MORTAL ALLIES SERIES

Episode 2: Spike's a Good Boi

By: Passion4Spike

Chapter 11: Clotted Cream

Chapter Summary:

Dru wakes up.

In front of the motel office, Buffy got back in the car and passed a room key to Spike, her own tucked in her pocket. Dru still hadn't woken up. From what the old gypsy, Uriah, had said, the drugs would probably wear off sometime during the day today. She hoped Spike was right – that he could control Drusilla – otherwise Buffy thought she'd have to end up dusting them both. Not that she should care. They were vampires. Evil killers. Demons. That was her Calling – to end them.

So why hadn't she just dusted them both? Neither of them were in any condition to fight her right now – Dru was completely passed out and Spike was at maybe ¼ strength, if that. It would be easy. Was it some weird allegiance to Angel that kept her from dusting these two? They were his 'family', after all, even if he didn't want to claim them. Should she have any allegiance to Angel anymore? Or was it because she'd made a deal with Spike, agreed to a truce, and she was a Slayer of her word, if nothing else.

She shook her head and gave it up. All these thoughts scuttling around in her cranium like hairy centipedes were making her brain hurt.

Spike took the key without a word and drove down to the other end of the motel, watching for the room number on the lime-green doors. The tense silence between the two blondes continued as he parked in front of the room and got out, slowly and painfully but not silently. His grunts and snarls of pain had Buffy gritting her teeth. She was not feeling sorry for him. He was a big, fat jerk and she was angry. She liked being angry – it was familiar ground and, besides, she was really good at it.

Buffy let the dog out and headed for the back of the car to get her bags. Spike limped around the car, half doubled-over, and opened the trunk for her, still without a word. He then headed over to open the door to his room, all the while trying to figure out how he was gonna get Dru in there. He could barely carry himself the few feet from the car to the room, let alone his dead-to-the-world sire.

Buffy got the bags she needed out of the trunk and headed for her room, the dog following along at her heels. When she set the bags down to unlock the door, her roommate nudged her hand with a small whimper. When she looked down, he took a couple of halting steps back toward the car, then looked back and forth between her and the white rabbit, who was clearly struggling with getting his own bag out of the trunk. Another soft whine, his brown eyes worried and imploring.

Buffy clenched her jaw and rolled her eyes as she watched Spike limp, clutching his abdomen, dragging his bag from the car to the room. She could see blood seeping through the bandages and even the duct tape, making dark, damp blotches on his black shirt. His fingers were swollen, purple with bruising, and stained with dried blood where he clutched his stomach. The bag slipped from the damaged fingers of his other hand, the strap falling to the ground. He stopped and looked at it in dismay a moment before beginning a slow, painful decent to try and retrieve it.

God damnit! She huffed out an impatient breath and stuffed her key back into her pocket before stalking back over and snatching the bag up before he could get even halfway to it.

"Big baby," she grumbled under her breath as she stormed away with the bag, depositing it on the dresser in his room.

Spike scowled at her. "Bloody bitch," he retorted, his voice just as low as hers.

Buffy returned from the room, pointedly rubbing the bridge of her nose with her middle finger as she headed past him, back to the car.

Spike doubled it with a two-finger salute and an exasperated huff of breath.

Without ceremony, Buffy dragged the limp vampire from the backseat by one skinny arm. Buffy might've banged Dru's head against the door frame of car as she hauled her out.

"Oi!" Spike protested when he heard the 'thunk'.

"Oh, my bad," Buffy deadpanned, rolling her eyes before hefting Dru up onto her shoulder and stalking back into Spike's room with her. Dru was deposited unceremoniously on the one big bed in the room and Buffy was back out before Spike could even make it to the door.

Buffy slammed the trunk and the doors closed on the car and marched back over to her room, next door to Spike and Dru's, where the dog was waiting for her.

The blond vampire sighed, stopping just outside his room as she unlocked her own door and picked up her bags. The dog trotted in ahead of her and, without a glance back at the vampire, she quickly followed.

"Slayer," Spike appealed to her with a heavy sigh, but her door slammed closed on the word. "Stay mad, then. What the hell do I care? Don't even know why you're bloody mad, ya dizzy bint," he groused as he hobbled into his room and slammed the door against the rising sun.

** X-X-X-X-X **

Buffy dropped her bags just inside the door and flung herself onto the nearest bed, finally letting her tears rise to the surface, flowing from her hurt and angry heart. She didn't know why Spike's words stung so much. She should be over all that stuff with Angelus by now, but clearly, she wasn't. It seemed like whenever she started finding Spike the least bit tolerable or trustworthy, something would happen to make her wary again, which just pissed him off, which then pissed her off. It was a piss-aplooza.

But she'd trusted one vampire, hadn't she? And, if Spike's theory was right about Angel and the curse, he might've been playing her the entire time. He may have never actually loved her at all. How could she let herself trust another one even a little bit? It would be insane to not be wary, not be watchful and distrustful.

Right?

So, why did he take it so fucking personally? He was a vampire! A stupid, drama-queen of a vampire who got offended when she suggested that he might be less than an upstanding citizen. A freaking insane vampire is what he was! And now he had his even more insane sire with him. How was she supposed to just trust that he wouldn't try to off her?

And how did he know just the exact button to push to twist her into knots? She had lots of buttons. Buttons for anger, for laugher, for bitchiness, for sarcasm … lots of buttons for sarcasm, but he always found the one hidden beneath all the others and punched it like some crazed gameshow contestant ringing in to win a year's supply of kitty litter.

Buffy buried her face in the pillow to keep the sound from traveling through the thin, hotel walls as she sobbed. She didn't want Spike to know that he could hurt her so much. It wouldn't do for him to know how to turn her emotions against her; that could get her killed one day.

The big dog climbed up onto the double bed with a squeak of springs, and flopped down next to Buffy. She buried her face in his thick coat and rubbed a hand down along his flanks, enjoying the feel of his soft fur against her fingers. "At least you're safe now. Uriah was so happy to see you, even though you knocked him down and practically drowned him in kisses. You knew just the right thing to do, didn't you?"

The big dog huffed out a self-satisfied breath and nuzzled his nose against her neck.

Buffy gave him a small smile and ruffled his big ears. "Did you remember him from when you were a baby? He sure remembered you. I wonder what 'Wuzho' means? It must be good, just from the way he said it," she continued.

"Rrrrarf," Spike agreed, snuffling against her ear, making her pull away slightly from the tickling warmth of his breath.

"You did really well, Spikey. You're such a good boy," she told the dog, digging her fingers into his fur. "Now, if we can just keep Spike and Dru from killing us, everything will be okay. Don't suppose you have a brilliant plan for that, huh?"

The Guardian whined softly, settling his big head on the pillow next to hers.

"You trust Spike, don't you?" she asked him.

"Mmmrrrrf," he sighed.

"How do you know who to trust?" she wondered, still rubbing a hand through his thick fur.

Spike pushed himself up and trundled down off the bed, over to where Buffy had dropped the bags. She sat up, watching him curiously as he began to drag one of the duffels over to her. Buffy scooted off the bed and came over to the dog. "What?" she asked, her brows furrowed.

Spike nudged the small pocket on the outside of the bag with his nose, then looked up at her.

Buffy unzipped the compartment and looked inside cautiously before slipping her fingers in. She snorted in amusement as she pulled out a couple of packs of M&Ms and three sticks of beef jerky. Those were definitely not in that bag when she'd packed it the previous evening.

She sat down on the floor and looked at the dog. "So, you're saying we should trust vampires who feed us?" she wondered skeptically, opening one of the beef jerky sticks and breaking off pieces for him. He snapped each one up eagerly, barely chewing it before swallowing and ogling the next one.

"Or just strange, drama-queen vampires who leave surprises in our bags … good surprises. Not like Angelus surprises."

"Rrrawrrf!" Spike agreed, eying the unopened sticks of jerky as slobber dripped from his oversized canines.

"You'll ruin your breakfast," Buffy warned him.

Spike shook his head vigorously in disagreement, rattling his tags, and slinging slobber in all directions.

"Ewww!" Buffy complained, holding her hands up in defense, but she was smiling. "We've talked about this! Ten feet! Ten feet away before you shake! Damn it, Spike, when are you gonna learn that?"

"Whoof!" he laughed, letting his mouth drop open in a doggie-grin as Buffy ruffled his ears and leaned in to give him a hug.

"I love you, Spikey," she murmured against him.

Spike licked her salty face, her tears dried, his tail wagging happily.

Who's a good boi? Spike's a good boi.

** X-X-X-X-X **

A knock sounded on Spike's door and Drusilla jerked against him in the bed, waking him from a fitful sleep. Every time he moved, daggers shot into his belly and chest from his shredded torso. Spike grimaced, sucking in a breath against the pain as she clung to him. "Spike … I feel all funny. The pixies are havin' a party, but I've not been invited. They're tap dancing on the ceiling, and the music's all roly-poly."

Spike gently pulled her hand away from his ravaged stomach. "Not the pixies, pet. Someone's at the door."

"Oh, is it the milkman? I'm ever so peckish," she said, her wide, blue eyes shifting to gold as she looked expectantly at the door.

"I'll see, eh?" Spike offered, slipping from her grip with more grunts and gasps of pain as he moved, ripping open gashes that had begun to heal as he'd rested. It couldn't be later than midday, he guessed, not bothering to look at the clock.

He hobbled slowly to the door as the knocking started again. Whoever it was had just made the biggest bloody mistake of their lives – 'bloody' being the key word. Spike was hungry, too – more than hungry, starving – and hurting, and in no mood to hear about the Glory of God from a twat with no fashion sense.

Spike pulled the door open, ready to yank whoever was out there in, when he realized it was the Slayer. His hand stopped in mid-air, nearly to her neck, and he pulled it back quickly, trying to look nonchalant. "Oh, uhhh … it's you."

Buffy's brows went up. "Expecting someone else?"

Spike sniffed and tried to straighten up, but couldn't manage it, as the wounds in his stomach pulled and seared. "Thought it might be a burglar or whatnot."

Buffy snorted. "Here's a clue for future reference: burglars don't usually knock."

"Right—" Spike began as Dru slipped up behind him, peering past Spike to focus on Buffy.

"I know you weren't just gonna grab someone and drag them in here to eat, were you?" Buffy continued suspiciously.

"Told ya, keep my word, don't I?" Spike defended, his ire rising again, even though that had been his plan.

"Uh-huh," she deadpanned. "Remember, I'm right next door, and these walls? Like paper. If you think I won't hear you, you're wrong. If you think I won't dust you, also of the wrong."

Spike started to retort, but was interrupted by his sire, "She was to be chopped into messes, my Spike … you promised mummy a party with streamers and garters dripping in rubies."

"Told ya already, 'ad to play nice. Just a bit longer, poodle," Spike cajoled, keeping himself firmly planted in the open doorway.

"She dances like dandelions on sunrays … sparks and glints like diamonds in the night," Dru declared, almost singing the words, her cadence lyrical. "I imagine she tastes like orange blossoms and moonbeams. Can we have a taste?"

Dru made to lift her hand, two fingers extended, beneath Spike's arm and toward the Slayer. "Look at me, dearie. Be... in my eyes—"

Spike swiped down, trapping his sire's hand between his arm and his side. "No, baby, no tastes. Not just now," he hissed at her in a low, impatient voice.

"Not just ever," Buffy corrected defiantly, narrowing her eyes at the now-pouting woman. "I thought you said you could control her," she accused, shifting her gaze to Spike.

"She is bloody controlled, isn't she?" Spike defended. "Don't see any new holes in yer pretty, little neck, do ya?"

"Her neck is ever so pretty, like clotted cream," Dru agreed, eyeing Buffy hungrily over Spike's shoulder. "I should like to paint it with pret'y pictures, all in red, and spread it on scones for tea."

"Not. Now. Dru," Spike grunted out, elbowing her back a step.

"Why don't you come out here and give it a try?" Buffy offered the dark vampire with a painted-on smile. She took a step to the side and waved one hand at the sunshine beyond the narrow, covered walkway outside the door.

"She sees you, my Spike," Dru continued as if Buffy hadn't spoken, her saffron eyes locked on Buffy as she tried to step past her childe, but he carefully slipped to the side and blocked her advance. "You see my dark, brave knight, don't you, dearie?"

"Uh," Buffy began sarcastically. "Hard to miss, he's standing right here. Don't need to put on any special crazy ho glasses to see him."

"Don't need eyes to see my prince's shiniest bits. They're all on the insides. Lurkin' in the dark, bright and gleamin'. White horses in all their finery and frippery, they are."

"O-kay," Buffy droned. "Well, I guess captivity suited her; she's as Looney Tunes as ever," Buffy said, rolling her eyes.

"Oi! Did ya want something, Slayer? Or just come t' insult me and mine some more?" Spike wondered, doing his best to keep himself between Dru and the Slayer with one hand on the door and one on the doorjamb. He wasn't sure who he'd need to protect from who, but with his luck, he'd be the one getting the worst of anything that happened.

"Daddy can't abide the burning, baby fishes. They've begun swimming all about her head. The dance is changing, my sweet William. The harps echo with wolves, making the angels all scarper like dust in the rain," Dru continued as if Buffy and Spike hadn't spoken.

Buffy sighed and rolled her eyes, ignoring Dru. She actually hadn't come to make trouble, surprising as that was. She picked up the small cooler that she'd set down at her feet, a replacement for the one the bear destroyed. "I got you some blood," she explained. "There's a couple of different kinds – maybe you'll like it better than the pig. Moose and elk, and even some buffalo. They're all marked, so you can have a nice blood tasting party this afternoon."

Spike's brows went up in surprise. "Much obliged," he acknowledged sincerely, reaching for the cooler.

"It's no big deal," she shrugged, taken slightly aback by the genuine appreciation in his voice. She let Spike take the blood from her hands before stepping back away from the door. "Well, you two have fun now with the harps and horses. I'm sure you'll figure out how to work the microwave … that could keep her entertained for hours just watching things go 'round and 'round."

Spike rolled his eyes, stepping forward across the threshold as she backed out. "Slayer," he called as she started to turn away.

Buffy looked back, stopping mid-stride.

"I … uh …" he stammered, looking down awkwardly, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.

Buffy nodded. "Me too," she replied softly. "Thanks for the candy … and Spike says thanks for the beef jerky."

Spike looked up and gave her a soft smile, squaring his shoulders as much as he could as he continued to block the doorway. "Welcome. 'Preciate the blood." He lifted the cooler up in demonstration, as if she'd forgotten already.

"I hope it helps – you know, with the healing," she said, waving a hand at his torso. She noted he hadn't taken any of his clothes off, not even his bloody, ripped jeans – probably because it hurt too much to even try. Why hadn't Dru helped him, though? Clearly, she'd been awake a while, she didn't seem woozy or anything – well, crazy, yeah, but that was normal. She couldn't be that out of it to not even see that he needed help? That he was in pain? Could she?

"Maybe you'll like some of that better," Buffy continued. "It's super-fresh according to the butcher." She shrugged. "I don't know if that matters."

Spike nodded. "Couldn't hurt."

"Don't make me dust you, Spike." Buffy meant it to come out as a warning, but it sounded more like plea.

Spike snorted. "I'm too pretty t' stake," he joked, grinning smugly. At her arched brow, he shrugged. "Keeping my end o' the bargain, no worries, Slayer."

"Okay … well, you better get back in there before she tries sticking a penny in an electrical outlet or something."

Spike snorted. "Old hat, that. Took out ten city blocks in Rome doing that in the fifties. Was bloody brilliant."

Buffy rolled her eyes but laughed. "See you at dusk," she said as she headed for her door.

"Right, then," Spike agreed, giving her a short nod and a smile before turning back and disappearing into his room and closing the door.

"'Burning, baby fishes.' What a fruitcake," Buffy muttered as she headed back to her room to get some sleep. She took a deep breath and sighed it out as she unlocked her door, feeling utterly relieved. Clearing the air with Spike felt like a weight lifting off her.

The big dog met her at the door and she scratched his ears in greeting, still thinking about Spike. She rolled her eyes at herself. Since when did she care if Spike was mad at her, anyway? Of course, she didn't. She was just relieved that he had blood and now he could start to heal so he wouldn't be passing out at the wheel or anything.

Clearly, that was why she was relieved. No other reason at all.

And what the fuck was clotted cream, anyway? She rubbed at her neck. Stopping in front of the mirror, she lifted her chin and turned her head one way then the other, trying to figure it out. It didn't feel clotted at all – and it just looked … normal. She also didn't see a single burning, baby fish and was pretty sure she didn't taste like moonbeams and orange blossoms. Though, what would moonbeams taste like? Well, she definitely didn't taste like orange blossoms … more like … 'badass'. Yep, she absolutely would taste like 'badass'.

"You don't think Dru's crazy is catching, do you?" she asked her roommate, looking down at the big dog, who was watching her curiously.

Spike cocked his head to one side and let out a series of little, sorrowful, worried whines as he lowered himself down and rested his head comfortingly atop her feet.

"You're a lot of help."

*END NOTES**

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you're enjoying the story! Please stop in and let me know, I'd seriously love to hear from you!

Thanks to my wonderful friends, PaganBaby and Holli117, for sharing their talents with me by betaing this story. Any mistakes here are mine because I just can't stop fiddling!

Thanks to Paganbaby and Holli117 for the two lovely banners!

More to come soon!