Series: Mortal Allies

Story Title: Episode 4, My Turn

By: Passion4Spike

Chapter 30: Two Birds with One Scone

Chapter Notes:

Thanks to all of you for reading! It means so much to me, like deep fried Oreos for my muse! Sending all the sloppy, joyful doggie kisses to everyone who has left a note, a like or a kudo. I'm working on replying to all your lovely comments and treasure every one of them.

Thanks also to my wonderful beta readers and friends: All4Spike, Paganbaby, and TeamEricNSookie. Holi117 has switched to a pre-reader, which I'm so happy she's finding time for that. All mistakes are mine because I keep fiddling with stuff. If you see any, PM me and I'll fix it.

Chapter 30: Two Birds with One Scone

Spike couldn't wait for the impromptu dinner with Buffy, Joyce, and the Scoobies to be over. He'd had no idea maintaining his Big Bad air through the meal would be so bloody difficult. Buffy barely looked at him, didn't speak unless she was reprimanding him for feeding the mutt bits of grilled cheese and, despite the others keeping up a jaunty banter, the whole room felt stifling.

He watched Buffy, only looking away on the rare occasions when she turned her eyes to him. She was smiling and even laughing at things her friends said, but there was something off. Like his own demeanor, hers was a façade. He knew what his was covering up—hurt from her rejection—but what was she keeping walled away? He prided himself on being able to read people, but the more he got to know this Slayer of his, the more of a mystery she became. What the hell was going on inside that pretty little head of hers?

Spike sighed and dunked his sandwich into the mug of blood before taking another bite. Maybe one of the redheads could help him suss her out.

When everyone had finished eating, Buffy, Joyce, and Willow began clearing the plates, while the wannabe carpenter took his wood scraps back to the staircase to double check the color and grain, leaving Spike and Oz alone in the dining room.

"Can I ask ya something, just between you and me?" Spike asked.

Oz gave him a laconic smile, looking around the empty room. "I think you just did. Unless there's a ghost in here, or you know, an invisible high school student, which, hey, Sunnydale, definite possibility."

Spike rolled his eyes. "You've known Buffy a while, yeah?"

Oz shrugged. "Pretty much since her last birthday bashing. Though that was more of a blast, I guess… with the whole rocket launcher thing."

Spike suppressed another eye roll. "How would a bloke… what would be the best way… What I mean is, just how…?" He sputtered to a halt, having no idea how to ask his question without sounding like an utter git.

Oz waited a few uncomfortable moments before he nodded knowingly. "Wait for her to come to you," he advised. "You know how cats are that have been hurt or abused? You try to approach them, they'll run away; if you corner them, they'll attack. But if you wait, if you put out saucers of cream, back off, and show them they can trust you, just let them come to you, then they'll be yours forever."

Spike's brows furrowed and protective growl burbled just below the surface. "The Slayer's been abused?" He'd rip the wanker limb from limb.

Oz shook his head. "Not like that—not on the outside."

Spike pursed his lips, realization dawning as he began nodding slowly. Her trust abused... her heart. Fucking Angelus, and her pillock of a father, and then her Watcher. So, wait for her to come to him, eh? But wasn't that what Spike had been doing? Hanging about, helping? How much more bloody cream could he pour on the stubborn bint before she'd realize she could trust him? That he wasn't going to turn on her like sodding Angel with his detachable soul.

He considered Oz's words and thought about the scene in the bathroom. He'd certainly had her trapped, not quite cornered, but near enough. Lucky she'd decided to bolt instead'a fight, he reckoned. He would've gone down like a dead tree in the shape he was in. He took a deep breath and made a new plan. Set out the cream and back away next time.

A sudden image of Buffy being drenched in a completely different type of 'cream' flashed through his mind, making his cock hard in an instant. He nearly moaned aloud, but reined it in, envisioning her smooth, golden skin coated in their mutual bliss, glistening in flickering candlelight. He could almost feel the slickness beneath his fingers as they glided over her overheated flesh, almost taste the salty sweetness of her on his tongue.

Spike swallowed and shook the visions away, turning his attention back to Oz. "Keep this between us, mate? Wouldn't want to spook 'er and make her bolt."

Oz nodded. "Wolf-vampire confidentiality applies."

"Ta."

"I would like to ask you some questions one day… if you're feeling up to it," Oz continued.

Spike arched a brow.

"It's about… inner demons and leashes," the wolf continued.

Spike shrugged. "Know where to find me," he agreed as the women came back into the room with mugs of hot chocolate.

"I thought we could start the celebration early," Joyce explained. "Plus, I don't have anything else in the house for dessert. My cupboards are bare," she laughed. "I'm not sure where everything went."

"Cough—Xander—cough," Willow muttered, making everyone chuckle.

"What's the joke?" Xander asked as he came back in from the foyer.

"Nothing… nothing at all," Willow said innocently, passing out the steaming drinks.

When they all had a mug, Joyce raised hers in a toast. "Happy belated not-birthday, Buffy. And thanks to all of you for making it possible. I don't know what we would've done without all your support and sacrifices."

Responses of 'cheers' and 'here-here' filled the room before everyone drank, Spike's eyes never leaving the Slayer, the wolf's advice slowing turning over and over in his mind.

* X-X *

Willow was waiting for Buffy on the front steps of the high school the next morning. "You've been holding out on me, missy!" the redhead accused, pulling Buffy with her into the school and directly into the girls' bathroom.

"What are you talking about?" Buffy asked, following along in her friend's wake.

Once assured no one else was in the restroom, Willow whirled on the blonde. "There was Spike kissage? Why didn't I know about Spike kissage?"

"What? No!" Buffy denied, her face suddenly flaming with color. "There was no kissage! Where did you hear that?"

"Oz told me—he heard Spike say something about a 'perfect kiss' and you called him 'buckaroo'. What does that mean, anyway? Was there more than kissage? Was there… riding?"

Buffy's eyes went wide, and she began to splutter incoherently. "No, no, no!" she finally gasped out. "No riding!"

"But there was kissage?" Willow pressed. "Cos Oz seemed pretty sure."

Buffy took a deep, calming breath, her shoulders slumping. She had to start remembering about Oz being able to hear—and smell? Well, that was just disturbing—as well as Spike could. "There may have been a very slight, almost-kiss… b-but it wasn't kissage in the traditional sense," she admitted. "And absolutely nothing else."

"So, the science experiment is back on? And you're jumping ahead and not telling me?!" Willow accused.

"No, no… there is no jumping and no experimenting," Buffy claimed. "Spike's not… he's... I just can't."

Willow's face scrunched up in confusion and consternation. "But, why? Did he not like the kiss?"

Buffy shook her head, turning away from Willow and moving over to the counter to set her books down. "It's not that, it's just, that's all he wants… you know, the jumping and the kissing and possibly the riding, but not the hearting, and I don't know how to do that," she admitted with a sigh, lifting her gaze to look at her friend in the mirror.

"How do you know that? I mean what he wants?" Willow wondered, meeting Buffy's eyes in the reflection.

"Because he told me…" Buffy began, turning back around and telling Willow the story about Faith and the bathroom and the stuck zipper.

Willow listened, only asking questions occasionally, then finally, when Buffy finished, she said, "So, that's why you were both so… avoid-y at dinner last night. I don't think you guys said ten words to each other all night—and four of them were, 'Stop ruining my dog,' when Spike gave him some of his sandwich. Which was gross, by the way, cos he'd dipped it in blood. Ewww."

Buffy rolled her eyes, her arms crossed over her chest defensively. "And now he's gonna be here another week because someone invited him to my… to our celebration of National Hot Chocolate Day," she related dourly.

"Oops?" Willow guessed meekly, but then rallied. "But you hadn't told me about the—"

"When was I supposed to tell you?" Buffy interrupted, flinging her arms out. "There hadn't been any time."

"There was time to tell me about the kiss," the redhead asserted with a pout.

"It wasn't a kiss… it was just a… mistake."

Willow sighed heavily, looking at her friend. "Are you sure? Because if it didn't mean anything, then why all the awkwardness and you sneaking looks when you thought he wasn't looking at you and him sneaking looks back. If it didn't mean anything, then why the weirdness?"

"It can't mean anything," Buffy whispered, feeling her spackle and paint beginning to peel and crumble as tears threatened her eyes. "If I let it mean something, then what happens when the newness wears off and he moves on?"

"But you don't know if that will even happen."

Buffy shook her head, swallowing back her emotions and fortifying her façade. "It's just better if it doesn't mean anything."

"Better for who?" Willow wondered sadly.

Buffy shrugged. "Everyone."

* X-X *

As she headed to the cafeteria at lunch, Giles called down the hallway, "Buffy!"

Buffy considered acting like she hadn't heard him and hurrying away, but the sound of his cane striking the linoleum made her stop and turn around. 'What now? Please don't let there be an apocalypse yet, I'm so not ready for that.' "What's up?" she asked, trying to sound chipper.

"Could you stop in the library after school. We… errr… have some things to discuss."

At her incredulous look, he added, "Like getting back onto a proper training schedule and your interviews with Angel… I realize I am no longer your Watcher, but I feel obligated to act as such until a replacement arrives."

So, now, as everyone else was heading home for the day, Buffy was trudging toward the library, Slayer duties back on the schedule. On the plus side, it would be easier to avoid Spike here. As soon as she stepped into the library and the door swung closed behind her, she froze. "Oh, hell no," she declared, shaking her head vehemently. "Veto—I veto you. Go home. Send someone else."

Lydia stood up from the research table, her impossibly smooth, blonde hair pulled back into the same severe bun she'd worn at the conclave, her blue eyes shadowed behind horned-rimmed glasses, her storm-cloud grey skirt suit prim and proper.

"Buffy," Giles said, coming out of his office. He was moving slowly, clearly limping, but had forgone the cane. "I'm afraid you cannot—"

"I am not here in the capacity of Watcher," Lydia broke in, straightening her glasses as she stepped forward. "I am simply here to ease the transition between yourself, Ms. Lehane, and the new Watcher when they arrive. This will involve reviewing the resources available to you and Ms. Lehane, to assure you are properly equipped and prepared so that you may, as they say, hit the ground running."

"—exercise your right to veto," Giles finished with a sigh.

Buffy crossed her arms and fixed Giles with a 'you have got to be kidding me' expression. "The Council is nothing but a bunch of lowdown, two-faced, cheating cheaters," she accused. "I should've known."

He shrugged and rolled his eyes with a sigh.

The woman ignored her, continuing her spiel as if Buffy hadn't spoken. "In addition to the research library, I will require access to your training facilities, and your armory, as well as your… allies. Including the souled vampire, Angel, and…" The woman cleared her throat, straightened her back, and adjusted her glasses again. "…William the Bloody."

Buffy's eyes narrowed as she glared daggers at the woman. What the hell was with her and Spike?

"I assume that will not be a problem," Lydia continued, meeting Buffy's icy stare.

"Angel's M.I.A," Buffy informed her flatly, ignoring the whole 'William the Bloody' request. "I went by his house a couple of days ago and he wasn't there. I left a note but haven't heard from him."

Lydia's and Giles' faces turned into twin expressions of concern.

Lydia spoke first, her voice shaky and stammering, "D-do you think… that is, could he h-have… is it possible that Angelus is… back?"

Buffy shrugged. "Knowing Faith, anything's possible, but I doubt it. If Angelus was back, he'd be here, you know… menacing us… killing our goldfish."

"Goldfish? Faith? What would Faith have to do with—" Lydia questioned.

"There is a theory…" Giles put in, "…that Buffy is presently working on, which postulates that for Angelus to be set free, he would need to find his… err, 'perfect happiness' with a Slayer."

Buffy's face suddenly burned in embarrassment and she shifted from foot to foot, clutching her books to her chest like a shield. Of course, this woman likely already knew about that. It was probably in Giles' diaries. That made her stomach clench. Her love life detailed in someone else's diaries. That was just wrong. Everyone knew what she'd done by now. God, how mortifying.

"I… see," Lydia breathed, dropping her gaze uncomfortably. "You don't think he's been dusted, do you?"

Buffy took a deep breath, her dignity clutching at the unexpected turn in the conversation. She pursed her lips. She actually hadn't even considered that Angel could be dust. It was Angel. He, like Spike, just wasn't that easy to poke sharp sticks into. She shook her head slowly, relaxing fractionally. "I think Spike would've known if Angel was dust," she offered tentatively. "It's a whole blood-line thing. And no way he wouldn't have mentioned it… hell, he would've crowed it from the rooftops, knowing Spike."

"So, you're saying William the Bloody does not get on with Angel?" Lydia asked, suddenly animated. She turned and hurried back over to the table to retrieve her journal and a pen.

"That would be one way to put it," Buffy agreed. "Hating each other's undead guts would be another." Her brows furrowed as the other woman began scribbling frantically in the journal. "What's with the sudden note taking? Is there gonna be a quiz?"

Lydia started, looking up at Buffy, her eyes wide behind her glasses as if caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "I, err, well, that is to say, I wrote my thesis on William the Bloody. I thought I could confirm some of my conclusions about him and his family, or what's left of them… Angelus… err, Angel and Drusilla. I understand The Master and Darla have been dispatched."

Buffy's brows rose, her arms still crossed over her chest. Spike totally had a groupie—maybe even a stalker—and Buffy, for one, didn't like it one little bit. "I thought you wanted to talk to Spike because of the truce-y, mortal allies thing we've got going on," Buffy pointed out.

Lydia shifted self-consciously under the Slayer's scrutiny. "I simply felt I could use this opportunity to update my information for further dissemination to the Council. It's a purely academic interest. Of course, my primary objective here is to assure that you—"

"Hit the ground running. I know," Buffy interrupted. "But you Council people never just do one thing when you can kill two birds with one scone. How many other little birdies do you have hiding under your tweed that I need to worry will swoop down and pluck my eyes out?"

The other woman cleared her throat and straightened her spine, meeting Buffy's gaze levelly. "I assure you there is nothing whatsoever to worry about. I have absolutely nothing beneath my tweed," she declared, then blinked. "Except perfectly respectable undergarments," she added with a flush of rose to her pale cheeks. "There are no… birdies."

Buffy snorted, unconvinced. She looked over at Giles, who shrugged again. "So, is this the reason you wanted me to come by? You don't have any three-headed acid-snot demons for me to slay, or something else fun like that?"

"I'm afraid there are no snot demons, just Miss Chalmers, who asked to see you as she begins examining our library and… smoothing the way, as it were," Giles revealed, waving a hand at the table, piled high with books of every imaginable size and shape.

Buffy lifted her chin and fixed the woman with an impertinent gaze. "Well, that doesn't involve me. I'm the muscle of the operation, in case you forgot. Maybe that hairdo cut off the circulation to your brain."

Lydia stiffened even more, if that was possible. "Section 4.22.9 of the Slayer Handbook states that the Slayer should be capable of (a) properly interpreting prophecies and devising defenses to thwart them, (b) identifying demons based on physical descriptions and powers, and determining the most expedient method of dispatching them, and (c) researching and performing at least basic magical spells, such as a tracking spell," she explained haughtily, running a hand over her perfectly smooth hair.

Buffy's glare shifted to Giles again, her brows raised. He sighed, removed his glasses and began cleaning them vigorously with a handkerchief. She looked back at Lydia. "I can do those things… mostly. I've absolutely done the thwarting stuff. I'm big with the thwarting. Also dispatching—top of my class. And I've totally done the demon ID thing." She switched to Cave-Buffy speak, aping, "Words bad. Pictures pretty." Returning to her normal voice, Buffy shrugged and continued, "And I have Giles and Willow for the other stuff. I don't have to do it. You know, it's the whole divide and conquer rule."

"'Divide and conquer…'" Lydia explained pedantically, "…means that you create dissent within the ranks of an enemy, thus dividing them. You therefore win by getting your opponent to fight among themselves, leaving them unprepared to battle you."

Buffy frowned. "Oh… well, maybe it's the 'spread the love' principle then," she suggested with a confident smile and nod of her head. "Or the 'three heads are better than one' thing. Unless the three heads are on a demon you're dispatching. In which case I'm pretty sure if you just cut them off with a big ol' axe, the thing will die, thus not requiring any of the other stuff anyway. Ta-da! My thwarting here is done," she announced, brushing her hands together in front of her as if removing the toil of her hard work.

With a wide grin, Buffy spun on her heel and headed for the doors, her boots clacking loudly on the tiles.

Lydia blinked at her. "I… ummm…" she stammered, looking to Giles for help.

The man slipped his glasses back on and gave her a sardonic smile. "Welcome to the Hellmouth," Giles said cordially before turning and limping back toward his office, leaving Lydia standing there alone.

"This is quite irregular," Lydia muttered, looking around, at a complete loss as to what to do next. "Yes, quite irregular."

* X-X *

Lydia was seated at the research table, cataloging the myriad of tomes to be certain the Slayer had a well-rounded library—even if, apparently, the Slayer never used it—when Willow came in.

"Heya," the witch greeted her. "You're that woman from the Council."

"Lydia Chalmers," the blonde agreed, looking up at the girl from behind the stack of books. "And you are Willow Danielle Rosenberg, one of the Slayer's allies. The aspiring witch."

"Oh, well, I mostly just go by 'Willow'. No need to be so formal and, uh, descriptive," she replied.

"Lovely. Then you may call me Lydia."

Willow nodded, her eyes scanning the books. "Is there a research party that I wasn't invited to?" she wondered, frowning.

"A research… party?" Lydia questioned. "You… indulge in parties while researching?"

Willow shrugged, coming up to the table. "Well, not like, keggers or anything, just pizza and soda… maybe donuts, you know, to get us through the really boring stuff."

"Mr. Giles allows food around the books?" the older woman asked, aghast.

"Oh… oh, um… no. No, no… no food around the books," Willow backtracked quickly. "Food is nowhere near the books. Books and food, totally unmixy."

"It's quite alright, Willow," Giles assured her, hobbling out of his office. "Miss Chalmers is not the book police."

Willow let out a breath of relief, her panicked expression softening. "Thank goodness. I was picturing armored cars and book-respect reprogramming in some dark, dank dungeon in England, with unsanitary manacles and a lack of tidy restroom facilities."

Giles gave her an indulgent smile as he made his slow, painful way up to her. "Miss Chalmers is simply cataloging them, to make sure we have a proper library for the new Watcher. As if, somehow, I'd been remiss in properly maintaining an adequate selection of volumes and codices to assist my Slayer in… thwarting evil."

"Thwarting?" Willow asked, raising her brows.

Giles just gave her a saccharine smile, while, from behind the volumes and codices, Lydia huffed. "Was there something you needed?" he asked the redhead.

"Oh! Yeah! I saw a recipe and spell for a healing balm for deep lacerations in one of the magical herbology books a while back. I was thinking it might help Spike… you know, with the healing?" she explained.

"Are you certain you are feeling up for more magicks already?" the ex-Watcher asked with concern. "That backlash from the counter-spell was quite powerful."

"Oh, I know, but I'm feeling totally hunky and dory now," Willow assured him with a wave of her hand. "And this isn't that strong of a spell. I think the herbs and stuff do most of the work. I just can't remember now which book it was in…"

"I believe you are speaking of 'The Green Witch's Compendium of Healing Through Botany and Mystic Energy,'" Lydia offered, shuffling through the stacks to find the one she wanted.

Giles and Willow approached the table as Lydia pulled a thick book out from the pile and held it up. "You know, I am a dab hand at spells myself," she offered pretentiously. "Perhaps I could work with you on it, and we could talk a bit about your role in the, errr… Slayer's circle of allies."

"Oh, uh…" Willow stammered, looking at Giles for approval. He shrugged his assent. "Okay, sure, if you want. But we're called the Scoobies," she corrected.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The Slayer's allies? We're called the Scoobies, or the Scooby gang," Willow clarified.

"Sku bees?" Lydia repeated dubiously.

"You know, from Scooby Doo? The Scooby gang?" the girl continued.

"I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that reference. Is it Roman or perhaps from the Ottoman Empire—?"

"It's a Saturday morning cartoon," Giles explained dryly, turning to shamble back to his office. "You're in America now. Please do try to keep up with the culture, Miss Chalmers."

* X-X *

Joyce looked up from her paperwork when Buffy came into her office at the back of the gallery. "Oh my gosh, is it that late already?" she asked, looking up at the clock. "Where does the time go?"

"I think that question is a little beyond my pay grade of grocery-shopping assistant," Buffy replied lightly, leaning her shoulder on the doorjamb as Joyce began gathering up papers from her desk and placing them into folders. "But I hear that time is an illusion and everything—past, present, and future—is actually all happening at once."

Joyce shook her head. "I certainly hope not. I can barely handle the present."

"Giles says some demons can control it, make it fold in on itself so you jump around, back and forth in time," Buffy revealed.

"That sounds quite unpleasant."

Buffy snorted. "Avoid time-shifty demons. Noted."

Joyce continued shaking her head as she began putting the folders into her briefcase. "I guess I should count myself lucky that the only demons I've had here today are these misfiled invoices. I can't tell what's been paid and what hasn't, or what got paid twice. It's such a mess!"

"Also, above my pay grade," Buffy asserted, suddenly afraid her mom would ask her to help with that, like she'd asked for help with restocking the bare cupboards. "But I can totally help you tackle the shopping mission that's in our future at the Safeway."

Joyce nodded, standing up. "I think it might take Slayer strength to push the cart—we're out of everything, it seems. Are you feeling up for that?"

Buffy gave her mom a reassuring smile, though her jaw still ached a bit with the movement. "Not sure I've got Slayer strength yet, but dutiful daughter reporting for duty."

Joyce smiled as they turned and headed out of the office toward the back door and the employee parking. "Daughter is more than enough."

* X-X *

As her mother studied an assortment of condiments, Buffy returned to the cart with her arms loaded down with breakfast cereal. "We're set for breakfast," she announced, dumping the colorful boxes into the buggy. "Got everything covered from Cap'n Crunch to Wheaties. What's next?" she asked, coming to stand by her mom and see what she was pondering.

"I was thinking about some other things to get Spike to go in his bl—" She stopped and looked around nervously to see if any other shoppers were nearby. "To go in his drinks," she amended, seeing a family not far away. She knew that he needed blood to heal—the more he drank, presumably the faster he would heal, and the sooner he could go back to Dru. And, more importantly, away from Buffy's fragile heart. "He seems to like spicy stuff…" Joyce continued, waving a hand at a shelf of pepper sauces. "What do you think?"

Buffy scanned the selection, her eyes drawn to a bottle of Pineapple and Habanero hot sauce. She plucked it off the shelf, trying to remember why it seemed so familiar. Then it came to her—the dream about the Council coming, Spike and her mom were having a taste-test and this was one of the flavors—one he'd seemed to like, that he'd asked for more of.

Buffy read the label:

'Kick up your favorite dishes a notch with this mouthwatering hot sauce. A pairing of sweet pineapple and bold habanero, it's an excellent marinade for all your meat or as a fiery topper for sweet potato fries and nachos.'

"Sweet and hot," Buffy murmured mostly to herself. "That describes Spike to a T..."

"Beg pardon?" Joyce asked, looking at her.

Buffy jumped, looking up, having almost forgotten her mom was there. "Oh, umm… sweet and hot," she repeated, holding the bottle up for her mom to see. "Spike likes sweet and hot stuff… like the peppers in the hot chocolate thing. He might like this one."

Joyce nodded and took it, along with a couple of others, and put them in the basket. "Okay, time to tackle the snack food aisle. Xander's going to be in and out for a while repairing the windows and the woodwork, so I want to have something for him to nibble on."

Buffy snorted at the thought of Xander 'nibbling'. Xander wasn't a nibbler—he was a devourer. "We might need another cart," she only half-joked as they started moving again.

* X-X *

"It doesn't look like Mrs. Summers is home yet," Willow told Lydia as they headed up the front walk to 1630 Revello. "Buffy said they were going grocery shopping after school, so she's probably not home either."

"Whose car is that?" the other woman wondered, indicating the large black DeSoto in the driveway.

"Spike's."

The Council woman stopped in her tracks, turning to fully face the behemoth of a car. "William the Bloody's?" she clarified, starting for the car in an awed, slow-motion daze.

"Yeeaah," Willow confirmed, dragging the word out almost into a question as she stopped as well. "But I thought we were here to, you know, do the healing thing, not ogle big, ol' monster-mobiles."

Lydia quickly rummaged around in her purse, pulled out a small camera, and began snapping photos of the car from all angles.

Willow's brows went up. "Or doing photoshoots of old cars," she added, confused.

"Just take a moment. Do you think he would mind if I looked inside?" Lydia wondered, reaching for the door.

"Spike gets cranky when people touch his car," Willow warned. "You wouldn't like him when he's cranky. It tends to involve fangs and bloodshed."

Lydia stopped, her fingers barely touching the door handle, and swallowed. "B-but Mr. Giles explained there was a truce with the Slayer."

"Sure, for now," Willow agreed with a shrug. "But that could end, and I get the feeling he can hold a grudge. Best not to chance it."

The blonde jerked her hand away from the car, looking around worriedly.

"If this healing goo works, he'll probably let you ride in it—but I wouldn't touch it until he says it's okay," Willow advised.

Lydia hurried back to the walkway, shoving the camera back into her bag. "Do you think… I mean to say, should we wait for the Slayer before speaking to him about applying the unguent? Do you think it's safe?"

"Well, the truce is still in place, plus Spike's here—the other, less grumpy one. He can handle grouchy vampires. We'll be fine," Willow assured her as she mounted the stairs, knocked on the door, and waited.

And knocked. And waited.

And knocked.

"Hold yer bleedin' horses!" Spike complained from inside as Willow began the fourth round of vigorous knocking. The door swung open to reveal a displeased looking vampire who was clutching his ribs and glowering at them. "What the bloody fuck, Red?" he demanded. "You lot just walk in 'ere at all hours of the day and night, but now you decide to make me traipse down the stairs in the middle of the day to answer the sodding door?"

Willow gave him an apologetic smile. "Well, it's not just me. This is—"

Spike's angry glower fell on Lydia and he cut in, "Council." The single word held so much wrath and venom it made the blonde take a step back.

"Yes, yes… Council: bad. But she's been helping," Willow defended immediately, stepping between the vampire and the older woman. "In fact, she helped me make some healing salve for your—" She waved a hand at his bare torso, which looked like a shark had taken a few bites out of it. "—everything."

"Did she, then? And what's the base… holy water?" he asked disdainfully, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

"Noooo," Willow continued as Lydia fidgeted with her glasses and smoothed her perfectly smooth hair. "It's really good. It'll help—it's magic."

Spike blinked and turned those laser blue eyes back on the witch. "Magic," he said almost as derisively as he had said 'Council'. "You wanna coat me in magic goo, eh?"

"Well, um… yeah, that was the idea," Willow agreed, wringing her hands anxiously.

"So you can heal me. Just outta the goodness of your heart?" Spike continued dubiously. More likely the Watcher had put these two up to it to get the 'house guest' outta here. Well, they could just sod off with that bollocks. He'd been invited to the Slayer's party and he was bloody well stayin'. He couldn't very well give the Slayer some space and time to come to him, like the wolf had advised, if he wasn't here.

"Well, yes," the redhead said again. "Cos, you know, you helped and you're a… friend?" The last word was a bit of an unsure squeak.

Spike eyed her, taking in her skipping heartrate and nervous tension—almost always a sign of a bloody liar. "Magic ain't free—know that much. Always has a price. Got a fair demo of that just a coupl'a days ago," Spike continued.

Lydia finally joined the conversation, lifting her chin bravely and taking a half step forward. "We've been quite diligent in paying the price to the goddess in advance," she assured him, holding up her left hand and showing a fresh, red slash across her palm. Willow did the same. "We've offered our blood for the power granted—there will be no further price. The unguent is perfectly safe for vampires and I'm very hopeful that it will also prove to be extremely effective."

Spike looked from the woman to the girl then down at his ravaged body. While he was healing, it still hurt to move, like a lot—which is why he was so angry they'd made him come all the way downstairs from his room and open the bleedin' door. And it certainly didn't look like his body. Some areas were sunken and others were swollen, leaving hills and valleys of ugly, barren decimation, as if a war had been wagged atop his abdomen. To top it off, the whole area was still covered in bruises, angry, reddened slashes, and barely healed gouges.

He pursed his lips, thinking.

"It would be quite an honor for me personally if you would allow us this opportunity to prove helpful, Mr. Bloody," Lydia added, a rosy blush coloring her cheeks.

That got Spike's attention. He looked up, head tilted, studying her with a penetrating gaze. "Would it, then?"

"Y-yes… quite," she stammered, lowering her eyes and fiddling with the high neckline of her shirt.

He looked back at Willow, who gave him a hopeful nod and an eager smile. "I think it'll really help," she assured him. "You want to be able to dance at Buffy's… at the National Hot Chocolate Day shindig, right?"

"Thought it was gonna be a hootenanny," he pointed out.

Willow grinned. "Even more reason to be able to dance… you know, maybe with the un-birthday girl?"

His interest was suddenly piqued. Was the little witch helping him with Buffy? Not trying to get rid of him, but actually on his side in this… this confusing, pinwheeling dance with the Slayer?

Willow apparently felt Lydia's rapt attention on her as well and added hastily, "Y-you know, as friends do." But her expression and her glittering eyes, which only Spike could see, said something else entirely.

He returned his attention to the other woman. "And your name, luv?" he asked, softening his expression and giving her an appreciative, leering once-over, which rarely failed to gain him an in with the ladies... or men, depending on their predilection.

"L-Lydia," she answered, her voice wavering slightly as she stepped from behind Willow to extend her right hand. "Lydia Chalmers. Archival Research Inquisitor, Second Class. Currently assigned as Field Technician and Liaison."

"Liaison, is it?" Spike asked, in a sexy rumble, making the word sound like silk and honey. He took her proffered fingers lightly in his and raised her hand to his lips, touching a tender kiss to the soft skin above her knuckles. Not a fighter. No calluses on her fingers, no scars on her knuckles. Probably first time in the field and no training for it. "Have we met before, pet?" he wondered, releasing her hand. His head tilted to study her flushed complexion and racing heart, his bright, glittering eyes locked on hers.

"N-N…" Lydia cleared her throat and gave him a self-conscious smile. "No, I haven't had the pleasure. I, well, I wrote my thesis on you," she admitted shyly, dropping her head, and looking up at him through her lashes.

No doubt about it, the chit had a bloody crush on him. "Well, well. Isn't that neat," Spike purred, his eyes sparkling with the possibilities that opened up.

"I-I was hoping that you might favor me with some of your time to... to conduct a proper interview. I thought you may be able to fill in some blanks for me. Perhaps confirm some of my conclusions and suppositions," she continued hopefully.

"Might be able to arrange something, pet," he agreed with a flirtatious smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling adorably. "But I suppose we should try this magical goo out, eh? See how it works?"

"Oh, yes, of course! I'm quite confident that it will perform exceptionally," she gushed. "May we come in?"

Spike stepped back, holding the door open for the two women. "Walk into my parlor," he murmured. 'Said the spider to the fly.'

Willow cut her eyes at him as she passed by, anger flaring in their green depths. Spike gave her a conspiratorial wink and shrugged one shoulder. She frowned then, seeming confused, but the flash of fury had softened. It was clear she didn't exactly understand what Spike was doing, but seemed to get that the flirty-flirt thing was an act.

"I think we should do this in the bathroom," Lydia was saying when Spike closed the door. "It may be a bit… messy."

Spike sighed, looking up at the interminable stairs, which he'd only just managed to come down. "Be a pet, and show the lovely Miss Chalmers where it is," he said to Willow. "I'll be along in a mo'."

"Oh, please, call me Lydia," the woman corrected with a girlish giggle.

"Lydia, then," he agreed solicitously, meeting her eyes again with adoring regard.

"Oh, I thought… didn't you go up the stairs yesterday?" Willow asked, apparently reading his initial expression of dismay.

"Just takes a bit of effort. I'll manage," he assured her.

"I guess we could go outside… in the yard or…" the redhead began.

"Out where the sun is?" Spike questioned, arching a brow at her. "Must be some good magicks if it's gonna heal dust."

"Oh. Right. I forgot." Willow cringed. "I guess the bathroom is the best option, then."

"May I be of some… assistance?" Lydia wondered with another bashful look. "Contrary to appearances, I'm actually quite strong."

Spike's charming smile was back. "Well, aren't you just full of surprises?" he rumbled. "I'd be much obliged for a shoulder to lean on."

Lydia beamed, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she handed Willow her bag. Spike could see the blonde's pulse thudding gloriously against the high collar of her shirt, making his fangs itch and his mouth water in autonomic response. The alluring rise and fall of her chest with each breath, along with the unmistakable scent of arousal, didn't go unnoticed either.

Before, she would've made an easy target—almost too easy—and quickly become a tasty treat.

Before.

Before Sunnydale.

Before Buffy.

Before green eyes staring up at him, cold and accusing. Green eyes that would not leave him be. 'It's not fair!'

Spike shook those thoughts off, keeping his well-practiced, flirtatious persona at the fore. Just because he had no plans to drain her didn't mean the chit couldn't be useful in other ways.

Willow shot him another confused and irritated glare, but Spike ignored her, giving Lydia a sultry look as he draped an arm over the other woman's shoulders. "Shall we, pet?"

Lydia began to speak but only a breathy gasp escaped, words having abandoned her. She simply nodded and they started up the stairs. William the Bloody was right here! He was even more striking than the blurry, faded old tintypes she'd uncovered or the drawings and written descriptions from the Watchers and Slayers who had encountered him over the decades. The few that had lived, that is. Not only handsome, but charming too—which she'd guessed at from her research, but had never been able to sufficiently confirm.

Lydia stifled the pleased sigh that arose in her throat as they made their way up the stairs. William the Bloody had his arm around her, his bare chest pressed against her tweed. He'd kissed her hand! She was never washing again—not her body or her clothes.

End Notes:

Will the magic goo work? Will Spike be healed? Will he run off with Lydia and make pretty babies? (Probably not that last one).

Thank you so much for reading and for your patience as I try to catch up with your wonderful comments! I thought things would slow down a bit for me, but so far no luck with that. But I'll get there – I love reading all your notes! They keep me inspired!