Chapter 1.13

Spike couldn’t help thinking that for a fledgling his new "brother" seemed to have a pretty good set up. He seemed to have more money than you could shake a stick at, and he seemed to have put down roots, but if it came down to it, Spike would rather have Dru on his arm than all the money in the world. He glanced over his shoulder to where Lindsey sat in the row of seats behind Dru and himself. Sometime before he and Dru packed their bags and left for Europe, he would have to get him good and drunk and find out what exactly the Poof had done to earn the guy’s hatred, not that it would take much over and above his actual existence.

Buffy oversaw the final preparations for their visitors. Fred and Gunn had done the rounds of as many of the churches in the area as they could manage and still get back before dusk. They were currently filling several large water pistols. Angel had sent Clem off on some errand that seemed to be taking him quite some time, whatever it was.

Willow and Tara were scouring through the book they had brought from the bookstore looking for spells they could use and making a list of the necessary components.

Wesley and Buffy were checking over weapons, cleaning, sharpening and oiling. Who would have known that blue demon gunk would set like that?

Lori had taken a break from the computer, and she and Lily had gone to fetch take-out for everyone. Fred had slipped on in her place trying to see what she could find relating to the Axis of Pythia, though she found little that wasn’t already in the catalogue description.

Angel hadn’t been surprised to learn that the lowest common denominator when it came to linking all the hospitals had turned out to be Wolfram and Hart. What had surprised him was when Lori had pointed out that several abattoirs, also owned by clients of Wolfram and Hart, had recently purchased tanker lorries of the sort normally used for moving milk, fuel or grain. By Angel’s way of thinking, he and Lilah were overdue for a little chat, but it would have to wait. It seemed that they might have a small army to confront in the not too distant future.

Angel was… Well, no one was exactly sure what Angel was doing, but he managed to look dour and pensive doing it.

Half an hour after dusk, the back door of the hotel banged open.

"Fear not, ladies," announced one of the two new arrivals. "The Xan-man is here, with clean laundry for all and a message from the youngest Summers to say take care and that she rescheduled your appointment for tonight to Thursday. And Fangless owes me for a speeding ticket when we get him back." Putting down the bag he carried Xander hugged the three women from Revello Drive in turn. "So, Buff, what’s this big, secret appointment?"

"A big, secret none of your business," replied the slayer.

"I brought some things from the Magic Box, but it was mostly guesswork which ones to bring." Anya was surprised to be enfolded in Buffy’s arms. "And this parcel came to the shop, but it’s for you." She passed over a parcel the size of a large shoebox. "Xander thought it might contain some of Spike’s body-parts, but it doesn’t really sound wet enough. Though, I don’t know. If you cut off a vampire’s hand, does it turn to dust or does it stay squidgey?"

"Personally, I think I’ll file that away under things I never want to find out," Buffy replied.

Nevertheless, she couldn't resist rattling the parcel to check Anya's supposition, before she used the shortsword she had been working on to slit the tape on the parcel. Opening the top of the box, she found layers of tissue paper, which she cautiously folded back. Underneath, she found shiny white leather and plastic sheathed steel blades. Ice skates. Hers had been in the basement last year when it flooded. By the time they dried out the leather had been ruined.

Trust Spike to remember.

Trust Spike to get straight to work on his promise to take her skating.

Trust Spike to land his butt in trouble trying to play the hero before he could make good on the promise.

It was the final straw. Buffy ran from the room.

Peering over her husband’s shoulder to see what had upset Buffy so much, Anya looked puzzled. "It’s not like it really was body parts," she commented. "Or bunnies," she added as an after thought.

Buffy chose a room at random to hide in, closing the door behind her so that it looked like every other empty room in the corridor. She didn’t know how she could keep doing this. Her strength had pretty much run out after that last run in with Glory. She was running on empty, but she couldn’t let anyone know. She went through to the room’s small bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. She didn’t have time to spare for tears. And she couldn’t face down the Bad Guys if she was all puffy-eyed.

She heard the sound of the room’s main door being pushed open. She momentarily wondered how whoever had found her. Then, she saw that her visitor was Lily.

"I think it was Nietzsche who said that even the strongest among us will get fatigued at times." The demon sat down on the end of the bare bed.

"What happened to your accent?" Buffy asked, her own problems temporarily forgotten, as she took a seat next to the horned demon.

Lily shrugged. "Mostly lazy. Sometimes good to let people think you don’t understand. Let them feel better. Then, they not so scared. Scared people do bad things. But some things you can’t say with pigeon English."

Buffy nodded dumbly as it seeped through to her consciousness that this woman/demon was so much more than she let on.

"I not can promise William come home," Lily said. "But he too stubborn to give up and is possible I see little bit why." The woman stood up and to Buffy’s surprise she placed a soft kiss on Buffy’s forehead before she left the room. Buffy cast her mind back trying to recall exactly how that Kiss of Death thing went in all the Godfather films that Xander had tried to make her watch.

Buffy rose and made to follow Lily back to the reception area. She got halfway along the corridor when Willow came running up the stairs calling her name.

"I’m here, Will. What’s the what?"

"Spike. We found a spell that fools the wards, or they warded the area where he’s been. He’s being moved. Fast. Buffy, it looks like they’re bringing him here."

Spike had always liked a dramatic entrance. He did them well, and tonight was no exception. He could see the nervous little chit hovering by the hotel’s front door watching as their driver opened their door for him. He offered Dru his hand so that she could get out of the limousine like the lady she was, swinging her legs round, knees locked tightly together until she stepped daintily onto the pavement, like a Royal Doulton figurine that had somehow come to pale and magnificent life. Just to give the bint something to watch, Spike ducked his head and kissed the back of Drusilla’s red nailed hand.

He still held her hand as he drew himself erect and let loose his demon, only relinquishing it as he used both hands to push the main door of the hotel violently open. He strode into the reception as if he owned it.

"Alright, people," he roared, knowing the battle’s half way over if you can intimidate the enemy before you start. "Those of you who aren’t slayers or great self-important Poofs have one chance to get out of here alive, and that’s to get the hell out of here before the fight starts. Fire one of those weapons or lay a finger on any one of us and the only way you're leaving this place is in a body bag."

Even as he spoke his body was reacting to the familiar scent. ‘What the hell?’ he asked himself. ‘That’s not supposed to happen till after I drain the bitch.’

The arrayed company of crossbow wielding humans looked unimpressed. Clem gave Spike a slightly nervous wave, which confused Spike not a little.

He decided to bluster it out. "Am I meant to know you or something? Don’t tell me… You bought me a drink once, and you think that gets you waving privileges."

Something was seriously wrong here, and Spike didn’t know what the hell it was. He’d come here ready to kill the bitch, and now missing skin not withstanding, every part of his body was telling him he was a damn-sight more interested in bending her over that bleedin’ reception desk she was standing behind and takin’ her like he hadn’t had a woman in years. Maybe he hadn’t, but Dru was the one he was supposed to feel like that about. Not some bloody chit of a girl that was lookin’ at him as if he’d just broke her bloody heart. Except, she wasn’t a girl any more. There was nothing girlish about the lines that her clothes barely concealed. And why was it that the look in those eyes made him want to sweep her into his arms and kiss her till cryin’ was the last thing on her mind.

He caught the look on Angel’s face as he saw Lonesome enter behind Dru. It was an intoxicating mix of guilt and almost but not quite fear.

"Lindsey?"

"Yeah," drawled Spike. "Seems you’ve got a fan. I mean, normally I’d like to take you down a peg or two myself, but seeing as my dance-card was all booked up, I told Junior he could play. But then, it wouldn’t really be fair; big old vampire like you against one poor fledge, so he brought some of his mates."

Angel turned to Drusilla. "You turned a lawyer?"

This piece of news surprised Spike, who looked first at Drusilla who gave him an evil Cheshire cat smile, and then at Lonesome who merely raised an eyebrow in a gesture that looked much like one of his own.

"You do not want to fight her, William." It was Lily who broke the silence.

"And what would you know about it, you old hag?" Even as he said it Spike felt like he was a kid who’d been caught doing wrong by his nanny.

At this, Buffy laid down her crossbow and walked out from behind the reception desk. "She would know what you’re feeling. She would know that you can’t hurt one you’ve marked as being under your protection." Buffy pushed her hair away from the right side of her neck, baring the imprint of Spike’s fangs for the world, her world, to see. All the time she spoke, she inexorably closed the gap between her and Spike, not intimidated by the fact he was still in game face, and as she approached, he emitted a warning growl that steadily rose in volume. "She would know that whatever’s been done to you, you could no more stop loving someone than you could grow wings and fly." Buffy reached slowly out to cup Spike’s cheek with her left hand, letting him see the familiar ring and take in its significance.

Under her gentle hand, Spike’s features changed back to human form. Flesh to flesh, she could feel his confusion. His feelings for her remained unchanged, but his feelings for Dru were as strong as they had been that day he’d rolled into town drunk, stronger even. He felt guilty at his betrayal of his sire, of his race, and he had no idea how he’d come to feel this way about someone he knew only as the bane of his existence.

Spike pressed against the gentle caress. This woman was obviously his in ways that Dru had never been. She had let him mark her, a privilege Dru had reserved for Angelus. She wore his mother’s engagement ring, and when she touched him, he could almost physically feel her love, her desire, her relief and her compassion. The demon within screamed one word at her touch. "Mate."

With a fierce possessiveness, his hand reached out to cup the back of her head and pull her in for a kiss. Buffy melted against him, but he noticed even as she did, she avoided pressing against the areas where his clothing hid painful burns, as if she knew they were there.

Buffy didn’t care who was watching or what they might think. They had obviously done something to tamper with Spike’s memories. His words to Lily and to Clem were proof of that. It seemed that Spike didn’t remember what had happened to them before. Hell, with their history, that might turn out to be a blessing in disguise. It didn’t matter. Nothing on God’s green earth could change what they meant to each other.

Ignoring his wounds, Spike swept his mate into his arms and carried her toward the stairs. He was only vaguely aware of Angel making some sort of protest, to which he replied with a low warning growl and merely continued on his way. His part in the evening’s entertainment was over as far as everyone but Buffy was concerned, and as long as it wasn’t worrying Buffy, he didn’t care what happened to the rest of them.

Chapter 1.14

"Em, guyyys?" Fred called from her vantage point by the door. "This Spike guy’s meant to be some sort of hostage, right?"

"Right," confirmed Buffy from her position behind the desk.

"Then how come he’s actin’ like he’s in charge?" Fred asked as she scuttled away from the doors.

"Huh?" Buffy asked, but the questioning went no further as Spike made his grand entrance.

Willow was experiencing some severe flashbacks. She was mentally thanking the hotel’s architect for the fact he hadn’t seen fit to have any windows big enough for Spike to come crashing through. This was most definitely not Buffy’s Spike, the tamed wolf that they had all become so used to over the years. This was the wild, majestic predator that he had been when he first invaded Sunnydale.

Command seemed as natural to him as breathing. He held the attention of every person in the room, male or female, a phenomenal presence that, regardless of orientation, it was impossible to ignore. He cut down Clem with a casual disregard, as if he was of less import to him than the marble beneath his feet. The Wicca had rapidly learned that Lily commanded respect from all who knew her, yet Spike paid no such due.

‘Because he doesn’t know her.’ The redhead was certain that Spike was under some sort of memory affecting spell. ‘Now when I was doing that sort of thing, I wouldn’t let the components out of my sight, just in case. So who would be the one holding Spike’s leash? Who has most to gain from his selective amnesia?

Whoa! Enough with the "Officer and a Gentleman" routine. Buffy can’t seriously be going to… Well, hey, who can blame her? It’s not like we’re in a helpless situation facing overwhelming odds, and she’s the best fighter out of all of us…’

She watched as Dru pulled a stake from her coat pocket and launched herself toward Spike’s back, unseen by either of the blonde pair.

A sideways glance showed Angel and Connor arrayed against Lindsey and ringed three-deep by the invading forces, though at present the combatants were still circling trying to find an advantage, or so it seemed. As yet, there had been no actual contact just an exchange of words. Ridiculously, Angel took time out from his own predicament to take exception at Spike’s cavalier attitude to hospitality.

"Hey, Boy, where do you think you’re going?"

Willow watched as Dru closed the distance between herself and Spike. It had to be Dru. At the very least there had to be a crystal, possibly even some more powerful focus for the spell, and Dru had to be the one who had it. Willow watched as the brunette moved closer. She let out a yell of warning, even though she knew it would be too late, and given the lip-lock the pair were indulging in, it would also probably go unnoticed. The couple remained oblivious to Drusilla’s presence, and all the redhead could do now was hope that Clem’s foray this afternoon would pay off.

Gunn, on the other hand, had a loaded crossbow. Even as the sanctuary spell caused Drusilla’s blow to rebound mere inches from Spike’s leather clad back; the former street-kid launched a bolt into her torso. The vampiress fell to the ground, reaching out as if to claw at Spike’s legs. "She shan’t have him. No-o-o. Spike’s my boy. He loves me."

Those of the others who were armed with crossbows raised their weapons, firing on the vampires around Angel, Connor and Lindsey. Willow watched the distraught vampiress as she alternated between trying to pull out the arrow that was lodged in her back and pulling herself across the floor after Spike’s retreating form. She noticed, for the first time, the dark pendant that rested between Dru’s pale breasts.

‘Surely it couldn’t be that simple.’

Before she could wonder any further, Gunn’s second shot hit home, this one passing cleanly through Drusilla’s heart. For a second Willow saw only pain in her features, but just before her flesh turned to dust, it seemed as if there was a moment of tranquillity, as if she welcomed the end to her perpetual torment. Before she could be sure, Dru’s calm face was dust and finally her bones crumbled to the floor.

Willow tried to scan the dust for traces of the crystal pendant, but this had been no high-enchantment, and she suspected that the crystal had turned to dust with its owner.

A keening wail echoed through the walls of the hotel, and Lindsey and his supporters scattered to the winds.

Xander watched as his worst nightmare came to life before his eyes. At least Deadboy Senior had had the decency to be ashamed of what he was. Spike not only revelled in it, he didn't give anyone the option of convincing themselves that his and Buffy's relationship was purely platonic. Not that Xander didn't know exactly what those scars on Buffy's neck meant. And with the naked push-ups... and he so didn't want to think about what Spike had been pushing up where.

Xander knew about claiming rituals. Witchcraft books weren't the only ones that came with engravings, and there had been some pretty graphic engravings in those Vampyr texts of Giles'. But what really made this his worst nightmare was that Spike and Buffy had been split up, and here he was doing his bit in what was essentially a battle to get them back together again. He watched as Spike carried Buffy off, just managing one better than dragging her upstairs like some Neanderthal. He couldn't believe that they were oblivious to the carnage that was breaking loose at their backs, literally.

Then, the first bolt flew, and Xander took it as his cue to start thinning the crowd of vampires around Angel, Connor and Lindsey. He grabbed the broadsword he'd swiped from the pile of weapons Buffy had been cleaning. He'd got there just in time, too. Angel had been about two paces behind him and had given him a dark glower as he eyed the weapon in Xander's hand before picking up a longsword. After all, Xander was the only one out of the two of them that was actually going to be fighting, what with the sanctuary spell and all.

Xander waded in wielding the sword with a strength that let him make rapid swings and thrusts, where normally the blade’s own momentum would have limited his actions. Even if it hadn't been for the sanctuary spell, he wouldn't have needed to parry. He gave a huge, horizontal sweep of the blade cleaving the heads from two of the vampires that had ringed Angel's group before they even knew he was there. Boy, did this invulnerability thing have... three... its uses, just so long as the people... four... you were fighting didn't know how you came to have it.

Okay, when... five... he finally got Anya home she was definitely going... six... to do the Brigitte Nielson thing to his Conan. Maybe... seven... he should suggest to Buffy that they keep... "Hey, come back you cowards..." a couple of weapons at their place. Just so he could practice of course.

Okay, where the hell was that howling coming from? Jeez, it had to be Spike. That was kinda quick. So much for vampire stamina ...and no wonder they wanted the basement soundproofed if he made that din every time.

Spike’s wailing lament was Angel’s first intimation of Drusilla’s passing. Up until then, he’d been too busy taunting Lindsey, trying to get him to fall foul of the sanctuary spell, whilst also trying to make sure that Xander didn’t cut him or Connor with those wild swings he was making with that sword. He froze dead at the sound. It could only mean one thing, something he’d wanted and dreaded at the same time for over a century.

He headed for the stairs at a run. Whatever else he and Spike were, regardless of the differences between them, they were family. For now, that was all that was important.

They hadn’t even made it to a room. They knelt facing each other in the third floor corridor. Buffy’s hand brushed softly through the curls at the back of his head as she held him close. Angel couldn’t help but think that the Buffy he’d known would have been petulant. She wouldn’t have understood that a man could love two women at once. She certainly hadn’t expected him to grieve when he staked Darla for her. Nevertheless, here she was offering Spike solace as he howled like a banshee over Drusilla.

Angel fell to his knees behind Spike, so that the younger vampire was held between him and Buffy, except Angel didn’t know that a third of Spike’s back was one massive burn.

The pain was enough to make Spike pull away, and Angel in turn took offence at Spike’s apparent rejection until Spike’s hand reached back to take his, and he finally ceased his unearthly wail.

Spike twisted his upper body so that his "good side" stayed glued to Buffy as he looked half-over his shoulder at Angel.

"Sorry, mate. Got a few tender patches that don’t like bein’ pressed on."

Buffy blew out an exasperated breath. "And I used to think he exaggerated everything. Here, it turns out he’s a master of understatement."

Spike gave a sigh and loosed Angel’s hand. "Don’t matter what I am. We haven’t got time for this. Not now."

"What’s up?" Buffy asked, knowing that something had forced him to lay his grief to one side, if only temporarily.

"Well, when Dru died, the spell they had this guy do disappeared. You know how that goes. 'Bye-bye, Randy. Hello, Spike.' For a start, I’ve just remembered that those guys have got half a dozen kids not much older than Dawn stuck in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, and your green friend’s up there with them. I’m guessing since I kind of burnt my bridges there that they won’t exactly feel compelled to keep their word about not harming them."

Spike pulled a stake from his coat pocket and passed it to Buffy. "And the other thing you should know is that they took the chip out."

"I know, " Buffy replied, handing the piece of wood back to him blunt end first. "At least, I guessed from the headache you gave me for nearly a day. We can do the big heart to heart later. For now, just don’t eat anybody and don’t hurt Xander too bad, and I won’t stake you.

I guess we better see if we can reach this cabin before they do. Do you think you could find your way back there?"

"In a helicopter? Sure. In a car? Not a hope in hell. In a four by four with a winch and the help of some detailed maps? Probably. But there’s no way we can beat them back there. All we can really do is head out there and see what they left behind."

Buffy looked over to Angel. "You want to set your people to work sorting out vehicles and maps and stuff. It seems to me that we aren’t going to be able to leave tonight. If Spike can pinpoint it on a map, we might be able to leave tomorrow morning. Unless you know someone with a helicopter or two that would lend you them and their pilots on no notice whatsoever."

Angel looked over at her. "Funny you should ask… ‘cause."

"You’re joking, right?" Buffy asked.

"More like guessing. I’d say chances are David Nabbit owns at least one helicopter."

Buffy sighed. "Lifestyles of the rich and famous. See what you can scare up. We’ll be in…" She stood up and pushed open the door to the nearest room. "…Here, when you’re ready for us. And if you can send someone up with a first aid kit, that’d be good, too."

Buffy closed the door behind them and drew Spike over to the bed. She gently eased the weight of his duster from his shoulders and then undid his shirt, button by button, kissing her way down the centre of his chest as it was revealed. Both their actions were subdued, Spike’s emotional pain a constant backdrop to their interaction.

She hissed as she realised that the shirt was stuck to his flesh at several points. "Spike, it’s going to be better if we soak this off. Same with the jeans. I’m willing to bet you’ve got a wonderful layer of black lint stuck to your leg."

"Isn’t that going to make them a bit awkward for puttin’ back on, pet? Assumin’, of course, that the Poof isn’t all talk about his la-de-da mates." Spike reached up to brush a stray hair from Buffy’s brow, his hand running through the pale strands as she tilted her head back and stood on tiptoe to give him another kiss.

She settled back on her heels before she answered. "Xander brought spare clothes for everybody."

"If you think I’m going to wear Xander’s clown pants and Hawaiian shirt again, you’ve got another thing comin’." His lips came to rest against Buffy’s neck, kissing a butterfly trail down to his claim mark where he lingered for seconds as Buffy’s breath began to come in sharp gasps. Still their actions weren’t rooted in their mutual passion, but in their need to give physical expression to their emotional ties.

"Spi-ike. They could come back any time, and you still have to get out of those clothes so we can see to those burns."

"Don’t think you heard me complaining about the first bit." The sad smile that followed his words made Buffy reach to cup the side of his face, before she drew him toward the room’s bathroom.

"We’ll get you some of Angel’s things if we have to, but I’m fairly certain since it was Dawn who did the packing that you’ll have some of your own stuff."

"Should’ve said. Can trust the Niblet." Spike waited while Buffy fiddled with the bathroom fittings, to no effect.

A fact that was explained by Angel, when after knocking softly on the room’s outer door, he entered a few seconds later carrying a large first aid kit, a bag with their clothes and some sheets.

"The water’s been drained from most of the system. We could have a leak in one of these rooms for a month before we’d know the difference otherwise. We’d need to take off the bath panel to open it up.

Why don’t you use my room? It’s just down the hall."

Angel looked at the stains that marked Spike’s shirt where it stuck to his body. "There’s some salve for burns in the kit, but there’s more in the bathroom cabinet in my room. You might want to grab it while you’re there.

Fred got a hold of David Nabbit and he’s got a crew getting a helicopter fuelled and ready, but the pilot’s off duty and so far he’s not answering his pages, and then we have to hope he hasn’t been drinking when they do track him down. I’ll make sure someone calls through to your room when we’re ready to leave. In the meantime, Willow and her friend are trying out that location spell to see if they can pick up Lorne, so at least we’ll know if they move him.

And, Buffy, try to make sure he doesn’t wander round the hotel nude. The last thing we want is Gunn after what’s left of his hide for flashing his girlfriend."

He urged the couple toward the door. "Go on. I’ll make up the bed while you’re doing that, and if you call down to the desk when you get to the patching him up stage, I’ll bring some blood up."

It went against years of ingrained habit, but Spike knew that Angel was doing everything he could to make them feel welcome, and Spike felt some acknowledgement was needed. Buffy was drawn to a stop, refusing to relinquish the grip she had on his hand as he paused in the doorway. Even now, Spike still couldn’t bring himself to use Angel’s chosen name so he stuck with the slightly yobbish greeting. "Hoi."

Angel looked up from where he had already started making the bed. Spike gave him a weak smile. "Thanks, mate."

Angel smiled in return. Cordy had been right about Spike. He had changed. Maybe it had taken a tragedy for the pair of them to cut through all the… How had she put it? The "macho vampire crap". That didn’t mean they couldn’t work from here.

Buffy and Spike lingered over the task of soaking off his clothes, both of them ending up soaked before they were done. They exchanged unhurried kisses and gentle caresses under the shower’s tepid spray. Finally, when they were both washed up to her satisfaction, Buffy scooped up their wet clothes and the ointment Angel had mentioned from the bathroom cabinet, and they both made their way back to their own room.

Buffy called down to the main desk to let Angel know they were finished in the bathroom, and minutes later he appeared with a mug of blood.

He noticed Buffy had been careful to make sure that Spike lay on his side with his back to the door and a towel draped over the central part of his anatomy. This in spite of the fact that the scarring above and below indicated that the burns probably ran from his shoulder as far down as mid thigh.

Angel simply slipped the mug onto a dresser that sat conveniently near the door. "Make sure he drinks that," he told Buffy before shutting the door and leaving them alone.

Buffy paused in what she was doing long enough to pick up the mug and carry it over to Spike, She pulled the towel aside and continued to rub in the salve, occasionally pausing to kiss the unmarred side of his back as she worked with gentle hands.

She looked up as Spike made a sputtering sound, almost choking on the first mouthful from the mug.

"What’s up? Cold?" Buffy asked.

Spike waited till his cough had died down a little before he replied. "You could say that. Least room temperature. ‘S his. Stupid bugger’s gone and tapped a vein."

"Will it help you heal quicker?"

"Yeah, but… He didn’t have to," Spike protested.

Buffy snuggled as close to his back as she could without pressing on his wounds, her arm resting against his side. "That’s probably why he did." She kissed him high up on the side of his neck before scooting backwards off the bed.

Approaching from the other side she began to apply the salve to the burns on his front.

"If this thing does end up in a fight, we need you as healthy as possible."

Spike looked at her through dark lashes. "I don’t think that’s why he did it, pet."

"Neither do I. But it’s one reason to drink it that you can’t quibble about." She leant in to place a kiss on the end of his nose. "Now, drink it all up or you can’t have any dessert."

A shadow of Spike’s normal grin flickered briefly across his face. "Promises, promises, love," he replied before he dipped his head to take another sip from the mug.

SECTION 2 - HOUSE OF FIRE

Building a house of fire, baby
Buildin' it with our love
We are buildin' a house of fire
every time we touch
We are building this house
together, baby
Standing on solid ground
We are building a house of fire
that you can't tear down

(Alice Cooper, Album - Trash)

Chapter 2.01

Lorne was, unsurprisingly enough, normally of the disposition to sing in the bath. Somehow, though, the idea of getting all dressed up for a date that he’d neither instigated nor agreed to was having a negative effect on his musical urges. It wasn't that she was an unattractive woman. He could think of a few mornings when he’d woken up with a decidedly less physically appealing female lying next to him.

If she’d walked into Caritas back in the day, who knows? Maybe he would have stood her a drink, got her to sing a little something and maybe they might have hit it off. No, it was this whole ‘Do as I say or Something Might happen to those kids’ thing that made him want to tuck tail, or other parts, and run. He just hoped that that whole aggressive thing was a front. Even with the best will in the world, Lorne couldn't see himself performing on demand with that hanging over him. Maybe in private she might display a softer side and give him something he could relate to.

The whole situation had him vacillating between outrage at being treated like some sort of whore, anxiety about her expectations, fear of what could happen to the kids if he didn't live up to them and curiosity as to what might have happened had they met under other circumstances. Was she even genuinely attracted to him or was she getting her kicks from her power over him? It wasn't like he could ask her to hum a few bars, was it?

Lorne gave a sigh and returned to getting washed up as quickly as possible, because sunken tub not withstanding, there was something about being naked when hostile strangers could walk in whenever they pleased that he found detracted from the whole luxury bathing experience.

It was probably this that had deterred any of the teenagers from making use of the bathroom for more than just a cursory wash. Either that or they thought he was a jolly, green paedophile, one of the two. Ugh. There was a thought he didn't want to take any further.

Just as he was at that point where he was stepping out of the tub but hadn't quite managed grab a towel, he heard the outer door of the room open. He grasped at the towel rail, one foot in the bath and one out, frantically trying to get covered up in case whoever it was decided to come in and make a nuisance of themselves.

Fortunately, it seemed that he wasn't about to be interrupted. He could make out the voice of the same convivial guard who had set him to work on Spike’s care.

"Tell the frog prince that he’s got ten minutes to get dressed and get you lot out into the living room. We’re moving out."

Lorne yanked open the bathroom door, wearing nothing but a towel. "What’s happening, sweet cheeks?" he asked the thug. "There’s another two hours before I’m due to dine with her ladyship."

"Yeah? Well, ain’t that a shame. Get a move on, Kermit," the guard barked.

Lorne made his way into the living room with the teenagers filing out behind him.

He surveyed the scene with some little amazement. Three or four people were scurrying back and forth laden with luggage. In the midst of it all, Scheherazade paused in what she was doing to watch Lorne and his troupe make their way downstairs.

"I guess things aren't going quite so well for our heroine as she was expecting." Despite his words Lorne deliberately kept his tone as conciliatory as he could. After all, it wasn't just his life he was playing with.

"You could say that." The woman gave a shrug that seemed inconsistent with her normally elegant bearing. "It seems there’s been a minor setback. Certain plans are having to be put into operation somewhat sooner than we anticipated.

Look, there are a number of ways this little scenario can go. It depends not so much on you as on the kids as to which one we chose." She let her gaze pass over the group, meeting the eyes of each one in turn.

"Any of you that want to be on the next chopper out of here have one option. We’ve got enough narcotics here to fuck up each and every one of you.

The only way you’re getting on that chopper is if you are so wasted that no one is going to believe a word you have to say. Of course, dumping you on the street in that sort of condition anything could happen to you before you’re able to look after yourself.

Your other choice is that we set you loose to wander till you find your way to some sort of civilisation. Of course, that option has its drawbacks, too. Chances are you’ll die of hunger or exposure before you find anywhere, but hey, a bunch of kids getting lost in the middle of nowhere. All the cops can tut away about these kids who come up in the mountains without proper footwear or equipment. When they eventually find the bodies, that is. If they ever do.

Lastly, you could choose to wait it out here. There’s enough canned food and stuff up here to last you a month once the fresh stuff runs out. The water feed runs in from a natural reservoir so you should be okay there, providing you remember to boil it before you drink it. But that might be a problem. See, without someone topping up the generator, the electricity will go off in a matter of hours. You’ll probably run out of gas cylinders after a couple of weeks. In theory, you could use firewood, but then, we’ll be locking you in tight. So, I guess you’ll just have to hope someone turns up before then. I’m guessing you’ll be worrying about who to have for dinner before you need to worry about the septic tank. You just have to decide if you think anyone will come to find you before it gets to that stage.

Assuming you think anyone will miss you. You have fifteen minutes to decide what you want to do, and it’s all or nothing. Whatever you choose, that’s it for the whole group.

You," she continued, turning her attention to Lorne, "are a whole different matter. We’re going to be too busy to baby-sit anyone. It’s not like you can go to the police, but you do hang around with all those pesky do-gooders. If we put you back into the general population, you’ll have all your little friends out looking for this bunch in no time." Her lips folded into a rueful smile that Lorne was convinced was a sham.

"Sorry, sweet thing, but that just doesn’t fit with our plans. We need some time to make some arrangements before the authorities catch up with who we used to be, if you catch my drift. So, whatever the kids decide to do, you stay here. That’s the best deal you get."

"I guess I might as well fix myself a drink, then." The green demon tested his bounds.

"Sure, help yourself. Might as well make yourself at home while you sit here keeping your fingers crossed that Angel can actually manage an investigation. Seems to me that they’re probably missing their ex-watcher round about now.

You should hope he does a better job of finding you than he made of trying to find that seer of yours... cause that's all the hope you've got."

Half an hour later, the helicopter took off. Lorne listened to the whirr of the rotors in the distance. The kids had stayed. He had known they would, and he suspected Scheherazade had known, too. If he could pick up on the signs that one of the girls was pregnant, then he was fairly certain the vampire would have picked up on the second heartbeat, even if they hadn't heard her and her boyfriend talking about it. The whole choice thing had just been a way to set the group at odds with each other. One last cruel joke, like asking them to choose how they wanted to die.

For now the kids seemed happy enough, laying claim to their own rooms and exploring the confines of their luxury prison. Some of them had joined him in raiding the drinks cabinet. He'd managed to convince them to hold off on smashing up the furniture until it became their only source of fuel. Once things started to run short, the recriminations would start, though. A couple of the kids had wanted to take their chances in the wilderness. Most of the others had been willing to take their chances on the streets and trust the vampires not to simply give them a deliberate O/D. They would all start laying the blame at the feet of the couple and their unborn child as soon as things started to run out.

Lorne hoped he wouldn't have to wait that long. Despite Scheherazade's comments, Angel normally did pretty well when the chips were down.

In the skies above them, Scheherazade watched the cabin for as long as she could before it was hidden from view by the stark planes of the mountains. It was the last time she would see it, after all. She almost wished they could have taken the green demon with them, but that might have tipped them off. Now, it didn't matter. By midnight she would be safely on her way to a new but equally luxurious life. A couple of hours after that, the little fire bomb that had been set up in the locked cellar would go off, surrounded by the cabin's store of spirits and all the spare fuel for the generator. It would be weeks before they had any hope of identifying the bodies. If she was really lucky, one of the girls would play dress-up with the clothes and jewellery she'd left behind, and they might make a false provisional identification on the basis of personal effects. Of course, if the authorities realised they had a non-human body in there, it could cause problems, but by that time she and her associates would be long gone.

Back in Los Angeles, Buffy screwed the top back onto the large jar of burn cream which she had emptied tending to Spike's wounds and set it to one side when she realised there was no bin in their chosen room. She rubbed her hands together until they absorbed the last of the ointment before reaching over to brush an errant curl from Spike's forehead.

"Are you going to be okay?" she asked, before clarifying her question. "I mean, the Drusilla thing, not the burns. I know they’ll heal in time."

"I... I guess. I mean there's this kind of empty feeling where I know I'll never see her again, but when the memories came back, it's like this sort of distance came back with them. Before that, I don't know. I mean the last thing I remembered was the fight that put me in that wheelchair. We loved each other. I would have died for her. All those things that happened after that, her and Angel, those other demons. All that hurt; it was wiped clean. I mean I've known for years that we'd never get back together. It doesn't mean you stop caring, but it doesn't cut as deep."

"You seemed pretty bad when it happened," Buffy commented.

"That? That was nothin', not compared with... other times." Spike sighed before continuing in a soft voice. "Look, love, I'm not trying to shut you out, but I don't really want to talk about it either."

"That's okay," Buffy whispered as she leant in to claim a gentle kiss. "We've got other ways to share what we're feeling." She drew her head back a fraction of an inch to tell him, "I missed you, so much. It seemed like forever."

Spike's hand reached out to gently pull aside the huge towel that Buffy had wrapped up in when she took off her wet clothes, but his eyes never left her face. "Missed you, too, love, when I could remember who I was missing. She wanted me to give up on you, but I never did. I knew if I couldn't find a way out on my own that you'd find a way to come for me."

Buffy chose to answer him with some silent communication. She lay on her back and then shuffled towards him, slipping her arm through the gap between his chest and the mattress, so that she was pressed against his left side and had only to lift her head to kiss him again. Her fingers stroked his back, and her other hand gripped his bicep, partly to make sure she didn't accidentally brush against his damaged flesh. Spike leant into her embrace, his cool lips brushing softly against hers before he traced the line of her jaw instead, savouring the gentle beat of her pulse as they lingered just below her ear. Buffy nuzzled against him, offering solace in her touch.

The two came together with a gentleness that was partly due to care for Spike's injuries and partly an expression of Spike's sorrow and Buffy's consideration for his feelings. Buffy whispered one word as he nibbled at her earlobe. "Mine." She could feel his lips curve into a smile without leaving her flesh.

"Always," he confirmed. "With or without the scars to prove it. Just like you're mine."

"Till the end of the world, Blue Eyes."

She turned her head to reclaim his lips with her own, but after a time, Spike evaded her efforts, working his way down her body instead. Buffy didn't bother to ask whether he was physically up to consummating their relationship. She could feel his answer brushing against her thigh. Instead, she let him decide what he wanted and let him chose their relative positions while she continued to lavish whatever unmarred skin she could reach with tender caresses. A thousand times her fingertips and her lips told him without words that she loved him, that she shared his grief. With a thousand kisses, he let her know that her feelings were returned and shared his sadness, so that in time, he could put it behind him. She arched against him as his lips teased an erect nipple and then winced as he drew in a sharp breath. She let her fingers run through his hair, drawing him back from his position over her.

"Sit up," she whispered as if even a loud word could break the fragile beauty that they created with their bodies. Spike shifted to a kneeling position, and Buffy moved to kneel opposite him. First she leant in to claim his lips. Then, she took her turn to work her way down his body. Her teeth grazed against the flesh on the left side of his neck. This simulated act of feeding caused his dick to throb as she stroked it, avoiding the tender area near the base where the creases in his jeans had partially channelled the holy water toward his groin. She brushed her lips against his collarbone, so perfect in comparison to the brutalised flesh on the other side of his neck.

She knew she should be repulsed by his injuries, that a human, who suffered similar wounds would be permanently disfigured, but all she could see was the man she loved. When she shied away from the areas that had been scorched by the holy water, it was solely to spare Spike's discomfort. She shuffled back slightly as she ducked her head lower, her tongue teasingly playing over his nipple before she blew delicately on the dampened flesh to send tingles through his body. Her hands continued to bestow gentle caresses all over, even as she began to use her tongue to trace the lines of his abdomen, her hair brushing against the sensitive flesh of his shaft as she moved lower.

When she finally took his head into her mouth, Spike was unable to stifle a groan. Her tongue traced the ridge that ran up the front ofhis dick, and she bobbed her head in a slow rhythm. Spike's hands moved to tangle in her hair though he didn't exert any pressure to influence her movements, letting her set her own pace. She slowly sucked and teased at his most sensitive flesh until she knew he was near to being unable to endure further torture. Sitting back up, she pulled his lips to meet her own, letting him taste his pre-cum in her mouth. Even as they kissed she shifted to the edge of the bed, drawing him with her. Taking his hand in hers, she rose and made her way to the room's dressing table. She turned to kiss him one last time before she shifted to stand facing the unit with her thighs pressed against it and her legs slightly parted. She bent over the unit, offering herself to him in the way that allowed him most control over the contact between them. With her right hand she reached behind her, and Spike took it in his, their fingers twining in a bond that belied the seeming crudity of their upcoming coupling.

As he pushed into her, she was unable to tear her gaze from the mirror she was facing. It looked like she moved on her own, but she knew that she pushed back against her lover's thrust. She knew that it was the feel of her flesh stretching around his dick that caused her eyes to widen and her pupils to dilate. She knew that as he gently withdrew his eyes watched the reflection of her own. She knew that even though she couldn't see its reflection, it was his hand that cupped her breast, his thumbnail rasping back and forth against her erect nipple, causing electric impulses both there and between her legs. She knew that his eyes would watch her every expression until she finally screamed his name. She shivered in anticipation as his hand shifted down, fingers splayed to cover her stomach as if he was using it to claim her flesh as his own before thrusting back into her. She missed the feel of his groin pressed her flesh but she knew that his injuries made this impractical. Instead, his hand shifted lower using the ball of his hand in a firm rotating massage against her clit while his fingers teased gently at her folds. All the time she watched her own reflection, transfixed by its changing expressions as Spike moved inside her.

There seemed to be all the time in the world as they moved against each other. None of the troubles of the day were important here. The world outside their room might as well not exist. All that was important was the way they felt about each other and their expression of it. Everything else faded into insignificance as they re-affirmed their emotional bond. When they came, it wasn't to the sound of Buffy's loud cries or screams of passion but to her tremulous sigh of contentment. When Spike drew her back to their bed and lay on his back so that she could tuck her shoulder under his arm, resting her head against his shoulder and draping a leg over his. It seemed the most natural thing in the world that they should drift off into a gentle slumber. And as they did time continued to run out for Lorne and his charges.

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