He could hear their blood pumping, rushing through their veins--each and every one of them: the woman with the baby, the rabbi, the blind man... His stomach growled as the demon in him begged for a drink Who knew how long it would be until he had his next chance at tasting the coppery fluid that sustains his unlife? Spike knew his opportunity for feeding would be slim once they’d reached Britain; his assignment would probably have him hip-to-hip with the Slayer which meant no fresh blood for ol’ Spike.

He shifted in his seat and crossed his legs. Then he uncrossed them. He needed to do this just right, so as not to raise any suspicion. He shifted again and grumbled. “Look, pet. I’m gonna go and have a smoke. All this waitin’s just making me edgy.”

Thank God. Buffy looked up from her magazine. “Ok--anything that will get you to stop fidgeting. You’re driving me nuts. If you’re like that while we’re on the plane, I’m gonna have to tie you down.” When the blonde vampire raised an eyebrow at her last comment, she shook her head. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Spike. Just... go and smoke.”

Spike whistled as he walked through the airport, looking for his next meal. Mmm... kinda like a buffet, isn’t it? Always too much to choose from... He saw a group of people waiting in line at one of the snack bars, and appraised each individual. Nah, don’t feel like Chinese; ugh--too greasy; tempting, but too small--I’d still be hungry afterwards. He knew he was being picky and he needed to act fast, before the Slayer decided to come looking for him.

He decided to go with the failsafe method: wait in the washrooms until some poor bloke walked in.

He hadn’t been waiting long before he heard the door open. Peering through the crack in the cubicle doorway, he saw an older gentleman in a suit. He let the man finish his business before walking out of the stall--there was nothing worse than drinking from someone who wet themselves. It was enough to lose your appetite.

The man was washing his hands when he heard someone leave one of the stalls. His head was facing down as the weight of his trip finally took a toll on him. Only two more hours, he thought to himself, and I’ll be back home. I’ve got to stop taking these trips--I never get to see Muriel or the girls anymore... He looked up and frowned. He could hear someone behind him, but there was no other reflection in the mirror, save his own. When he turned around and saw no one, he chuckled quietly. “Great, Bob, now you’re hearing things.”

A voice which chilled his soul whispered from behind him. “Sorry to say Bob, but you’re hearing’s dead on.”

The older businessman turned on the spot and found himself staring into the amber eyes of a killer. He took in a sharp breath, but didn’t scream. “Oh dear God...” He was facing... hell, he didn’t know what it was--its eyes were yellow, its face was bumpy and it had pointy teeth. He began to laugh nervously. “A vampire?”

Spike couldn’t help but smile at the man who faced death and laughed. “Very astute of you, Bob. Now for the million dollar question: what do vampires do to chubby over-the-hill salesmen?” He moved closer to the other man and put a hand to his neck, tilting his head to the side. His demon thrived on the racing heartbeat, the adrenaline, the fear...

Bob stared at Spike with an unwavering gaze. “Please don’t. I... I haven’t seen my wife or my daughters in over three weeks.” He saw the vampire’s eyes roll, but kept at it nonetheless. “I just made the sale of a lifetime--it’s enough to finally go to Disneyland. Please, please don’t do this to them...” He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable.

Not one of his victims had ever gotten that many words in--not ever. Spike wasn’t really the type of vampire to play with his food; not like Angelus, anyway. He would usually snap their necks in mid-whimper and drink. Now he found himself slightly ill at ease, and he hated Bob that much more for it. Why should the death’s door prattling about wives and daughters and Disneyland phase him, anyway? This man was a prime example of a ‘happy meal on legs’--he was dinner. End of story.

“Sorry, chap--but my plane’s going to be leaving sometime soon. Gotta get this show on the road.” He leaned in and bit the man’s neck, drinking in all the blood and fear that came out of him. When he felt the man’s pulse weaken, he pulled away. The demon in him roared in frustration. What the hell?! There’s still some juice left in him--don’t let it go to waste! You fucking ponce--it’s all because of that speech, isn’t it? What’s next--brown bagging it like the grandsire?

Spike lashed out and kicked the waste basket, tearing it off the wall. Looking down, he saw the slumped form of Bob the salesman--heart still beating. He pulled the man into one of the cubicles, sat him on the john and closed the door, all the while cursing at himself under his breath. He turned to the sinks and washed up before lighting himself a cigarette. At this point, he truly needed the nicotine to calm his nerves.

***

Spike returned from his ‘cigarette break’ and headed towards his seat. He picked his magazine up off the chair and sat down, staring ahead. The cigarette hadn’t really helped him understand where the... emoting... had come from; truth was, however, he didn’t care anymore. Maybe it was just an off day--he was nervous, he was stuck with the Slayer, he was about to return to Britain. Yeah, that must be it--just chalk it up to nerves.

He shot a sideways glance at the young woman, trying to broach a conversation. They had to open up a little, or this was going to be one of the longest couple of weeks ever... “So, this kiddie’s birthday thing--is that something you do often?” Wanker--what a stupid question...

Buffy put her magazine down and smiled at Spike. Ever the social creature, she much better preferred a conversation to reading--even if it was an article on Joseph Fiennes...

“Oh, God no! Once a year is so more than enough. That stupid birthday party is the low point of my year--I always get stuck entertaining the kids, while Mom and Willow cook the hot dogs. I suck at straws...” At the questioning look the peroxide vamp gave her, she blushed. “Uh, yeah--that didn’t sound good, did it?”

“Sounded good to me, pet. I think I know what you meant, though--you always get the short straw, right?”

Buffy exhaled, relieved that he’d gotten her meaning. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I meant. Willow never gets kiddie duty, and she actually likes kids.” Leaning in so no one else could hear them, she admitted, “Kids scare me. It’s like they’re smarter than they seem. They make me nervous--it’s kind of like being tested, or something.”

Spike chuckled. “And all this time I’ve been trying to kill you, I’ve been going about it all wrong. Should’ve just hired a bunch of tots to hound you. Could‘ve run you right out of Sunnyhell...”

“Oh, you’re so funny. And I bet you have so much experience with kids, fang face?”

“No, I was an only child. But in my day, women your age already had children. It’s just funny to hear that not only have you no idea what to do with them, but that they frighten you.” He continued chuckling to himself.

Buffy decided to turn the tables. “So now you know my dark secret. What’s yours? What silly little thing scares the big bad, huh, Spike?”

The vampire gave her a deer-in-the-headlights stare before regaining his big-bad attitude. “Haven’t got one.” There, maybe she won’t push it.

“Yeah, right. Everyone’s got something. Betcha yours is really silly--more than kids. Hey, how ‘bout I try to guess?” She looked like a kid in a candy shop. She jumped up in her seat, and straightened up. “Hmm... let me think. Are you afraid of heights?”

“No.”

“Water?”

“Unless it’s the holy variety, no.”

“The dark? Uh, nix that one. How ‘bout dogs?”

Spike looked at her like she’d grown a second head. “No.”

Buffy bit her lower lip. There had to be something--there’s always something... “Dolls?”

“No, unless you’re talkin’ about Miss Edith.”

Now it was Buffy’s turn to stare at her companion. “Spike--who, or what, is Miss Edith?”

“Miss Edith is Dru’s psychic doll. Too long to explain, pet. Keep guessing...” He was getting tired of playing twenty questions, but at least she was talking to him. This was much better than uncomfortable silence.

“Snakes?”

“Nope.”

“How about...”

Their game was interrupted as their flight was announced on the P.A.

Spike got up and grabbed the bag that held their reading material. “Guess we’ll have to continue later, luv. We’ve got to get in line.”

***

After they boarded the plane, both contentedly sat themselves down in 1st class. Spike grabbed the window seat, wanting to be in charge of the blind. The sun was bound to come up before they reached their destination and he wasn’t eager to be reduced to a pile of dust because of the Slayer’s sick sense of humour. He stretched his legs out and made himself comfy in the large padded seats. Exhaling an unnecessary breath, he grinned. “Sure beats coach, Slayer...”

Buffy looked around nervously. “Spike--do you think you could call me by my real name? I’d rather attract the least attention possible.”

“Sure, pet.”

“Birds?”

Spike opened his eyes, and stared at the young woman. “Come again, pet?”

“Birds--are you afraid of birds?”

“Ah, back to the game, are we? No.”

“Ghosts?”

Snicker. “No...”

“Well, it’s not that funny--I betcha poltergeists can be scary.”

“More like annoying, if you ask me.”

“Fine. Umm... spiders?”

“Er, no... I don’t like them, but I wouldn’t say they frighten me. I’ll make it easier on you, pet. It’s not a thing per se, that scares me.”

“Oh, ok... Aren’t we supposed to take off, or something?”

“They usually make us stew for about 15-20 min. before leaving.” He turned to look at her. “Are you nervous?”

How could she not feel nervous with those blue eyes looking at her? “Yeah, a little.” There was that little voice again... Maybe if you play it coy, he’ll keep looking at you like that. “Actually, a lot. Don’t your ears pop, or something?”

Spike frowned. Why is her pulse beating faster? Don’t fool yourself into thinking it‘s because of you. There’s no way the Slayer’d go for you, you git--get over it already. “Wouldn’t know about the popping, pet. Don’t exactly feel that kind of thing.”

“Oh, yeah. Guess I’ll find out soon enough.”

When the plane started to move, Buffy froze and her hands gripped the armrests. All the stories she’d heard about people’s ears bleeding from the pressure changes came back to her. She tried to even out her breathing--hyperventilating would so not be good right now. Closing her eyes, she tried to relax.

Her eyes jumped open when she felt Spike pry her hand off the armrest. She turned to look at him, but he was staring out the window. She looked down and saw that he had taken her hand in his. She should have been more nervous at having him touch her, but for some reason, his cold touch was reassuring. Exhaling, she closed her eyes and relaxed into her seat.

This wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

***

As far as flights go, theirs was uneventful. No turbulence, no screaming kids, heck--even the movie had run smoothly.

Buffy was slowly drifting back into consciousness as she felt a tugging on her right sleeve. Stretching, she yawned and rubbed her eyes. She turned and saw that Spike was looking out the window. Her eyes grew wide as she noticed that it was daytime and the blind was up.

Spike must have read her thoughts. Chuckling, he reassured her. “’S cloudy out--no big bad sunshine to burn me. Look down--we’re flying over land. You can see the houses.” He pulled at her sleeve again, inviting her to look for herself.

As she leaned over him to look out, the blonde vampire realized that he hadn’t counted on having her pressed up against him. He’d expected her to glance quickly and to keep her distance. He hadn’t expected her to sit on his lap and squeal like a ten year-old, wiggling in delight. Shifting, he tried to readjust the growing bulge in his pants, without her noticing.

The Slayer, however, was too entranced in the patterns the tiny households made to notice her companion’s discomfort. Nose pressed to glass, she squirmed again, trying to get more comfortable.

This time, Spike couldn’t bite back a moan. Bloody hell, can’t she feel that?! He was about to suggest that they trade seats when she grew very still.

Something hard was pressing into Buffy’s thigh. Her first assumption was that Spike had managed to carry some sort of weapon onto the plane; she wouldn’t put it past the bleached vampire to pull something stupid like that. When she heard the moan, though, she knew all too well what it was. And she knew what was causing it: she was. She chided herself. Stupid, stupid! You’re wiggling on his lap, for crying out loud! Why not just straddle him and give him a big sloppy kiss? Her devious inner voice retorted. Yeah, you’re causing it and you’re enjoying it, in some twisted way. You’re far away from Giles, your mom and the Scoobies. No one here to judge you--heck, no one here to know. What’s a little fun between vamp and Slayer?

The young blonde gulped and turned to look at the peroxide vamp. When her eyes met his, she shivered at the undisguised lust reflected in their blue depths. She licked her lips--why was her mouth so dry all of a sudden? “I... um...”

Spike wanted to take her then and there. Sod tact, he thought to himself, sod the 70 other blighters sitting around us... He wanted to feel her warmth surround him, hear her scream his name as she peaked, see her all sweaty and dishevelled... Instead, he opted to be the one to ease their discomfort. “How ’bout we change seats eh, ducks? You’ll get a better view and you’ll probably be a bit more comfy than you are sitting on my lap.” He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her response.

Buffy was tempted to decline. In a strange way, she found their proximity comforting. However, she could only guess at how awkward it must be for him. “Sure--if you don’t mind...” She shimmied a little, partly to give him room to move, partly to tease him a little, and moved out of the way.

In a liquid move, Spike moved from his seat to the Slayer’s. He wasn’t sure, but he’d swore she was playing him--no way did she need to wiggle her butt like that just for a seat change. He was relieved when the pilot’s voice came on to ask that they fasten their belts. He felt a stirring in his gut as the thought of returning home hit him. Prodigal son, he wasn’t...

The plane began its descent towards their destination. Nervous once again, Buffy let her mind fill with the worries of a novice flyer. What if the landing wheels don’t come out? What if the lights aren’t on, on the landing strip? What if a thick fog rolls out just as we’re landing?

Her breath caught, her pulse quickened, and she did the only thing that she knew would calm her: she slipped her hand into Spike’s.

To say that her action took her companion by surprise would be an exaggeration--after how she’d handled the take-off, he’d sort of expected this from the young woman; also, landings were often harder to take for first-time flyers. To say that her action took her by surprise was an understatement. How quickly had he turned from a threat to her life to the thing that kept her fear at bay? No, not the *thing*, her little voice announced, the *man*...

She peered at him slyly, out of the corner of her eye, expecting to see him either staring at her in surprise, or leering at her like she’d invited him for a quick roll in the aisle. However, his gaze remained steadfastly focussed away from her, although she could see the corner of his mouth twitch.

Spike finally turned to look at her. What was that look on his face? She was used to seeing anger, disgust, sarcasm (he had the eye roll of a teenager down pat), derision, but this look he gave her was different; it seemed to speak of... friendship?

He smiled at her and squeezed her hand reassuringly; still smiling, he turned back to whatever it was that had previously held his attention.

Buffy let out the breath she didn’t know she had been holding and relaxed in her seat. Yup. Friendship it is... She didn’t think anything could ever phase her again, as long as he was beside her.

Too many people.

Buffy couldn’t believe that any place could hold so many people, all rushing somewhere. Business people with their cell phones and their laptops; mothers and fathers with their screaming kids; young hippie wannabes with their backpacks and Birkenstocks... It seemed that everyone under the sun was here, at Heathrow International Airport, at the same hour and on the same day as her.

Feeling nervous, and not for the first time like a little girl, she kept her eyes on Spike, who was pushing ahead of her, creating a part in the sea of people. Would it be blasphemous to compare a creature of the night to Moses? she wondered, a wry smile on her face.

No longer paying attention to where she was going, she bumped into something solid. She looked up into the amused blue eyes of her travel companion. He raised his eyebrows and smirked.

“Bit overwhelmed, pet?”

“Yeah, you could say that. Is there some kind of carnival or something going on? This is like Mardi Gras, only with twice the people.” She grunted as she was jostled. “Rude much? I thought Brits were supposed to be like Giles, Spike. You know, insufferably polite.”

“They usually are, but you’ve got more than Brits here. That ponce was probably French...” He took her arm and led her to where the baggage was coming onto the conveyor belt. “Keep your eye open for your bags. Wouldn’t want anyone nickin’ your skivvies.”

Although he gave off the appearance of someone at ease, Buffy could tell that Spike was wound as tight as a coiled spring. His nostrils were flaring, his eyes were skirting the large room, his fists were clenched; he was relying on his senses to tell him everything that was going on. He could probably tell what the short guy in front of them had for breakfast, he’d be able to smell all the different perfumes and deodorants, and though she wouldn’t want to know, he could probably also profess to know who had had sex, and which women were having their periods. Gross! He isn’t even saying it, and the thoughts are still sticking in my brain. Ugh...

She returned her attention to the bags dropping out of the chute, and idly wondered if hers would be last.

As if he’d read her mind, Spike leaned in. “Always seems like yours is last, doesn’t it? It’s like it’s a rule, or something. You get your bags last, there aren’t any carts left, and everyone’s snagged a cab.” He looked up and, seeing his duffel bag drop down, left Buffy peering for her own luggage.

As he walked over towards his bag, Spike tried to hold back a smirk. For once in their Slayer-vampire relationship, for the first time in four long years, he was in a situation where he was the stronger, more confident one. He should be basking in the glory of it all, taunting her wide-eyed naïvete, mocking her lack of worldliness; no--instead, what does he do? He moves in and protects her, surrounding her and cajoling her into a sense of security. He was royally on the road to poofterdom...

Contrary to what she’d expected, her bags were not last. Not far from it, but not last. She ran to grab them, snatching them almost before they fell onto the moving belt. A few minutes later, she was laden with suitcases and trying to find her way back to Spike. With a dramatic harrumph, she let everything fall at his feet. Blowing a strand of hair out of her face, she grimaced. “Remind me again why I decided to take my whole wardrobe?”

Slipping one of her bags on to his shoulder, Thank God these bleedin’ things aren’t pink, Spike grabbed another one by its handle. “Dunno. Something about ‘I don‘t even know what the weather is like out there’” he teased in an effeminate voice. “Come on, Buffy, they’ll probably think I’ve eaten you if we don’t go meet Mr. Council Wanker.”

As they made their way into the main concourse, Buffy was once again taken aback by the number of people at the airport. Her immediate reaction was to press herself closer to Spike; however, she fought off the feeling and increased their distance--minimally.

“Well, you’ll have to be lookout guy, ‘cause there’s no way I’m finding anyone in this crowd.” Had she missed a rule that said you had to be six feet tall to travel in England?

Spike easily spotted the woman holding the ‘Buffy Summers’ sign. “This way pet.” Snickering, he leaned in towards her. “Looks like they sent us a female version of Rupert.”

***

When they approached the Council representative, the blonde duo tensed up. They expected a stern reprimand about the amount of time it had taken them to reach her. At a quick glance she seemed severe, although she couldn‘t have been much older than 30: she wore a tweed skirt and blazer and had her hair up in a tight bun. Buffy was anticipating a lecture on the importance of being punctual. Spike, on the other hand, was expecting to see the wrong end of a pointy stick.

All preconceptions were thrown aside, however, as the woman’s seemingly stuffy demeanour was replaced with a more relaxed stance. Her face broke out into a wide grin and she warmly walked towards them.

Taking Buffy’s hands in her own, she spoke up. “Ah, Buffy. I’m so pleased to finally meet you! It’s not every day that one gets to meet someone as... talked about... as you.” Brushing a lock of hair behind the young woman’s ear, the watcher smiled. “You’re also as pretty as they said you would be.”

To say Buffy was floored would be an understatement. A watcher--smiling, complimenting, touching... This lady had to be an impostor. She realized that the woman was watching her. “Oh, sorry.” Nervous laugh. “You just don’t seem really, watcher-like. You kinda took me by surprise there, Ms...”

“Oh dear! How rude of me!” She took Buffy’s hand once again and gave it a proper shake. “I’m Amelia Bishop. And no, I‘m not what you would consider very ‘watcher-like‘, as you so finely put it. I‘m a bit of an odd duck--I believe that‘s why they sent me to greet you.”

“Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Amelia Bishop.” Buffy’s attention was diverted by an impatient cough from behind her. Rolling her eyes, she introduced her travel partner. “Amelia--Spike. Spike--Amelia.”

Though it seemed hardly possible, Amelia’s face brightened even more. “William--enchanted!” She gave him a very un-watcher like wink. “I’m sure you never expected to be joining us on Council matters...”

Spike took Ms. Bishop’s hand in his and placed a kiss on it. He presented her with his most bewitching smile. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

Blushing, the Council member returned his smile.

This exchange tweaked something in Buffy--Are they flirting?! Well... so what if they are. It’s not like I’m jealous or anything. It’s not like it bothers me that he never aims a smile like *that* my way. With a pout, she shifted her bags, which were by now getting a little heavy.

Her movement caught the watcher’s eye. Helping Buffy with one of her bags, she apologized. “I’m sure you’re both very tired. We should be on our way. The quicker we get to the Council, the quicker you can get to your accommodations.” Looking at Buffy, she added: “And I’m sure you could appreciate a nice, long bath, followed by a good rest.” Turning to include Spike as well, she motioned with her arm. “Shall we, then?”

As they made their way towards the exit, Spike hesitated. Of all the bleedin’ luck--had to turn out to be a sunny day... As he approached the doors, he let out an unnecessary breath: their car was waiting under a concrete overhang--no worries about instant combustion.

The Council really seemed to want to make them feel at ease. This mission of theirs must be worse than they’re expecting...

As they got into the car, Spike thanked the powers that be for tinted windows. There was truly nothing worse than having to hide on the floor of a moving car, especially if the Slayer was there to taunt him.

As they made their way through the busy streets of London, the two blondes’ reactions couldn’t have been more different. Spike was dismayed at how modern the city had become since he’d left half a century ago. Glass office towers loomed over the old stone buildings he recognized, McDonald’s and Starbucks had replaced the human pubs he had frequented, and the old shops where he and Dru had bought their clothing were now Gaps and Old Navys. He felt lost and not a little betrayed by his city’s foray into the 21st century.

Buffy, on the other hand, felt like a kid at Disneyland. She emitted constant “ooh”s and “aah”s at all the usual tourist attractions. She secretly hoped that they could find the time to visit some of these places.

“Ooh! Look--it’s Big Bin! Although, I don’t know why they call it that. They should call it ‘Big Clock’, ‘cause that’s what it is...” The Slayer was now turned completely around, kneeling on the seat, watching the clock tower slowly recede.

Trying to hide a smirk, Spike motioned for her to sit back down. “’S called Big Ben, pet. Not Big Bin. It was named after some old stogy guy called Benjamin Hall--hence the moniker Big Ben.”

Craning her neck to take a last peek, the vampire’s explanation seemed sufficient. “Oh, well--that makes more sense.”

Finally, their car entered an underground car park. They drove until they reached the lowest level, and the driver parked in a reserved spot right by an elevator.

Waiting by the car’s trunk, Buffy and Spike watched Amelia and the driver walk to the elevator. Feeling ignored, the vampire hollered to them. “Oi there! What about our bags? I’m not leaving my stuff here for Council wankers to rifle through.”

Turning back towards them, Amelia gave them both a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about rifling of any sort, William. Your luggage is safe--we’re just leaving it there because the same car will be driving you to your hotel. Now, if you will, please follow me. There’s someone waiting to see you.”

As the elevator slowly crept towards their destination, Buffy couldn’t help but feel antsy. She’d never had any trouble facing the Council head on, but it had always been on her turf. Things were different now; she was going to meet them in their own headquarters, halfway across the world from Sunnydale. She tried to keep her mind occupied by scanning the elevator; there wasn’t much to see, however--it was just a plain, albeit very old, elevator.

The doors opened at the 8th floor, and all four passengers walked out. They found themselves in a small room containing only two chairs (Spike thanked the powers that be that they were made of metal--just a small reassurance) and one door. Amelia asked them to take a seat and made her way to the door that led to the Council. What happened next surprised both vampire and Slayer.

As the Council representative faced the door, a small square of wall, about five feet from the floor, slid to the side to reveal an electronic pad. Amelia placed her hand on it for digital recognition, and then keyed in a pass code. A clicking sound was heard, and she opened the door. She stood aside, letting the driver by, and faced the two stunned blondes. “Just a small security measure--the Council has yet to reach the 21st century. Please take a seat. Someone will be by shortly to greet you.” She smiled warmly at them. “Truly, it’s been a pleasure to meet you both.” With that, she walked through the door and only two were left in the little room.

A short while later, Buffy sat on the edge of one of the chairs and watched the vampire pace. “Spike, sit down. You’re making me dizzy--all you’re doing is walking around in circles.”

Stopping in front of the other chair, he growled. “Yeah, well you can hardly blame me, can you? A master vampire in Council headquarters? Not really normal, is it? I can’t help but shake the feeling that this is some kind of lark--the minute I walk in there, they’ll stake me, or do tests on me or something.”

Buffy had to laugh at his remark. “Yeah, like there’s anyone out there that would go around kidnapping demons just to study what makes them tick... You’ve been watching too much X-Files, Spike.”

Just as he was about to argue back, the vampire spied a small TV screen up in one of the corners. There must have been a camera, somewhere, filming them. Speechless, he gazed in wonder as he caught sight of himself for the first time in years. Grinning like a kid on Christmas morning, he began to preen in front of the small screen. “Slayer, why don’t you ever tell me how good I look in this coat?”

Frowning, Buffy turned around to see what he was talking about. “Huh? Spike, what are you...” When she saw what he was doing, she couldn’t help but smirk. “When was the last time you saw yourself?”

Examining his hair, the blonde vamp paused. “’Bout 10 years ago, I suppose. Caught sight of myself on the telly--news story about some kid dying at a heavy metal concert.” He took his eyes off the TV long enough to turn around and face her. “And before you come to certain conclusions, he jumped off a balcony and landed on his head. I had nothing to do with it.”

Rolling her eyes, Buffy was about to respond when the door opened and a woman stepped into the room. About twice Amelia’s age, and not half as pleasant, the woman fit the Council bill to a tee.

“Mr. Travers is ready to meet with you.” The woman handed them each an ID card. “Please pin these to the outside of your clothing, and make sure it is visible at all times. Anyone without a visible card will be... escorted out.” She pursed her lips to relay the full meaning of what she said. She turned around began to walk away.

Spike watched Buffy pin the ID to her blazer and scoffed. “No bleedin’ way I’m pinning anything to this coat. They can threaten to ‘escort’ me all they want...” ID held in hand, he slipped in line behind the two women.

***

As they were led through corridors, both Slayer and master vampire tried to take in as much as they could. Amelia had been correct when she’d said that the Council had a ways to go before it joined the 21st century. Heck, they still had to get to the 20th...

When they reached a large room brimming with wall-to-wall bookcases, the woman stopped and turned to the two ‘guests’. “Wait here. I’ll let Mr. Travers know you’ve arrived.” She turned away from them, paused in her step, and faced them again. In a voice one tends to reserve for small children she warned them. “And I don’t need to tell you not to touch anything.” With that, she walked away.

Snorting, Spike was first to break the silence. “Hmph... Bossy chit i’nt she? I liked the first bird better...” He walked to one of the tables and scanned the books piled on it. “Treatise on the Breeding Habits of Minor Demons... Anatomy of Faeries... Vampires and their Thrall... Ooh--now there’s some titillating night-time reading.” He sat down on a leather chair, kicked his feet up onto the table, and proceeded to flip through the book.

“Spike! What part of ’don’t touch anything’ don’t you understand?” Buffy was looking around, expecting alarms to go off at any moment.

“Oh please. What are they going to do--stake me for reading a book? Anyway this thing’s a bloody joke. ’How to fight the thrall’ . Figures the wankers would think that they can learn how to fight a thrall.” He threw the book back onto the table, and rocked back on the chair. “If a vamp decides to do his mojo on you, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Taking a seat beside the peroxide vamp, Buffy picked up Anatomy of Faeries and examined the binding. Why don‘t they make books this pretty anymore? Looking back up at her companion, she retorted. “Oh, and I bet you have a thrall, Mr. Master Vampire?”

“No, as a matter of fact I do not have a thrall. That’s for ponces, like Dracula. Females are always better at thralls, anyway. Real harpies, you lot are. Dru has a thrall--you might want to ask ol’ Rupes about that one, some day.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What, the harpy bit? ‘S the truth--you lure some poor, unsuspecting man to fall in love with you. He gives you over 100 years of faithfulness and devotion, taking care of you because you’re off your rocker, and you go off snogging some phlegmy Chaos demon, not caring anymore...”

“Somehow I don’t think we’re talking about generic examples, here. No--I didn’t mean the whole woman-bashing bit. I meant the ‘ask ol’ Rupes’ bit.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and gave him a pointed look.

Spike flipped his hand in the air, as if he was swatting a fly. “Oh that. Not much to it, really. Back when Angelus took the watcher in for his personal style of fun and games, Dru did a bit of a thrall on him--pretended she was his girl.”

His girl? Oh God, Jenny... “You asshole! How can you talk about it like you’re discussing the weather? Angelus tortured Giles, and murdered Jenny, and you’re sitting around like... like...”

Pulling his feet off the table, the vampire sat up straight and pulled Buffy’s chair until she was knee to knee with him. He leaned in looked her straight in the eye. “Yeah, and if I recall properly, this asshole was the one to discourage Angelus from testing out his new chainsaw on your watcher, so you might want to lay off with the guilt trip.” He got up and kicked his chair out of the way. “Where the hell is that old bat, anyway? I’m getting hungry...”

“That old bat,” replied a deadpan voice, “Is right behind you.” Both blondes turned to find the older council member glaring at them. “Mr. Travers is ready to meet with you, if it’s not too much of a bother.”

Since there wasn’t a safe response to the woman’s ‘invitation’, Spike and Buffy stood up and followed her out of the room.

She led them into a large conference room, detailed with dark paneling and a large oak table surrounded by leather chairs. As they seated themselves, the door located at the other end of the room opened, and in walked Quentin Travers.

***

The head of the Council of Watchers approached his two ‘guests’. Never having seen him before, Spike sized the man up. Although not big in stature, he was nonetheless imposing; Travers had an air about him that spoke of authority. He had short, greying hair that was beginning to thin on top. His gaze was calculating and his posture rigid. The suit he wore cost a pretty penny, and Spike was sure that the tie was silk-- he’d seen enough of it during his stay in China to be able to tell the difference.

The watcher turned his eyes to Buffy. “Nice to meet you again, Ms. Summers.” He didn’t acknowledge Spike’s presence, which, although insulting, suited the vampire just fine. “I didn’t think we’d have the opportunity to meet again, although under the circumstances, you’ll forgive me for wishing we wouldn’t have reason to.”

The smile the Slayer returned didn’t meet her eyes, which remained cold. “Well, Travers, I can assure you the feeling’s not mutual, aside from the wishing I wouldn’t have to be here.”

All pretence left the older man’s features and his face-hardened to match the young woman’s. When he turned his gaze to Spike, the latter couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable. He couldn’t quite read the human, and began to have doubts as to whether or not he was the only soulless one in the room.

“Well, William, I finally get to meet the problem child of the line of Aurelius.”

Fidgeting in his seat, partially restraining his anger, mostly uneasy with the authority of this man, Spike returned the steely gaze. “Yeah, well, pleasure’s all yours, Watcher.”

Playing on the vampire’s obvious discomfort, Travers egged him on. “Please explain one thing, William. What makes a master vampire, former scourge of Europe, side with the Slayer of vampires? I’m curious to know why you accepted our offer--is it because you’ve nothing better to do? Or is it because your beloved sire’s flitted to the nearest available demon, and you’re looking for a suitable mate?”

Spike’s body became rigid, every muscle tense under the watcher’s taunting. His eyes had changed from clear blue to deep amber--his demon was fighting to be released, and seemed to be getting the upper hand.

Buffy had never seen Spike fight so hard to exercise control over his demon. She was on edge, and wondered what she’d do if the demon did get out. Would she fight the vampire to save Travers, or would she let the watcher get his just desserts? Evil undead or not, Spike had just been majorly dissed and had every right to be pissed off. Her attention was brought back to the situation at hand by the sound of the master vampire’s barely controlled voice.

“Listen here, Watcher, I have my own reasons for joining your little tosser brigade and I don’t see how I have to...”

Not waiting for the vampire’s answer, Travers cut him off. “It seems to run in the family, this tendency to join us white hats, doesn’t it, William? Are you following in the footsteps of Angelus, perhaps? A bit of soul envy?”

Before either Buffy or Travers had time to register what was happening, Spike leapt and had the watcher pressed up against the table. Demon at the forefront, the vampire’s face was just inches above the older man’s. “That, old man, was the last time you’ll ever taunt me. I hope you have a high tolerance for pain...” The demon smiled as he leaned in and grazed his fangs over the man’s neck.

“Spike!” Buffy jumped up and grabbed the vamp by his collar, pulling him off his victim. Tossing him in the nearest seat, she gave him a ‘move and be staked’ look before returning her attention to the watcher. The fact that the man was hyperventilating was sign enough that he was alive, if not too well.

Pointing her finger at the vampire, she let her Slayer take over. “You--put your fangs away and stay put.” Then she turned her attention to Travers. “And you--I would have guessed that the head of the Council of Watchers would have more common sense than to piss off a master vampire in the presence of an ex-Slayer who doesn’t give two shits about you.”

Addressing Travers, who had managed to crawl back into his chair, she decided to take control. “Look, you called us here to help you with a prophecy. We’ve both accepted your offer, for whatever reasons that aren’t important for you to find out, but the deal won’t hold if you keep treating us like crap.” Pulling herself onto the tabletop, she kept a wary eye on Spike, whose eyes still gleamed yellow. “Now be a good little Watcher and tell us about this prophecy. We need to know the who, when and where; Giles has already filled us in on the what and why, so don’t waste our time with those.”

Clearing his throat, and keeping a wary eye on Spike, Quentin Travers spoke up. As the haughtiness disappeared from his voice, all that remained was a polished, well-educated accent.

“Five weeks ago, the child was taken from its home in South Kensington. We’re at a loss as to who took the child, and where they are.”

Buffy jumped off the table, momentarily forgetting her vigil. “Five weeks?! How do we know they’re not halfway to China by now? Why did you take so long before calling Giles?”

“Because you were our last recourse, Ms. Summers.” Travers straightened in his seat, and looked the Slayer straight in the eyes, unmasked hatred pouring from his narrow, grey eyes. “Do you really think that the Council’s first impulse is to cajole a wayward Slayer and William the Bloody to fix... to help us?” His slip was obvious, and both blondes did a double take.

“Fix what, Travers?” Buffy’s interest was piqued. “Just how responsible is the Council for this apocalypse?” At the silence with which she was met, the young woman headed for the door. “Come on, Spike. Let’s see if we grab something to eat. I don’t think he’s serious about getting our help.”

The blonde vampire stood, despite a moment’s hesitation at obeying an order by the Slayer. Maybe he could find that old bat and drain her...

A feeble voice called out, just as Buffy had her hand on the doorknob. “A former student of ours has the infant.”

Oh, now this is just getting better, Buffy thought to herself. “So you do know who has it? You were going to let us waste time, and possibly fail, because you didn’t want to admit this is all your fault?” Turning to face the watcher, who was beginning to look haggard, she put her hands on her hips. “Fine. We’ll sit back down, and you’ll tell us everything, and I mean everything. If I even suspect that you’re holding out on us, we’re back in Sunnydale before you can say ‘apocalypse’.” She plopped back into her chair, and motioned for Spike to find himself a seat as well.

Rolling his eyes, the vampire did as he was bidden. Guess that snack’ll have to wait. He took a seat at the head chair and propped his feet up on the table. “Yeah, and hurry up ‘cause I’m starting to feel a mite peckish.”

Travers stood up, and walked to a large window decorating one of the walls. He pulled the curtain aside, peering outside. Sensing the vampire’s nervous glance, the older man broke the silence. “Don’t worry, the windows face North. You don’t have to worry about the sunlight.” Closing the heavy drapery, he sighed and turned back to his audience.

“Evan Blakeford was one of our most promising watchers-in-training. He had a natural aptitude for other languages, history and, of course, the occult. Neither of his parents had been members of the Council. His father taught at a private school and his mother was a nurse--but we took him in regardless. We never really questioned where he had discovered us; his talents exceeded that of some of our more seasoned students, and it’s needless to say that our attitude was, succinctly put, ‘don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’.” With an acerbic smile, he added, “That was our first mistake.” He took off his blazer, draped it across the back of one of the chairs, and took a seat.

“In retrospect, we should have wondered where a young man of such modest beginnings--modest in terms of everything the Council deals with--could have such a natural penchant for any of it. Every spare moment had Evan poring through books of all sorts. The first time he was caught with a restricted book he pleaded ignorance--he said he’d found it along with the other books to which students have access. Since it was his first transgression and he was a remarkable student, we let him off with simply a warning. We had no other problems with him for a good six months.

“The second indication we had that Evan was not honest with his intentions at the Council happened last year, just before the winter solstice. One of our resident witches detected the use of dark magic here within our headquarters. She performed a location spell, which indicated that it was taking place in the cellar. When they reached him,” Travers paused and looked down, “he had already killed the young woman. He was offering her blood to darker influences in exchange for greater power.”

More composed, the watcher brought his gaze back up to his audience. “We thought we’d arrived in time, that he hadn’t had time to complete the spell. We expelled him from Council training that same night. The oddest thing, at that time, was that he was nonplussed about being expelled. He shrugged his shoulders and said that he’d gotten everything he needed from us. A few months later we noticed that the book he’d been caught with the first time had been taken. Luckily, one of our members had another copy of this tome, and we were able to read through it; it was at that point that we put it all together.”

Spike took advantage of the pause to air out one of the thoughts he’d been mulling over. “So, if this pillock hadn’t pretty much led you all to this prophecy, you’d still be in the dark? Doesn’t the Council have some bloody calendar with these things marked up? ‘Ooh, look! The world will be sucked into the void next week--gotta get workin’ on that!’”

“As a matter of fact, we do not have such a calendar, useful as it would prove to be. Our members are continually researching the texts we have at our disposal, but sometimes something will slip by us.”

“Like disco? There’s no way that originated in this dimension...” Buffy shuddered at the memory of retro disco videos she’d seen on MTV.

Spike chuckled, and even Travers smirked. “I’m afraid not, Ms. Summers--disco is invariably a human creation. We can’t blame it on anyone else.”

Buffy got up from her seat. The Slayer in her was now in full gear and didn’t allow her to sit still for too long. “So this Evan guy is who we’re looking for? Do you have any pictures of him, or any information that can help us?”

Travers slid a folder down the table. Buffy opened it, and Spike, despite trying to look unaffected, slid into the seat next to hers to get a better look at the papers.

“This folder contains all the information we have on Evan. The rest, I’m afraid, is up to you two. We were able to keep tabs on him for a short period of time, but he’s proven to be rather slippery. He’s managed to elude our network for the past two weeks; we’re no longer sure if he’s still in London, much less in England.”

Snorting in derision, Spike spoke up. “Let me guess--this is where I come in, with all my demon contacts...”

“Precisely. We know he’s been dealing with some Pelorak demons, but our inside people haven’t been able to get any information on them. Perhaps with your contacts, you’ll be able to succeed where we’ve failed.”

“You do realize that I haven’t been in London for over 50 years... All my contacts might have disappeared for all I know. And I betcha all the better demon bars have been torn down and replaced by Starbucks.” Leaning back in his chair, the vampire lit a cigarette and took a deep breath. “It’s going to be real difficult making any headway. You’re going to have to make this worth my while, Watcher.”

Travers got up and headed towards a small cabinet which rested against the far wall. “Ah, yes--your ‘requests’. We’ve already fulfilled the first one--the 1st class airfare. I do hope you were comfortable enough; I wouldn’t want the extra money to have gone to waste. As for your accommodations, we’ve done a bit of research and have found the perfect lodgings for your stay here--I’m sure you’ll appreciate them. They have all the comforts of home. As for your third demand, the limitless credit card, we find ourselves unable to meet it.” He pulled a manila envelope out of the top drawer, and turned back towards the two blondes.

Buffy’s lips curled into a smirk and she turned to watch the vampire’s reaction to this bit of news. Heh heh--serves him right...

“Bloody hell! Rupert told me that you’d accepted my demands. That blighter--he tricked me into coming over here! Let’s see how well he can catalogue his stupid diaries with his throat torn out...”

Buffy jumped up from her seat and punched him square in the nose. She yelled at him as he held his nose, cursing. “You try anything with Giles, and I’m going to kick your pale ass from here to the next sunrise--understand?”

“Oh, God! Why is it always the nose with you?”

Enjoying the interaction, Travers felt it a pity to interrupt. “Actually, Mr. Giles was not told the entire truth. We did tell him that your requests were still being processed, but we did not give him any specific information. The Council is not in a situation where we are able to provide someone with your... eccentric taste... a free ticket to anything he so desires; we’d be in financial ruin after one week.”

Pulling a small packet out of the envelope, he slid it over to Buffy. “We are providing you with the financial assistance we deem necessary. The card is in Ms. Summers’ name--that ensures that you don’t decide to leave us, William--and has a limit of 500 pounds.”

“500 pounds! Is that some sort of gag? One needs money to get into these demon bars. You don’t get in with just a smile and a handshake, you know! We’ll need money for transportation, and the Slayer here has to eat. She needs to get some meat on those skinny bones of hers. A good British diet’ll do her some good.”

“Hey! Don‘t insult the woman with the credit card. Maybe I won‘t want to share, William.” Examining the rectangular piece of plastic, the Slayer asked. “Just how much is 500 pounds in American dollars, anyway?”

“Not bloody much, that’s how much.” Spike got up, and walked up to Travers. The watcher stiffened, on guard for any attack. However, the vampire only leaned in and held himself nose to nose with the other man. “Fine--she gets the wallet, I get the wheels. You can’t expect us to travel by public transit...” He narrowed his eyes. “...do you?”

Glad to still be in one piece, Quentin Travers let out a breath of relief. “There is a car waiting for you at your hotel. I’ve had one of the residents from the local coven put a spell on the windows--you’ll be impervious to sunlight while you’re in the vehicle.” He held out a set of keys, as well as a laminated card. “Here are the keys, and your driver’s license. I’m sure you’ll recognize the name we’ve given you.”

Spike examined the keys, BMW--not bad, and then looked at the license. “Bloody hell...” This exclamation came under his breath, hardly audible to the two humans in the room. He fell back into the nearest chair and just stared at the card.

Ignoring him, Travers handed out birth certificates and passports to Buffy and the sedate vampire. “These will be your identification papers for your stay here. We decided that it would raise fewer questions if you were travelling as a married couple. You look to be about the same age, so it will be rather easy to pull off.”

Buffy cringed, expecting some sort of crass comment from Spike--something about fulfilling wifely duties. However, the blonde vampire simply sat there staring into space. Turning to the watcher, she pleaded. “How did you do that? Please let me know--I didn’t even know there was a way to shut him up.”

When the vampire didn’t even rise to her bait, she knew something was off. “Spike? Uh, I can’t believe I’m asking this, but are you ok?”

“How did you find out? How did you know?”

The young woman was baffled. “Find what out? Spike, what are you talking about? Don’t get weird on me before this thing even starts, ‘cause...”

“I believe I can answer that for you, Ms. Summers. Look at the name that we’ve given you.”

Buffy looked at the driver’s license she’d been handed. “Ok, so it says Elizabeth Sinclair. What’s special about the name?” Before Travers could reply, the Slayer’s eyes shot up and stared at Spike. “Wait a minute--William Sinclair. That was your name before you were turned...”

“Haven’t heard that name in a hundred and twenty years...” His eyes hardened and he looked at the watcher. “Tell me,” he said to Travers, “did you toss off thinking of the thrill you’d get at my reaction? Bet you spent days wondering ‘How can I get William the Bloody back for all the shit he’s put the Council through?’. Well, your jollies are over, Watcher, and I’m still way in the lead.” Not waiting for Buffy, he jumped off the chair and made his way out of the room, duster billowing behind him.

Buffy got up, collected the folder and their paperwork--she figured that although Spike didn’t want to travel down memory lane, he would still need his ID--and stared at the door. “Great. He’s in a pissy mood and I’m stuck with him. Thanks for everything, Travers.”

Ignoring her insubordinate tone, he answered coolly. “Just make sure you successfully complete your mission, Ms. Summers. You’ll need his help, but you’ll also need to keep him under control. His moods may prove to work against reaching your goal.”

“No. That’s where you’re wrong. I may not like the bleached wonder very much, but his ‘moods’, as you call them, are the reason why he’s one of the most feared vampires still around. They’re what make him a stronger, more dangerous opponent. Anyway, if he’s gotten to the point where the Council of Watchers needs his help, he must be doing something right.” With that, the young woman walked out the door.

***

Buffy caught up to Spike as he waited for the elevator that led back to the underground car park. Mimicking him, she looked straight ahead, saying nothing.

The door opened and they both entered.

“Ok, Slayer, out with it.”

“Out with what, fang face?” Maybe a bit of verbal sparring would put him back in a better mood.

“Isn’t this the part where you tease the Big Bad about his nancy-boy reaction to his past?”

Buffy turned to face the peroxide blonde. With as serious a demeanour as she could muster, she answered: “Actually, I was trying to find a way to say ‘Hey, I think you handled that great’ without sounding like I actually like you.”

Spike’s brow furrowed as he tried to figure out whether or not he’d been insulted. The smirk that broke out across his companion’s face provided him with his answer, and he smiled back.

“Spike, what Travers did in there was a low blow, and I can see how it would have caught you off guard. I’m just happy you didn’t try to rip his throat out, ‘cause I would have had to kick your skinny ass.”

The vampire chuckled and was about to reply when the doors opened. As they exited the lift, and approached their ride, he softly whispered “Thanks.”

When the car stopped in front of a plain three-story building, Spike and Buffy glanced at each other questioningly. Shrugging her shoulders, the Slayer broke the silence. “Maybe he has to pick someone up. Whoever lives in that building probably can’t afford a car anyway. It doesn‘t exactly look like an upper middle class kind of place.”

They felt the car jostle, and looked out the window to see the driver dumping their bags on the sidewalk. Taking advantage of the shaded sidewalk, Spike jumped out of the vehicle. “Oi there! What’s this about?” He looked up at the building and saw a sign above the door; the red placard, which sported a pair of pikes in the form of an ’x’, read ‘Sheffield Arms’.

“Bloody hell...” The vampire turned to accost the driver, but bumped into Buffy instead. Before he could do anything, their chauffeur had hopped back into his vehicle and had driven off. Coward...

Taking in their surroundings, Buffy was confused. “Uh, Spike? It doesn’t look like there are any five star hotels around here, unless the rating system is way different in England. Maybe...”

A string of curses cut her off. “Bloody fucking piece of shite... Argh!” Spike proceeded to kick the shape out of a steel garbage bin. “Fucking wankers! They were supposed to keep their word--we’re supposed to be in a royal goddamn suite, not” he waved wildly at the hotel in front of them “this!”

Tired from the trip and irked by the vampire’s tirade, Buffy put her hand on his elbow. “Spike? Look, I know this isn’t what we were expecting, but I’m so tired right now, that I think I could probably fall asleep on that bench over there. How about we go inside, have a good rest, and go back to the Council tomorrow--we can always kick Travers‘ ass and get him to make arrangements for something less slummy.” She noticed a few gawkers across the street. “Anyway, I don’t feel like attracting the cops. Jail is one place I do not want to spend the night.”

Shoulders slumped in defeat, Spike sighed. Picking up his bag, which he had thrown into the street Good thing this street isn’t busy, Spike grabbed some of Buffy’s luggage as well. “Sorry ‘bout that, pet. Don’t really like being taken for a chump that’s all. We’ll take a look at this place. Maybe it’s not that bad on the inside.” Offering her a genuine smile, he carefully placed his hand on the small of her back. “Let’s get ourselves cleaned up and rested, shall we?”

***

Whatever hope they held on to disappeared when they walked into the lobby of the Sheffield Arms. Buffy almost burst into tears at the sight of the dirty pale green walls, yellowed linoleum flooring with missing tiles and small dingy staircase which lead to the upper floors. She tugged on the vampire’s duster. “Spike? Maybe we can find a nice alleyway to sleep in... Come to think of it, I’m not tired anymore.” Plastering a big, fake grin on her face, she jumped around. “See? Awake!”

Spike ignored his companion and continued to slam his palm on the bell. Where the bloody hell is the owner of this rathole? “’Ello? Is there anyone here?” Ding! Ding! Ding! “Bloody hell...” As he was about to hit the bell once again, his hand was stayed by the Slayer’s.

He turned to look at her, and followed her eyes to the staircase.

Someone was coming down the stairs, cradling a tower of folded towels. A bright turquoise eyelid peeked out from behind the towels, and a cheerful voice spoke up.

“Sorry about that, dears. Can’t hear the bell from the laundry room.” Spotting Spike, she winked at him. “Here, you look like a strong lad. Do be a love and help me with these; I’m afraid I’m not as strong as I used to be.” Chuckling, she shoved her burden at the vampire.

Dropping the bags he was holding, Spike caught the laundry before it fell to the ground. Embarrassed beyond words, he avoided catching the Slayer’s eye. Last thing he needed was to see Buffy laughing at him.

He followed the older lady to an armoire, where he was asked to place the towels. Now if only he’d found himself in a similar situation say, 5 years ago, the old bint would have been drained for putting him out. Instead, he just gave her a strained smile and placed the towels where he was asked.

Clucking, the woman thanked him. “It’s so nice to have strong arms around, every now and then. Now, let’s see what I can do for you...”

Walking behind her, Spike finally realized who this woman reminded him of: that Mrs. Slocombe on Are You Being Served, the one whose hair colour often matched her clothing. Snickering to himself, he thought: Wonder if she’s ever died her hair magenta?

The yellow-haired lady positioned herself behind the counter and looked at the couple in front of her. They make such a lovely young couple... She opened the logbook and ran her finger down one page. “Now, let me see... Do you have a reservation?”

Before either Spike or Buffy could answer, she let out what could only be described as a girlish squeak. “Oh, wait! Let me guess-- Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair?” She looked up at them with obvious glee.

Groaning at the use of his last name, Spike could only mutter a curt “Yep. That would be us.” Hearing the shortness in his own voice, he followed it with a forced smile. Not her fault we’re stuck in this shithole. Wait, why the heck am I feeling bad for the old bat?! Great, now I’ve gone soft...

The woman winked at them in a conspiratorial way. “The honeymooners. I should have guessed--you both look tired...” She giggled again. “I’ve been preparing your room since yesterday. It’s just perfect for newlyweds.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes and turned to Spike; if this was some sort of trick of his, she was going to dust him, whether or not she needed him on this trip. However, one look in his direction and she could tell he had nothing to do with this. His mouth was slack, and his eyes round-- Nooo, he doesn’t know anything about this either; he’s more surprised than I am. Heck, he almost looks scared.

She turned to face the weird looking lady and smiled. “Uh...” Reading the lady’s nametag, she forced herself to continue. “Hetty.” She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Who mentioned the honeymoon?” Her voice squeaked, betraying the nonchalant image she was trying to convey. She tapped her fingers on the counter. Someone’s going to die a slow, tortuous death...

Hetty smiled warmly. “Don’t worry, love. Miss Bishop said that you wouldn’t want any fussing, but I know better than that. It’s not every day that you get to celebrate having found the person you love-- a little pampering is always a nice touch...” She turned around, and went into the back room, talking to herself. “Now, where did I leave that key?”

The instant Hetty was out of sight, Buffy groaned and banged her head on the counter. “I can’t believe she did this to us... Amelia is soo dead; next time I see her, I’m going to... to... oh, I don’t know, but I’ll think of something.” She turned to the blonde vamp, and wrinkled her nose at him. “And why are you so quiet about this? Don’t tell me you’re happy, ‘cause I swear, I’m gonna...”

Spike cut her rant short. “Don’t worry, Slayer--I’m no giddier than you are about this. I’m just trying to suppress my gag reflex. How do you think an old bint like her, in a place like this, prepares a honeymoon suite? Think heart shaped bed, pink satin sheets, Burt Baccarach on an 8-track...” That last thought made him shudder.

“Who in the world is Bert Bark.. Bacha.. whatever, and what the heck is an 8-track?”

“Never mind that. I’m just saying that we’re about to walk into a situation that I don’t think either of us is prepared for. She’s actin‘ like a mother hen, for Christ’s sake--she’s probably been planning this for weeks! I think I’m going to toss my breakfast...”

“Here we go!” Hetty seemed to appear out of nowhere. “Ready to go up? I’m afraid you’ll have to carry your own bags--I don’t have anyone to help you with that...”

Quietly accepting his fate for the moment, Spike smiled at her. “S’ok mum--you just lead the way and we’ll follow.” He picked up their bags and left Buffy behind, with only her carry-on to carry.

***

Their dread escalated with every step they climbed, every footstep they took down the hall that led to their room. Spike’s visual imagery was getting worse--on top of the heart-shaped bed and the pink... everything, he now saw flowers everywhere, and the Burt Baccarach had changed to Celine Dion.

Caught in his daymares (what else would you call such horrible daytime imagery?), the vampire almost didn’t notice that Hetty had stopped. Feeling the Slayer crash into him from behind, he guessed that she had also been in her own little world. He heard her hold her breath as their host unlocked the key to their room.

Hetty waved them in. “Come on in, dears.” She entered the room, and left the two ’honeymooners’ in the hallway.

An idea popped into Spike’s head. One that would probably result in him getting staked, but who had ever accused Spike of being reasonable? He dropped his bags, cocked his head and looked at Buffy.

Feeling awkward under his stare, Buffy snapped at him. “What?!” She saw a smile form on his lips, and backed up a step. “Spike--what are you...” She screeched as she felt him pick her up in his arms and carry her into the room.

Her insides turned to mush when she felt his cool breath in her ear. “Can’t skirt tradition, can we luv? It‘s bad luck...” He set her down, and walked back out to the hall to grab the bags. She reached out to the wall, to steady herself. Good God, girl. It’s only for show--why do you feel like there was more involved? She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Maybe it’s because of how right it felt being in those strong arms, nuzzled against his chest... She opened her eyes and saw a pair of clear blue eyes staring at her in amusement.

“Shall we, pet? We‘re about to be given the grand tour.” He offered her his arm, and to his surprise, she accepted it.

The room itself was much different than any hotel room Buffy had ever stayed in. To her, it seemed more like an apartment. There was a small kitchenette, with a mini-fridge, a sink and a microwave; the bathroom was small and cramped, mostly because of the oversized clawfoot tub that took up half the space; the last room, which was like a bedroom/living room, contained the biggest bed she had ever seen. She ran towards the canopied bed and jumped on it, losing herself in the feel of the chenille blanket that covered it. “Wow! You’ve even got the curtains around the bed. I’ve only ever seen these in old movies...”

Hetty chuckled. “It’s the honeymoon suite, love. Of course I put extra effort in the bed...” She winked at Buffy, who turned beet red and began to choke.

The Slayer’s reaction got a heartfelt laugh out of Spike. “Don’t worry ‘bout her, mum. She’s just a little coy, is all...” He couldn’t help but add: “I’m sure she’ll be wanting to try it out soon enough.” He gave the older woman a wink, causing her to laugh.

Pouting, Buffy figured turnabout was fair play. “So, Hetty. Which way do the windows face? I just love sunrises. Don’t you, Spikey?” She walked up to the vampire and put her hand around his bicep, squeezing just hard enough for him to yelp.

The older woman furrowed her brow. “Now that’s odd... Ms. Bishop clearly asked me to put up heavy curtains; said that Mr. Sinclair had a... what did she call it? Oh, yes! A sensitivity to sunlight. If you want, I can remove them for you and put the sheer ones back up...”

Spike decided to speak up before Buffy had a chance to. There was no knowing how far she would go--lot of good sheer curtains would be to him in a sunrise. “No, the curtains are good as they are. Ms. Bishop was right about the... sensitivity. This is just the wife’s way of being witty. Wicked sense of humour she has...”

After a short silence, Hetty decided to leave the two lovebirds be. “Well, I’ll be on my way now. If there’s anything you need, just let me know. I come by to pick up towels and bedsheets every two days, so just give me a holler when you’re leavin’, so I don’t disturb you.” There was that wink again. As she was walking out the door, she turned, and added. “Oh, I almost forgot. I’ve left you a few prezzies in the fridge. Ta-ta!” With that, the door closed and Slayer and vampire were alone for the first time.

Buffy was the first one to speak. “Well, I’ve got dibs on the tub. I’m going to soak until I’m all prune-like.” Turning to her ‘husband’, she gave him fair warning. “Listen, Spike--I’m only going to say this once. Don’t take this honeymoon idea to heart. You try anything funny, and I’m making an appointment between you and Hetty’s dustbuster. Capisce?”

“Don’t worry, Slayer. ‘S the last thing from my mind. Now go get shrivelled and give me some peace and quiet. Haven’t had a moment’s time to myself since we left bloody Sunnyhell...”

“What? You’re the one who never shuts up!” Opening her suitcase, she pulled out a pair of flannel pyjamas with monkeys on them. Shaking the fist that held her pj’s in his direction, she added. “You’re so in love with the sound of your voice, it’s sickening!” She stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door.

Always the one to have the last word in an argument, Spike cried out. “And don’t take all the bloody hot water--I need to clean up too!” Smiling, he cocked his head towards the bathroom, and heard a frustrated sigh. Heh, she’s too much fun to tease...

Whistling, he walked to the kitchen. “Let’s see what kind of ‘prezzies’ ol’ Hetty left us newlyweds.” His eyes widened at the refrigerator’s contents: a bottle of champagne, a basket of strawberries, a can of whipped cream, and a jar of microwaveable chocolate.

Slamming the door closed, he leaned against the small appliance. Thoughts of whipped cream and the Slayer made their way through his brain, and then went straight to his groin. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He tried to remember how she felt in his arms, just a short while before: she was soft and light, even though she’d beaten the crap out of him a number of times. She’d smelt of vanilla, and whatever else was her own particular smell; even the unguarded little “mmm...” she’d let out when he carried her was etched into his memory.

The vampire knew Buffy was just as affected by his presence than he was by hers. This led him to re-evaluate their relationship. Before they’d left Sunnydale, he would have been hard pressed to say anything nice about the Slayer. They bickered, they fought, they were enemies. However, after only a short time, he had to concede that they had developed mutual feelings of friendship. They had both teased each other, but without the usual venom. More like the ribbing you give an old acquaintance.

At the airport, in LA, they had both agreed that this trip would be much easier on the nerves if they worked at getting along. Well, he’d suggested it and she’d acquiesced. He realized, now, that not much effort had gone into their getting along; it had almost been natural. A very small part of him wondered if there ever could be more than friendship. No, he told himself, don’t even go there. Slayers and vampires don’t mix. It’s odd enough that you’re becoming friends, but lovers? Just think about what happened between her and the poof. Very, very bad scenario. He shook his head at these new thoughts and looked for something to keep him busy. He could watch the telly, but he really didn’t feel like it. His mind kept going back to those damn strawberries. Ah, now there’s an idea... He went back to the fridge and started to work on his plan. Have to hurry; she won’t be in there all night.

***

Buffy had never wanted nor needed a bath so much in her life. As she peeled off her clothing, tossing it in the corner of the small bathroom, she felt the day’s anxieties disappear. She looked at the large porcelain tub and smiled; this was to be her vessel to nirvana.

As she stepped into the almost too-hot water, everything around her disappeared. There was no Council expecting news, no mother anxiously waiting for a call, and no irritating vampire in the room adjacent to her little paradise. All that existed at that moment was Buffy Summers and the claw foot tub. As she played with the bubbles surrounding her, she was grateful for the bath products that Hetty had left for her-it was almost as if the older woman had known what her tastes were. Although vanilla scented products weren’t hard to come by, she could have easily found herself using something fruity or perfumy.

Sinking further into the tub, she wondered at the size of it. Wow, you could easily fit two people in this thing. This led to thoughts of her traveling companion, and what it would be like to share a bath with him. He’s old fashioned-it’s probably the kind of romantic thing he’d go for… She threw her eyes open, having realized where her thoughts had taken her. No! Bad Buffy-no thoughts of baths with evil vampires. Anyway, his idea of romantic is probably being chained to a wall. Groaning, she submerged herself and attempted once again to clear her thoughts. She had all the time in the world for this bath, and she’d enjoy every minute of it.

Ten minutes later, she was jolted out of her heaven on earth by a loud thumping at the door.

“Have you bloody drowned in there? You’re not the only one who needs to clean up, you know! If you’re not out of there in five minutes, I’m coming in-virtue be damned.”

She heard him mutter a further “bloody women and their bloody baths…” before he was out of her earshot.

Ignoring him, Like he’d dare..., Buffy grabbed her smooshie and poured a generous amount of body wash on it. Stretching her leg, she lathered the vanilla-scented liquid on it. As soon as she’d finished washing, she heard the distinct sound of metal against metal. He wouldn’t… was the last thought that went through her mind as the door flew open.

She shrieked as Spike sauntered in to the bathroom, towel in hand. Ducking low enough that he couldn’t see anything, she glared at him. “Spike! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Smirking, the peroxide blonde spoke up. “Told you I’d come in. Probably didn’t believe me, did you?” He kept his eyes even with hers. “Now I’ll show you that I can be a gentleman, and I’ll give you one more minute to get out, grab your sleepwear and all your lotions and potions. If you’re still in the tub when I come back, you’re going to have to make room for me in there-and you know I’m not kidding about that, either.” Before she could respond, he was gone and had closed the door.

Cursing a blue streak, the young woman jumped out of the bathtub and towelled herself on in record time. Well, she wasn’t very dry, but there was no way she was being caught in her birthday suit by a certain annoying vampire. She wrapped a second towel around her head, to dry her hair.

Looking at the one remaining towel, an evil grin crossed her features. Lesson the first, Spike: never, ever, rush a woman through a therapeutic bath session... With that, she ‘let’ the towel slip into the not-yet-empty bathtub.

***

Leaning against the door, Spike could hear the Slayer rushing around the bathroom. Grinning from ear to ear, he realized that one couldn’t buy this kind of fun. He almost wished that she’d stayed in the tub, despite his warning. He grew hard at the thought of Buffy all soaped up, golden skin glistening in the water... Bloody hell, you’re supposed to be teasing her, not yourself!

Guessing that it had probably been about 1 minute since his final warning, he began to count down out loud. “Ok, Slayer: 10... 9... 8...” His countdown was interrupted by the door being opened. What he saw surprised the heck out of him...

Smiling, Buffy walked out of the bathroom. “Sorry about that. I tend to lose track of time when I’m taking my bath. Hope I left you some hot water...” She kept walking, and made her way to the bedroom.

Frowning, he watched her disappear around a corner. He’d expected her to storm out of the bathroom and punch him in the nose, as she was wont to do when she was pissed off at him. This sunny disposition, however, baffled him. Shrugging, he walked into the bathroom and poured himself a nice hot bath.

***

As she sat on the bed applying her lotion, Buffy couldn’t help but smirk at the image of Spike growling because he didn‘t have a dry towel. That’ll teach that stupid vampire. He’ll have to dry off with his T-shirt. She knew that he had been teasing her, although she was also sure that he would have followed through with his threat to jump in the tub with her. Which may not have been so bad... No! What’s wrong with me? Why do I keep thinking like that? Ugh, maybe I’m sexually frustrated or something. There’s no other logical reason... Hearing the bathroom door open, she bit back a giggle, and waited to hear her roomie’s curses.

Nothing could have prepared her for the sight that befell her next. When she looked up, she was staring at a nude Spike. Well, not entirely nude--he had her top, the one she’d removed before slipping into the tub, wrapped around his midsection.

His skin still glistened from the bath, and Buffy found herself mesmerized by the sight that her eyes beheld. Was this his thrall? Did he render women speechless with his body? How had she never realized that he was built like a god?

She couldn’t bring herself to look into his eyes, the clear azure gaze that would look right through her, so she began her perusal at his neck. Corded muscles clenched tight, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple was a clear giveaway that her scrutiny was affecting him.

Her eyes moved down to his chest. Slowly, she let them trace the lines of his abs, memorizing every scar that marred his otherwise perfect skin.

She really didn’t want to think that she, Buffy the vampire slayer, was ogling her undead enemy’s crotch but, hey, why lie to herself? Her shirt was stretched taut against his waist, draped against his pelvis like a second skin, displaying to the world (or just her, in this case) the definite bulge that her gaze had created.

She unconsciously dragged the tip of her tongue over her lower lip.

Her examination was cut short by an audible groan. Had that come from her? No, she was sure that it hadn’t. That only left him--the object of her perusal. Of their own volition, her eyes raised to meet his.

Mistake. Big mistake.

Spike’s gaze was direct and unwavering; however, the usual clear blue of his eyes was now clouded with... with what? With curiosity, with uncertainty, with... lust?

His tongue mimicked the movement hers had made just moments earlier, tracing the velvety outline of his bottom lip.

“Slayer?”

When Spike had pulled himself from the comfort of the tub (not that he’d ever admit to being a bathtub kind of vamp, not even under torture), and found only a sodden towel left for his use, he’d sought his wicked revenge by using her shirt with which to cover himself.

On his way to the bedroom, a number of scenarios ran through his head for when the Slayer saw what he’d used to cover himself. None of them included her giving him the once over, mouth agape. Hell, he could smell her arousal clear across the room, over the myriad soap and lotion smells.

He watched her eyes roam his body and couldn’t help but feel proud of himself... and more than a little aroused. He clenched his teeth as he felt his cock react to her gaze, responding to the sight of her tongue darting over her lips. Wonder what else that little pink tongue of hers can do?

Although his body’s natural reaction was to go with the flow and see how far he could get, his internal voice spoke up. Hello! This is the Slayer--mortal enemy--vampire killer?! What do you think would happen if you walked up to her and tried to see what it takes to pry those dimpled knees? Do you think she’d moan and lay back on the bed, waiting for your cold, undead touch? Not bloody likely. ‘S’more like you’d be meeting up with the wrong end of that Mr. Pointy she carries around with her.

Then, a small voice, one that hadn’t spoken up for ages, added its own two cents. As well, you know she deserves more than that. She may act tough, but she’s still a young woman who’s had a string of heartbreak. The last think she needs is to have someone take advantage of her more... physical... needs when what she really needs is a good friend.

The demon in him growled at the other’s presence, and at its more noble suggestion. Ponce, it grumbled.

In the end, Spike decided to heed their common advice, which was to discourage any kind of ’improper’ activities between himself and the Slayer. Anyway, they had just begun this adventure of sorts, and the last thing either of them needed was the blemish of a horrendously failed fling. There may have been another reason, more closely tied to what the second little voice told him, but he wasn’t prepared to think of that yet.

He repeated her name, not having had a response the first time around. “Slayer?”

Mouth hanging open, the only sound she could make was “Uh?”

That’s when the Slayer part of her knew that she had to take over; girly Buffy was making a right mess of things. Damn it, snap out of it! Get a hold of yourself before he thinks you’re brain dead. With the look you’re giving him, he’s probably plotting some way to take advantage of you. Now find a way to say something else than ‘uh’!

“Yes?”

The blonde vamp gave her a smirk. “Nice as this all is, I can’t really go ‘round wearing your shirt like a loincloth. Why don’t you get me a towel or something, huh?”

Sure you could, there wouldn’t be anything wrong with... Oh dear... She had to regain control of herself before it was too late. Too late for what? You’re already looking at him like he’s made of Belgian chocolate... She shook her head, and let the Slayer take over. Ok, Buffy--you’re the Slayer, and he’s a vampire. Figure it out for yourself.

That’s when she threw him the best sneer she could: “Pig!”

“What?! What the hell is that for? You bloody well forced this when you soaked the last available towel.” Before she could say anything, he pointed a finger in her direction. “And don’t try to deny it, Slayer--you were in too good a mood when you walked out of the loo not to have been responsible for that little prank. You’re just lucky you left your clothes in there, or I would’ve had to walk out of there starkers. Now get me a towel so I can regain some dignity.”

Jumping off the bed, she walked up to him and looked him in the eye. “The towels are in the closet--I am not your slave, so you can get them yourself. I am going to find myself something to eat before going to sleep.” Heart pumping furiously, she walked towards the kitchenette, listening to the litany of curses coming from behind the bedroom door.

***

Because she’d only had a muffin at the airport, Buffy still felt like she needed a snack before heading off to bed. She was used to eating a little something, whether it was a peanut butter and banana sandwich, or a bowlful of Ben & Jerry’s, or anything else that the average woman would shun just minutes before going to sleep. That was when she remembered something about ‘prezzies’ in the fridge. Now what on earth could Hetty have left in that fridge?

As she was staring into the open refrigerator, a voice from behind her spoke up.

“Figured that you might want a little something before going to bed, pet. Anyway, strawberries never last very long--you kind of have to eat them when they’re fresh.”

Pulling out a plateful of the chocolate-covered fruit, the Slayer had to consciously close her jaw. “You... you made these? For me?” Squinting at him, she added “Why? What did you do to them?”

Exasperated, Spike let out a breath. “Bloody hell, Slayer. Does everything I do have to have a nefarious purpose? There were strawberries, chocolate and whipped cream. Now, unless you want to find some more... imaginative... uses for what good ol’ Hetty left us, I suggest you sit down and eat them.” Walking over to her, he took one off the plate and popped it in his mouth. “See? The only bad thing about these are the calories--and with all the energy you’ve spent pissing me off today, you certainly don’t have to worry much about that.” He turned around, and walked back to the bedroom.

Looking down at the strawberries, Buffy felt a twinge of remorse for how she’d treated Spike. He had obviously gone to the trouble of preparing this snack for her--which he obviously didn’t have to do-- and then she snapped at him, accusing him of trying to poison her. Where was the easy camaraderie they had enjoyed earlier, at the airport and on the plane? Somehow, she felt responsible for this falling-out. Plate still in hand, she made sure the door was locked, turned off the kitchen light and headed for the bedroom.

***

“I’m sorry.”

Spike looked up from the directory he’d been scanning and frowned. “What was that?”

She knew he was making her repeat it, but she wasn’t going to argue--they needed to put this day behind them without making it any worse. “I said I’m sorry. For pissing you off--about the shirt, about the strawberries, about anything I did that cheesed you off.” She walked up to the bed, sat on it, and laid the plate between them. “We’re stuck here, together, and we have to get along. That won’t happen if we don’t trust each other. I’m going to have to work on not second-guessing everything you do--you’ve already shown me that you’re not in this to hurt me, and I’ve got to realize that. So” she picked up a berry, and offered it to him “I’m apologizing.”

The vampire could only blink. Here he was, in London, sitting on a king sized bed with a Slayer decked out in flannel pyjamas (with monkeys on them, to boot) and the single thought that coursed through his mind was that he respected her. The maturity that she was displaying at the moment astounded him--was this the same young woman whose usual rebuttal was a punch in the nose? He’d listened to everything she’d said, most of it mirroring thoughts that had already been flitting through his mind, and was glad that they now seemed to be on the same page.

Accepting the chocolate-covered olive branch, he offered her a smile. “Apology accepted.”

Seeing Buffy stifle a yawn, the vampire spoke up. “Now, don’t take this the wrong way, but have you considered sleeping arrangements? One bed, two of us?” Although he needed a good day’s sleep, he let the gentleman in him speak. “I could take the couch, if that’s what you want.”

Her response was immediate. “No, you’re not sleeping on the couch. This bed is huge-- we can share it. Heck, I could sleep sideways and you’d still have tons of room.” She looked as if she was about to say something mean, then thought better of it. “I’ll go put the plate in the sink.”

Spike slid under the covers, grumbling to himself about having to sleep with clothes on. He wore a pair of cotton pyjama pants that he’d pilfered during one of his recent ‘shopping’ trips. They had looked comfortable, and he had figured the Slayer wouldn’t be too happy if he stalked around the hotel room starkers.

Two minutes later, he felt Buffy climb into the bed.

“Spike?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks again for the strawberries.”

“You’re welcome, Slayer.”

“Spike?”

Be patient... “Yes?”

“When are we getting up?”

“Well, if we can ever get to sleep, somewhere around ten. That should give us time to get ready and head for some of the demon bars I remember, if they’re still around. Now go to sleep.”

“Goodnight, Spike.”

“Goodnight Buffy.”

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