A/N: Erm, so I kinda put off posting the next chapter for, oh... three years. Oops. Sorry about that. Real life was, um, real. But I did promise myself to never leave a permanent WIP, and the story has been finished (if not posted) all this time, so I have no excuse.

I have read and appreciated all the reviews that readers have left on this story and others during my fandom hiatus, even though I haven't responded to most of them. I used to make it a point to answer every single review because, hey, thank you for reviewing! But obviously I've stopped doing that, and I can't promise I will get back to answering reviews. Real life continues to be very real. I want you to know I cherish every singe one, though. So thank you in advance (and belatedly!).

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When she met Spike back downstairs, he'd acquired a large bag from somewhere and was in the process of stuffing the book he'd been reading earlier into it. From the various bulges in the canvas, it wasn't the only of Mr. Herrington's items he'd helped himself to.

Seeing as she'd been eating the dead shopkeeper's food, Buffy couldn't exactly take the moral high ground. But she didn't feel right about letting him rob the dead, evil or otherwise, so she settled for crossed arms and a disapproving look.

"What?" Spike said.

She should've known it would be pointless to try to guilt-trip the guiltless. "Never mind. You sure you don't need to sleep first, or something?"

"Worried about me, are you?"

"Less than you'd think."

Spike zipped his bag, and grinned at her. "I'm touched. Let's go."

They stopped on the way out of town – best stay in the car, Slayer, 'less you're itching for a brawl – so Spike could pick up a meal to go, as he put it. The corner of his mouth was crusted red when he returned, and he seemed far too satisfied with himself for Buffy's comfort, but he brought back a carton of blood with him so she let herself believe he hadn't snacked on anyone inside the bar. After all, it was rare to find humans in a demon joint, or at least that had been the case back in Sunnydale.

"You think we'll make it back before the news does?" she said once they were on the open highway.

He didn't answer, only pressed harder on the accelerator, and the engine growled at the sudden burst of speed.

"Hey, slow down! What if you get pulled over?"

Spike reached under his seat, and came up with a… "Is that… a fuzzbuster? The Big Bad has a fuzzbuster?" Buffy said, so surprised she couldn't help but laugh.

It seemed wrong to laugh, too soon after Acathla, and she stopped abruptly.

"I can kill cops, or I can outrun them. Or," he said, sticking the fuzzbuster to the window and turning it on, "I can avoid them altogether. I'm evil, not stupid. Sometimes it's easier to be practical. Especially as we've no time for distractions."

Buffy shook her head, still bemused. Spike was full of so many contradictions, she couldn't begin to understand him.

The hum of the engine soon had her feeling sleepy, and as they had at least twelve hours to go, a nap seemed a good way to fill some of those hours. She climbed into the back with the usual warnings to Spike to keep his fangs to himself, and settled in, a stake in each hand.

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Buffy woke with a start, chest heaving, heart pounding. She sat up quickly, wiping at her damp cheeks with the back of her hand. "Where are we?" she croaked.

"Getting close." Spike glanced over his shoulder at her. "You look like hell."

"I know you're soulless, but do you have to be a jerk too?"

"Just telling it like it is."

He adjusted the rearview mirror, but without a reflection, Buffy couldn't see what he was looking at. She hoped not her as she scrubbed at her face and ran her fingers through her hair.

"So what did happen with our old friend Angel?"

Buffy froze, fingers mid-comb, chest constricting.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

"None of your business," she bit out. "It's over; that's all you need to know."

"Hey, I'm just trying to make conversation here."

"Well, don't."

"Bitch," Spike muttered. He snapped the radio on and scanned the stations until he found something loud and obnoxious, then turned it up full blast and screamed along with it as they flew down the highway.

She stuck her fingers in her ears, but it didn't help. Spike lit up a cigarette, and Buffy didn't have enough hands to cover her nose too. "I guess the honeymoon's over," she grumbled, less surprised at his terrible taste in music and more so that he hadn't inflicted it on her before now. At least not at these decibel levels. She cracked the back window, then rolled it down another inch when she saw that the incoming sunlight slanted the wrong direction to hit Spike. Not that she would've minded him going up in a flash of fire, but as they were doing a hundred on the freeway and his supernatural reflexes were the only thing keeping them from certain death, it seemed inadvisable.

When the traffic became too congested for Spike to maintain his speed, he lowered the music and said –

Wah WAH wah, wah wah WAH wah.

At least, that was what it sounded like to Buffy's ringing ears. She massaged her eardrums and said, "Sorry, what?"

"I said, we're getting close. Any place in particular you want me to drop you off?"

"Wait, what?" She scooted forward so she could lean over into the front seat. "I thought we were going to –"

"We are. But first, I've got to poke around, hit the locals for information. Find out where the bugger is. And you won't be much of a secret weapon if you're traipsing around with me, now will you?" He slanted her a look then went back to squinting at the traffic. "So where can I drop you?"

Buffy sat back, arms crossed. She didn't like being left behind, but then, Spike had a point. "I don't know. Can't I just stay in the car?"

"No," he said curtly, without further explanation. "Where d'you hang your hat? I'll leave you there."

"Nowhere." He twisted to look at her, eyebrow cocked, and she said, "I was staying at a… motel. But I checked out."

"I'll drop you at another, then."

"I don't have any money." She'd used up the rest of what Spike had given her to buy his blood in Portland.

Spike reached into his pocket and handed back a roll of bills. "Take it."

Buffy didn't move. "This is starting to get uncomfortable, you giving me money all the time. And where did you get all this?"

"From Herrington's safe." He shook his hand at her. "Just take it, would you? Consider it payment for services rendered."

She smacked him upside the head, traffic be damned. "Gross, Spike."

He turned to look at her again, tongue curled. "Someone has a dirty mind. I meant for helping me kill the Grdnith, Slayer. Seems only fair you get a cut of the spoils."

"This is so wrong," she said. But she took the bills when he shook his hand at her again. It was that or have absolutely no money and only equally dubious ways of acquiring it.

Should she insist on paying him back? Normally, she would've. But since he'd stolen the money in the first place, from somebody who was dead at his hands and possibly evil on top of it…

Buffy rubbed her temples. She preferred her life in black and white, good and evil. Slayer, and vampire. Dealings with Spike seemed to always end in a sludge of mixed-up grey that made it way too difficult to figure out what was right and what was wrong where he was concerned.

Spike pulled to a stop, and peered through the windshield. "Sign says vacancy," he said. "Mind the sun when you get out. I'll be back in an hour or so."

"It'll still be sunny then. How will you –"

"This place has sewer access. I'll find you."

"Um. All right then." What else was there to say? Buffy cracked the door and slid out, hauling her duffel after her. Spike zoomed off the second she'd shut the door, leaving her to stare up at the motel he'd chosen for her in dismay.

Hourly rates. Always the mark of a quality establishment.

Buffy was extra glad she hadn't asked Spike how he knew this place had sewer access. Putting the thought out of her mind, she adjusted her duffel and went inside.

"Hourly, daily, or weekly," the attendant said, not even looking at her.

"Er –"

He glanced up from his magazine, annoyed, and then gave her the once over with a smile that Buffy didn't want to contemplate. "It's four-fifty an hour."

"What? Ew, no, um, a daily. One day, please." Paying by the hour was just – too gross.

"Sure, toots. Twenny-nine dollars. Cash." He flipped open a ledger, and pointed to a line. "Contact information here."

Buffy hesitated, then signed in as Anne, no last name and no other information. The attendant didn't even look at what she'd written before he snapped the book shut and held out his hand for payment. She rooted around in her duffel and peeled two twenties off of the roll Spike had given her.

It barely made a dent in the roll. Assuming all the bills were twenties, she'd be able to afford that dank little hole in the wall as soon as their truce was over, and a sackful of groceries on the side. Maybe even a tea cozy and a doily or two to cheer the place up. That was – good, actually. Nothing but good, she told herself firmly.

She handed the bills over and waited for her change and the key, and then went searching for her room, trying not to make eye contact with anybody along the way. Buffy unlocked her door and was hit with the overpowering scent of stale cigarettes and staler perfume. Ugh. The ceiling creaked rhythmically with whatever was going on in the room above her. Outside, sirens wailed, and people shouted and cursed. Buffy sat on the very edge of the bed, afraid to touch anything, and glanced at her watch.

Three o'clock. Even if she had been tired, which she wasn't after sleeping on and off most of the way back to Los Angeles, she wouldn't have dared to lie down on the greyish, threadbare sheets she found when she turned down the dingy coverlet. They looked clean, sort of, but…

Buffy took her change and went in search of a newspaper. She could pass the time looking through the classifieds, since she'd definitely need a new job after not showing up to the old one for several days in a row. She also needed a place to stay, and, thanks to Spike's sticky fingers, wasn't desperate enough to stay at this place a moment longer than necessary. As far as dank little holes in the wall went, there was dank, and then there was dank.

Spike rapped on the door to her room a few hours later. "Found out what club the git will be at later on tonight." He shouldered past her and threw himself down on the bed, sending up a cloud of dust. "Wake me 'round midnight if I'm not up."

"How'd you find me?" Buffy said. She hadn't used her name at the desk, but maybe Spike had given the attendant her description.

He tapped the side of his nose twice, putting that theory to rest.

"Ew."

"It's what I do, pet. Now shut up and let a bloke sleep, there's a good Slayer." Spike bunched the pillow under his head and threw his arm over his eyes without sparing her a second's more consideration.

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