Payback
By iyaorisha
Timing: AU S7
Pairings: Buffy/Spike (also Xander/Anya)
Summary: Spike gets a job. Buffy runs afoul of a brother-sister team of demon bounty hunters. (This is the third story in a series of four. Read "Look What Love Gave Us" and "Unmoved -the Fic" first.)
Rating/Warnings: R. Violence, language, rape flashback, torture flashback, and M/F sexuality.
Spoilers: None if you've seen S6. References to FFL, the trade novel "Pretty Maids All in a Row", and my fanfics "Relating to a Psychopath", "Look What Love Gave Us" and "Unmoved -the Fic"
Disclaimer: None of the BtVS characters or the world they inhabit belong to me. They belong to Joss and I promise to put them back when I'm done playing with them.
Feedback: Brutal honesty is best (I enjoy floggings, I really do), but warm fuzzies are accepted as well. You can post a review here or email me at fanfic_by_iyaorisha@yahoo.com
***
Chapter 1
Willow knew that she shouldn't be doing this.
The thought that she might get caught was stultifying. Giles would be disappointed, Buffy furious, and Xander... well she didn't want to think about what Xander would do. She still felt guilty from the last time. But, she had no choice. Things were getting unbearable again and it was such a simple thing to do.
In the darkest corner of the basement, the redhead carefully measured the granules and poured them into the receptacle. Now came the hard part. Willow plunged her hand into the bag. Just touching the fetid objects made her feel unclean. She recoiled and briefly reconsidered what she was about to do.
There would be consequences even if she wasn't caught. After the last incident, Buffy warned Willow that each time she did this, it would be harder to refrain the next time she was tempted. Xander argued that each time she weakened, it only made things worse in the long run. Maybe all that was true, but Willow believed could handle it.
And, besides, how *dare* they challenge her right to do this.
Steeling her shoulders, she brought the reeking things forth and threw them atop the powder. She covered her nose and mouth with one hand as she began pouring a cupful of thick dark liquid over everything.
The basement door opened suddenly. Willow heard someone coming down the stairs. She hurriedly slammed the lid and scurried over to the storage area on the other side of the room. "What are you doing down there, Will?" Buffy called out.
"Um, just looking for my Calculus text from last semester. Remember, I got an Incomplete while I was trying to destroy the world. Well, the Dean says that if I can pass the final exam, I won't need to retake the course."
"That's great! I told you they'd be understanding." The blonde smiled as she took a couple more steps down. "Do you need any help?" Her voice was casual, but it was clear from the look on Buffy's face that the Slayer was deeply relieved.
Willow's heart raced. "No. I'm fine," She stammered. "Why don't you guys go over to Giles' without me. I'm going to study for a couple hours and then I'll join you." She smiled at her best friend to hide the searing guilt of the lie. She held her breath as Buffy went back upstairs and shut the door. As quietly as she could, Willow crept up the stairs and listened at the door.
"...just looking for a text book." Buffy was saying. "I told you, you were worried about nothing, Xan."
"Good, 'cause she promised me after last time that she'd never do it again." The construction worker replied.
Willow leaned against the door. Her heart was heavy with guilt, but she knew that she had to do it. Maybe they could stand living like this, but she couldn't. No matter what her friends said, this wasn't a sign of weakness. It took a decisive will and a strong stomach to do what she was about to do.
Before will or stomach could fail her, Willow darted down the stairs to finish. She drizzled out the last of the viscous solution and shut the lid. Her hand wavered only a bit as she reached out to start the process.
Just then the door opened again and Dawn ran down the stairs. This time, Willow didn't move fast enough. She stood as frozen as a deer in headlights.
"Aha!" the teen said, surveying the scene. "Xander was right."
"Are you going to tell on me, Dawnie?"
The younger Summers chewed a fingernail as she thought. "What will you give me if I don't?"
Willow's shoulders slumped with relief. Buffy's little sister was easy to bribe. Dawn loved junk food so long as it wasn't from the Doublemeat Palace. "How about white chocolate macadamia nut blondies? I could whip up a batch just for you?
Dawn shook her head. "I'm sorry, Willow. I mean, this is the third time. I don't think blondies are going to cut it." The brunette made a move toward the door, her mouth already opening to call her sister and blab everything she'd seen.
"Wait!" Willow racked her brains. "Oh, I know. The blondies, plus I won't tell Buffy what I know about the broken latch on her weapons chest." She gave Dawn a meaningful look.
The teen stood stock-still, aware that she'd overplayed her hand yet again. As nonchalantly as she could, she said, "I don't know anything about a broken latch."
"And neither do I." Willow said. She extended her hand. "Shake on it."
Dawn grudgingly shook hands. As she headed back upstairs, she shook her head. "Really Willow, you've got to stop doing this."
"It's the last time, I swear. I just couldn't stand it anymore."
The teen looked dubious as she closed the door behind her.
"Finally." Willow sighed. She could barely contain her joy as she hit the button for Hot. Spike's clothes tumbled around in the soapy water. "Die, smelly germs, die!" She chanted.
***
Upstairs, Dawn burst into laughter as she caught sight of Spike sitting at the kitchen table. The blond vampire was wearing a silky lavender shorty robe that belonged to Willow.
"Bloody hell!" He roared. "I thought everyone was gone." Spike tried to tug down the flimsy material that barely covered his leanly muscled thighs. "It's not what you think, Nibblet."
Dawn could barely get in enough oxygen to retort. "Really?! Well, where are your clothes, then?"
Spike looked embarrassed. "You were in the basement. You must know."
Dawn shook her head. "It's not fair that you have Willow doing your laundry, Spike."
He scowled. "Didn't ask her to. In fact, Red insisted."
Dawn rolled her eyes. " Because you weren't ever going to do it yourself and you know that she can't stand the smell of cigarettes."
"Hey!" The bleached vampire looked offended. "I don't smell. I take a shower as soon as I wake up. Sometimes two a night."
That was true. Spike loved showering. He'd stand under the stinging spray for at least an hour, howling the lyrics to something from The Ramones or PIL while his fingers and toes turned all pruney. It was a good thing that he showered around seven at night or there wouldn't be any hot water for Dawn, Buffy, and Willow in the morning. And it didn't matter who pounded on the door. The vampire left the bathroom only after he'd shaved and slicked his naturally curly locks back with what Buffy referred to as "a horrifying amount of gel". Twice a month, he commandeered the bathroom for an even longer period of time while he bleached his hair platinum. Once, he let Dawn help, but Buffy had freaked out. Seemed the Slayer thought it was inappropriate for her little sister to sit in a steamy bathroom with a vampire dressed only in a towel.
So it wasn't B.O. Nonetheless, Spike's clothes still held a peculiar tang of cigarettes, spilled booze and blood, and the bodily fluids of the creatures he helped Buffy to Slay. Despite his claim of a superior sense of smell, the vampire never seemed to notice the gradually emerging reek. Nor had he been inclined to do a load of wash, when the girls finally dared to suggest it.
One evening, while the vampire showered, Willow seized just about Spike's entire wardrobe (except his beloved duster and 1460 eight-hole Docs). She briefly considered burning everything, but compromised on a run through the washer with a double dose of detergent. To the former witch's dismay, the only one who seemed even remotely pleased was Dawn. Spike actually didn't care whether he had clean clothing or not, but the other Scoobies were upset.
"Wil, I'm trying to get Spike to leave!" Buffy moaned. "You're making it too comfy for him here."
Giles agreed. He hadn't yet fully recovered from when the vampire stayed at his apartment three years earlier. Spike had blared the stereo at all hours, stripped the Watcher's cupboards bare, broken treasured keepsakes, and generally created such chaos that it was only the promise of more information about the Initiative that kept him from personally staking the bleached pest. To that end, he had put up with the Violent Femmes, empty bottles of Jack Daniels, and rings of dried blood on the coffee table. But he had not, he said emphatically, ever done Spike's laundry.
Xander's reaction was the worse. He had resumed his threats of staking the vampire. The construction worker, too had once suffered through Spike as a house guest. But he didn't have to dredge up those memories to become irate. He hated the fact that the vampire was still in the house a month after Raven's death. With Rack's sister gone and no obvious immediate threat looming, Spike was no longer needed as a watchdog. So, Xander couldn't understand why Buffy hadn't kicked the vampire out.
Dawn decided that it was time for a mini-lecture on personal hygiene. "Showering alone isn't good enough. You gotta wash your clothes, too. Especially your socks. You probably can get away with wearing the jeans all week, but the same t-shirt, yuck! " Dawn shuddered. "At least alternate with another shirt."
Spike gave her a rueful look. "Can't. All my other clothes were blown to bits when Red's little friend demolished my crypt."
"That's no excuse. Borrow something from Xander."
The vampire gave Dawn a "get real" look.
"Well, then steal something. Something clean." The teen emphasized.
Spike lifted an eyebrow.
"Okay, I'll ask Buffy if we can borrow her Mastercard again."
"Uh, don't bother Nibblet." Spike said nervously. "I think I've gotten the hang of laundry."
Dawn smiled. "Good. But that still leaves you with only one outfit."
"No matter. Used to it. I travel light." He quipped.
"Not buying it. The only traveling you've done in the last two years was to Africa and back. And you used to own at least four hundred CDs. What gives with clothes?"
Spike fiddled with his tumbler of blood. He looked at the Smallville calendar on the kitchen wall. Anything to avoid answering the question.
Dawn hated when the vampire was like this."Tell me or I'll let Buffy know that Willow is still doing your laundry even though she promised to stop."
"You're a manipulative little bint, aren't you." Spike grimaced. "Must be in the genes." He slugged back the last of the blood. "Okay, way back in 1892, when I was still just a fledgling..."
***
Angelus was displeased. He hadn't spoken yet, but William knew from the sulfur yellow tint to his Grand-sire's eyes. He wondered if there would be a lecture before or after the beating.
"Boy, did I not make myself clear when I said to mind the starch."
That was the problem, he wanted to protest. Angelus hadn't made it clear whether "mind the starch" meant that he wanted more or less or it in his shirts. And considering that he'd been given the directive while he was being flogged for some other transgression, William hadn't thought to ask for any clarification.
"Well, speak up then!" Angelus thundered. "Any other time, ye'd be jabbering on and on. But now ye canna give me an answer."
Was there an extra hint of Irish lilt in the older vampire's voice? Definitely a bad sign. The heavier the accent, the more likely his Master had been drinking. Or worse still, was unconsciously acting out some scene from his own miserable upbringing.
If Angelus was just intoxicated, then there was some chance that William might still get away with only a light thrashing. However, if his Grandsire was caught in reverie, the punishment could last hours, even days as Angelus sought to exorcise the memories of abuse at his father's hands.
"I said, answer me, boy!" Yes, the sibilants were slurred somewhat. William breathed a sigh of relief. He could handle a drunken Angelus. Well, sort of. It was all a matter of acting as if he was truly, deeply repentant.
He knelt at his Master's feet, head bent. The very picture of submission. "I am heartily sorry for having disobeyed you, Sire.
The sudden pain at the back of his skull was a subtle hint that Angelus wasn't drunk enough to buy the act. As he lay on the floor with his head spinning, William was dimly aware of that Angelus was sprinkling his stream of curses with specific phrases such as "mad to play me for a fool" and "yer as piss-poor an actor as ye were a poet". However, he wasn't paying much attention to these execrations, as it seemed that he was moving. Ah, yes, he thought as Angelus threw him across the room, that was a brilliant plan, William.
He had lost the better part of his sense of direction when his eardrums ruptured. However, by counting the number of times his head thumped against the stairs, William supposed that His Grandsire was taking him upstairs to the attic laundry room rather than downstairs to the basement flagellary.
Someone less well acquainted with the older vampire's inventiveness might have felt some relief at this destination. William was merely grateful that whatever was about to befall him would take place away from the minions' prying eyes.
***
Willow opened the basement door. She had just put Spike's clothes in the dryer. Relieved that the chore was almost over, she decided to start making the blondies. To her surprise, the vampire and Dawn were seated at the kitchen table.
The teen was leaning forward with a puzzled look on her face. "Sooo, what happened? What did Angelus do then?"
"Yeah, Spike, what happened." Willow said dryly.
Spike swallowed. "He, um, punished me right proper."
***
Buffy chewed a fingernail nervously. She hated to bother Anya, but this sort of thing was outside of her experience. To her horror, the latest bank statement declared that her account had hemorrhaged nearly a thousand dollars.
Anya spread the papers out on the table. "I've gone over everything three times, Buffy. The numbers don't lie. Supporting Spike is costing you almost $200 a week."
For what seemed like an eternity, Buffy couldn't speak. "How is that possible? Pigs' blood is so cheap."
"And we know he's not spending it on detergent and fabric softener." Willow said with a shudder.
Anya held up a spreadsheet print out. "Well, it's not just the pigs' blood. On average, Spike's eating a box of Weetabix, two tins of extra salty kipper snacks, and a package of Jacob's Cream Biscuits a week. Plus, all the take-out he cons Dawn into buying. That's $30.09."
The vengeance demon pointed to a section that was highlighted in bright orange. "Look at all the QuikMart purchases he's put on your credit card. A pack of cigarettes a day. That's seven packs a week...close to fifty dollars. A fifth of Jack Daniels every few days. Designer hair gel." She shook her head. "Does Spike know Suave is just as good? I know that his hair is probably pretty dry and coarse from all that bleach, but that's no excuse for paying seventeen dollars a tube."
Buffy put her head down while Anya continued to list the various expenditures. "Sunnydale Public Library charged you for a lost copy of something called The 'Autobiography of a Flea'. I didn't know Spike was interested in insects."
"I didn't know Spike could read," added Xander.
"Well, evidently not very well." Anya shuffled the other papers until she found a receipt. "See, he rented the movie, too. Nine days of late fees." She tsked. "I could understand if the book was late and then he lost the video. But it just doesn't make sense this other way around."
Giles didn't think it was his place to explain to the young people that The ;Autobiography of a Flea' was an infamous nineteenth-century erotic novel made over into one of the only decent porn movies to come out of the late 1970s. Luckily, Anya moved on to the next item.
"A purebred Siamese kitten from 'Polly's Pet Emporium'." She looked puzzled. "I haven't seen a kitten at your house, Buffy. Does he keep it in the basement?
Willow whispered something in Anya's ear. The vengeance demon pursed her lips and scribbled something on the bill.
Finally, only one slip of paper remained. Anya apologized as she handed it over. "It's handwritten and I just can't make out all the words. I'm not even sure that it's a receipt."
Buffy took the scrap, then immediately dropped it onto the table. "Ewww, is that blood?" As the Scoobies peered in disgust at the rust-colored thumbprint, she squinted. "I think that says 'Ink Slingers' Ball'."
No one had any idea what that was, so Willow fired up her computer. A few seconds later, the redhead wrinkled her forehead. "It's a three-day body art festival in Redondo Beach."
Buffy shook her head. "I must be wrong. Spike doesn't have any tattoos."
Willow gave her a frank look. "Are you sure?"
Buffy's cheeks flamed. "None in the usual places, at least."
"Hmm," Willow mused.
"What?"
"Nothing." Willow giggled.
The blonde rolled her eyes. "Tell me what it is!"
Willo shrugged. "It's just that body art includes piercing."
"Yes, piercings." Anya chimed in. "Those don't have to be in the usual places. There's nipple rings. And what are those things called, honey? Love beads?"
It was Xander's turn to blush.
"Good Lord." Giles stood up, trying to remember if he had enough frequent flier miles for a four-day weekend in London.
"What am I going to do?" Buffy moaned.
"You could dust him." Xander said. "Or let me do it," he added helpfully.
Everyone ignored him.
"Buffy." Giles sighed. "Spike is fully recovered. Raven is dead. Why haven't you moved him out?"
"Don't you think I've tried!" Buffy's voice rose with exasperation. "I put him out at sunset every night. He's back at five or six AM every morning. I've told him that he has a home, but it's a different excuse every time. The new crypt we found is too cold. Ants have invaded it. He owes someone money and they're looking for him. I even read the revocation spell once, but of course Dawn invited him back in."
Giles took of his glasses and polished them before he spoke. "Dawn has acquired a very expensive pet." The Watcher said lightly. "Perhaps you should have let her keep the Japanese fighting fish."
"There's a simple solution." Anya said.
"Finally," Xander interjected. "Mr. Pointy, this is the moment you've been waiting for."
Anya took a breath. "Spike should get a job."
***
Continued in Chapter 2
By iyaorisha
Timing: AU S7
Pairings: Buffy/Spike (also Xander/Anya)
Summary: Spike gets a job. Buffy runs afoul of a brother-sister team of demon bounty hunters. (This is the third story in a series of four. Read "Look What Love Gave Us" and "Unmoved -the Fic" first.)
Rating/Warnings: R. Violence, language, rape flashback, torture flashback, and M/F sexuality.
Spoilers: None if you've seen S6. References to FFL, the trade novel "Pretty Maids All in a Row", and my fanfics "Relating to a Psychopath", "Look What Love Gave Us" and "Unmoved -the Fic"
Disclaimer: None of the BtVS characters or the world they inhabit belong to me. They belong to Joss and I promise to put them back when I'm done playing with them.
Feedback: Brutal honesty is best (I enjoy floggings, I really do), but warm fuzzies are accepted as well. You can post a review here or email me at fanfic_by_iyaorisha@yahoo.com
***
Chapter 1
Willow knew that she shouldn't be doing this.
The thought that she might get caught was stultifying. Giles would be disappointed, Buffy furious, and Xander... well she didn't want to think about what Xander would do. She still felt guilty from the last time. But, she had no choice. Things were getting unbearable again and it was such a simple thing to do.
In the darkest corner of the basement, the redhead carefully measured the granules and poured them into the receptacle. Now came the hard part. Willow plunged her hand into the bag. Just touching the fetid objects made her feel unclean. She recoiled and briefly reconsidered what she was about to do.
There would be consequences even if she wasn't caught. After the last incident, Buffy warned Willow that each time she did this, it would be harder to refrain the next time she was tempted. Xander argued that each time she weakened, it only made things worse in the long run. Maybe all that was true, but Willow believed could handle it.
And, besides, how *dare* they challenge her right to do this.
Steeling her shoulders, she brought the reeking things forth and threw them atop the powder. She covered her nose and mouth with one hand as she began pouring a cupful of thick dark liquid over everything.
The basement door opened suddenly. Willow heard someone coming down the stairs. She hurriedly slammed the lid and scurried over to the storage area on the other side of the room. "What are you doing down there, Will?" Buffy called out.
"Um, just looking for my Calculus text from last semester. Remember, I got an Incomplete while I was trying to destroy the world. Well, the Dean says that if I can pass the final exam, I won't need to retake the course."
"That's great! I told you they'd be understanding." The blonde smiled as she took a couple more steps down. "Do you need any help?" Her voice was casual, but it was clear from the look on Buffy's face that the Slayer was deeply relieved.
Willow's heart raced. "No. I'm fine," She stammered. "Why don't you guys go over to Giles' without me. I'm going to study for a couple hours and then I'll join you." She smiled at her best friend to hide the searing guilt of the lie. She held her breath as Buffy went back upstairs and shut the door. As quietly as she could, Willow crept up the stairs and listened at the door.
"...just looking for a text book." Buffy was saying. "I told you, you were worried about nothing, Xan."
"Good, 'cause she promised me after last time that she'd never do it again." The construction worker replied.
Willow leaned against the door. Her heart was heavy with guilt, but she knew that she had to do it. Maybe they could stand living like this, but she couldn't. No matter what her friends said, this wasn't a sign of weakness. It took a decisive will and a strong stomach to do what she was about to do.
Before will or stomach could fail her, Willow darted down the stairs to finish. She drizzled out the last of the viscous solution and shut the lid. Her hand wavered only a bit as she reached out to start the process.
Just then the door opened again and Dawn ran down the stairs. This time, Willow didn't move fast enough. She stood as frozen as a deer in headlights.
"Aha!" the teen said, surveying the scene. "Xander was right."
"Are you going to tell on me, Dawnie?"
The younger Summers chewed a fingernail as she thought. "What will you give me if I don't?"
Willow's shoulders slumped with relief. Buffy's little sister was easy to bribe. Dawn loved junk food so long as it wasn't from the Doublemeat Palace. "How about white chocolate macadamia nut blondies? I could whip up a batch just for you?
Dawn shook her head. "I'm sorry, Willow. I mean, this is the third time. I don't think blondies are going to cut it." The brunette made a move toward the door, her mouth already opening to call her sister and blab everything she'd seen.
"Wait!" Willow racked her brains. "Oh, I know. The blondies, plus I won't tell Buffy what I know about the broken latch on her weapons chest." She gave Dawn a meaningful look.
The teen stood stock-still, aware that she'd overplayed her hand yet again. As nonchalantly as she could, she said, "I don't know anything about a broken latch."
"And neither do I." Willow said. She extended her hand. "Shake on it."
Dawn grudgingly shook hands. As she headed back upstairs, she shook her head. "Really Willow, you've got to stop doing this."
"It's the last time, I swear. I just couldn't stand it anymore."
The teen looked dubious as she closed the door behind her.
"Finally." Willow sighed. She could barely contain her joy as she hit the button for Hot. Spike's clothes tumbled around in the soapy water. "Die, smelly germs, die!" She chanted.
***
Upstairs, Dawn burst into laughter as she caught sight of Spike sitting at the kitchen table. The blond vampire was wearing a silky lavender shorty robe that belonged to Willow.
"Bloody hell!" He roared. "I thought everyone was gone." Spike tried to tug down the flimsy material that barely covered his leanly muscled thighs. "It's not what you think, Nibblet."
Dawn could barely get in enough oxygen to retort. "Really?! Well, where are your clothes, then?"
Spike looked embarrassed. "You were in the basement. You must know."
Dawn shook her head. "It's not fair that you have Willow doing your laundry, Spike."
He scowled. "Didn't ask her to. In fact, Red insisted."
Dawn rolled her eyes. " Because you weren't ever going to do it yourself and you know that she can't stand the smell of cigarettes."
"Hey!" The bleached vampire looked offended. "I don't smell. I take a shower as soon as I wake up. Sometimes two a night."
That was true. Spike loved showering. He'd stand under the stinging spray for at least an hour, howling the lyrics to something from The Ramones or PIL while his fingers and toes turned all pruney. It was a good thing that he showered around seven at night or there wouldn't be any hot water for Dawn, Buffy, and Willow in the morning. And it didn't matter who pounded on the door. The vampire left the bathroom only after he'd shaved and slicked his naturally curly locks back with what Buffy referred to as "a horrifying amount of gel". Twice a month, he commandeered the bathroom for an even longer period of time while he bleached his hair platinum. Once, he let Dawn help, but Buffy had freaked out. Seemed the Slayer thought it was inappropriate for her little sister to sit in a steamy bathroom with a vampire dressed only in a towel.
So it wasn't B.O. Nonetheless, Spike's clothes still held a peculiar tang of cigarettes, spilled booze and blood, and the bodily fluids of the creatures he helped Buffy to Slay. Despite his claim of a superior sense of smell, the vampire never seemed to notice the gradually emerging reek. Nor had he been inclined to do a load of wash, when the girls finally dared to suggest it.
One evening, while the vampire showered, Willow seized just about Spike's entire wardrobe (except his beloved duster and 1460 eight-hole Docs). She briefly considered burning everything, but compromised on a run through the washer with a double dose of detergent. To the former witch's dismay, the only one who seemed even remotely pleased was Dawn. Spike actually didn't care whether he had clean clothing or not, but the other Scoobies were upset.
"Wil, I'm trying to get Spike to leave!" Buffy moaned. "You're making it too comfy for him here."
Giles agreed. He hadn't yet fully recovered from when the vampire stayed at his apartment three years earlier. Spike had blared the stereo at all hours, stripped the Watcher's cupboards bare, broken treasured keepsakes, and generally created such chaos that it was only the promise of more information about the Initiative that kept him from personally staking the bleached pest. To that end, he had put up with the Violent Femmes, empty bottles of Jack Daniels, and rings of dried blood on the coffee table. But he had not, he said emphatically, ever done Spike's laundry.
Xander's reaction was the worse. He had resumed his threats of staking the vampire. The construction worker, too had once suffered through Spike as a house guest. But he didn't have to dredge up those memories to become irate. He hated the fact that the vampire was still in the house a month after Raven's death. With Rack's sister gone and no obvious immediate threat looming, Spike was no longer needed as a watchdog. So, Xander couldn't understand why Buffy hadn't kicked the vampire out.
Dawn decided that it was time for a mini-lecture on personal hygiene. "Showering alone isn't good enough. You gotta wash your clothes, too. Especially your socks. You probably can get away with wearing the jeans all week, but the same t-shirt, yuck! " Dawn shuddered. "At least alternate with another shirt."
Spike gave her a rueful look. "Can't. All my other clothes were blown to bits when Red's little friend demolished my crypt."
"That's no excuse. Borrow something from Xander."
The vampire gave Dawn a "get real" look.
"Well, then steal something. Something clean." The teen emphasized.
Spike lifted an eyebrow.
"Okay, I'll ask Buffy if we can borrow her Mastercard again."
"Uh, don't bother Nibblet." Spike said nervously. "I think I've gotten the hang of laundry."
Dawn smiled. "Good. But that still leaves you with only one outfit."
"No matter. Used to it. I travel light." He quipped.
"Not buying it. The only traveling you've done in the last two years was to Africa and back. And you used to own at least four hundred CDs. What gives with clothes?"
Spike fiddled with his tumbler of blood. He looked at the Smallville calendar on the kitchen wall. Anything to avoid answering the question.
Dawn hated when the vampire was like this."Tell me or I'll let Buffy know that Willow is still doing your laundry even though she promised to stop."
"You're a manipulative little bint, aren't you." Spike grimaced. "Must be in the genes." He slugged back the last of the blood. "Okay, way back in 1892, when I was still just a fledgling..."
***
Angelus was displeased. He hadn't spoken yet, but William knew from the sulfur yellow tint to his Grand-sire's eyes. He wondered if there would be a lecture before or after the beating.
"Boy, did I not make myself clear when I said to mind the starch."
That was the problem, he wanted to protest. Angelus hadn't made it clear whether "mind the starch" meant that he wanted more or less or it in his shirts. And considering that he'd been given the directive while he was being flogged for some other transgression, William hadn't thought to ask for any clarification.
"Well, speak up then!" Angelus thundered. "Any other time, ye'd be jabbering on and on. But now ye canna give me an answer."
Was there an extra hint of Irish lilt in the older vampire's voice? Definitely a bad sign. The heavier the accent, the more likely his Master had been drinking. Or worse still, was unconsciously acting out some scene from his own miserable upbringing.
If Angelus was just intoxicated, then there was some chance that William might still get away with only a light thrashing. However, if his Grandsire was caught in reverie, the punishment could last hours, even days as Angelus sought to exorcise the memories of abuse at his father's hands.
"I said, answer me, boy!" Yes, the sibilants were slurred somewhat. William breathed a sigh of relief. He could handle a drunken Angelus. Well, sort of. It was all a matter of acting as if he was truly, deeply repentant.
He knelt at his Master's feet, head bent. The very picture of submission. "I am heartily sorry for having disobeyed you, Sire.
The sudden pain at the back of his skull was a subtle hint that Angelus wasn't drunk enough to buy the act. As he lay on the floor with his head spinning, William was dimly aware of that Angelus was sprinkling his stream of curses with specific phrases such as "mad to play me for a fool" and "yer as piss-poor an actor as ye were a poet". However, he wasn't paying much attention to these execrations, as it seemed that he was moving. Ah, yes, he thought as Angelus threw him across the room, that was a brilliant plan, William.
He had lost the better part of his sense of direction when his eardrums ruptured. However, by counting the number of times his head thumped against the stairs, William supposed that His Grandsire was taking him upstairs to the attic laundry room rather than downstairs to the basement flagellary.
Someone less well acquainted with the older vampire's inventiveness might have felt some relief at this destination. William was merely grateful that whatever was about to befall him would take place away from the minions' prying eyes.
***
Willow opened the basement door. She had just put Spike's clothes in the dryer. Relieved that the chore was almost over, she decided to start making the blondies. To her surprise, the vampire and Dawn were seated at the kitchen table.
The teen was leaning forward with a puzzled look on her face. "Sooo, what happened? What did Angelus do then?"
"Yeah, Spike, what happened." Willow said dryly.
Spike swallowed. "He, um, punished me right proper."
***
Buffy chewed a fingernail nervously. She hated to bother Anya, but this sort of thing was outside of her experience. To her horror, the latest bank statement declared that her account had hemorrhaged nearly a thousand dollars.
Anya spread the papers out on the table. "I've gone over everything three times, Buffy. The numbers don't lie. Supporting Spike is costing you almost $200 a week."
For what seemed like an eternity, Buffy couldn't speak. "How is that possible? Pigs' blood is so cheap."
"And we know he's not spending it on detergent and fabric softener." Willow said with a shudder.
Anya held up a spreadsheet print out. "Well, it's not just the pigs' blood. On average, Spike's eating a box of Weetabix, two tins of extra salty kipper snacks, and a package of Jacob's Cream Biscuits a week. Plus, all the take-out he cons Dawn into buying. That's $30.09."
The vengeance demon pointed to a section that was highlighted in bright orange. "Look at all the QuikMart purchases he's put on your credit card. A pack of cigarettes a day. That's seven packs a week...close to fifty dollars. A fifth of Jack Daniels every few days. Designer hair gel." She shook her head. "Does Spike know Suave is just as good? I know that his hair is probably pretty dry and coarse from all that bleach, but that's no excuse for paying seventeen dollars a tube."
Buffy put her head down while Anya continued to list the various expenditures. "Sunnydale Public Library charged you for a lost copy of something called The 'Autobiography of a Flea'. I didn't know Spike was interested in insects."
"I didn't know Spike could read," added Xander.
"Well, evidently not very well." Anya shuffled the other papers until she found a receipt. "See, he rented the movie, too. Nine days of late fees." She tsked. "I could understand if the book was late and then he lost the video. But it just doesn't make sense this other way around."
Giles didn't think it was his place to explain to the young people that The ;Autobiography of a Flea' was an infamous nineteenth-century erotic novel made over into one of the only decent porn movies to come out of the late 1970s. Luckily, Anya moved on to the next item.
"A purebred Siamese kitten from 'Polly's Pet Emporium'." She looked puzzled. "I haven't seen a kitten at your house, Buffy. Does he keep it in the basement?
Willow whispered something in Anya's ear. The vengeance demon pursed her lips and scribbled something on the bill.
Finally, only one slip of paper remained. Anya apologized as she handed it over. "It's handwritten and I just can't make out all the words. I'm not even sure that it's a receipt."
Buffy took the scrap, then immediately dropped it onto the table. "Ewww, is that blood?" As the Scoobies peered in disgust at the rust-colored thumbprint, she squinted. "I think that says 'Ink Slingers' Ball'."
No one had any idea what that was, so Willow fired up her computer. A few seconds later, the redhead wrinkled her forehead. "It's a three-day body art festival in Redondo Beach."
Buffy shook her head. "I must be wrong. Spike doesn't have any tattoos."
Willow gave her a frank look. "Are you sure?"
Buffy's cheeks flamed. "None in the usual places, at least."
"Hmm," Willow mused.
"What?"
"Nothing." Willow giggled.
The blonde rolled her eyes. "Tell me what it is!"
Willo shrugged. "It's just that body art includes piercing."
"Yes, piercings." Anya chimed in. "Those don't have to be in the usual places. There's nipple rings. And what are those things called, honey? Love beads?"
It was Xander's turn to blush.
"Good Lord." Giles stood up, trying to remember if he had enough frequent flier miles for a four-day weekend in London.
"What am I going to do?" Buffy moaned.
"You could dust him." Xander said. "Or let me do it," he added helpfully.
Everyone ignored him.
"Buffy." Giles sighed. "Spike is fully recovered. Raven is dead. Why haven't you moved him out?"
"Don't you think I've tried!" Buffy's voice rose with exasperation. "I put him out at sunset every night. He's back at five or six AM every morning. I've told him that he has a home, but it's a different excuse every time. The new crypt we found is too cold. Ants have invaded it. He owes someone money and they're looking for him. I even read the revocation spell once, but of course Dawn invited him back in."
Giles took of his glasses and polished them before he spoke. "Dawn has acquired a very expensive pet." The Watcher said lightly. "Perhaps you should have let her keep the Japanese fighting fish."
"There's a simple solution." Anya said.
"Finally," Xander interjected. "Mr. Pointy, this is the moment you've been waiting for."
Anya took a breath. "Spike should get a job."
***
Continued in Chapter 2