FORCED ROOMIES—PART TWO: ten bloody hours of sleep and sealed doors

When Buffy woke up it was night. Not remembering having ever fallen asleep or even being tired, she assumed she'd been put under a spell, and went to see if Spike had had anything to do with that. But when she reached the room Giles had thrown Spike into, the curtains were drawn back, and Spike stood in front of the window, a stream of moonlight making his white-blond hair look a silver metallic color.
"Do you remember falling asleep?" He asked, not even taking his eyes away from the window. "No, I don't."
"Neither do I. It must've been a spell."

The phone rang. Hesitantly, Buffy picked it up. "H-Hello?"
"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" Spike muttered, still facing the window. She gave him the finger, though she knew he couldn't see it.
"So, you two are finally awake?"
"Giles, you knew about this?" Buffy asked in disbelief. Ignoring Buffy, Giles continued, "The spell lasted longer than it should have, though."
"Giles, what's going on?" Buffy yelled into the receiver.
"You'll know soon enough, Buffy," Giles said cryptically and hung up.
Angrily Buffy slammed the phone down. "I can't believe this!"
"Can't believe what?" Spike asked.
"This."
"That cat got your brain too?"
"Shut up!"
"Then get lost. I 'got' this room. Piss off."
"Like anyone would want to spend any time with the likes of you anyway," she shot back. She didn't catch him whispering to himself how she might be right on that.

Buffy stomped back to the room she'd woken up in, and dropped down on the bed. She sighed loudly. Here she was, in Giles' house, stuck with the most annoying vampire in the world, and she just received a vague phone call from Giles, and she didn't have one single clue as to what was going on. "" "Damn it!"
"What's the matter, run out of dye in there?" Spike yelled from across the hall.
"Hello Pot, I'm Kettle. Black much?"
"No, white maybe," Spike said triumphantly.
"Ugh," Buffy moaned, tugging at her blond strands. She could almost feel him smirk. Angrily, she headed back to his room, determined at least to get him to shut up. What she saw him doing was what she'd never have suspected him to be doing, not in a million years. Spike was sitting cross-legged on the bed, a book in his lap. "What're you reading?" she asked. Her voice was filled with disbelief.
Spike smirked. "This is called a 'book'."
"You know what? I'm impressed. I didn't know you could read."
"There is a lot about me that you do not know, Slayer."
"Such as?" Buffy asked mock-interested.
"That would be my business and not yours, Summers. Go away," Spike said moodily.
"Why would I?" she said shrugging.
Spike looked up from his book. "You're invading my private space."
"I'm really and truly hurt; only not so much," Buffy said and leaned against the doorpost.
"Piss. Off. Slayer," Spike said. His voice was dangerously low.
"I will not go away until I know why we're here."
"Then might I suggest you pick up that phone and call your Watcher?" Spike said.
He stood up and walked past her out the door. Buffy put her hand on the earpiece. "Where are you going?"
"I'm going to see if I can get out of here," he said.
"Mom, is that you? It's Buffy. What do you mean Giles is going to stay at our house for a while. You mean I have to stay in here with Spike? But Mom, we'll probably end up killing each other and completely trashing the place…" Buffy sighed, "Okay, bye Mom."

From downstairs, Buffy heard a loud "bloody hell", followed by the slamming of a door. "I'll bet you my news is worse than yours," she yelled down to him. "I'm willing to bet it's the same news," Spike yelled back at her. "Come down here and see for yourself." Buffy quickly walked down the stairs. Spike was leaning against the wall just to the side of the door and was looking truly murderous.
"What is it?" she asked concerned.
"Try to walk outside," Spike said. He didn't sound quite as furious as he looked. Buffy did as he said: she opened the door and tried to walk outside. An invisible barrier threw her back. In a reflex, she grabbed hold of Spike and took him with her. They both ended up in a very awkward position behind the couch. "What was that?" she asked. Buffy untangled her limbs from Spike's and tried to get up. "My news. This is a spell like the one that keeps vampires out of human homes. This one however is much more powerful and works both ways. This means that not only we can't get out, but also no one can get in either. Only the caster himself and one other have free passage through. And only the caster can lift it again."

"How did you know that?" Buffy asked. She was genuinely interested.
"Do you see that mark on the door?"
She took a few steps to the door, "Yes, I see it. So what?"
"It's a rune for a sealing spell. Someone, presumably the Watcher, locked us in here."
"Yep, that was kinda my news too. So what do we do?"

"If we didn't kill each other it would be a good start," Spike said calmly.
"We're us. You and me. Killing each other is what we do. We can't not kill each other."
"Do you really want to spend the rest of your life here?" Spike asked slowly.
"No, not really."
"Then we don't murder the other in their sleeps, all right?"
"Is there a choice? You're probably gonna say that the barrier becomes permanent if somebody dies in this house, so the remaining one is locked up forever. Am I right?"
"Yes, you are."
"Then let's make a truce."

Buffy and Spike shook hands. "We have to decide who's going to do what," Buffy said.
"I cook, you clean," Buffy suggested.
"Summers, I've heard the stories. Your cooking is famous for being even more deadly than you are," Spike said and lit a cigarette.
"You drink blood, Spike. How can you be a better cook than I am and why would you even need to eat … not blood?"
"It's another thing this barrier does: so long as I'm here I'm not sunlight intolerant, or highly flammable anymore and I don't need to drink blood."
"Alright. So you cook. What do I do?"
"How about the dishes?"
"Fair enough," Buffy decided, "and then you do our laundry and I'll try to keep this place looking the way it looks now. Deal?"
"Yes," he said as he turned to leave.

"Spike!" Spike turned back. "How did you know what that mark was?"
"I told you there is a lot about me you didn't know. This is one of them, Slayer," he said, shrugging and returning upstairs.
"Where are you going?" Buffy asked puzzled. Surely, he couldn't be thinking of going to sleep. They'd spent at least ten hours off in dreamland, and she felt like she never had to sleep again. "You're not going to bed, are you?"
"Of course not! I just spent ten bloody hours doing that already! I'm just going to get my book," he shouted, as he was racing up the stairs, and she heard him slam the door forcefully. "Okay, that went... not like it was supposed to go," Buffy said to herself.
She'd tried to be nice to him at least once! Buffy headed for the couch, to see if there was anything good on at this hour. Whenever this hour was; she had no idea what time it was, but she knew it was night.

Spike came back downstairs and sat at the table. Buffy was still sulking in front of the television set. Obviously, being nice to him wouldn't work. But maybe... No! You tried, he didn't want you to, she thought to herself. She'd just stick to fighting with him. It was what they did best. She had a feeling they were going to be locked up in Giles' house for quite a while.

Two hours later, she was eating the most delicious breakfast... no dinner... um lunch? Meal! Meal she had in a while. But she pretended she hated it, just to make sure he didn't get the satisfaction of knowing she loved his cooking. "This is gross," she choked out, screwing up her face to show her feigned distaste. "I hate it."
For a moment, hurt crossed his features, but then he looked at her from just above his own plate. She didn't hate it. "You're a bad liar, Slayer."
"You're a worse liar than me, Spike. But I'll admit that I do like this … stuff."
"It's called food, Slayer."