Mortal Allies Series

Episode 5

War and Roses

By: Passion4Spike


Chapter 2 – Loyal Puppy


Chapter Notes:

I am overwhelmed by the amazing welcome back this story has gotten! Thank you all so much for waiting so long for this update to the series and not giving up on our good boi!

Thanks again to my wonderful betas, MissLuci, All4Spike, and TeanEricNSookie. All mistakes are mine cos fiddle, fiddle, fiddle.


Buffy had been buzzing with excited nerves since finding the note from Spike on her dresser when she got home from school, inviting her out with him tonight. But now, sitting in his car as he turned onto the steep road that led up to the bluffs over Sunnydale, those nerves turned from excitement to fear. There was only one reason people went up there, and it wasn't to admire the view. Buffy swallowed hard, her body going stiff in the passenger's seat as Spike's destination became clear: the overlook also known colloquially as 'Lovers' Lane'.

The giddy, new-love butterflies had followed Buffy around all day, and had only grown more enthusiastic when she'd returned home that afternoon and found his note. The dating part of dating Spike was about to commence! He'd said to dress casually, and, despite a worried flashback to the 'casual dress' date with Percy, this time her date had been more than appreciative of her attire. It was one of her new purchases from the mother-daughter trip to the mall, a periwinkle-blue knit halter paired with dark slacks and kicky ankle boots. When he'd emerged from his room after sunset, Spike had given her an appraising, head-to-toe leer, which had made her heart race and her blood sing. When his eyes tracked back up to meet hers, he pronounced her 'bloody beautiful' in a voice that could've melted the polar ice caps. Talk about global warming! She'd brought a black leather jacket with her too, but it had been warm enough in the car to not need it.

Unfortunately, it seemed to be getting warmer by the moment—or maybe that was just her. She felt flushed and just a tiny bit queasy, like she'd actually eaten the greasy pizza in the school cafeteria at lunch.

Despite the nervous tension, the evening thus far had been going well. They'd left the house a bit after dark, leaving a note for her mom. Then a quick stop to pick up the food and drinks, and Spike insisting they not eat yet—that he had a destination in mind.

Gulp.

Buffy thought of the books she'd borrowed from the used bookstore that afternoon. Okay, well... she stole them. Just exactly how anyone expected her to actually stand in line and pay for 'The New Joy of Sex: A Gourmet Guide to Lovemaking for the Nineties' and 'Kama Sutra for Beginners' was beyond her. She would've died from embarrassment. So, she'd slipped them in her bag and dashed out of the store when the clerk was busy helping someone else. The books were waiting for her, hidden in her panty drawer, but she hadn't had time to study yet! She had barely scanned them, and that scan confirmed what she already knew: she was totally unprepared for a pop-quiz on Lovers' Lane!

Spike heard Buffy's heart rate begin to skitter and skip as he turned onto the winding road that would lead up to the overlook, then her body went rigid with tension, and perspiration bloomed on her skin, despite the cool night air. He reached over to turn the setting on the heater down, and she flinched away from him, pressing herself against the passenger door. Bloody hell! What had he done now to get the kitten wanting to scamper?

Things had been a bit tense to start, jittery nerves on both their parts, but as they'd ordered food at the drive-through, everything seemed to settle into something more natural. It had been what the witch had said—how Buffy had seemed to enjoy the road trip—that had given him the idea to fall back onto some familiar ground.

But he didn't want to sit in the sodding parking lot by the highway and eat. Firstly, any of the Slayerettes could find them there, and he didn't want any interruptions. He didn't care if there was a sodding apocalypse with a capital 'A', he didn't want the white hat mob running up and stealing her away. Secondly, it was just bloody common. Then he remembered this spot up above the city—nice view o' the lights and the stars, quiet, and best of all, not somewhere they'd be stumbled upon by her groupies or her Watcher.

But clearly, his plan was backfiring. How did his plans involving the Slayer always seem to get so cocked up?

Spike pulled into the clearing at the end of the narrow road and came to a stop far away from the other cars, put the DeSoto in park, and cut the engine and headlamps. Buffy didn't move, didn't speak, so neither did he. They both sat stone still, staring out at the streetlights of Sunnyhell, which were spread out like a blanket of glittering stars beneath them. The tension between them felt like an electrified wall, buzzing with anxiety, and threatening ruin, and Spike had no idea what to do to fix it. Fuck!

Buffy's nerves clanked and clattered in her chest and roiled in her stomach as everything went still and quiet in the car. Being a Monday night, there were only a couple of other cars parked along the bluff overlooking Sunnydale. Except for the faint light of the dashboard lights, the only illumination up here was from the stars overhead and the city lights glowing below. The only sounds were distant and muffled by the heavy growth of bushes and trees surrounding the bluff. Well, not counting Buffy's heart thudding away against her ribs, her pulse rushing through her veins, and her breathing, which had suddenly become shallow and sharp.

Buffy's throat felt tight, which she was pretty sure was a bad thing, and she wondered if spontaneous human combustion was a real thing, because if it was, she was on the verge of it. The air was thick and warm in the car. The windows were starting to steam up already and they hadn't even done anything remotely steamy yet. Oh God! He thought she was ready—she'd practically jumped his bones last night and stuck her tongue down his throat and asked him to go steady and now he thought she was ready.

She was sooo not ready for this.

A sudden growling bark shattered the strained silence with a vengeance. Buffy and Spike both nearly jumped out of their skin as the tension shattered with the force of an atomic bomb.

"Bloody hell!" Spike exclaimed, his demon bursting forth in response to the surprise attack.

Buffy jerked away from the deafening sound, cracking her head on the closed window. "Ow!" she whined, rubbing the bump that was sure to form.

They both turned accusing eyes on the source of the disturbance—a furry beast that was leaning over the front seat, snuffling his nose down toward the bags of food that were stacked between the Slayer and the vampire.

"Spike! No!" Buffy commanded, pressing her dog back away from the enticing aromas of cheeseburgers.

"Best start doling out the grub, pet, 'fore the bottomless pit helps himself and eats our portions as well," Spike suggested as his demon faded into the background once again.

Buffy felt most of the tension drain from her body, the sudden return of normal conversation helping to ease her nerves. "I don't know why you got so many," Buffy complained as she began pulling cheeseburgers, fries, and onion rings out of the Burger King bags.

"Well, had hoped to have one or two left for us, if I'm honest," Spike explained, grabbing a pack of onion rings from her.

"He doesn't need all these, though. He'll be sick... or worse, he'll start growing again."

Spike chuckled, his worry fading slightly as they found familiar conversational ground to tread. "Ya don't reckon he's actually stopped growing, do you? Not even a year yet."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Don't remind me," she muttered.

"Wasn't me that promised him all the cheeseburgers in town," Spike reminded her, taking a sip from the drink he'd had wedged between his thighs.

"How did you even know about that?" Buffy wondered as she found her chicken sandwiches and fries and put them on the dash, out of the dog's reach.

"The mutt told me," Spike revealed, giving her a smug smile as he took the proffered Whopper with cheese from her.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "What are you, Dr. Doolittle now? Do you speak to all the animals?"

"Na, seems t' be limited to ones whose owners fancied me so much they named their little furball in my honor," Spike explained as Buffy got out a couple of burgers for the dog and started breaking them into bite-sized chunks for him. Not that the still growing puppy couldn't swallow one of the burgers whole, she supposed, but in the interest of trying to keep him from puking it all back up. "Did you and yer mum ever settle on the color o' my eyes?" the vampire asked nonchalantly.

Buffy looked up at him sharply. "What are you talking about?"

"That night—when I brought your mum out to Crawford Street—as you two were leaving, you were having a bit of a row 'bout the color o' my 'dreamy eyes'," Spike reminded her, shifting said eyes, now glittering with amusement in the dashboard lights, over to her.

"You were listening?!" Buffy squeaked, feeling her cheeks begin to flame again. "What else did you hear?"

Spike smirked. "Something 'bout a certain young lady ogling my goods. Lucky for the mutt, that. Be a sin to saddle him with 'Little Spike' for a moniker."

"Oh, my god," Buffy muttered, covering her face with the hand that wasn't now covered in slobber and hamburger grease.

Spike laughed and began unwrapping one of his burgers. "Was flattered, if I'm honest," he admitted, still smiling, as he cut his eyes over at her. She was so bloody adorable when she was embarrassed. "Can't say I didn't notice a few tasty tidbits about you at the time."

Buffy lowered her hand from her face, looking at him dubiously. "Like what?" she asked, breaking off another bite of burger for the slavering hound that was panting and drooling all over the front seat.

Spike shrugged. "The way you moved was the first thing. When I first saw you at the Bronze, when you were dancing with your mates, then later when you were fighting. Grace and power all wrapped up together, but still tinged with a bit of unspoiled innocence. A tasty morsel, you were. Bloody hell, I wanted you."

"You wanted to kill me," Buffy suggested.

"That I did, Slayer, that I did," he agreed in a sultry purr that had her insides quivering. He looked over at her, his gaze adding more tinder to the coals that glowed low in her belly. "Glad I never managed it."

Buffy ducked her head, grabbing a few fries for the dog and holding them up to him. "That gladness goes both ways, vampire," she confessed, glancing up at him through the fall of her hair. "What else?" she prompted softly.

"Your eyes. Flashing with green fire, they were. And your lips, so soft and pink but set with a single-minded determination as you fought. And that hair o' yours. Wanted to run my fingers through it, see if it was as soft and silky as it looked."

Buffy bit down on her bottom lip. "And, is it?" she asked shyly.

Spike grinned. "Silkier... softer, like liquid gold flowing through my fingers," he vowed, reaching a hand out to touch her, but the cheezeburger monster was blocking the way, his massive head and neck hanging over the seatback, scarfing up all the bits that Buffy was giving him.

Spike sighed and pulled his hand away, turning back to his meal.

"I never knew," Buffy admitted, opening yet another burger for her dog.

"I hate being obvious. All fang-y and 'grrrr!' Takes the mystery out."

Buffy snorted, rolling her eyes. "Obvious? You? No, never!" she chided, a smile lurking at the corners of her mouth.

Spike grinned smugly. "Well, didn't matter at the time, did it? One of us should'a been dead a long while back."

Buffy nodded, giving the dog some more fries. "Weird how that worked, isn't it? How we could never quite get in that fatal blow?"

"Weird... yeah, I reckon you could say that," Spike agreed, taking a bite of his burger.

The other Spike wolfed down the last of his food, licking his lips and panting happily as he eyed Buffy's sandwiches. "Forget it," she admonished him. "You already ate my fries."

When the dog eyed Spike's onion rings, Buffy shook her head. "No way, they make you fart like a horse... a very stinky horse with onion farts."

The dog huffed out a resigned sigh and backed up. When he flopped down onto the seat the whole car rocked on its shocks.

Buffy looked down at her hand and the seat between her and the vampire, both of which were covered in slobber. She pursed her lips, maybe that was a good thing. Spike would have to cross a sea of gooey dog spit to get to her this way. That could put anyone out of the mood... right?

"Got some o' those wet wipes in the glove box," Spike told her, lifting his chin in the general direction.

"Oh. Great," she replied flatly, reaching for the latch. So much for the river of spittle separating them. "You're all with the preparedness. Must be those Boy Scouts you ate."

Spike grinned. "Must be having the great slobbering git in the car for a sodding week. Didn't think I'd ever get the stench o' dog spit outta the leather."

Buffy chuckled, pulling a few of the wipes out and cleaning the seat and her hands with them. "Serves you right for threatening him in order to make us go with you to rescue Dru."

"Not how I recollect it. Weren't any threats—offered you a chance t' keep the mutt safe is all," Spike sniffed.

Buffy rolled her eyes, shoving the used towelettes into one of the empty Burger King bags. A soft snore was rising from the backseat, Spike had already zonked out. Five Whoppers with cheese and a pack of fries would do that, she guessed. She turned in the seat and put her back to the door, facing the vampire, then resettled her drink between her legs, which were folded in front of her. Finally, she retrieved her first sandwich from the dash.

"Funny how we don't seem to hear or remember things quite the same way, isn't it?" she asked, unwrapping her sandwich.

"Can't help it if listening to boy bands at an impressionable age has left you addled before your time, Slayer," Spike taunted, turning in his seat to mirror her, back to the door, though he left one booted foot on the floor.

"As if!" Buffy refuted, finally getting a bite of her first sandwich. "It's clearly too much punk music and peroxide that's got your brains scrambled and your eardrums scarred."

"Was able to hear you and your mum well enough," he pointed out. "And ya never did answer my question."

"What question?"

"'Bout the color of my eyes," he reminded her, blinking innocently before offering her some of his onion rings.

"Ocean blue," she replied without hesitation, plucking one of the rings from the pack. "Bottomless and ever-changing. Depending on the light and your mood, they go from a stormy blue-grey to the aquamarine of a serene lagoon and everything in between. They can be hard like arctic ice or shimmer with the gentlest hues of a sandbar beneath a warm, shallow ocean. My favorite is when they're like warm pools of tropical seas that make a girl want to sink into them and float away."

Spike arched a brow at her. "Given that a bit of thought, have you?"

Buffy blushed and ducked her head, her hair falling over her face. "Shut up."

Spike chuckled, taking another bite of his sandwich. "Could make a poet outta you with all that nattering," he observed.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "That's encouraging coming from the guy who thinks dirty limericks are epic poetry," she scoffed.

"There once was a chit from Sunnydale," Spike began with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"I don't even want to know what you're going to rhyme with 'Sunnydale,'" Buffy warned him, taking a bite of the onion ring.

"Jail, ale, tail..." he started.

"Stop already!"

"Nail."

"Spike!"

"Impale."

"I am so serious," she threatened.

"Oi! I listened to your prattle, didn't I?" Spike pointed out with a chuckle.

"Are you making fun?" she pouted.

Spike suddenly became serious. He shook his head, his eyes drifting into soft shades of wonderment. "Never, luv. Just took me by surprise is all. Hidden depths and all that. Was very poetic... even if I'm not the best judge. Don't believe anyone's ever cared enough to think that hard 'bout my eyes before."

"That's a shame," Buffy breathed, feeling herself being pulled into them even now. After a few silent moments she shook herself and announced, "My turn."

Spike raised his brows in question.

"You asked a question, now I get to," she explained before finishing the onion ring.

"Seems fair," Spike agreed. "Hope I don't disappoint. Set the bar pretty high with that soliloquy."

"It's not a competition," she countered.

Spike snorted. "Everything with you is a competition, luv. I'm always just scrambling to keep up."

Buffy felt inexorably pleased by that, but tried not to show it. "Just be honest and you'll score high marks," she advised.

"Reckon I can do that," Spike agreed, taking an onion ring and popping it into his mouth whole.

"Where did you get that scar... on your eyebrow?" she asked, tilting her chin at the spot in question.

Spike raised a hand, running his fingers over the familiar 'X' scar over his left eye as he chewed and swallowed the food. "China."

Buffy waited, but nothing more was forthcoming. "I give you 'pools of tropical seas' and you give me 'China'?" she protested.

"Thought it wasn't a competition," he reminded her, a teasing smirk curving the corners of his mouth.

She scowled at him. "Don't be shirty. Spill."

Spike grinned at her—it'd been a test—and the Slayer had passed with flying colors. He felt a warmth blossom in his chest, joining the one that was already burning there from her description of his eyes. The pleasant feeling had nothing to do with the temperature, but with the fact that Buffy really wanted an answer. She wasn't just passing time or making meaningless small talk.

"Slayer I took out during the Boxer Rebellion gifted me with it."

"Xin Rong," Buffy filled in, having found the name during the research she and Willow had been doing.

"Never caught her name," Spike admitted. "Was a hellion with that sodding sword," he said fondly, his eyes becoming distant, as if seeing it all again. "Had me dead to rights, she did. Just got lucky, is all... me that is. 'Course, didn't admit that then—thought I was some sodding bad ass. Master vampire at twenty—offed my first Slayer. Dru was so sodding proud. That was as much of a high as that first taste of Slayer blood. Was sure that would win my dark princess' heart, get all thoughts of 'daddy' outta her system." He shook himself and refocused on Buffy. "Probably not what you want to hear," he realized, averting his gaze.

"It's okay. I asked, I want to know," Buffy assured him as she thought of what Spike had said about Dru—about Angel having her heart, about how Spike finally realized she could never truly love him. She remembered how tenderly he'd treated Dru on the road trip, about all the small courtesies he'd shown his 'princess', things Dru never seemed to really appreciate or even notice. Had everything he'd ever done been for Drusilla? Had he sought out Slayers just to win her favor away from Angel? If he had, it certainly hadn't worked.

Spike sniffed and squared his shoulders, returning his eyes to Buffy's. "Took for-sodding-ever for it to heal even with the Slayer blood," he continued in a more matter-of-fact tone. "Scar's been there ever since—be a century next year."

Buffy felt a pang of disappointment stab at her. Hers hadn't been the first Slayer blood Spike had tasted. Of course it hadn't—he'd killed two Slayers, she knew that—but somehow it still chafed. It was stupid, but she felt herself wondering how her blood stacked up to the others, wondering if it was pathetic and boring, just like she worried about how she'd stack up to Spike's previous lovers. Was there nothing she could offer him that he hadn't had or done before? How could she ever measure up?

Buffy shook herself and took a breath, refocusing on the actual conversation. "Phoenix Flame... that's the name of the sword," she related, her eyes tracing over the jagged mark bisecting his dark brow. "In about 500 B.C. the king of Yue had it made for his daughter to use in the war with the neighboring state of Wu. The war started when the daughter, who had been married off to one of the Princes of Wu, ran away and came back home. According to legend, she claimed the whole royal family of Wu were demons, including her new husband... who I guess she'd never even met before the wedding day."

"Must'a been a bit of a shock, that," Spike interjected with a smirk.

Buffy shifted her gaze to Spike's eyes and gave him a sardonic smile. "I can see it putting a damper on the wedding night shenanigans," she agreed before continuing the story. "They think she was a Slayer, but records are all with the spottiness. The fact that it eventually ended up in Xin Rong's hands kinda suggests Slayerness, though. Like a mystic connection or something. Anyway, that sword was endowed with ancient magic that had been specifically designed to fight demons. The legends talked about it turning enemies to dust with a single touch. Apparently, that's not quite true," she observed, her eyes flicking to the scar again. "But dustiness of enemies would back up the Slayer angle. Did you notice the symbols etched into the blade?"

Spike shook his head. "Was a bit preoccupied at the time; didn't stop t' study the adornments."

Buffy nodded. "Well, there are powerful Chinese characters on the blade and hilt, making the sword practically indestructible, wicked-sharp and, apparently, extra-toxic to demons. It was lost for years after the Boxer Rebellion, rediscovered in 1985 in an archeological dig. It had been buried, soaked in groundwater all that time, and it was still just as pristine as the day it was made. The Council apparently had a helluva time getting it away from the Chinese government."

"And you know all this because...?" Spike asked, his brows lifting.

Buffy shrugged and looked back at her sandwich, taking another bite before replying. "I was researching the whole Angel-Slayer connection."

"Angel didn't shag that Slayer," Spike pointed out.

"Well, duh," Buffy retorted, looking back up at him.

"So, what's with the Sherlocking of her sword and all that?"

Another shrug. "Curiosity."

Spike arched that Slayer-scarred brow. "About me?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Again with the 'duh'."

"And just when was this?"

"This past fall."

Spike grinned. "Why, Slayer, I didn't know ya cared."

"Well, I hate being obvious. All stake-y and 'grrrr!' Takes the mystery out," she mocked.

Spike laughed. "Touché," he relinquished, offering her another onion ring.

Spike furrowed his brow, a thought coming to him. "Why don't you have the sword?" he wondered. "Seems a handy bit o' weaponry for a Slayer."

Buffy shrugged. "The Council has it."

"And they reckon it looks dapper hanging on their wall?"

Buffy's brows knit then, too. "They've never been much with the philanthropic. I mean, did you see my training room? Giles can barely keep up with replacing all the weapons I destroy or lose. Apparently, when you look up 'tightwad' in the dictionary, there's a picture of Travers there."

"Wankers," Spike growled, taking another bite of his burger.

Buffy sighed. "Totally," she agreed before following suit and biting into her sandwich. She wasn't one-hundred percent sure what a 'wanker' was, but the way he said it seemed derogatory.

"Spike, what did you mean when you said you didn't kill those drug dealers because you knew I wouldn't want you to?" she asked after a minute or so of companionable silence as they ate. "Why did it matter at that point? I wasn't even there. We weren't even truce-y."

Spike offered her another onion ring, holding the pack out to her, and she snagged one. "Thought it was my turn t' ask a question," he hedged.

"You said we could talk about that anytime I wanted," she reminded him, nibbling on the onion ring.

"That you could hear and remember," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Anyone ever tell you you have bloody inconvenient selective hearing, Slayer?"

Buffy gave him an innocent smile.

Spike rolled his eyes and took another bite of his burger. He ended up finishing it before he answered her. Buffy waited, finishing her first sandwich, as well. She had her second one unwrapped before he spoke.

"There was more to my row with Dru than just the lass she wanted me t'... she wanted turned," Spike admitted, not meeting Buffy's eyes.

"You said she was mad about the cheese thing too," Buffy filled in, remembering.

"Yeah, that was another part of it, the rest was..." Spike sighed and looked up at her a moment, then dropped his gaze to the seat between them, steeling himself for revealing the entire truth of himself to her—that he was hers, that he'd been hers, even when he'd been doing his best to deny it.

He took a deep breath and began again. "The rest was, after leaving Sunnyhell I... I bagged it a time or two, did 'catch and release' the rest of the time, and kept Dru away from the tasty tidbits she preferred... or tried to, anyroad. Remembered Darla, the uppity bitch, being brassed off at Angelus for only feeding on criminals and whatnot 'fore she kicked him to the curb for good. Thought..." Spike shrugged uneasily, still studying the leather seat as if it held the key to the universe. He could feel Buffy's eyes on him, her gaze like a laser drilling into his flesh, seeing too much, and he shifted uncomfortably. "Never admitted why I was doing it, not even to myself. Looking back, it's pretty clear—thought maybe that'd be alright... maybe you wouldn't mind that so much. Was good enough for a vampire with a soul, so..." Spike lifted his shoulders and let them drop again, his voice trailing off as he glanced up through his lashes to see her reaction.

"Catch and release?" Buffy asked, her brows furrowed, wanting to make sure she really understood his meaning. She thought she did, and her heart and tummy were both doing little flip-flops inside, but she had to be sure.

"Just took enough to leave 'em woozy," he clarified, ducking his head again and rubbing a hand along the back of his neck.

"But you stopped... you didn't kill them," she continued.

"Yeah."

"How... I mean, death usually follows biting in the vampire dictionary."

"Doesn't have to, not always," Spike explained, looking back up at her. "Every major city has vamp brothels. Humans pay t' be bitten... and more."

"What? That makes the kind of sense that is none," Buffy contended. "Who would pay a vamp to bite them? Who would willingly even let a vamp bite them? Do they have some kind of death wish or something?"

Spike shrugged. "Some do, I reckon, but killing 'em would be bad for business. Most go for the same reason they go to regular brothels: cos it feels good."

The crease between Buffy's eyebrows deepened. "Isn't biting someone the definition of not feeling good? If you look up 'things that don't feel good' in the OED, I'm pretty sure 'getting bitten by a vamp' would be in the top five. I've been bitten, I should know."

Spike gave her a small smile. "Can be painful... some like the pain, but it can be bloody euphoric, like sex, drugs, an' rock-n-roll all in one. Most go for that."

Buffy stared at him, dumbstruck.

"What's the matter, Slayer? Ol' Rupes never told ya 'bout the seedier side of the stake? Vamp whores and willing donors?"

Buffy shook her head mutely for another few moments. "I... I don't see how it could feel good."

Spike curled his tongue over his teeth and gave her a heated leer. "Could show ya, if you like," he offered, letting his eyes slide down to her jugular, lingering there like a physical caress.

A rumbling snarl sounded from the back seat, quickly drowned out by Buffy's firm retort, "That would be a world of 'no'." She had to stop herself from lifting her hand to cover her neck, even as she felt a flame flicker in her belly at the thought. Which was just weird. And wrong.

"Your loss, pet," he purred, licking his lips before returning his gaze to hers.

"I think I'll survive," Buffy muttered disdainfully. "Did you ever work in—"

"P-lease!" Spike barked, interrupting her. "Whaddya take me for, Slayer? Not one o' those two-bit vamps, afraid of drawing the attention of the Slayer. Did all my feeding in the open, dared 'em to come find me."

Buffy was sure that was true. "Is it hard, the catch and release thing? Like... like not eating the last potato chip... o-or leaving one bite of ice cream in the container?"

Spike gave her an indulgent smile. "Can be... depends on a lot o' things. How hungry you are, if there was a chase, how hard they fight..." He shrugged. "Most that do it have reasons that override the urge o' the demon."

"Like not attracting the attention of a Slayer," Buffy parroted back.

"Like that... or other demon hunters... even regular townspeople in some parts can be right dangerous. Found that out a few times in the Balkans, I can tell you. Self-preservation is a strong motivator."

This had gotten way off track. Buffy tried to remember which track she had been on before it veered into vamp whores and feel-good bites. Oh, yeah... Spike not killing the drug dealers. Or apparently anyone else while he'd been gone.

Buffy swallowed, her heart swelling in her chest with hope and affection. Had he been thinking of her just like she'd been thinking of him? "You... this whole time you were gone, you... you bagged it and just did the woozy blood donor thing?" she clarified, astonished.

He shrugged his agreement, looking almost embarrassed.

"Were they... willing?" she wondered.

Spike's teeth closed over his lip and he shook his head. "Not as such."

"But they were criminals?"

"Most were. Didn't exactly check their CVs, but, yeah, best as I could tell, anyway," Spike confirmed. "Couldn't stop Dru from offing what she pleased when she went off on her own, but tried to limit her to the riffraff much as I could."

"The whole time you were gone you didn't kill anyone? Because I wouldn't approve?"

He swallowed hard and looked down, unable to meet Buffy's gaze. "There was one."

Green, accusing eyes flashed in Spike's mind. Lisa from Fairplay. 'It's not fair!' Then Dru's voice rang in his ears, 'Surrounded by Slayers, you are. One on your face, one on your back, and one squirming in your breast, carving out your lion's heart.' And it suddenly occurred to Spike why those green eyes wouldn't leave him alone, why, out of all the deaths, all the eyes, those haunted him so relentlessly. Because he'd already been Buffy's then... already been love's bitch. And Buffy wouldn't have approved.

Buffy waited, watching him, her food forgotten, as all this sunk in. He'd tried to be... less evil, for her. He'd bagged it, for her. Not been killing, for her. Except for one. "Let me guess—that one, you killed them for Dru," she said after a few silent moments.

A muscle twitched in Spike's jaw. His head still bowed, he gave her a nod. "Accused me of going soft," he explained, looking up at Buffy again. "Dru was my everything... my eternity, my heart—or so I thought. I... I kept telling myself I was just being smart, being cautious, keeping us safe as we meandered about, but was lying to myself, to Dru. She knew it, of course. Always knows, doesn't she?"

"Spike, I never expected you to—"

"I never meant to!" he snapped back at her. "I just... bloody hell, you were under my fucking skin, Slayer. You kept sneaking in when I wasn't looking and rearranging the bleedin' furniture until I didn't recognize myself. Couldn't sodding shake you, couldn't shag you out or drink you away... couldn't outrun you. You wouldn't get the fuck out." Spike stopped and sighed, running a hand back through this hair. "Truth of it was, I didn't want you gone. Dru could see it... saw it before I did."

"Spike, I... I don't know what to say," Buffy stammered. "No one's ever..." She shook her head, still in shock. "How? How did you do that? Without a soul? How did you even do that?"

Spike twitched a shoulder. "Just did."

"Angelus could've never—"

"I'm not sodding Angelus!" Spike grated out, his eyes turning to those stormy seas Buffy had referenced before, and locking on hers.

"I know that! I just... I'm... I... My head's trying to wrap around... I... just..." She stuttered to a halt again, her head shaking. "I know you can do it. I saw you... saw you stop, not kill. Even out of your mind in agony, starving, you stopped when I asked you to."

Spike's face fell. "Said I didn't bite you... you swore—"

"Not me," Buffy clarified. "Weatherby. Don't you remember?"

Spike shook his head, his eyes focused off in the distance beyond Buffy, into the past. "You told me, but can't say as I got a proper memory of it. Remember screaming and blood and pain... remember being bloody ravenous. But it's more like... snatches o' feelings and sound, not really a memory."

"Well, you stopped. When I asked you to, you stopped. You didn't drain him, even though you needed the blood. I guess... I guess I override that urge for you? That urge to eat the last chip?" she suggested tentatively.

Spike shifted his eyes, meeting hers in the low light. "You do. Have for a while now, pet."

"Because of self-preservation?"

Spike snorted. "Of a sort, I reckon. But not like the vamp-whores. 'Cos I care about what you think... I care about you."

"I care about you too," Buffy whispered, their eyes still locked together.

"I know. Gave me your blood..."

Buffy nodded slowly, letting everything sink in. "Thank you for... I mean... i—it means a lot—more than you know—that you did that for me. That you could do that." If Spike could do that when they weren't even together, then certainly he could keep the truce indefinitely now that they were, right? That hope unfurled into unfettered belief in her heart. She didn't know how he'd done it, but she fully believed that he had. For her. Because he cared for her. While he was still with Dru. Holy shit.

The 'L-word' flittered around in Buffy's mind, whirling in dizzying circles as it tried to find its way to her lips, but she shook her head, sending it tumbling back behind the walls in the name of science. She couldn't be blurting out things like that and risk possible apocalyptic repercussions. One step at a time... her roll needed slowing, but, at the same time, Spike deserved more than tongue-tied Buffy.

"If it makes any difference, you were under my skin too," she admitted. "I tried to get rid of you. Went on dates—horrible dates—but, somehow, I always compared them with you, and they always fell short. I did everything I could to stop thinking about you, to stop seeing you everywhere. I'd think I had it conquered but then I'd find myself hurrying home, wondering if there would be a postcard from you waiting for me."

"You accused me o' killing your mum when I got here. You tried to stake me," he pointed out incredulously, even as his fear of ridicule vanished. Buffy had just thanked him, not accused him of going soft or being a ponce. She'd appreciated the gesture, even if it hadn't been perfect, even if he hadn't known it was an offering to this goddess of sunshine and goodness at the time. And she'd been thinking of him this whole time, as well! She hadn't even asked about who he'd killed. Bloody hell!

"Well, yeah! How was I to know your deck chairs had all been rearranged?" Buffy defended with a pout.

Spike snorted, shaking his head, his hand running back through his hair again. "Bloody hell. We just keep getting more pathetic at every turn."

"Hmph," Buffy grunted. A loud, mocking huff of expelled breath came from the back seat at almost the same time. "No heckling from the peanut gallery," she chastised, aiming her voice toward the dog as she picked up her sandwich again. She turned her attention back to the vampire. "For the record, I consider myself adorably quirky. You're the pathetic one in this relationship."

Spike tilted his head, his expression softening. "Relationship, is it?" he asked diffidently.

Buffy shrugged, taking a bite of her sandwich, chewing and swallowing before she answered. "Well, yeah... I thought we covered that last night," she replied, her nerves suddenly returning. Had he not understood? He'd teased her about 'going steady', talked about dating. Had he not meant it?

Spike was relatively sure 'dating' did not a relationship make. But Buffy kept speaking before he could say anything.

"I mean, if you want to be? Boyfriend and girlfriend type of thing? Not that I'm saying you're a boy, but man-friend just sounds weird, don't you think? Not that it's really much of a perk being in a relationship with me, what with the getting staked and shot and beat up. Some might say it's more of a curse."

"Not from where I'm standing."

"You're sitting."

Spike snorted. "Point stands. Couldn't think of anything I'd like more. I like the perks. Parts of you are very... perky. Especially in that top," he informed her with a bob of his brows.

Buffy snorted and rolled her eyes, feeling a blush creep up her neck. "Like I said, delusional. You really need to think about what that bleach is doing to your brain."

"Well, if this is a curse, then let's hope that snogging the Slayer doesn't break it," Spike joked, but when Buffy stiffened, he knew he'd made a mistake. "Buffy... I didn't think. Sorry, pet."

Buffy shook her head, looking down at her half-eaten sandwich. "No, it's fine."

"Clearly, it's not," he insisted, leaning forward, and reaching out to touch her face. "Look at me, luv," he requested softly.

Buffy took a deep breath and looked up at him. His fingers were cool against her warm cheek, and she wanted to lean into his touch, feel the strength and solidness of him, but she didn't dare encourage him to touch more... not yet. She wasn't ready for an encouraged, touchy Spike.

"I'm not Angel," he vowed, his voice gentle but unwavering.

Buffy rolled her eyes up to the ceiling and left them there. "This has been irrevocably established. I'm aware, okay? Boy bands haven't stewed my brain that badly."

"Not sure you are, pet. Just admitted how much you've got me twisted around your little finger. Can assure you, in Angel's case, he's always the one doing the twisting, not the other way 'round."

"I've figured that out myself," Buffy admitted, glancing at his eyes a moment before dropping her gaze to her lap.

"But you're still afraid I'll turn on you... that I'll change."

Buffy shook her head slowly, daring to look back up at him. "I... what if I mess it up? What if I'm not good enough—"

"Thought we'd covered this already, luv," Spike interrupted sternly.

"You just said I'm the overriding factor in the truce-fulness. You said I'd be enough even if I was a crumb, but what if you're wrong?" Buffy retorted, her eyes imploring him to consider this. "Just... humor me, okay? What if tomorrow or next week or next month you decide that I am a curse, that I'm not worth the trouble. What happens then?"

Spike sighed. "Nothing happens then. Because it won't happen."

"Damn it, Spike! I'm serious."

Another long sigh fell from the vampire as he ran a hand back through his hair. "Right... something happens... a spaceship falls t' Earth with some extraterrestrial bollocks and changes you into a pod person."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Fine—what if that happens? What do you do?"

"Well, first, I'll beat the living shit outta the wankers in the spaceship."

Buffy snorted. "And then?"

Spike wanted to scream at her that he loved her, that he'd never stop loving her, pod person or not. It was on the tip of his tongue, he could taste the word on his lips, but he bit it back. It was too much, too soon—he'd frighten her off, get her to retract all her blue ocean prose about his eyes and think him an utter twat. He swallowed hard and gave her a more reasonable answer. "And then nothing, pet. I'm not gonna break the truce, not going back. Don't you see, Buffy? Don't you see what you've done to me? You're... bloody hell, you're in my bones, woman. There's nothing you could do to make me turn on you or your mates, or even your worthless chowhound of a dog."

A soft growl came from the backseat, but it quickly smoothed over back into a snore.

Buffy chewed her lip, searching his face, his expressive eyes, for... for what, she didn't know. A lie, she supposed, but she didn't see it. She only saw conviction in those blue depths. "What if... I mean, I know you're probably assuming, with the whole relationship togetherness, that sexy times are..." She stopped, cleared her throat, and tried again. "What I mean is, after everything you've done and what I just confessed about my adorable, quirky Spike-obsession, I know you must expect—"

Now this he knew exactly how to handle, thanks in part, at least, to the little red witch.

"Nothing," Spike cut her off. "There're no expectations here, Buffy. Whatever you want is what I want. Whatever makes you happy makes me happy. I never want to hurt you, luv. Never want to make you feel... I dunno, like things aren't in your control. You're the Slayer. I'm your willing slave."

Buffy blinked back emotion that had suddenly pooled in her eyes and swallowed hard. "Slavery was abolished in 1865," she informed him.

Spike quirked a smile. "Been staying awake in class, Slayer? Bad for the reputation, that."

Buffy huffed out an amused breath and closed her eyes, giving in and letting herself lean into his palm. It was just as strong and firm against her cheek as she knew it would be. She remembered Willow's stupid, sage advice about being honest, and steeled her nerve. She opened her eyes, which shone in the dim lights of the dash, and met his gaze again. "It's not that I don't want you. Parts of me are all about the wanting, which you already know... creepy vampire smelling," she muttered the last before taking another breath. "But some parts of me are just... I'm just not ready to, um, make with the sexiness... I'm not... I just..." she stammered. Honesty was hard.

Spike took over, his voice steady and supportive. "Already told you I want you, but what I didn't say was, I can wait. Know you might not believe me—and I don't always put it to good use—but I do have patience, pet. My unlife being what it was, taking care of barmy Dru all those years…" He stopped and sighed, again probably not what she wanted to hear about. "Buffy, please don't think you have to do anything until you're ready. When you are, I'll be here. I want what you want. This is your dance, pet. You lead, I'll follow. I'll be your loyal puppy. They haven't been outlawed, have they?"

There was an explosive sneeze from the backseat, reminding them that she already had a 'loyal puppy'.

Buffy smiled softly and shook her head. "Clearly not, since one's sleeping off a cheezeburger coma as we speak."

"Well, now you've got two," Spike assured her, leaning in, his eyes boring into hers—those oceans drawing her in to their fathomless depths even in the dim light. "If I ever cross a line you're not ready for, you just say 'no', and I'll stop, yeah? No questions, no hesitation on my part; no guilt, no apologies on your part. No means no... drummed that into me enough, didn't ya? You tell me whenever you're ready to... to go further. All right?"

"A-and you're... okay with that? With... slowness?"

"Utterly," he assured her.

"I wasn't sure cos, well..." She waved a hand at the view and parking area.

Spike arched a brow. "Lost me 'round that bend, luv."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Lovers' Lane..." she informed him with a sigh.

"Ah," Spike acknowledged, nodding. "Well, good thing I've got the great carnivorous chaperone in the back t' keep you from takin' advantage of my hot, tight little body and charitable character."

Buffy snorted and rolled her eyes. "I'm serious."

"I am too, luv," he assured her.

Buffy bit her bottom lip, her eyes searching his. She seemed to always be looking for the flinty glint of sarcasm or deception, but it just wasn't there. "I wish I was more with the readiness. I'm sorry, I—"

"What I just say about apologies?" Spike asked, cutting her off. His hand was still against her cheek, and he caressed her soft skin with this thumb as he spoke. "I'm here, luv. If you never kiss me again, I'm here—if you do, well, that'd be a bit of all right, but I'm here no matter what. You lead. I follow. You ask, I give. I'm not sodding Angel."

Buffy nodded, sniffing and swallowing back the tears that had clogged her throat. "Thank you. That's... it helps to know. But y-you'll keep up the flirtiness and making your piggy comments, right?"

Spike's lips curved into a devilish smile. "Knew you liked those. Couldn't stop if ya staked me."

Buffy's face flushed again, her tingly insides flip-flopping between nervous and excited. "And, for the record, kissing? Totally on the table."

"Yeah?" he asked huskily.

"Oh yeah," Buffy replied, her eyes glittering now with anticipation as she set her sandwich and drink back on the dash and leaned toward him.

She stopped, just inches from his luscious mouth. Putting a hand on his chest, she pushed back. "I have one more question," she said, licking her lips nervously.

Spike arched a brow. "Didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition."

Buffy's lips curved. "No one expects the Spanish Inquisition," she retorted automatically.

Spike laughed. "Who's been exposing you to classic British humor, then? Your mum? Watcher?"

"You can thank MTV for that, actually," Buffy revealed. "Are you ready for the question?"

"Will you kiss me then?"

"Yes... probably... it depends," Buffy stammered.

Spike's eyes widened, leaning back from her further. Was she gonna ask about who he'd killed now? Was this it? Was the end of their dating foray to end before it had really begun? God, would she want details? Lisa from Fairplay. 'It's not fair!' Spike swallowed hard and gave her a curt nod to go ahead.

"Do you know who Amelia Earhart is?"

Spike blinked. He shook his head. He dropped his hand from her cheek. "Come again?"

"Amelia Earhart. Do you know who she is?" Buffy repeated.

"That's your question?" he wondered, his eyes narrowing in confusion.

"That's my question."

"I answer that and you'll snog me?"

"Yes."

Spike took an unneeded breath and let it out. What the hell was she playing at? Testing his memory? Or just seeing how big a loop she could throw him for? "Yeah, I know who she is," he replied tentatively.

Buffy raised her brows, encouraging him to continue.

"Brilliant little bird—showed the world what you Slayer-types are all about."

It was Buffy's turn to blink. "She was a Slayer?"

Spike shook his head. "Never Called, but she had the... aura, I reckon you'd call it. Could feel it radiate off her. Think they call 'em Potentials, yeah? Cheeky little firebrand of a chit, she was."

"You met her?"

"Yeah, was 1928. She'd just come across the Atlantic to England... didn't fly that one, was a passenger, but everyone thought that was the dog's bollocks. For a woman to be able to withstand the rigors and all that rot. Could see it in her eyes, though—wouldn't be the last we'd hear of her. Bought her a pint down on the High Street in Southampton. Wouldn't have minded a bit more time with her, if I'm honest, but Dru wasn't having any of it. Said all she could see was 'salt and bones, salt and bones'." Spike rolled his eyes. "Always could see too much, Drusilla."

Buffy's mouth had fallen open. She snapped it closed. "I don't suppose you know Betty White do you?"

Spike's lips curved into a crooked smile. "'Back in St. Olaf...'" Spike parodied jokingly. "The Golden Girls—bloody brilliant."

Buffy laughed. Of all the vampires in all the world, only Spike would have had a pint with Amelia Earhart and watched 'The Golden Girls'.

"How about Buttercup and Westley?"

"As you wish," Spike replied with a smirk.

Buffy eyes went wide, her heart soaring. Spike knew 'The Princess Bride'!? Spike said, 'As you wish'. Did that mean...

"Did I pass?" he inquired, his head tilted to the side watching her, his undead heart warming with Buffy's silver laughter.

"I'd say you passed with flying colors, Mr. Bloody," Buffy teased, leaning in toward him again, a smile still curving her pretty, pink lips.

Their mouths met and the world dropped away with a whoosh of blinding pleasure. It was just as swoony as that morning and the previous night, just as melty, just as perfect. Both of his hands cupped her face in a gentle embrace, and she found herself clinging to his muscular arms to keep from simply floating away. Cloud nine was in her sights... she thought she could see Spike there, waiting for her. Waiting for her to lead the dance. Buffy's doubts and insecurities hadn't vanished, but one huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders tonight—he would wait for her to be ready. She felt light as a feather and a million times happier.

Until she'd found readiness, there would be kissing. So much with the kissing. The table was on the verge of collapse there was so much kissing on it.


Chapter End Notes:

Thank you so much for reading! More on Thursday!

The inspiration for the Phoenix Flame sword:

War between Wu and Yue: The war between Wu and Yue comprised several separate phases. It began when a Yue princess, who was married to one of the princes of the neighboring state of Wu, left her husband and fled back to the State of Yue. This became the spark for the war to come.

In 1965, the sword was found sheathed in a wooden scabbard finished in black lacquer. The scabbard had an almost air-tight fit with the sword body. Unsheathing the sword revealed an untarnished blade, despite the tomb being soaked in underground water for over 2,000 years. The Sword of Goujian still has a sharp blade and shows no signs of tarnish.

In case you didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition google the Monty Python sketch.