Heroes

Part 4

"Sorry," she said, genuinely apologetic. She'd clearly hurt his feelings, and her gut instincts told her that this was a creature who could be a friend. And he was ... well, he was tall, and athletic, and masculine in the extreme, and even if he wasn't human, he was handsome.

She could almost hear Spike's laughter now. He'd have a fit of hysterical giggles at the thought that she'd be attracted to yet another nonhuman, then say something snarky at her, then laugh again. She could see him now, staggering off into the night, still choking on mirth.

At least this one has a soul all his own, she thought in irritation at the memory of Spike. Amazing how he could piss her off even when he was dead and gone.

But did he have a soul? How could she know that?

Brooklyn looked at her over the top of his sunglasses. His eyes were brown, highly intelligent, and more than a little hurt, despite her apology. And something in those eyes told her that he was correct: He was not a demon. The look in her eyes told her that this was a creature with a soul. Perhaps he was not human, but he was good all the same.

She refused to be attracted to him. Shut up, Spike. Stop laughing at me.

"So," Brooklyn said slowly, "If we want to find Rufus, we should probably start with his, uh, employees."

"Sounds like a good starting point," Buffy agreed. "Got a tactic in mind?"

Brooklyn suggested, "Well, what seems to work the best is that we catch them and scare them until they talk."

"And I suppose you'll do the scaring?" Buffy inquired.

Brooklyn apparently had a sense of humor, despite his easily hurt feelings. He said drily, "No ma'am, I'll be the good cop."

She grinned. His tone of voice was perfectly deadpan, but amusement crinkled the corner of his eyes. He added, "Bribery works sometimes, too. Got any money?"

"Five bucks and some airline vouchers for food, taxis, and the hotel," Buffy sighed.

"Mmph. The hero business doesn't pay well, does it?" Brooklyn sighed. She thought by the tone of voice that he knew all about the wages, or lack thereof.

"Not really," she agreed. "Let's go start knocking some heads together."

"A lady after my own heart," he said. "Want a lift?"

At first, she thought he meant in a car and, insanely, she looked around the rooftop for a vehicle. It was empty now that Elisa's Fairlane had left. And Brooklyn had lifted his formidable wings up: they had a span of at least thirty feet if not more, now that he had unfolded them from his shoulders.

"I promise I won't drop you," Brooklyn said. He meant to carry her aloft, to fly with her.

It was insane to consider the idea. She'd just turned down an offer to warm up in Elisa's car because she didn't know these people. They could be true evil, kin to the First, for all the information she had about them. To let him carry her up into the air was pure craziness. He could drop her.

On the other hand, she'd bonked Spike even before he'd gotten a soul. She'd slept in his presence. He could have killed her or turned her at will. It wasn't like she hadn't taken chances before.

Brooklyn shrugged and said, "Or not."

He looked hurt. Impulsively, she stepped towards him. "It's okay. Let's go. Flying will be faster, and if Rufus is a fence, we want to get him before he sells those books."

He grinned, baring white teeth. Strong arms swept her off her feet. His chest was hard muscled and warm, and she could feel his heart beating as he carried her to the edge of the building. When she saw the abyss below his feet -- a good six stories -- she instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck. His hair was soft and silky and white, a striking contrast to his ruddy skin.

"Here we go," Brooklyn warned. He dove headfirst off the edge of the building, leaving her stomach behind. She bit back a scream of alarm, as an atavistic flashback of falling to her death surfaced violently in her memories.

Then he swooped upwards, wings catching the air. They soared over an empty rooftop and a busy street, then he spiraled higher on an unseen thermal of warm air that rose off the city streets below. "It's okay, you can relax. I'm not going to drop you. Or crash," he promised. "I do this all the time. Well, some of the time, anyway. Well, when I can find anyone who will trust me besides Elisa. And Elisa always flies with Goliath. They're a couple."

"How many girls do you take flying?" She asked, curious. She could hear Spike giggling at her. Was she as obvious as she felt? Spike thought so. Because the memory-of-Spike was also getting a bit jealous, which was making her feel guilty. But he was dead!

Which made her feel guilty too. He was dead because he'd known her.

Bloody hell, she could imagine him saying, annoyed. If I hadn't ever met you, I'd still be a soulless Big Bad.

So would that be a good thing or a bad thing? She could see herself asking him in a teasing tone.

You figure it out, woman. He'd growl back, irritated at her.

Except he'd made it clear a number of times that he did like what he'd become. Sometimes with embarrassment, of course; sometimes he'd acknowledge his good side with a gruff and snarky insult aimed at her, at the Scoobies, or at himself. Other times, she'd get a candid look from eyes tinted with hope. Once, close to the end, he'd just held her, giving her what little comfort she could draw from his cold limbs -- she knew Spike well enough to know he wouldn't do something like that without really meaning it.

"Hello?" Brooklyn said. "I said, not many."

"Huh? Oh, sorry. Just old memories," she said.

His arms, warm and strong, tightened around her. "You're shivering. Want to stop somewhere to get warmed up?"

Yeah, my hotel room. Care to step in for a cup of coffee too?

Damn. And from the memory-Spike a snarky, Woman, have you no shame?

She said more sharply than she intended, "I'm fine! Where's our first stop?"