"Still Bound", chapter 9
Time passes. Spike continues to financially support Buffy secretly and to befriend her friends.
"Bloody caterwauling is what it is," Spike complained as the final contestant on American Idol histrionically emoted her song. "Listen to her. She has no more tonality than...."
"How can you say that? She's got a gorgeous voice, way better than that guy, what was his name? Casey or Jacey, something like that," Dawn interrupted.
"The whole concept is flawed anyway," Willow opined. "How can you compare male and female singers at all? It's like apples and oranges, two entirely different things."
"And look at the way she throws herself about," Spike continued. "The judges place far too much importance on stage presence and not enough on actual musicality. That other girl, Rhianna had a much better voice but she's too restrained for that lot."
"Like you'd know about 'musicality' and 'tonality', Mr. Music-died-with-Sid- Vicious. I haven't heard one of your '80s punk 'classics' that wasn't a load of screaming crap." Dawn pushed Spike's shoulder with her knee and he lightly slapped her leg.
"We agreed last week," Willow admonished, giving both of them a stern look. "No violence during American Idol no matter how stupid someone's opinion is." She grabbed the popcorn bowl from the coffee table and settled back into her corner of the couch. "Besides I'm sick of hearing the same arguments week after week. Spike always complains about pop music. Dawn always thinks it's the pinnacle of entertainment. And I'm tone deaf so it all sounds about the same to me. Can't we watch something else?"
"NO!" Spike and Dawn cried in unison as they both reached for the remote that was laying on the couch between Dawn and Willow. Dawn got it first and clutched the precious black device close to her heart, while Spike settled back into his place on the floor with a disgruntled mutter.
"If you hate it so much, Red, why don't you do something else? We don't require a babysitter. You could go out, you know. Find another little bird to nest with."
"I don't want to," Willow moped. "I'm not interested in.... Besides, what about you? Why aren't you out fighting demons or drinking or playing poker or ... or doing whatever else it is that chipped vampires do? You've got nothing better to do than hang out with us?" she challenged him.
"Nothing pressing," he answered truthfully, leaning over and wresting the popcorn from her grasp.
"Have you talked to Tara lately?" Dawn asked Willow tentatively. "'Cause, you know, I'm sure she misses you too. When she took me out to the movies Saturday afternoon I told her how good you were doing with the no magic and all. She was really glad. If you called her I know she'd be happy."
"Really?" Willow's expression brightened.
"For sure. You just have to make the first move. I know she'll forgive you."
Spike snorted. "And if she doesn't you can magic her up again 'til she thinks you're Liv Tyler, Halle Berry and Catherine Zeta Jones all rolled into one."
"Hey!" Willow frowned and threw the couch pillow at Spike's head, successfully knocking the popcorn bowl from his hands and all over the floor.
"Great! Now look what you've done. Clumsy bint," he growled as he retrieved popcorn kernels from under the couch and tossed them back in the bowl. "Truth stings, doesn't it?"
"I wouldn't.... I don't.... Not anymore. Not since the thing with Dawn. I get it now. There's a time and place to use magic and messing with your friends isn't one of them."
Dawn rubbed her cheek, still feeling conflicted about Willow's help with her acne problem. As pissed as Buffy had been, Willow really had fixed Dawn's face that evening, giving her a pristine complexion for the school dance. And because of it Ryan had danced with her and everything. For Dawn that had been worth what came after. It's not like Willow had known what the side effects of her spell would be. She was just trying to help.
"So you've learned your lesson, have you?" Spike continued, his tone turning vicious. "A mess of boils on Dawn's face and you finally realize that magic is all about cause and effect; that every magic action requires a payment?"
"I just told you I get it, didn't I?" Willow's voice was cold and calm and kind of scary.
"Well, time will tell, won't it?" Shoving the half-filled bowl of fuzz covered popcorn at her, Spike jumped to his feet. "Clean up your own mess, witch. I'm going to see if Buffy needs any help patrolling after work." He stalked off, popcorn crunching under his boot heels.
Dawn flinched as the door slammed. She sighed. "Why do our TV nights always end up in a big fight?"
"Because Spike is a stupid, insensitive jerk, who doesn't know when to keep his fat mouth shut?" Willow offered.
"Could be," Dawn agreed. "He is a little moody." She scooted off the couch and bent down to pick up more popcorn. Willow quickly joined her.
"Dawn?" she asked after a moment. "You know I didn't mean to hurt you with that spell, right? I mean, it was only a simple glamour. I didn't think it would...."
"You've already said you're sorry about fifty zillion times, Willow, and I've already forgiven you twice as much so wouldya drop it!" Dawn added, "Unless you want to bake more cookies...."
************
Spike could smell Buffy coming long before he could see her, the stench of sweat and burger grease making his sensitive nose crinkle. He clocked along the pavement with big strides that quickly took him to the cemetery which was her shortcut home. Leaping lightly over the stone wall, he crept among the tombstones playing his favorite cat and mouse game. Of course, he was never sure if he was the cat or the mouse, since Buffy usually called him out long before he had a chance to sneak up and jump her.
"Gonna have to do better than that, Spike," she drawled, twirling a stake in one hand as she sauntered along. "You sound like a herd of buffalo."
"Do not," he sulked, coming out from behind a crypt and falling in step with her. "I'm stealthy as ... as...."
"As a shadow? Hah. Only if the shadow had size 14 feet and wore big clomping boots." She smiled at her own quip.
"Well, you're in fine form tonight for someone who just worked an eight hour shift in a grease factory. Feeling better, love?" he enquired.
"Yeah, actually," Buffy sounded surprised, "I feel great lately. All full of energy again and ... and starving. If you have anything besides a Doublemeat medley on you, something chocolate for example, I swear I'll drop to my knees and ... uh ... well, I'd thank you anyway." She flushed.
"Just so happens," Spike said drawing a Hershey's with almonds and an apple from his pocket and tossing them to her.
"Eat your fruit first," he admonished as she tore into the candy wrapper.
"Mmm, this is so good," she mumbled through the chocolate, her eyes falling closed in rapture. Spike swallowed hard as her tongue darted out to lick a smear of chocolate from the corner of her mouth.
"How was work today," he asked, dragging his eyes away from her lips.
"Same old," she shrugged. "No old ladies tried to kill me, so I consider that a plus. Health inspector was in and he didn't look too pleased with the deep fryer. I smell a citation coming."
"You need to quit that place," Spike said. "The fumes alone could be toxic to the little one. You can do better."
"Tell you what, you find room in my schedule between working, slaying and taking care of the house and Dawn to go to some job interviews and I'll show up. Of course, when they find I'm a college drop-out with no skills whatsoever except beating things up and accessorizing, I'm sure I'll have businesses throwing job offers at me."
"Don't sell yourself short, Buffy," Spike gave her the serious eyes and head tilt, which always made her pulse quicken. "You're graceful and quick witted and charming when you want to be. You just need more self confidence."
Uncomfortable under his gaze, Buffy shrugged and turned away. Perching on a gravestone, she devoured the rest of the candy bar and the apple, while Spike continued to alternately watch her and pace about restlessly.
When she was finished he asked, "So, you up for a little rough and tumble?"
"What?" Her eyes widened.
"I heard from a source that a Hrathlok demon has taken up residence in the caves north of town. They can be nasty buggers and they breed like rabbits. You might want to put a stop to it before we're overrun with 'em."
"Oh." She relaxed. "Sure. I suppose I should. It's a long walk, though."
"Could take my car," Spike offered. "It's parked not far from here."
Buffy remembered the last time she'd ridden in his car, when the wedding ring fiasco was still ... fiascoing. The idea of sitting in the Desoto again, like a couple on a date - a date which involved demon-slaying and barbed banter - made Buffy uncomfortable. Still, it was just a car ride. Nothing of a sexual nature had passed between them since the Randy and Joan incident, and anything that would save her aching feet was good.
"Sure. That'd be fine," she agreed.
"Meet me at the street by the west gate. I'll bring it around," he said and dashed off before she could answer.
As she meandered toward the pickup point, Buffy wondered again if she was encouraging Spike in his little crush by letting him help out and hang around the house all the time. She wasn't quite sure how it had happened, but their relationship had moved from an occasional patrol together to a daily routine and now Dawn was inviting him to TV nights at least twice a week and Spike was sitting in on their Scooby planning meetings without even Xander questioning it!
Part of her knew all this was wrong, that she should put the brake on while she still could before there was a major freeway pileup. Trust in Spike? Only disaster could come of it. But the days drifted on and it was so much easier to accept his help and his presence than to fight him. He wouldn't go away no matter what. He'd keep badgering her and skulking around, so she might as well make use of him.
When you considered it, her situation with Spike was kind of like Frodo and Gollum in The Two Towers, Dawn's current favorite movie. Gollum was pleased to serve Frodo. It gave purpose to his miserable life. Only, unlike Spike, Gollum didn't have a barely concealed desire to jump Frodo's bones - or did he? Come to think of it, there was a lot of homoerotic subtext in Lord of the Rings.
The blare of a horn startled Buffy from her musing. She passed through the cemetery gate and caught sight of Spike's big black beast; engine rumbling so loud the whole frame shook, smoky gray exhaust belching from the tailpipe. With a sigh, she took hold of the handle and wrenched open the heavy door. Beer cans, an empty blood pack and a Snowball wrapper came spilling out. She realized the wrapper must be from their Vegas journey over a year ago
She slid into the front seat. "Jeez Spike, do you ever clean this thing?"
"Nope." He put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb with a squeal of tires.
As they sped along, Buffy's fingers clenched the seat cover in fear of his reckless driving, Spike pulled a can of juice from his pocket and tossed it to her. "Thirsty?"
"Thanks," she said, pulling the tab and downing it in several gulps. The moment the can was empty and she noted that he had pulled a beer from the other pocket, a thought occurred to her. "You didn't pay for these, did you?"
Spike scoffed. "No. Didn't need to. I have an arrangement with the guy at the Speedie Mart. He gives me free stuff and I offer him personalized protection from some of the more dangerous elements in town. It's a symbiotic relationship."
Buffy puzzled that one out. "Like the corrupt cops in the movies," she finally deduced.
"Like a vampire who needs to survive without hurting anyone," he corrected.
"It's a payoff!" she said indignantly.
"It's good business!" he replied. "Buffy, I'm working as best I can within your white hat rules here. Cut me some slack."
She fell silent and looked out the window.
The silence dragged on for several minutes.
Clearing his throat, Spike ventured, "So, you picked out any names for your sprout yet?"
"I like 'Lindsey'," Buffy said.
"You did say that ultra-thingy told you it was a lad, right?" Spike asked, "'Cause you better expect years of nosebleeds and black eyes if you saddle the kid with a name like that!"
"Oh and I suppose you have a better idea? Something classy and intelligent like ... Rocko? Or maybe Butch?" She rolled her eyes at him.
"Both manly names," Spike agreed. "But I was thinking more along the lines of Jack. Simple. Straightforward. It's a good, solid name for a boy."
Buffy shrugged. "I like Lindsey."
She resumed staring out the window, and in a few minutes the throbbing engine of the car lulled her into a light doze.
In her dream Spike was feeding her. He was feeding her luscious, cool, mint chocolate chip ice cream, not from a spoon but from the end of his finger.
"Good?" he asked, grinning as she sucked his finger long after it was ice cream free.
"Mm hm. Need more," she moaned.
He reached into the tub that rested on his naked lap, unfortunately hiding his goods from her view, and scooped up another healthy mouthful.
Buffy opened her mouth and extended her tongue, but before she could accept the treat he dropped it on her chest.
"Oops," he drawled, "Guess it's my turn." He bent down to lap at the cold nugget that was sliding down her hot skin, leaving a sticky, melting trail behind it.
She smiled and threaded her fingers through his hair, caressing his scalp.
"Off, puppy," she said after a moment when he continued licking beyond what was necessary. "I'm hungry. Feed me!"
He obligingly sat up and fed her another fingerful of minty sweetness. It was so good and she was so HUNGRY. And she wanted to know what it would taste like if she ate it off other parts of his body.
With a snort, Buffy jerked awake. Naughty, sexaholic Buffy, she chastised herself. Why did her dreams all revolve around food and sex lately? Her sleepy eyes flicked over to Spike, but he was fully clothed, humming to himself and tapping the wheel as he stared through the windshield at the rushing darkness.
Again her eyes drifted closed and her forehead pressed against the window. This time she was only half asleep, and memory and dream were all jumbled together.
It was the infamous 'honeymoon' night. They were twined together sharing post-coital bliss. Spike's hands were running restlessly up and down her body, over her arms, across her face. He seemed determined to touch every inch of skin to verify the truth of her in his arms.
"I can't believe this is real," he murmured against her hair.
"It's real," she confirmed. "And it's forever."
"Forever," he repeated reverently, then added bitterly. "Forever until you die, you mean."
"Everyone dies, Spike."
"I don't." He paused, stroking her back and resting his lips against her forehead, bestowing a thousand tiny kisses. "And I won't let you, either," he promised fiercely.
Buffy shifted uncomfortably at his words. "What do you mean?"
"Relax," he chuckled. "I'm not offering to turn you if that's what you're thinking. You wouldn't be my Buffy then. But you will live longer than any Slayer ever. I will keep you safe and whole until you're such an old woman you'll be embarrassed to be seen with me."
"Oh, that's a pleasant thought," she said. "Ninety year old Buffy and her studly, young gigolo. Yuch!"
"I won't care. I'll worship every wrinkle in your leathery face," he teased. "And when you finally go I'll go too. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust."
"What about after?" Buffy mused. She tilted her head and looked up into his eyes. "Where will we be then?"
"You asking me about heaven 'n' hell?" He held her even tighter and returned her serious gaze. "I don't know." He shook his head. "I really don't know."
She tucked her face against his throat and hugged him fiercely.
"But wherever I am, I will always love you," he promised solemnly. "Always...."
"Hey!" Spike's real voice tore away the veil of sleep and Buffy sat bolt upright.
"We're here," he explained. "You awake enough to tackle this or what?"
"Yeah," she snapped. "Yeah, I'm fine. Jeez. Just give me a minute, all right?"
She rubbed her hand over her bleary eyes and focused on the cold, dark night around them. For a moment she felt a physical pain at the loss of that warm cocoon of sheets and blankets and Spike's arms around her on that tawdry motel bed. It had felt so real. She shot a glance over at him and he was looking at her with concern.
"You sure you're up for this? Cause we can come back another...."
"I said I'm fine! Just point me in the right direction." She grabbed the door handle and pushed open the door with a wrenching creak of hinges. "Come on. Let's fight."
***********
After a rousing good tussle and laying the wiley Hrathlok to rest, Spike drove Buffy home. He bid her goodnight and she responded distantly before closing the car door and walking up to her house. Then Spike's real mission for the evening began.
Every three or four weeks he had provided Buffy with the money to help pay her bills. The silly bint still thought it was Uncle Giles' generosity in those unmarked envelopes, which burned Spike no end. But he still worked for her anyway, reveling in the role of unrecognized benefactor. There was always that damn Victorian poet in him, heart swelling at noble, selfless gestures. Downright sickening, is what it was.
Tonight he was several hundred short of where he'd hoped to be this week, knowing that Buffy still had a huge plumber's bill to pay. It was time for another round of shakedowns and break-ins. Spike cast away his white hat and firmly jammed his metaphorical black hat down over his ears.
First stop on his circuit was the U-Lock-It on Fourth Street. Usually the bays held very little of value, just households in transition and Grandma's estate, but sometimes you could hit a gold mine. Spike knew just where to strike that gold. Parking his car several blocks away, he approached the storage units from the rear, located number 12 and, using vampiric strength and a pair of humongous bolt cutters, quickly entered his target.
In addition to demons and other supernatural predators, Sunnydale had its share of human burglars and miscellaneous criminals. Spike had his finger on the pulse of both halves of the underworld and knew that the contents of a wealthy home on Barton Blvd. now resided in U-Lock-It number 12 waiting to be fenced. No one was going to complain to the police about a few missing items. Although he must be careful of humans, given his disability, Spike thought the robbing from the robbers angle was fairly clever and safe, not to mention rather satisfyingly ironic.
It was certainly safer than the last time he'd flashed fang at a convenience store intending to clean out the till and gotten a shotgun to the head instead. He had been forced to back down and hightail it from the store, and Spike hated backing down. Sure, a shot to the head wouldn't kill him, but it would take a helluva long time for a vamp to come back from that kind of trauma.
Once inside the unit Spike busily puttered around gathering smaller pricey objects and putting them in his pockets, then selecting the larger items he could easily sell to Clem. Within minutes he was back out, over the fence and into his car with the merchandise.
On to stop number two.
Most demons had little that would be considered of value in the human world, but vampires were a different breed. Spike knew many who, like old Angelus, enjoyed living in stylish comfort. Minions and fledglings were of no use to him and it required going a little farther afield to find his quarry. Luckily he had a mate from the old days who lived only a town away and was going to be Buffy's meal ticket for the month.
A few years older than Spike, Alexei Baranzykov was an old country anachronism living in the U.S.A. In one hundred and forty years he had made no effort whatsoever to adapt to the time or place in which he lived. Spike often wondered why he'd left Russia at all, since walking into his lair was like touring the palace at St. Petersburg. Religious icons and ornate crosses adorned his velvet-flocked walls. One had to be careful not to brush against anything that singed.
Spike had met Alexei during Spike's first go-around in Sunnydale, when he was laying low after the debacle at the high school. They had met over cards and became as friendly as vampires ever did with one another. Spike enjoyed Alexei's acerbic wit and well-read sensibilities. They spent hours discussing the intricate worlds and words of Doestoevsky until Drusilla would wander in, tremulously complaining about Spike's lack of attention.
Alexei was the only person Spike had ever met who 'got' Dru. He treated her with a courtly respect and listened in fascination to her visionary ramblings. He believed every word she uttered had significance if one could but unlock the symbolism.
Spike had truly appreciated the companionship of a fellow literary fan. That is, until he was laid up in a wheelchair by the Slayer, was thwarted in his attempt to resurrect the Judge, was humiliated and cuckolded by that bastard Angelus, and fought to regain Dru then slipped off to Mexico with her. Those things rather distracted from quality socializing time.
Tonight he was off to pay his old friend a visit.
*********
"Spike, my friend, it has been years since I heard from you. Where have you been?" the Russian grabbed him and enveloped him in a bear hug. Spike patted his back gingerly.
"Good to see you too, mate. I had some trouble in Sunnydale and had to leave, but I'm back." Spike was ushered into the plush room, which hadn't changed an iota since the last time he'd been entertained here.
"I have missed our discussions. There are so few of the undead who care to read the classics. A hundred years may pass between meetings with a kindred spirit who truly enjoys literature. Please sit." Baranzykov gestured to a heavily upholstered armchair and Spike sank into it gratefully. It really had been a long night and he could sense the imminence of sunlight.
"Where is your lovely lady?" the Russian enquired as he poured blood from a samovar on the sideboard.
For just a moment, Spike thought he meant Buffy. "Oh, Drusilla. Yeah, well, we had a parting of ways shortly after we left the area."
"That is too bad. A rare gem such as she is something to be treasured unto eternity. You must have been shattered to lose her."
"Indeed I was," Spike agreed sincerely. "But time and circumstance have allowed me to discover an even greater love." He was annoyed to find his speech pattern unconsciously changing from his everyday slang to the cultured language of his youth.
"Impossible." Baranzykov set the warmed cup of blood before Spike. "I have never seen such devotion exhibited between two of our kind. You can not have found a replacement for such a unique creature in such a brief time."
"I have. She is Dru's opposite in every way, but she is also a pearl. Such radiant incandescence, I cannot describe to you. Strength, power, vulnerability, and sweetness are inextricably combined in her to create such a paragon of...." Spike stopped himself before he could wax even more rhapsodic. "That is ... She's a right lovely bird and I'm mad about her."
"Well, that is wonderful news. May I be so lucky to find even one great love in this endless immortality." The other vampire sighed and dropped into the seat across from Spike. "There was a human girl, once.... She, I could have loved."
"But instead you ate her," Spike surmised.
"Unfortunately, yes," his friend replied. "And a tasty morsel she was, too. But I would have preferred her company, which would have passed many a long, lonely night, to that one brief moment of sustenance so quickly finished."
"I hear you. It is a conundrum."
"The lack of companionship is almost more than I can bear sometimes," the sad-eyed Russian admitted. "I would not share this with anyone but you, my friend, but the hunt and the kill do not thrill me like they used to. There is a void inside.... Do you ever feel it?"
"I have," Spike replied quietly. "And the lady I told you of, she is the only thing that can make it go away."
The unsuspecting Baranzykov exploded into a shower of dust.
"That's why you have to die, mate. Because I'm hers now." Spike drew back his stake hand and blew off the remnants of the Russian. He sat back down, drained his cup of blood, and stared at the empty chair his philosophical friend had occupied.
Almost a quarter hour elapsed before he rose and began gathering his loot; a Fabergé egg, icons, miniatures and fabulous jewels. But the prize piece in the collection was unexpected. Alexei had somehow managed to secure one of the eight swords of Rugievit and it was beautifully displayed in a glass case over his mantel. Spike shook his head as he broke the glass with his fist and took down the perfectly balanced weapon. What kind of a vampire used a sword as artwork instead of a weapon?
As he walked past Alexei's armchair Spike noticed the book his friend had been reading. His hand hovered over a priceless first edition of Doestoevsky's 'Brothers Karamazov', then descended on the book and began to fan the pages. Bits and pieces of passages leaped out at him.
"In the town I was in, there were no such back- alleys in the literal sense, but morally there were. If you were like me, you'd know what that means. I loved vice, I loved the ignominy of vice. I loved cruelty; am I not a bug, am I not a noxious insect?"
"I could never understand how one can love one's neighbors. For any one to love a man, he must be hidden, for as soon as he shows his face, love is gone."
"I'm not guilty! I'm not guilty of that blood! I'm not guilty of my father's blood. . I meant to kill him. But I'm not guilty. Not I." "Oh, if I, too, could sacrifice myself some day for truth!" said Kolya with enthusiasm. "I should like to die for all humanity."
He slammed the book shut, picked up his box of expensive trinkets and the sword then headed out to his car.
To be continued....
Time passes. Spike continues to financially support Buffy secretly and to befriend her friends.
"Bloody caterwauling is what it is," Spike complained as the final contestant on American Idol histrionically emoted her song. "Listen to her. She has no more tonality than...."
"How can you say that? She's got a gorgeous voice, way better than that guy, what was his name? Casey or Jacey, something like that," Dawn interrupted.
"The whole concept is flawed anyway," Willow opined. "How can you compare male and female singers at all? It's like apples and oranges, two entirely different things."
"And look at the way she throws herself about," Spike continued. "The judges place far too much importance on stage presence and not enough on actual musicality. That other girl, Rhianna had a much better voice but she's too restrained for that lot."
"Like you'd know about 'musicality' and 'tonality', Mr. Music-died-with-Sid- Vicious. I haven't heard one of your '80s punk 'classics' that wasn't a load of screaming crap." Dawn pushed Spike's shoulder with her knee and he lightly slapped her leg.
"We agreed last week," Willow admonished, giving both of them a stern look. "No violence during American Idol no matter how stupid someone's opinion is." She grabbed the popcorn bowl from the coffee table and settled back into her corner of the couch. "Besides I'm sick of hearing the same arguments week after week. Spike always complains about pop music. Dawn always thinks it's the pinnacle of entertainment. And I'm tone deaf so it all sounds about the same to me. Can't we watch something else?"
"NO!" Spike and Dawn cried in unison as they both reached for the remote that was laying on the couch between Dawn and Willow. Dawn got it first and clutched the precious black device close to her heart, while Spike settled back into his place on the floor with a disgruntled mutter.
"If you hate it so much, Red, why don't you do something else? We don't require a babysitter. You could go out, you know. Find another little bird to nest with."
"I don't want to," Willow moped. "I'm not interested in.... Besides, what about you? Why aren't you out fighting demons or drinking or playing poker or ... or doing whatever else it is that chipped vampires do? You've got nothing better to do than hang out with us?" she challenged him.
"Nothing pressing," he answered truthfully, leaning over and wresting the popcorn from her grasp.
"Have you talked to Tara lately?" Dawn asked Willow tentatively. "'Cause, you know, I'm sure she misses you too. When she took me out to the movies Saturday afternoon I told her how good you were doing with the no magic and all. She was really glad. If you called her I know she'd be happy."
"Really?" Willow's expression brightened.
"For sure. You just have to make the first move. I know she'll forgive you."
Spike snorted. "And if she doesn't you can magic her up again 'til she thinks you're Liv Tyler, Halle Berry and Catherine Zeta Jones all rolled into one."
"Hey!" Willow frowned and threw the couch pillow at Spike's head, successfully knocking the popcorn bowl from his hands and all over the floor.
"Great! Now look what you've done. Clumsy bint," he growled as he retrieved popcorn kernels from under the couch and tossed them back in the bowl. "Truth stings, doesn't it?"
"I wouldn't.... I don't.... Not anymore. Not since the thing with Dawn. I get it now. There's a time and place to use magic and messing with your friends isn't one of them."
Dawn rubbed her cheek, still feeling conflicted about Willow's help with her acne problem. As pissed as Buffy had been, Willow really had fixed Dawn's face that evening, giving her a pristine complexion for the school dance. And because of it Ryan had danced with her and everything. For Dawn that had been worth what came after. It's not like Willow had known what the side effects of her spell would be. She was just trying to help.
"So you've learned your lesson, have you?" Spike continued, his tone turning vicious. "A mess of boils on Dawn's face and you finally realize that magic is all about cause and effect; that every magic action requires a payment?"
"I just told you I get it, didn't I?" Willow's voice was cold and calm and kind of scary.
"Well, time will tell, won't it?" Shoving the half-filled bowl of fuzz covered popcorn at her, Spike jumped to his feet. "Clean up your own mess, witch. I'm going to see if Buffy needs any help patrolling after work." He stalked off, popcorn crunching under his boot heels.
Dawn flinched as the door slammed. She sighed. "Why do our TV nights always end up in a big fight?"
"Because Spike is a stupid, insensitive jerk, who doesn't know when to keep his fat mouth shut?" Willow offered.
"Could be," Dawn agreed. "He is a little moody." She scooted off the couch and bent down to pick up more popcorn. Willow quickly joined her.
"Dawn?" she asked after a moment. "You know I didn't mean to hurt you with that spell, right? I mean, it was only a simple glamour. I didn't think it would...."
"You've already said you're sorry about fifty zillion times, Willow, and I've already forgiven you twice as much so wouldya drop it!" Dawn added, "Unless you want to bake more cookies...."
************
Spike could smell Buffy coming long before he could see her, the stench of sweat and burger grease making his sensitive nose crinkle. He clocked along the pavement with big strides that quickly took him to the cemetery which was her shortcut home. Leaping lightly over the stone wall, he crept among the tombstones playing his favorite cat and mouse game. Of course, he was never sure if he was the cat or the mouse, since Buffy usually called him out long before he had a chance to sneak up and jump her.
"Gonna have to do better than that, Spike," she drawled, twirling a stake in one hand as she sauntered along. "You sound like a herd of buffalo."
"Do not," he sulked, coming out from behind a crypt and falling in step with her. "I'm stealthy as ... as...."
"As a shadow? Hah. Only if the shadow had size 14 feet and wore big clomping boots." She smiled at her own quip.
"Well, you're in fine form tonight for someone who just worked an eight hour shift in a grease factory. Feeling better, love?" he enquired.
"Yeah, actually," Buffy sounded surprised, "I feel great lately. All full of energy again and ... and starving. If you have anything besides a Doublemeat medley on you, something chocolate for example, I swear I'll drop to my knees and ... uh ... well, I'd thank you anyway." She flushed.
"Just so happens," Spike said drawing a Hershey's with almonds and an apple from his pocket and tossing them to her.
"Eat your fruit first," he admonished as she tore into the candy wrapper.
"Mmm, this is so good," she mumbled through the chocolate, her eyes falling closed in rapture. Spike swallowed hard as her tongue darted out to lick a smear of chocolate from the corner of her mouth.
"How was work today," he asked, dragging his eyes away from her lips.
"Same old," she shrugged. "No old ladies tried to kill me, so I consider that a plus. Health inspector was in and he didn't look too pleased with the deep fryer. I smell a citation coming."
"You need to quit that place," Spike said. "The fumes alone could be toxic to the little one. You can do better."
"Tell you what, you find room in my schedule between working, slaying and taking care of the house and Dawn to go to some job interviews and I'll show up. Of course, when they find I'm a college drop-out with no skills whatsoever except beating things up and accessorizing, I'm sure I'll have businesses throwing job offers at me."
"Don't sell yourself short, Buffy," Spike gave her the serious eyes and head tilt, which always made her pulse quicken. "You're graceful and quick witted and charming when you want to be. You just need more self confidence."
Uncomfortable under his gaze, Buffy shrugged and turned away. Perching on a gravestone, she devoured the rest of the candy bar and the apple, while Spike continued to alternately watch her and pace about restlessly.
When she was finished he asked, "So, you up for a little rough and tumble?"
"What?" Her eyes widened.
"I heard from a source that a Hrathlok demon has taken up residence in the caves north of town. They can be nasty buggers and they breed like rabbits. You might want to put a stop to it before we're overrun with 'em."
"Oh." She relaxed. "Sure. I suppose I should. It's a long walk, though."
"Could take my car," Spike offered. "It's parked not far from here."
Buffy remembered the last time she'd ridden in his car, when the wedding ring fiasco was still ... fiascoing. The idea of sitting in the Desoto again, like a couple on a date - a date which involved demon-slaying and barbed banter - made Buffy uncomfortable. Still, it was just a car ride. Nothing of a sexual nature had passed between them since the Randy and Joan incident, and anything that would save her aching feet was good.
"Sure. That'd be fine," she agreed.
"Meet me at the street by the west gate. I'll bring it around," he said and dashed off before she could answer.
As she meandered toward the pickup point, Buffy wondered again if she was encouraging Spike in his little crush by letting him help out and hang around the house all the time. She wasn't quite sure how it had happened, but their relationship had moved from an occasional patrol together to a daily routine and now Dawn was inviting him to TV nights at least twice a week and Spike was sitting in on their Scooby planning meetings without even Xander questioning it!
Part of her knew all this was wrong, that she should put the brake on while she still could before there was a major freeway pileup. Trust in Spike? Only disaster could come of it. But the days drifted on and it was so much easier to accept his help and his presence than to fight him. He wouldn't go away no matter what. He'd keep badgering her and skulking around, so she might as well make use of him.
When you considered it, her situation with Spike was kind of like Frodo and Gollum in The Two Towers, Dawn's current favorite movie. Gollum was pleased to serve Frodo. It gave purpose to his miserable life. Only, unlike Spike, Gollum didn't have a barely concealed desire to jump Frodo's bones - or did he? Come to think of it, there was a lot of homoerotic subtext in Lord of the Rings.
The blare of a horn startled Buffy from her musing. She passed through the cemetery gate and caught sight of Spike's big black beast; engine rumbling so loud the whole frame shook, smoky gray exhaust belching from the tailpipe. With a sigh, she took hold of the handle and wrenched open the heavy door. Beer cans, an empty blood pack and a Snowball wrapper came spilling out. She realized the wrapper must be from their Vegas journey over a year ago
She slid into the front seat. "Jeez Spike, do you ever clean this thing?"
"Nope." He put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb with a squeal of tires.
As they sped along, Buffy's fingers clenched the seat cover in fear of his reckless driving, Spike pulled a can of juice from his pocket and tossed it to her. "Thirsty?"
"Thanks," she said, pulling the tab and downing it in several gulps. The moment the can was empty and she noted that he had pulled a beer from the other pocket, a thought occurred to her. "You didn't pay for these, did you?"
Spike scoffed. "No. Didn't need to. I have an arrangement with the guy at the Speedie Mart. He gives me free stuff and I offer him personalized protection from some of the more dangerous elements in town. It's a symbiotic relationship."
Buffy puzzled that one out. "Like the corrupt cops in the movies," she finally deduced.
"Like a vampire who needs to survive without hurting anyone," he corrected.
"It's a payoff!" she said indignantly.
"It's good business!" he replied. "Buffy, I'm working as best I can within your white hat rules here. Cut me some slack."
She fell silent and looked out the window.
The silence dragged on for several minutes.
Clearing his throat, Spike ventured, "So, you picked out any names for your sprout yet?"
"I like 'Lindsey'," Buffy said.
"You did say that ultra-thingy told you it was a lad, right?" Spike asked, "'Cause you better expect years of nosebleeds and black eyes if you saddle the kid with a name like that!"
"Oh and I suppose you have a better idea? Something classy and intelligent like ... Rocko? Or maybe Butch?" She rolled her eyes at him.
"Both manly names," Spike agreed. "But I was thinking more along the lines of Jack. Simple. Straightforward. It's a good, solid name for a boy."
Buffy shrugged. "I like Lindsey."
She resumed staring out the window, and in a few minutes the throbbing engine of the car lulled her into a light doze.
In her dream Spike was feeding her. He was feeding her luscious, cool, mint chocolate chip ice cream, not from a spoon but from the end of his finger.
"Good?" he asked, grinning as she sucked his finger long after it was ice cream free.
"Mm hm. Need more," she moaned.
He reached into the tub that rested on his naked lap, unfortunately hiding his goods from her view, and scooped up another healthy mouthful.
Buffy opened her mouth and extended her tongue, but before she could accept the treat he dropped it on her chest.
"Oops," he drawled, "Guess it's my turn." He bent down to lap at the cold nugget that was sliding down her hot skin, leaving a sticky, melting trail behind it.
She smiled and threaded her fingers through his hair, caressing his scalp.
"Off, puppy," she said after a moment when he continued licking beyond what was necessary. "I'm hungry. Feed me!"
He obligingly sat up and fed her another fingerful of minty sweetness. It was so good and she was so HUNGRY. And she wanted to know what it would taste like if she ate it off other parts of his body.
With a snort, Buffy jerked awake. Naughty, sexaholic Buffy, she chastised herself. Why did her dreams all revolve around food and sex lately? Her sleepy eyes flicked over to Spike, but he was fully clothed, humming to himself and tapping the wheel as he stared through the windshield at the rushing darkness.
Again her eyes drifted closed and her forehead pressed against the window. This time she was only half asleep, and memory and dream were all jumbled together.
It was the infamous 'honeymoon' night. They were twined together sharing post-coital bliss. Spike's hands were running restlessly up and down her body, over her arms, across her face. He seemed determined to touch every inch of skin to verify the truth of her in his arms.
"I can't believe this is real," he murmured against her hair.
"It's real," she confirmed. "And it's forever."
"Forever," he repeated reverently, then added bitterly. "Forever until you die, you mean."
"Everyone dies, Spike."
"I don't." He paused, stroking her back and resting his lips against her forehead, bestowing a thousand tiny kisses. "And I won't let you, either," he promised fiercely.
Buffy shifted uncomfortably at his words. "What do you mean?"
"Relax," he chuckled. "I'm not offering to turn you if that's what you're thinking. You wouldn't be my Buffy then. But you will live longer than any Slayer ever. I will keep you safe and whole until you're such an old woman you'll be embarrassed to be seen with me."
"Oh, that's a pleasant thought," she said. "Ninety year old Buffy and her studly, young gigolo. Yuch!"
"I won't care. I'll worship every wrinkle in your leathery face," he teased. "And when you finally go I'll go too. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust."
"What about after?" Buffy mused. She tilted her head and looked up into his eyes. "Where will we be then?"
"You asking me about heaven 'n' hell?" He held her even tighter and returned her serious gaze. "I don't know." He shook his head. "I really don't know."
She tucked her face against his throat and hugged him fiercely.
"But wherever I am, I will always love you," he promised solemnly. "Always...."
"Hey!" Spike's real voice tore away the veil of sleep and Buffy sat bolt upright.
"We're here," he explained. "You awake enough to tackle this or what?"
"Yeah," she snapped. "Yeah, I'm fine. Jeez. Just give me a minute, all right?"
She rubbed her hand over her bleary eyes and focused on the cold, dark night around them. For a moment she felt a physical pain at the loss of that warm cocoon of sheets and blankets and Spike's arms around her on that tawdry motel bed. It had felt so real. She shot a glance over at him and he was looking at her with concern.
"You sure you're up for this? Cause we can come back another...."
"I said I'm fine! Just point me in the right direction." She grabbed the door handle and pushed open the door with a wrenching creak of hinges. "Come on. Let's fight."
***********
After a rousing good tussle and laying the wiley Hrathlok to rest, Spike drove Buffy home. He bid her goodnight and she responded distantly before closing the car door and walking up to her house. Then Spike's real mission for the evening began.
Every three or four weeks he had provided Buffy with the money to help pay her bills. The silly bint still thought it was Uncle Giles' generosity in those unmarked envelopes, which burned Spike no end. But he still worked for her anyway, reveling in the role of unrecognized benefactor. There was always that damn Victorian poet in him, heart swelling at noble, selfless gestures. Downright sickening, is what it was.
Tonight he was several hundred short of where he'd hoped to be this week, knowing that Buffy still had a huge plumber's bill to pay. It was time for another round of shakedowns and break-ins. Spike cast away his white hat and firmly jammed his metaphorical black hat down over his ears.
First stop on his circuit was the U-Lock-It on Fourth Street. Usually the bays held very little of value, just households in transition and Grandma's estate, but sometimes you could hit a gold mine. Spike knew just where to strike that gold. Parking his car several blocks away, he approached the storage units from the rear, located number 12 and, using vampiric strength and a pair of humongous bolt cutters, quickly entered his target.
In addition to demons and other supernatural predators, Sunnydale had its share of human burglars and miscellaneous criminals. Spike had his finger on the pulse of both halves of the underworld and knew that the contents of a wealthy home on Barton Blvd. now resided in U-Lock-It number 12 waiting to be fenced. No one was going to complain to the police about a few missing items. Although he must be careful of humans, given his disability, Spike thought the robbing from the robbers angle was fairly clever and safe, not to mention rather satisfyingly ironic.
It was certainly safer than the last time he'd flashed fang at a convenience store intending to clean out the till and gotten a shotgun to the head instead. He had been forced to back down and hightail it from the store, and Spike hated backing down. Sure, a shot to the head wouldn't kill him, but it would take a helluva long time for a vamp to come back from that kind of trauma.
Once inside the unit Spike busily puttered around gathering smaller pricey objects and putting them in his pockets, then selecting the larger items he could easily sell to Clem. Within minutes he was back out, over the fence and into his car with the merchandise.
On to stop number two.
Most demons had little that would be considered of value in the human world, but vampires were a different breed. Spike knew many who, like old Angelus, enjoyed living in stylish comfort. Minions and fledglings were of no use to him and it required going a little farther afield to find his quarry. Luckily he had a mate from the old days who lived only a town away and was going to be Buffy's meal ticket for the month.
A few years older than Spike, Alexei Baranzykov was an old country anachronism living in the U.S.A. In one hundred and forty years he had made no effort whatsoever to adapt to the time or place in which he lived. Spike often wondered why he'd left Russia at all, since walking into his lair was like touring the palace at St. Petersburg. Religious icons and ornate crosses adorned his velvet-flocked walls. One had to be careful not to brush against anything that singed.
Spike had met Alexei during Spike's first go-around in Sunnydale, when he was laying low after the debacle at the high school. They had met over cards and became as friendly as vampires ever did with one another. Spike enjoyed Alexei's acerbic wit and well-read sensibilities. They spent hours discussing the intricate worlds and words of Doestoevsky until Drusilla would wander in, tremulously complaining about Spike's lack of attention.
Alexei was the only person Spike had ever met who 'got' Dru. He treated her with a courtly respect and listened in fascination to her visionary ramblings. He believed every word she uttered had significance if one could but unlock the symbolism.
Spike had truly appreciated the companionship of a fellow literary fan. That is, until he was laid up in a wheelchair by the Slayer, was thwarted in his attempt to resurrect the Judge, was humiliated and cuckolded by that bastard Angelus, and fought to regain Dru then slipped off to Mexico with her. Those things rather distracted from quality socializing time.
Tonight he was off to pay his old friend a visit.
*********
"Spike, my friend, it has been years since I heard from you. Where have you been?" the Russian grabbed him and enveloped him in a bear hug. Spike patted his back gingerly.
"Good to see you too, mate. I had some trouble in Sunnydale and had to leave, but I'm back." Spike was ushered into the plush room, which hadn't changed an iota since the last time he'd been entertained here.
"I have missed our discussions. There are so few of the undead who care to read the classics. A hundred years may pass between meetings with a kindred spirit who truly enjoys literature. Please sit." Baranzykov gestured to a heavily upholstered armchair and Spike sank into it gratefully. It really had been a long night and he could sense the imminence of sunlight.
"Where is your lovely lady?" the Russian enquired as he poured blood from a samovar on the sideboard.
For just a moment, Spike thought he meant Buffy. "Oh, Drusilla. Yeah, well, we had a parting of ways shortly after we left the area."
"That is too bad. A rare gem such as she is something to be treasured unto eternity. You must have been shattered to lose her."
"Indeed I was," Spike agreed sincerely. "But time and circumstance have allowed me to discover an even greater love." He was annoyed to find his speech pattern unconsciously changing from his everyday slang to the cultured language of his youth.
"Impossible." Baranzykov set the warmed cup of blood before Spike. "I have never seen such devotion exhibited between two of our kind. You can not have found a replacement for such a unique creature in such a brief time."
"I have. She is Dru's opposite in every way, but she is also a pearl. Such radiant incandescence, I cannot describe to you. Strength, power, vulnerability, and sweetness are inextricably combined in her to create such a paragon of...." Spike stopped himself before he could wax even more rhapsodic. "That is ... She's a right lovely bird and I'm mad about her."
"Well, that is wonderful news. May I be so lucky to find even one great love in this endless immortality." The other vampire sighed and dropped into the seat across from Spike. "There was a human girl, once.... She, I could have loved."
"But instead you ate her," Spike surmised.
"Unfortunately, yes," his friend replied. "And a tasty morsel she was, too. But I would have preferred her company, which would have passed many a long, lonely night, to that one brief moment of sustenance so quickly finished."
"I hear you. It is a conundrum."
"The lack of companionship is almost more than I can bear sometimes," the sad-eyed Russian admitted. "I would not share this with anyone but you, my friend, but the hunt and the kill do not thrill me like they used to. There is a void inside.... Do you ever feel it?"
"I have," Spike replied quietly. "And the lady I told you of, she is the only thing that can make it go away."
The unsuspecting Baranzykov exploded into a shower of dust.
"That's why you have to die, mate. Because I'm hers now." Spike drew back his stake hand and blew off the remnants of the Russian. He sat back down, drained his cup of blood, and stared at the empty chair his philosophical friend had occupied.
Almost a quarter hour elapsed before he rose and began gathering his loot; a Fabergé egg, icons, miniatures and fabulous jewels. But the prize piece in the collection was unexpected. Alexei had somehow managed to secure one of the eight swords of Rugievit and it was beautifully displayed in a glass case over his mantel. Spike shook his head as he broke the glass with his fist and took down the perfectly balanced weapon. What kind of a vampire used a sword as artwork instead of a weapon?
As he walked past Alexei's armchair Spike noticed the book his friend had been reading. His hand hovered over a priceless first edition of Doestoevsky's 'Brothers Karamazov', then descended on the book and began to fan the pages. Bits and pieces of passages leaped out at him.
"In the town I was in, there were no such back- alleys in the literal sense, but morally there were. If you were like me, you'd know what that means. I loved vice, I loved the ignominy of vice. I loved cruelty; am I not a bug, am I not a noxious insect?"
"I could never understand how one can love one's neighbors. For any one to love a man, he must be hidden, for as soon as he shows his face, love is gone."
"I'm not guilty! I'm not guilty of that blood! I'm not guilty of my father's blood. . I meant to kill him. But I'm not guilty. Not I." "Oh, if I, too, could sacrifice myself some day for truth!" said Kolya with enthusiasm. "I should like to die for all humanity."
He slammed the book shut, picked up his box of expensive trinkets and the sword then headed out to his car.
To be continued....