Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating. Pneumonia plus a crazy new boss doesn't leave much time for anything else! As usual – thanks to my beta for her never-ending patience.
 

Buffy rapped on Tara and Anya's bedroom door before stepping inside the cluttered room, calling, “Hey Tara, Spike said you wanted to talk to me?” Before the girls had taken over, the room had been used for storage. It was somewhat disconcerting to see Spike's Ramones albums surrounded by piles of shoes and frilly underwear.

Willow put a finger over her lips and pointed to where Tara was talking on the phone. Buffy nodded and slowly crept through the maze of clothes and files to join the redhead on the small twin bed. Tara smiled at them and returned her attention to the phone conversation.

“Thank you very much, you've been a lot of help,” she politely ended the conversation and hung up the phone. She picked up a clipboard off an end table and made a few checkmarks. “That was the last call today. Everything's taken care of for now.”

Sensing Buffy's confusion, Willow hurried to explain. “Spike and Xander told us how worried you were about the funeral arrangements, the insurance company, and the lawyers, so we made a few phone calls for you. Since the investigation is still going on, the coroner is willing to hold on to the bodies until you're ready for them to be released. Your father's insurance agent sends his regrets and says that he'll get the paperwork started but doesn't expect to hear from you for a couple of weeks. ”

“I didn't know exactly what your parents' wishes were, so I called Mr. Howe, their lawyer. They wanted to be –” Tara began, quickly breaking off at the tears in Buffy's eyes. “Tomorrow we'll call a funeral home and see what they can do for us. Mr. Howe can answer any of your questions and will take care of the estate whenever you're up to it. There isn't anything that can't wait.”

Buffy hugged Willow and rose to embrace Tara. “Thank you. I knew it needed to be done, but I just couldn't bring myself to make those calls. Thank you,” she babbled, tears running down her cheeks.

“I thought we were doing this so she'd stop crying,” Anya observed from the doorway, precariously balancing three grocery bags.

“They're happy tears,” Willow informed the other agent as she helped carry in the bags. “What movies did you get?”

“Movies?” Buffy sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Yes, movies. Willow suggested having a girl's night and I picked up the movies and snacks. Are you done crying yet?” Anya dug through the bags, proudly displaying her purchases.

Buffy chewed on her lower lip, not sure how not to hurt Willow's feelings. “This is very sweet, really, but I don't think it's a good idea. With this new breakthrough, we've got a new list of suspects to run through and the handwriting analysis from the note just came in.”

Willow put an arm around Buffy's shoulders and forced the petite woman to sit on the bed. “Buffy, we all know how much work we have to do, but it will all be there in the morning. All you do is worry about the investigation and that's not healthy. A few hours of movies and girl talk will do you good.”

Recognizing Willow's resolve face, Buffy sighed and made herself more comfortable. Tara started a movie while Anya passed around the snacks. By the time the film started, the four women were situated contentedly around the tiny antiquated TV.

Despite her earlier protestations, Buffy soon relaxed enough to enjoy the movie as well as Anya's humorous running commentary. Between movies she slipped out of the room and down to the back porch. Spike was sitting on the top step smoking a cigarette.

“I thought I might find you out here,” she murmured softly, unwilling to break the peaceful atmosphere surrounding him.

“Bloody women won't let me smoke in my own house,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “Shouldn't you be upstairs for the gabfest?”

“We're taking a break,” she stood next to him, absently running her fingers through his hair. “Just when I think I've got you figured out, you do something completely unexpected.”

“It's all part of my charm, luv,” he smirked. The cocky grin on his face faded after a few seconds. “You don't have to be strong all the time. Let your friends take care of you for a change.”

The comfortable silence was broken a few minutes later when Willow announced that the next movie was about to begin.

“Go on up before they send out a search party. Remember what I said,” Spike urged, flicking the cigarette into the yard. Buffy nodded and made her way back to the bedroom. Once certain that she was well out of earshot, he removed his cell phone from the pocket of his jeans. He'd been in the middle of a conversation with his father when he'd heard Buffy opening the door. Without warning, he'd disconnected the call and hidden the phone.

“Dad, it's me. Sorry ‘bout that. Slayer walked outside and I don't want her to know what's going on,” Spike apologized. He felt around on the porch for a cigarette and cursed when he came up with an empty pack. “Tell me more about the note.”

“Er, yes, as I was saying, it was a plain white envelope addressed to Dawn. The return address was yours and it was postmarked Baltimore, so I assumed the letter was from you or Buffy,” Giles explained. “Your mother wanted to respect the girl's privacy so we did not open it. Looking back now, I wish we had read it first.”

“What did it say?” Spike demanded. The note Buffy received had angered him, but that was nothing compared to the rage he felt at someone threatening the younger Summers. Buffy could take care of herself; after all, that was her job. Dawn, on the other hand, was a civilian, an innocent. That coward of a murderer had no right to drag his Bit into all this. She had suffered enough loss and trauma already for her short life. Why couldn't that be enough?

Giles cleared his throat before saying, “The enveloped was typed, but the note was hand written. All it said was, ‘Do you think you're safe there?” He grinned wearily at the colorful expletive uttered by his son, ironically the exact curse that he himself had muttered after reading the note. “We've managed to pacify Dawn somewhat, but she's still rather upset. Perhaps you could talk to her for a bit?”

“Put her on,” Spike instructed. He took several deep, calming breaths as he waited for Dawn to come on the line.

“Hello?” a soft shaky voice greeted.

“How are you doing, Bit?” Spike inquired gently. It was an effort to stay composed when every part of him screamed for violence and revenge.

Dawn started sobbing as soon as she heard his voice. “It's so awful. He knows where I am! I want to come home, Spike.”

“Shh… Bit, don't cry. Your sister and I are going to take care of it. We're not going to let anyone get you,” he assured the distraught teen. “Mum and Dad are going to take you out of the city for a few days. I know it's hard, but you need to rest.”

She sniffled several times before blowing her nose loudly. “How's Buffy?”

“She's dealing,” Spike responded. He didn't want to tell her about the note Buffy had received or the blonde's visit to the house. The less Dawn knew about the investigation, the better off she was.

Dawn laughed through her tears and smiled at the thought of her sister “dealing.” “You mean she's working too much, not sleeping or eating, and driving everyone crazy?”

“Exactly.” Spike paused, smiling slightly at the sound of Dawn's laughter. “It will> be all right, pet, I promise. We'll catch this bloke before he hurts anyone else.”

She was silent as she considered his statement. One thing she'd learned about her sister's ex-partner was that he always kept his promises. “I'm counting on you to take care of her. I don't just mean keeping her from getting killed. Make sure she eats and sleeps. I want a sister to come home to.”

“Don't worry, I'll take care of big sis,” Spike vowed. “Have Mum make you a cuppa hot cocoa and get some rest, okay? I'll make sure Buffy calls before you leave tomorrow.”

“Good night, Spike,” Dawn reluctantly handed the phone back to Giles. Following Spike's advice, she wandered into the kitchen and found Olivia making two cups of hot chocolate. She wished that she could have made the trip under different circumstances. The members of Giles family were wonderful, caring people. Giles let her borrow books from his massive library and Olivia was teaching her how to paint.

“Could you take her to the country house for a few days? She may feel safer away from the house,” Spike requested after his father returned to the phone.

“Already thought of that. The phones aren't working out there yet, but you have the number for your mother's mobile,” Giles responded, one step ahead of his son as usual. He'd learned through his own experience as a government intelligence officer to be prepared for anything and everything. He was immensely proud that his son had followed in his footsteps, and that Spike had chosen not work with his father's old organization, The Watchers.

“Thanks Dad. Call me if anything else comes up.” Witnessing Buffy's grief over the loss of her parents made Spike aware of his own parents' mortality, and he had made it point to call them at least once a week and was planning visit twice a year. “I love you,” he blurted before his father could hang up.

Stunned by his son's uncharacteristic behavior, Giles could only murmur an appropriate response before hanging up. After setting the phone down, he stared at it curiously before joining the girls in the kitchen.

 

Muttering under his breath, Spike rolled over and glared at the alarm clock. He'd been tossing and turning for the past three hours. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Dawn, bleeding and begging him to save her. Tossing off the blankets, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and headed to the kitchen, hoping a cool glass of water would help slow down his overactive imagination.

After pouring a drink, he sat at the kitchen table. Buffy's cherry red cell phone caught his eye and gave him an idea. He noiselessly picked up the phone and crept out to the back porch. Scrolling through her phone book, he smiled when he reached the entry labeled “Peaches.”

“The things I do for women,” Spike groused before hitting the send button.

“Buffy?” Angel answered huskily. Shaking off the fog of sleep, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. Something had to be horribly wrong. Buffy never called in the wee hours of the morning. “What happened? Are you all right? Where are you?”

“She's fine, you poof,” Spike responded. The concern in the other man's voice sent a wave of jealousy over him. Buffy was his to protect, not Angel's. “You and I can't stand each other and I'm content with the status quo. Only problem is we have something in common: Buffy. The way I see it, after running away like a ninny you still owe her. She won't admit it, but she's in over her head.”

“She must be if she's having you call for her,” Angel observed. It was mention of Buffy's name that kept him from losing all interest in the conversation. He'd never liked his former fiancée's partner. In his opinion, Spike was too brash and tended to bring out Buffy's aggressive side. While Angel wanted her to take a less active role in FBI investigations, Spike was always volunteering her for the most impossible and dangerous assignments. It had hurt to see Buffy grow closer to her partner and further away from him.

“She doesn't know I'm calling, and I'd prefer to keep it that way. Are you willing to help her or not?” Spike demanded. He wasn't going to waste time idly chitchatting with someone who wasn't going to be of any assistance.

“Of course I will. What do you need me to do?” Angel inquired cautiously. Helping Buffy with Drusilla had been a minor issue. He had a feeling that whatever Spike was about to ask of him would be much more complicated.

“Dawn's in England with my family. Somehow he knows where she is. Dad was great at all the cloak and dagger, but he's been retired for too long. I need a second set of eyes out there.” Spike didn't have to explain who he was or what the favor was.

Angel was silent for a minute as he considered Spike's implied request. He'd just wrapped up his last assignment and was planning on taking a week of down time. The last time he'd seen Dawn, she had been a cute little girl in pigtails playing with Barbie dolls. Just the idea that someone might harm her made the decision easy. “I'll do it,” he agreed.

“Buffy'll appreciate it. If she lost Dawn, too…” Spike trailed off, unwilling to think of that possibility. “They'll be leaving London to stay at their summer home. I'll call you with the address as soon as I get to a secure line.”

“I'll get the address. It's best if we keep communication to a minimum,” Angel interrupted.

“I owe you,” Spike hesitantly uttered the phrase he swore he'd never say to anyone.

“I know.” Angel ended the call with a click.

“Bloody poof. Don't know what she saw in him in the first place,” Spike grumbled as he walked back into the house. He set the phone back on the table and returned to his bedroom, pleased to find that, aside from now owing Angel a favor, he felt somewhat relieved.

 

Chapter 8

Xander set down the handwriting analysis disgustedly and stretched his arms. “This report was a waste of time. ‘Upon careful examination of these samples, we have concluded that both specimens were written by the same person,'” he quoted derisively. “Yeah, tell us something we didn't already know.”

“We've gone through all your mother's correspondences and found nothing that matches the handwriting on the letters,” Willow added, sighing despondently as she pushed away the box of gallery notes and Christmas cards. She'd never realized just how much paperwork was involved in running an art gallery.

“Same thing for your father's business contacts,” Anya chimed in, gravely flipping through business letters and meeting notes. “None of their handwriting looks anything like this guy's.”

“Are you sure it's a good idea for Dawn to be traveling?” Buffy inquired for the fifth time in three hours. She'd had a brief conversation with her younger sister before the teen was to leave the city with Spike's parents. Despite the nagging feeling that something was wrong, she'd made no open complaints about the sudden change of plans.

Spike rolled his eyes and patted Buffy's hand. “Don't worry, she'll be safer out there than she was in the city,” he assured her. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he mentally kicked himself. He was supposed to be relieving some stress for Buffy, not adding to it.

Buffy's eyes narrowed as she absorbed his words. “Safer? Does that mean she wasn't safe in the city? What happened?”

“I was going to tell you earlier, but you were so relaxed after last night that I didn't want to ruin the mood and worry you again –” Spike began to defend himself.

“What happened?” Buffy repeated forcefully.

“Dawn got a letter from the killer,” Spike responded hesitantly, watching Buffy for her reaction.

The blond agent's face paled and her jaw dropped. “She what? And you didn't see fit to tell me until just now? Oh God, we've got to get her out of there –” she ran a shaky hand through her hair and began pacing the length of the living room.

Spike stood in the middle of Buffy's circuit and put his hands on her shoulders. “He's not there. The letter came from here. For all we know, it could have just been a lucky guess. That's why she's going to the country for a few days. I've called in a little extra security. She'll be fine,” he spoke firmly.

“What did the note say?” Xander spoke up; oblivious to the glares he was receiving from the agents around him.

“I don't think this is something Buffy needs to hear,” Tara intervened, sensing the rage rolling off Spike in waves.

“Tell me,” Buffy's stomach was churning painfully. Part of her didn't want to hear what the bastard had said to her sister; but another larger part knew she needed to know to better protect the other girl.

Spike exhaled loudly before speaking. “All it said was, ‘do you think you're safe there?'”

The others could only stand by in shocked silence and watch as Buffy raced out of the house, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She stood in the middle of Spike's front yard; head thrown back and arms open wide. “Come and get me, you coward! Let's get this over with. Kill me already!” she taunted loudly in a desperate, angry voice.

Before anyone could react, a shot rang out and a bullet whizzed past Buffy's head, lodging itself in the house just behind her. Spurred into action by her frightened gasp, Spike rushed forward and pushed her to the ground covering her body with his. Instantly, the four remaining agents had their weapons drawn and were searching for the attacker. After scanning the immediate vicinity, they returned to the lawn where Spike was still lying on top of Buffy.

“You bloody –” he broke off, growling angrily. “What were you thinking?! Has the bleach finally penetrated that dense skull of yours? Do you have a death wish, woman?” He would have continued his tirade if not for a pair of arms lifting him off the petite blonde.

“Let's get back inside before he decides to come back,” Tara suggested wisely. She helped Buffy off the ground and wrapped a comforting arm around the other woman's shoulders.

Willow paused to examine the bullet imbedded in the red brick. “Remington 7mm Express, bronze point. Probably from a Remington 700 Titanium. Odd that he didn't go for a higher caliber.”

Anya was already in the house hovering over Spike's answering machine. “Well of course he wouldn't use a higher one if he wasn't trying to kill her,” she informed the group assuredly.

“What gives you that idea?” Willow asked, curious. With as many twists and turns as this case was taking, it was hard to be certain of any details.

“This,” she said as she pressed the play button on the machine. There was a second of static before a gravelly, and very obviously digitally altered voice filled the silent room. “Just who do you think you're dealing with, Slayer? That was a warning. You can't protect your sister if you're dead.”

Fortunately Spike was in place to catch Buffy as soon as she started swaying. Wrapping his strong arms around her tiny form, he carried her to the couch. He sat with her nestled on his lap, her head on his shoulder. Closely inspecting his friend, he noticed a thin trickle of blood along her right temple. “It's just a scratch,” he sighed in relief after cleaning the wound with a damp towel.

Buffy nodded numbly, vaguely hearing the discussion around her. It was all too much: her family's murder, the investigation, confronting Drusilla, the note on Xander's windshield, the crime scene, protecting Dawn, and now this. As if he could follow her train of thought, Spike tightened his hold on her and pressed a soft kiss on her injured temple.

“That sure was ballsy, attacking us in the middle of the morning in a residential area. He knows this area well and he's keeping an eye on the house,” Xander observed.

“Odds are the house is bugged,” Anya added then scowled as she realized the implications of her statement.

“This afternoon we'll take the answering machine and the bullet to the lab and see what they can come up with,” Tara said, unplugging the machine and rolling up the cord. “We'll have Jack get a crew in here to find the devices.”

“He altered his voice so there's no chance of us recognizing who it is,” Willow frowned still fixated on the answering machine recording. “Hopefully there will be some background noise for them to pick up.”

”Slayer,” Buffy murmured, her voice muffled by the dark cotton of Spike's t-shirt.

“What was that, pet?” Spike urged gently.

“He called me Slayer,” she repeated a little louder. Spike nodded and graced her with an indulgent smile. “I didn't realize it until just now, but you're right.”

Xander glanced at the others before turning to Spike. “You want to clear that up for those of us not using telepathy?”

“O-oh, I think I've got it!” Tara waved her hands excitedly. “He called her ‘Slayer,' not ‘Buffy'. Slayer's a nickname of some sort, isn't it?”

Spike then related the story of the first day he'd met Buffy at the FBI Academy. She'd reminded him of a comic book superhero: small, dainty, and feminine one minute; fiery, powerful, and generally kick-ass the next. Although she'd protested at the nickname, it'd followed her throughout her career.

 

FBI ACADEMY – QUANTICO, VIRGINIA, 4 YEARS EARLIER

“Devereaux, you're up with-“ the gruff instructor glanced down at his clipboard before continuing, “Summers.”

Spike stepped onto the mat, rolling his neck and loosening his muscles. He snorted in disbelief when a diminutive blonde moved forward ‘This'll be over in two seconds,' he scoffed silently. Buffy rolled her eyes at her opponent's murmured “Hello cutie.”

The whistle was blown and the two opponents squared off. Spike made the first move, kicking out to sweep Buffy's feet out from underneath her. She smoothly jumped over the leg and one small fist shot out at his face. Spike caught the hand before it could reach its mark then twisted Buffy's arm behind her back. The hold was easily broken and they were back to squaring off.

The fight continued for several minutes. Instructors and recruits were lined up around the mat, deeply engrossed in the intense match. Spike grinned despite the pain in his left side and his right knee. She was meeting him move for move. He'd never had such an equally matched sparring partner. Distracted by his wandering thoughts, he missed a blow to his knees and landed face first on the mat. The whistle was blown and Spike rolled over onto his back.

Buffy stood over him, flushed and panting from the exertion with blonde hair disheveled and limp. He'd never seen such a beautiful sight. She stuck out a hand to help him up.

“Good match, Slayer,” Spike conceded, a bit surprised at the new nickname, but he shook it off; it suited her, after all. He pictured her on the cover of one of his old comic books: delicate and demure by day, feisty and formidable by night.

Buffy smiled and nodded in agreement. “Very good.” She futilely tried to release herself from Spike's grip. His touch was giving her a tingling feeling she had no business feeling from a fellow recruit.

“I'd like a rematch sometime,” he spoke softly in her ear.

Once her hand was free, she stepped back and tried to regain her composure. “Why? So I can kick your ass again? What makes you think you can beat me?”

“All I need is one good day,” Spike grinned cheekily and moved to the other side of the mat, leaving Buffy with wide eyes and a racing mind..

 

“How many people know about the nickname? If we can narrow it down to one group, that'd be great,” Willow inquired after Spike finished his tale.

Buffy reflected on that for a moment. “No one outside of work knew about it,” she replied with certainty. “I never told my parents or Dawn. Spike's the only one who ever uses it with any regularity.”

Tara picked up the laptop and began looking through the list of case files Willow had created. “So we're looking for someone you've worked with one some point. All these cases should have a list of the agents involved.”

“You think it's someone from the bureau?” Xander couldn't believe this new turn. It was bad enough that someone was twisted enough to murder an innocent six-year-old and threaten a teenager, but to think that this had been done by one of their own? “That's impossible,” he finished his thoughts aloud.

Buffy slid off Spike's lap and joined Tara on the couch. “After the Academy, it was mostly just Spike and me for the first two years. After… after he left, there was no one there to keep using the nickname.”

“Alright, good, that really narrows it down then. Plus it leaves most of us off the suspect list. Xander and Anya were the only ones in Baltimore during that time. Tara, look for cases they both worked on during that two year period,” Willow instructed the other agent. If this really was the work of someone familiar with investigations, they'd have to work twice as hard to stay one step ahead. “Buffy and Spike, you two need to start making a list of people you can remember having any problems with while working on a case. Xander and Anya can take the bullet and the answering machine to the lab guys and see what they come up with.”

Anya and Xander collected the evidence and took it to the field office, promising to return with a team to sweep the house for listening devices. Willow and Tara moved to the office so they could sort through the case file list. Buffy left the couch to stand by the window. Spike stood behind her, his arm around her waist. Buffy picked up one of his hands and held it between two of her own.

“You're shaking,” she observed thoughtfully. Spike's skin was cold to the touch.

He rested his head against the cool glass of the window and took a deep breath. “You don't leave this house without me, understand?” his voice was low and lethal, but she detected a faint trace of fear behind it. “Scratch that, you don't leave my bloody sight until this is over with.”

Buffy opened her mouth to protest then quickly changed her mind. “I'm all right,” she assured her friend, gently tracing the line of his jaw with her fingertips.

He straightened slightly and turned his head in her direction. Buffy was shocked by the trepidation and anxiety in his blue eyes. “A fraction of an inch, pet, just a fraction of an inch and there'd have been another Summers body in the morgue.”

“But I'm fi - “ she broke off when she noticed a single tear sliding down the smooth planes of her former partner's face. “You're right. We'll do this your way.” She brushed away the tear and leaned her forehead against his. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, their gaze conveying more than any words could.

Chapter 9



Spike stood up from the computer and rubbed his bleary eyes. He'd been going over Willow's latest list of possible suspects for nearly four hours. The names sounded familiar, but it was difficult to remember specific details. “Bloody hell,” he groaned loudly.

“Is that a ‘I just found out who the killer is and I can't believe we've been so dumb' bloody hell or a ‘Out of a possible 25 suspects none of them looks right' bloody hell?” Willow asked, pausing in her note taking. The others had long since gone to bed, leaving the two of them to continue the research.

“This is impossible. Working the kinds of cases Buffy and I did, you focus on stopping the bad guy and saving the day. You don't look at the people you're working with and try to figure out which one's going to come back and try to kill you 4 years down the road,” Spike responded. “We don't have time to track down false leads! Lives are at stake here. Buffy's life is at stake.”

Willow set down her pen and slid over on the couch so that she could put a comforting hand on Spike's shoulder. “We will stop him before he does anything else,” she said with absolute certainty. “We've got some of the FBI's most brilliant minds right here in this house. No matter how good this guy thinks he is, he's not perfect. He will make a mistake and when he does we'll be right there to pounce on him.”

Spike sighed in resignation and returned his attention to the laptop. He was halfway through the 24th case file when Willow interrupted.

“You really care about her, don't you?” her voice was soft, as if she was afraid to ask the question.

“She was my partner, Red. For two and a half years it was my job to watch her back. You don't just drop habits like that,” Spike attempted to dodge the question.

Willow slapped him lightly on the arm. “That's not what I meant and you know it. Come on, tell Aunty Willow all about it,” she encouraged teasingly.

Sensing that he was not going to get any work done until he answered her question, he closed the laptop and turned to face the redhead. “She's my best friend. Has been since she kicked my ass in front of half the soddin' Academy. Sure we went through a few rough patches, Dru and the poof being two examples of that, but the good times were bloody fantastic,” he smiled ruefully. “When she told Jack she wanted a new partner, I felt like she was cheating on me. When we went out separate ways, it was as if I'd suddenly lost an arm or something. This time around, the feelings are different. I don't know how to explain it any better than that.”

Willow grinned and patted him on the cheek. “It's called love; welcome to it.” Her smile grew at the look of disbelief spreading across Spike's face. “That's enough research for tonight, I think. See you in the morning.” She skipped up the stairs before sneaking into her room. She couldn't wait to share this with Tara in the morning.

Spike followed her upstairs and pushed open the door to his room. He was surprised to find a small form huddled under the blankets in the middle of the bed. He quickly crossed the room and gingerly perched on the edge of the bed. “Are you all right?” he shook one of Buffy's shoulders lightly. She'd seemed fine after the incident in the yard, but had the wound been more than just a scratch?

“Mmmhmp?” Buffy mumbled as she rolled over, burying herself even deeper in the comforter in the process.

“There's a huge shoe sale downtown, everything half off,” he whispered into her ear.

As predicted, Buffy immediately sat up with eyes wide open. Her eyes darted around the dark room as she tried to remember where she was. “Shoes?”

Spike chuckled and pulled off his boots. “Sorry, pet. That was the only way I knew to wake you,” he apologized. “What are you doing in here?”

Buffy shrugged her shoulders and burrowed under the covers. “My room's right next to Xander's . Strange noises coming out of there,” she pouted sleepily.

“Guess it's down to the couch for ol' Spike,” he sighed and grabbed his pillow. “Can't smoke in my own bloody house, can't sleep in my own bloody bed. Might as well start charging rent.”

Buffy's hand shot out to grab him by the wrist. “Plenty of room here. Stay,” she insisted. To prove her point, she moved so that half the bed was empty.

Spike nodded in acquiescence and dropped the pillow. A few short minutes later, he slid into bed next to the already sleeping blonde. “Night Buffy,” he murmured softly.

 

Upon waking the next morning, Spike was acutely aware of two things: one, there was a bony knee pressed into his stomach and two, someone was trying to suffocate him with a pillow. He slowly opened his eyes to assess the situation. Buffy was sprawled across the entire width of the bed. She had a strangle hold on one pillow and was pressing the other against the side of his face. He slowly extracted himself from the sleeping octopus and slipped out of the room.

Willow, Tara and Anya were gathered around the kitchen table arguing over the crossword puzzle. “Good morning, girls,” Spike greeted cheerily.

“You're in a good mood this morning!” Tara observed, casting a sly glance at Willow. She'd heard all about the other woman's conversation with Spike after noting that Buffy hadn't slept in her bed the night before.

“Do you have an orgasm buddy, too?” Anya inquired seriously, setting down the crossword puzzle. “I find that they make things much more enjoyable.”

“Hmm… four letter word for blunt. Try Anya,” Willow teased as she pointed at one of the puzzle's clues.

Spike jerked a little, setting down his mug as he tried to wipe spilled coffee off of his shirt. “No, I don't have an orgasm buddy,” he scowled.

“Well then you need one. It would help with the grouchiness. Don't you agree, Xander?” Anya smiled at Xander as he stumbled into the kitchen.

“Er, yeah, I guess,” he responded. He flopped into a chair and leaned towards Willow. “What did I just agree to?”

“You agreed that Spike needs an orgasm buddy,” Anya chirped proudly.

Xander groaned and buried his head in his hands. “And there's a place I definitely don't want to go.”

Willow rubbed his back soothingly while trying to suppress a smile. “Have a doughnut. Tara and I went out early and picked them up,” she offered, pushing the box in front of his face.

“Oh! Sprinkles!” Xander's face lit up as he pulled a doughnut out of the box, traumatic thoughts temporarily forgotten.

Buffy was the last to come down stairs. She smiled at the others in greeting and moved around the table to lean against the counter next to Spike. “Morning everyone. What's the big group discussion about?”

“Orgasm buddies,” Anya informed her absentmindedly, her attention back on the crossword she'd absconded from Tara. “Twelve down is not my name, it doesn't fit.”

Spike slapped Buffy on the back when she choked on her coffee. “It's a good thing they removed all the bugs yesterday. Our guy would have a field day listening to this conversation,” she joked. Everyone sobered up immediately. ‘Great going, Buff. That's gotta be a new record for you. It only took you fifteen seconds to ruin everyone's mood,' she mentally berated herself.

After an awkwardly silent breakfast, the agents once again split up. While everyone else was out running errands and checking leads, Buffy sat at the laptop Spike had abandoned the previous night. She skimmed through the case file Spike had left out, her eyes stopping when she reached the name of the lead investigator. Her heart began racing as the particulars from that investigation came rushing back.

It had been their first assignment in Baltimore and they were put on a kidnapping case with a veteran agent. Picturing Dawn as the kidnapped child, Buffy had put her heart and soul into that investigation only to be shot down at every turn by the lead investigator. It wasn't until she and Spike had made a major breakthrough with a piece of evidence the investigator had overlooked that they were able to find the child before she'd been killed. When questioned during a final briefing with their superior, she and Spike had relayed their concerns about the veteran agent's casual dismissal of any leads that weren't his own and his total disregard for the theories of junior agents.

Buffy picked up Willow's color-coded notes and flipped through them until she found the name she was looking for. What she read in the notes confirmed her suspicions. That hadn't been the first assignment the agent had screwed up. Following the kidnapping investigation, he'd been put under review following that investigation then transferred to a small Midwest field office a few days later. Her stomach twisted painfully when the next notation was that he'd received his requested reassignment to the Baltimore office three weeks before the attack on her family.

When Spike came home, he found Buffy sitting on the edge of the couch. Her expression was grim and she was clutching a case file. “What do you have in your hands, pet?”

Buffy's hand trembled as she held up a recent photo of the agent. “I know who it is.”
 

Chapter 10


Buffy held out the photo and waited while Spike studied the man's face. “We worked with him on the Malone kidnapping, remember?”

Spike set the photo face down on the coffee table. “How could I forget good ole Stalin? Thought he was going to have a heart attack when Jack told him you were going to be on the team,” he recalled with a grin. “He'd just finished his little ‘Women have no place in the FBI' rant when you waltzed in.”

“That's about how he treated me, too,” Buffy sighed. She sat on the couch and flipped open the case file. “It was such a hassle getting him to listen to any of my ideas.”

“You weren't the only one with that problem, luv. We all had difficulty dealing with him. If you hadn't called attention to that piece of evidence he overlooked, we might have never found the girl. I'll agree that he was a narrow-minded sexist bastard, but that doesn't make him a killer,” he pointed out. When Buffy didn't respond, he joined her on the couch. “All right, Agent Summers, let's get to work.”

Nodding in agreement, Buffy found a blank sheet of paper and drew a line down the middle forming two columns. “First off, he would know about the nickname. This was shortly after the Academy so you were using it more than my given name,” Buffy said as she wrote her reason down in the first column.

“There were three other agents working that case. Any one of them could have picked it up,” Spike countered.

“I compared Dawn to Krissy Malone several times, so he knows how close I am to my family. This was deliberate. Losing my family would devastate me and he knew it,” Buffy continued writing down arguments in both columns.

“Again with the other agents, pet. You've made no secret about your affection for your family,” he argued, warming up to the task. This had been such an integral part of each investigation he and Buffy worked together: the way they bounced ideas off each other, analyzed each suspect, every piece of evidence beyond the shadow of a doubt. They picked at any detail that seemed even slightly off-kilter, and they always questioned the other's ideas, keeping in mind all the possibilities until they inevitably narrowed them down to one or two.

Buffy glanced at the names on the case file and smiled triumphantly. “One of the other agents is dead and the other two still work with me at the office. If they'd had a problem, we would have known about it already.”

“Okay, point to you for that one,” Spike acknowledged, reaching across the blonde to cross out his two previous arguments. “Let's look at motive, then.”

They continued on their list for the next two hours, passionately debating each side of every point. When they finally finished, both agents were pleased with the results.

“I told you it was him,” Buffy smirked as she watched Spike recopy the list. The arguments for Stalin being the killer were far stronger than the arguments against it. The overwhelming depression that had been building the last few days suddenly seemed more manageable when faced with the familiarity of arguing with Spike and the knowledge that the case would soon be solved and put to rest.

Before Spike could respond, the front door burst open and four dripping FBI agents stepped just inside the tiled entry. Buffy jumped to her feet and ran into the bathroom to get towels. Once they weren't in danger of ruining Spike's carpet, Xander, Anya, Willow, and Tara went upstairs to change clothes.

“Should we tell them now?” Buffy inquired as she and Spike made hot chocolate for the others

“I don't see why not. Let's hold off on revealing his identity, though. We don't have concrete evidence yet and I'd hate to ruin another's agent's not-so-good name based on a hunch,” he responded, carrying the heavy tray into the living room.

“I say we call Jack and see what he can find out for us,” Buffy suggested. “He knows our history with this guy and he's the only one there I really trust these days. And thanks to your loose lips, he'll know what ‘Stalin' means.”

Once the drinks were passed around and the group was settled in, Buffy handed Tara a copy of the list. “We think we know who the killer is. Spike and I have spent the past couple hours working through the details; we've listed our arguments here,” she explained.

Tara set down her mug and perused the handwritten notes, frowning in confusion upon reading the title. “We're looking for Joseph Stalin?”

“Hasn't he been dead for several decades?” Willow inquired. “Did either of you happen to do anything today that involved, oh, I don't know, any drugs or alcohol?”

Spike snatched the list back from Tara and glared at the two women. “It's a bloody nickname, you daft bints,” he clarified. “Stalin was a pain in the ass to work with. If the evidence contradicted his assumptions, he'd disregard it. If you disagreed with him in any way, shape, or form, you were ignored or ridiculed. Buffy and I christened the git Stalin after about two days of working with him.”

“I can see where the nickname came from, but what does that have to do with our case?” Xander interrupted. “What is his real name, anyway?”

“We'd actually prefer not to tell you just yet. We don't know for sure that it's him and don't want to be accused of slander or anything like that,” Buffy smiled apologetically. She then explained the pertinent details of the Malone kidnapping: how they'd almost blown the case because Stalin wouldn't listen to what anyone else had to say and was blatantly ignoring solid evidence. She then told them about her meeting with Jack and Stalin's subsequent transfer to a smaller, more remote field office.

“Has he ever actually threatened you?” Anya inquired once Buffy was finished.

“No, I can't say that he did, but I didn't have any contact with him once that was over. He was put on probation then transferred,” Buffy admitted. Sensing the general air of doubt, she tried to reassure them, “I know it sounds like a long shot, but I'm right. I can feel it,” she insisted.

Willow dug through the briefcase she'd taken to the office and passed around copies of the tests run on the bullet fired at Buffy. “The bullet matches one from a gun used in a murder in Anne Arundel County three years ago. A man was abducted while on a hunting trip then shot with his own gun. There were several suspects but never enough evidence to pinpoint the murderer.”

“Do you have the notes on that one?” Spike inquired, a cold uneasy feeling washing over him.

Buffy caught the look in her ex-partner's eyes and sighed heavily, recognizing it too well for her liking. “Damn it Drusilla,” she muttered crossly. Even when she sent the other woman out of the state, she still managed to get in the middle of everything.

Catching the perplexed expressions from the others, she stood up and stuffed her hands in her jeans pockets. “If I remember correctly, Spike and I were assigned to this case. Drusilla Moore was one of our main suspects, but we never could tie her to it. Am I right?” she turned to Spike and raised an eyebrow.

“As usual, pet,” Spike smiled wearily. “We found the gun but there were no prints on it. It was kept as evidence, but obviously someone got their hands on it.”

Without saying a word, Xander went out to his car and came back in carrying a large dry erase board. “This was by my desk and I thought it could help us keep all the details together,” he explained while clearing off a space on an end table and leaning the board against the wall.

Tara took on the task of writing the essential parts of the theory on the board. “The case against ‘Stalin' right now is weak, but I've seen Buffy in action. I trust her intuition. Unless we get evidence pointing otherwise, he's our main suspect. We've also got a gun used in a murder most likely committed by Drusilla. Is there any chance that these two knew each other?”

When the two blonde agents shook their heads, Tara set down the marker she had been writing with and looked at the others expectantly. “Oh man, I don't like this,” Xander wrinkled his nose in disgust as he came to a disturbing conclusion. “What if he had an informant inside the office?”

“That still wouldn't explain how he got the gun,” Anya countered. “He was stuck in some Podunk field office until four weeks ago. I highly doubt that he flew all the way here to steal a gun from the evidence room.”

“Are your photo albums still arranged by date?” Buffy moved to stand in front of a tall bookcase. At Spike's nod, she reached for the first album and began flipping through the pages. As the others hashed out the details behind Buffy's theory, she found the picture she was looking for and stuck it right under Spike's nose.

“Look, he was at your retirement party!” she exclaimed excitedly, pointing to a fairly tall and muscular African-American man lurking in the background. “If he flew in for your party, who knows how many times he's come back. I'm going to call Jack and see if we can't pull his financial records and find out just how often our buddy here flies the friendly skies.”

Spike couldn't take his eyes off the picture. There was Stalin, the man who had caused his best friend so much grief and agony, smiling and toasting the camera. Staring at the photo, transfixed the contemptuous look in the other man's eyes, something dawned on him. “Dru,” he groaned, quickly closed the book before the other agents could see.

“What about her?” Buffy snapped, holding her hand over the mouthpiece of the receiver. Spike had been in another world ever since she'd mention the raven-haired murderess. Was he still in love with her despite what he'd said the other day?

“If he got the gun she used in that first murder, what else does he have?” Spike queried, oblivious to her irritation. “Red, even though the bullets and the gun are missing, they'd still have the information from Dru's case in the computer wouldn't they?”

Willow hesitated for a moment then shrugged her shoulders. “Unless someone's gone in and deleted the files, it should all still be in there,” she confirmed.

“Buff – “ Spike started.

“Check to see if the gun that was used to kill my parents was the same gun Psycho Bitch used, gotcha boss,” Buffy interrupted. “Jack, it's Buffy. No, I'm doing okay. Spike and I think we have a suspect. It's going to sound crazy, but just hear me out. Yes, it's another one of my ‘sense' things. Stalin. No, not the Russian. Yes. We need his financial records for the past three years and we need forensics to compare the bullets from… this case… to the ones used in the Moore killings. Please. Yes, we will keep you updated. Thanks.”

She returned the receiver to the cradle and faced the others. “The lab results won't be in until later tonight, he's putting a rush on them. Once he receives the bank statements, he'll fax them over here,” she explained.

Xander groaned and slumped down further in his seat. “So what? Now we have to sit here and wait?”

Realizing that she may need information from Drusilla, Buffy dug her cell phone out of her pocket and headed for the back door. Hopefully Angel could force the insane criminal to cooperate.

As Buffy was walking to the door, Spike glanced down at his watch and mentally calculated the time difference between Baltimore and England. It had been several hours since he'd checked in with Angel for a report on Dawn's situation. He checked to make sure he had the piece of paper he'd written the phone number on and followed Buffy to the porch.

“Where are you going?” Willow inquired suspiciously, stopping the two agents before they could shut the door. She was still a bit irked that they weren't trusted to know the identity of their suspect.

“I've gotta call a man about a girl,” Spike responded before stalking off to a far corner of the backyard.

Buffy tilted her head curiously and frowned at her best friend's retreating back. Who could he be calling? “Yeah, what he said,” she murmured, closing the door softly.

 

tbc...
 

Chapter 11:

“What do you mean, I can’t talk to her?” Buffy demanded angrily. She stopped pacing the length of the back porch and tapped her foot as she waited for Angel to respond.

There was a lengthy pause before her ex-fiancé spoke. “Something came up and I left her with a trusted associate. I get a report every four hours. I can give her a message in a few hours,” Angel offered The beeping of his phone had him pulling it away from his face and peered at the display. He recognized the Baltimore area code and assumed the caller was Spike.

“I don’t want you to give her a message, Angel. I want to talk to her. To find out exactly who helped her beat a murder charge. So help me, if I don’t talk to her in three hours…” Buffy closed her eyes, berating herself for letting Dru out of town. She wouldn’t have asked Angel to take her away if only she hadn’t been so blinded by past dealings with the woman.

Knowing that Spike’s patience only lasted so long, Angel attempted to end his conversation with Buffy. “I’ll do what I can,” he hastily agreed, promptly killing the connection to halt further argument.

“Don’t hang up on me you sorry ….” The blonde agent resisted the strong urge to throw her phone against the side of the house. Shaking her head in disgust, she joined the others waiting in the living room.

Spike briefly glanced up when he heard the door open and slam shut with a bang. “I don’t have all day for this. Pick up, you wanker,” he muttered into the phone.

“What do you want?” Angel’s voice was considerably cooler than it had been when he was talking to Buffy.

“How’s the Bit?” Spike ignored the other man’s tone and got straight to the point.

Angel glanced out the window of his vehicle and focused on the brunette rocking in a porch swing. Her head was bobbing to the beat of the music coming from her portable CD player. “She’s just fine. If anyone so much as breathes near the cabin I’ll know about it,” he assured.

“Good. If all goes well, this will be wrapped up soon and she’ll get to come home,” Spike slowly ambled toward the house. He was relieved to find that Dawn’s safety was no longer a pressing issue.

Angel’s curious nature had him inquiring if a suspect had been found. If they had indeed found someone, why did Buffy want to speak with Dru? He was under the impression that the raven-haired felon had been ruled out.

“We’ve got a good lead, that’s all. You just concentrate on taking care of my girl,” Spike quickly changed the subject, not wanting to give too much away over the phone.

“You do the same,” Angel responded, stretching his long legs as much as the cramped confines of rental car would allow.

Spike scowled at the reference to Buffy and the slight possessiveness evident in the other man’s tone. “She hasn’t been yours for a while now, mate.”

“Let me know if you find anything else out. It’ll help to know who I’m supposed to be on the lookout for,” the CIA operative’s attention returned to the house as Olivia and Giles stepped outside to join Dawn.

Spike mumbled his agreement and quickly disconnected the call. He stood on the porch for several seconds and watched through the window as Buffy talked to the rest of their team. From the way her face lit up and her hands moved rapidly, he guessed she was telling them about a past case they’d worked together. He was startled out of his reverie when the door beside him swung open.

“Are you going to stand outside the window like a creepy stalker all day, or are you going to come inside?” Buffy demanded, eyes twinkling with amusement.

Spike rolled his eyes, hiding a slight smile, and followed Buffy back inside the house. “Any word from Jack yet?”

Just as Xander opened his mouth to respond, the fax machine set up on the coffee table beeped once to signal an incoming fax. The agents raced to the machine and waited none too patiently as the old machine slowly spit out the first page.

Buffy reached across the others and grabbed the first page, grateful to find that Jack had blacked over the suspect’s name. While she and Spike had been making their phone calls, Tara, Willow and Anya had used the board to write down key dates in Buffy and Spike’s lives: Dru’s trial date, the approximate time the evidence for her case had gone missing, and Spike’s retirement party were just a few of a long list.

Willow, with the rest of the pages in hand, moved to stand beside the blonde agent. “Jack must really think this is a solid lead. He even managed to get the flight information.”

Buffy and Willow compared the dates on the board with Stalin’s flights to Baltimore while Anya, Tara, Xander and Spike went through the rest of the financial papers. After finishing their cross-checking, the women stepped back from the board to show the others what they’d discovered: for every key event in Buffy and Spike’s career, Stalin had made a trip back to the city.

“There are several more flights here, but the dates aren’t ones we considered important. Could he have just been visiting family then?” Willow queried.

Spike stood over Willow’s shoulder to peer at the list of dates she’d written. “Dad and Mum were in town that week,” he commented, pointing to a set of dates.

Her heart sinking to the pit of her stomach, Buffy took a closer look at the dates. She closed her eyes and forced herself to remember where she’d been or what she’d been doing on those days. She pulled a pen from behind her ear and pulled the list from Willow’s lax grasp. She began to write correlating events down beside the dates.

“Celia’s kindergarten graduation; Mom’s gallery re-opening; Dad’s employee of the year banquet; Spike’s big birthday bash; Spike’s promotion,” Willow read once Buffy was finished writing. “It could all just be a coincidence, but I doubt it. If these dates really do match up, then he’s been watching you both quite some time.”

“And I thought it was just the bad guys who were creepy,” Xander observed wryly.

Having taken a moment to regain her composure, Buffy recapped her pen and moved back slightly so that her back was resting against Spike’s chest. “Let’s not jump to conclusions until we get the lab results from the bullet back. Even if the bullets do match, we’re going to need to connect Stalin and Dru,” she reminded the others.

“Now that we’re even more certain that he’s our guy, can we stop using the nickname?” Anya requested, tired of still being left in the dark about their suspect’s identity.

In response, Buffy pulled a picture from the photo album and handed it to Anya. “Him.” She tapped her finger next to the man in question.

The rest of the agents gathered around Anya, trying to see who their suspect was. “No way!” Tara exclaimed once she’d gotten a glimpse of his face.

“This is our creepier than creepy killer? Sure he makes crappy coffee, but he can’t be a murderer,” Willow dismissed the idea.

Xander leaned in for a closer look and wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I remember him. Worked with him once on a fraud case. He kept calling me ‘boy.’ Had a chip on his shoulder the size of Mt. Everest. Talk about your poster-child for sexual harassment training.”

“So you think it could be him?” Anya questioned. She was somewhat disappointed by the revelation. The man seemed normal enough. Nothing about him screamed psycho.

Xander just shrugged his shoulders in response and returned to the pages he’d been reading. An idea dawning on her, Willow sat at her laptop and quickly logged onto the network. Several minutes later, she let out a small yelp of triumph. Curious as to what she’d found, Buffy perched on the end of the couch next to the redhead.

“You hacked into his personnel file?” Buffy’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t believe that by-the-book Willow had hacked into another agent’s classified personnel file.

“Yeah, and I got his psych evaluation, too,” Willow crowed proudly. She trailed her finger down the screen as she read the evaluation. “Obsessive? Paranoid? And they let this guy into the Bureau?”

She printed out the report for the rest of the group to read. What the psychiatrist had written only seemed to confirm, in more official words, what Buffy and Spike had said about the agent.

After having read the evaluation, Spike passed it on to Xander and reached for his car keys. “Like Buffy said, we’re never going to be able to connect all the dots unless we find something linking him to Dru. She and I’ll have a talk with the bird and see if she can tell us anything.”

Finding no fault with Spike’s logic, the others readily agreed. Deciding that Jack needed to be informed of their whereabouts, Spike left a message with Jack’s secretary Harmony Kendall.

Buffy nervously chewed her lower lip as she waited for Spike to start the vehicle. Before he could put the car in reverse, she turned and put a hand on her arm. “Dru’s not at her house,” she admitted softly.

Spike quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head, urging her to continue. Buffy kept her eyes averted, unwilling to meet her friend’s gaze. “I know that she wasn’t really a suspect, but I was afraid having her around would cloud your judgment, so I had her sent away,” she finished in one breath. Her confession made, she braced herself for the inevitable outburst.

“I know,” Spike responded calmly and proceeded to back out of the driveway. “We’re going to see if there’s anything there to connect her to our killer.”

Confused, Buffy raised her eyes slightly. “You know?”

Once out of the driveway, Spike headed in the direction of Dru’s house. “I stop by at least once a week to check in on her. When she didn’t answer the door, I used my key to get in. There was no sign of a struggle so I figured she just up and left. Was pretty sure you had something to do with it.”

“And you’re not mad?” Buffy still couldn’t believe that he was taking this so easily. In the past, whenever the subject of Dru came up, there was either a lot of yelling or a lot of silence.

He turned away from the road to flash a reassuring smile at her. “Oh, I was bloody livid at first. But it’s nothing less than what I’d expect from you. As long as you didn’t have her killed, we’re fine.”

Relieved that she hadn’t ruined her tenuous friendship with Spike, Buffy relaxed against the seat. “I sent her off with Angel.”

“Well now that changes everything. You sent her off with Peaches?”

“I told him not to hurt her!” Buffy tried to stifle a giggle before adding, “Much.”

Spike’s smile turned into a scowl. “If he harms even one hair on her head…”

Buffy sighed in exasperation. “He’s not going to hurt her. Are you two ever going to get over this petty rivalry thing?”

“Probably not.”

Recognizing the street they were turning down, Buffy straightened and checked her weapon. Spike pulled into the street outside the house and did the same. Feeling the familiar rush at confronting a possible suspect, the duo exited the vehicle and made their way to the front door. While Spike searched his pocket for his key, Buffy took a chance and turned the doorknob.

To the surprise of both agents, the heavy wooden door swung open. Spike, eyes wide, put his finger over his lips and motioned for Buffy to cover his back. She nodded in silent agreement and stayed behind as he stealthily crept inside the dark house. Together they searched the large living room for any sign of Dru or their suspect.

A torn cardboard box in the corner of the room caught Buffy’s attention. She shined her flashlight into the box and gasped at what she saw. Photographs of Buffy, her family and Spike filled the box. “He’s got an accomplice,” she whispered, using a pen to rifle through the photos.

Spike left his position near the kitchen door to see what his former partner had found. There were shots of him visiting Dru, at the grocery store, at the gym and even one of him mowing his grass. “You’re right. There’s no way he could have been here to take all of these. There’s someone in town feeding him information.”

“They were taken by a woman,” Buffy observed. Spike snorted in disbelief. “Don’t give me that, I can just tell. In each shot of you, she focuses on your body almost adoringly,” she continued.

Spike shrugged in acquiescence and searched the area near the box for further clues. He couldn’t stand to look at the pictures any longer. Just the thought of someone watching him for years had his blood boiling.

“Do you have any gloves in your car? I want to take this back to the house and see if we can get anything else out of it,” Buffy pushed the box forward with the toe of her shoe.

“In the glove compartment,” Spike responded, moving away from the corner and towards the back of the house.

Buffy took the proffered keys and went outside to retrieve the latex gloves. She paused for a moment, dug out her cell phone and dialed Spike’s house number. The sooner she had the others looking for Stalin’s accomplice, the better.

Willow picked up on the second ring. “Devereaux house,” the redhead greeted cautiously.

“Will, it’s me. Look, we think this guy’s working with a woman. I found a box of pictures of my family, Spike, and me. We’re bringing the box with us, but I need you to find out who he’s had contact with in Baltimore,” Buffy responded.

There was a short pause as Willow relayed the information to the rest of the group. “Do you think it’s someone from the FBI?”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking. It just makes more sense that way. Mom and Dad wouldn’t have opened the door for Stalin; they’d never met him before. All this time we’ve been assuming that the killer was the one who had coffee with my parents. What if the accomplice gained access to the house so that Stalin could shoot them?” Buffy proposed.

Willow slapped her hand to her forehead as the pieces slowly started falling into place. Buffy’s scenario made perfect sense. “That would explain the clean cup and the note about the carpet cleaner! No man, no matter how psychotic, willingly does the dishes. We’ll get right on it.”

Buffy smiled, pleased to know that she and the other agent were on the same track. “Thanks. We’ll be back as soon as possible.”

She returned the phone to her pocket, grabbed the gloves and returned inside. She pulled on the gloves as she re-entered the living room. After a moment, her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She moved toward the box but stopped when she noticed that Spike was not in the room.

“Spike,” she hissed. “Which room are you in?”

When there was no response, she silently tiptoed toward the hallway. “Come on, Spike. This isn’t funny. Where are you?”

The hallway was dark and narrow. The first three doors were wide open. Buffy did a quick check of the rooms and moved on to the fourth door. It was shut firmly but she could see a faint light coming from under the door. She warily approached the door, gun in hand. Every one of her instincts was screaming, “Trap!” but she continued forward, intent on backing up her former partner.

She took a deep breath and flung open the door. “Spike, what are you--” Buffy hardly had time to take in the scene facing her before she felt a sharp pain in the back of her neck, and then the world went dark.

Chapter 12:

Willow dejectedly set down the list Tara had compiled, rubbing the back of her neck. “The only female agent who worked with both Buffy and Spike before our suspect was transferred moved to Texas a year ago. The number of agents gets a little bigger if we’re looking at a period of time after the transfer. Four of those are still in the Baltimore area. Unfortunately, one of agents is currently on maternity leave, one now works for the Baltimore PD, and the other two are sitting in this room.”

“What if it wasn’t someone from work after all? For all we know, it could be this guy’s girlfriend or something,” Anya pointed out, disappointed that they had hit yet another brick wall.

Willow frowned as she mentally reviewed her phone conversation with Buffy. “I don’t think so. She was pretty sure that it was someone from the FBI, and she hasn’t been wrong yet.”

Tara held out the phone. “Best thing do to is call her. Maybe she can fill in some details for us.”

Willow dialed and promptly hung up when Buffy’s voicemail picked up. “It’s going straight to voicemail. With Dawn out of town she never turns her phone off.”

“She could just have a bad signal,” Xander suggested. “Let’s not go jumping to conclusions and race over there. Drusilla gets skittish real easy.” He stood up and reached for his coat, responding to the inquiring glances, “I’m tired of all this waiting and doing nothing. I’ll head back to the office and see if the lab’s found anything out. While I’m there I’ll pull this guy’s phone records and see who he’s called recently.”

Anya jumped to her feet and hurried to follow Xander. “I’ll go with you and talk to Jack. Hopefully he can give us a little more insight into who we’re dealing with.”

Xander flung open the door and stopped abruptly. “Harmony!”

“Jack’s ditzy assistant?” Willow shook her head in disagreement. “Nice guess, but I don’t think so, Xan.”

Xander stepped backwards and gestured towards the open doorway. “No, she’s here. With Jack,” he clarified. He and Anya led the two visitors back into the living room.

Willow and Tara scrambled to their feet to greet their boss. Willow glanced down at her laptop and quickly closed the case in an effort to hide her hacking exploits from her superior.

“Xander and I were just coming to see you, sir. There’s been another breakthrough. Buffy found a box of pictures and deduced that our killer’s got an accomplice here in Baltimore,” Anya resumed her position on the couch and handed Jack the list of female suspects.

Tara watched in fascination as Harmony gulped and licked her lips nervously. She slowly moved forward and studied the apprehensive blonde. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

If possible, Harmony paled even more and shrunk back. Jack turned to smile at Tara. “That’s why I’m here. I caught her trying to steal the lab reports off my desk. She told me everything.”

“What exactly was your part in all this, Harmony?” Willow queried, pen poised over her legal pad.

Harmony shifted uncomfortably before speaking. “Forrest overheard Spike turn me down for a date and took me out to dinner. He told me that once Buffy was out of the way, Spike would be mine. Of course we couldn’t get rid of her right away, though, because my Blondie Bear would’ve gotten too curious,” she started.

“Blondie Bear?” Xander mouthed across the room to Willow, who just shrugged her shoulders.

“At first it was just easy stuff like taking pictures and listening to Buffy’s phone calls. After the transfer, he had me give him weekly updates. I sent him my invitation to Spike’s retirement party. It’s not like I had a date or anything anyway. I found out where they kept the evidence from the Moore case and took all of it. You have no idea how gross it was. There was still blood on one of the knives. Forrest wanted me to plant Spike’s fingerprints in the evidence but I couldn’t do that to my platinum baby,” she continued, her voice gaining strength. “When I told him about Buffy’s possible promotion, he was furious. He taught me how to forge the paperwork to get him transferred back here. Once the promotion went through, he came up with the plan to ruin her life. The rest you know.”

“You could have just called us about her. What brings you all the way here?” Xander asked, sensing there was more Jack was hiding.

The senior agent sighed and ran a hand over his balding head. “He didn’t come in to work today. I had them send two plainclothes officers by his apartment and it was empty. We’ve tried calling his cell but there’s been no answer. We tried to get the phone company to track his location but they can’t when the phone’s off.”

Tara slapped a hand over her mouth as her mind began working in overdrive. “Oh my God, S-spike and B-b-buffy,” she stammered.

Jack looked around the room curiously, as if just noticing their absence. “Where are Devereaux and Summers?”

“They went to Drusilla Moore’s house to see if they could get any information from her. We figure the two of them are involved somehow,” Anya responded.

Harmony lifted her head, her red-rimmed eyes hesitantly meeting Jack’s. “Drusilla’s not here anymore. After Buffy went to see her, she disappeared. Forrest was really, really mad when he found out.”

Upon seeing the alarmed expressions on the faces of his best agents, Jack quickly took command, setting up a team to surround the Moore house. No one was to make a move until Jack and the rest of the team arrived.

Anya volunteered to ride with Jack and Harmony while Xander drove Tara and Willow to where their friends were being held. After making sure that Jack was following, Xander glanced over at the worried women beside him and smiled encouragingly. “They’ll be all right. It’s Spike and Buffy, they always come out all right.”

Buffy blinked twice and slowly lifted her aching head. A quick mental inventory showed that the only injury she’d suffered was the one to the back of the neck. It took a moment for the room to stop spinning long enough for her to get a good look at her surroundings. A huddle in the far corner of the room instantly caught her attention.

“Spike,” she whispered hoarsely. There was no movement from the body in the corner. She tested the bonds that kept her hands tied behind her back, discouraged that there was no slack at all. She bit back a curse as a bright light flooded the room.

“So nice of you to join us Agent Summers,” a deep, menacing voice resonated from somewhere behind Buffy.

“Give it up Gates, I know you’re the one behind all this,” Buffy called out, not bothering to hide her frustration. Her head was throbbing, her shoulders were beginning to ache and she was worried about her partner.

Special Agent Forrest Gates slowly circled Buffy’s chair, his face void of emotion. “Somehow I knew you’d be the one to figure it out, Summers. You always were too observant for your own good.”

“And you’re too damn egotistical for everyone else’s,” Buffy retorted angrily. “The others know it’s you, too. When we don’t show back up, they’re going to come looking for us. Game’s over.”

Alarm momentarily flashed across Forrest’s face. “I still have enough time to kill you.” He stopped walking and turned to face his blonde captive. “How does it feel to know that your family’s dead because of you?”

Buffy closed her eyes to hold back the impending flood of tears. She bit her lip, hardened her resolve, and stared at the agent. “They did not die because of me. They died because you’re crazy.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong, Summers. They died because I had to ruin your life the way you ruined mine,” Forrest corrected.

“I saved that little girl’s life,” Buffy insisted. Her eyes strayed to where her fallen partner was starting to show signs of life.

Following her gaze, Forrest pulled out a stun gun and shocked Spike back into unconsciousness. “Because of you, I was reassigned to a field office in the middle of nowhere. I had to leave behind my family all because some overconfident little girl thought she’d brown nose her way to the top. Because of you, I wasn’t here to take care of my mother when she got sick. Because of you, I didn’t get the promotion that would have paid for her health care. Because of you, she died alone in a third-rate nursing home.”

Buffy tore her eyes away from Spike to glare at the killer. “Don’t blame me for your mistakes, buddy. You were the one overlooking evidence and ruining the investigation. I wanted to make sure no one died because of your carelessness. It’s not my fault you’re incompetent.”

“Incompetent?” Forrest’s eyes widened slightly. “Do you have any idea how much planning went into this? It was a work of pure genius.”

Buffy sighed in irritation. “Is this the part where you tell me what your genius plan? Why don’t you just shoot me already?” She watched in horror as Forrest reached into a dark duffel bag and extracted a long handled hunting knife. Her throat constricted when she recognized the slightly curved upswept blade that Drusilla had used to stab her years before.

Forrest grinned maliciously as he examined the blood stained blade. “Look familiar, Summers? I know bullets would be neater, but this just screams poetic justice. It was the beginning of the end for you and Devereaux, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Buffy bluffed. She quietly tried to work her sweaty wrists through the knots of the rope. She gasped in pain when the coarse rope cut through the delicate skin of her wrists.

Forrest, so intent on the knife and the memories behind it, missed Buffy’s gasp. “When Devereaux chose Dru over you. Chose to let that murdering whore go rather than help his loyal partner out. That had to hurt, didn’t it? I bet it hurt almost as much as knowing that one of your fellow agents sold you out.”

“I didn’t sell you out,” Buffy stated through clenched teeth. “You were a disgrace to the FBI. I did what any self-respecting agent would do.” She could hear the distinct wail of swiftly approaching sirens and let herself relax slightly. A quick glance up at Forrest indicated that he’d heard the sirens as well.

“Forrest Gates, come out of the house with your hands up,” Jack instructed through a loud speaker.

Buffy smirked slightly. “Time’s up.”

“All it takes is one second,” Forrest smiled, slowly moving towards his prisoner.

Buffy struggled harder with the bonds. The thick rope was coated with her blood and sweat. “You’ll never make it out of here alive.” Jack repeated his command and Buffy could have sworn she heard the sounds of faint footsteps.

Forrest seemed unaffected by her assertion. “There’s sewer access in the basement. While they’re still trying to wake up sleeping beauty over there I’ll be long gone.” He smiled menacingly before finishing. “And then, when everyone’s standing around mourning their fallen hero, I’ll take care of your pretty little sister, too.”

“Stay away from Dawn,” Buffy snarled, surging to her feet. She began frantically trying to work her hands free.

“Sit down, Summers,” Forrest ordered. When Buffy did not do as instructed, he set down the knife and picked up his bureau issued revolver. The gun was aimed at Spike’s still back. “I said sit down.”

Buffy’s stomach twisted at the gunshot that reverberated through the small room filling her nose with the acrid stench of gunpowder. She didn’t dare look at her partner for fear of what she might see. After one last tug, her right hand slipped out of the knot. She quickly divested herself of the rope and gauged the distance to where the knife was laying on the floor.

“Agent Gates, put the gun down,” Xander instructed from the doorway, his own gun drawn. There were five agents visible behind him.

Forrest swung the gun towards Xander, his finger on the trigger. Buffy lunged forward knocking the rouge agent off balance. There was a brief struggle as the two battled for control of the weapon. Willow slowly crept across the room, unnoticed, to check on Spike.

There was a muffled pop of a gunshot followed by another shot and the struggled ceased abruptly. Xander, Tara, and Anya rushed forward to lift Buffy off Forrest. A red stain was blossoming across the murderer’s chest. Tara kicked the gun out of his grasp and checked his pulse. “He’s dead,” she confirmed gravely.

“Yours or his?” Xander gestured to the blood soaking through Buffy’s shirt. His concern grew when she sagged against him.

“His, I think,” she mumbled weakly, her energy rapidly dissipating. “Why’s it so cold in here?” She rolled her head up to stare at Xander with glazed, unseeing eyes.

“We need a medic, NOW!” Xander shouted towards the front of the house. Afraid of causing her any more harm, he gently set her on the ground. The blonde’s eyes were closed, her breathing shallow.

Having heard the call for an ambulance, Jack rushed into the room. He stood in the doorway and quickly assessed the situation. Willow was attending to an unconscious Spike while Xander and Anna hovered over a deathly pale Buffy; Tara stood beside Forrest’s lifeless body. Once the shock wore off, he raced forward and knelt beside Buffy. Sighing in relief when he got a faint pulse he turned to Willow, who nodded to indicate that Spike was alive. He stood and turned to Xander, his brow wrinkled in curiosity. “What the hell happened here?”

Willow looked up from the magazine she was reading when Jack stepped in front of her chair. She and the others had been taking turns sitting guard outside Buffy’s hospital room. Tara, Anya, and Xander were in the cafeteria finishing their investigation notes.

“Have you seen Devereaux? I went by his room but he’s not in there,” Jack inquired. For the past seven hours he’d been busy dealing with the press and handling the internal investigation into Forrest’s death. Once all the urgent matters at the agency had been taken care of, he’d rushed to the hospital to check on his agents.

Willow pointed towards the door behind her. “He’s been in there for a while,” she responded, returning her attention to the magazine. “Aside from some bruising and the burns from the stun gun, he’s fine. If he hadn’t been wearing his vest, it would’ve been another story. The doctors told him to rest, but he couldn’t stay away from her.”

Jack quietly slipped into the room and paused to give his eyes a chance to adjust to the darkness. He spotted Spike slumped over in a chair beside the bed. “Devereaux, you’re supposed to be resting,” he chided, moving a stool so that he could sit on the other side of Buffy.

“I am,” Spike argued unconvincingly. He was holding one of Buffy’s tiny, limp hands and his eyes constantly darted between her still form and the beeping monitors. The stress of the last several hours was visible in the lines on his face.

Jack’s heart went out to the miserable young man before him. From the moment the two blondes had entered his office he’d known that the connection they shared was rare and precious. “Have you called your parents yet? I’m sure Dawn would like to come home as soon as possible.”

“I had Red call them a while back. They’re going to bring her back on the first available flight. I didn’t tell them anything about Buffy. I don’t want the Bit worrying too much.” Spike stared longingly at his cigarette pack lying on a nearby table. Now more than ever he desperately needed a nicotine fix. “I’ll have the whelp and Anya pick them up at the airport and take them to my house.”

Both men turned to the door when a matronly nurse bustled into the room to check Buffy’s vitals. She made a few notations on the girl’s chart and left, the door closing with a subtle click. “Has she been like this the whole time?” Jack inquired.

Spike shook his head slowly. “She woke up about three hours ago. The doctor came in and put her under sedation so that she’ll sleep through the pain,” he said, voice cracking on the last word. He quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “They were able to remove the bullet and stop the internal bleeding. The bullet only hit the spleen, but she lost a lot of blood and there’s still the risk of infection. Red said they lost her once in ambulance.”

Jack stood and walked around the bed. He put a reassuring hand on Spike’s shoulder. “She’s young and healthy. There’s no reason to believe she won’t make it.” Knowing that there wasn’t any more he could do to ease the other man’s mind, Jack quietly exited the room. Though not a religious man, as soon as he was in the hallway, he hung his head and mumbled a quick prayer.

“How’s she doing?” Tara inquired worriedly. She and the others were crowded around the doorway, each one anxious for Jack’s answer. Out of respect for Spike, no one else had gone in to see Buffy.

“No change. He said she was awake for a brief period of time. All we can do now is wait,” Jack answered, wishing he had better news. “He’s not doing much better. In a few hours, I’d like for you to take him home and make him rest. He’s no good to anyone like this.”

Xander snorted and rolled his eyes. “Like he’s going to willingly leave this hospital while Buff’s still here.”

“I didn’t say that he had to leave willingly,” Jack pointed out. “If there’s any change, call me.” He turned on his heel and strode out of the hospital. There were still reports that needed to be filed and he needed to make an appointment to speak with the director.

Reaching a decision, Willow stood and handed her magazine to Tara. She crept into the room and made her way to where Spike was sitting. She kept her gaze focused on him. She couldn’t accomplish her goal if she looked at the blonde lying prone in the bed.

“What are you doing here?” Spike asked roughly. Shortly after Buffy was moved from ICU, he’d requested time alone with his former partner. Until now they’d honored his request.

Willow stood in front of him, blocking his view of Buffy. “I came to see you.”

“Yeah, well, you came, you saw, now you can sod off,” Spike growled, pushing Willow out of the way.

The redhead stepped right back in front of him, her resolve face firmly in place. “I know you’re worried about Buffy, but the rest of us are worried about you, too. I heard what the doctor said; you need to be convalescing in a bed, not sitting up here in a hard plastic chair.”

“I can’t leave Buffy,” Spike protested weakly, tears once again filling his eyes.

Willow put her hands on Spike’s shoulders and leaned down. “I know you need to be here for her, but she’s not going anywhere. Just come home with us for a little while and rest.”

“What if she dies while I’m gone, Red? I can’t lose her again. I love her,” he sobbed, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. “What if I’m not there when she needs me? I’ve already let her down once. I won’t do it again.”

Willow awkwardly put her arms around Spike and rubbed his back soothingly. She grimaced slightly when he rested his damp cheek against her shoulder. She murmured calming words in an attempt to pacify the bawling man.

“Ninny,” a faint voice accused teasingly.

Spike’s head jerked up so fast he hit Willow in the chin. She yelped and pulled back, rubbing at the sore spot. Spike moved forward and grabbed Buffy’s hands. “Did you say something, pet?”

“Nancy boy,” her voice was weak and her breathing labored, but she was speaking. “You’re crying like a nancy boy.”

Seeing that Buffy was indeed awake and talking, Willow dashed out of the room to give the others the good news. She would also keep the rest from intruding so as to give the two a chance to talk.

Spike perched on the edge of the bed and tenderly traced the curve of her jaw with his fingertips. “You scared me.” He lifted her hands and placed a delicate kiss in each palm.

“Scared me, too,” she chuckled, wincing as acute pain shot through her side. Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “What happened? I watched him shoot you.”

Spike explained that he’d regained consciousness shortly after she’d collapsed, as his Kevlar vest protected him from the bullet fired at his back. Though most of his short-term memory was gone courtesy of the stun gun, he was able to give a sketchy timeline of what had taken place. Forrest had been taken to the morgue while Buffy and Spike had been rushed to the hospital. Harmony had given a full confession implicating Forrest in the murders of her mother, father, and baby sister, as well as the evidence theft from Dru’s case. “She reached a deal with the D.A. If she tells all they’ll give her three consecutive life sentences,” he concluded.

Buffy silently digested all that he’d said and leaned back against the pillows. Now that the investigation was over, the mask of “Agent Summers” slipped away, leaving nothing but raw grief and pain. She felt as if she was going to choke on the despair filling every fiber of her being.

Spike watched as fat tears welled up in her hazel eyes. He gently moved her aside so that he could stretch out on the bed alongside his grieving friend. She was gathered up into his strong arms, her head resting on his chest. He lovingly stroked the back of her head while she cried out her misery.

An hour later, the torrent of tears had diminished into a small trickle. She sniffled slightly and Spike looked around for a tissue, locating a box on the side table and pulling out a few sheets for her. After wiping her eyes and nose, she settled back down against Spike’s chest and closed her eyes. “I heard you,” she murmured quietly.

Spike looked down at the blonde and quirked an eyebrow. “Which part? The whole crying like a nancy part, or the telling Red to sod off part?” He waited apprehensively for her response, hoping she hadn’t heard his declaration of love.

“You didn’t let me down, Spike. You had no way of knowing that Forrest would be in there or what his plans were,” she stated firmly, in a tone that left no room for argument. “He shot you because of me, so who let who down?”

Spike frowned at her logic and pressed a soft kiss on her forehead. “You rest now before I let the gang come see you. Bit should be here in a few hours and I know she’ll be dying to see you.” He started to get up, but a small, weak hand on his chest kept him in place. Understanding that she wanted him to stay, he shifted slightly and pulled the blanket up over the two of them. He let his eyes drift shut, reveling in the sound of Buffy’s slow, even breathing.

“I love you, too,” she whispered just loud enough for him to hear. Several seconds later she was sleeping soundly in the arms of a dumbstruck, elated Spike.

“Spiiiiike, my glass is empty,” Buffy called out, ringing a small bell. She mentally counted down the seconds, grinning when Spike appeared before she could get to five.

Spike stood in the middle of his living room with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked back and forth between Buffy lying on the couch and Dawn sprawled over a recliner. “She’s not doing anything, why didn’t you ask her?” he asked, pointing at the younger girl.

“Hey, you’re the one with the guilty conscience, not me,” Dawn responded without looking away from the TV. She held out an empty tumbler. “And if you’re going to get her a drink, can you get me one, too?”

Grumbling under his breath, Spike took both glasses and stomped into the kitchen. He filled them and returned to the living room, where Dawn accepted her cup with a smile before turning her attention back to her show. Buffy straightened and patted the empty space on the couch. Never one to refuse an invitation, Spike took the seat, stealing a brief, passionate kiss.

“How are you feeling?” he murmured, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. It had been three weeks since the final showdown with Forrest and four days since Buffy’s release from the hospital. She had been allowed to leave for several hours the day of the memorial service for her parents and baby sister. He’d taken care of Dawn: made sure she got to school on time, helped her make up all the assignments she’d missed while in England, and listened to her talk about good times spent with her family.

“Much as I like having you as my willing slave, I’m ready to get off this couch. Jack said I could go back to work next week,” Buffy answered, excited about the prospect of getting back to work. The weeks of inactivity had been wearing on her. She’d even take desk duty if it meant getting out of the house for a while.

Spike frowned and leaned back against the cushions. “Jack said that maybe you could go back. It all depends on what Dr. Shamus says after your session on Tuesday,” he reminded, knowing how much Buffy detested her sessions with the Bureau psychiatrist.

“If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll say that I’m clear for duty.” Though she knew that Bureau policy required her to meet with the psychiatrist, she felt it was a waste of time. She wasn’t telling him anything she’d already told Spike and, in her opinion, Spike was a much better listener.

Just as Spike got comfortable with Buffy leaning up against him, the doorbell rang. Seeing that Dawn was too engrossed in her Gilmore Girls to get up, he reluctantly disentangled himself from Buffy’s embrace and answered the door. Xander, Anya, Tara, and Willow were crowded on the porch, each holding a box. Spike quickly stepped aside to allow them entry to the house.

Xander set down his box and made a show of stretching his back. “This is the last of them. We hauled the stuff you didn’t want to the Salvation Army.” For the past week Spike and the others had been cleaning out Buffy and Dawn’s old house. Dawn had bravely gone into the house with Spike and tagged everything she wanted to keep then did the same for Buffy’s belongings.

“We kept a few things, too, if you don’t mind. There was an ancient Sumerian fertility statue in your mom’s collection that I couldn’t resist,” Willow added, hoping that Buffy wouldn’t be offended. She relaxed slightly when the other woman just shook her head. “How are you?”

“Her old demanding, bitchy self,” Dawn answered, switching off the television and standing up. She loved talking with Buffy’s co-workers. Tara and Willow had been especially friendly after she returned from overseas. The two women had taken her out to see movies and done their best to help her adjust to life without her parents. “She’s got Spike running around waiting on her hand and foot,” she added mischievously.

Spike rolled his eyes and pulled the teen in for a quick hug. “We’ve been over this, Bit. Your sister’s still… delicate.”

Dawn snorted in disbelief. It was amusing to see this new Buffy-whipped Spike. “Delicate is not a word I’d use to describe my sister. Did you know sometimes she rings the bell just to see how long it’ll take you to respond?”

Spike turned around to face his ex-partner. “Is that so, pet?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

Buffy quickly shook her head, the corners of her mouth twitching as she fought to keep the smile off her face. “No, I only call you when I need something,” she lied, glaring daggers at her smirking sister.

Spike glanced beseechingly at the others as if to say “See what I have to put up with?” Living with the Summers sisters was often very trying, but he wouldn’t give it up for the world. There had been no question that the sisters would move in with him after the ordeal and truth be told, he enjoyed having his empty house full of energy and laughter.

Xander clapped him on the shoulder and grinned sympathetically. “Would it help if you brought me a beer?” he suggested.

Spike nodded enthusiastically and led the agent into the kitchen. The two men sat around the table nursing their beers while the women chatted animatedly in the living room. Instead of going their separate ways once the investigation was closed, the agents had grown closer. Although everyone but Dawn and Buffy had moved out of the house, not a day went by when at least one person wasn’t stopping by to chat or check in. At one time Spike would have found the intrusions irritating and bothersome, but now he found them somewhat comforting.

He looked up when a shadow fell across the table. Angel shuffled into the room and collapsed in a chair next to Spike. Xander leaned back to reach into the refrigerator for another beer. He’d met the reclusive CIA operative when he’d dropped Dawn off at the hospital.

“Buffy’s in with the rest of the birds,” Spike gestured towards the front of the house, eyeing the other man suspiciously. Though he was grateful Angel had watched over Dawn, he wasn’t harboring any warm fuzzy feelings for the other man.

Angel took a long swig from the bottle and sighed heavily. “I’m not here to see her, Spike, I’m here to see you.”

Sensing that the two men had something they needed to discuss, Xander quickly excused himself and joined the girls. Once he was gone, Angel finished his beer and looked intently at Spike for a moment.

“I don’t have all bleedin’ day. Say what you came here to say, you ponce,” Spike grumbled. He mentally crossed his fingers and prayed that Angel wasn’t here to collect on his favor.

His heart sank when the next words out of Angel’s mouth were: “You owe me.”

Biting back a scathing retort, Spike forced himself to wait and see just what Angel was going to demand. He just hoped the other man wasn’t going ask for help reuniting with Buffy.

“I don’t like you. Never have agreed with the way you work. You’re too impulsive: you follow your gut and worry about the consequences later. I used to worry about what kind of trouble you’d get Buffy into,” Angel started. “You’d drag her into undercover assignments others wouldn’t touch. You like the risk and the danger, and you’ve somehow convinced yourself that you’re invincible.”

Spike rolled his eyes and quirked one eyebrow. “You don’t have to butter me up, Peaches, just tell me what you want.”

“Be my partner,” Angel stated bluntly, an ironic smile on his lips.

“Bloody hell,” Spike coughed as he choked on a mouthful of beer. He jumped to his feet, grabbed a handful of paper towels, and cleaned up the mess he’d made on the table. Once finished, he opted to lean against the counter rather than sit next to Angel. “I knew you were a nancy.”

Angel’s brow furrowed as he tried to figure out why Spike had reacted so violently. “I really didn’t think you’d object. Figured you’d put up a token resistance but this seemed like it would be right up your alley.”

Spike crossed his arms over his chest and tried to back up even further. “Sod off. And leave my alley out of this.”

“Look, if you’re worrying about Buffy, don’t. I’ve already mentioned it to her and she didn’t seem too opposed to the idea. Sure she’s a little concerned about the risks, but she knows you can take care of yourself,” Angel vainly tried to reason with the defensive blond.

Spike’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened. “You’ve talked to her about this? She didn’t seem opposed? Have you both gone starkers?”

Angel stood up and leaned across the table. “What’s the matter with you? Just accept my offer. You won’t regret it. An opportunity like this only comes around once.”

“An opportunity like this only comes around once. Could you possibly have a bigger ego?” Spike demanded, raising his voice and clenching his fists. “I won’t be your soddin’ partner.” The last word was sneered, his lip curling slightly.

Having heard part of the heated argument between her former fiancé and current love, Buffy stepped into the kitchen and stood between the two men. “Spike, I can’t say that I’m totally thrilled with the idea, but you should at least listen to what he has to say. It’s a decent proposition.” She frowned when Spike reached for the phone and began dialing. “What are you doing?”

“Calling your doctor to see if there was any head trauma he may have missed. If that isn’t the case, I’ll call Dr. Shamus and see if this is some part of PTSD he didn’t tell me about,” Spike responded, waiting for someone on the other end to pick up.

Buffy grabbed the phone away from him and ended the call. “You don’t have to be an ass about this. Angel went out on a limb by asking you,” she chided. “If you keep doing what you’re doing now, you’re just going to get bored. I’d rather you get this over with now so we can settle down later.”

“I promise, pet, I’m not going to get bored and there is nothing I need to get out of my system,” Spike wrapped an arm around Buffy’s waist and pulled her closer.

She pushed him away and smiled gently. “I know you, Spike. You’re not really satisfied being a consultant. You’re wasting your talents. I say go for it. Besides,” she batted her eyelashes, “what’s sexier than a CIA agent?”

“‘Wasting my talents’? ‘Sexy’?” Spike sputtered, doing his best impression of a fish.

Finally understanding why Spike was so upset, Buffy began laughing long and loud. She collapsed against Spike and held her sides. “Oh God, don’t make me laugh, it hurts too much,” she panted. She regained her composure, saying, “Spike, he wants you to be his partner in the Agency. He wants you to work with him.”

If her ribs weren’t already throbbing, she would have laughed at the comical expressions that flitted across Spike’s face as he realized what she was trying to say. She patted him on the cheek and returned to the living room.

Spike hung his head, cheeks barely tinged pink with embarrassment. “You want me to be your partner in the CIA?”

Angel nodded, an amused grin on his face. “Yeah, that’s what I was asking. You trusted me with your life, so I figure it’s safe to trust you with mine.”

“I didn’t trust you with…” Spike broke off when he understood what Angel meant. He’d trusted the other man with something that was even more precious than his own life: Dawn.

“So, what do you say?” Angel inquired.

Spike paused for a moment as he considered the offer. “I’ll do it,” he agreed. Though it meant working with Angel, he was intrigued by the prospect of being a government spy.

Angel nodded in agreement and extended his hand. Spike eyed the hand warily before shaking it. Angel jerked Spike forward then leaned down so he could whisper in his ear. “You’re not my type.” Satisfied that he’d stunned his new partner into silence, Angel swept out of the room.

Spike shook his head in disgust and followed him to where the others were laughing over something Xander was saying. He perched on the arm of the couch next to Buffy and smiled when she slipped her hand into his.

“You should have seen Snyder’s face when Jack announced that Buffy was going to be the new ASAC. He kept walking around muttering under his breath. I heard him say that some people would do anything for a promotion,” Xander finished his story.

Dawn looked up at her sister, her eyes shining with humor. “Hey Buff, next time you get a promotion, can we just throw a party?”

THE END -- for now

Thanks to Vaida for sticking with me through it all and being the wonderful person that she is!
Look for the sequel coming soon.