.
Spike's condescending dismissal raised her hackles to fully hackled, but Buffy clenched her fists and counted backwards from ten, then from twenty, until the urge to punch him had passed. She'd gotten to nap the day away while he'd driven twelve hours straight and then… done whatever it was he'd done in the last few hours. He'd earned a little cantankerousness.
But now she had six hours to pass, and nowhere to pass them since Spike had taken the bed. All that was left for her was the floor or the edge of the tiny sink. There wasn't even a proper bathroom; that was a shared affair down the hall that she hadn't yet had the courage to investigate. With a sigh, Buffy took another twenty from the roll and went out to scrounge up some dinner, and maybe scout out some of the close by rooms for rent.
She eased herself back into the room around eleven, slightly fatigued from so much walking but more heartsick than anything. Searching out addresses hadn't been near distracting enough, and the condition of most of the rentals, once she'd found them, had only added to her funk. Buffy thought of her comfortable, safe, clean room at home with a pang of longing.
If you walk out of this house…
But she had. She'd walked out. Turned her back on her mom, and then all of Sunnydale. And now she had to just – deal with it.
In the dim light filtering through the curtains, Buffy could just make out Spike's form. He sat up as the door snicked shut, silent and fluid, eyes glowing amber in the darkness. She held her breath, hoping the predator in front of her wouldn't blindly attack out of sleep-addled confusion. After a long minute, he blinked and lay back down, still without a single sound.
Buffy let out her breath. For a moment, she considered taking a seat on the bed – it was surprisingly generous, and it would be easy to claim her own little corner without having to be too near Spike. She'd be no closer to him than when she'd ridden in the front seat of his car for hours at a time. In the end, it smacked too much of an intimacy she would never, ever claim with the bleached menace, no matter how many truces they declared or how long they fought against common enemies in almost amiable synchronicity. It would've been wrong on too many levels to count. Buffy sank down onto the musty carpet in the corner closest to the door, arms around her legs and head resting on her knees so she didn't have to lean back against the wall, and tried to think happy thoughts – or at least non-Acathla-related thoughts.
The cheap, single-paned windows didn't even pretend to block the noises from the street below. Buffy listened to the blats of the horns and wails of the sirens as she drifted in and out of a half-sleep, mind rolling down the same pathways of the past two weeks. If only she'd been quicker with a kick here, or faster to stake there… gotten to the mansion a little sooner, or gone straight for Angel instead of the minions…
After half an hour, she had to get up and move. She stood and stretched out the cramps in her back and legs, and after checking her watch and deciding that it was close enough to midnight, whispered, "Spike?"
He didn't stir, so she flipped on the light. He sat up with a yell, and then blinked at her, shielding his eyes from the overhead light. Buffy turned it back off with a muttered apology, but quickly flipped it once more when her Spidey senses went haywire. She could hear Spike moving, but she'd lost her night vision and couldn't see him. At all.
"Oi, give a fellow some warning," he said, hand up again.
From where he stood, right next to her.
Buffy took a hasty step back. "So what's the plan?" she said to cover the sudden pounding of her heart. Stupid vampire-y vampire.
Spike yawned and stretched, and shook his head like a sleepy lion. "Give me a mo', eh?" He stretched again, hands clasped and palms reaching for the ceiling, making his t-shirt ride up and his jeans ride lower. Buffy blinked, and firmly did not notice that the evil undead had abs any living man would kill for. Nope, the only thing she noticed was that, other than the residual scarring, Spike had healed up nicely from Furry's gratis appendectomy despite her limited Florence Nightengaling. Yay for him.
"Right," he said, scratching absently at the scars. "Tenobit and his entourage will be at some shindig at The Velveted Unicorn tonight. Swank place, invite only. Word is they'll be heading for the after party sometime around two. There's no sewer access, so they'll have to come topside, and when they do…"
"We're just going to, what, Al Capone them in the street? Drive-by slaying?"
"Well, yeah. Far as I can tell, nobody's got a clue about you. Should be easy enough to waylay them and take them out before anyone's the wiser."
Buffy had a sudden vision of Spike in a double-breasted suit and a snappy gangster hat, toting a tommy gun. Maybe sporting a pencil-thin mustache, but in glossy black, with hair to match. Like Clark Gable. It was surprisingly easy to imagine.
Less easy to imagine was herself as gun moll by his side. "So how big's the entourage? And what about bystanders, or anybody who decides to jump in on the action?"
"We'll figure it out as we go." He grinned. "That's half the fun, isn't it?"
"Yeah, I don't think you and I have quite the same idea of fun, Spike."
"More's the pity, love. But if it makes you feel better, he won't be near as protected as his brother seeing as he's not the big cheese. Maybe a half dozen of them all together. The Archduke's a different story entirely, but luckily we're not worried about him."
Buffy went to her duffel. "I don't even know how we kill these guys. They are demons, right?"
"Baddest of the bad, pet, straight from the legions of hell. An' the usual will do the trick. Stab 'em in the heart, cut off their heads, turn 'em into demon flambé. Let's avoid that last option if we can, at least anywhere near yours truly."
"Oh, I don't know, charbroiled Spike sounds like fun to me."
Ignoring his growl, she slipped a knife into her boot and a pair of stakes into her waistband, then grabbed the short sword that had been so ineffective against Furry but had otherwise never let her down. "What about you?"
Spike pulled the dagger they'd used on Furry out of a pocket, then tucked it back away. "Already set." He led the way down the hallway and out of the motel, and down the street, setting a brisk pace.
Buffy looked around for his car. "Uh, are we walking?"
"It's not that far."
"But driving's faster." Plus, she had blisters on her feet from her earlier long walk.
"Car's in the shop," Spike said, and shot her a sour look to remind her of why it was in the shop.
Sorry was on the tip of her tongue, but she still couldn't go there. Buffy grumbled under her breath and hurried to keep up with Spike's long, easy strides, wincing when her boots rubbed at her blisters.
Every time they crossed a street and started down a new block, she had to bite back the urge to ask if they were there yet. She regretted not changing into her sneakers before they'd left, but then, she hadn't known Spike was going to take her on a second walking tour of L.A.'s sketchiest neighborhoods. It was going to be all his fault when her feet were too bloody and raw to get good and kicky.
At least the locals gave them a wide berth as they passed. She hadn't been so fortunate the first time around, but Spike was giving off major predator vibes, strong enough that her own nerves were practically screaming at her to hurry up and either fight or flee the killer strutting at her side. It dialed the Slayer in her up to max setting, which seemed to have a similar effect on Spike as he did on her if the covert looks he kept shooting her were any indication.
Or maybe the berth was due to the sword she had slung over her shoulder. Either way, it felt good to walk tall and strong, shoulders back and chin up instead of the listless trudging she'd been doing of late. Even her blisters hurt less, minor concerns in the face of going up against evil and doing what she had been Chosen to do.
A single vampire was slow to catch on to their body language. It rushed them, fangy and grr, nothing but bloodlust in its eyes. Spike clotheslined the vampire, Buffy executed a spin-bend-stake combo, and they continued on their way without breaking stride. With anybody else, Buffy might've felt a sense of breathless exhilaration at how naturally they worked together. With Spike, she filed it away with all the other surreal and to be forgotten experiences, much as she had after they'd effortlessly dispatched that vampire on her mom's front porch.
Another block, and he slowed. Buffy looked around but didn't see any signs of the fancy club he'd mentioned. All she could see were dilapidated tenements and sketchy pawn shops. Buy! Loan! Sell!
"Are we here?"
"Just about."
She looked around again. "And… there's a club here?"
"Not up here," he said, waving his hand at the buildings. "Down there." Spike pointed at a downward stairwell she'd missed, up tight against a nondescript building and hidden by deep shadows. "There are wards to keep the riffraff out, or from even noticing it. Unless you know what you're looking for."
"But no sewer access?" Seemed like an underground club ought to have sewer access.
"Nah. Something about keeping the wards tight, from what I understand."
Two blocks down, Buffy could see a woman in a short skirt and fishnets plying her trade as a car slowed and pulled up beside her. A group of young men in hoodies and low-slung pants loitered under a streetlight a block in the other direction, but the street was empty in their general vicinity. If it was the wards at work, they were definitely effective, and solved her concern about passersby becoming embroiled in the slayage.
She glanced at her watch. Half past midnight. "So what now?"
Spike tapped out a cigarette from the pack he'd withdrawn from his pocket, and lit it with a snick of his lighter. "We wait and watch for a bit."
Buffy looked around at the empty street. "Watch what?" she muttered.
She turned to Spike, repeating her question more loudly, but he'd disappeared. "Spike?" She could sense his presence so he had to be close by, but he'd done his creature of the night thing and melted into the shadows. There was a faint glow of red to her left and the crackle of paper burning as he took a drag on his cigarette. Buffy concentrated on the cigarette, and the vampire holding it snapped into focus.
"I know you're young yet, but surely you understand the concept of what we're doing here?"
"Waiting. Watching. Got that part down. It's just –" She waved her hand at the complete lack of anything worth watching.
Spike shook his head. "Bloody hell, Slayer, you're making me look patient, and that's a trick and half."
Said the vampire who at least had smoking to occupy his time. It almost made Buffy wish she smoked, just to have something to do too while she lurked about in the shadows. The thrill of the hunt was already wearing off, and her blisters were back to making themselves known, along with every other ache and discomfort – which included her annoyance with Spike. "I just want this over with, so I can be done with you for good."
"Feeling's mutual. And yet, here we are." Spike took another drag off his smoke, then crushed the butt under his boot. "Would it help if I told you a story to pass the time?"
"No!"
"Too bad. Here's one: there once was a girl who –" He leaned in close, right up in her face, nostrils flaring. "– learned to sit quiet, like a little mouse, and be patient."
"And, hey, there once was a vampire who gave a rousing rendition of 'Dust in the Wind'. Guess who had front row seats?" Buffy said, whipping out her stake.
"Yeah, well –"
Buffy raised a warning finger, gaze focused behind him and across the street. "Look," she hissed, jerking her head in the direction of the stairwell to the club.
.
