Archive: If you like. Just let me know where!

Disclaimer: Joss' toys. Just playing. Don't sue me! I have nothing you want.

Thanks to my wonderful Betas Sylvia and Kristen, who keep me on track, literate and allow for indulging in girly selfishness when it comes to Spike.

E-mail: spikeswillingslave@yahoo.ca

A/N: Small jaunt into 'lightness'; or at least, being 'lighter' in tone. If it works, 'YAY'! If not, you know how to complain… J

~+~

My life is just too interesting for words.

The thought wandered through Isobelle's mind as she stood in the doorway, taking in the sight on the kitchen floor.

Spike was sprawled, belly down, across the tiles, feet waggling idly in the air. Dante paced back and forth in front of Spike's cupped hands, darting forward once, then twice, swatting the vampire's laced fingers, jumping backwards after each volley.

"Patience, mate," Spike cautioned. "Get too worked up and your supper can get away from you."

Dante gave a small, throaty growl, then hunkered down in front of Spike. Nose close to the floor, tail high and twitching, the little cat stared, wide-eyed, as Spike slowly opened his hands.

Out sprang the largest grasshopper Isobelle had ever seen.

Dante launched himself at his quarry, missing the insect by millimetres as it vaulted over his head. Both predator and prey careened around the kitchen, clattering the cupboards as they ricocheted off the doors. Spike cheered on the pursuit, giving a whoop of victory as the sound of a wet crunch came from behind the island. Isobelle grimaced. Dante strolled back into view, licking his whiskers. He sauntered over to Spike, purring, butting his head hard against the vampire's chin.

"That's my boy," Spike praised, ruffling Dante's ears.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Spike glanced up with a smile. "Teaching the little nipper how to hunt."

"By releasing bugs in my kitchen?"

"Well, yeah. He can't go outside - for some reason… "

"And he never will… " she added.

" …so the buggies have to come to him. Brilliant stalker, he is. Got 'em all."

Spike pushed himself up, off the floor and went to Isobelle. He reached out to touch her cheek, but she pulled away.

"Uh-uh," she intoned. "You've got grasshopper cooties all over those fingers. You're not coming near me."

He sighed in mock irritation, going to the sink and scrubbing his hands under the hot water, making a big production of lathering and rinsing, then drying them on the tail of his shirt. He held them up for her approval; she signaled her satisfaction with a smile, leaning in eagerly as he took her face in his palms and drew her closer for a kiss. Soft and wet, his lips lingered on hers. One kiss from him and her head was swimming.

"That was nice," she murmured. "Makes coming home worthwhile."

"Glad to oblige."

"Well, oblige me this," she said, tapping a finger on his chest, "Quit bringing bugs into my kitchen. It's icky."

"Pfft, icky. You're just a 'fraidy cat, is all. You've got insect issues."

"Fine, you're right. Bugs scare me. Keep 'em outta my house."

He snickered. "They're smaller than you, 'belle. Just tromp on them."

She tapped him harder. "Nothing with more than four legs gets in here, understand?"

"Zero to four legs is fine?"

"Yep."

"Snakes?"

"Love 'em."

"Snob."

She giggled and gave him another quick kiss. "Speaking of snobs," she said, going over to her backpack, "how up-to-date are you on your Emily Post?" She dug around, rifling through papers and books. She eventually pulled out an envelope and handed it to Spike. The words Isobelle S. Jones and Guest were inscribed in black across the front.

The thick, cream-coloured stationary felt soft and heavy in his hand, the cotton fibres, woven within the pulp, adding texture to the silky paper. The card slid from the envelope with a whisper, the crest of the local hospital detailed in red on the front. Its spine popped crisply as he flicked it open.

"It's a yearly thing they do - for the board and staff. I've never been invited before. Getting invited is supposedly a big deal."

He read the notation slowly - twice - before returning the invitation to Isobelle.

"Have a good time."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, 'have a good time'. Isn't that the polite thing to say?"

"Did you not see the 'and Guest' part?"

"Yeah, I saw it. So?"

"So… you're going with me."

Spike gave her a tight smile and shook his head. She mimicked the action, then shrugged her shoulders in confusion.

"You won't come?"

"No."

She fidgeted with the invitation. Seconds ticked by as they stood there in uncomfortable silence.

"You mind telling me why not?" Isobelle eventually asked.

Spike tapped the card, which she now held tightly, in her fist. "You did read this, right?" She nodded, unsure of where he was going. He pulled it out of her grip and waved it in front of her.

"This is work-related. Your boss, your boss's boss, all your little minions and peers and their nearest and dearest?" He glanced again at the text. "Formal, no less."

"Yes," she replied, still confused. "Yes to all of it. Why?"

"You don't need me in that part of your world, 'belle."

"I don't need you there, I want you there." She attempted a smile. "Besides, I think you meet one of the guest criteria."

"Minion?"

"Try again."

Spike eyed her warily. "That's a whole other conversation, Isobelle."

Her weak smile faded. "Then why don't you just cut to the chase and tell me the problem."

"It's… people. Real people. People that I'll have to be pleasant and polite to, that I'll have to worry about pissing off and… " He threw the invitation down on the counter. "I'm not ready for that."

"Ready for what? You go out nearly every night, patrolling. I know you go to bars. You're around other people all the time… "

"It's not the same thing," he interrupted.

"How is it different?"

"Goin' out, those folks - I don't know them, they don't know me. It works out nicely. But this - 'event' - you want to drag me to - you know these people. I don't want to have to try and 'fit in' and deal with all that."

"Poor dear," she snipped. "I didn't realize going to a stupid cocktail party would cause you so much angst."

"Don't be flip, Isobelle. It doesn't suit you. Besides, did you give any thought whatsoever as how you were going to introduce me? 'Hey, this is Spike, the raving loon I took in two months ago'. That'd go over well. Impress your pals real good."

"Oh, so that's it," Isobelle said. "I'm getting this now. You're shy."

"Don't be stupid," he huffed.

"You are! That's cute. Get over it."

"No. I'm not going. Spike doesn't play well with others and I only like crowds when I can hunt in 'em. So stop asking."

"This is important, Spike. This party is… like I said; to be invited is a huge deal. It means I'm making a good impression on the Powers that Be. I have to go, but I don't want to go alone."

"If it's that important, all the more reason for me to stay away."

"Fine. If you can't do this one thing for me… "

" 'belle, that's not fair. It's… you're the only person I can stand to be around right now. Anything else… it's just too damn hard."

"Wow. Sorry I brought it up." She picked up the invitation and tucked it inside a drawer. "I'll go by myself, then. I don' t want to put you out."

"Isobelle… "

"Sun's going down. You're patrolling, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, don't let me keep you." Isobelle pushed by him and headed upstairs. Spike heard the bedroom door slam shut.

Nice job. You handled that well.

Dante sidled over and twined around Spike's leg. "I'm gonna pay for this," he told the cat. "Got any advice?" Dante looked up and miaowed.

"Didn't think so."

~+~

Spike drew back his hand and delivered a vicious blow to his opponent's jaw, snapping the hapless vamp's head back with a satisfying crack. The vamp staggered and fell to the ground.

" …And then she had the nerve to say - in her passive-aggressive, little brat way - 'If you can't do this one thing for me… '. Shit, like it's nothing!" Spike stomped over and kicked his target in the ribs. "Women!"

"Hey, pal," the vamp croaked, rolling away from Spike's boots. "Maybe you should be taking this out on your honey and not me."

"The last time I tried to hang with a girl's friends - complete disaster. Not that it was my fault, mind you, but a fella couldn't even be himself without the little miss givin' him the evil eye."

The vamp tried to get to his feet, but one smooth roundhouse from Spike sent him crashing back to the dirt. Another solid kick to his ribs kept him down. Spike circled the supine vamp, still deep in his tirade.

"And this isn't some bloomin' birthday party, either. This is work. This is… grown-up stuff."

"It's all bad," the vamp groaned. "C'mon, man. I'm on your side. Gimme a break."

"Shut up."

Spike looked down at the beaten lump by his feet; his target had been thoroughly trashed. Blood trickled from the vamp's mouth and nose. His eyes were blackened and there were cuts across his brow. Spike backed off slightly, trying to rein in his temper.

"It's just too bloody much to expect, don't you think?"

The vamp blinked up at Spike, wondering which answer would put an end to the thrashing.

"Yeah," the vamp moaned, tentatively. "No bitch is worth… a cocktail party?"

Spike narrowed his eyes and stalked back to his prey. Grabbing a fistful of shirt, he dragged the vamp to his feet and slammed him against a tree.

"What did you just say?"

The vamp wavered. "Uh… 'cocktail party'?"

"Before that."

"Oh. Uh… hey man, I'm sure she's a swell gal. Real sweet, great in the sack and everything… "

"You're not helping yourself," Spike growled, sending another blow to the vamp's nose.

"OW! Quit it! Go, don't go - who gives a shit, right? They're just humans. Not like they're anything special. Fuck'em, man."

Spike reached behind his back, pulled a stake from the waist of his jeans and considered the vamp's words.

Just humans.

"You know mate, I think you've got a point. Fuck'em."

The vamp nodded vigorously, hoping he had earned a pass. His hope faded as he watched Spike draw back his arm and aim the stake at his heart.

"Out of the mouths of dust," Spike said, driving the stake home.

"Damn," the vamp muttered, before exploding in the air.

~+~

Isobelle stifled a yawn and tossed the TV remote onto the sofa. It was well after midnight and Spike still hadn't returned from patrol. Equal measures of irritation and worry had kept her sequestered in the den; as tired as she was, she wouldn't have slept had she gone to bed.

Guilt, also, would have kept her awake; she felt badly about the way she had spoken to Spike. It hadn't occurred to her that the ease he displayed around her was due solely to their close relationship, and not to any psychological or social growth in dealing with his souled status. Having been a slave to his demon for so long, the idea of following societal rules and 'fitting in' with others had to be a novel and frightening one. He'd told her he had been turned following a party, after having been rejected by the object of his affection. Crowds might never have been comfortable for him, unless he was out on the prowl, searching for his next…

She didn't finish the thought. That was the past - she hoped. Spike had made a conscious choice about his future when he sought the return of his soul. Whether he wanted to accept it or not, part of that future involved interacting with other people. He patrolled, he went to bars - he surrounded himself with life and humanity, but still he stayed on the periphery of society, a true exemplar of one who was always alone in a crowd. He was an observer of life; he indulged in its benefits when he was able to, enjoyed some of what it had to offer, but remained unbound to the coil - dissociated, yet stuck within the mass of life.

Besides, there was something fundamentally wrong about Spike interacting only with her; whatever their relationship was becoming, she wasn't comfortable being his sole companion and connection to the coil.

For God's sake, she chastised. A little anger, a little fatigue, and you start channeling your behavioural psych professor. Get over yourself.

She heard a key turn in the back door, the lock cracking as it unlatched. Scampering sounds told her Dante was making his habitual run for freedom; she waited, knowing what was coming next.

"GOTCHA!" Spike's voice echoed from the kitchen. "You keep tryin', cat, and you keep failin'. You'll never get past me."

Isobelle grabbed a magazine from the coffee table and pretended to read. He sauntered into the den, Dante, a limp ball of purring fur in his arms.

"You wait up for me?" he asked, joining her on the sofa. She edged away slightly and kept her focus on the magazine. Last year's fall fashions were suddenly very interesting.

"Nope. Just couldn't sleep."

"Hm. Need a little help gettin' tuckered out?"

He leaned in to nuzzle her neck, but she squirmed and pushed him away.

"Knock it off. You're all dusty," she complained.

"Hazard of the gig. Bagged a baddie tonight."

"Good for you."

"What? Are you still pissed about earlier?"

"I'm not mad," she replied, the magazine pages snapping as they were turned.

Spike inched closer. Isobelle kept shifting away, retreating down the sofa, until she found herself pinned between the arm and Spike's body.

"Show me then," he purred, nipping her earlobe.

"Hey, you're still dusty," she protested. "You're making me itch."

"In a good way?"

"No!" The magazine slid to the floor as she got to her feet. "I'm going to bed."

"Good idea," he enthused, following her to the stairs.

"I'm going to bed, to sleep," she clarified.

"That's no fun. Let me jump in the shower, get all squeaky-clean, then you can make me dirty again." He arched an eyebrow and sent her what she assumed was a 'come hither' look.

"What is your problem? I'm still mad at you! Knock off the cheap seduction!"

"But, 'belle," he whined, grabbing hold of her hand, "You said before you weren't mad."

"Of course I said I wasn't mad! I'm not going to tell you I'm mad when you ask me if I'm mad! You're supposed to know I'm mad! God, after 126 years, you think you'd have learned a thing or two about women! I can't believe…"

She stopped in mid-sentence as Spike started to shake.

"What is it?"

"God," he choked, eyes sparkling. "You're so cute when you're ticked."

Her jaw dropped. "You're laughing at me!"

"Yes, I am. You're priceless, 'belle."

With a glare, she turned on her heel and stomped up the stairs.

"Oh, come on," he said, catching up to her. He stood a couple of stairs below her, so that he had to look up to meet her eyes. "Just… look at you. All huffy and bent out of shape because I won't go to some nancy wine sipping 'do. Did you really think I'd go, rubbin' elbows with all your friends?"

Isobelle crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I asked you."

He sobered at that statement. " 'belle, I'm learnin' my limits here, and hobnobbing with your gang is waaay beyond them."

"Well," she replied, voice softer, less aggravated. "I had to at least ask, right?"

"What do you mean?"

She dropped her defensive posture, letting her arms hang loosely at her side. "How would you have felt if I hadn't told you at all? What if… what if I'd had gone, without bothering to ask you to join me? Would you have been relieved, or felt left out?"

"I… uh… " he stammered, thrown by the question. He'd never considered that scenario. The idea that she would exclude him from some aspect of her life was more of a shock to him than her invitation had been; even entertaining the notion hurt him deeply, more than he would have thought.

"Bugger. How the hell do you do that?"

She shrugged. "It's a gift," she replied. He watched her climb the rest of the stairs and slip from view into the bedroom.

"Women," he muttered, heading off to the shower.

~+~

Isobelle padded around the bedroom, listening to the muffled sound of the shower, as she prepared for sleep. She pulled a nightshirt on over her head, wondering why she even bothered with sleepwear anymore; at least half the time, whatever she wore wound up at the foot of the bed, pushed to the floor, or - on occasion - thrown across the room. Still, she went through the ritual of putting on nightclothes, setting the alarm clock and checking for felines, before climbing between clean cotton sheets and settling to sleep.

She turned off the bedside lamp and waited, lying in the dark for a long while, until, finally, the shower was turned off. She closed her eyes and focused on the sounds from beyond the bedroom. Rattling towel racks, heavy footfalls and creaking doors providing by-play of his own nightly ritual.

He slipped in beside her, the mattress dipping under his weight. Artificial heat - a by-product of the long shower - emanated from his body, making her sweat under the covers. She felt him twist onto his side. She sensed him watching her, his unseen gaze sending tingles down her spine.

"You awake?"

"You know I am," she answered.

"You still mad?"

She sighed. "Didn't we cover the whole 'asking if I'm still mad' thing earlier?"

"Yeah, but I'm expecting a straighter answer this time."

"No," she replied. "I'm not mad anymore."

"Good."

A few moments passed.

" 'belle?"

"Hm?"

"Would you have really done that?" he asked, "Gone and not told me about it?"

Damn. I should have never put that thought in his head.

"No," she said, rolling over to face him. "I wouldn't have done that. It would have been dishonest and… frankly, kind of mean, don't you think?"

"When you put it that way, givin' me the idea of you slippin' off like that, it… I have to say, it bothered the hell out of me."

"Made you mad?"

"Made me hurt."

Her smirk was lost in the darkness. "Poor Spike. So sensitive."

"Don't let it get around."

"For what it's worth," she said, sliding into his arms, "I'm sorry I pushed the issue. You shouldn't be made to do anything you don't want to do. And, I'm sorry that my idea hurt you."

He tightened his embrace, pulling her closer. "Made me feel left out. Rejected."

"Rejected?"

He pressed a kiss into her hair. "Beneath you."

"I'm sorry, Spike. None of this was meant to upset you."

"Made me think, though. And, I decided that I'll go with you."

God, Spike, you're a treasure.

"You sure? You want to go?"

"No, I don't want to go, but I will go."

"Why?"

Another of his kisses got lost among her curls.

"Because you asked me."

She smiled into his chest.

"Well," she murmured, "now we need to get you a suit… "

~+~