"Still Bound" chapter 6
by BonnieD
Last chapter: Buffy's financial troubles were eased by an anonymous benefactor. Spike revealed his love. Willow raised Miss Kitty Fantastico and upset Tara. Anya proposed to Xander. Dawn was annoying. This chapter: More stuff happens.
Thanks to beta Zyrya for her continued efforts and to all who've reviewed or rec'd this work or its prequel "Golden Bands to Bind Them." I may not reply but am aware of all of you out there and appreciate you very much.
**********
Buffy entered the Magic Box to find Giles and Anya in heated debate over by the cash register and Tara and Willow giggling and flirting at the research table. The latter surprised her. There wasn't any sign of the tension Willow had expressed to her only yesterday. The couple must have had some fantastic make up sex.
"My method works better!" Anya was insisting as she jabbed her finger at the paperwork in Giles' hands. "It's more logical and organized and you're just jealous because I'm a better businessperson than you."
"Now that's patently ridiculous, Anya. I would be hard-pressed to find anyone who could make heads or tails of this ... miasma. May I remind you that I own this store? You must desist from making these changes without consulting me."
Buffy wandered over to the table and sat down across from the Wiccans. "Trouble in paradise?" she asked, nodding her head toward the bickering shopkeepers.
"The usual," Willow shrugged. "Some people just argue all the time." She smiled and covered Tara's hand with hers and they resumed making googly- eyes at each other. Buffy looked away in discomfort.
"How's Miss Kitty doing?" she asked, intently studying the engraving in the book that lay in front of her.
"Adorable as always," Willow said quickly. "Full of vinegar."
"No weird side effects?"
"Huh?" Tara tore her eyes away from Willow's and looked at Buffy in confusion.
"So how did your appointment at the bank go today?" Willow interrupted, shooting Buffy a 'drop it' frown. "Any luck?"
Buffy took her cue. "No. Just a demon." She described the spiny-headed creature that had rampaged through the bank and Tara and Willow began flipping through books looking for it. "Did you know," she added, "that it actually takes money to get money? Evidently I'm too destitute for the bank to take a gamble on."
She didn't mention the anonymous benefactor who had left a packet of cash in her mailbox. It was so like Giles to be all reserved and British about it, not wanting any gratitude. She would thank him privately for his generosity and in a round about way so as not to embarrass him. She looked up at her Watcher, all flushed red with anger and almost shouting at Anya, and felt a glow of warmth. His gift had made her feel so safe and protected.
"Is this the guy?" Willow asked, pushing a book in front of her.
"More human-shaped, less with the tentacles," Buffy said.
"How about this?" Tara held her book up and pointed to the illustration as if reading aloud to a kindergarten class.
"Score!" Buffy responded. "What does it say about him?"
" 'M'fashnik demons are notorious mercenaries hired to perform dangerous tasks for their employers. They are known to be thorough and tenacious in completing their goal.' That's all."
"While I was fighting the creature, I found out later someone was cleaning out the cash drawers. That must have been the goal. So it may be the last we'll see of M'fashnik. I'll have to ask around. See if anybody knows anything about the robbery," Buffy said.
She looked up and caught Giles' eye. He was walking away from his confrontation with Anya, polishing his glasses madly. Buffy beamed at him, trying to express all her gratitude in one dazzling smile. Her Watcher peered at her near-sightedly, slipped the glasses on and looked at her again, then returned a bemused smile.
"How did things go at the bank today?" he asked as he joined them at the table. "Any success?"
Buffy repeated her story.
"M'fashnik! I've heard of them before. It's my understanding that they aren't easy to summon into this dimension. Curious." Giles frowned then shrugged and changed the subject. "But more importantly, Buffy I'm sorry to hear that you've been turned down for a loan. I understand that you're under considerable financial pressure, if there's anything I can do to help...."
Buffy shook her head, still smiling warmly, "Oh no, you've done enough. More than! Thank you."
"Um, yes. Quite." Giles frowned again in confusion and looked for evidence of sarcasm in Buffy's tone, but she seemed quite sincere. He added after a pause, "Perhaps ... perhaps you might be interested in working a few hours at the shop each week. We could use extra...."
"What?!" Anya exploded, tearing out from behind the counter. "Are you firing me? Just like that? After all I've done for you? Worked my fingers to scrawny bones keeping the shelves stocked. Almost suffered a concussion stopping that warlock from lifting the merchandise. This is the thanks I get?"
"Anya," Giles interrupted. "Please calm yourself. I'm not talking about replacing you."
"Oh. Well ... that's different then."
"I said 'extra' help. On Saturdays we're quite busy," he explained to Buffy. "I'm sure we could find work for you. I can't pay you much, but...."
"Work? Here? That'd be ... great," Buffy injected as much enthusiasm into her tone as she could muster at the thought of spending countless sunny Saturdays enclosed in the world of sales and customer service. "I'll be here bright and early with bells on. Just tell me when you want me."
"This week would be wonderful. We have a shipment of rare imported tenucia coming in that will need unpacking."
"Great," Buffy enthused.
"Ooh! Ooh! Idea hatching!" Willow waved a hand in the air. "Xander was talking about being short-handed at work. I'm sure he could use a strong able-bodied body like yours, Buffy. You should ask him. Also, it would only be on weekdays so you'd still be free to help here. Sounds perfect, huh?"
"Perfect," Buffy repeated faintly, hearing the steel doors of the prison of adulthood slamming into place one by one. She thought, 'I may have a few minutes left open in my schedule. You want to fill those too? Maybe a child-development class would be in order.'
"She needs some down time too, sweetie," Tara cautioned her over-excited girlfriend, as she read the Slayer's darkening aura. "Buffy, maybe you'd like to sit in on a class with me sometime this week. You would love my Personal Spiritual Growth and Self-Awareness in Today's Ideologically Negative World course. Ms. Puantajuah is so uplifting and challenging. She really forces you to get in touch with your Inner Being."
Buffy smiled genuinely at Tara' earnest expression. "Maybe a class like that is just what I need. Sure, I'll go with you. And Will," she turned to her friend, "your idea was really great. I'll talk to Xander right away before he fills the position. Really. Thank you. Thank you all." She looked around at her friends' helpful, hopeful faces and felt a warm surge of affection followed by a sudden stomach-swirling bout of nausea.
She leaped to her feet and headed toward the bathroom. "Excuse me," she muttered as she sprinted from the room.
*************
"Eight ball. Corner pocket." The cue snicked against the black ball with authority sending it flying into the designated hole. "That's fifty bucks, mate."
Aware that he'd been hustled but unable to deny his loss, the Abercrombie & Fitch poster boy tossed the money down on the pool table in disgust. Spike scooped it up with a smile. He adored frat boys and all the lovely green currency that rained from their pockets. They kept him in blood, booze and smokes.
As the kid skulked away, Spike racked up the balls and scanned the room for his next victim. But the sheep had all been shorn, at least for this evening. There were no takers, so the vampire glided over to the bar to get a drink.
He eyed the dark-haired man slumped over his beer at the end of the bar. After ordering himself a whiskey, Spike gestured to the bartender to get the guy another round, and then caught the man's eye when he looked up to see who had paid for his next drink.
Harris frowned when he saw it was Spike, but he took a long drink of the fresh beer anyway. Spike strolled over to stand next to him.
"What do you want?" Xander growled.
"Just bein' sociable," Spike said calmly, reining in his intense dislike of the whelp.
"I don't socialize with psychopaths who try to murder me and my friends."
"Now. Now. That's all old history. I'm one of the white hats these days, remember?"
Xander shrugged, too wasted to argue.
"What's wrong? Did the lovely Anyanka dump you?"
Harris' eyes flicked toward him and Spike knew he was on the right track.
"Weren't demon enough for her, eh?"
"Shuddup." Xander took another swallow. "She didn't dump me. Not that it's any of your business."
"But you think she's thinking about it or that she's found someone else," Spike persisted. "Or maybe ... you're thinking about it." The surprised look on the boy's face gave him his answer. "Maybe she's a little too much demon for you."
"Spike is there anything you enjoy more than the sound of your own yapping?"
"Very little," he answered truthfully. "Come on. Tell all. What've I missed on Days in the Basement?"
"I don't live there anymore," Xander said, huffily. "Anya and I moved in together last fall."
"Do tell?" Spike digested that, contemplated a few minutes more and as usual, came up with a spot-on conclusion. "And now she wants the ring, the bridal shower and wedding cake, the kids, the dog and the picket fence," he surmised.
Xander stared at him open-mouthed.
"You needn't be so shocked. It's rather obvious, isn't it? It's what all human women want."
The young man looked back down at his drink. "I guess," he mumbled.
"So what are you waiting for? Take the plunge and set a date," Spike advised.
"Yeah." Xander shredded his napkin and drew his fingertip through the condensation on the bar. "But ... how do you know?"
"Know what?"
"If she's the right girl. Or if I'm the right guy. How do I know I'll make a good husband? How do I know we'll be competent parents? How do I deal with the fact that she's a thousand year old ex-demon in a beautiful girl's body? Do I really know her? Does she really know me? That kind of 'how do you know'?"
Spike sighed. "Look Harris. It's quite simple. Do you ache for her? Does your throat seize up when you see her? Do you feel your insides combusting when she speaks your name? Does she make you feel powerless as an Epro demon and strong as a Fyarl at the same time? Do you want to kill for her one minute and kill her the next?"
"Sometimes," Xander admitted. "Not always, but sometimes ... all of those things."
"Then, you bloody soft-minded git, what the hell are you on about? How can there be any thought rattling around in that empty shell you call a head other than pathetic gratefulness that you are allowed to touch such a goddess. You should be thanking whatever deity a boneless, brainless wanker like you believes in that a beautiful creature like her even deigns to notice you exist, much less gives you her love. Is that clear enough for you?"
"Uh...."
"Let me spell it out. Say 'yes'." Spike caught the bartender's eye and held up two fingers.
Xander continued to tear his napkin into tiny bits as he digested this tirade.
"Maybe you're right," he finally conceded in a low voice. "You're probably right."
"Of course I am."
"I do love her."
"And not to her credit, she appears to love you too," Spike added.
"Yes, she really does," Xander agreed. "I don't know why."
"Neither do I. But you should take advantage in case it's temporary insanity."
"Speaking of insane," Xander looked at Spike with curiosity instead of hatred for the first time ever, "what about Drusilla? How could you be with her for so long, so many years, as crazy as she was?"
"I'm not saying my girl wasn't a challenge," Spike tried to explain, "but all that faded away when I was in her arms. It just didn't matter. All I could think of was trying to please her, to make her happy, she was such a sad little thing underneath it all."
"Spike, she was an insane killer! Like you," Xander sat up straight as if he'd suddenly remembered to whom he was speaking.
"True. She was brilliant at torture and violence but she was also a poet and a seer. She had beautiful visions and she was an amazingly creative lover." Spike spoke thoughtfully, eyes gazing at long past memories. He seemed to have forgotten his companion's presence.
"Creative?" Xander's curiosity and healthy libido got the better of him. "Creative how?"
Spike snapped out of his reverie and he glanced over at his bar-mate. "With vampires sex is all tied up with pain and blood. Very intense and powerful. Dru could make it hurt so good you'd beg 'please ma'am may I have another' even as you writhed in your chains."
Harris licked his lips and leaned in a little closer. Spike smiled inside. The fish was hooked.
"She had this way of twisting your ... ah, but you wouldn't want to hear about that. Your virgin ears would bleed."
"Hey, I'm not so innocent. Anya and I've done lots of stuff," Xander huffed.
"Really? Like what?"
"Things. Adventurous things. None of your business."
Spike scoffed, "I'm not talking about velvet padded handcuffs and tickle-me feathers, mate. I'm talking down and dirty, no-holds-barred torture and mayhem. Your bird like that kind of kink?"
"I'm not having this conversation with you," Xander stonewalled.
"Your loss." Spike shrugged. "Thought you might be able to use a few pointers and all . before the wedding night. You know, just to spice things up a bit. Show Anyanka you've got it in you."
"Got what?"
"A dark side. That little bit extra that keeps a girl satisfied long term. Don't want her losing interest, now do you?"
"What? I . I don't need sex advice from a blood-sucking pervert!" By now Xander was so flustered and red-faced Spike thought he might have a stroke. It was such a joy to watch the boy squirm, he thought he'd play it a little more.
"Well all right then. If you don't want to hear about the Mondrovian love channel technique or the Shumasthra position...." The vampire tossed back his second shot of whiskey.
Before Xander could reply and Spike could launch into his quickly invented and outrageous yarn, Xander's cell phone rang.
"Yeah?" he answered, turning slightly away from Spike. There was a long pause. "Again? Okay. You're sure you're all right? Yeah. I can stop by tomorrow during my lunch hour and estimate the damages. Okay. Glad you're all right Buffy. Dawn too. See you tomorrow."
"Trouble at Slayer Central?" Spike tried to sound casual.
"Buffy's house is trashed again," Xander explained. "Something called a M'fashnik attacked her at home, but she and Dawn are both okay." He took a sip of his beer and shook his head. "Too bad the Council doesn't pay reparation for damages. Buffy's house repairs could be my bread and butter, not to mention a nice townhouse and a new car."
"You help her out for free then?" Spike asked.
Xander gave him a condescending look. "Spike, not everyone is an opportunistic jerk like you. Of course I do it for free. She's my friend and it's my contribution to the slaying."
"Yeah. That makes sense. Now I finally understand what possible value you could have to the Slayer because it certainly isn't your fighting skills."
"Shut up."
"Slayer's in a bit of a financial bind isn't she?" Spike asked. "Not holding it together so well with her mum dead, eh?"
"I guess not. Why?" Xander looked at him suspiciously.
"I just wondered if her Watcher ever considered that. Has he ever mentioned contacting the Council and asking for a wage for her?"
"Why do you care?" Xander was sitting up straighter and eyeing him even more keenly. The beer haze seemed to have cleared for a moment. "What's your sudden interest in Buffy anyway? Why are you always around? Always helping?"
"Told you. I got nothing better to do. I got to beat up on something to keep me sane and since demons are all that's left for me to damage, well, that's what I do. If it happens to coincide with what you lot are up to then lucky for you, isn't it?"
Xander looked doubtful but turned his attention back to his foamy fresh beer.
"Well, it's been nice chatting you up," Spike said and disappeared like smoke by the time Xander looked toward him again. He blinked and peered around the shadowy bar but Spike had vanished.
He shook his head, "Stupid vampire," and returned to his solitary drinking.
*********
Buffy sat on the back steps of her house, breathing in the cool night air and unwinding from her throw down with the M'fashnik demon. She wasn't tired. In fact, she felt fully charged and firing on all cylinders. And she was really, really hungry. The Lean Cuisine she'd had for dinner just wasn't cutting it.
Her stomach grumbled and she stroked it. Down, beast! As she patted her belly, she thought about what it would feel like in a few more months when there was a hard lump there or a few months after that when it would look like she'd swallowed a Volkswagen. She knew what a prenatal abdomen felt like even if the memory was false. Her mom had held little Buffy's hand against her distended belly in which Dawn was jumping and kicking like a Russian gymnast.
She remembered thinking it was neat but kind of creepy. Like the way her grandma's cat's tail twitched as if it had a life of its own. Buffy used to think the mice the cat had eaten were trapped down in the tail. It totally freaked her out and the baby inside momma did too. She never asked to feel the lump again.
Buffy thought about her mom and how she'd gently and oh-so-carefully explained the facts of life to a pre-teen Buffy, using a beautifully illustrated book and medical terminology. The young girl had smiled and nodded and blushed and endured her mother's tender hug with embarrassment. Buffy hadn't had the nerve to tell her that Jenny Majeski, a ninth grader from down the street, had already explained the facts in much more graphic and colorful terms. That was Mom, sweet but clueless.
And what would her mom advise her if she were alive today? How would she counsel her confused daughter? She probably wouldn't advocate an abortion. As much as Joyce believed in a woman's right to choose, she would earnestly wish her daughter to choose life for her unborn grandchild. Grandchild! The thought rocked Buffy's mind. It gave a suddenly all-too- real solidity to the nebulous cluster of cells floating around in her innards.
Buffy sighed and stopped stroking her nearly flat stomach. A burning cigarette landed on the walk at her feet. She reached out a foot and ground it out, then looked up to catch Spike's head-tilted, questioning gaze.
"Hey," she said, noncomittally.
"Hey yourself." He slipped down onto the steps by her side. "Heard you had yourself an altercation tonight."
She looked at him inquisitively. "You know something about that Fashion demon? What's the scoop? Is my business all over the underworld phone chain now?"
"Naw. I was drinking with my buddy, Xander when he got your call."
"Buddy ... You were with Xander!" She couldn't have been more shocked if the sun had risen green in the south.
"Sure. We're both guys. Crime fighters together and all. Why not a little male bonding?"
Buffy, who could've sworn for a split second that she heard the word 'bondage', choked on her own saliva.
Spike gave her a sharp rap on the back as she coughed and she slapped his hand away.
"Spike, I don't know what your plan is, if hanging with my friends is some attempt to worm your way into my life, but it's ... it's just weird ... and ... and surreal, so cut it out."
"What? You don't want me to be friendly to your friends? Thought we were all working on the same team. Team Slayer. You want me to help but still say outside the loop? Now how much good can I do like that?" His tone was so logical and Giles-like that Buffy felt another shift in the fabric of reality. Of course he was right. Why was Spike, that evil, polluted being, so often right about things? It was really annoying.
"Anyway," he continued smoothly. "I just thought I'd swing by on my way home. See how you were holding up."
"I'm fine," Buffy snapped. "Thanks for your concern." Just then her stomach rumbled loudly.
"Sounds like you're a bit peckish," Spike observed. "You got to remember you're eating for two now. Stop all that salad greens and bottled water nonsense and get some real meat into you. Kid's probably starving already, thinking 'what the hell kind of cheap hotel am I camping out in?'" He surveyed her body. "You still planning on keeping the tidbit?"
"I guess ... I guess I am," Buffy marveled as the realization that her decision had been made swept over her. "I guess I really am. Oh god. I can't do this," she panicked.
Spike tried to soothe her. "Get over the bloody self-doubting, pet, it's boring. Anyone who can protect the whole human race from evil can manage one tiny sprog."
"What have you ever raised besides other demons?" she replied scornfully. "Don't tell me how easy it is! Babies aren't just cute little puppies you can cuddle then leave in their kennel, they're incredibly expensive and take massive amounts of time. Money and time I don't have."
She paused then added, "Though, thanks to Giles, I've now got a little breathing room in paying bills, at least for this month."
"Giles?" He asked sharply, head snapping around to watch her profile.
She nodded, smiled to herself and mused, "He's everything my dad should be. He's helped me in so many ways."
"Oh yeah. A veritable philanthropist is Rupert Giles," Spike scoffed. "He always has your best interests at heart doesn't he?"
Buffy glared. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. Never mind." Realizing that bashing her beloved Watcher wasn't going to win her favor, Spike segued into a different subject. "So . when you going to tell your mates about Baby Potato Head?"
"Stop calling it stupid names," Buffy said irritably. "I don't know when I'll tell them. I'll tell them when I tell them." She picked at a ragged cuticle and wondered if she'd ever be able to afford another manicure for the rest of her life.
"You'll feel better when it's all out in the open," he pointed out, shifting to the step below hers so he could attempt to make eye contact with the recalcitrant Slayer. "Then your girly-friends can gush and coo and pamper you."
He decided to push the issue that was of most concern to him. "And Giles and Harris can get all manly and protective, maybe even force a shotgun wedding with the soldier-boy if you can find him. You haven't found him, right?"
"Haven't looked yet," she muttered, then pierced Spike with another killer glare. How was it he could engage her in these conversations and force admissions out of her that she never meant to share?
"Not that it's any of your concern in any way whatsoever," she added. "Just frien.allies, remember? We're just working together. Barely acquaintances. Once mortal enemies, in case you've forgotten. So Back Off!"
He fell silent. 'Once lovers,' he thought but suppressed the urge to blurt it out.
After a fidgeting moment, he took his cigarettes out and placed one in his mouth. Taking the lighter from his pocket, he began flipping the lid open and closed.
Buffy rolled her eyes at the repeated annoying snap and click, but she didn't scold him since he'd had the courtesy not to light up. Her stomach growled even louder than before sounding like the start up of the Daytona 500. It forced a smile from both of them.
"You'd better eat now, love," he said gently, trying with all his might not to antagonize her. "Before your stomach devours itself." He stood up then reached down to help her to her feet. Amazingly, she let him.
She stepped up onto the porch and paused, looking down at him. "Why are you always around when I'm miserable?" she asked.
"You're miserable most of the time," he answered.
"True," she admitted. "Well, anyway, uh, thanks. It's good to have someone to talk to whose opinion doesn't matter."
Spike's eyebrows shot up. "Ooh thanks. That's lovely."
"I mean," she stammered, almost blushing. "Who doesn't judge or make me feel like I'm not everything I should be. That's all I meant. Oh, never mind!" She turned and stalked into the house.
He watched her go, smiling to himself. So she didn't value his opinion, who cared. He was the only person she was able to talk to right now and that had to mean something, right?
It would've been brilliant to be able to tell her who her anonymous sugar- daddy really was, but much as Spike loved bragging, he knew she would never accept the money from him and especially not after she found out the various ways he'd secured it. So he'd keep working under the radar to ease her way and make her life more pleasant. Made a fellow feel kind of puffed up and satisfied to be able to take care of his woman, even if she didn't know it or thank him for it.
He started off down the sidewalk with a swagger, finally lighting his cigarette and relishing a lungful of pungent smoke.
To be continued..
Last chapter: Buffy's financial troubles were eased by an anonymous benefactor. Spike revealed his love. Willow raised Miss Kitty Fantastico and upset Tara. Anya proposed to Xander. Dawn was annoying. This chapter: More stuff happens.
Thanks to beta Zyrya for her continued efforts and to all who've reviewed or rec'd this work or its prequel "Golden Bands to Bind Them." I may not reply but am aware of all of you out there and appreciate you very much.
**********
Buffy entered the Magic Box to find Giles and Anya in heated debate over by the cash register and Tara and Willow giggling and flirting at the research table. The latter surprised her. There wasn't any sign of the tension Willow had expressed to her only yesterday. The couple must have had some fantastic make up sex.
"My method works better!" Anya was insisting as she jabbed her finger at the paperwork in Giles' hands. "It's more logical and organized and you're just jealous because I'm a better businessperson than you."
"Now that's patently ridiculous, Anya. I would be hard-pressed to find anyone who could make heads or tails of this ... miasma. May I remind you that I own this store? You must desist from making these changes without consulting me."
Buffy wandered over to the table and sat down across from the Wiccans. "Trouble in paradise?" she asked, nodding her head toward the bickering shopkeepers.
"The usual," Willow shrugged. "Some people just argue all the time." She smiled and covered Tara's hand with hers and they resumed making googly- eyes at each other. Buffy looked away in discomfort.
"How's Miss Kitty doing?" she asked, intently studying the engraving in the book that lay in front of her.
"Adorable as always," Willow said quickly. "Full of vinegar."
"No weird side effects?"
"Huh?" Tara tore her eyes away from Willow's and looked at Buffy in confusion.
"So how did your appointment at the bank go today?" Willow interrupted, shooting Buffy a 'drop it' frown. "Any luck?"
Buffy took her cue. "No. Just a demon." She described the spiny-headed creature that had rampaged through the bank and Tara and Willow began flipping through books looking for it. "Did you know," she added, "that it actually takes money to get money? Evidently I'm too destitute for the bank to take a gamble on."
She didn't mention the anonymous benefactor who had left a packet of cash in her mailbox. It was so like Giles to be all reserved and British about it, not wanting any gratitude. She would thank him privately for his generosity and in a round about way so as not to embarrass him. She looked up at her Watcher, all flushed red with anger and almost shouting at Anya, and felt a glow of warmth. His gift had made her feel so safe and protected.
"Is this the guy?" Willow asked, pushing a book in front of her.
"More human-shaped, less with the tentacles," Buffy said.
"How about this?" Tara held her book up and pointed to the illustration as if reading aloud to a kindergarten class.
"Score!" Buffy responded. "What does it say about him?"
" 'M'fashnik demons are notorious mercenaries hired to perform dangerous tasks for their employers. They are known to be thorough and tenacious in completing their goal.' That's all."
"While I was fighting the creature, I found out later someone was cleaning out the cash drawers. That must have been the goal. So it may be the last we'll see of M'fashnik. I'll have to ask around. See if anybody knows anything about the robbery," Buffy said.
She looked up and caught Giles' eye. He was walking away from his confrontation with Anya, polishing his glasses madly. Buffy beamed at him, trying to express all her gratitude in one dazzling smile. Her Watcher peered at her near-sightedly, slipped the glasses on and looked at her again, then returned a bemused smile.
"How did things go at the bank today?" he asked as he joined them at the table. "Any success?"
Buffy repeated her story.
"M'fashnik! I've heard of them before. It's my understanding that they aren't easy to summon into this dimension. Curious." Giles frowned then shrugged and changed the subject. "But more importantly, Buffy I'm sorry to hear that you've been turned down for a loan. I understand that you're under considerable financial pressure, if there's anything I can do to help...."
Buffy shook her head, still smiling warmly, "Oh no, you've done enough. More than! Thank you."
"Um, yes. Quite." Giles frowned again in confusion and looked for evidence of sarcasm in Buffy's tone, but she seemed quite sincere. He added after a pause, "Perhaps ... perhaps you might be interested in working a few hours at the shop each week. We could use extra...."
"What?!" Anya exploded, tearing out from behind the counter. "Are you firing me? Just like that? After all I've done for you? Worked my fingers to scrawny bones keeping the shelves stocked. Almost suffered a concussion stopping that warlock from lifting the merchandise. This is the thanks I get?"
"Anya," Giles interrupted. "Please calm yourself. I'm not talking about replacing you."
"Oh. Well ... that's different then."
"I said 'extra' help. On Saturdays we're quite busy," he explained to Buffy. "I'm sure we could find work for you. I can't pay you much, but...."
"Work? Here? That'd be ... great," Buffy injected as much enthusiasm into her tone as she could muster at the thought of spending countless sunny Saturdays enclosed in the world of sales and customer service. "I'll be here bright and early with bells on. Just tell me when you want me."
"This week would be wonderful. We have a shipment of rare imported tenucia coming in that will need unpacking."
"Great," Buffy enthused.
"Ooh! Ooh! Idea hatching!" Willow waved a hand in the air. "Xander was talking about being short-handed at work. I'm sure he could use a strong able-bodied body like yours, Buffy. You should ask him. Also, it would only be on weekdays so you'd still be free to help here. Sounds perfect, huh?"
"Perfect," Buffy repeated faintly, hearing the steel doors of the prison of adulthood slamming into place one by one. She thought, 'I may have a few minutes left open in my schedule. You want to fill those too? Maybe a child-development class would be in order.'
"She needs some down time too, sweetie," Tara cautioned her over-excited girlfriend, as she read the Slayer's darkening aura. "Buffy, maybe you'd like to sit in on a class with me sometime this week. You would love my Personal Spiritual Growth and Self-Awareness in Today's Ideologically Negative World course. Ms. Puantajuah is so uplifting and challenging. She really forces you to get in touch with your Inner Being."
Buffy smiled genuinely at Tara' earnest expression. "Maybe a class like that is just what I need. Sure, I'll go with you. And Will," she turned to her friend, "your idea was really great. I'll talk to Xander right away before he fills the position. Really. Thank you. Thank you all." She looked around at her friends' helpful, hopeful faces and felt a warm surge of affection followed by a sudden stomach-swirling bout of nausea.
She leaped to her feet and headed toward the bathroom. "Excuse me," she muttered as she sprinted from the room.
*************
"Eight ball. Corner pocket." The cue snicked against the black ball with authority sending it flying into the designated hole. "That's fifty bucks, mate."
Aware that he'd been hustled but unable to deny his loss, the Abercrombie & Fitch poster boy tossed the money down on the pool table in disgust. Spike scooped it up with a smile. He adored frat boys and all the lovely green currency that rained from their pockets. They kept him in blood, booze and smokes.
As the kid skulked away, Spike racked up the balls and scanned the room for his next victim. But the sheep had all been shorn, at least for this evening. There were no takers, so the vampire glided over to the bar to get a drink.
He eyed the dark-haired man slumped over his beer at the end of the bar. After ordering himself a whiskey, Spike gestured to the bartender to get the guy another round, and then caught the man's eye when he looked up to see who had paid for his next drink.
Harris frowned when he saw it was Spike, but he took a long drink of the fresh beer anyway. Spike strolled over to stand next to him.
"What do you want?" Xander growled.
"Just bein' sociable," Spike said calmly, reining in his intense dislike of the whelp.
"I don't socialize with psychopaths who try to murder me and my friends."
"Now. Now. That's all old history. I'm one of the white hats these days, remember?"
Xander shrugged, too wasted to argue.
"What's wrong? Did the lovely Anyanka dump you?"
Harris' eyes flicked toward him and Spike knew he was on the right track.
"Weren't demon enough for her, eh?"
"Shuddup." Xander took another swallow. "She didn't dump me. Not that it's any of your business."
"But you think she's thinking about it or that she's found someone else," Spike persisted. "Or maybe ... you're thinking about it." The surprised look on the boy's face gave him his answer. "Maybe she's a little too much demon for you."
"Spike is there anything you enjoy more than the sound of your own yapping?"
"Very little," he answered truthfully. "Come on. Tell all. What've I missed on Days in the Basement?"
"I don't live there anymore," Xander said, huffily. "Anya and I moved in together last fall."
"Do tell?" Spike digested that, contemplated a few minutes more and as usual, came up with a spot-on conclusion. "And now she wants the ring, the bridal shower and wedding cake, the kids, the dog and the picket fence," he surmised.
Xander stared at him open-mouthed.
"You needn't be so shocked. It's rather obvious, isn't it? It's what all human women want."
The young man looked back down at his drink. "I guess," he mumbled.
"So what are you waiting for? Take the plunge and set a date," Spike advised.
"Yeah." Xander shredded his napkin and drew his fingertip through the condensation on the bar. "But ... how do you know?"
"Know what?"
"If she's the right girl. Or if I'm the right guy. How do I know I'll make a good husband? How do I know we'll be competent parents? How do I deal with the fact that she's a thousand year old ex-demon in a beautiful girl's body? Do I really know her? Does she really know me? That kind of 'how do you know'?"
Spike sighed. "Look Harris. It's quite simple. Do you ache for her? Does your throat seize up when you see her? Do you feel your insides combusting when she speaks your name? Does she make you feel powerless as an Epro demon and strong as a Fyarl at the same time? Do you want to kill for her one minute and kill her the next?"
"Sometimes," Xander admitted. "Not always, but sometimes ... all of those things."
"Then, you bloody soft-minded git, what the hell are you on about? How can there be any thought rattling around in that empty shell you call a head other than pathetic gratefulness that you are allowed to touch such a goddess. You should be thanking whatever deity a boneless, brainless wanker like you believes in that a beautiful creature like her even deigns to notice you exist, much less gives you her love. Is that clear enough for you?"
"Uh...."
"Let me spell it out. Say 'yes'." Spike caught the bartender's eye and held up two fingers.
Xander continued to tear his napkin into tiny bits as he digested this tirade.
"Maybe you're right," he finally conceded in a low voice. "You're probably right."
"Of course I am."
"I do love her."
"And not to her credit, she appears to love you too," Spike added.
"Yes, she really does," Xander agreed. "I don't know why."
"Neither do I. But you should take advantage in case it's temporary insanity."
"Speaking of insane," Xander looked at Spike with curiosity instead of hatred for the first time ever, "what about Drusilla? How could you be with her for so long, so many years, as crazy as she was?"
"I'm not saying my girl wasn't a challenge," Spike tried to explain, "but all that faded away when I was in her arms. It just didn't matter. All I could think of was trying to please her, to make her happy, she was such a sad little thing underneath it all."
"Spike, she was an insane killer! Like you," Xander sat up straight as if he'd suddenly remembered to whom he was speaking.
"True. She was brilliant at torture and violence but she was also a poet and a seer. She had beautiful visions and she was an amazingly creative lover." Spike spoke thoughtfully, eyes gazing at long past memories. He seemed to have forgotten his companion's presence.
"Creative?" Xander's curiosity and healthy libido got the better of him. "Creative how?"
Spike snapped out of his reverie and he glanced over at his bar-mate. "With vampires sex is all tied up with pain and blood. Very intense and powerful. Dru could make it hurt so good you'd beg 'please ma'am may I have another' even as you writhed in your chains."
Harris licked his lips and leaned in a little closer. Spike smiled inside. The fish was hooked.
"She had this way of twisting your ... ah, but you wouldn't want to hear about that. Your virgin ears would bleed."
"Hey, I'm not so innocent. Anya and I've done lots of stuff," Xander huffed.
"Really? Like what?"
"Things. Adventurous things. None of your business."
Spike scoffed, "I'm not talking about velvet padded handcuffs and tickle-me feathers, mate. I'm talking down and dirty, no-holds-barred torture and mayhem. Your bird like that kind of kink?"
"I'm not having this conversation with you," Xander stonewalled.
"Your loss." Spike shrugged. "Thought you might be able to use a few pointers and all . before the wedding night. You know, just to spice things up a bit. Show Anyanka you've got it in you."
"Got what?"
"A dark side. That little bit extra that keeps a girl satisfied long term. Don't want her losing interest, now do you?"
"What? I . I don't need sex advice from a blood-sucking pervert!" By now Xander was so flustered and red-faced Spike thought he might have a stroke. It was such a joy to watch the boy squirm, he thought he'd play it a little more.
"Well all right then. If you don't want to hear about the Mondrovian love channel technique or the Shumasthra position...." The vampire tossed back his second shot of whiskey.
Before Xander could reply and Spike could launch into his quickly invented and outrageous yarn, Xander's cell phone rang.
"Yeah?" he answered, turning slightly away from Spike. There was a long pause. "Again? Okay. You're sure you're all right? Yeah. I can stop by tomorrow during my lunch hour and estimate the damages. Okay. Glad you're all right Buffy. Dawn too. See you tomorrow."
"Trouble at Slayer Central?" Spike tried to sound casual.
"Buffy's house is trashed again," Xander explained. "Something called a M'fashnik attacked her at home, but she and Dawn are both okay." He took a sip of his beer and shook his head. "Too bad the Council doesn't pay reparation for damages. Buffy's house repairs could be my bread and butter, not to mention a nice townhouse and a new car."
"You help her out for free then?" Spike asked.
Xander gave him a condescending look. "Spike, not everyone is an opportunistic jerk like you. Of course I do it for free. She's my friend and it's my contribution to the slaying."
"Yeah. That makes sense. Now I finally understand what possible value you could have to the Slayer because it certainly isn't your fighting skills."
"Shut up."
"Slayer's in a bit of a financial bind isn't she?" Spike asked. "Not holding it together so well with her mum dead, eh?"
"I guess not. Why?" Xander looked at him suspiciously.
"I just wondered if her Watcher ever considered that. Has he ever mentioned contacting the Council and asking for a wage for her?"
"Why do you care?" Xander was sitting up straighter and eyeing him even more keenly. The beer haze seemed to have cleared for a moment. "What's your sudden interest in Buffy anyway? Why are you always around? Always helping?"
"Told you. I got nothing better to do. I got to beat up on something to keep me sane and since demons are all that's left for me to damage, well, that's what I do. If it happens to coincide with what you lot are up to then lucky for you, isn't it?"
Xander looked doubtful but turned his attention back to his foamy fresh beer.
"Well, it's been nice chatting you up," Spike said and disappeared like smoke by the time Xander looked toward him again. He blinked and peered around the shadowy bar but Spike had vanished.
He shook his head, "Stupid vampire," and returned to his solitary drinking.
*********
Buffy sat on the back steps of her house, breathing in the cool night air and unwinding from her throw down with the M'fashnik demon. She wasn't tired. In fact, she felt fully charged and firing on all cylinders. And she was really, really hungry. The Lean Cuisine she'd had for dinner just wasn't cutting it.
Her stomach grumbled and she stroked it. Down, beast! As she patted her belly, she thought about what it would feel like in a few more months when there was a hard lump there or a few months after that when it would look like she'd swallowed a Volkswagen. She knew what a prenatal abdomen felt like even if the memory was false. Her mom had held little Buffy's hand against her distended belly in which Dawn was jumping and kicking like a Russian gymnast.
She remembered thinking it was neat but kind of creepy. Like the way her grandma's cat's tail twitched as if it had a life of its own. Buffy used to think the mice the cat had eaten were trapped down in the tail. It totally freaked her out and the baby inside momma did too. She never asked to feel the lump again.
Buffy thought about her mom and how she'd gently and oh-so-carefully explained the facts of life to a pre-teen Buffy, using a beautifully illustrated book and medical terminology. The young girl had smiled and nodded and blushed and endured her mother's tender hug with embarrassment. Buffy hadn't had the nerve to tell her that Jenny Majeski, a ninth grader from down the street, had already explained the facts in much more graphic and colorful terms. That was Mom, sweet but clueless.
And what would her mom advise her if she were alive today? How would she counsel her confused daughter? She probably wouldn't advocate an abortion. As much as Joyce believed in a woman's right to choose, she would earnestly wish her daughter to choose life for her unborn grandchild. Grandchild! The thought rocked Buffy's mind. It gave a suddenly all-too- real solidity to the nebulous cluster of cells floating around in her innards.
Buffy sighed and stopped stroking her nearly flat stomach. A burning cigarette landed on the walk at her feet. She reached out a foot and ground it out, then looked up to catch Spike's head-tilted, questioning gaze.
"Hey," she said, noncomittally.
"Hey yourself." He slipped down onto the steps by her side. "Heard you had yourself an altercation tonight."
She looked at him inquisitively. "You know something about that Fashion demon? What's the scoop? Is my business all over the underworld phone chain now?"
"Naw. I was drinking with my buddy, Xander when he got your call."
"Buddy ... You were with Xander!" She couldn't have been more shocked if the sun had risen green in the south.
"Sure. We're both guys. Crime fighters together and all. Why not a little male bonding?"
Buffy, who could've sworn for a split second that she heard the word 'bondage', choked on her own saliva.
Spike gave her a sharp rap on the back as she coughed and she slapped his hand away.
"Spike, I don't know what your plan is, if hanging with my friends is some attempt to worm your way into my life, but it's ... it's just weird ... and ... and surreal, so cut it out."
"What? You don't want me to be friendly to your friends? Thought we were all working on the same team. Team Slayer. You want me to help but still say outside the loop? Now how much good can I do like that?" His tone was so logical and Giles-like that Buffy felt another shift in the fabric of reality. Of course he was right. Why was Spike, that evil, polluted being, so often right about things? It was really annoying.
"Anyway," he continued smoothly. "I just thought I'd swing by on my way home. See how you were holding up."
"I'm fine," Buffy snapped. "Thanks for your concern." Just then her stomach rumbled loudly.
"Sounds like you're a bit peckish," Spike observed. "You got to remember you're eating for two now. Stop all that salad greens and bottled water nonsense and get some real meat into you. Kid's probably starving already, thinking 'what the hell kind of cheap hotel am I camping out in?'" He surveyed her body. "You still planning on keeping the tidbit?"
"I guess ... I guess I am," Buffy marveled as the realization that her decision had been made swept over her. "I guess I really am. Oh god. I can't do this," she panicked.
Spike tried to soothe her. "Get over the bloody self-doubting, pet, it's boring. Anyone who can protect the whole human race from evil can manage one tiny sprog."
"What have you ever raised besides other demons?" she replied scornfully. "Don't tell me how easy it is! Babies aren't just cute little puppies you can cuddle then leave in their kennel, they're incredibly expensive and take massive amounts of time. Money and time I don't have."
She paused then added, "Though, thanks to Giles, I've now got a little breathing room in paying bills, at least for this month."
"Giles?" He asked sharply, head snapping around to watch her profile.
She nodded, smiled to herself and mused, "He's everything my dad should be. He's helped me in so many ways."
"Oh yeah. A veritable philanthropist is Rupert Giles," Spike scoffed. "He always has your best interests at heart doesn't he?"
Buffy glared. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. Never mind." Realizing that bashing her beloved Watcher wasn't going to win her favor, Spike segued into a different subject. "So . when you going to tell your mates about Baby Potato Head?"
"Stop calling it stupid names," Buffy said irritably. "I don't know when I'll tell them. I'll tell them when I tell them." She picked at a ragged cuticle and wondered if she'd ever be able to afford another manicure for the rest of her life.
"You'll feel better when it's all out in the open," he pointed out, shifting to the step below hers so he could attempt to make eye contact with the recalcitrant Slayer. "Then your girly-friends can gush and coo and pamper you."
He decided to push the issue that was of most concern to him. "And Giles and Harris can get all manly and protective, maybe even force a shotgun wedding with the soldier-boy if you can find him. You haven't found him, right?"
"Haven't looked yet," she muttered, then pierced Spike with another killer glare. How was it he could engage her in these conversations and force admissions out of her that she never meant to share?
"Not that it's any of your concern in any way whatsoever," she added. "Just frien.allies, remember? We're just working together. Barely acquaintances. Once mortal enemies, in case you've forgotten. So Back Off!"
He fell silent. 'Once lovers,' he thought but suppressed the urge to blurt it out.
After a fidgeting moment, he took his cigarettes out and placed one in his mouth. Taking the lighter from his pocket, he began flipping the lid open and closed.
Buffy rolled her eyes at the repeated annoying snap and click, but she didn't scold him since he'd had the courtesy not to light up. Her stomach growled even louder than before sounding like the start up of the Daytona 500. It forced a smile from both of them.
"You'd better eat now, love," he said gently, trying with all his might not to antagonize her. "Before your stomach devours itself." He stood up then reached down to help her to her feet. Amazingly, she let him.
She stepped up onto the porch and paused, looking down at him. "Why are you always around when I'm miserable?" she asked.
"You're miserable most of the time," he answered.
"True," she admitted. "Well, anyway, uh, thanks. It's good to have someone to talk to whose opinion doesn't matter."
Spike's eyebrows shot up. "Ooh thanks. That's lovely."
"I mean," she stammered, almost blushing. "Who doesn't judge or make me feel like I'm not everything I should be. That's all I meant. Oh, never mind!" She turned and stalked into the house.
He watched her go, smiling to himself. So she didn't value his opinion, who cared. He was the only person she was able to talk to right now and that had to mean something, right?
It would've been brilliant to be able to tell her who her anonymous sugar- daddy really was, but much as Spike loved bragging, he knew she would never accept the money from him and especially not after she found out the various ways he'd secured it. So he'd keep working under the radar to ease her way and make her life more pleasant. Made a fellow feel kind of puffed up and satisfied to be able to take care of his woman, even if she didn't know it or thank him for it.
He started off down the sidewalk with a swagger, finally lighting his cigarette and relishing a lungful of pungent smoke.
To be continued..