Chapter Twelve
It was late when Spike had finished getting Buffy and himself cleaned up, found some clean bedding and dumped the old stuff in Giles's washing machine, got Buffy something to drink and assured her he didn't mind looking after her. He dressed her in his t-shirt and tucked her into the clean bed and she reached out to him.
"Spike..."
"I wasn't going to leave, pet, I'm just going to the bathroom. Give me five minutes."
She watched him go and Spike felt like he was abandoning a helpless puppy.
He stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. So Giles thought he was a danger to Buffy, but Buffy didn't know yet. Or they wouldn't be here in Giles's house. And sooner or later Giles was going to walk in and probably call the police on Spike. Not that he was particularly worried about that: Spike had been giving coppers the slip since his teens. He'd outrun a babble of sheikh's henchmen on more than one occasion. A London bobby wasn't going to bother him.
Although it would mean leaving Buffy behind.
Spike ran his hands over his face. What the hell was it with this girl? She yelled at him and hit him and tricked him and ran away from him, but he still followed. It wasn't just that she was a bloody miracle in bed. It wasn't just that she had a beautiful, lithe body, hair like silk, eyes he could drown in. All those things were contributing factors, yes, but...
It was that she trusted him, even when she said she didn't. Spike thought she was bloody stupid to trust him, because who'd trust Spike? But he was incredibly touched that Buffy did. He'd meant it when he said that only an idiot could love her. You'd have to be insane to spend any amount of time with someone as difficult as Buffy.
But God, it was rewarding.
He went back into the bedroom and Buffy opened her eyes sleepily. She reached out to him. "World's spinning," she mumbled. "Make it stop."
"I can't," Spike said with a smile. "Too much vodka."
Buffy's face crumpled and he swooped down, terrified she was going to start crying. "Okay, all right, look, close your eyes and go to sleep, and that'll help."
"Sleep with me."
Spike stood up and took off his jeans and lifted Buffy out of the way as he got into the little bed with her. She curled up immediately against his chest, her fist up by her face, sleeping like a child.
Spike stroked her hair and wondered what the hell he was going to tell Giles.
Giles walked into his house some time after midnight. He hadn't meant to stay so late at the museum, but he'd had so much work to do. His desk was buried under a sea of paperwork. His eyes were blurry behind his glasses and all Giles could think of was a cold vodka tonic and sleep.
But the vodka wasn't in the fridge where he'd left it, it was lying on the floor, spilling all over the tiles. Giles frowned. He'd have remembered leaving it there, or knocking it over. He'd have thought it was the cat, apart from one thing.
He didn't have a cat.
Even weirder, the washing machine was running. Who the hell had started that in the middle of the night?
He picked up the nearly empty bottle and held it by the neck as he checked the living room and then crept up the dark stairs, avoiding the one in the middle that creaked. His own bedroom was empty, the larger spare room was too. The bathroom door was swinging in the breeze from the open window-
Shit. He hadn't left the window open.
There was only one room left to check, and Giles pushed open the door to the box room, bottle raised.
In the moonlight, Spike and Buffy presented a perfect tableau. She small and fragile, dwarfed by the black t-shirt she wore, her head nestled against Spike's neck. He dozed with his head against hers, leaning back against the headboard, barechested, looking like the protector he was paid to be.
The protector Giles knew he wasn't.
As if he knew he was being watched, Spike opened one eye. He looked over at Giles and let out a small sigh.
"She drank it," he said, and closed his eye.
"I don't care about the vodka," Giles hissed, "what are you doing here?"
"Trying to sleep."
"I could call the police."
Spike opened his eyes again. "Do you really think that's a threat to me? A handful of unfit bobbies panting down the street when I'm already long gone?"
"So if I call them, you'll go?"
Spike hesitated. "I'll take her with me," he said, altering his grip on Buffy. She sighed in her sleep and snuggled closer, and Giles narrowed his eyes.
"Do you have any idea how much danger she's in? And how much you're suspected?"
"Have you been talking to Captain Courage again?" Spike asked wearily.
"If by that you mean Riley, then yes. He thinks you're involved with the Angelus group."
"Well, I'm not. And if you don't shut up you'll wake up Buffy and she'll probably be sick all over everywhere. Again."
Giles realised what the washing machine was about. Strange, you'd never think of Spike as being remotely domesticated. Giles would lay money Spike wouldn't know a dishwasher if it did the dance of the seven veils in front of him.
"Is she ill?"
Spike smiled. "The sickness of the vodka bottle."
"You've been giving her alcohol?"
"No, Mr Rochester, I have not been plying your underage ward with the demon drink. She's old enough to drink even in Yankland. She can decide for herself how much she wants to drink."
Buffy stirred, nuzzling Spike's neck and mumbling incoherently. Spike stroked her hair and shh'd her.
"Spike," she mumbled.
"Yes, love?"
"It's the middle one."
Wondering what the hell she was dreaming about, Spike replied, "Is it now?"
"Wanna save it."
"We'll save it."
Buffy mumbled a bit more and wrapped her arm around his waist. Giles cleared his throat, embarrassed, and said, "I'll speak to you in the morning, then."
He shut the door, and Spike smiled to himself as he closed his eyes. Giles wouldn't throw them out. He'd be too embarrassed.
The highlands of Scotland are known for being an inhospitable climate, but Riley had no idea that the people were so prickly too. Weren't the Scots supposed to be welcoming? Or was that the Irish?
The truth was that, after a day's whole travelling from Sunnydale to LA International, to London Heathrow, to Glasgow, and then on a train to the nearest big town, then a bus to the nearest small town, then a taxi out to the village near where Buffy and Spike had been staying, Riley was exhausted and in a very bad mood. He snapped at the villagers, who, having just got over one American in their midst, and a polite, pretty American too, were not disposed to take on another one. They snapped back at him and thickened their already incomprehensible accents so that Riley didn't understand a single word. It was like trying to speak ancient Greek when you didn't even have a modern dictionary.
"Are they still here?" he repeated to the whiskery landlord of the pub, which was the only place in the village that showed any life. "A London man and an American girl. He has bleached blond hair and she's very small and pretty. Blonde, too, but naturally."
Sure, the landlord thought, and if you believe that I can take you out to see Nessie.
"Ach," he said, rubbing his chin, "I dinna ken."
Riley gave up.
"Do you have a room?" he asked. "You know, a room? Where I can sleep?"
Just because you don't understand me, doesn't mean I don't understand you, the landlord thought in mixed disgust and amusement.
"Aye," he said, more clearly this time, "thirty pounds."
"I have American dollars," Riley offered a wad of greenbacks.
"Pounds," the landlord said firmly. Where the hell was he going to change American dollars?
"And I don't suppose you'd take AmEx, either?"
The landlord grinned and gestured to a credit card machine. "Now will ye be wantin' a room with a bath, or a shower?"
In the morning, Spike left Buffy sleeping and padded into the bathroom. The shower was hot and he stayed under until the room was thick with steam and the scent of Giles's expensive shampoo. Note to self, Spike thought as he replaced the bottle, rip the piss out of Giles for this.
He dressed in yesterday's black jeans and shirt, leaving Buffy curled up in his t-shirt. She slept with her hands by her face, like a baby, fist curled around a lock of golden hair. He stroked her cheek and she rubbed her face against his hand, catlike, dead asleep.
"Buffy," Spike said quietly, and she didn't stir. "I think I love you." Buffy sighed in her sleep. "I hope that's okay with you. Not that I'd stop if it wasn't."
Buffy slept on. Spike kissed her hair and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him.
Downstairs, he found Giles reading The Times while Tara and Willow giggled over the coffeepot.
"Excellent," he said, as the toaster popped. "I do like to come down to lesbians at breakfast."
Giles rolled his eyes. Willow gave him a fingerwave and Tara, getting up to fetch the toast, gave a diffident smile.
"Where's Buffy?" Giles asked.
"Oh, I handed her over to Angel last night," Spike said, helping himself to Tara's coffee.
"William," Giles said warningly.
"She's still asleep," Spike protested. "Go and see if you like but don't bloody wake her up. If she sleeps all day she might not feel so bad when she wakes up."
"Buffy's here?" Willow asked, wide-eyed.
"Is she sick?" Tara said.
"Yes, she's here, and no, she's not sick. Had too much to drink."
"I thought she was going home," Willow said, confused.
"Yes, well, maybe she thinks of this as home," Giles said with a fond smile.
All of them looked at him.
"Or maybe I called her mobile and persuaded her to come here instead," he admitted. "Anyway, William, how did you get in?"
Pissed off at being called William for the second time in one morning, Spike sucked in his cheeks and said, "Magic. What's for breakfast?"
"For you, nothing but a big explanation," Willow said. "And you're serving."
Spike made a face at her, but he consoled himself with the thought that they all had no idea he and Buffy had been having sex on that table twelve hours before.
"I think you need to explain to me, Rupert," he said, snagging an apple from the bowl on the table and wiping it on his shirt. "What was that telegram about?"
"That was for Buffy-"
"Who had already left."
"So you read it?" Willow said.
"Is - is that legal?" Tara asked.
"Do I look like I'd even know?" Spike said. "From whom is she in danger?"
"You, by all accounts."
"Yes, you can see how badly I've been treating her."
"You got her drunk," Giles protested.
"So shoot me."
"You've had worse ideas."
"Was it Riley?" Spike asked, taking a bite of the apple and making a face. "It's gone soft."
"Oh, I do apologise," Giles rolled his eyes. "And what business is it of yours if-"
The phone rang.
"I'll get it," Willow offered, and left the room.
"He thinks you're endangering Buffy," Giles told Spike.
"Bollocks. He was the one who kidnapped her. Why does he have it in for me? What did I do to him?"
"Took Buffy," Tara said quietly, and Spike turned his gaze on her, thoughtfully, as Willow came back in.
"Giles, do you know anyone called Dawn?"
Giles stood up. "Dawn? Yes, I-" he left the room, picked up the phone. "Dawn? What is it? Have you seen Riley again?"
"Well, no," Dawn said, hesitantly, "but that might be because I'm pretty sure he's in another country."
"Do you know where?"
"Well, it might not be another country. I'm not sure if it's, like, a state or something."
"Hawaii and Alaska are states, Canada and Mexico are not," Giles said patiently, recalling a geography project he'd helped her with years ago.
"No, I don't mean that," Dawn said. "I mean, is Scotland like a state of Britain, or is it a country? Or is the United Kingdom? I can never remember."
"It's a separate country within both the United Kingdom and Great Britain, it has its own parliament and mint but it's still under the rule of the Queen. Dawn, why are we having a discussion about British sovereignty?"
"Because I wanted to know if I was in the same country as Riley."
Giles stared at the Hockney print on the wall. "You're in Scotland?"
"No."
"Thank God-"
"I'm in England. Heathrow Airport. I was calling to ask how do I get to London, and is the Underground really underground? Giles? Giles?"
Riley called the number for the local taxi firm but could hardly understand what the man on the other end said. Consequently he had to wait in the pub for an hour before anyone turned up to drive him. And then he spent another half hour, while the meter was running, explaining where he wanted to go. This was interesting primarily because Riley had no idea where the cottage was. Thank God Buffy had been warned.
But when he got there the cottage was empty. The door was unlocked and there were signs of recent habitation - dirty dishes, scattered clothes, crumpled sheets... It was the sheets that really pissed Riley off. He wanted to know what the hell Spike had been doing to Buffy. And then he wanted to kill him for it.
Back in the village, he was just about to collect his things from his room, ready for the long trip back to civilisation, when he overheard a man in a postie's uniform talking to the barman.
"Och, I've nivver been so shaken! All the way to the airport, he wanted, and the gun at me the whole time."
Riley strode over and grabbed the man by the shoulder. "Who had a gun?"
The postman stared at him.
"Who was it? Did he have bleached blond hair, wore lots of leather, London accent?"
Terrified, the postie nodded.
Riley swore creatively under his breath. "You took him to the airport? Which airport?"
"Glasgow."
"Do you know where he was going?"
The postman shook his head.
"Fuck," said Riley, succinctly. He turned to the barman. "Get me that cab driver back here and tell him to take me to the airport and if he says he's busy, tell him I have a gun too."
"If you or Buffy go anywhere-" Giles warned Spike as he grabbed his jacket, "I'll-"
"I know," Spike said. "We'll be right here. I'm sure Buffy'll love to see her sis."
"If I haven't killed her yet for being such an idiot," Giles muttered, letting the door swing shut behind him.
Spike turned into the living room and switched on the TV. Thank God Giles had digital. He flipped to a news channel and looked over the local and national headlines. No killings. That had to be a good thing. Meant Angel was quiet.
He switched off the TV and went back into the kitchen, where he found Buffy, looking tired and lost in her jeans and his t-shirt, gingerly drinking orange juice under Willow's supervision.
"Didn't think I'd see you this side of midday," Spike said, and Buffy looked up at him. Her face was pale and her eyes looked bleary. Buffy's first hangover.
"I heard the phone and someone went out and I was awake," she said. "Thought I'd get up. Spike, how much did I drink last night?"
"Enough," he said. "You should eat something. Nice greasy fry-up. That'll make you feel better."
Buffy went paler. Her skin turned slightly green. "I think I'm gonna be sick," she mumbled, and Spike grabbed a cereal bowl from the table and held it out to her. "Can you make it to the bathroom?"
Buffy shook her head and threw up into the bowl.
"Or maybe the fry-up won't help," Willow ventured. "Come on, Buffy." She handed the bowl to Tara, who emptied it into the sink without a word and reached out an arm to stop Spike from following Buffy upstairs with Willow.
"Let her have some dignity," she said.
"She didn't last night."
"All the more reason to let her have some this morning."
Upstairs, Buffy sat miserably by the toilet, drinking the water Willow had given her.
"I didn't drink that much," she said.
"Well, uh, it's having quite an effect on you."
"Not a big drinker."
"Well, you're only twenty-one."
Buffy nodded. "All the bars in Sunnydale are really strict about ID."
"Some of then are around here," Willow said, "but don't forget you can drink at eighteen in England."
"So you passed this stage years ago?"
Willow nodded. "Fraid so."
Buffy groaned and rested her head against the bath. "He got me drunk," she said.
"That seems like a Spike thing to do."
"How long have you known him?"
"Well," Willow shrugged, "not really that long. Only when he comes to bring stuff for the museum."
"Like what?"
"I don't know... artefacts. This one time, he brought us an Inca foot!"
Buffy put her hand to her chest and tried to take deep breaths, nausea rising again. "Really? A foot?"
"Yeah. He said the rest was crushed when he stole it from these Colombian guys."
"He gets around, huh?"
"Yeah. He's brought us stuff from America and Asia and Africa..."
"Real stuff?" Buffy asked, and Willow smiled.
"Yes, we checked. He did try once with a fake, Giles says. Years ago. But Giles figured it out."
"He's smart like that."
"So what was the whole thing with your sister getting all scared about you and-"
"Wait, what's that about my sister?"
"She called here and said she'd been talking to that Riley guy, and he said Spike was really bad news so she called here and Giles got scared and sent a telegram to you in Scotland... Did you get it?"
"No."
"No, Spike said he read it. He said you'd already gone. But I thought... if you hadn't read it..."
"We had a fight," Buffy said.
"But you made up now?"
Buffy shrugged. She closed her eyes and rolled her head back against the top of the bath. "I think so. I don't know. He's infuriating. He teases me all the time but he can't take it at all. And sometimes he's really sweet and sometimes..."
"What?"
"Most of the time he's a bastard."
"Well, if he's a bastard," Willow began. "Then why do you... I mean, why did you...?"
"Why am I still sleeping with him?"
Willow nodded uncertainly.
"Because it's really good. And because he... I don't know. He's good to me. God, I sound like a battered Mafia wife."
Willow smiled. "Giles said he cleared up yesterday."
"Yesterday?"
"You were sick or something. Don't you remember?"
Buffy pressed her hand to her clammy forehead. "Uh, not really." All she remembered was having drunken sex with Spike on the table that people were now eating off. Was that what Will meant? Cleaning the table?
"He changed your bedding and put it in the wash. Giles said when he came in you were asleep in Spike's arms. That's what stopped him calling the police."
"Because I was asleep?"
"Because Spike was holding you. Like he loves you."
"He doesn't love me." Buffy hauled herself to her feet.
"How do you know?"
"He just... doesn't. I'm going to go back to sleep."
She closed the bedroom door behind her and Willow frowned at it a while before she went back downstairs. Spike was reading the paper and Tara was tidying away some of the breakfast things.
"She okay?" Spike looked up when Willow came in.
"Gone back to sleep."
"I'm just going to go check on her-"
"No," Willow said firmly, and Spike looked at her in surprise.
"Don't you tell me-"
"She needs to rest and all you'll do is disturb her. You can take her up something to eat later. Soup or, or something. Chicken soup."
Spike looked at her a while longer, then he sat down, frowning, and went back to Giles's paper.
Tara looked at Willow over Spike's head and winked.