knew that if he killed Giles when they thought he was alive simply because he hadn’t mentioned capturing him, then both Slayers would be devastated.

Keeping that in mind, he picked up an axe. “You can have your needle. ‘m goin’ in with the best weapon I can get.”

“An axe?” she said skeptically.

“Hell, yeah. That’s what I was fightin’ with that first night, remember?”

He watched her relax a little. He knew what she felt, since the same emotions were running through him. Every other battle either of them had fought, they’d done it alone; now they had each other.

Something told him that two Slayers would be a hell of a lot more effective than one.

They were leaving the house when Spike spotted the envelope lying on the ground. “Looks like your mum’s got mail, Goldilocks,” he said, stooping down and picked the envelope up.

He didn’t see the finger until it rolled off the envelope and bumped against his boot. “What the hell—“

He froze. Blood was still sluggishly dripping from the severed appendage; and when he saw the ring that had fallen off the finger, rage overcame him.

It was a simple silver band, heavy with inscriptions that had been worn down to the barest of scratching, but Spike would have known it anywhere.

“He’s got Giles.” Spike’s voice was flat; inside, he felt like screaming.

“Spike—“ Buffy reached out to touch him, and at the same time he felt the gentle brush of her mind against his. He flinched away from both. “The bastard’s got my Watcher!”

“I know,” she said. “He’s got mine, too. But we have to—“

He stood up suddenly and whirled around to face her, pure fury rising in his mind. “What? Stay calm? How the fucking hell do you expect me to stay calm when some vampire friend of yours cut—“

Her fist to his nose stopped his insults. “My friend?” she spat, sounding every bit as angry as the male Slayer. “You think he’s my friend? He took my Watcher too, you judgmental ass!”

“But he didn’t maim yours!” Spike yelled back, every bit as incensed as she was yet reluctant to hit her. Some part of his civility still remained.

“No,” Buffy said quietly, her voice venomous. “He might have killed her instead.”

Silence took over the porch. Spike was shaking, fighting off the urge to destroy something, anything; he couldn’t get the horrific image of his Watcher’s finger out of his mind. Giles was being tortured—and it was all his fault. He was the Slayer. He had a responsibility towards Giles, and he’d failed.

He wouldn’t fail again.

Abruptly he hefted the axe on his shoulder and said grimly, “Let’s go, then. Time to put that bastard in the ground.”

She put her hand on his arm to stop him, her touch gentle. “Spike, we can’t,” she said softly. “Angel—I mean, Angelus—he’s—“

“He’s just another vampire, Buffy,” Spike said shortly. He saw her flinch at the coldness in his voice. Fine, then; let her flinch. Let her be hurt. It wasn’t his problem. First and foremost, he owed his loyalty to his Watcher.

“No, he’s not,” she insisted. When he turned to glare at her, she caught his eyes with her own—and suddenly he found himself falling through her memories and witnessing the fight she’d had with Angel nearly a year before.

It was horrific. Not because he was hurting her, but because that for all that he was a weakened creature, supping off pigs’ blood and deliberately curbing his strength, he was still faster and better than the Slayer he faced. He didn’t move quickly, the way both the Slayers did; instead he moved sinuously, like a snake. Not so quickly, but every move was calculated, and when he wanted to, he could snap out like lightning.

If he charged in seeing red, Spike knew he wouldn’t last.

He forced himself to accept the calming force radiating off of the female Slayer, taking a deep breath and clenching his jaw.

Better now?

The light brush of her mind on his as she spoke to him soothed him more than he’d ever be able to tell her. Little bit. How’re we gonna play this?

He watched her bite her lip. Even in the middle of a crisis, she was adorable. Angel…doesn’t think I’m all that bright, she admitted after a moment of thought. I could go to him, play the scared little girl, ask him what’s wrong—distract him. And then maybe you could rush in and get Giles and Jenny free?

He’ll try to hurt you, luv. Spike tried to inject his disapproval into that thought. The idea of Buffy taking on that bastard alone made his blood run cold.

It’ll only be for a minute, she assured him. Just long enough for you to get the bo—for you to get them out.

He’d felt what she was going to say before it reached her brain. Taking her hands and pulling her closer, he said, They’re alright. They have to be.

She leaned into him for a second, sighing. I know, she said, but she sounded unsure. It’s just…really not with the believing in happy endings right now.

I know. Spike took a deep breath and said aloud, “Well, ‘s as good a plan as any. You’re positive you can hold off this bastard till I get ‘em out?”

Buffy nodded grimly. “I couldn’t kill him, but I’m pretty sure I can at least distract him enough for you to get Jenny and Giles out.”

He watched her fingers tighten around the hilt of her sword; she was just as scared as he.

“Let’s move out, then,” he said.

They departed hand in hand, both fighting to smother the fear that screamed out the names of their Watchers as they walked.

~*~

Drusilla cocked her head, cooing to imps that no one but she could perceive. “I hear them, Daddy,” she said, clapping her hands in delight. “The little tin soldiers are coming to give us a visit.”

Angelus turned to her, smiling benevolently. “That’s excellent news, Dru.” He turned back to the two figures chained to the wall. His smile widened. “Isn’t she a wonderful childe?” he asked the two. “So very perceptive…Drusilla, darling, I think I’ll have to reward you for that.”

Drusilla squealed. “Is Daddy going to give Princess tea and cakes? The men at the castle called to me, said it was tea time. We shall drink from golden plates and dance with the stars.”

Angelus cocked his head at her. “I don’t know if I can get what yer talkin’ about,” he said, “But how does a nice little torture session with one of the Watchers sound?”

She took the proffered knife and approached the Watchers with the same wicked smile Angelus wore, made all the more terrifying by the insane light that sparkled in her eyes.

“Naughty, naughty,” the vampire scolded, shaking the knife and causing the blood on its blade to spatter the two pale faces. “Shouldn’t have gone outside, not when Miss Edith told you to stay with the picnic. Such bad, bad little dollies.”

She traced a deep line down Jenny’s cheek and smiled when the witch whimpered in pain. “She dances with the starlight and laughs at the fire,” Drusilla whispered, almost to herself. “Now—let us see if she will scream.”

~*~
 

Chapter 16:

Even before they were halfway there, Buffy knew they were too late.

Well, okay, she didn’t know; unlike that freaky bitch Drusilla, she wasn’t clairvoyant. But she felt something at the pit of her stomach, a distinct sinking that she could only attribute to one thing.

“Spike,” she whispered. “They’re…they’re hurting.”

Spike nodded. “When we get them out,” he remarked almost lightly, “’m gonna have to drive Giles utterly carrot-top by beggin’ him for explanation. Why the bloody hell do all ‘f us suddenly have so many arcane connections?”

Buffy shrugged. “It could have something to do with the inherent wonkeyness of the Hellmouth,” she suggested, her eyes still scanning the darkness. It had turned into something of a paranoia for her; surely Angelus wouldn’t just let them come?

“True,” Spike agreed, gripping his axe a bit tighter. Sensing something, luv?

No, she replied, tense eyes scanning the darkness. But I wasn’t sensing anything earlier, either, and look where that got us.

Right, then. Suddenly Spike stiffened. Behind us, luv. Twenty of ‘em.

How do you do that? Buffy demanded, impressed in spite of herself.

He smirked. Training, luv. ‘s all part of the training. He tossed her a stake, which she caught and stuck in her belt. Reckon they’ll be attacking any minute now.

I’m using the sword, she shot back.

Don’t like the idea of my girl being under-armed, is all, he replied, sugary innocence almost dripping her in her mind.

She snorted aloud. “You’re a pig, Spike.”

“Don’t you know it, baby.”

“They’re right behind us, aren’t they?”

“Yep.”

Grimly, Buffy dove to the ground. A vampire leapt over her. Drawing her sword, she jumped up and slashed at another one. Spike was swinging his axe in a wide arc, decapitating two at once.

Her eyes narrowed. Oh, no you don’t. There was no way his body—or dust—count was going to be higher than hers. She’d never hear the end of it.

She leapt up and dealt a back kick to one vampire while her sword sliced the head off of another. Grinning at the subsequent cloud of dust, she grabbed her stake from her pocket and sent it through the chest of the one she’d kicked.

Two down, eighteen to go.

The fight was long, but not particularly difficult. Either Angelus was getting sloppy or he wasn’t trying to kill them, because when the last vampire settled around them in a cloud of dust, both Buffy and Spike were barely breathing hard.

“So…he’s at the mansion, right?” Buffy asked calmly, resheathing her sword.

“Far as I can tell, yeah. His aura’s getting stronger every minute.”

Buffy pouted. “Lucky you, getting to feel auras and stuff.”

“You could too, if you weren’t lazy,” he teased.

She smiled—but again, it was a strained smile. In the back of both their minds was the image of Giles’s finger, and the worry that they were going to be too late.

Almost instinctively, they moved closer together. Buffy had to fight the shivers that always began when he was so close. It was probably wrong on several different levels to turn into a total slut when they were headed into mortal danger, but…if the Powers wanted her to be all good and focused and whatnot, then they should have given her a less hot slay-buddy!

Slay-buddy. God, she knew that she was cracking when she started coming up with funky phrases like that.

When Spike reached out to catch her hand, Buffy reached out and eagerly tangled her fingers with his. He sent her an amused look—one that was quelled when she said, It’s just nice to have something to hold on to, you know?

I know.

They were silent for the rest of the walk. Both felt a kind of deep sense of panic as they neared the mansion. They’d slain hundreds of vampires each, but Angelus was a new breed. The others had killed to live, but Angelus lived to kill.

It scared them both.

When the mansion came into view, Spike gave Buffy’s hand a last squeeze before releasing her. When she threw him a questioning look he explained, “Can’t have us distracted, luv. If the poofter’s gonna throw any more of his minions at us, it’ll be here.”

“Oh, right,” the other Slayer said quickly. “I knew that.”

The corner of Spike’s mouth quirked upwards in an almost-smile. “’course you did, luv,” he drawled.

“I did!” Buffy insisted.

“Sh.” Spike abruptly flung out a hand. Buffy grew silent and listened carefully. Footsteps?

Comin’ from the left side ‘f the house. Bet they’re waitin’ for us to get a little closer b’fore they jump us.

Dorks, Buffy grumbled. Okay, let’s go right. At Spike’s questioning look she added, There’s a side entrance.

And you know this…how?

Believe me when I say you don’t want to know.

Right, then. Let’s go.

They crept across the lawn and over to the right side of the house. About twenty feet in, there was a very small door. Crouching down, Buffy grasped the knob, praying that it would turn.

It did. They slipped inside and found themselves in a narrow hallway. Both their Slayer senses instantly went crazy, screaming vampire! in a thousand different directions. Buffy found herself shuddering under the weight of it. How are we supposed to find Angelus in all this?

Concentrate. The word echoed in her brain as though Spike had somehow penetrated more of her mind than usual…and why why why were naughty thoughts coming up at that image? Gah!

Spike, apparently unaware of her sudden turmoil, continued, Angelus is so strong that he’ll have a unique signature. Concentrate an’ you oughta be able to find it.

Buffy screwed her eyes shut. Dammit. Concentration had never been her strong point…she just plain wasn’t smart enough for it. Why did she get the feeling Spike had been the kind of kid who’d rather read a book than go outside and play?

Wait. Stop. Concentrate. Angelus was here somewhere…and he had Jenny…was, in fact, threatening her…

That did the trick. Buffy felt her senses sharpen, homing in on a presence she now felt acutely. It was pain, it was malignance, it was evil—and it was hers.

Remember, she said to Spike. No matter how bad I look, no matter how much it looks like I’m losing, get them out. Okay? I need to know that you won’t try to help me.

She could feel his reluctance, his mistrust of her ability to fight off a creature sure as Angelus. But in the end he sighed almost inaudibly. Right then, pet. Let’s take this bastard down.

~*~

 

Chapter 17:

Angelus was holding court in the largest room in the mansion—a room that she rather thought would be a ballroom were it not covered in random articles of clothing and red splotches that she knew were blood. Luckily, the room lacked minions. Angelus must have anticipated the two Slayers and sent the lesser vampires away. It was Angelus’s style, she knew; he would want to toy with them himself, with no lackeys interrupting his fun.

Please let us be in time.

Spike dropped behind her, and she knew without even having to reach out to him that he planned to go back, wend his way through the halls, and sneak in behind Angelus to get Jenny and Giles.

For there they both were, amidst copious blood spatters. They were both tied to chairs and were looking so haggard that Buffy’s heart clenched just seeing them. But they were alive—that much luck had been with them.

Angelus himself was sitting in a chair that could only be called a throne. Buffy felt almost physically sick when she saw that he dandled Dru on his knee. Like she’s a doll or something…Even worse was the knowledge that it had been Dru who made him lose his soul.

Not that she had proof, or anything—but who else would it be?

Angelus spotted her as soon as she stepped into the light. His face, so smooth and deceptive, split into a wide grin.

“I was wondering when you’d come, lover.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed. Lover? Okay, not only was he a gross serial killer, but he was crazy. “Kissing you isn’t the same as sleeping with you,” she pointed out coldly. “And as a general rule, lovers don’t kidnap each other’s Watchers.”

“You never kidnapped my Watcher,” Angelus said in false innocence.

Dru clapped her hands and cried out in seeming pain.

“Daddy! The tin soldiers have come to take Mummy’s toys away!”

“So I noticed,” Angelus said, keeping his eyes on Buffy. “Now, is that polite, Buff? Stealing my girl’s fun.”

“You left a finger on my porch,” she snapped, allowing her anger to show. “I’m sending you to hell.”

She threw a stake at him. It whirled through the air, its speed making it sound out a thin, clear note in the silence. Less than a second after she threw it, Angelus reached out and caught it about two feet from his chest.

“That was rude,” he said chidingly. “I was gonna tie you up and torture you, but I might have to kill you and just settle for making your boyfriend bleed. Damn, I hate it when things don’t work out the way I want them to…”

“You really like the sound of your own voice, don’t you?” Buffy said, not really expecting an answer.

Angelus’ face darkened; Drusilla piped up and said, “Enough talk. Daddy, the stars told me to melt the tin soldiers down.”

“And melt them we will,” Angelus said cheerfully. He hopped off his throne; Buffy’s eyes darted to behind him. She had to fight from sighing in relief when she saw Spike standing in the shadows.

No matter what happened now, he would get them out.

“No offense, but generally we humans don’t take kindly to melting,” Buffy said cheerfully. “I mean, our skin burns, and then there’s pain, and it’s all a world of bad from there.”

“Pain? Well, I don’t want to cause you that!” Angelus grinned as his face shifted and the demon came to the fore. “Oh, wait—I do.”

“Not loving the corny villain jokes,” Buffy said impassively, keeping determined eyes on Angelus’ face even as Spike crept up to Giles’s chair and began to untie him.

“But they’re so much fun to make,” Angelus said plaintively. “You’re not having fun?”

Buffy sneered at him. “Come on, Angel. I know you’re not that bright, but even you ought to be able to figure this one out.”

“Hmm.” His body went almost unnaturally still, and Buffy stiffened. What was he planning?

Buffy, watch out!

The warning came less than a second too late. Angelus whipped out a gun and shot straight at her heart—Buffy darted to the side and felt pain tear into her shoulder, the tissue ripping apart in an explosion of pain as she fell to the floor. “Shit,” she hissed.

Buffy! Buffy, pet, just hold still and I’ll--

NO. She gritted her teeth against the pain. Not now, Spike! Not ever, actually, if you keep it up. We’re gonna get through this. But you have to get them out. I told you I’d create a diversion, didn’t I?

And getting shot was part of your plan? Behind Angelus, Spike glared at her. You’re bloody insane, did you know?

Duh. She grimaced at him, and grimaced again when Angelus laughed, thinking she was afraid. Now get them the hell out of here, would you? This whole stalling thing isn’t exactly working out!

Right. He finished pulling the ropes off of Giles and started on Jenny’s. Bastard, tying ‘em ‘round their vitals—I can’t cut ‘em off.

Well, hurry up with the untying. Pain is definitely a factor here.

“Are you drifting off on me?” Angelus asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Hunh? Uh, no. No drifting off here.” She smiled brilliantly at him, gritting her teeth. She didn’t think a single bullet wound would kill a Slayer, but she honestly didn’t want to find out.

“That’s good,” Angelus said, and he viciously backhanded her.

She flew across the room, slamming against the stone wall and falling to the floor.

Okay. Ow.

Pain was spreading all over her, radiating out in all directions and she knew she should get up and fight but she just hurt so much and all over that when her legs screamed at her to move she lay inert on the floor and waited for Angelus to strike again. She knew he would, just like she knew that Jenny would be so disappointed in her, failing when she didn’t even really have to win, just stall him and run away.

This, then, was what failure felt like. Cold. Cold and alone and…ending.

“Buffy, what the fuck are you doing?”

She cracked an eyelid open. Huh. That was definitely not Angelus speaking to her…

“Spike?” She’d meant to sound strong and Slayer-ey, but it came out as a whisper. Damn. And there was so much blood all around her…

“Buffy, get up.” She’d never really heard him sound like before. He sounded more panicked and more desperate than he had since she’d met him. And okay, that had only been a few days ago, but she still almost smiled to hear the concern in his voice.

The almost-smile turned into a grimace. “Spike, get out of here,” she whispered, every word bringing shooting pain to her chest. “Angelus, he’s going to—“

“Dru’s holdin’ him,” Spike said grimly. “She’s babblin’ about her dolls.”

“That’s nice, Mom,” Buffy said faintly. “What’s for dinner?”

Spike stared at his fellow Slayer for a moment, appalled, before doing the only logical thing in that situation: he hoisted her over his shoulder. Buffy was just lucid enough to think oh no, not again before he simply carried her straight out of the mansion.

Jenny and Giles were waiting for them outside; thankfully, they could both still stand.

“She’s hurt,” was Spike’s curt explanation for carrying Buffy like a trophy earned in wartime. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

“Is she going to be okay?” Jenny asked, rushing towards the girl. “Buffy, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been stupid enough to get kidnapped—“

“She can’t really hear you,” Spike informed the woman, his voice harsh with anger. “She’s delusional.”

“Hey!” The girl in question pinched him—he barely refrained from yelping. “No, I’m not!”

“Well, you’re sick,” he told her bluntly, “An’ your not gettin’ out ‘f that.”

“Yes, I am,” she said, wrinkling that cute little nose at him, “Because I’m not sick, I got shot, dummy. Now take me home.”

Jenny screamed. “She got shot?”

“Later,” he snapped in what he hoped was a compelling voice. “Right now, we’ve got one pretty pissed off master vampire who may or may not decide to come out and make us his nighttime snack, so we need to get the hell out of hear, got me?”

Jenny hesitated, then nodded. Good; the whole Slayer bit was still comin’ through. The Watchers, for all that they were older and maybe wiser than he was, were acknowledging that he knew better than they did.

“Let’s move, then.”

He rocked her in his arms, gently, pressing his hand against her wound as tightly as he could to stop the bleeding. He could feel the wound trying to knit itself together, and he winced when he realized that her Slayer powers were healing what shouldn’t be healed till they got the bullet out.

“Hold on, luv,” he whispered. Her eyelids flickered, but her eyes stayed closed.

“This is gonna hurt plenty more b’fore we’re through.”

~*~
 

Chapter 18:

~*~

She was swimming.

Except, she was relatively certain that she wasn’t in a pool, not unless they’d started making multicolor pools that whirled and tilted like an amusement park ride. Somehow, Buffy doubted it.

Wherever it was, she thought, it was definitely pretty.

Slowly the colors began to take shape, becoming swirling nebulas and vague shapes. Buffy watched them, only half-interested but unable to look away; she didn’t seem to have eyes.

Some where in the back of her mind, she noted that she really ought to feel alarmed…but somehow, she simply couldn’t muster the energy.

It was when the shapes suddenly took human form that she (metaphorically) sat up and started paying attention.

She was in her bedroom, with its annoyingly pink and frilly décor, and Spike was sitting on her bed. Wait, no. Spike was lying on her bed, and she was standing in front of him, wearing a nightie—which was interesting, because she didn’t actually own a nightie. All her pajamas were flannel. She really didn’t want to think of how badly her mom would freak out if she found out that her daughter was buying slinky satin nightwear. Or slinky silk nightwear. Or slinky anything, actually.

But apparently her mom didn’t exist in this dream, because she found herself looking Spike up and down and saying in a sultry (sultry?!) voice, “Well, well, well. Did you get lost looking for the guest room?”

He smirked back at her. Well, of course he was smirking. Buffy was relatively certain she was having the girly equivalent of a wet dream; there was probably some sort of law that said he had to smirk in a dream like this.

“Think ‘m exactly where I’m s’posed to be,” he said, his accent much lower and gravelly than she’d ever heard it before.

“Is that so?” She batted her eyelashes at him. “I haven’t known you very long, Spike.”

“An’ I barely know you,” he acknowledged with a sexy smile.

“So…wanna have sex?” Buffy asked hopefully. It was her dream, after all; what harm could come of it?

Dream-Spike looked startled, which she definitely hadn’t expected, but a minute later his surprise melted into another heart-thumping smirk. “Sure.”

Silence. Buffy fidgeted where she was standing, and Spike sat on her bed, eyeing her speculatively. Finally, Buffy said, “Um. I’m really not in the mood.” She was surprised to find that her voice was back to normal, no longer disturbingly porn star like.

Spike cocked his head at her. “C’mere.”

She obeyed, taking baby steps till she stood in front of him.

His hands came up to rest on her hips; she resisted the urge to jump. Was it possible for hands to burn holes in fabric? It felt like his just had. “Spike—“

“Shh.” One of his hands moved to her back, gently caressing. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, pet.”

“I—I know,” Buffy whispered, “but…” She hung her head.

Scared, luv? Hadn’t pegged you for that type.

Anger rushed through her, and suddenly she found herself meeting his eyes fiercely. “I am not afraid,” she hissed furiously.

His lips quirked in a mocking smile. “Yeah? Prove it.”

So she did. One second she was standing in front of him—the next, she’d practically tackled him, sealing his lips to hers in an aggressive kiss. She was going to wake up in the morning hurting all over, and there was still the whole Angelus thing to deal with. Right now, she wanted to enjoy her dream.

The kiss soon turned urgent; clothing seemed to melt away and then there was just skin against skin. Spike’s fingers trailed across her hip and in between her legs, and she felt her own fingers wrap themselves around him like a vise. He hissed—but not, her dream-self knew, in pain.

Writhing, gasping, fingers sliding over silk, cloth, and finally skin; it all melted together in the infuriating way that dreams have. Buffy heard herself gasping, felt her body convulse just as Spike’s did the same—and then, as their lips met in another kiss, everything began to fade away.

Buffy turned over in her sleep, smiling.

Downstairs on the couch, Spike woke up, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Bloody hell, he’d shot off in his sleep…abso-fucking-lutely humiliating, even if that particular dream had been more than a little pleasant. Gritting his teeth, he sat up and grabbed some tissue to clean the mess up.

~*~

“I was this close! And that nasty, sanctimonious little bitch stole it from me!”

Drusilla watched Angelus rant with her head cocked. She could see the feelings swirling about in his head—so many colors, like bits of a rainbow.

“Daddy isn’t happy?” It hurt her in a way that she didn’t understand, seeing her Angel’s face so very black. Black like night, she thought, humming to herself. Black like night without the glitter of the stars…

When he hit her, when he abused her body and brought the stars into her skin, burning and singing, pain and pleasure, agony and tears and dirt, dirt scrubbed into her skin—when he bruised her and hurt her and brought her closer to the stars, Drusilla laughed.

Sunshine’s going to come. Sunshine will come and burn us down, and we shall die laughing at the cinders.

When Angelus came, rubbing his hands in the blood that streaked Drusilla’s stomach, the vampire beneath him was laughing.

~*~

Spike damn near fell over in the chair he sat in when Buffy walked into the kitchen next morning. How was it that she made even flannel pajamas look sexy?

“Feeling better?” he asked, eyeing her as though he was checking for injuries. Fuck, those curves…

“Um,” Buffy said. “I guess so. What happened?”

“You went carrot-top and Jenny pulled some stunt with a crystal. Then we put you in bed, an’ that was that.”

Spike was fighting hard to ignore his dream. It wasn’t real. She’s fucking injured, an’ you’re getting hard over a dream!

Wonderful. That was all he could think. He knew that judging how she looked based on a dream was beyond stupid, but he couldn’t help himself. The girl was gorgeous.

“Oh. Um…that’s good.”

Spike was watching her closely, so he saw her blush. So, ‘m not the only one gettin’ all hot an’ bothered…

Buffy blinked and looked directly in his eyes. WHAT did you just say?

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. “Uh…nothing,” he said quickly, hoping to distract her by speaking aloud.

“I am in no way distracted, mister,” Buffy said sternly, folding her arms. “Would you like to tell me what exactly you just said?”

“I didn’t say anything,” he replied defensively. “Not my fault you were pokin’ in my head.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not my fault you look funny,” Buffy said huffily. “I was worried.”

“You’re the one who was all delirious yesterday!”

“And you’re the one who’s thinking about sex when I’m in flannel!” The second the words left her mouth, Buffy squeaked and clapped a hand over the offending opening.

Some part of Spike, the wicked bit that he was pretty sure was going to hell, smirked at her. “But it’s sexy flannel,” he all but purred, raking his eyes over her again for effect.

She fixed him with a stern look. “There’s a knife less than two feet away from me,” she informed him flatly. “A Slaying knife with a wicked sharp point. And I have really good aim.”

He just smirked at her, unable to resist baiting her just a little bit more. “But wouldn’t you rather I stuck somethin’ in you?”

Even after Buffy soaked him with her glass of lemonade, Spike was laughing.

~*~
 

Chapter 19:

~*~


“So,” Buffy said, sitting down on the couch.

Spike arched an eyebrow at her. “So?”

“We need to get a plan together to kill Angel—I mean, Angelus,” Buffy said, wincing at her mistake. The last thing she needed was to start thinking about how Angel had been before he’d lost his soul again.

“So we put a stake through his heart.” He shrugged. “End of story.”

“Do you honestly think it’s that easy?” Buffy asked impatiently.

“’ve been training for almost a decade,” he said, plopping down on the couch next to her. Buffy immediately looked away. It was completely and totally unfair that someone so sexy and so…well, sexy, was sitting on her couch and she wasn’t allowed to do anything about it.

And it was even worse, she thought at her face reddened and she felt his mind brush against hers, that she wasn’t even allowed to think about it without him finding out.

“Naughty thoughts, pet?” he asked, leering at her.

“No!” she all but yelped. “I—I mean…okay, so you’ve been training since you were ten, but you’ve never staked anyone like Angelus before, have you?”

Spike tilted his head thoughtfully and sucked his cheeks in. Buffy fought not to stare.

Hell with it. Her eyes flew to his face and traces the line of his cheekbone. God, it was so sharp, and she wanted nothing more than to trail her tongue down it and to his mouth…

Go ahead, then.

She jumped. “Hunh?”

Spike smirked at her. “’f you keep sendin’ thoughts like that to me, we’re never gonna get anything done.”

She could’ve done several things at that moment. She could have blushed and steered the conversation back to Angelus; she could have fervently denied that her thoughts had been anything but G-rated; she could even have knocked him out and dragged him back to Sunnydale Motel. But when she twisted over to his side of the couch and straddled him, feeling his erection beneath her, she knew she’d made the right choice.

Angelus was probably going to try to end the world, and their Watchers were both still injured, and then there was that annoying destiny thing—but right now all Buffy could think about was how much she wanted to kiss Spike.

So she did.

It was hot, and messy, and a little confusing, since she’d jumped on his lap and started kissing him in about a second. Spike’s mouth had been open when she brought her lips to his, so there was also some confusing tongue action going on…

But then he moved, placing his hands on her hips and holding her firmly, and his mouth began to move against hers, and it might have been messy but at that moment it was perfect.

“Mmm,” she murmured, slipping her hands under his t-shirt, “I think we should do this all day.”

“Can’t. We’ve got—work to do.” But even as he said it, his hands were hiking her top up and cupping her breasts.

“Work later,” she murmured, leaning into his touch. “Right now…play.”

She wasn’t actually being irresponsible. Not at all. Throwing herself at Spike wasn’t immature or bad in the least. It was fun. Lots and lots of fun.

Buffy moaned, partly in response to his fingers and partly because she felt herself going all melt-ey because of something that had nothing to do with the way he was touching her.

When they kissed again, it was with renewed determination on her part. The dream she’d had last night meant nothing. Not to her and not to him. The fact that they had a psychic connection, that he was more in tune with her than anyone else had ever been—that didn’t mean anything, either. He made her feel good, and that was the end of it.

But when they broke apart for air she buried her face in his neck, not wanting him to see just how much he was affecting her. I didn’t want to go out with Angel back when he was all non-evil, but the second Spike comes along, I get all horizontal with him. Wonderful. Why did she feel like such a slut?

Spike’s hands stilled the second he felt her stiffen. “Buffy, pet? ‘s something wrong?”

“It’s just—“ she sighed. “Never mind, I’m being stupid. What were you going to say about Angelus?”

He arched his eyebrow at her; she was still straddling his lap. Blushing, Buffy swung her leg back over and sat beside him. When he put an arm around her, though, she didn’t resist.

“I don’t know much about him. I mean, I know the basics—mass murdered, really damn old, hooked up with a whore for most of his unlife—but I don’t know much ‘bout him. Fighting styles, attitude, favorite bloody color, whatever. That’s your territory.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that. “So you want Angelus lessons?”

He scowled. “I s’pose so.”

“Right, then.” She drew up her knees and cuddled closer to her fellow Slayer. “So, you know he’s really big—and not like that,” she added severely. “God, you’re such a pervert. He uses size to his advantage—like, he literally throws his weight around. So I guess that’s a point in our favor…”

~*~

By the time Buffy had finished analyzing Angel’s strengths and weaknesses and comparing them to his own, Spike was feeling sorry that he’d ever asked. On the surface, the chit didn’t appear to be that smart—but he’d be buggered if he’d ever met a girl who was quite that thorough when she set her mind to something.

Made him wonder what she’d be like in other areas of study…

That, mate, he told himself firmly, is just perverted. Perverted an’ wrong an’ bloody stupid. You really wanna get mixed up with a girl whose expiration mark is stamped on her forehead, just like yours? Kind of luck you have, you end up gettin’ her killed even sooner.

But that was just the thing. When he was around her, he felt safer than he ever had before. He felt like a pouf, admitting that he wanted to feel safe…but he did. He liked knowing that someone was capable of watching his back.

Plus, he thought, grinning as he dodged another of her punches, he never had to hold back with her. That was fun.

When she’d kissed him in the living room—well, she’d pulled away, and he’d let her. Only a wanker would’ve tried to keep her there. But he sure as hell hadn’t wanted to stop. He’d known the girl less than a week, but she was already under his skin. He’d been in her head, had felt her thoughts and emotions; in many ways, they were closer than couples who’d been together for months or even years.

When she feinted to the left and succeeded in knocking him to the floor, he laughed. And when she straddled him and announced triumphantly, “Gotcha!” he merely held her closer.

“That you do, pet. That you do.”

It was only late that night, as he drifted off to sleep with the image of Buffy’s laughing face before him, that he realized: Fuck it all to a thong-wearing rabbit's hell. I’m falling in love with her.

~*~
 

Chapter 20:

~*~

Ah, FUCK! Buffy!

Wincing, not just at the pain she felt shooting through her but at the disturbingly pornographic images that flitted through her head with that particular exclamation, Buffy said, “What’d you do?”

“Stubbed m’ sodding toe,” he replied through gritted teeth. “Why do they keep statues on the floor, anyway?”

Buffy glanced at the statue in question. “It’s made of cast iron,” she said cheerfully. “If it fell of the table then it would crush every bone in your foot like a pasty bony beetle.”

“What a simile.” He placed a hand on his chest dramatically. “Be still, my heart. She’s just as talented as Keats himself.”

“Har-dee-har-har,” Buffy said sarcastically. “Okay, so how are we supposed to get rid of Angelus?”

“I still stand by the staking idea,” Spike said flippantly. “Give the git a splinter, he goes poof. Nice, simple, easy.”

“No,” Buffy said firmly. “That is not the way to go. We need a spell.”

“Hence the reason we’re in a magic shop,” the other Slayer muttered dryly, plopping down at a table conveniently located next to the book shelves.

She quelled him with a dark look, taking the seat opposite his. “We need a spell,” she repeated, “Which is why we’re waiting for Willow.”

“Thought you said the redhead was a sub par witch at best,” he complained. “What the hell is she gonna know ‘bout fixing evil vamps? We oughta be asking the Watchers.”

“Oh, right.” Buffy rolled her eyes. “That would go over really well. ‘Hey, Jenny, you know that uber-evil vampire that almost killed you? Yeah, well, we’re gonna try to make him good again instead of doing our sacred duty and just killing the guy. We thought you’d understand. Wanna help?’”

“Overdosing a tad on the sarcasm, luv,” Spike informed her. “’m not saying we ought to run to the Watchers immediately—well, fine, I was, but I don’t really think that’s the answer. Just don’t like our options, is all.”

“Me neither,” she admitted. “But it’s all we have.”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes.

“So,” Buffy said, breaking the companionable quiet. “Think Willow’s ever gonna show?”

“Red doesn’t seem like the type to break an ‘pointment…”

“Did you just call my best friend ‘Red’?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s disrespectful, you know. She could come in here and curse your ass off.”

“Right. Because you’re the paragon of respect, talkin’ about girls messing with my arse—“

“Who’s messing with your butt?”

Both blondes jumped when the origin of their argument breezed into the room. “Er—no one,” Buffy said quickly. “There’s no butt-message. Of any kind.”

“A ‘butt message’, Summers?” Spike quirked an eyebrow at her. “Your butt’s been talkin’ to you lately?”

“You’re a perv,” Buffy informed him flatly.

“Uh, guys? Not that the gutter isn’t a, a nice place to be and all…but don’t we have to find a spell to keep Angel from killing everybody and a-attacking innocent pets and stuff?”

“Pets?” Spike looked cute when he was confused, Buffy decided.

Although, come to think of it, she was confused, too. “Wait. Willow, did something happen to your goldfish?”

“Um…” Willow stalled.

“Willow!”

“Yes!” She cringed. “They’re kinda…dead now.”

“Bastard,” she cursed under her breath. “Look, Wills, we need to get Angel back to happy fluffy soul-having land, and we need it now. Do you know of a spell that will—“

“Ooh! The curse!” Willow was all but hopping on the balls of her feet. “I can just…re-curse him. He lost it with a moment of happiness, right?”

“Yep. From what I know, it was a ‘Wham, bam, thank you ma’m’ kind of thing,” Buffy said, her nose wrinkled with distaste.

“How’d the bird get him to sleep with her in the first place, d’you know?”

Spike didn’t miss the guilty glance the two girls shared. “Right. What aren’t you telling me?”

“Last year, Angel and I had…a thing,” Buffy said, cringing.

“A thing,” Spike repeated. He tried to feel for her with his mind, but she had firmly closed her emotions from him. “What sort of thing, exactly?”

“I-it wasn’t Buffy’s fault!” Willow hastened to assure him. “When she moved here—“

“I was new,” Buffy cut in, “And Angel was all handsome and mysterious—“

“But then Drusilla showed up, and she found out that he was all fangy and stuff—“

“And he told me that we could never do anything because he was in love with me and meant to be with me but if he slept with me than he’d lose his soul—“

“That’s a lot of ‘with you’s” Spike said, carefully arranging his expression to something that resembled blankness more than insane jealous rage. “So, ‘m guessing that somehow Drusilla made him think he was screwing you?”

“Oh, ew.” Buffy suddenly looked sick to her stomach. “So did not need that thought.”

“So Drusilla mindfucks Peaches,” Spike said, affecting a bored drawl, “An’ now we’ve got an insane master vampire who wants all of our arses nice and dead, am I right?”

“Pretty much.”

Willow looked rueful. “Does anyone else miss the carefree frolicking on the beach, back when all we had to deal with was tests? I do.”

The Slayers exchanged a glance. That was something that, no matter how long they were friends, the others would never understand. Neither Spike nor Buffy had ever had a normal teenage life; for them, frolicking on the beach was as much a myth as vampires were for most people.

Willow being Willow, she caught on right away. “Oh. Oops. Um…awkward. So! Who’s up for research?”

“Research. Research is good. How are we gonna break this thing?” Buffy asked, standing up and heading for one of the many bookshelves.

“Well, I figured we’d just redo the curse,” Willow said, looking relieved that her subject change was being gone along with. “You know—put his soul back in.”

“Is that possible?”

Willow drew a sheet of paper out of her backpack. “Well, Jenny thinks it is. She reworked the spell.”

Buffy snatched the piece of paper from Willow’s hand. The curse was in Latin, and definitely not anything approaching readable. “This makes no sense,” she said bluntly.

“Turn it over,” Willow suggested. “There’s a shopping list on the back.”

Buffy obeyed and saw, in Willow’s neat handwriting, a list of ingredients. Some were simple, like rosemary; others, like—Buffy wrinkled her nose—skin of rat would probably be harder to find.

“Some of this stuff is just downright gross,” Buffy informed her friend.

“But hey, once we’re done—boom! Good Angel will be back.”

He’d better be. Spike’s voice sounded loud in her head, almost making her drop the paper. Else, my plan’s gonna have to be put into action.

We’re not going to kill him, Buffy said firmly, So stop that.

Sorry, pet, but he just ‘bout killed our Watchers. I’m not gonna say I wouldn’t be glad to end him.

Buffy raised her eyes and met Spike’s. “I know,” she said, looking at him. “But if there’s a way to keep him alive—Spike, I can’t even count the number of lives he’s saved over the years. He’s worth saving.” Please, she added silently, letting him see some of the desperation and anger that consumed her.

She wasn’t terribly attached to Angel, not really…but damned if she wasn’t pissed with Drusilla for taking him from her.

He held her gaze for a moment before standing up. “Right, then,” he said determinedly. “Let’s get all these ingredients together, yeah?”

Thank you.

~*~

“Te implor, Doamne, nu ignora aceasta rugaminte. Nici mort, nici al fiintei... Lasa orbita sa fie vasul care-i va transporta, sufletul la el.”

Sparks danced around the now-glowing orb. Buffy and Spike exchanged a nervous glance from their places next to Willow on the library floor; aside from the very definite creepy factor of the magic, nothing really seemed to be happening. Giles and Jenny had told them that the power flowing through Willow would be very obvious, but aside from the glowing and the sparks, nothing really seemed to be happening.

After a few minutes Willow said, “Guys? I’m, uh, really not getting anything here.”

Buffy sighed. “Maybe we should’ve had Jenny here with us…”

“No, pet. We talked ‘bout it, remember? The Watchers are our weak spot, and Angelus knows it.”

“Well, apparently that’s not our only weak spot,” Buffy shot back. “The spell didn’t work!”

“Guys! Don’t worry about it, okay?” Willow looked at the two Slayers anxiously. “I—I can find a way to make it work.”

“Got any ideas ‘bout why it didn’t work?” Spike asked shrewdly.

“Um…” Willow bit her lip. “No. Not really.”

“Right, then.” Spike stood up and drew a stake from his duster. “Let’s go hunting, then.”

“Spike, no!” Buffy jumped up hastily. “We have to try again, maybe we missed something—“

“We didn’t miss a damned thing!” he barked. “You’re so fucking hung up on the fact that it’s your precious Angel that you can’t see the big picture. He’s a vampire, Blondie, and you know what we’re supposed to do with them!”

His voice was so angry, so derisive, that instead of ripping him a new one like she’d planned Buffy found herself standing utterly still, staring at him like he was one of those weird armless statues in a museum.

“Spike…” Her voice was small and weak and she hated it but God, what was she supposed to do? He’d completely closed off their connection again, but the anger in his face was enough to make her worry.

“Don’t even start.” Disgust radiated from him. “Every second that bastard is walking is another second an innocent person’s life is in danger. But you don’t see that, do you? All you’re worried about is Angel-love being able to fit into an ashtray!”

Before she had a chance to respond—or burst into tears, she honestly wasn’t sure which would happen first—he left, duster swirling, the perfect picture of righteous indignation.

She was going to chase after him, but Willow laid a hand on her arm. “I—I think he wants to be left alone,” she said quietly.

“Left alone, my ass,” she bit off. “He’s going to find Angel and try to kill him.”

“Not that I’m not supporting you one hundred percent, but…is that such a bad thing? He—he did try to kill Jenny and Giles.”

Buffy stared at Willow disbelievingly. “Are you kidding? Angel is two hundred years old, Will! He’ll squish Spike like a bug! He’ll chop off Spike’s finger and leave it for me to find like he did with Giles! If Spike goes off to fight Angel, he will die!”

Willow’s eyes were wide at the shrill edge of hysteria that had entered Buffy’s voice. “B-but how can you be sure?”

“Three Slayers, Willow,” Buffy said wearily. “Angel’s killed three Slayers. And that’s just from the female side.”

Silence reigned in the library for a moment before Willow let go of Buffy’s arm. Panic that matched her best friend’s had entered her eyes. “Go! Go now!”

Buffy didn’t need to be told twice. She sprinted for the door, hoping that she’d be able to catch up with Spike before he made the biggest—and the last—mistake of his life.

~*~