Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 21

Tick, tick, tick, went the alarm clock at Buffy's bedside.

She lay on her stomach, legs up and arms folded in front of her, just watching the minutes disappear. If anyone had peeked in on her, they would have said that she looked contented. Relaxed, even.

Not me, though, Buffy thought, burying her face in a pillow and pressing her cheek against the cool material. Not when she was about to do something that could clearly be classified as 'life-threatening'. Something she was doing with Spike.

Yikes. 'with' and 'Spike'. There are two things you never thought would have that kind of togetherness.

So, yeah, she was far from relaxed.

More like frazzled.

Buffy was half-terrified that they would be caught. Ms. Davies may seem blissfully asleep—for now—but that assumption was just going off the late hour and the fact that Ms. Davies' bedroom was so sequestered, down the hall and in the back of the house. The chance of being seen driving off with a vampire that she'd been supposedly hunting for the past week seemed high, almost to the point of extreme paranoia. Just thinking about the possibility made Buffy's heart beat in a rough, nervous rhythm.

She's already been down on me for the unexpected detention time, Buffy thought. Stupid Principal…

That hadn't been her fault. Who knew that she'd fry his computer, and fountain, and phone, and…everything?

Not me, Buffy thought, I was totally one with the innocence there.

"I should have pled the fifth," she grumbled to Mr. Gordo.

But she'd still been the one at fault for the water, and the only one in the room. That equaled detention for a week, which just so happened to cut into training time and sent her Watcher into a subdued and steely, very stern, conniption.

The week had passed by relatively quickly. She could only get over to the mausoleum every few days to make sure that Spike wasn't going all murderous on the locals.

And he wasn't, at least, not that she could tell.

But who really knows? Buffy thought. He shows up on patrols, but, what if he's found a way to get around during the day?

What if she could have been keeping better track of him? What if he did something evil? She wasn't kidding herself, she knew he wanted to. He wasn't exactly shy about it.

Buffy found herself watching the local news constantly, looking out for any weird, necky murders or biteage.

None so far, she thought, well, at least no more than usual, and none in Spike's neighborhood.

That was reassuring at least. Still, Buffy didn't allow herself to trust him.

He was untrustable.

So, rules for tonight, Buffy thought, keep passenger door unlocked, bring extra stake in sleeve in case he goes for the jugular, and try not to talk too much.

Talking would only distract her.

How pathetic was it that the only person she had any real social contact with, wasn't a person at all?

A soft tap startled Buffy from her thoughts. She looked to the window just as a second small rock hit.

Buffy gave the clock one final look. Eleven thirty. He was right on time.

She stood and stretched, grabbed stakes, pulled on her coat—black, for the stealth of it—and checked to be sure that her braid was tight enough to prevent any snagging. She wasn't taking any chances tonight.

Buffy made her way downstairs carefully, slowly, and remembered to skip the creaky stair. Her apprehension and alertness seemed to grow as she walked, senses heightening and sharpening. It wasn't even a guess as to why. Even if she hadn't known Spike was there, she would have been able to feel him like this. Something like a warning charged the air, very faintly, and there was a soft tingle on the back of her neck. She shivered at the feeling of it and entered the foyer.

"You're on time," she said, a quick cold greeting when she opened the door.

Color me surprised.

Spike was smirking, leaning against her doorframe as best he could with the barrier, and smoking a cigarette. He had a black button up on over his usual t-shirt and his duster over it all. Guess I'm not the only one who thinks black equals stealthy.

"Nice place you got here, Slayer," he said, peering over her shoulder into the darkened house and grinning nastily. "Bit doom and gloom, but—"

"Good evening to you too, Captain Lacks-tact," Buffy said, annoyed.

"Could always invite me in a minute, love." He tilted his head, as if contemplative and laid one hand on the invisible wall between them. Buffy watched, secretly a little fascinated, as he rested his weight there a moment, leaving some sort of ripple in the energy that quavered and faded, like circles from a stone being dropped in water, before leaning on the frame's other side. "Your Watcher asleep upstairs? 'cause, you know, if you want I can—"

"Nothing good will come out of whatever it is you're going to say," Buffy said, a threat in her voice. "So stop it with the grotesque and let's motor."

"Fine by me," Spike said.

Buffy paused only to lock the door before striding down the walk to his car. She could hear his exasperated exhale before he followed.

The car ride to the airport was getting off to a nice, awkward start. The Slayer was as alert as usual, one hand resting on the passenger door handle as if she'd have to dive and bloody roll, the other was rifling silently through a small crate of tapes, making a point not to talk to him besides asking for something to listen to, obviously so she could fill up the silence.

Spike couldn't help but wonder if it would ever get less strange and uncomfortable, not to mention difficult, to be around her, just tantalizing himself. Every pore of him was screaming that she was there, urging him to take at least a little nibble. He bit the inside of his cheek and drummed the fingers of his free hand against his thigh, fighting back a lifetime's worth of Slayer triggered reactions.

Might be a bit easier if she'd quit the innocent suspicious act, he thought, glancing to her as she searched. To anyone else, she may have seemed a bit casual. To him…Spike could smell the faint sweat on her skin, see the tension in her arms and the point of her toes. He could feel the energy rolling off her in powerful waves. This was never going to work if she couldn't get over being such a stuck up, tight-ass, bitch Slayer, who never stopped to—

"I think it's safe to assume that you have, like, the worst taste in music," Buffy said, startling him. She picked up his Germs cassette and wrinkled her nose. "I mean, look at this. Minimalist, much?"

Spike smirked and grabbed it from her. "Don't judge a book by its cover, Slayer."

He popped it in and sat back, content to listen.

"That is not music," Buffy said after about ten seconds, going back to searching his collection. She shook her head and muttered, "Music has notes."

"There's notes!" Spike insisted. "Just gotta grow some tolerance, that's all."

But Buffy had already found a different tape. Richard Hell.

Might like that one, Spike thought with a strange amount of certainty. Dru had certainly had a thing for his stuff. She'd loved to bounce along to the number about the Kid with the Replaceable Head and would always fall over, giggling like mad at the end of it, clutching her own noggin as if it might fly off.

Spike's throat felt tight at the memory. Dru was growing fuzzier with each passing day. Oh, she wasn't fading. No. Still as dark and deadly as ever where she lived in his heart. Well, when he thought about her, that was. It was as if his brain was trying to bury the pain that came from remembering her. He took its advice and did the same, beating the hurt down with a shovel 'til it was a bloody pulp and clenching his jaw into a tight, hard line.

He refused to look even a bit poncey in front of the Slayer.

Yeah, Buffy would probably like this music a little better. But then again, why did he bloody care?

He was just going to kill her when Reverend Wanker was dead.

Don't give two pins for the bitch, he thought.

She switched the tapes out and listened a moment. Spike found himself staring at the thin line of her mouth, as if she were trying not to speak as the first song started up. She was quiet through that one, listening silently, and the cold hardness of her expression melted a bit into a subdued form of genuine curiosity. It was plain to him, no matter how hard she was trying to hide it. So, he was right. She did like it.

For some reason, that made him grin.

"So, when you were at the airport…" she said, as the final notes of New Pleasure played. "This shipment stuff is what was going on, wasn't it?"

"You mean, getting chummy with the fellas over some free market hoodoo?" Spike asked. She nodded and he shrugged. "Yeah, basically sums it up."

Buffy remained silent.

He still wondered why, even after all he'd been through since. Why she'd been so miserable when he'd last seen her in that bathroom. Sobbing and screaming and beating him more violently than she ever had before, or since. Even the memory made him shift in his seat. The look in those huge wet eyes, like a sodding kicked puppy on a crying jag. But if it had just been that, it would have been funny, a side-splitting way to take down the Slayer and paint Cleveland with her blood. Her hurt was deeper than that. The kind of pain she'd been in. Searing, harrowing, miserable… and alone.

Christ, he almost pitied her.

That thought left him a bit squirmy. Spike cleared his throat, disliking the unfamiliar feeling. The least he could do was change the subject. For the sake of both their buggering sanity. "You feeling ready, Slayer?"

"Three vamps and the elephant man?" Buffy said dismissively. "I think I can take it."

Spike felt a rush of adrenalin at the thought of what was to come. Finally, some bloody carnage, and maybe the chance to snack on a pilot or two caught up in the scuffle. Made him all sorts of giddy. "Well, I'm up for a spot of violence. So even if you can't bloody take them, you've got me."

Buffy relaxed a moment. Her hand wasn't resting tensely on the door handle and she didn't seem so lost in herself. For a moment, Spike thought she might actually look at him.

"Yeah. I've got you."

Buffy had insisted on correct parking, like a regular traveler taking a plane to New York or Los Angeles, or somewhere else this airport catered the masses. Spike forked over the fee for it with a reluctant fist.

"That was a bloody waste of money," Spike said, slamming the door a bit more forcefully than usual. It echoed around the parking garage, earning a judgmental look from a nuclear family with kiddies in flannel pajamas. He gave the snooty-looking mother the two finger salute and a flash of fang. She hurried her brood away as if he was a rabid dog.

Buffy crossed her arms. "Way to socialize."

"You know, you get this little wrinkle, between your eyebrows when I've brassed you off. Right there. Oh, yeah, that's the one."

That one earned him a glower. Eyebrow crease and all.

Sod it, they were fighting again. Buffy's brows furrowed and teeth clenched tight inside her pretty mouth.

"Come on. Gotta get there before Tusky makes the exchange," Spike said.

Buffy strode forward and Spike fell in step at her side, just slightly behind. Funny that it felt a bit better this way, her doing the leading. She marched ahead, looking ridiculously small and skinny doing so, but still, somehow like she was right in her element.

"The plane from Barcelona touches down in less than a half hour. We're going to have to find a way to sneak through security."

Spike smirked. He knew a good way, not that he'd ever tell the Slayer.

Take out each guard in a blood bath, that's what he'd do, one by one. Snapping necks and drinking deep from still twitching bodies. He was salivating, fangs prickling his lower lip, as he imagined it all. Their blood painting the pristine cleanness that all airports seemed to have, running in rivers as flight attendants dressed like it was nineteen forty-five screeched and ran—no fun if they didn't scream, after all—making him—

"Ow!" Spike reeled back, clutching his nose. "What was that for?"

"You vamped," Buffy said. She had a stake in one hand, and the other hovering protectively near her neck. "Check the bumpies."

Oh, so that's it then.

Spike wiped the blood away from his upper lip and felt his face crunch back to its human shape.

"Wasn't trying to bite you, Slayer," he all but growled, irritation rising.

"Right, and I'm a milkmaid from Sweden who sells charming homemade soaps."

Spike snarled and almost lunged for her. Could have ended it then and there.

Somehow, he managed to reign in his rage, but he spoke between clenched teeth. "Hate to break it to you, pet, but this, it's what I do. Take it or leave it, I don't give a bleeding damn. Just stop acting like I'm some human lackey following you on a charming mystery adventure, coming to you this Friday at eight o'clock. That rot couldn't be further from the truth, and you damn well know it"

Buffy's mouth dropped open, affronted, but Spike didn't care. He just wiped the rest of the blood away and glared at her, chest rising and falling roughly with unneeded breath.

"Fine," Buffy said. She was quiet, but not at all soft. Actually, the whole effect was sort of chilling. Tiny little thing with that much bite to her, shooting him glowers as if they were stakes. Her face darkened and she stepped closer, surrounding him with that rich Buffy-scent, warm like sunshine, and accompanied by hot surges of lust. "But don't make any wrong moves. Don't vamp in front of humans, and don't give us away to Malum's flunkies until I say so. Think you can handle that?"

Why did her demanding tone get him so hard so fast? Or was it just that face she made when she was angry or cold. It was a harsh reminder of how powerful these girls were. This one even more so. Must be why he got such a cockstand every time he was around her. Must be it. He shifted his coat and nodded carefully.

"Okay, yeah."

"Now, let's hurry. We're going to run out of time."

There was a time in her life when Buffy would have worried less about security.

Back in L.A. she'd shoplifted a little. Well, if those sunglasses when she was eleven and some lipstick to impress Kimberly and the rest of her friends counted for much. With the latter, she'd thought that, if on the off-chance she got caught, she'd play dumb blonde and hope for the best. It had worked for a few of her friends, and she had that to go on.

In a situation like this, with security guys looking all badge-worthy and official, with their earpieces and covert gesturing, that old assurance had gone out the window. This was something mega-illegal.

And now, two dumb blondes, she thought, I wonder if that excuse would work…

At her side, Spike seemed more confident than she did. Walking past security-types without even glancing at them, as if he were just another passenger on his way to a flight.

Well, of course he can do that, she reminded herself, evil, remember? He's probably had his share of breaking and entering.

There was definitely the one under his belt already.

Spike grabbed her arm and jerked. Buffy let the stake slide down her opposite sleeve, ready to strike, or at least threaten.

"Hey! Talk about the out of nowhere," Buffy said, gripping the stake in preparation to strike.

"Shh. Quiet, would you?" Spike said.

In one pull, he directed her over to one large glass window with a view of a nearby runway. Down below, Buffy could see the distinct outlines of three figures with teased hair, like cotton candy stuck on top of the sticks of their bodies. Malum's minions.

"There they are, the brainless buggers," Spike said. He released her and ran a hand over his hair. "Balls. We got here late. Demon's flight'll be in any time now."

Buffy grabbed his duster to drag him behind her. "Come on."

They neared security and Buffy paused. A line, guards, and no way through without waiting.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, but continued forward, hoping for innovation to strike.

And…I'm blank, she thought. Why hadn't she considered this? She was good at planning. She was.

Spike seemed to be noticing the problem too. He eyed the long line and cocked his head, squinting as if that was some kind of helpful. Which it so was not.

"Think I've got an idea…"

Buffy sighed and crossed her arms. "Oh, this should be interesting."

Spike scoffed. "Fine, if you don't want to know. I'll just head on home then."

"Just tell me before I make it a whole lot dustier in here."

Spike bumped her shoulder as he walked forward.

"Okay…" Buffy said slowly, frowning at his back. "Your brain does not resemble my brain."

Spike stopped and turned, hands in his duster's pockets. He nodded toward the line. "You coming or what?"

Buffy sped up behind him. "Unbelievable," she muttered under her breath. "Stupid dead guy…"

Spike paused maybe two yards away from the crowd of people, who were all talking in a buzzy chatter.

"So, this is it? We walk and stop? You know, I was expecting at least a little song and dance number between the walking and then the stopping. A jig, or, hey, maybe a rousing polka," Buffy said. Spike looked on the verge of talking again and Buffy cut him off with a gesture. "Look, what is it that you want me to do?"

Spike shrugged and began walking again. "Use your instincts."

"What's that supposed to—?"

Before Buffy could finish, Spike ran forward, right into the line, and knocked a young woman to the ground, struggling with her for a moment as the crowd reacted with screams. In the next second, he was up and running again. A guard pulled a taser and tried to grab his sleeve. Spike punched him hard enough to knock him out cold, and kept on going.

The girl on the ground screamed, "Hey, he got my purse!"

Buffy narrowed her eyes at Spike's back and broke into a run, leaping over the ropes of the security line and following the whiteness of his hair. In the distance, she heard the people in line cheer her on.

"Buffy Summers, folk hero," she muttered under her breath.

Up ahead, Spike sped around a large crowd. People just getting off a flight coming in from—

Bingo. Spain coming in for a landing. That's definitely our demon guy.

Buffy pushed around the sea of people, almost getting swallowed up by all the bodies. Sailing the sea of sweaty plane goers was not exactly the most pleasant experience.

"Excuse me," Buffy said, shoving past. "Ow, I'm sorry! Yeah, I'm sure they were nice shoes. Could you just let me through—?"

A hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her out from between the jerk with the Italian patent leather and the big one with the suit that made him look like the Green Giant.

Buffy ran a hand down the front of her rumpled coat. "You'd think that Slayer powers would come with some kind of crowd control, but no. Just squishing for Buffy." She stopped and adjusted her braid. "Why aren't I unsquishable?"

She finally took in Spike, standing there, all too cocky for someone who didn't want to get his butt seriously kicked after this, and swinging a small pink handbag from his index finger. Buffy snatched it back from him.

"You are sick. I can't believe you tried that crap. It was completely wrong," she scolded, watching as his lips curved up in a knowing smile. Buffy sighed. "However, despite your being prone to stupidity, that was…not entirely stupid."

Spike shrugged, mock-modest. "It's been known to happen."

"I'll try not to get too used to it," Buffy said, deadpan. She dropped the purse at the empty desk beside a door that the jet bridge would attach to. It was open just a crack, a soft breeze flowing through and ruffling Buffy's loosened hair.

Spike seemed to take notice of where her gaze was directed. He walked over and placed his hand just on the center of the door, pushing out.

Buffy walked closer and looked down. The jet bridge was already moving away from the airport and down below, all she could see was concrete.

"Big drop," she said.

"Mmhm. Sure is."

Buffy turned to him and raised an eyebrow. "You first."

"Later than usual, boys."

Ugly tattoos, ugly hat, Buffy categorized. What did Spike call it? A Rash…demon? Aptly named.

"Bad traffic."

"Stupid gits," Spike whispered harshly at her side. Buffy didn't want to deal with his special blend of irritation. She clamped a hand over his mouth, threatening him with pain-upon-even-a-squeak as best she could with her eyes alone and he seethed back at her.

Buffy mimicked a staking and then brought a finger to her lips. Spike raised his eyebrows high in surprise. She shot him a curious look.

He leered and mimicked her hand gesture in perverse, exaggerated glory, so she punched his shoulder hard.

She showed him where the stake was tucked in her sleeve and whispered, "You want a practical demonstration?"

Spike chuckled under his breath and touched his tongue to his teeth, one hand making a path down his chest. "Well, if you're offering, love…"

Buffy frowned, and then her eyes went wide as one big hand framed his crotch. Oh. "That is completely—"

She didn't really have words to describe the grossness of what that was, but she did give him two punches that were extra punchy, and straight to the nose.

Well, at least he can groan quietly.

They crouched low behind a small white vehicle with orange lights on the roof, which was currently dormant and parked. Airport personnel were all far off in the distance dealing with another flight, and leaving them alone with four figures close by. Buffy peered through one doorless side and out the other, barely concealed by a bench seat.

"Haven't seen your faces here before," rasped out the demon. "What happened to the regulars?"

"Milo and Indigo are dust," said one vamp, "Slayer got to them."

"Shame," the demon said, although he didn't sound very interested.

"Bleached guy's M.I.A. Idiot should get what's coming to him, though," said another.

Spike muttered under his breath, "Lousy with insults, the berks."

Okay, that she could agree with.

"So, what about the shipment? The boss's more than ready for this one," a minion said.

Buffy's eyes widened as the demon reached into his pocket and pulled out a package.

"Box?" Spike asked from beside her, his voice barely more than a breath on her ear.

"Paper-wrapped," Buffy whispered back. "They're starting the exchange. Okay, now."

The demon tucked the check that the vampires handed over into his pocket, and took another look at the package in his ruddy hands. "Well, boys. Last meeting. Parting is such sweet sorrow, and all that crap. I guess I'll be seeing you—"

Poof.

The first vampire was dust and Buffy was standing right in front of Tusky.

"Sorry, they aren't leaving with that shipment," Buffy said, hands on her hips.

The demon smirked. "And you are?"

"Pragmatically speaking?" Buffy said. "Yeah, I'm gonna win."

She ran forward at that, aiming a kick to the demon's head, avoiding any tusk contact, as Spike fought the remaining two vampires at her back.

The demon backed up as best he could without beings seen by the airport staff. He smiled a cryptic smile and reached into his coat. He pulled out a small orb on a silver chain and rubbed it between his palms. When he opened his hands, he tucked the orb into a pocket, and his fists were glowing.

"Slayer!"

Buffy ducked the demon's glowy punches and called back to Spike, "Kind of busy here."

"I'd avoid the day-glow mitts if I were you," he shouted back, sucker-punching one vamp and throwing the other into a small stack of plastic crates.

"No touching. Check," Buffy said, eyeing the demon's fists.

The demon smirked and swung again. Buffy ducked, eyeing the lump in his pocket. She kicked high and hit the amulet, shattering it, just as Spike staked one of Malum's minions.

The glow of his fists subsided and the demon growled. "You got any clue what that cost me, little girl?"

Buffy raised her own fists, prepared to give him a beat-down. "Let this be a lesson. Next time, invest in something not so breakable."

The demon growled and lunged for her, but Spike leapt on its back in a swirl of coat, holding its thick neck so that it choked and spluttered.

"Stake him!" Spike shouted as the demon bucked. It wasn't much bigger than Spike, but, considering its reactions, and his, it was a lot stronger.

"Not a vampire," Buffy pointed out, trying to find an in as the demon stumbled back and slammed Spike into the wall repeatedly.

"Doesn't. Bloody. Matter," Spike was able to shout between hits.

Buffy grasped the demon by its bulky coat and slammed the stake home into the center of its chest. Its eyes went wide in shock, mouth dropping open to reveal thick curved teeth. It coughed once, dribbling a blue substance of what must be its blood down its chin, before going limp.

Spike shoved the body off of his and let it land in a heap on the ground. He stood oddly staggered, as if there was a big pain in his right arm. Before Buffy could ask what, he gripped his shoulder and popped it back into place with a grunt.

"I staked him," Buffy said with a bit of disbelief. "And it…worked. I mean, no 'poof', but…"

"Yeah, well," Spike said with a sniff. "You'd be surprised the amount of beasties that'll kill."

"You speak from experience?" Buffy asked, her voice chilled, wondering if that was how he took out his Slayers.

Spike just gave her a snide smile.

"I've done my share of impalements." He finished the sentence in a low voice, as if it were a delicious threat, sending sharp shivers up her spine. They mixed with the usual tingles that came with his presence, and a chill passed through her so intense, that she was sure he could see her reaction.

Okay, ignoring all shudders.

Buffy just put her hands on her hips, feigning confidence. "Hence the name."

"Wish you'd stop doing that," Spike said dropping the seductive in favor of an irritated sigh. He walked past her to the demon's body and nudged it with the toe of his boot. "You sure those Council blokes didn't endue you with some kind of mind-reader perk? You're acting like a sodding telepath."

"Well, not to my very limited knowledge," Buffy said.

She walked over to his side and stared down at the demon's body, tilting her head.

"Unique choice of body mod," she said.

He snorted, as if she were joking. "Funny you should say…"

Spike cocked his head and reached down to open up the demon's coat, revealing the brown package. He handed it over to her with a shrug and pulled out the check the vamps had brought as well.

"Three thousand dollars?" he said in disbelief. "Well, whatever it is, must be a bleedin—hey!"

Buffy stopped unwrapping the paper. "When did I put annoying outbursts in your job description?"

Spike growled and snatched the package away from her, fangs bared. "Not having an outburst, you stupid bint. Got no clue what's in this thing, do we? And you were just gonna put your mittens on it like you don't already have more trouble than you can shake a stick at? Looks like curiosity might be what kills the sodding Slayer."

"I'm sorry; do you have enough metaphors in that sentence?"

"'s probably dangerous," Spike said, still breathing heavily. He looked down to the package in hand and frowned.

"Why do you care?"

Spike froze and turned to her with puzzled eyes. "Why do I what?"

"We're just going to try to kill each other when this is over anyway, that could have certainly sped up the job," Buffy said.

Spike sucked in his cheeks and drew closer. God, he was going to talk? Didn't he ever just stay quiet? When he took up some of her personal space, Buffy pushed him back and brought out a stake.

He laughed.

"Ooh, look at you," he said. "Like you'll do me in, here and now. Not bloody likely."

"Oh yeah?" Buffy said, not lowering her stake. "Try me."

"Not gonna break a promise, Slayer."

"It wasn't a promise, it was a ceasefire. I could make it a cease-ceasefire, if I wanted to. All it would take is one lucky shot," Buffy said, but she slowly lowered her stake and tucked it in her sleeve. Spike raised his eyebrows, face melting back to human. "But I'm not going to. Not now. Not when we're finally taking a step toward getting this truce over and done with."

"So I can kill you," Spike said, a slow hungry smile blooming on his face.

"I think I'll be the one doing the slaying."

Buffy didn't look away from his gaze, but kept hers cold and guarded. She didn't like the way it seemed he was trying to see through her, like he had X-ray vision or something. Worse, there was that…look. That horribly human look that he had down pat. He shouldn't be able to do that.

There was the tremor of something stiff shaking on the pavement, which finally drew Buffy's attention. The demon's body quivered for a moment and then dissolved into the pavement, leaving behind the wetness of what looked like drying water.

"Ew," Buffy said, disgusted.

"Least it's an easy cleanup," Spike said, with a careless shrug.

Buffy shook her head in revulsion and began walking off toward the parking garage, muttering her disgust, with Spike at her side.