Chapter Four
The hospital was noisy and busy, and they weren't allowed in to see Tara. She was in her own room in ICU - "Only bloody way to get any privacy in the NHS," Spike grumbled - and only close family was allowed in. But Tara's family lived far away and Willow didn't have a phone number for them so she was sitting alone by her girlfriend's bed, trying hard not to cry.
Outside, Buffy, Anya and Xander sat on hard plastic chairs, looking at peeling, faded posters advertising hepatitis jabs.
"Man, this place is depressing," Xander said.
"Do you think she'll die?" Anya asked.
"No, of course not," Buffy said quickly. "They said it was just head trauma..."
"Hate to break it to ya, Buff, but head trauma doesn't go very easily with the word 'just'," Xander said.
Buffy sat back in her chair. "I hate this," she said. "I liked Tara, she was nice. A little quiet, but she was nice. It's not fair she should get clubbed over the head with an Inca spear."
"At least she wasn't stabbed with it," Anya said helpfully. "Those things can go right through you."
They both looked at her.
"I saw it on the Discovery Channel."
"You two need to get out more," Buffy said, as Giles and Spike rounded the corner. She had yet to figure out what the connection between them was: how on earth had a curator and a - a - a whatever-the-hell-Spike-was got together? He wore biker boots, for God's sake.
"Summers," he said. "You're with me."
"Will you stop calling me Summers? I have a first name."
"Buffy? What sort of a name is Buffy?"
"The name my mother gave me. Spike."
"That's a street name and I earned it. Now come on." He took her arms and Buffy pulled it back.
"What? No. Where?"
Spike rolled his eyes. "Away from here. I'll explain on the way."
"Giles," Buffy said helplessly, but he waved her away.
"You'll be safe with him, Buffy."
"I thought you said he was a reprobate!"
"Well, yes, he is," Giles started cleaning his glasses, "but he'll look after you."
Buffy looked up at Spike. He grinned.
"Okay," she sighed. "Where are we going?"
"Away," he said, and led her from the ward.
"So remind me again," Xander said, "who the hell is that guy?"
"He's a - well, it doesn't matter," Giles popped his glasses back on. "I really think it might be best if you two don't get involved in this."
Anya looked affronted. "Why not?"
"Involved in what?"
"The Angelus group is very dangerous and they clearly want something that Buffy has. We think," he lowered his voice, "we think they're behind the break-in last night. Their treatment of Tara shows how brutal they can be to bystanders. Poor Tara was just staying late, doing some paperwork for me." He sighed. "My point is, I don't want you two to get caught up in this. I really think you should move on."
"Back to America?"
"Well, maybe not. Just away from Buffy. Until we have a handle on this. I never suspected... Well. You should pack your things. You can get to almost anywhere from London."
*
Buffy found herself being dragged along the pavement by Spike, who kept pushing her into the edge.
"What the - hey, will you let go?"
"Nope."
"I could Mace you."
"Be amazed if you got that through customs."
Buffy wrinkled her nose. "I'm not going to run away."
"No but someone might try and nick you."
"Nick me? What's that supposed to mean?"
Spike grinned. "Steal you. You know, to nick, nicking... It's a word."
"Maybe, but that's not what it means where I come from."
He tugged her along a bit further, then down into the deep pit of a Tube station. Some of the lines were very deep under the ground and they had to travel down several steep escalators that made Buffy dizzy.
"You have to tell me where we're going."
"Back to Giles's."
"Why?"
"To get your stuff."
"Why?"
"You do like to ask questions. Okay, Summers, we're going on the run."
"What's that going to solve?"
Spike looked surprised.
"See, I can be practical," Buffy tossed her hair haughtily.
"No doubt, love. But so can I. Best if the Angelus doesn't catch you. We can hide out somewhere outside of London. Giles has... associates who can deal with things in London."
"What kind of-" Buffy began, but then the train lurched to a stop and Spike led her out onto the crowded platform. They were back at Kings Cross, and it took only a few minutes to get to Giles's house. Spike had a key - at least, he had something that opened the door, and he gave her a little shove towards the stairs.
"Go and pack," he said. "And be quick."
Grumbling, Buffy went up the stairs and started throwing things into her suitcase. This was ridiculous. All she needed to do was get hold of someone from this Angelus group and show them her ring and they'd see it was nothing to do with them. Just a silly trinket Riley had given her.
The phone rang and a minute later Spike called up the stairs, "Summers? Phone for you."
Buffy frowned. She went to the top of the stairs, spied an extension in Giles's room, and picked it up. "Got it," she called down.
"Buffy?" squeaked a familiar voice. "Who was that? He sounded really cute."
Buffy smiled to hear her sister. "Hey, Dawnie. He's just a friend of Giles's. What's up?"
"Mom just bought this really ugly couch. I'm not kidding. It's brown and it has these studs... Ugh, it's like a Rottweiler collar."
"You called to tell me about a couch?"
"Well, no I called because Mom told me to. She wants to know how you are."
Buffy was hit with a sudden wave of homesickness. "I'm okay. Is she there?"
"At the gallery. Hey, Buffy, it's not too early there, is it?"
"It's four in the afternoon. What time is it where you are?"
"Eight am. I'm waiting for the school bus - wait, it's here! Gotta run, Buff-"
And the phone went dead.
"That makes two of us," Buffy said, standing up and nearly walking into Spike. "It's rude to eavesdrop."
"You were talking kind of loud. Who's Donnie?"
Buffy frowned as she went back to her suitcase. "I don't know a Donnie."
"So you were talking to a complete stranger on the phone, then?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Who were you talking to?"
He looked annoyed, and Buffy suddenly realised what he meant. To an Englishman, Dawnie would sound like Donnie. A guy's name. But then, he'd heard Dawn's voice when she called up...
"Her name's Dommie," she said wickedly. "Short for Dominique. She's French."
"Friend of yours?"
"She's my girlfriend," Buffy said solemnly, and Spike stared. Buffy picked up a pair of lacy knickers and folded them ostentatiously.
"Your girlfriend?"
"Yeah. We haven't been together long. I haven't told Giles about her yet, so shh," she put her finger to her lips, laughing hard inside.
"But - your ring, that's from an ex-boyfriend..."
"Can't a girl change her mind?"
Spike stood there, hands on hips, looking shell-shocked. "You're gay?"
"Well, that's what girls usually are when they have girlfriends," Buffy said, thinking, I'll go to hell for this.
Spike was still a while longer, then he said, "Jesus," and walked out.
Buffy fell on her bed, laughing.
"Really?" Spike said, coming back in, and Buffy covered her eyes and pretended to cry.
"Really," she said, sniffing, "and I'm kinda missing her now, so if you don't mind..."
Spike retreated, and Buffy packed in guilty, half-laughing silence.
*
Willow stood looking at the bloodstain on the floor and sniffed loudly. "Giles, she's really hurt."
Giles looked awkward. He just wasn't given to physical displays of affection, but he managed a clumsy hug. Willow clung to him.
"I mean, what if she doesn't wake up? Anya said the longer she's asleep the worse it is..."
"Anya has too much free time and needs to watch less television," Giles said firmly, releasing her. "We need to find out if there's anything missing here."
"It's not exactly easy to figure out what's not here," Willow grumbled half an hour later. "And it's all so messy."
"Yes, thieves are not as considerate as they used to be," Giles remarked, piling papers on top of each other. "Just... Just try and work out if there are any gaps. I know you've catalogued a lot of the things down here."
Willow nodded and went back to picking up small artefacts and looking for the boxes they belonged in. It wasn't easy: she doubted if a lot of people could tell the difference between a four thousand year old Assyrian left shin bone and a right one. She was afraid she was putting half of the things back in the wrong boxes.
"Oh, good Lord," Giles said suddenly, and Willow made a face.
"I know. Why are we even keeping Assyrian shin bones anyway?"
Giles didn't answer, and when Willow looked up at him he was staring at a piece of paper, looking white.
"What?"
He turned the paper to her, and on it was written in something red and splodgy that Willow realised was blood, 'We Will Find Her.'
"Oh God," Willow said.
"My sentiments exactly."
*
Buffy found the English motorways frightening. Spike was throwing the car forward at about eight miles an hour, and grumbling because he was stuck in the middle lane. Buffy wasn't sure why he didn't just go into the left lane and get past the cars there, but he would only overtake on the right.
The right-hand lane, however, was hurtling along so fast it hurt Buffy's eyes to watch it. If she thought Spike was going fast, it was nothing compared to the Schumachers on the right.
"Does everyone in England drive like a maniac?"
Spike grinned. "As opposed to America, where you're all so civilised you undertake whenever you want."
"Undertake?"
"Going into the slow lane... We have a system where the further to the right you are, the faster you are," he explained. "Crawlers stay on the left. Old grannies and big lorries. Easier to get on and off."
He flicked an indicator and slipped into the fast lane, accelerating to ninety-five. The car was old and manky, but it flew under Spike's foot.
Buffy closed her eyes and tried to remember a prayer or two.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere big and empty. A bit like your friend Xander's head."
"Hey, don't make fun of my friends."
"Or what?"
"Or - well, I'd make fun of yours but you don't appear to have any."
Spike scowled at me. "It's lonely at the top, love."
"Top of what? Britain's Most Wanted list?"
"Yeah, everyone wants me." He paused, glancing back at her. "Well, nearly everyone. Listen, Buffy, if you're... Then why did you-"
"Hey, look, my Mom has that car."
"That's nice. Buffy-"
"Except hers is a sort of gold colour. Mmm. Maybe it's more platinum."
"Buffy-"
How thick was he? "I really don't want to talk about it, Spike, if that's okay?"
He glared at the road. "That's fine."
It seemed like hours and hours in the silent car (the radio didn't work), but finally he pulled off the dark motorway and onto a smaller road. Then off that road onto a lane. Then off the lane onto a rutted farm track. The old car bounced over the mud and Buffy felt he spine jar.
"Is it much further?"
Spike nodded at something illuminated in a flash of the headlights. "Right there."
Buffy looked with dismay at a crumbling cottage. There was a dead vine hanging off the front, and the shutters were broken. Maybe it would look better by daylight.
They got out of the car, and Buffy stretched gratefully. Spike got her suitcase out and she pulled it after her without waiting for him to take it. He looked surprised at first, then his expression settled.
"Where are we?"
"North Yorkshire. Whole lot of nothing out here."
Buffy peered through the darkness at the moor rolling around the cottage. "Yeah, I see that."
Despite the ramshackle look of the cottage, the door was heavily locked, and it took Spike quite a while to open up. He walked in, flicked a switch, and a bare bulb glared at Buffy, assaulting her tired eyes. When she could see again, she made out a table against the wall with a little camping stove on it, and a kettle, and stacks of tinned food. There were a couple of chairs at the table, then some crates and boxes, a dirty fireplace, and that was it.
"You have got to be kidding."
Spike looked round at her. "You'd prefer o stay in London so the Angelus group can cut your finger off for your ring? 'Cos they will."
"They could just take it off-"
"They won't," Spike said grimly. "Believe me."
Buffy sat down on her case. "So how long do we have to stay here for?"
"Oh, a while."
"How long is that?"
Spike shrugged. "Until we have to move again."
"Oh, gee, you're helpful."
"All part of my job."
Buffy looked around dispiritedly. There was just this one room, quite large, but also pretty damn cold. She had a feeling she'd want to cuddle up to Spike for warmth, and that couldn't end well. Good job he thought she was gay.
She stood up. "So where's the bathroom around here? Or do I need to find a bush?"
"There's an outhouse," Spike said. "By the barn."
"This place has a barn, but it has no bathroom? The English are insane."
"As we're often told. Here." Spike chucked a toilet roll at her, and Buffy went out, blushing.
It was very cold outside, and windy too, and Buffy had to keep pushing her hair out of her eyes as she stumbled across the rough earth to the hulking barn. It looked pretty desolate, a crumbling stone structure, and she went all the way around twice before she found the little hut tacked on the side, like something out of Shrek.
Inside was even worse, and Buffy did what she had to before rushing away from all the lacy cobwebs and scuttling nasties in the dark. No light out here. She made a mental note to drink nothing.
Coming back out, Buffy picked her way across the dark ground by the barn, aiming for the little patch of light coming from the small back window of the cottage. God, this place was primitive. And there could be anything in these shadows-
Quite suddenly, an anything grabbed her and shoved her inside the barn, hard against the wall. Buffy was winded, unable to see or breathe. She knew the Angelus had got her. Bye bye fingers.
"Who are you? Where the hell is Buffy?" demanded a familiar voice, and Buffy dragged in a breath, his fingers tight at her throat.
"I'm right here," she croaked, "Spike, you're choking me-"
Instantly he moved his hand, and Buffy sucked in as much air as her lungs would hold.
"Jesus, Buffy, you scared me. You didn't come back and I thought," he kissed her forehead desperately, "I thought-"
"I'm okay," she reassured, stroking his hair, which shone pale in the moonlight coming in through the big, open barn door. Spike kissed her face, her neck, as if he was checking she was really there.
"God, Buffy-"
He moved his lips to her mouth, and it wasn't a gentle kiss. It was angry, and hurt, and relieved, and a whole lot of other things that Buffy had no time to think about as his hands slid around her body, and his hard muscles pinned her against the stone wall. She buried her fingers in his hair and held him to her. He felt good, really good.
His hands were all over her, pulling her jacket open so fast buttons popped all over the floor, unnoticed by either of them. Buffy reached inside his leather coat and felt his hard, hot body under his T-shirt, and then his hands were under her clothes, feeling for her bra under her sweater, lifting her legs around his waist.
Buffy needed no encouragement. Wrapping herself around him, she reached down to his jeans and unsnapped the button at the top. She hardly had to move the zipper. Spike was big and hard enough to be doing that for her.
He moaned against her mouth as she wrapped her hand around him, and he bit her lip, hard, 'til blood nearly came. She didn't really notice his hands under her skirt until his fingers were inside her knickers, and then it wasn't just his fingers, he was inside her, and Buffy was so shocked she snapped her head back against the wall, staring at him.
Spike looked shocked too. And then Buffy rearranged her legs around him, and his face sharpened with pleasure, became almost ugly, before he brought his head down and nipped at her neck with his teeth.
He was as brutal as she'd fantasised, Buffy knew later she should be ashamed for wanting to be ravished but to be fair, she was doing a bit of ravishing herself. Spike was holding her up against the wall, but Buffy's hands were everywhere under his clothes, kneading and gripping, and it got faster and harder, 'til they were both gasping and crying out, neither making a coherent word, until Buffy came with a scream, "God, Spike..."
He came too, losing his balance, both of them toppling to the ground, breathless and mindless, a tangle of legs and leather, neither able to move for the effort of getting oxygen, both wondering how the hell that had just happened.
"Jesus," Spike gasped eventually, reaching for Buffy who was fighting for breath beside him. He rolled onto his back and pulled her against him. "What's your girlfriend gonna say to that?"
Buffy started laughing. Her body shook and she gasped for breath, tears running down her face.
"That's funny?" Spike asked uncertainly, trying to figure out if she'd really shut his brain down, or if she was insane.
Possibly it was a combination of both.
"I don't have a girlfriend," Buffy hiccupped.
"You don't?"
"No. I just said that to... to... to put you off."
"Obviously you were successful," Spike said drily. "So... you're not gay?"
"I think we just proved that."
"Well, you never know. When Red came to England she had a boyfriend back home to write to."
"Red?"
"Willow." Spike curled his arm around her shoulders, and Buffy snuggled against him. "Well, there go my lesbian fantasies. Guess it'll have to be Red and stutter-girl."
"It's not fair to make fun of someone who's in a coma," Buffy said, but she didn't sound very convincing. She yawned loudly.
"Worn you out, love?"
"Hey, I've had a hard day."
"And you can have a hard night too, if you want."
Buffy rolled her eyes. Then she looked up at him, and the amusement faded from her face.
"What?" Spike asked softly.
"We just had sex."
"Yep." He stretched in a self-satisfied way.
"I hardly know you."
"You know me a lot better than most of the girls I have sex with."
"Okay, I did not need to hear that," Buffy sat up, wriggling a little bit because her body felt so good. "I think we should go back inside."
"Fine by me." Spike rearranged his clothing and pulled Buffy towards him for a long kiss, much softer than before. "I've got plans for you."